(Dennison Woodcock)
Some Senecas once went away
In search of food and game;
They wandered on from day to day,
To little Toby came.
An Indian maiden blithe and gay
Was one among the throng;
Who often cheered them on their way
With loving words and song.
She trod as lightly as the fawn;
Her song the hours beguiled;
Her voice was heard at early dawn
Through the green forest wild.
Her song of joy is hushed and gone,
Nor echoes through the glade;
For death has placed his mark upon
That sprightly Indian maid.
A mother's joy, a father's pride,
They could not save their child;
So the Indian maiden died
Far in the forest wild.
They would not leave her body there,
So far from home away;
But bore it with a zealous care,
Many a weary day.
Come to a spring that met the stream
That passed their happy home;
Buried her by the moonlight gleam
Beneath the starry dome.
They often came to view the spot
Where Dehewamis lay;
Till father, mother, sister, brother,
All had passed away.
The water gushes from the spring,
The lofty maples wave;
The summer birds their carols sing
O'er her lonely grave.