II
Comes night to the quiet hills
Where the Madawaska spills,—
To his slumbering huts no warning,
Nor mirth of another morning!
No more shall the children wake
As the dawns through the hut-door break;
But the dogs, a trembling pack,
With wistful eyes steal back.
And, to pilot the noiseless foe
Through the perilous passes, go
Two women who could not die—
Whom the knife in the dark passed by.
III
Where the shoaling waters froth,
Churned thick like devils’ broth,—
Where the rocky shark-jaw waits,
Never a bark that grates.
And the tearless captives’ skill
Contents them. Onward still!
And the low-voiced captives tell
The tidings that cheer them well:
How a clear stream leads them down
Well-nigh to Medoctec town,
Ere to the great Falls’ thunder
The long wall yawns asunder.
IV
The clear stream glimmers before them;
The faint night falters o’er them;
Lashed lightly bark to bark,
They glide the windless dark.