She cries aloud, she laughing cries,
And tears are streaming from her eyes:
"O splendid, kingly Idaho,
I kiss his lifted crest of snow;
I see him clutch the bended bough!
'Tis cleft--he turns! is coming now!
"My tall and tawny king, come back!
Come swift, O sweet; why falter so?
Come! Come! What thing has crossed your track
I kneel to all the gods I know.
O come, my manly Idaho!
Great Spirit, what is this I dread?
Why there is blood! the wave is red!
That wrinkled Chief, outstripped in race,
Dives down, and hiding from my face,
Strikes underneath!... He rises now!
Now plucks my hero's berry bough,
And lifts aloft his red fox head,
And signals he has won for me....
Hist softly! Let him come and see.
"O come! my white-crowned hero, come!
O come! and I will be your bride,
Despite yon chieftain's craft and might.
Come back to me! my lips are dumb,
My hands are helpless with despair;
The hair you kissed, my long, strong hair,
Is reaching to the ruddy tide,
That you may clutch it when you come.
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