Mother's darling, my Chilina,
More than jewels bright and dear!
Whiter wast thou than the hill-snow,
Than the rice more pure and fine;
Now thy body is on the tola,
And thy soul where angels shine;
Ah, Chilina! why this cruel
Haste to leave me, daughter mine?
O Chilina! thou didst keep me
Like a lady of the land;