So tall, so straight, so beautiful, an eye like diamonds bright,
Not one could beat him in the chase, by night or broad daylight;
And when upon the war–path with the braves he started out,
The death–song of his enemies would plainly mark his route.
But, ah, alas! the wampum to make him all her own.
She did not have the needful, for she had poorly grown;
And often on the placid Lake, within her log canoe.
She pondered long and deeply on just what she should do.
One day, when very sad indeed, a long way out from shore,