A swarm of red warriors in birch bark canoes, their prows threading silver and gold.
Algonquins and Hurons, Montagnais as well, bedaubed with yellow and red,
While the plumes of the heron and eaglet wave forth, like flags from each clean-shaven head.
In front of them all sits a warrior white, with breastplate and greaves of hard steel;
As the paddles flash keenly, he gazes serenely, and smiles as the warriors wheel.
They wheel into line with yells and with cries, as another wild party draws near,
From the southward they come, while the weird, moaning drum booms forth a death-slogan clear.
“The dread Iroquois! The bad Iroquois!” reëchoes from stem and from stern,
While loud, yelping cries ascend to the skies, as Algonquins and fierce Hurons turn.