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Her White Bosom Bare
For it was out in the forest Where the wild game springs, Where low in the branches The rude hammock swings; The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the campfire Shone round on the trees.
The campfire was kindled, Well fanned by the breeze, And the light of the fire Shone round on the trees; And grim stood the circle Of the warrior throng, Impatient to join In the war-dance and song.
The campfire was kindled, Each warrior was there, And Amanda was bound With her white bosom bare. She counted the vengeance In the face of her foes And sighed for the moment When her sufferings might close.
Young Albon, he gazed On the face of the fair While her dark hazel eyes 272