102
A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON.
The waterfall is calling me
With its merry gleesome flow,
And the green boughs are beckoning me,
To where the wild flowers grow:
With its merry gleesome flow,
And the green boughs are beckoning me,
To where the wild flowers grow:
I may not go, I may not go,
To where the sunny waters flow,
To where the wild wood flowers blow;
I must stay here
In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
To where the sunny waters flow,
To where the wild wood flowers blow;
I must stay here
In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
The busy mill-wheel round and round
Goes turning, with its reckless sound,
And o'er the dam the waters flow
Into the foaming stream below,
And deep and dark away they glide,
To meet the broad, bright river's tide;
Goes turning, with its reckless sound,
And o'er the dam the waters flow
Into the foaming stream below,
And deep and dark away they glide,
To meet the broad, bright river's tide;
