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And the gray cairn still points out her grave, Adown the vale of Weir.

And the maid of the hamlet points the spot,

And loves the tale to tell; And the Place of Grief is the name it bears,

Adown the dreary dell.



It happened (I forget the year)
Shortly after we came here;
All upon a summer day,
I was busy with the hay.
While I paused to wipe my face,
I could see with hurried pace,
Some one coming down the hill.
What! can that be lazy Bill?
Sure, there's something in the blast,
When poor Billy runs so fast!
Up he came, and down he sat,
Puff'd, and put aside his hat;
Wiped the sweat from off his face,
"Oh! my vitals, what a race:
Go, oh! go, and get your gun—
Or we're murdered every one!

All the Mohawks are upon us—
May the Lord have mercy on us!
They are thick as pigeons, hush ;—
Hear them yelling in the bush!
Death in any shape is horrid,
But 'tis awful to be worried.
Oh! to think that I came here
To he roasted like a deer;
Little did I think, oh dee!
That would be the end of me.
Had I but a gun and sword,
I would dash among the horde;
On the cannibals I'd set—
I'd do something desperate!"


Home we went, where all were arming,
And the thing looked quite alarming.
Children, with imploring looks,
Running into secret nooks;
Women, seeking hiding-places,
With their terror-stricken faces;
Men were running here and there,
Hunting weapons everywhere;

Any thing which could be found—
Aught which would inflict a wound;
For we all resolved we should
Sell our lives as dear's we could.


There was fighting Bill, from Kent,
(Bill was in his element,)
Stalking, like a soldier born,
With his gun and powder horn;
Then there was old soldier Hugh,
With his sword and musket too,
Like a general, there he stood,
In his old commanding mood;
Soon we mustered fifty men,
But of muskets only ten,
Seven pitchforks and a dirk,
They would help to do the work.
Each man had an axe at least,
And a will to do his best.
Soldier Hugh assumed command,
And the line of battle planned,
Sent his scouts, that he might know,
The manoeuvres of the foe.

Muskets to the front, said he,
Keep your ranks, and follow me.


Then with pulses beating high,
On we marched to do or die;
When we reached yon little height,
Then we halted for the fight:
There we all in silence stood,
Looking down upon the wood,
Then there rose a fearful yell,
As of fiends let loose from hell,
Which was answered by another,
From a little brushwood cover;
We could hear the arrows whirring,
And the very leaves seemed stirring.
"Now, my lads, be firm and steady,
And at the command be ready,
Pikemen, you protect the rear,
Presently we'll have them here."
Not a whisper, not a breath,
In a silence deep as death,
With grim faces, there we stood,
Looking down upon the wood;

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