See Harry's poor father, with pistol in hand,
How bravely he takes on the steep rock his stand,
Over rivers, and forests, and towns he has passed,
And found his Eliza and Harry at last.
The kind Quaker folks that wear drab, brown, and gray,
To the wanderers gave shelter and bread on their way,
Their warm clothes were given them, their waggon was lent,
And the strong-armed Phineas along with them went.
Their hope was to journey to Canada's shore,
Where the trader or master could reach them no more;
For the English flag floats there, o'er land and o'er sea,
And they knew in its shadow the negro was free.
But far is their way through the slave-dealing land,
And now on their track comes the trader's fierce band;
So for refuge and rest to the rocks they have run,
And the father will fight for his wife and his son.
He fires on the first up the steep rock that springs,
But the trader comes on, shouting all wicked things,
Till Phineas right over the crag flings him clear,
Saying, "Friend, in my mind thou hast no business here."
Then off go the traders to find them more men,
And off go the friends in their waggon again;
But don't you wish well to the good man for life,
Who would fight for his freedom, his child, and his wife?