Where the children, newly risen, Peered at sunrise through the pane, But through which the murdered children Nevermore may peer again; Where the housewife in the morning, Pail in hand, the fountain near, Stopped to gossip with her neighbors, And the village news to hear; Where the farmers in the porches Sat at closing of the day, Smoking pipes whose odors mingled With the fragrance of the hay; Where at eve the cows were lowing Answer to the milkmaid’s cry; And, with hens about him, proudly Sultan Spurs came strutting by; Where the horses, in the pasture, On the fence’s topmost rail, Crossed their necks and loudly whinnied, Some tired traveller’s horse to hail; Where the rooting swine at footsteps Raised their heads beneath the trees, And the watch-dog bayed defiance To the murmur of the breeze— Clouds that overhung the valley Would not melt in gentle rain; They were waiting for the tidings— “Walter Butler has been slain!” V. Where the Canada so swiftly Through the mountain gorges flows, Walter Butler found the mercy He had dealt to hapless foes. He had fought that day with Willet, And the battle had been lost, For our men the past remembered, To the ruthless Tories’ cost. No one there would seek for quarter, No one mercy would bestow; From the wrath that swept around them, Flight alone could save the foe. Butler, baffled, fled the combat On his charger tried and good, Through the glen and o’er the valley, Through the gap within the wood. Rode he steadily and swiftly, While a swart and angry pack Of the hound-like, wild Oneidas Yelped in anger on his track. On the Canada was rushing, Tempest-swollen, from the hills, Maddened with the furious urging Of a hundred surging rills. But he heeded not its raging; At the danger fear was lost. In he spurred his panting charger, And the foaming river crossed. On its bank a moment halting, To the foes upon his track Words and motions of defiance Butler hurled, exulting, back. On his hot and spent pursuers Thus his words of scorning fell: “He who rides with Walter Butler Sits a steed that carries well. “In the battle and the foray Human blood shall fall like rain, Ere you carry round the tidings— ‘Walter Butler has been slain!’” VI. As he waved his hand in mocking Came the whizzing of the ball; Loudly shouted the Oneidas As they saw the braggart fall. Then the white-haired chief who led them Flung his powder-horn aside, And his rifle dropped, preparing For a leap within the tide.