Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low: Why so slow? Do you wait till I shrink from the pain? No, the son of Alknomook will never complain. Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation away Now the fire rises fast, you exult in my pain, I go to the land where my father is gone, MRS. HUNTER. ILLINOIS DEATH SONG. REAR'D midst the war-empurpled plain, What Illinois submits to pain! How can the glory-darting fire The coward chill of death inspire"! The sun a blazing heat bestows, And own their flaming source divine. Then let me hail the' immortal fire, No griefs this warrior soul can bow, MRS. MORTON. A MAROON SONG. are o'er; HASTE, haste, my companions! the night dews [are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar, [groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his O'er the deep tangled thicket our toils shall prevail, In vain to the steep cliff the savage shall run; Where the cocoa waves gay to the balm-scented gale, And the aloe expands its tall spires to the sun. Ye spirits that triumph'd in death o'er your foe, But left the dark sons of your race to complain; Ye that bade, in your anguish, the heirs of your woe Be the heirs of your hatred, the chiefs of disdain; If ye sail in your pride on the sun's slanting beam, If ye robe your stern shades in the mist's fleeting form; Or if rather ye joy in the lightning's fierce gleam, And stride on the whirlwind, and trample the storm; O, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave, To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the brave, away, And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger [pass'd, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around us their sway, [blast. We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er; [are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar, [groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his P. M. JAMES. SONG TO ZEPHYR. ZEPHYR! whither are you straying, Tell me where? With prankish girls in gardens playing, A butterfly's light back bestriding, Before Aurora's car you amble High in air; At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol, Braid their hair; When on the tumbling billows rolling, To chase the moonbeams up the mountains Or dance with elves on brinks of fountains, Now seen with lovelorn lilies weeping, Now with a blushing rosebud sleeping, LEFTLY. FAIRY SONG. WOULD you the fairy regions see, And the chaffer's bugle our guide shall be. LEFTLY. O, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave, To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the brave, And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger away, [pass'd, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around us their sway, [blast. We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er; [are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar, [groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his P. M. JAMES. SONG TO ZEPHYR. ZEPHYR! whither are you straying, Tell me where? With prankish girls in gardens playing, A butterfly's light back bestriding, Before Aurora's car you amble High in air; At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol, Braid their hair; |