In the sweet moon of leaves,
When birds the soft nest weaves,
And the free water heaves
Beneath the blue heavens.
Upwards the white braves go,
Vowed to meet us foe to foe,
Landed at the wild Long Sault,
In the calm spring even.
Danlac, their biggest brave,
Gathered a band to save,
The rest from a bloody grave,
From our revenges.
Not for their own land they
Fought as they did that day;
But to take ours away
And to have vengeance.
We vowed, in warrior pride,
To rise, a rushing tide,
And sweep the country wide,
With a death riddance.
To burn their palisades,
And to the forest glades,
In change for Indian maids,
Bear their white maidens.
In painted plumed array,
Hot, panting for the fray,
Our paddles beat the spray
Of the wild water.
Shot through the rapids white,
The war cry of our might,
Rose as we flashed in sight,
Eager for slaughter
Then scouting watchers run,
Then loud alarm of drum,
Shouts of, "The foe! they come,"
Rung through the forest.
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