A-atana she was here.
A-atana I was dear.
She will never come again.
Chill my heart, O wind and rain.
A-atana she was here.
Hark, the wind asks "Hi-you?"
And I answer "A-coo,
Ustey with your bitter cold;
U-ga-sha, my love of old."
Still the wind asks "Hi-you?"
"Hi-you?" I know not where.
A-oo, I hardly care.
Take it to the land of snow;
Take it where the stars all go.
"Hi-you?" I do not care.
It-sau-i did it all—
It-sau-i, proud and tall.
Tell her I have gone to fight.
Ask her if her heart is light.
It-sau-i did it all.
[1]
A-atana, yesterday. Hi-you, where. A-coo, here. U's-tey, come, or bring. U'-ga-sha, go, or take. A-oo, yes. I have no authority for the spelling of these words. I rendered them phonetically from the pronunciation of a young Apache whom I hired to teach me the language. Many Apache words have no perceptible accent. A, here, has the sound of a in father.