Note 15 — PEBOAN AND SEEGWAN

In his lodge beside a river, Close beside a frozen river, Sat an old man, sad and lonely, White his hair was as a snow-drift; Dull and low his fire was burning, And the old man shook and trembled, . . . . Hearing nothing but the tempest As it roared along the forest, Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, As it whirled and hissed and drifted. All the coals were white with ashes And the fire was slowly dying, As a young man, walking lightly, At the open doorway entered. Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time. —Hiawatha