Yet shoots into the sky a crown But bitter blasts, that wedge the keel, And on the eternal waste of snow, The maiden listens with a sigh, And so interested gets, The tear-drops fall from each blue eye, Like dew from violets. He tells, that when those sailors brave False-hearted friends make them a grave Within their memory. If but their love were true as cold, It would remain alway, Like objects which you there behold, Would never let remembrance show Nor love, like rubies, lie 'neath snow In tears perplexed, the maid amazed, With black-lashed eyes, dropped them, and gazed In silence on the floor: Again he spoke, "I knew a man Who cruised those seas with me, He was a bold American, A backwoodsman was he; Amid the freezing foam, Full on his western home; But that he saw the fireside And shadows on the wall. He saw a scarlet bud display A red that shamed the rose; He plucked, and cried, 'a type, I win, That lives alone by warmth within, And not from light above.' He knelt, and pressed it to his heart, Tell if my love is gone, forgot, Lost in oblivion." " The stranger sailor ceased to speak The violet-eyed maid Lost all the color from her cheek, And seemed like one that prayed. He would have said-ere he began, She snatched the charm of charms The rosy little talisman, And sank into his arms! Why tell of how they screamed, they gazed, The joyful news to learn; And how, to see all were amazed, Their sailor boy return; Of how they kissed him, shook his hand, And all talked at a time, And questioned of the Northern Land, And of the icy clime; How mother, brothers, sisters came, And father, too, beside, All calling out at once his name, Then dropped her head upon his breast, And in the reel, with laughing joy, Danced with his might and main. How oft the foaming bowl went round, And every eye was bright, Till daylight heard the music sound, AUTUMN. WHEN Indian Summer, like an Indian Queen Blushes throughout with varied shades of red; When sugar trees with pale vermillion wave, When the brown Paw-paw lies upon the ground And from the Shell Bark, with a rattling sound When Hackberries are black upon their stems, |