Chorus of Indian Women.
Ah, Minahita! sister fair,
What lot with thine can now compare?
’Mid all the daughters of our race
Peerless in beauty and in grace.
More blest than if in wifehood’s pride
Thou stood’st at some young warrior’s side,
Or with fair children round thy knee
Didst crown thy young maternity!
III.
MINAHITA.
My heart is throbbing with solemn joy,
May no earthly thoughts that bliss alloy,
By Sachems chosen and tribesmen all—
I gladly lead, and obey the call!
TOLONGA.
Ah, spoken well, my daughter, and worthy of thy sires,
Who’ve ever held an honored place around our council fires!
My foot treads earth more proudly, my heart beats quick and high,
To know that, like a Sachem’s child, my daughter goes to die!
Though Mamtou denied me a son to glad mine age,
To follow in the warpath when our foes fierce combat wage.
I offer him, with grateful heart, thanksgiving deep and warm
That he has placed a warrior’s heart within thy fragile form.
Aria.
Just sixteen spring-tides hast thou seen
Beneath the forest shade,
And ever sweet and mild of mien,
Like sunbeam hast thou played
Around my widowed home and heart—
Yet thou and I must quickly part.
As firmly as the towering oak,
Deep rooted in the earth,
Can brave the storm and thunder stroke,
So, even from thy birth,
Deep love for thee hath held my heart,
And yet, ungrieving, must we part.