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Ah me! the laurelled wreath that Murder | Her musing mood shall every pang appease,

rears,

And charm—when pleasures lose the power Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's

to please! tears,

Yes ! let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee; Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, Close not the light of Fortune's stormy seaAs waves the night-shade round the sceptic Mirth, music, friendship, Love's propitious head.

smile, What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain? Chase every care, and charm a little while, I smile on death, if heavenward Hope Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ,

remain!

And all her strings are harmonized to joy ! But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife But why so short is Love's delighted hour? Be all the faithless charter of my life, Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest If Chance awaked, inexorable power,

flower ? This frail and feverish being of an hour; Why can no hymned charm of music heal Doomed, o'er the world's precarious scene | The sleepless woes impassioned spirits feel ?

to sweep,

Can Fancy's fairy-hand no veil create, Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, To hide the sad realities of fate? To know Delight but by her parting smile, No! not the quaint remark, the sapient And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while;

rule, Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain Nor all the pride of Wisdom's wordy school, This troubled pulse, and visionary brain! Have power to soothe, unaided and alone, Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom, The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone. And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! | When stepdame Nature every bliss recalls, Truth, ever lovely-since the world began, Fleet' as the meteor o'er the desert falls; The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, When, 'reft of all, yon widowed sire appears How can thy words from balmy plumber A lonely hermit in the vale of years;

start

Say,can the world one joyous thought bestow Reposing Virtue, pillowed on the heart! To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe! Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu,And that were true which Nature never Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you!

told,

Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field ;

pain, No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed! Congenial spirits part to meet again! Oh! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, The doom that bars us from a better fate; What sorrow choked thy long and last adieu! But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, Daughter of Conrad! when he heard his knell, Weep to record, and blush to give it in! And bade his country, and his child farewell ! And well may Doubt, the mother of Doomed the long isles of Sydney-cove to see,

Dismay,

The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee? Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay. Thrice the sad father tore thee from his Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale,

heart, It darkly hints a melancholy tale!

And thrice returned to bless thee, and to There, as the homeless madman sits alone,

part; In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan! Thrice from his trembling lips he murmured And there, they say, a wizard-orgie crowds, When the Moon lights her watch-tower in The plaint that owned unutterable woe;

the clouds.

Till Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, Poor lost Alonzo! Fate's neglected child! As bursts the morn on night's unfathomed Mild be the doom of Heaven-as thou wert

gloom, mild!

Lured his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, For oh! thy heart in holy mould was cast, Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time! And all thy deeds were blameless, but the | “And weep not thus," he cried, "young Ellast.

Jenore, Poor lost Alonzo! still I seem to hear My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding

bier!

Short shall this half-extinguished spirit burn, When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow And soon these limbs to kindred dust return!

drowned,

But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, Thy midnight rites, but not on hallowed The immortal ties of nature shall expire;

ground?

These shall resist the triumph of decay, Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, When time is o'er, and worlds have passed But leave-oh! leave the light of Hope

away! behind!

Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie, What though my winged hours of bliss have But that which warmed it once shall never die!

That spark unburied in its mortal frame, Like angel-visits, few and far between, With living light, eternal, and the same,

been,

low

. more!

Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, Ah! no; methinks the generous and the good Unveiled by darkness-unassuaged by tears. Will woo thee from the shades of solitude!

"Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, One tedious watch is Conrad doomed to weep; And smile on innocence, for Mercy's sake!" But when I gain the home without a friend, Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, And press the uneasy couch where none The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee!

attend,

If in that frame no deathlers spirit dwell, This last embrace, still cherished in my heart, If that faint murmur be the last farewell, Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part! If Fate unite the faithful but to part, Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh, Why is their memory sacred to the heart? And hush the groan of life's last agony ! | Why does the brother of my childhood seem "Farewell! when strangers lift thy father's Restored a while in every pleasing dream ?

bier,

Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, And place my nameless stone without a tear ; By artless friendship blessed when life was When each returning pledge hath told my

new ? child

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime That Conrad's tomb is on the desert piled; Pealed their first notes to sound the march And when the dream of troubled fancy sees

of Time, Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; Thy joyous youth began---but not to fade.Who then wil soothe thy grief, when mine When all the sister-planets have decayed;

is o'er?

When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, Who will protect thee, helpless Ellenore? And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide,

below; Scorned by the world, to factious guilt Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile,

allied ?

And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile!

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

Most of the popular histories of England, as well | Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,

as 'of the American War, give an authentic ac- 1 The happy shepherd-owains had nought to do count of the desolation of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, which took place in 1778, by an incur- But feed their flocks on green declivities. sion of the Indians. The Scenery and Incidents | Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, of the following Poem are connected with that From morn till evening's sweeter pastine event. The testimonies of historians and tra

grew, vellers concur in describing the infant colony as one of the happiest spots of human existence,

With timbrel, when beneath the forests for the hospitable and innocent manners of the

brown, inhabitants, the beanty of the country, and the i Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew; luxuriant fertility of the soil and climate. In an evil hour, the junction of European with in- | And aye those sunny mountains half-way dian arms converted this terrestrial paradise

down into a frightful waste. Mr. Isaac WELD informs Would echo flagelet from some romantic ug, that the ruins of many of the villages, per

town. forated with balls, and bearing marks of conflagration, were still preserved by the recent inhabitants, when he travelled through America in 1796.

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight PA RT I.

takes

His' leave, how might you the flamingo see On Susquehana's side, fair Wyoming! Disporting like a meteor on the lakes, Although the wild-flower on thy ruined wall And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree: And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring And every sound of life was full of glee, Of what thy gentle people did befall; From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all

men; That see the Atlantic wave their morn re-While hearkening, fearing nought their store.

revelry, Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall, The wild deer arched his neck from glades, And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,

and then, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsyl- Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness vania's shore !

again.

And scarce had Wyoming of war or, crime Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life? Heard but in transatlantic story rung, And dwells in day-light-truth's salubrious For here the exile met from every clime,

skies And spoke in friendship every distant tongue: No form with which the soul may sympaMen from the blood of warring Europe

thise? sprung,

Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead Were but divided by the running brook;

mild And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, An inmate in the home of Albert smiled, The blue-eyed German changed his sword Or blest his noonday walk-she was his only to pruning-hook.

child.

Nor far some Andalusian saraband

The rose of England bloomed on Gertrude's Would sound to many a native roundelay

cheekBut who is he that yet a dearer land What though these shades had seen her birth, Reinembers, over hills and far away?

her sire Green Albin! what though he no more survey A Briton's independence taught to seek Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore, Far western worlds; and there his householdThy pellochs rolling from the mountain-bay,

fire Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor, The light of social love did long inspire, And distant isles that hear the loud Cor- And many a halcyon day he lived to see

brechtan roar! Unbroken but by one misfortune dire, When fate had reft his mutual heart-but

she Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer, Was gone—and Gertrude climbed a widowed That want's stern edict e'er, and feudal grief,

father's knee. Had forced him from a home he loved so dear! Yet found he here a home, and glad relief, And plied the beverage from his own fair A loved bequest,—and I may half impart,

sheaf,

| To them that feel tbe strong paternal tie, That fired his Highland blood with mickle How like a new existence to his heart

glee:

That living flower uprose beneath his eye, And England sent her men, of men the chief, Dear as she was from cherub infancy, Who taught those sires of Empire yet to be, From hours when she would round his garden To plant the tree of life,-to plant fair

play, freedom's tree! | To time when as the ripening years went by,

Her lovely mind could culture well repay,

And more engaging grew, from pleasing day Here was not mingled in the city's pomp

to day. Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom; Judgment awoke not here her dismal trump, Nor sealed in blood a fellow-creature's doom, I may not paint those thousand infant charms; Nor mourned the captive in a living tomb. | (Unconscious fascination, undesigned !) One venerable man, beloved of all,

The orison repeated in his arms, Sufficed, where innocence was yet in bloom, For God to bless her sire and all mankind; Tosway the strife, that seldom might befall: The book, the bosom on his knee reclined, And Albert was their judge in patriarchal Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con,

hall.

(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind): All uncompanioned else her years had gone

Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue How reverend was the look, serenely aged,

summer shone. He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, Where all but kindly fervors were assuaged, Undimmed by weakness' shade, or turbid ire! And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour, And though, amidst the calin of thought When sire and daughter saw, with fleet entire,

descent, Some high and haughty features might betray An Indian from his bark approach their bower, A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire or buskined limb, and swarthy lineament; That fled composure's intellectual ray, The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising And bracelets bound the arm that helped day.

to 'light A boy, who seemed, as he beside him went,

| or Christian vesture, and complexion bright, I boast no song in magic wonders rife, Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought But yet, oh, Nature! is there nought to prize,

by night.

Yet pensive seemed the boy for one 80 Our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls

young

Of fever-balm and sweet sagamité: The dimple from his polished cheek had fled; But she was journeying to the land of souls, When, leaning on his forest-bow unstrung, And lifted up her dying head to pray Th' Oncyda warrior to the planter said, That we should bid an ancient friend convey And laid his hand upon the stripling's head: Her orphan to his home of England's shore; Peace be to thee! my words this belt approve; And take, she said, this token far away The paths of peace my steps have hither led : To one that will remember us of yore, This little nursling, take him to thy love, When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's And shield the bird unfledged, since gone the

Julia wore. parent dove.

And I, the eagle of my tribe, have rush'd Christian! I am the foeman of thy foe; With this lorn dove.- A sage's self-command Our wampum-league thy brethren did em- Had quelled the tears from Albert's heart brace:

that gushed; Upon the Michagan, three moons ago, But yet his cheek-his agitated band, We launched our pirogues for the bison- That showered upon the stranger of the land

chace,

No common boon, in grief but ill beguiled And with the Hurons planted for a space, A soul that was not wont to be unmanned; With true and faithful hands, the olive-stalk; And stay, he cried, dear pilgrim of the wild! But snakes are in the bosoms of their race, Preserver of my old, my boon companion's And though they held with us a friendly talk,

child !The hollow peace-tree fell beneath their to

mahawk!
Child of a race whose name my boson

warms, It was encamping on the lake's far port, On earth's remotest bounds how welcome A cry of Areouski broke our sleep,

here! Where stormed an ambushed foe thy nation's Whose mother oft, a child, has filled these

arms, And rapid, rapid whoops came o’er the deep; Young as thyself, and innocently dear, But-long thy country's war-sign on the steep Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer. Appeared through ghastly intervals of light; Ah happiest home of England's happy clime! And deathfully their thunders seemed to How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear,

sweep,

As in the noon and sunshine of my prime! Till utter darkness swallowed up the sight, How gone like yesterday these thrice ten As if a shower of blood had quenched the

years of time! fiery fight!

fort,

And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude It slept-it rose again-on high their tower

now Sprung upwards like a torch to light the Can I forget thee, favourite child of yore!

skies,

| Or thought I, in thy father's honse, when Then down again it rained an ember-shower,

thon And louder lamentations heard we rise: Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor, As when the evil Manitou that dries And first of all his hospitable door Th' Ohio woods consumes them in his ire, To meet and kiss me at my journey's end ! In vain the desolated panther flies,

But where was I when Waldegrave was to And howls, amidst his wilderness of fire:

more? Alas! too late we reached and smote those And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend, Hurons dire! In woes, that even the tribe of desarts was

thy friend!

But as the fox beneath the nobler hound,
So died their warriors by our battle-brand; He said and strained unto his heart the boy:
And from the tree we, with her child, un- Far differently, the mute Oneyda took

bound

His calumet of peace, and cup of joy: A lonely mother of the christian land: As monumental bronze unchanged his look: Her lord-the captain of the British band - A soul that pity touched, but never shook Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay. Trained, from his tree-rocked cradle to his Scarce knew the widow our delivering hand;

bier, Upon her child ahecsobbed, and swooned The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook

Impassive-fearing but the shame of fearOr shrieked into the God to whom the A stoic of the woods -- a man without a Christians pray. I

away,

tear.

Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock

P A Ꭱ Ꭲ IᏓ Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow; As lives the oak unwithered on the rock A VALLEY from the river-shore withdrawn By storms above, and barrenness below, Was Albert's home two quiet woods between, He scorned his own who felt another's woe; | Whose lofty verdure overlooked his lawn; And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, And waters to their resting-place serene Or laced his mocasins, in act to go,

Came fresh ’ning, and reflecting all the scene : A song of parting to the boy he sung, (A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves!) Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his So sweet a spot of earth, you might, I ween,

friendly tongue. Have guessed some congregation of the elves, To sport by summer-moons, had shaped it

for themselves. Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother

meet,

Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, Oh! tell her spirit that the white man's hand Nor vistas opened by the wand'ring stream; Hath plucked the thorns of sorrow from thy | Both where at evening Allegany views,

feet;

| Through ridges burning in her western bcam, While I in lonely wilderness shall greet Lake after lake interminably gleam : Tby little foot-prints-or by traces know And past those settlers' haunts the eye might The fountain, where at noon I thought it

roam sweet

Where earth's unliving silence all would seem; To feed thee with the quarry of my bow, Save where on rocks the beaver built his And poured the lotus-horn, or slew the moun

dome, tain-roe. Or buffalo remote lowed far from human

home.

Adieu ! sweet scion of the rising sun! But should affliction's storms thy blossom But silent not that adverse eastern path, - mock,

Which saw Aurora's hills th'horizon crown; Then come again---my own adopted one! There was the river heard in bed of wrath, And I will graft thee on a noble stock: (A precipice of foam from mountains brown) The crocodile, the condor of the rock,

Like tumults heard from some far distant Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars ;

town; And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock, But soft'ning in approach he left his glooin, To pay with Haron blood thy father's scars, And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars ! To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom,

That lent the windward air an exquisite

perfume. So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) That true to nature's fervid feelings ran; (And song is but the eloquence of truth) It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man; On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own But dauntless he, nor chart,nor journey's plan Inspired those eyes affectionate and glad, In woods required, whose trained eye was keen That seemed to love whate'er they looked As eagle of the wilderness, to scan

upon; His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ra-Whether with Hebe's mirth her features vine,

shone, Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast,

green.

(As if for heavenly musing meant alone) Yet so becomingly the expression past,

That each succeeding look was lovelier than Old Albert saw him from the valley's side

the last. His pirogue launched - his pilgrimage be

gunFar, like the red-bird's wing he seemed to Nor, guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home,

glide;

With all its picturesque and balmy grace, Then dived and vanished in the woodlands dun. And fields that were a luxury to roam, Oft, to that spot by tender memory won, Lost on the soul that looked from such a face! Would Albert climb the promontory's height, Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace If but a dim sail glimmered in the sun; Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's But never more, to bless his longing sight,

zone, Was Outalissi hailed, with bark and plumage The sunrise path at morn I see thee trace,

bright.

To hills with high magnolia overgrown,
And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and

alone.

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