But one sweet floweret flourish’d there,
Beneath the aged monarch’s care,
Whose bloom that happy bower had bless’d
With brighter charms than all the rest.
’Twas his loved daughter--she had been
The comfort of his widowhood
For twelve long years; through grove and glen
She roam’d with him the pathless wood,
And wheresoe’er that old man hied,
Fair Metoka[B] was ever at his side.
She was the gem of her father’s home,
The pride and joy of his forest cell;
And if alone she chanced to roam
To pluck the rose and gay hairbell,
The rudest savage stopp’d and smiled,
Whene’er he met the monarch’s child.