The earth is white with the falling snow,
And white is the forest tree,
And my mocassin leaves no tell-tale print,
As I come to visit thee.
O! swift is my foot on the war-path, love,
And fleet on the red deer's trail,
But swifter far when at eve I come
To visit my maiden pale.

When the sun shines from a sky serene,
It ripens the tall fruit tree;
O! maid that wast born in the sunny east,
Thy love is the sun to me!
But the sky is sad without its beam,
When bloweth the stormy gale,
And sadder my heart when I roam alone,
Afar from my maiden pale.

O! maiden that comest from distant lands,
Where setteth the morning star,
My hand is open in days of peace,
And strong in the days of war!
And I come from the wigwams of my race,
My mocassin leaves no trail,
And I bound through the woods like a startled deer,
To visit my maiden pale.