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Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every


Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely form and face.

And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast,

And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest,

With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind

But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair behind.



A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid,
Woman!-a power to suffer and to love,
Therefore thou so canst pity.

WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum

On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke;

Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come,"

So the red warriors to their captive spoke. Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone,

A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; tho' from his cheek had flown The mantling crimson of the island-blood, And his press'd lips look'd marble.—Fiercely bright, And high around him, blaz'd the fires of night,

Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro,

As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow

Lighting the victim's face :-But who could tell

Of what within his secret heart befel,

Known but to heaven that hour?--Perchance a thought Of his far home then so intensely wrought,

That its full image, pictured to his eye

On the dark ground of mortal agony,
Rose clear as day!—and he might see the band,
Of his young sisters wandering hand in hand,
Where the laburnums droop'd; or haply binding
The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding;
Or, as day clos'd upon their gentle mirth,
Gathering with braided hair, around the hearth
Where sat their mother ;-and that mother's face
Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place
Where so it ever smiled!-Perchance the
Learn'd at her knee came back on his despair;

The blessing from her voice, the very tone

Of her "Good-night" might breathe from boyhood


He started and look'd up :--thick cypress boughs

Full of strange sound, wav'd o'er him, darkly red In the broad stormy firelight ;-savage brows,

With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread, Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars Look'd thro' the branches as thro' dungeon bars, Shedding no hope.--He knew, he felt his doomOh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom

That happy hall in England!-Idle fear!

Would the winds tell it ?--Who might dream or hear The secret of the forests?-To the stake

They bound him; and that proud young soldier


His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love

Of many hearts!the fondly rear'd,—the fair,
Gladdening all eyes to see !--And fetter'd there

He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand
Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand.
He thought upon his God.--Hush! hark!--a cry
Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity,--
A step hath pierc'd the ring!-Who dares intrude
On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood?-
A girl-a young slight girl-a fawn-like child
Of green Savannas and the leafy wild,
Springing unmark'd till then, as some lone flower,
Happy because the sunshine is its dower;
Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,---
For hers had mourn'd a playmate brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long,
Until the pity of her soul grew strong;

And, by its passion's deepening fervour sway'd,
Ev'n to the stake she rush'd, and gently laid
His bright head on her bosom, and around
His form her slender arms to shield it wound

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