Nevermore
will the eyes of Winona behold him.
Far away on the dark, rugged shore
of the blue _Gitchee Gumee_ he lingers.
No tidings the rising sun brings;
no tidings the star of the evening;
But morning and evening she sings,
like a turtle-dove widowed and waiting:
Ake u, ake u, ake u;
Ma cante maseeca.
Ake u, ake u, ake u;
Ma cante maseca.
Come again, come again, come again;
For my heart is sad.
Come again, come again, come again;
For my heart is sad.
DEATH OF WINONA.
Down the broad _Ha-Ha Wak-pa_[BS]
the band took their way to the Games at _Keoza_[8]
While the swift-footed hunters by land
ran the shores for the elk and the bison.
Like _magas_[BT] ride the birchen canoes
on the breast of the dark, winding river,
By the willow-fringed island they cruise,
by the grassy hills green to their summits;
By the lofty bluffs hooded with oaks
that darken the deep with their shadows;
And bright in the sun gleam the strokes
of the oars in the hands of the women.
With the band went Winona.
The oar plied the maid with the skill of a hunter.
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