Nor less each rural image he designed
Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire
Than all the city's pomp and home of human-Impart, and I my weakness all betray;
Anon some wilder portraiture he draws;
Of Nature's savage glories he would speak,-
The loneliness of earth that overawes,-
Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique,
The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak,
Nor living voice nor motion marks around;
But storks that to the boundless forest shriek,
Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound,*
That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado
sound.
Pleased with his guest, the good man still would
ply
Each earnest question, and his converse court;
But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why
A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short.
'In England thou hast been,-and, by report,
An orphan's name (quoth Albert) may'st have
known.
Sad tale-when latest fell our frontier fort,-
One innocent-one soldier's child-alone
For had I lost my Gertrude and my sire,
I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day-
Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass
away.
'But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear
face
The changing hand of time I may not blame;
For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace,
And here of beauty perfected the frame;
And well I know your hearts are still the same,-
They could not change-ye look the very way,
As when an orphan first to you I came.
And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray?
Nay, wherefore weep ye, friends, on such a
joyous day?"
"And art thou here? or is it but a dream?
And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us
more ?"
"No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
Than aught on earth-than ev'n thyself of yore-
I will not part thee from thy father's shore;
Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him But we shall cherish him with mutual arms,
And hand in hand again the path explore,
Which every ray of young remembrance warms,
While thou shalt be my own, with all thy truth
and charms."
At morn, as if beneath a galaxy
Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,
Where all was od'rous scent and harmony,
And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
There if, oh, gentle Love! I read aright
The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond,
'Twas list'ning to these accents of delight,
She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond
Expression's pow'r to paint, all languishingly
fond.
"Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone! Whom I would rather in this desert meet, Scorning, and scorned by fortune's pow'r, than
'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to Her pomp and splendours lavished at my feet!
A burst of joy the father's lips declare;
But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell:
At once his open arms embrace the pair,
Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite Than odours cast on heaven's own shrine-to please
Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet,
Was never group more blest, in this wide world And more than all the wealth that loads the
O LOVE! in such a wilderness as this, Where transport and security entwine, Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, And here thou art a god indeed divine. Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire! Roil on, ye days of raptured influence, shine! Nor, blind with ecstacy's celestial fire,
Her birth-star was the light of burning plains ;*
Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows
From kindred hearts-the blood of British veins-
And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains.
VII.
Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote,
Or siege unseen in heav'n reflects its beams,
Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note,
That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts, and nightly
dreams?
Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams
Portentous light! and music's voice is dumb;
Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time Save where the fife its shrill reveille screams,
Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum, That speaks of madd'ning strife, and blood-stained fields to come.
It was in truth a momentary pang;
Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, A husband to the battle doomed to go! "Nay, meet not thou (she cries) thy kindred foe;
But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand!" 'Ah, Gertrude! thy beloved heart, I know, Would feel, like mine, the stigmatizing brand!
What though the sportive dog oft round them Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band.
Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce,
Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground,
Where welcome hills shut out the universe,
And pines their lawny walk encompass round;
There, if a pause delicious converse found,
Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole,
Perchance awhile in joy's oblivion drown'd)
That, come what may, while life's glad pulses roll,
Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul.
V.
And in the visions of romantic youth,
What years of endless bliss are yet to flow!
But, mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth?
The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!
And must I change my song? and must I show,
Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert
Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bow'rs laid low! When where of yesterday a garden bloomed, Death overspread his pall, and black'ning ashes gloomed.
Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven,
When Transatlantic Liberty arose,
Not in the sunshine, and the smile of Heaven,
But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes,
Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes;
Upris'n, each wond'ring brow is knit and arched:
To speak he tries; but quivering, pale, and parch'd,
A spirit from the dead they deem him first:
From lips, as by some pow'rless dream accursed,
Emotions unintelligible burst;
And long his filmed eye is red and dim ;
At length the pity-proffered cup his thirst
Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering
limb,
When Albert's hand he grasped ;-but Albert knew not him
Alluding to the miseries that attended the American civil war.
"And hast thou then forgot," (he cried forlorn,
And eyed the group with half indignant air,)
"Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn
When I with thee the cup of peace did share?
Then stately was this head, and dark this hair,
That now is white as Appalachia's snow;
But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair,
And age, hath bowed me, and the torturing foe,
Bring me my boy-and he will his deliverer
know!"
"Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth:
Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe
Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth:
No! not the dog, that watched my household
hearth,
Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains!
All perished!-I alone am left on earth!
To whom nor relative nor blood remains,
No!
not a kindred drop that runs in human
veins!
"But go!-and rouse your warriors;-for, if right
It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Ere Henry to his lov'd Oneyda flew : "Bless thee, my guide!"-but, backward, as he These old bewildered eyes could guess, by signs
The chief his old bewildered head withdrew, And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through.
'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile con-
trol-
The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view :-
At last delight o'er all his features stole,
"It is my own," he cried, and clasped him to
his soul.
"Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then
The bowstring of my spirit was not slack,
When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd
I bore thee like the quiver on my back,
Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack;
Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I feared,*
For I was strong as mountain cataract:
And dost thou not remember how we cheered,
Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts
appeared?
Of striped and starred banners, on yon height
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines-
Some fort embattled by your country shines:
Deep roars th' innavigable gulf below
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines.
Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show;
While I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the
foe!"
Scarce had he uttered-when heav'n's verge
Reverberates the bomb's descending star,—
And sounds that mingled laugh, and shout,-
and scream,-
To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar,
Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war.
Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed!
As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar;
While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed:-
And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet
wailed.
Then looked they to the hills, where fire o'erhung
"Then welcome be my death-song, and my The bandit groups, in one Vesuvian glare;
Since I have seen thee, and again embraced."
And longer had he spent his toil worn breath;
But, with affectionate and eager haste,
Was every arm outstretched around their guest,
To welcome, and to bless his aged head.
Soon was the hospitable banquet placed;
And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed
Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock un-
rung,
Told legible that midnight of despair.
She faints, she falters not,-th' heroic fair,-
As he the sword and plume in haste arrayed.
One short embrace-he clasped his dearest care-
But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the
glade?
On wounds with fever'd joy that more profusely Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling
"But this is not a time," he started up,
And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand-Then came of every race the mingled swarm,
"This is no time to fill the joyous cup,
The Mammoth çomes,-the foe, the Monster
Brandt, t
With all his howling desolating band;—
These eyes have seen their blade, and burning
+ Brandt was the leader of those Mohawks, and And in, the buskined hunters of the deer,
other savages, who laid waste this part of Pennsylva- To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal
Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and The ambushed foeman's eye-his volley speeds, And Albert-Albert-falls! the dear old father
"Go, Henry, go not back when I depart,
Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move,
That like a giant standard-bearer, frowned
Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r.
Beneath, each bold and promontory mound
With embrasure embossed, and armour crowned,
And arrowy frieze, and wedged ravelin,
Wove like a diadem its tracery round
The lofty summit of that mountain green:
Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant
A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;
And for the business of destruction done,
Its requiem the war-horn seemed to blow:
There sad spectatress of her country's woe!
The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,
Had laid her cheek and clasped her hands of snow
On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm
Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild
But short that contemplation-sad and short The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu! Beneath the very shadow of the fort,
Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners
Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near?-yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds,
Sleamed, like a basalisk, from woods in view,
Where my dear father took thee to his heart,
And Gertrude thought it ecstacy to rove
With thee, as with an angel, through the grove
Of peace, imagining her lot was cast
In heaven; for ours was not like earthly love.
And must this parting be our very last?
No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.
Of them that stood encircling his despair,
He heard some friendly words;-but knew not "Or shall we cross yon mountains blue,
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