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25. “For O! the fatal hour is come,
I see the bloody knife,
And quick resigned his life.
26. A doleful theme; yet, pensive muse,
Pursue the doleful theme:
Nor transitory dream.
27. The Forty Fort was the resort,
For mother and for child,
Of the fierce savage wild.
28. Now, when the news of this defeat,
Had sounded in our ears,
And our foreboding fears.
29. A doleful sound is whispered round,
The sun now hides his head;
We all shall soon be dead.
30. How can we bear the dreadful spear,
The tomahawk and knife?
Will rob us of our life.
31. But Heaven! kind Heaven, propitious power!
His hand we must adore ;
That they should kill no more.
32. The gloomy night now gone and past,
The sun returns again,
Seem to lament the slain.
33. With aching hearts and trembling hands
We walked here and there,
A flag approaching near.
34. Some men were chose to meet this flag,
Our colonel was the chief,
He brought an olive leaf.
35. This olive leaf was granted life,
But then we must no more
Until the wars are o'er.
36. And now poor Westmoreland is lost,
Our forts are all resigned,
What shelter can we find?
37. They did agree in black and white,
If we'd lay down our arms,
Remain upon their farms.
38. But O! they've robbed us of our all,
They've taken all but life,
If this may end the strife.
39. And now I've told my mournful tale,
I hope you'll all agree,
Of cruel tyranny.
“ Death is the worst-a fate that all must try
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die:
ILIAD, Book, 15, v. 580.
Nor doubting it will prove a subject of interest to many readers, and perhaps be a matter of useful reference hereafter, we proceed to place on record the measures adopted to procure the erection of a monument over the remains of those patriots who fell in the battle, and the steps which were taken to obtain from Connecticut some mark of recognition and regard in requital for the sufferings of the Wyoming people in her cause.
So early as 1809, 36 years ago, several essays were published intended to awaken public attention to the fitness of erecting a monument over the remains of those who fell in the battle. Among others, it being the second or third written by the author of this work, the following appeared in the Wilkesbarre paper of Nov. 3d of that year.
"THE WYOMING MASSACRE.
" Alas Sthe horrors of that bloody scene are still fresh in my recollection. The time that has passed since that fatal day seems only like a dream of the night, and all the circumstances of the battle rise on my memory like the events of yesterday. I behold our little band of warriors, full of ardour, marching forth to the engagement; I see the commander, firm and steady, cheering the soldiers to do their duty like men, worthy of themselves and worthy of their country. I well remember, on the morning of the battle, an old man-God bless his memory, for he was a brave one-who insisted on joining the little band of patriots. He had fought under Wolfe at Quebec, and had approved himselfa soldier, but age had unnerved his arm, and the frosts of seventy winters had whitened his locks like the snows that crown the summit of Cotopaxi. Two of his sons had already joined the troops ; a younger one of seventeen was preparing to follow. The drum sounded the alarm, the hum of active preparation arose from the camp; the old man's eye beamed with the ardour of the warrior; his soul swelled with the proud hope that he could be useful to his country; he seized his rifle, and vain were the entreaties of his son; his daughter dissuaded him in vain; he rushed to the camp resolved to conquer or to perish. The battle raged on our right. Brandt with his savage myrmidons poured from the thicket that flanked our left wing; vain were all our efforts to bear up against the vast superiority of numbers. Like a torrent from the mountain swelled with ceaseless rain, pouring with irresistible fury on the valley, so poured forth the herds of savages from their coverts on our devoted left, until retreat was hopeless and victory impossible. Fickle fortune smiled for awhile on our right. There the gallant Butler, cool and intrepid, directed the storm. He rode steadily in our front, pressed on the foe, and victory hovered over and fanned him with her pinions. But alas, unsustained, every effort was vain, and the reluctant retreat was forced by a prudent affection for the safety of the troops that were left. Then followed all the fury of savage warfare. Fiends seemed to have joined the engagement. I still hear the savage yell rise and mingle with the groans of the dying. I see the spear gleam dreadful, as it flies and arrests its victim. I saw