Janet McRea.

She heard the fight was over,

And won the wrath of fame!

When tidings from her lover,

With his good war-steed came:

To guard her safely to his tent,

The red-men of the woods were sent.

They led her where sweet waters gush!

Under the pine-tree bough!

The tomahawk is raised to crush —

‘ Tis buried in her brow!—

She sleeps beneath that pine-tree now!

Her broken-hearted lover

In hopeless conflict died!

The forest-leaves now cover

That soldier and his bride!

The frown of the Great Spirit fell

Upon the red-men like a spell!

No more those waters slake their thirst,

Shadeless to them that tree!

O'er land and lake they roam accurst,

And in the clouds they see

Thy spirit, unavenged, McRea!