And silently he follow'd her
Far up the mountain-brow;
Far from the white man's glitt'ring tents,
Down in the vale below.
At last they reach'd a tow'ring rock,
Which cast its cooling shade
Far down the rugged mountain's steep,
And there her pace she stay'd.
"Come, father, sit and rest thee now
From the fierce heat of strife;
I'll bring thee corn and milk to stay
The fainting spring of life."
She hurried to a neighb'ring cave
And brought thence milk and corn,
And, kneeling at his feet, she fed
The warrior war-worn.
The father look'd down on his child,
And smiled to see her care;
Long time he spoke not, silently
He stroked her shining hair.
"Sweet Amakeya! I am rich
Since thou art left to me—
The white man's Queen's not half so rich
As I, when I have thee.
"To-morrow, child, we'll leave this land,
Where thou wert born and bred;
To-morrow we must seek a home
Unknown to white man's tread.
