IV.
But one sweet floweret flourish’d there,
Beneath the aged monarch’s care,
Whose bloom that happy bower had bless’d
With brighter charms than all the rest.
’Twas his loved daughter—she had been
The comfort of his widowhood
For twelve long years; through grove and glen
She roam’d with him the pathless wood,
And wheresoe’er that old man hied,
Fair Metoka[B] was ever at his side.
She was the gem of her father’s home,
The pride and joy of his forest cell;
And if alone she chanced to roam
To pluck the rose and gay hairbell,
The rudest savage stopp’d and smiled,
Whene’er he met the monarch’s child.