And one small rill foaming adown it,—while
Its frowning summit, stain'd by many a storm,
And riven by the fiery lightning's stroke,
Contrasted strangely with the scene below.—
Silent and sad he gaz'd-But as the Sun,
Sinking beneath the horizon, threw a glow
Of most etherial beauty on its top,

A sound of music from the neighboring dell,
Gentle as spirits' melodies, burst on

The air. A smile of wild despair wrinkled
His bloodless lip; a tear stray'd down his cheek,
And these sad words fell faintly on my ear:-

'Breathe not those notes again

Those which in youth I heard;

There's witchery in each strain,
There's magic in each word!
My vales and cloud-capt hills,

My native skies of blue,
My rocks and foaming rills,
Are bursting on my view!

Then hush, O hush those notes,
I cannot, must not hear!

'With soul unmov'd I've stood

Upon the battle ground,

And seen the reeking blood

Stream from each breast around;

But when that holy strain

Comes murmuring softly by,
Despair darts through my brain,
My spirits faint and die!
Then hush, O hush those notes,
I cannot, must not hear,
Home, home before me floats,
Sweet sounds are in my ear.

O RANZ DES VACHES! what spell Hath magic like thy charms? Let once thy soft notes swell, The warrior quits his arms; The conqueror flies the field 13

In victory's glorious hour; The exile's spirits yield

And sink beneath thy power! Then hush, O hush that strain,

It clouds, it fills my eye, I must not hear again

For home, for home I die!'

DEATH OF CANONCHET. 14

ON his conquerors he gaz'd

With a proud and haughty air,

And his eye with a flame of hatred blaz'd,

Which shook the boldest there;

And a bitter smile of scorn

Around his dark lip play'd,

While his brow, like a cloud by thunder torn,

Wore a deep and fearful shade!

'Go-bid your chief attend!

I have no words to spare,

No breath in idle talk to spend
With children-as ye are;
Though captive and in chains,

Though fetter'd every limb,

While a drop of royal blood remains,
I speak with none save him!'

'Ye say my doom is death!

Strike! nor a moment spare!

I ask ye not for another breath-
I have no need of prayer!—
Death-death-I like it well!

Ere

my heart be soft and tame

Ere my breast with a thought or feeling swell, Unworthy of my name!

'But mark! REVENGE will come!

The tomahawk and brand

Shall desolate each field, each home,
And sweep ye from our land!
Soon may the dark cloud burst,
The tempest round ye break;
For blood a thousand warriors thirst,
And yours that thirst shall slake!'

Old men in silence stood,

Young limbs with terror shook,

Bright eyes grew dim, and the curdling blood Each ruddy lip forsook;

The bravest soldier paled,