miscellaneous poems.
127
O'er the mountain's lofty bosom
With wearied steps and slow
They come—now thread the valley,
Now reach the water's flow.
They dip their way-worn bonnets
In the wave, to cool their thirst,
When, with whoop and yell, the Indians
From their ambush madly burst.
With wearied steps and slow
They come—now thread the valley,
Now reach the water's flow.
They dip their way-worn bonnets
In the wave, to cool their thirst,
When, with whoop and yell, the Indians
From their ambush madly burst.
Now circles high the hatchet,
Now gleams the sharpen'd knife;
Like deer at gaze, each victim
Gives up his panting life.
They sink, they bleed, they struggle,
The stream is tinged with gore,
And those who stooped to drink it
The waters have passed o'er.
Now gleams the sharpen'd knife;
Like deer at gaze, each victim
Gives up his panting life.
They sink, they bleed, they struggle,
The stream is tinged with gore,
And those who stooped to drink it
The waters have passed o'er.
One moment, and they rally,
On the treach'rous foeman turn,
And to revenge their comrades,
With stern resolve they burn;
For days the foe are hunted
On the treach'rous foeman turn,
And to revenge their comrades,
With stern resolve they burn;
For days the foe are hunted
