But one sweet floweret flourish’d there

But one sweet floweret flourish’d there, Beneath the aged monarch’s care, Whose bloom that happy bower had bless’d With brighter charms than all the rest. ’Twas his loved daughter—she had been The comfort of his widowhood For twelve long years; through grove and glen She roam’d with him the pathless wood, And wheresoe’er that old man hied, Fair Metoka was ever at his side. She was the gem of her father’s home, The pride and joy of his forest cell; And if alone she chanced to roam To pluck the rose and gay hairbell, The rudest savage stopp’d and smiled, Whene’er he met the monarch’s child.