The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe | It was in this lone valley she would charm The lingering noon, where flowers a couch had strewn; forth, That thus apostrophized its viewless scene: "Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! The home of kindred I have never seen! We know not other-oceans are between: Yet say, far friendly hearts! from whence we came, Of us does oft remembrance intervene? My mother sure-my sire a thought may claim; But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name. And yet, loved England! when thy name I trace In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, How can I choose but wish for one embrace Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong My mother's looks, — perhaps her likeness strong? Oh, parent! with what reverential awe, From features of thine own related throng, An image of thy face my soul could draw! And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!"— Yet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy; To soothe a father's couch her only care, And keep his reverend head from all annoy For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair, Soon as the morning-wreath had bound her hair, While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew, Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore; Tradition had not named its lonely spot; For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair To human art a sportive semblance bore, And yellow lichens coloured all the clime, Like moonlight battlements and towers decayed by time. But high in amphitheatre above, As if with instinct, living spirit grew, stood. Returning from the copse he soon was there ; And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green wood; Nor joyless, by the converse, understood And well could he his pilgrimage of taste Gay lilied fields of France,―or, more refined, Then would that home admit them-happier | Where welcome hills shut out the universe, far Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, soon, Ineffable, which I may not portray; PART III. O LOVE! in such a wilderness as this, Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine! And pines their lawny walk encompass round; (Perchance a while in joy's oblivion drowned) And in the visions of romantic youth, Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert When, where of yesterday a garden bloomed, Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven, woes, Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes; Three little moons, how short! amidst the Her birth-star was the light of burning grove plains ; Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows From kindred hearts-the blood of British veins; And pastoral savannas they consume; air pains. And interchange of hearts, unknown, unseen Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote, to share. What though the sportive dog oft round To death those gentle throats that wake Or writhing from the brook its victim bring? sing, Now labyrinths, which but themselves can Or siege unseen in heaven reflects its beams, It was in truth a momentary pang; A husband to the battle doomed to go! Would feel like mine the stigmatizing brand, Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band! to prove, The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew, And grasped his arm, and looked and looked him through. 'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile controul But shame-but flight-a recreant's name The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view: To hide in exile ignominious fears; Night came, and in their lighted bower, full late, The joy of converse had endured-when, hark! Abrupt and loud a summons shook their gate; And heedless of the dog's obstrep'rous bark, A form has rush'd amidst them from the dark, And spread his arms, and fell upon the floor: Of aged strength his limbs retain’d the mark; But desolate he looked, and famished poor, As ever shipwrecked wretch long left on desert shore. Upris'n each wond'ring brow is knit and arched: A spirit from the dead they deem him first: To speak he tries; but quiv'ring, pale, and parched, From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed, Emotions unintelligible burst; When Albert's hand he grasped; but Albert knew not him. 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! It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Yes! thou recallst my pride of years, for then The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambushed men, 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? Then welcome be my death-song and my death! Since I have seen thee, and again embraced. To welcome and to bless his aged head. But this is not a time, he started up, And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand This is no time to fill the joyous cup; The Mammoth comes,-the foe,-the monster Brandt, With all his howling desolating band: These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine Awake at once, and silence half your land. Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine! Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, 'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth: Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe Escaped that night of blood upon our plains! But go!—and rouse your warriors;-for, if] Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere right These old bewildered eyes could guess, by signs Of striped and starred banners, on yon height Scarce had he uttered-when heaven's verge extreme 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 Told legible that midnight of despair. care But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade? Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through the shade. Then came of every race the mingled swarm; Far rung the groves and gleam'd the midnight grass With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm; And in the buskined hunters of the deer To Albert's home with shout and cymbal throng: Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, Old Outalissi woke his battle-song, And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, Tells how his steep-stung indignation smarts long |