E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay! 
    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay! 
    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay! 
  Ma-kah kin hay-chay-dan tay-han wan-kay. 
  Tu-way ne ktay snee e-yay-chen e-wah chay. 
    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay! 
    E-yo-tan-han e-yay-wah-ke-yay! 
Ma-kah kin hay-chay-dan tay-han wan-kay.

[TRANSLATION].

    Sore is my sorrow! 
    Sore is my sorrow! 
    Sore is my sorrow! 
  The earth alone lasts. 
  I speak as one dying;
    Sore is my sorrow! 
    Sore is my sorrow! 
  The earth alone lasts.

Still hope, like a star in the night
          gleaming oft through the broken clouds somber,
Cheered the heart of Winona, and bright
          on her dreams beamed the face of the Frenchman. 
As the thought of a loved one and lost,
          sad and sweet were her thoughts of the White Chief;
In the moon’s mellow light, like a ghost,
          walked Winona alone by the Ha-Ha,
Ever wrapped in a dream.  Far away—­
          to the land of the sunrise—­she wandered;
On the blue-rolling Tanka-Mede[BR]
          in the midst of her dreams, she beheld him—­
In his white-winged canoe, like a bird,
          to the land of Dakotas returning,

[BR] Lake Superior,—­The Gitchee Gumee of the Chippewas.

And often in fancy she heard
          the dip of his oars on the river. 
On the dark waters glimmered the moon,
          but she saw not the boat of the Frenchman. 
On the somber night bugled the loon,
          but she heard not the song of the boatmen. 
The moon waxed and waned, but the star
          of her hope never waned to the setting;
Through her tears she beheld it afar,
          like a torch on the eastern horizon. 
“He will come,—­he is coming,” she said;
          “he will come, for my White Eagle promised,”
And low to the bare earth the maid
          bent her ear for the sound of his footsteps,
“He is gone, but his voice in my ear
          still remains like the voice of the robin;
He is far, but his footsteps I hear;
          he is coming; my White Chief is coming!”
But the moon waxed and waned.  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.