Repress that tear, my Mary, dear, Said Harwood to his loving wife, It tries me hard to leave thee here, And seek in distant woods the strife. When gone, my Mary, think of me, And pray to God, that I may be, Such as one ought that lives for thee, And come at last in victory. Thus left young Harwood babe and wife, With accent wild she bade adieu; It grieved those lovers much to part, So fond and fair, so kind and true. Seth Wyman, who in Woburn lived (A marksman he of courage true), Shot the first Indian whom they saw, Sheer through his heart the bullet flew. The savage had been seeking game, Two guns and eke a knife he bore, And two black ducks were in his hand, He shrieked, and fell, to rise no more. Anon, there eighty Indians rose, Who'd hid themselves in ambush dread; Their knives they shook, their guns they aimed, The famous Paugus at their head. Good heavens! they dance the Powow dance, What horrid yells the forest fill? The grim bear crouches in his den, The eagle seeks the distant hill. What means this dance, this Powow dance? Stern Wyman said; with wonderous art, He crept full near, his rifle aimed, And shot the leader through the heart. John Lovewell, captain of the band, His sword he waved, that glittered bright, For the last time he cheered his men, And led them onward to the fight. Fight on, fight on, brave Lovewell said, Fight on, while heaven shall give you breath An Indian ball then pierced him through, And Lovewell closed his eyes in death. John Harwood died all bathed in blood, When he had fought, till set of day; And many more we may not name, Fell in that bloody battle fray. When news did come to Harwood's wife, That he with Lovewell fought and died, Far in the wilds had given his life, Nor more would in their home abide, Such grief did seize upon her mind, Such sorrow filled her faithful breast; On earth, she ne'er found peace again, But followed Harwood to his rest. 'Twas Paugus led the Pequa'tt tribe;-- As runs the Fox, would Paugus run; As howls the wild wolf, would he howl, A large bear skin had Paugus on. But Chamberlain, of Dunstable (One whom a savage ne'er shall slay), Met Paugus by the water side, And shot him dead upon that day. Good heavens! Is this a time for pray'r? Is this a time to worship God? When Lovewell's men are dying fast, And Paugus' tribe hath felt the rod? The Chaplain's name was Jonathan Frye; In Andover his father dwelt, And oft with Lovewell's men he'd prayed, Before the mortal wound he felt. A man was he of comely form, Polished and brave, well learnt and kind; Old Harvard's learned halls he left, Far in the wilds a grave to find.