Ulmarra
Alone—alone!With a heart like a stone,She maketh her moanAt the feet of the trees,With her face on her knees,And her hair streaming over;Wildly, and wildly, and wildly;For she misses the tracks of her lover!Do you hear her, Ulmarra?Oh, where are the tracks of her lover?
Go by—go by!They have told her a lie,Who said he was nigh,In the white-cedar glen—In the camps of his men:And she sitteth there weeping—Weeping, and weeping, and weeping,For the face of a warrior sleeping!Do you hear her, Ulmarra?Oh! where is her warrior sleeping?
A dream! a dream!That they saw a bright gleamThrough the dusk boughs stream,Where wild bees dwell,And a tomahawk fell,In moons which have faded;Faded, and faded, and faded,From woods where a chieftain lies shaded!Do you hear her, Ulmarra?Oh! where doth her chieftain lie shaded?
Bewail! bewail!Who whispered a tale,That they heard on the gale,Through the dark and the cold,The voice of the bold;And a boomerang flying;Flying, and flying, and flying?Ah! her heart it is wasted with crying—Do you hear her, Ulmarra?Oh! her heart it is wasted with crying!