X.
‘O, Matachanna, must I go
‘From this loved spot away?
‘No more among these green old trees,
‘With thee, dear sister, play?
‘No more upon the hill-side run,
‘And chase the butterfly,
‘Or down the shady valley see
‘The nimble deer dart by?
‘A pleasant thing it is to see
‘The lovely light of day,
‘When gentle Matachanna is
‘Companion of my way!
‘But away alone with a cruel one,
‘My day will turn to night,
‘And never more will Metoka
‘Behold the pleasant light.
‘But when, dear sister, I am gone,
‘Still love our greenwood bowers,
‘And plant around our lovely spring
‘The pretty summer flowers.
‘And love our father fervently,
‘And bless him every day,
‘And sometimes gently speak to him
‘Of her that’s far away—’