Through the forest and the dell,
And for their murder'd brethren
Full five score Indians fell.
And for their murder'd brethren
Full five score Indians fell.
The peasant, when he wanders
Past that scene of blood and strife,
Half trembles in the moonlight,
Lest he see the gleaming knife;
Though the Indians long have perish'd
On the mountains wooded breast,
Yet he deems their spirits linger
Where their mould'ring bones have rest.
And he trembles, as the shadows
From the fast-receding sun
Are gathering—and, in terror,
He leaves the Bloody Run.
Past that scene of blood and strife,
Half trembles in the moonlight,
Lest he see the gleaming knife;
Though the Indians long have perish'd
On the mountains wooded breast,
Yet he deems their spirits linger
Where their mould'ring bones have rest.
And he trembles, as the shadows
From the fast-receding sun
Are gathering—and, in terror,
He leaves the Bloody Run.
THE BACKWOODSMAN'S TALE.
"And in a voice of solemn joy that awed
Echo into oblivion, he said—"
Echo into oblivion, he said—"
Heaven smiled propitiously upon the land
My fathers won, and the Creator's hand
My fathers won, and the Creator's hand
