 | Indian melodies |  |
[They tell me the men with a white-white face]
They tell me the men with a white-white face,
Belong to a purer, nobler race,
But why, if they do, and it may be so,
Do their tongues cry ‘yes’—and their actions ‘no?’
Belong to a purer, nobler race,
But why, if they do, and it may be so,
Do their tongues cry ‘yes’—and their actions ‘no?’
They tell me, that white is a heavenly hue,
And it may be so, but the sky is blue;
And the first of men—as our old men say,
Had earth-brown skins, and were made of clay.
And it may be so, but the sky is blue;
And the first of men—as our old men say,
Had earth-brown skins, and were made of clay.
But throughout my life, I've heard it said,
There's nothing surpasses a tint of red;
Oh, the white's man cheeks look pale and sad,
Compared to my beautiful Indian lad.
There's nothing surpasses a tint of red;
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Compared to my beautiful Indian lad.
Then let them talk of their race divine
Their glittering domes, and sparkling wine;
Give me a lodge, like my fathers had,
And my tall, straight, beautiful Indian lad.
Their glittering domes, and sparkling wine;
Give me a lodge, like my fathers had,
And my tall, straight, beautiful Indian lad.
| Indian melodies | |