At early dawn, the Indian Maid,
NELEME left her rosy bower
To wander in the forest’s shade
Kiss’d by the morn’s delicious hour;
’Twas there here warrior told his love,
’Twas there he bade “Farewell!”
Twelve rounded moons had shone above,
And yet he came not to the dell
For war he left “the Morning Star,”
For war he left “the Morning Star.”
She heard the rustle of each bough
Again above the breezy plain;
Her heart was shadow’d like her brow;
She cried,— “my Warrior Love is slain!”
Ah, woe is me! the day beams burn
Again the spring’s green branches wave
But he will never more return
The foeman dances on his grave:
Ah! lonely shines “the morning star”,
“the morning star.”
’Twas there an Indian fairy stood
Before the lovely girl, and cried,
“Oh! see how glitters all the wood
With rosy chaplets for a bride!
She look’d, her “Brave” was in the glade.
He smiled and bounded to her side.
He clasp’d and kissed his Indian Maid.
The fading fairy cried, a bride!
And laughing left “the morning star”,
left “the morning star.”

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