Song, James Bird, page 5

[first paragrapgh and next three sentences from page 4]

I must suffer for deserting,
From the brig Niagara,
Read this letter, brothers, sisters,
'Tis the last you'll have from me.

Sad and gloomy was the morning,
Bird was ordere'd out to die.
Where's the breast, not dead to pity
But for him would heave a sigh.

So [! or ;] he fought so brave at Erie,
Freely bled and nobly dared,
Let his courage plead for mercy,
Let his precious life be spared.

See him march and bear his fetters,
Harsh they clank upon the ear [! or ;]
But his step is firm and manly,
For his heart ne'er harbor'd fear.

See he kneels upon his coffin,
Sure his death can do no good.
Spare him. Hark! O God, they've shot him!
Oh! his bosom streams with blood.