The arrow 'neath its wing;
'Twill sit and mourn, 'twill droop and die,
It never more will sing.
"To-morrow is a little word,
But, oh, how big with woe!
Did poor Lueka hear or dream,
'To-morrow I must go?'
"Lueka, list, my bird, my fawn,
I will return again
Before the harvest moon looks down