They turn and they wheel, form in battle array; but the Iroquois dart to the shore,
Where they rush to the forest to cut down the trees, and hasten as never before.
Night comes; as the smothering blackness creeps on, there are dances and songs on the lake,
While on shore the deep drum makes a low, whining hum, e’en as branches and war-bonnets shake.
Day breaks at last, and the shrill trumpet’s blast—wakes the stillness in forest and glade,
’Tis the dawning of death, for the grim specter’s breath has blown o’er the host unafraid.
The paddles dip deep, as the warriors sleek drive onward to white, gleaming sand,
They leap to the beach, with arrows in reach, advance to the uprising land.
A yell of defiance is hurled at their heads, as the Iroquois rush to the fray,
Then the keen, whizzing barbs rush swift through the air; they advance in battle array.