Remember well do I that first white face
That blessed my head, with hand t’wards heaven did smile,
Pah! I believed that grin!—had I known then
Those eyes gazed from the spirit heart of Hell
I’d slain him!—faith, ’tis true these strange white men
One virtue have when cooked—yes, they eat well!
Pass me the bowl, time ’tis to grieve, at most,
When in sick dying eyes the last stars sleep.
We’ve won our battles too, enjoyed the roast
Of what sweet foes! ’tis even so we reap