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The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe | It was in this lone valley she would charın


The lingering noon, where flowers a couch That thus apostrophized its viewless scene :

had strewn; “Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! Her cheek reclining and her snowy arm The home of kindred I have never seen! On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown: We know not other- -oceans are between: And aye that volume on her lap is thrown, Yet say, far friendly hearts! from whence Which every hears of human mould endears;

With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles Of us does oft remembrance intervene?

alone, My mother sure—my sire a thought may And no intruding visitation fears,


To shame the unconscious laugh, or stop But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name.

her sweetest tears.

we came,


And nought within the grove was heard or And yet, loved England! when thy name I


But stock-doves plaining through its gloom In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, llow can I choose but wish for one embrace Or winglet of the fairy humming bird,

profound, of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round; My mother's looks, – perhaps her likeness When, lo! there entered to its inmost ground


A youth, the stranger of a distant land; Oh, parent! with what reverential awe,

He was, to weet, for eastern mountains From features of thine own related throng,

bound; An image of thy face my soul could draw! But late th’ equator-suns his cheek had And see thee once again whom I too shortly

tanned, saw !”And California's gales his roving bosom

fanned. 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: He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace

A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, For this, methinks, her homeward steps Amid the brown leaves could her ear alarm,


Close he had come, and worshipped for a Soon as the morning-wreath had bound her

space hair,

Those downcast features:-she her lovely While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,

face While boatmen carolled to the fresh-blown air, Uplift on one, whose lineaments and frame And woods a horizontal shadow threw,

Were youth and manhood's intermingled And early fox appeared in momentary view.

grace: Iberian seemed his boot-his robe the same,

And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks Apart there was a deep untrodden grot,

becamé. Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude

wore; Tradition had not named its lonely spot; For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair But here,methinks, might India's sons explore Has pointed where the father's mansion Their fathers' dust, or lift, perchance of yore,

stood. Their voice to the great spirit:-rocks Returning from the copse he soon was there;


And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green To human art a sportive semblance bore,

wood; And yellow lichens coloured all the clime, Nor joyless, by the converse, understood Like' moonlight battlements and towers Between the man of age and pilgrim young,

decayed by time. That gay congeniality of mood,

And early liking from acquaintance sprung;

Full fluently conversed their guent in EngBut high in amphitheatre above,

land's tongue. His arms the everlasting aloes threw : Breathed but an air of heaven, and all the


And well could he his pilgrimage of taste As if with instinct, living spirit grew, Unfold, and much they loved his fervid strain, Rolling its verdant golphs of every hue: While he each fair variety retraced And now suspended was the pleasing din; Of climes and manners o'er the eastern main. Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew, Now happy Switzer's hills, romantic Like the first note of organ heard within

Spain, Cathedral aisles, ere yet its symphony begin. Gay lilied fields of France,-or, more refined,


The soft Ausonia's monumental reign: The very fortunes of your house enquire; Nor less each rural image he designed Lest one that knew me might some tidings Than all the city's pomp and home of human


Impart, and I my weakness all betray;
For had I lost my Gertrude and my sire,

I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day, Anon some wilder portraiture he draws; Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass Of Nature's savage glory he would speak,

away. The loneliness of earth that overawes,Where, resting by some tomb of old cacique, The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak, But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear Nor living voice nor motion marks around,

face, But storks that to the boundless forest shrick, The changing hand of time I may not blame; Or wild-cane-arch bigh flung o'er gulph For there, it hath but shed more reverend profound,

grace, That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado And here, of beauty perfected the frame:


And well I know your hearts are still the

They could not change-ye look the very Pleased with his guest, the good man still

way, would ply

As when an orpban first to you I came. Each earnest question, and his converse court; And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray? But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why Nay, wherefore weep ye, friends, on such A strange and troubling wonder stopt her

a joyous day?-short. In England thou hast been,-and, by report, An orphan's name (quoth Albert) nayst And art thou here? or is it but a dream?

have known, And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave Sad tale!- when latest fell our frontier fort,

118 more? One innocent--one soldier's child-alone No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier scem Was spared and brought to me, who loved Than aught on earth-than e'en thyself of him as my own.

yoreI will not part theo from thy father's shore;

But we shall cherish him with mutual arms, Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful And hand in hand again the path explore,


Which every ray of young remembrance These very walls his infant sports did see;

warms, But most I loved him when his parting tears While thou shalt be my own, with all thy Alternately bedewed my child and me:

truth and charms. His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; Nor half its grief his little heart could hold: By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea; At morn, as if beneath a galaxy They tore him from us when but twelve of over-arching groves in blossoms white,

years old,

Where all was odorous scent and harınony, And scarcely for his loss have I been yet 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 listening to these accents of delight, His face the wanderer hid, but could not hide She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell;— Expression's power to paint all languishingly And speak, mysterious stranger! Gertrude

fond. cried ; It is!-it is !—I knew-I knew him well! Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone!

to tell!

Whom I would rather in this desert meet, A burst of joy the father's lips declare ; Scorning and scorned by fortune's power, But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell:

than own At once his open arms embraced the pair. Her pomp and splendours lavished at my feet! Was never group more blest, in this wide Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite world of care. Than odours' cast on heaven's own shrine,

to please;

Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet, And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) And more than all the wealth that loads Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and falsc

the breeze, attire?

When Coromandel's ships return from Indian I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth,


Then would that home admit them—happier Where welcome hills shut out the universe,


And pines their lawny walk encompass round; Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon, There, if a pause delicious converse found, While, here and there, a solitary star 'Twas but when o'er each heart the idea Flushed in the dark’ning firmament of June;

stole, And silence brought the soul-felt hour full (Perchance a while in joy's oblivion drowned)


That come what may, while life's glad pulses Jneffable, which I may not portray;

roll, For never did the hymenean moon

Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul. A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous


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


Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert

doomed, O Love! in such a wilderness as this, Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid Where transport and security entwine,

low! Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, When, where of yesterday a garden bloomed, And here thou art a god indeed divine. Death overspread his pall, and blackening Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine

ashes gloomed. The views, the walks, that boundless joy

inspire! Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine! Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven, Nor, blind with ecstasy's celestial fire, When transatlantic Liberty arose, Shall love behold the spark of earth-born Not in the sunshine and the smile of heaven, time expire. But wrapt in whirlwinds and begirt with


Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes; Three little moons, how short! amidst the Her birth-star was the light of burning grove

plains ; And pastoral savannas they consume; Her baptism is the weight of blood that While she, beside her buskined youth to rove,

flows Delights, in fancifully wild costume, From kindred hearts—the blood of British Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume;

veins; And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare; And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential But not to chase the deer in forest-gloom;

pains. 'Tis but the breath of heaven- the blessed

air And interchange of hearts, unknown, unseen Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote,

to share.

Or siege unseen in heaven reflects its beams,
Who now each dreadful circumstance shall

note, What though the sportive dog oft round That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts and them note

nightly dreams? Or fawn or wild bird bursting on the wing; Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams Yet who, in love's own presence, would Portentous light! and music's voice is dumb;


Save where the fife its shrill reveillé screams, To death those gentle throats that wake Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum,

the spring,

That speaks of mad’ning strife and bloodOr writhing from the brook its victim bring?

stained fields to come. No!_nor let fear one little warbler rouse; But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them


It was in truth a momentary pang ; Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs, Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! That shade e'en now her love, and witnessed First when in Gertrude's ear the summons first her vows.

rang, A husband to the battle doomed to go!

Nay meet not thou (she cries) thy kindred Now labyrinths, which but themselves can

foe! pierce,

But peaceful let us scek fair England's Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant

strand! ground,

Ah, Gertrude! thy beloved heart, I know, to prove,

Would feel like mine the stigmatizing brand, The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew, Conld I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy And grasped his arm, and looked and looked band!

him through. 'Twas strange--nor could the group a smile

controulBut shame—but flight-a recreant's name The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view:

At last delight o'er all his features stole, To hide in exile ignominious fears ;

It is—my own! he cried, and grasped him Say, e'en if this I brooked, the public love

to his soul. Thy father's bosom to his home endears : And how could I his few remaining years, My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child ? Yes! thou recallst my pride of years, for then So, day by day, her boding heart he cheers; The bowstring of my spirit was not slack, At last that heart to hope is half beguiled, When, spite of woods, and floods, and amAnd pale through tears suppressed the mourn

bushed men, ful beauty smiled. 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 Night came,-and in their lighted bower,

feared, full late,

For I was strong as mountain-cataract: The joy of converse had endured—when, And dost thou not remember how we cheered,

hark !

Upon the last hill-top, when white men's Abrupt and loud a summons shook their gate;

huts appeared ? 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: Then welcome be my death-song and my Of aged strength his limbs retaind the mark;

death! But desolate he looked, and famished poor, Since I have seen thee, and again embraced. As ever shipwrecked wretch long left on And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath;

desert shore. But with affectionate and eager haste
Was every arm outstretched around their

guest, Upris'n each wond’ring brow is knit and to welcome and to bless his aged head.


Soon was the hospitable banquet placed ; A spirit from the dead they deein him first: And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed To speak he tries; but quiv'ring, pale, and On wounds with fevered joy that more proparched,

fusely bled. From lips, as by some powerless dream

accursed, Emotions unintelligible burst;

But this is not a time,-he started up, And long his filmed eye is red and dim; And smote his breast with woe-denouncing At length the pity-proffered cup his thirst

handHad half assuag'd, and nerved his shuddering This is no time to fill the joyous cup;


The Mammoth comes,—the foe,--the monWhen Albert's hand he grasped; but Albert

ster Brandt, knew not him. With all his howling desolating band: These eyes have seen their blade, and burning

pine And hast thou then forgot, (he cried forlorn, Awake at once, and silence half your land. And eyed the group with half indignant air,) Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: Oh! bast thou, Christian chief, forgot the Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morn

ing shine! When I with thee the cup of peace did share? Then stately was this head, and dark this


Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, That now is white as Appalachia’s snow;

'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair

forth : And age hath bowed me,and the torturing foe, Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe Bring me my boy-and he will his deliverer Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth,

know !
No! not the dog that watched my household -


Escaped that night of blood upon our plains ! It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, All perished !-. I alone am left on earth! Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew: To whom nor relative nor blood remains, Bless thee, my guide!--but, backward, as No!-- not a kindred drop that runs in human he came,

veins !



But go!—and rouse your warriors ;-for, if of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere right

long These old bewildered eyes could guess, by To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,


And smile avenged ere yet his cagle-spirit Of striped and starred banners,on yon height

parts. Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines, Some fort embattled by your country shines : Deep roars th' innavigable gulph below Calm, opposite the Christian father rose ; Its squared rock and palisaded lines. Pale on his venerable brow its rays Go! seek the light its warlike beacons shew; Of martyr-light the conflagration throws; Whilst I in ambush wait for vengeance and One hand upon his lovely child he lays,

the foc!

And one th' uncover'd crowd to silence sways;
While, though the battle-fash is faster

driven, Scarce had he uttered—when heaven's verge Unawed, with eye unstartled by the blaze,

He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, Reverberates the bomb's descending star,- Prays that the men of blood themselves And sounds that mingled laugh,—and shout,

may be forgiven. —and scream, To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar, Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. Short time is now for gratulating speech: Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed! And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar; Thy country's flight, yon distant towers to While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed:

reach, And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet Looked not on thee the rudest partizan


With brow relax'd to love! And murmurs ran,
As round and round their willing ranks they

drew, Then looked they to the hills, where fire From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van.


Grateful, on them a placid look she threw, The bandit-groups, in one Vesuvian glare; Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's Or swept, far seen, the tower whose clock

grave adieu ! unrung Told legible that midnight of despair. She fainta, she falters not, th' heroic fair, Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the As he the sword and plume in haste array'd.

tower, One short embrace--he clasp'd his dearest That, like a giant standard-bearer, frowned

Defiance on the roving Indian power. But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes Beneath, each bold and promontory mound

the glade?

With embragure embossed, and armour Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling

crowned, through the shade. And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin,

Wove like a diadem its tracery round

The lofty summit of that mountain green; Then came of every race the mingled swarm; Here stood secure the group, and eyed a Far rung the groves and gleam'd the mid

distant scene. night grass With flambean, javelin, and naked arm; As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass, A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun, Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass, And blended arms, and white pavilions glow; Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines : And for the business of destruction done And first the wild Moravian yaegers pass; Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow: His plumed host the dark Iberian joins ; There, sad spectatress of her country's woe! And Scotia’s sword beneath the Highland The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, thistle shines. Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands

of snow

On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his And in the buskined hunters of the deer To Albert's home with shout and cymbal Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its throng:

wild alarm! Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth,

and cheer, Old Outalissi woke his battle-song,

But short that contemplation-sad and short And, beating with his war-club cadence The pause to bid cach much-loved scene strong,

adieu! Tells how his stoep-stung indignation smarts Bencath the very shadow of the fort,



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