They delved, but in vain, in famishing springs;
They sought, but in vain, the red Plumes to deploy;
Their thirst deeper burned, and the rain-plover’s wings
Brought no cloud to the air of the blue Illinois:
To the gray rock that hung
O’er the billows of blooms,
Where the rain-plover sung
In the dark under glooms,
And cool, cool ran the prairie river!
An Indian mother crept down to the tide,