Where the tall cedars are, and the bright waters flow,
Where my parents will greet me—white man, let me go.
Let me go to the spot where the cataract plays,
Where oft I have sported in my boyish days;
There is my poor mother, whose heart will o’erflow
At the sight of her child—oh, there let me go.
Let me go to the hills and the valleys so fair,
Where oft I have breathed my own mountain air;
And there through the forest, with quiver and bow,
I have chased the wild deer—oh, there let me go.