Ii

Comes night to the quiet hills Where the Madawaska spills,-- To his slumbering huts no warning, Nor mirth of another morning!

No more shall the children wake As the dawns through the hut-door break; But the dogs, a trembling pack, With wistful eyes steal back.

And, to pilot the noiseless foe Through the perilous passes, go Two women who could not die-- Whom the knife in the dark passed by.