To far off climes that wail was borne,
O’er waves by tempests tost,
And long did Albion’s daughters mourn
The lovers they had lost.
Yet erring was the red man’s aim,
Who oft, with leveled gun,
Had sought to rob the page of fame
Of Freedom’s noblest son.
When years had fled, that chieftain frail
Went far to see the man,