Or beside our Indian fountains,
Raise my tiny hip hallo.
SONG OF A CAPTIVE CREEK GIRL,
Who was an exile in a distant northern tribe, confined on an island in Lake Superior.
To sunny vales, to balmy skies,
My thoughts, a flowery arrow, flies;
I see the wood, the bank, the glade,
Where first, a wild wood girl, I played.
I think on scenes and faces dear;