George Pope Morris (Джордж Поуп Моррис)

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!

1. Thou Hast Woven the Spell
2. Fare Thee Well, Love
3. The Land of Washington
4. The Chieftain's Daughter
5. Thy Will Be Done

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1122

Последние стихотворения

To English version