Where wolf and bear keep their sheltering lair,
Where silence is deep and man is not near.
Few—few are there left from merciless war,
Waged on our ranks, now broken and gone,
Yet, struggle we must ’gainst slaughtering lust,
Our end is in view—race-driven, forlorn.
This is the song which the trapper heard,
Heard in the gloom of the forest dark,
Heard of an ancient and vanishing race,
By the growl and glare of the glimmering spark.