The Lass of Mohe

As I went a-walking one morning in May,
For fond recreation the time passed away,
As I sat amusing myself by a pass
There chanced to come along a fine Indian lass.

She sat down beside me, took hold of my hand,
Saying, “You are a stranger, far from your own land,
But if you will go with me you are welcome to come,
For I live by myself in a snug little home.”

The sun was a-sinking down in the salt sea
When I went a-walking with a lass of Mohe;
We walked and we talked till we came to her home,
And there stood her cot in a cocoanut grove.

I tarried all night till the day did appear,
My ship being ready, for home I must steer,
“Good morning, good morning, fare you well, oh, my dear,
My ship it is ready and for home I must steer.”

With the fondest expression this fair one did say,
“If you will stay with me and not go away,
If you will stay with me and leave the salt sea,
I will teach you the language of the Isle of Mohe.”

I said, “My fair lady, that never can be,
For I have a true sweetheart in my own country.”
And I would not forsake her for her poverty,
Her face is more fair than the lass of Mohe.

And now I am home in my own native land,
And friends and relations around me do stand
But of all that come near me or of all that I see,
There is none can compare with the lass of Mohe.

For this Indian lass she was modest and kind,
She acted her part so beautiful and fine,
When I was a stranger she took me to her home,
And I’ll think on the Mohe as I wander alone.