Shook the deep forests wide,
And tomahawk and scalping-knife
Flashed in their gleaming pride.
Alone I stood, amidst the dead,
When the spirit of repose,
That long had clasped my heart, had fled
And vengeance waked her throes.
The dead were round me; yes, my own,
The beautiful, the young;
Their calm looks waked the anguished tone