The bright-robed Shingiss ever stalks
With her through vernal bowers.
And Tonnaleuka, child of storm,
Comes forth from cavern dark,
With magic zone bound round his form,
And pouch with healing bark.
And where is she, the laughing maid,
With tress of ebon hue,
Who tripped so blithely through the glade,
Or sped the light canoe?