Chapter XXVIII

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Here, from the woods, he came to woo his mate,
And launched, to meet her, his bark-built canoe:
Who would have thought he had a soul to hate
To see him thus, all gentleness to woo?
In tenderest tone he tells his deeds of war,
With blandest feeling shows the ghastly scar
He joyed to take, that he might win his bride,
His own, his blushing one--the dark-eyed by his side.