Originally Published by Henry Payot & Company,
Publishers.
Oh come with me, sweet Indian maid,
My light canoe is by the shore—
We'll ride the river's tide, my love,
And thou shalt charm the dripping oar.
Methinks thy hand could guide so well
The tiny vessel in its course;
The waves would smooth its crests to thee,
As I have done my spirit's force.
How calmly will we glide, my love,
Thro' moonlight drifting on the deep,
Or, loving yet the safer shore,
Beneath the fringing willows creep!
Again like some wild duck we'll skim,
And scarcely touch the water's face,
While silver gleams our way shall mark,
And circling lines of beauty trace.
And then the stars shall shine above
In harmony with those below,
And gazing up and looking down,
Give glance for glance, and glow for glow.
And all their light shall be our own,
Commingled with our souls, and sweet
As are those orbs of bliss shall be
Our hearts and lips that melting meet.
At last we'll reach you silent isle,
So calm and green amidst the waves,—
So peaceful, too, it does not spurn
The friendly tide its shore that laves.
We'll draw our vessel on the sand,
And seek the shadow of those trees,
Where all alone and undisturbed,
We'll talk and love as we may please.
And then thy voice will be so soft
‘T will match the whisper of the leaves,
And then thy breast shall yield its sigh
So like the wavelet as it heaves!
And oh! That eye so dark and free,
So like a spirit in itself!
And then that hand so sweetly small
It would not shame the loveliest elf!
The world might perish all for me,
So that it left that little isle;
The human race might pass away,
If thou remainedst with thy smile.
Then haste, mine own dear Indian maid,
My boat is waiting on its oar;
We'll float upon the tide, my love,
And gaily reach that islet's shore.
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