Bring down for them the elk or roe,

Whose hatchet shall defend their home

When hostile tribes with war-cries come!

Oh! spare the white chief, that his voice

His wife’s sad bosom may rejoice;

Oh! spare him, that his hand may dry

The teardrop in his mother’s eye!”

But stern the Indian’s answer; vain

Her pleading words, her warm endeavour,

The murderers’ clubs are raised again