Then, as she gazed adown the stream,
Her eyes were all aglow
With that deep yearning passion
Such hearts alone can know.
While sitting in the boat erect,
With an Indian's willowy grace,
She sang in tuneful numbers
A song time can't efface:
"I am coming, coming, coming,
Slowly drifting down the stream,
While my heart is yearning, yearning
For the idol of love's dream.
"I have left them—left them—left them!
Farewell, treacherous Indian race;
I can hear him calling, calling,
And I go to seek his face.
"Now I'm gliding, gliding, gliding!
And I hear the awful roar
Of the waters tumbling, tumbling,
Where no boat will need an oar!
"Now I'm rushing, rushing, rushing!
And the spray obscures my sight;
The angry waters leaping, leaping,
Chill me with a strange affright.
"Oh, I see him! see him—see him,
And I welcome death's alarms!