The Virgin Maiden of the Tantramar Marsh

The wild winds blowing across the Tantramar Marsh

Scream revenge for the maiden who died in the night

Pale is the maiden, the sweet tender maiden

Who’s blood was the cost of a demon’s delight

On the shores of the Tantramar the crime he committed

When the gentry met the young maiden walking alone

She pleaded for mercy, but no mercy was given

The pour young maiden’s good virtue he took for his own

Next morning they searched but no body was found

They say she died on the marsh by her  own hand alone

Till on the banks of the river they found her possessions

And the blood on his knife told her story unknown

Now some say on the gleaning of the first Harvest moon

On the Tantramar Marsh neath Fort Beaujesour’s heights

You may see a young maiden who once sobbed alone

Now laughs as his ghost hangs forever on cold Autumn nights