Not to weep for the dead and the dying;
When by night the fierce battle-cry pealed
And by day all who worked in the field
Kept their weapons in readiness lying;

When full oft at the nunnery gate,
As the darkness fell over the village,
Would a swart savage crouch and await,
With the patience of devilish hate,
A chance to kill women, and pillage.

Every one had his duty to do,
And our Pilot had hers like another,
Which she did like a heroine true,
At the head of a juvenile crew
Of the same stalwart stuff as their mother.

In a body these keen-scented spies
Used to roam through the forests and meadows,
And protect _Ville Marie_ from surprise,
Though its foes clustered round it like flies
In a swamp, or like evening shadows.

Oftentimes in the heat of the day,
Oftentimes through the mists of the morning,
Oftentimes to the sun's dying ray
There was heard her reechoing bay
Pealing forth its brave challenge and warning.

And so nobly she labored and well,