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THE WHITE STONE CANOE.
49
Begging mercy for the captives
That they might be spared from torture.
But the sights of that strange voyage
Filled the lovers' hearts with sorrow.
Fathoms deep, beneath the water,
Strewn upon the sandy reaches,
Scatter'd o'er the rocky ledges,
Lay the forms of those who perished
On their passage towards the Island.
All around them in the waters,
Old and young were struggling, sinking,
Men and maidens without number,
Of all nations, tribes and kindreds.
Ancient chiefs and famous warriors,
Came with shouts of hope and triumph,
Dashed their paddles through the surges,
Laughing at the foaming billows.
Yain were all their fierce exertions,
Useless all their foolish shouting;
