the forsaken - Популярные cтихи, рассказы и фанфики

I
IT is the music of her native land,-- The airs she used to love in happier days;
The lute is struck by some young gentle hand,
To soothe her spirit with remember'd lays

The peace which others seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest
An amnesty for what is past;

I Once in the winter Out on a lake In the heart of the north-land, Far from the Fort And far from the hunters, A Chippewa woman With her sick baby, Crouched in the last hours Of a great storm
Frozen and hungry, She fished through the ice With...