As thou hast found a child in me!”
Sweet maid! she little dreamed how near
The hour when she—a captive mourning—
A Briton’s voice her grief would cheer,
The White man’s debt returning;
When Rolfe with tenderest care essayed
The maiden’s flowing tears to dry,
Until captivity he made
More sweet than liberty!
Amidst her grief, amidst her fear,