Men have done brave deeds, And bards have sung them well: I, of good George Nidiver, Now the tale will tell.
In California mountains, A hunter bold was he. Keen his eye and sure his aim As any you should see.
A little Indian boy Followed him everywhere, Eager to share the hunter's joy, The hunter's meal to share.
And when the bird or deer, Fell by the hunter's skill, The boy was always near To help with right good will,
One day, as through the cleft, Between two mountains steep, Shut in both right and left, Their weary way they keep;
They see two grizzly bears, With hunger fierce and fell, Rush at them unawares, Right down the narrow dell.
The boy turned round, with screams, And ran with terror wild; One of the pair of savage beasts Pursued the shrieking child.
The hunter raised his gun; He knew one charge was all; And through the boy's pursuing foe He sent his only ball.
The other on George Nidiver, Came on with dreadful pace; The hunter stood unarmed And met him face to face.
I say unarmed he stood: Against those frightful paws The rifle-butt or club of wood Could stand no more than straws.
George Nidiver stood still, And looked him in the face; The wild beast stopped amazed, Then came on with slackening pace.
Still firm the hunter stood Although his heart beat high; Again the creature stopped, And gazed with wondering eye.
The hunter met his gaze, Nor yet an inch gave way: The bear turned slowly round, And slowly moved away.
What thoughts were in his mind, It would be hard to spell; What thoughts were in George Nidiver's, I rather guess than tell.
But sure that rifle's aim, Swift choice of generous part, Showed in its passing gleam The depth of a brave heart.