Arise—come thou with me!
Echucha waits in silent glade,
Her eyes the eagle’s gaze assume,
As daylight’s golden glories fade,
To catch afar her hunter’s plume,—
But naught, naught can she see.
Her hair is decked with ocean shell,
The vermeil bright is on her brow,
The peag zone enclasps her well,
Her heart is sad beneath it now,