"Do not come any nearer," he says, hastily, "I can tell it all to you better, more easily, when I cannot see you.",
"Look at my leg," said Mīka´pi; "swollen and sore. See my wounded arm; I can hardly hold the bow. Far away is the home of my people, and my strength is gone. Surely here I must die, for I cannot walk, and I have no food.",
Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly—and certainly more tenderly—than any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when he says,—.
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