Beneath the light of a bright starry night Sat a lonely little Indian maid. "No lover’s sweet serenade, has ever won me." As in a dream, it would seem, down a stream, Gaily paddling his tiny canoe, A chieftain longing to woo, sang her this song: 
CHORUS: "Your voice is ringing, my Silver Bell. Under its spell, I’ve come to tell You of the love I am bringing, o’er hill and dell. Happy will dwell my Silver Bell." 
For many moons, many tunes, many spoons Woke the echo of the silver night. As down the stream gleaming bright they float a-dreaming. In his canoe, only two sat to woo As they listened to the sigh of the breeze That seemed to sing to the trees this sweet refrain: 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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