During the French war a party of Indians came from the far north-west to visit Quebec. On their way they stopped at the Moravian Mission, on the banks of Lake Superior, and there a young Algonquin fell in love with a Chippewa maiden, who as ardently returned his passion. As she sailed away in her light canoe she uttered her love and sadness in the following wild strain:—
“I shall go with you my sweet heart, my Algonquin.”
“Alas,” I replied, “my native country is far, far away—my sweet heart, my Algonquin.” [[91]]
When I looked back again, where we parted, he was still looking after me, my sweet heart, my Algonquin,
He was still standing on a fallen tree, that had fallen in the water, my sweet heart, my Algonquin.
Alas, when I think of him, when I think of him, it is when I think of him—my Algonquin.
The following is another strain almost as simple, but less wild and sad:—
“I looked across the water,
I bent o’er it and listened,
I thought it was my lover,