To wed the Demon Death,
Beneath the ocean's sluggish tide,
A thousand feet beneath!
The fair youth who hath warped thy mind,
He loves a snow-white maid!
Then know'st it!--now not long confined,
Thou'lt fly the greenwood shade.
'Tis night on lone Atlantic's deep,
And summer o'er that placid sea,
The stars watch Earth's scarce-breathing sleep--
Oh! she sleeps deeply--tenderly.
What figure o'er yon bluff that scowls,
Upon the smiling water?
Ah! whose that wild and freezing howl?
It is the forest's daughter.
One moment,--and the hollow moan
Of billows sings her funeral song;--
In sooth, it was a dreadful tone,
And it will haunt us long.
This is the brief and mournful tale
Of one who loved in vain;--
She slept not in the flowery vale,
But in the deep, deep main,
They tell she was a demon's bride,
But now a wondrous wail,
Each night swells o'er the peaceful tide,
And through the loudest gale.
Watoga was her Indian name,
The white men called her yellow-flower;--
And evil fire, a poisonous flame,