“Ho-bo-mo-co, evil Spirit,
Hiding darkly in the forest,
Making shadow in the sunshine,
You have stolen her away.
“She was like the flowers in spring time,
She was like the singing waters,
She was like the summer sunshine,
Neen wo-ma-su! She is dead!
“Hear me! Hear me, O Great Spirit!
I will bring thee Bear and Bison,
I will bring thee Beads and Wampum;
Wilt thou give her back to me?
“Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su!
O my darling! My Oweena!
Mat-ta-neen won-ka-met na-men,
I shall never see thee more!”
Ceaseless was her plaintive wailing,
Even when the fair Oweena
Slept beneath the pine trees’ shadow,
In the green and silent forest,
Where the birds sang in the branches,
Where the roses of the summer,
And the vines, with slender fingers,
Clasped their loving hands above her.
From the lodge of Massa-wam-sett,
While the brave old chieftain slumbered,
In the silence of the midnight,
To the grave stole Nah-me-o-ka,
Pouring forth her lamentations:
“Neen wo-ma-su! Neen wo-ma-su!
Mat-ta-neen won-ka-met na-men,
I shall never see thee more!”
Once, the tempest, on its war-path,
Painted all the sky with blackness,
Sped the arrows of the lightning,
And the war-whoop of the thunder,
Made the mighty forest tremble.
But it moved not Nah-me-o-ka,
Only moaning, “Neen wo-ma-su!
I shall never see thee more!”
All the forest leaves were weeping,
And the black wings of the darkness,
Brooding over Nah-me-o-ka,
Filled her with a chilling shudder:
And the thunder seemed to mutter
With a cruel exultation,
“You shall never see her more.”
But thereafter came a whisper—
“I am with you, O my mother!
For I cannot turn my footsteps
To the land of the Great Spirit,
While I hear your mournful wailing,
Calling, calling me again.
“In the hunting-grounds beyond me
There are sunshine, peace and plenty,
But I wander, sad and lonely,
In the land of death and darkness,
Listening only to your cry.