Now, when the news of this defeat
Had sounded in our ears,
You well may know our dreadful woe,
And our foreboding fears.
A doleful sound is whispered round,
The sun now hides his head;
The nightly gloom forebodes our doom,
We all shall soon be dead.
How can we bear the dreadful spear,
The tomahawk and knife?
And if we run, the awful gun
Will rob us of our life.
But Heaven! kind Heaven, propitious power!
His hand we must adore.
He did assuage the savage rage,
That they should kill no more.
The gloomy night now gone and past,
The sun returns again,
The little birds from every bush
Seem to lament the slain.
With aching hearts and trembling hands,
We walkèd here and there,
Till through the northern pines we saw
A flag approaching near.
Some men were chose to meet this flag,
Our colonel was the chief,
Who soon returned and in his mouth
He brought an olive leaf.
This olive leaf was granted life,
But then we must no more
Pretend to fight with Britain's king,
Until the wars are o'er.
And now poor Westmoreland is lost,
Our forts are all resigned,
Our buildings they are all on fire,—
What shelter can we find?
They did agree in black and white,
If we'd lay down our arms,
That all who pleased might quietly
Remain upon their farms.