DEHEWAMIS* * * *(Dennison Woodcock.)* * * *Some Senecas once went awayIn search of food and game;They wandered on from day to day,To little Toby came.An Indian maiden blithe and gayWas one among the throng;Who often cheered them on their wayWith loving words and song.She trod as lightly as the fawn;Her song the hours beguiled;Her voice was heard at early dawnThrough the green forest wild.Her song of joy is hushed and gone,Nor echoes through the glade;For death has placed his mark uponThat sprightly Indian maid.A mother's joy, a father's pride,They could not save their child;So the Indian maiden diedFar 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 streamThat passed their happy home;Buried her by the moonlight gleamBeneath the starry dome.They often came to view the spotWhere 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 singO'er her lonely grave.
Some Senecas once went awayIn search of food and game;They wandered on from day to day,To little Toby came.An Indian maiden blithe and gayWas one among the throng;Who often cheered them on their wayWith loving words and song.She trod as lightly as the fawn;Her song the hours beguiled;Her voice was heard at early dawnThrough the green forest wild.Her song of joy is hushed and gone,Nor echoes through the glade;For death has placed his mark uponThat sprightly Indian maid.A mother's joy, a father's pride,They could not save their child;So the Indian maiden diedFar 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 streamThat passed their happy home;Buried her by the moonlight gleamBeneath the starry dome.They often came to view the spotWhere 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 singO'er her lonely grave.