Lo! by the river-shore Wenona weeping,
Lashed to its cradle-bed her young child sleeping,
While 'neath the forest trees the dead leaves lying,
Mournful, and sad, and low, the autumn winds are sighing.
Lists she to hear his footstep proud advancing?
Gazes, to see his tomahawk brightly glancing?
Watching the tossing waves, weary and lonely,
Faithful her breaking heart, loving him only.
Raising her drooping form, hearing her infant cry,
Pressing him to her breast, sings she a lullaby.