TECUMTHE.
(From the "Globe.")
October's leaf was sere;
The day was dark and drear.
Wild war was loosed in rage o'er our quiet country then;
When at Moravian town,
Where the little Thames flows down,
In the net of battle caught was Proctor and his men.
Caught in an evil plight,
When he'd rather march than fight,
Every bit of British pluck and resolution gone.
And sternly standing near,
As a British brigadier,
Stood Tecumthe, our ally, the forests' bravest son.
A prince, a leader born,
His dark eye flashed with scorn,
He said: "My father, listen, there's rumours from afar,
Of mishaps, and mistakes,
Of disasters on the lakes,
My father need not hide the mischances of the war.
"My braves have set their feet,
Where two great rivers meet;
We went upon the war-path; we raised the battle-song;
We met in deadly fight,
The Yengees in their might,
Till the waters of the Wabash dyed crimson flowed along.
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