Six American Lyrics

O thou, mine other, stronger part!
    Whom yet I cannot hear, or see,
Come thou, and take this loving heart,
    That longs to yield its all to thee,
    I call mine own--Oh, come to me!
    Love, answer back, I come to thee,
       I come to thee.

This hungry heart, so warm, so large,
    Is far too great a care for me.
I have grown weary of the charge
    I keep so sacredly for thee.
    Come thou, and take my heart from me.
    Love, answer back, I come to thee,
       I come to thee.

I am aweary, waiting here
    For one who tarries long from me.
Oh! art thou far, or art thou near?
    And must I still be sad for thee?
    Or wilt thou straightway come to me?
    Love, answer, I am near to thee,
       I come to thee.

O praise me not with thy lips, dear one!
   Though thy tender words I prize.
But dearer by far is the soulful gaze
   Of your eyes, your beautiful eyes,
      Your tender, loving eyes.

O chide me not with your lips, dear one!
   Though I cause your bosom sighs.
You can make repentance deeper far
   By your sad, reproving eyes,
      Your sorrowful, troubled eyes.

Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds;
   Above, in the beaming skies,
The constant stars say never a word,
   But only smile with their eyes --
      Smile on with their lustrous eyes.

Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one;
   On the wingèd wind speech flies.
But I read the truth of your noble heart
   In your soulful, speaking eyes --
      In your deep and beautiful eyes.

The sands upon the ocean side
That change about with every tide,
And never true to one abide,
    A woman's love I liken to.
The summer zephyrs, light and vain,
That sing the same alluring strain
To every grass blade on the plain -- 
    A woman's love is nothing more.

The sunshine of an April day
That comes to warm you with its ray,
But while you smile has flown away -- 
    A woman's love is like to this.

God made poor woman with no heart,
But gave her skill, and tact, and art,
And so she lives, and plays her part.
    We must not blame, but pity her.

She leans to man -- but just to hear
The praise he whispers in her ear;
Herself, not him, she holdeth dear -- 
    O fool! to be deceived by her.

To sate her selfish thirst she quaffs
The love of strong hearts in sweet draughts,
Then throws them lightly by, and laughs,
    Too weak to understand their pain.

As changeful as the winds that blow
From every region to and fro,
Devoid of heart, she cannot know
    The suffering of a human heart.

The Dark eye has left us,
     The Spring-bird has flown;
On the pathway of spirits
     She wanders alone.
The song of the wood-dove has died on our shore:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We hear it no more!

O dark water Spirit!
     We cast on thy wave
These furs which may never
     Hang over her grave;
Bear down to the lost one the robes that she wore:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

Of the strange land she walks in
     No Powah has told:
It may burn with the sunshine,
     Or freeze with the cold.
Let us give to our lost one the robes that she wore:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

The path she is treading
     Shall soon be our own;
Each gliding in shadow
     Unseen and alone!
In vain shall we call on the souls gone before:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! They hear us no more!

O mighty Sowanna!
     Thy gateways unfold,
From thy wigwam of sunset
     Lift curtains of gold!
Take home the poor Spirit whose journey is o'er:
     Mat wonck kunna-monee! We see her no more!

So sang the Children of the Leaves beside
     The broad, dark river's coldly flowing tide;
Now low, now harsh, with sob-like pause and swell,
     On the high wind their voices rose and fell.
Nature's wild music, -- sounds of wind-swept trees,
     The scream of birds, the wailing of the breeze,
The roar of waters, steady, deep, and strong, --
     Mingled and murmured in that farewell song.

O ship, that sailest slowly, slowly on,
Make haste before a wasting life is gone!
Make haste that I may catch a fleeting breath!
And true in life, be true e'en unto death.

O ship, sail on! and bear me o'er the tide
To her for whom my woman's heart once died.
Sail, sail, O ship! for she hath need of me,
And I would know what her last wish may be!
I have been true, so true, through all the past,
Sail, sail, O ship! I would not fail at last.

Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows - through doors - burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
[Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet - no happiness must he have now with his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain,
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums - so shrill you bugles blow.]1

Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow!
[Over the traffic of cities - over the rumble of wheels in the streets;]1
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? 
No sleepers must sleep in those beds --
[No bargainers bargains by day - no brokers or speculators - would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums --]1 you bugles wilder blow.

[Beat! beat! drums!]1 - blow! bugles! blow!
[Make no parley - stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid - mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums - so loud you bugles blow.]1