_Ob: 1831, æt. 27._
Thy wave has ne'er by gondolier
Been dash'd aside with flashing oar,
Nor festive train to music's strain
Performed the dance upon thy shore.
But there, at night, beneath the light
Of silent moon and twinkling ray,
The Indian's boat is seen to float,
And track its lonely way.
The Indian maid, in forest glade,
Of flowers that earliest grow,
And fragrant leaves, a garland weaves
To deck her warrior's brow.
And when away, at break of day,
She hies her to her shieling dear,
She sings so gay a roundelay,
That echo stops to hear.
Would it were mine to join with thine,
And dwell for ever here,
In forest wild with nature's child,
By the silent Cayost[=e]a.
My joy with thee would ever be
Along these banks to roam;
And fortune take beside the lake,
Whose clime is freedom's home.