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Black Robe to the Abenaki chief: The Sun King has promised you relief So gather all your warriors to me Weâll push the English back into the sea
Said the Chief to his Abenaki braves: You may keep the young women as slaves But the men must not go free Just leave all the children to the Priest
So they went on the warpath On the evening of Candlemas Crept up without a sound To burn York down to the ground
Can you do 35 miles a day Cause Canada is a long ways away Woman marchinâ with the injuns through the snow Lay down and let her spirit go
The French priest and the Abenaki chief Drawing deep on their separate beliefs Lay a curse on her dying on the ground And now her ghost walks the streets of York town
But that wraith had the final revenge Cause York is not ruled by the French And the Great Tribe lost of all of Maine Nothinâ left of them but lots of place names
And nobody cares no more âbout the French and Indian Wars And they browse through your trinkets and trash On the grounds of a great blood-bath