Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/168

 Oh, 'twas a piteous thing to hear

Her lamentations wild;

She tore her golden curls and cried:

"My child! My child! My child!"

Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs

How bitterly wailed she?

They never had been mothers,

And they could not hope to be!

"Have done with tears," they rudely quoth,

And then they bound her hands;

For they proposed to take her off

To distant border lands.

But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn

Doth Willie Clow behold

The sight that makes his hair rise up

And all his blood run cold.

He put his fingers in his mouth

And whistled long and clear,

And presently a goodly horde

Of cow-boys did appear.

Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold,

Haste to the Waller Lot,

And rescue from that Injun band

Our charming Sissy Knott!