Far up the Chickahominy
The banks are green and fair,
And through the groves of Orapakes
There breathes a balmy air;
And there beneath tall shady trees
A quiet lodge is found;
Bright birds are darting through the boughs
And hopping on the ground;
Refreshing waters from the hills
Through groves and valleys glide;
And gentle deer come down to drink
By the cool river-side;
And there among the stout old trees,
From toil and conflict free,
The aged monarch moves about,
And muses silently.
He sighs to think of his distant child
At night on his bed of fur:
And if he sleep in the lonely hours,
’Tis but to dream of her.
And he thinks of her in his sunny walks,
With the sportive deer about,
And he thinks of her by the bending brook
Where glides the golden trout.