Now a sad tale we hiive to tell:
A few miles east, in Blenheim swamp,
So cruel slain was young Benwell,
Whose body lay ’mong snow and damp.
He was a well-bred English youth,
Hoping to own Canadian farm,
But his countryman devoid of truth,
He did plot his deadly harm.
Sad fate, the world did appal,
That he by bullet thus should die;
Fired by protended friend, Birchall,
Who swung for it on gallows high.