The Fan-Tribe.
O far away by a tropic sea,
And near to a jungle dell.
Neath the scorching rays
Of the sun’s bright blaze,
The fan tribe Indians dwell.
No silken, satin or velvet gowns,
No laces do they possess,
But from year to year,
They always appear
In this fantastic dress.
The moon has a host of children
That never are seen by day;
But Oh! in the night
’Tis a pretty sight,
To see them frolic and play.
They harness the stars together,
And over their race-course ride;
Or gather in crowds
On the fleecy clouds,
And down on the moonbeams slide.
