Stone head war clubs, wrapped with rawhide;
Shields of oakwood, tough and heavy.
Women decked the braves with feathers,
Robes of fur, and charms of seashell;
Roused their courage with the stories
Of the prowess of their Fathers;
Cheered with songs of deeds of valor
Of the heroes of the Tamals;
While the children, heavy hearted,
Watched the scene in wide-eyed wonder.

Every day the Chieftain's daughters,
As twin sentinels were standing
On the hill between the valley
And the blue expanse of ocean.

Every day they watched the Morning
Reach his rosy fingers upward,
From behind the eastern mountains,
Painting with an elfin fancy,
Crimson edges on the cloudbanks;
Then erasing and repainting
Them with gold or mauve or amber;
Always changing, as his fancy
Swayed the child to blend the colors;
Till Old Father Sun uprising,
Drove his elfin son to shelter
From the dazzle of his presence.

All day long the faithful sisters