Chapter XLVII

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And here, where once the Indian mother dwelt,
Cradling her infant on the blast-rocked tree,
Feeling the vengeance that her warrior felt,
And teaching war to childhood on her knee--
Now dwells the christian mother: O! _her_ heart
Has learned far better the maternal part--
Yet, in deep love, in passion for her child,
Who has surpass'd thine own, wild woman of the wild?