Campbell he sang a dismal tale
Of horrors of Wyoming's vale,
The tale one's mind doth ever haunt,
The cruelties of monster Brant.
But the Chief's son to England went
And Campbell to him did lament,
And all the tale he did recant
About cruel butcheries of Brant.
Now pleasant thoughts it doth awake
When Brantford thinks of her namesake,
She evermore with pride will chant
The bold heroic name of Brant.
We sing of two great Indian names,
Tecumseh on the banks of Thames,
And the Grand River it doth vaunt
O'er the historic name of Brant.
The city's pride it doth find vent
In building him a monument,
And Indians will proudly stalk
Past memorial of great Mohawk.
LINES ON THOROLD.
McCready, the great Irish tragedian, said that the view from Thorold was the finest in America.
Thorold is famous for its mills,
And the grand view from off its hills,
A view so charming and extended,
Nature's beauties sweetly blended.
Poetic thoughts it doth awake
To view Ontario's broad lake,
And husbandmen have their reward in
Fruits of this Provincial garden.