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“It is good, Matiwan, it is good; thou hast saved me; the death is in my heart.” And back he sank as he spoke, while a shriek of mingled joy and horror from the lips of the mother announced the success of her effort to defeat the doom, the most dreadful in the imagination of the Yemas
“ He is not lost, he is not lost. They may not take the child from his mother. They may not keep him from the valley of Manneyto. He is free-he is free.” And she fell back in a deep swoon into the arms of Sanutee, who by this time had approached. She had defrauded OpitchiManneyto of his victim, for they may not remove the badge of the nation from any but the living victim.
“The Swamp Fox.”
His friends and merry men are we;
We burrow in the cypress tree.
Our home is in the red deer's den,
For we are wild and hunted men,
But, prompt to strike the sudden biow,
And through the forest track our foe.
The flashing sabre blinds his eyes,
And rushes from his camp, he dies.
That will not ask a kind caress,
When on his heels the foemen press,
The spirit stubborn to be free,
And we are Marion's men, you see.
The last perhaps that we shall taste;
And that's a sign we move in haste. He whistles to the scouts, and hark !
You hear his order calm and lowCome, wave your torch across the dark,
And let us see the boys that go.
God help 'em, should they find the strife ! For they are strong and fearless men,
And make no coward terms for life; They'll fight as long as Marion bids,
And when he speaks the word to shy, Then--not till then-they turn their steeds,
Through thickening shade and swamp to fly
The scouts are gone, and on the brush
To take his slumbers too-but hush ! He's praying, comrades ; 'tis not strange;
The man that's fighting day by day, May well, when night comes, take a change,
And down upon his knees to pray.
The sly and silent jug that's there;
When Marion's men have need of cheer. 'Tis seldom that our luck affords
A stuff like this we just have quaffed, And dry potatoes on our boards
May always call for such a draught.
Hard pillow, but a soldier's head
Must never think of softer bed. The owl is hooting to the night,
The cooter crawling o'er the bank, And in that pond the flashing light
Tells where the alligator sank.
And through the Santee swamp so deep, Without the aid of friendly moon,
And we, Heaven help us! half asleep! But courage, comrades ! Marion leads,
The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night; So clear your swords, and spur your steeds,
There's goodly chance, I think, of fight.
X. We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
We leave the swamp and cypress tree, Our spurs are in our coursers' sides,
And ready for the strife are we, The Tory camp is now in sight,
And there he cowers within his den,He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight,
He fears, and flies from Marion's men.