Where’er to battle marched their fell array,
The sword of conquest ploughed resistless way;
Where’er from cruel toil they sought repose,
Around the fires of devastation rose.
The Indian as he turned his head in flight,
Beheld his cottage flaming through the night,
And, mid the shrieks of murder on the wind,
Heard the mute bloodhound’s death-step close behind.
The conquest o’er, the valiant in their graves,
The wretched remnant dwindled into slaves;