EENFORTH. 



Mark then yon eager crowd, 

 List to that hurrah loud, 

 See now the rivals proud, 



For the contest prepare, 

 See from Lake Huron's tide, 

 From forest and prairie wide, 

 Cheering by the white man's side, 



The red-skin is there. 



See, see the British crew 

 Stretch to their oars so true, 

 Over the waters blue, 



With falcon- wing speed, 

 ! what stays their leader's hand ? 

 ! what foils his stroke once grand ? 

 Is it Fate's dread command, 



Or Treachery's foul deed ? 



Weep, child and widow young ; 

 Tell, Bard, in mournful song, 

 How in his pride so strong, 



So nobly fell he ; 

 Pulling against grim death, 

 On to his latest breath, 

 Clouded is the victor's wreath, 



With dark mystery. 



