CHIPPEWA FLUTE SONG
9
Hah-eeeeeeeee-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo!From the clouds of purple twilight on yonder shore the wailing loon is calling, calling, calling for his woman drearily.And I am also calling on my little yellow flute wearily.In the dewy glade of yonder valley the whip-poor-will is crying for his mate;In the somber lonely shadows of the timber the melancholy owl is also calling.But the owl and the whip-poor-will do not hear an answer to their many, many callings—Nor do I hear an answer to my melody.The meadow-lark is fluting his golden song; and from the lilied meadows other golden notes come floating back to him like little golden bells.And though the meadow-lark does not sing more tenderly than my little yellow flute, you do not answer my callings,My little Pigeon-Woman,My Kah-lée-lee-óh-kah-láy-kway!
Hah-eeeeeeeee-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo!And now the purple wings of the night are softly folded down upon my sleeping little lake, and the sighing silver balsams.
