我知道胆小的小鹿躲在阴凉的山谷深处，在那里，树叶宽阔，灌木丛隐藏着，枝干众多，枝叶缠绕，躲避猎人的眼睛。我知道年轻的五月紫罗兰在哪里生长，在它那孤寂而低洼的角落里，在长满青苔的河岸上，落叶松伸出它那乌黑的大枝，远远地越过寂静的小溪，庄严地安息着。当我溜到那只胆小的小鹿的秘密窝里时，它并不害怕;那朵年轻的五月紫罗兰对我来说是可爱的，我走近那寂静的小溪，去看那可爱的花。”马昆就这样唱着歌，轻快地走到山上的狩猎场;这是他的少女的歌，她在树林和岩石间，有着明亮的黑眼睛和乌黑的长发，她的声音像潺潺的溪水。他去追逐——但邪恶的眼睛在更厚的阴影中守望;因为她是那么可爱，对他的叹息微微一笑，他从一百个情人那里得到了他的奖品——森林少女的花。清晨的风吹动了树枝，树林的歌声更新了，有许多鸟儿的早歌，还有小溪的轻快的曲调，在榛树滴下露水的地方。马昆向他的黑发少女许诺，在黑夜将把天空染红之前，一只良善的马鹿，从林荫中窜出，与鹿群一起，穿过小树林和林间空地，将躺在她的小屋门口。 The hollow woods, in the setting sun, Ring shrill with the fire-bird's lay; And Maquon's sylvan labours are done, And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won He bears on his homeward way. He stops near his bower--his eye perceives Strange traces along the ground-- At once to the earth his burden he heaves, He breaks through the veil of boughs and leaves, And gains its door with a bound. But the vines are torn on its walls that leant, And all from the young shrubs there By struggling hands have the leaves been rent, And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent, One tress of the well-known hair. But where is she who, at this calm hour, Ever watched his coming to see? She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower; He calls--but he only hears on the flower The hum of the laden bee. It is not a time for idle grief, Nor a time for tears to flow; The horror that freezes his limbs is brief-- He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf Of darts made sharp for the foe. And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet, Where he bore the maiden away; And he darts on the fatal path more fleet Than the blast that hurries the vapour and sleet O'er the wild November day. 'Twas early summer when Maquon's bride Was stolen away from his door; But at length the maples in crimson are dyed, And the grape is black on the cabin side,-- And she smiles at his hearth once more. But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold, Where the yellow leaf falls not, Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold, There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould, In the deepest gloom of the spot. And the Indian girls, that pass that way, Point out the ravisher's grave; 'And how soon to the bower she loved,' they say, 'Returned the maid that was borne away From Maquon, the fond and the brave.'