James Herbert Morse (1841– )

A MELLOW lullaby the waters sound,

Of lively Shenandoah, Indian stream.

Oft do I lie upon the banks and dream

Myself away to some enchanted ground.

And many a bright day have I looked around—

Hearing a low, sweet, gurgling melody

That rose upon the ear harmoniously—

Thinking perhaps to see the face embrowned,

Dark eyes, and unlooped hair, and features wild,

Of some fair Indian mother singing low

A cradle-song beside her sleeping child,

Rocking her slender body to and fro,—

While in the leafy copse hard by, alone,

Stood her brown hut of bark, its warrior gone.