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AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JAMES P. BECKWOURTH.
No brother to revenge his wrongs—
The war-path is my road:
A few more days I'll sing his songs,
Then hie to his abode."
I've heard her say, I'll be your bride;
You've waited long, I know;
A hundred foes by me have died,
By my own hand laid low.
'Tis for my nation's good I wed;
For I would still be free
Until I slumber with the dead;
But I will marry thee."
And when I left the heroine,
A tear stood in her eye
As last I held her hand in mine,
And whispered a good-bye,
"Oh, will you soon return again?"
The heroine did say;
"Yes, when the green grass decks the plain,"
I said, and came away.
THE END.
UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CULLWORTH AND LONDON.
