As well the happy power, and bid her live!
My name, me thinks, would be the first to break
The seal of silence, on those lips, and wake
Once more the smile that charmed her gentle face,
As she was wont to fold me in her warm embrace.
Yes, it is she, “Preloch,” Nocona’s pale-faced bride,
Who rode, a matchless princess, at his side,
’Neath many a bloody moon afar,
O’er tortuous paths devoted alone to war.
Long since she’s joined him on that blissful shore,—