And the soft, dulcet voice of her flow
Was suggestive of peace and affection,
Not accents of anguish and woe.
Long ago, ere the foot of the white man
Had left its first print on the sod,
A people, both free and contented,
Her mesas and cañon-ways trod.
Then Dolores, the river of sorrow,
Was a river of laughter and glee,
As she playfully dashed through the cañons