The Republican journal., 1903-12-24
An Old Song And Response.

AlKdIdtCs ~ 10 ouAu, w 40 & AVOA Wv SAAO
time to many children, horses and
boats. The words are as follows:
Wild roved an Indian girl,
Bright Alfarata,
Where sweeps the waters
Of the blue Juniata.
Swift as an antelope,
Through the forest going,
Loose were her jetty locks
In waving tresses flowing.
Cav was the mountain song
Of bright Alfarata,
Where sweeps the waters
OF the blue ,Juniata.
Strong and true my arrows are
In my painted quiver,
Swift goes my light canoe
Adown the rapid river.
Bold is my warrior good,
The love of Alfarata;
Proud waves his snowy plume
Along the Juniata.
Soft and low he speaks to me-.
And then, his War-cry sounding,
Rings his voice in thunder loud,
From height to height resounding.
So sang the Indian girl,
Bright Alfarata,
Where sweeps the waters
OF the blue Junlata,
Fleeting years have borne away
The voice of Alfarata;
Still sweeps the river on
Blue Juniata.
The song was favorite of General
Sherman, ana the following lncldenC
will doubtless be interesting in this
connection: .'On beautiful summer
night, when the great captain was
sweeping through Georgia, as he quiet
ly sat in front of his tent, his ear
Lo foi, OF of Il faunrit
melody which one of the bands was
playing in the distance. He listened
with evident delight, and as the last
notes of the music were borne away on
the evening breeze, he dispatched an
orderly to request its repetition. 1t
was played number OF times by the
band, and being taken up by the men
at camp-fires, was borne with the
greatest enthusiasm from hilltop to
hilltop far into the night. The mel
ody which produced such a thrilling
effect upon the great chieftain and his
war-worn veterans was of 'The Blue
Juniata"
A "Response to the Blue Juniata,' by
the Rev. Cyrus Cort, then of Altoona,
Pa, appeared in the March 1S66) num-
Der of The Guardian, published in Phil
adelphia. 1t is as follows:
The Indian girl has ceased to rove,
Along the winding river;
The warrior brave that won her love
Is gone with bow and quiver.
The valley rears another race,
Where flows the Juniata;
There maidenS rove with paler face
Than that of Alfarata.
Where pine trees moan her requiem wall,
nd Ina
Through mountain gorge and fertile vale
A louder note is swelling.
A hundred years have rolled around,
The red man has departed;
The hills give back a wilder sound
Than warriors hoop e'er started
With piercing neigh the iron steed
Now sweeps along the waters,
And bears with more than wild deer speed
The white mans sons and daughters.
The products, too, of every cline
Are borne along the river,
Where roved the brave in olden time
With naught but bow and qulver.
The engine and the telegraph
Have wrought some wondrous changes
Since rang the Indian maiden's laugh
Along the mountain ranges.
'Tis grand to see what art has done
The world is surely wiser
What triumphS white mans skill has won
With steam, the civilizer.
But still, methinkS, I'd rather hear
The song of Alfarata-
Would rather chase the fallow deer
Along the Juniata.
For fondly now my heart esteems
This Indian song and story;
Yes, grander far old nature seems
Than art in all its glory.
Roll on, thou classic Keystone stream
Thou peerless little river
Fulfil the poets brightest dream,
And be a joy forever!
AS generations come and go
Each one its part repeating
The waters keep their constant flow,
Still down to ocean ieeting.
And while thy blue waves seek the sea
Thou lovely Juniata!
Surprising sweet thy name shall be
For sake of Alfarata.