"The Stolen White Girl" by John Rollin Ridge
And proud on his the wild half-breed may ride,
With the belt round his waist and the knife at his side.
And no white man claim his beautiful bride.
Though he stole her away from the land of the whites,
Pursuit is in vain, for her bosom delights
In the love that she bears the dark-eyed, the proud,
Whose glance is like starlight beneath a night-cloud.
Far down in the depths of the forest they'll stray,
Where the shadows like night are lingering all day;
Where the flowers are springing up wild at their feet,
And the voices of birds in the branches are sweet.
Together they'll roam by the streamlets that run,
O'ershadowed at times then meeting the sun—
The streamlets that soften their varying tune,
As up the blue heavens calm wanders the moon!
The contrast between them is pleasing and rare;
Her sweet eye of blue, and her soft silken hair,
Her beautiful waist, and her bosom of white
That heaves to the touch with a sense of delight;
His form more majestic and darker his brow,
Where the sun has imparted its liveliest glow
An eye that grows brighter with passion's true fire,
As he looks on his loved one with earnest desire.
Oh, never let Sorrow's cloud darken their fate,
The girl of the '' pale face" her Indian mate!
But deep in the forest of shadows and flowers,
Let Happiness smile, as she wings their sweet hours.