III.
‘Oh, sad the tale I have to tell,’
The trembling chief replied,
‘And gladly to have saved thy child,
‘Would Japazaws have died.
‘Like a beam of light fair Metoka
‘Went dancing through our grove,
‘Her voice was like the nightingale,
‘Her spirit like the dove,
‘And every thing was happier,
‘On which her brightness shone;
‘Such innocence and love were hers,
‘We loved her as our own.
‘But, oh, the cruel pale-face came,
‘In his shallop dark and tall,
‘And he seized her on the river bank—
‘We heard her feeble call,
‘And ran to rescue, but in vain;
‘They bore her from the shore,
‘Away, away, and much I fear
‘Thou’lt never see her more.’{[26]}