Джордж Поуп Моррис (George Pope Morris)

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!

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