O be it blotted from the year!
Where now the Forest-freeman’s boast?
His joys, his hopes, his name are lost.
Repentant claimants of the soil![[44]] }
Your’s keen remorse and thankless toil; }
Strangers and hirelings snatch the spoil. }
Too late ye mourn your glory gone;
Too late the deed yourselves have done.
Thus, fell Owhyhee’s senseless crew,
Him, their best friend, their idol, slew;