I had seen the face, and marked it well,
That peered from the rock when Bergen fell;
And I watched for that at every yell.
No hound on scent more rapt could be,
As I scanned the fight from behind the tree;
And five I slew, but neither was he.
At length I saw a warrior brain
A neighbor’s son, young Andrew Lane,
And stoop to scalp the fallen slain.
’Twas he! my brain to throb began,