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< To one that will remember us of yore, {wore. • Oh! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand : • When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia • Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet;

• While I in lonely wilderness shall greet XX.

• Thy little foot prints—or by traces know • And I, the eagle of my tribe, have rush'd • The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet • With this lora dove.'-A sage's self-command • To feed thee with the quarry of my bow, [roe. Had quell'd the tears from Albert's heart that gush'd; * And pour'd the lotus-horn, or slew the mountain But yet his cheek—his agitated handThat shower'd upon the stranger of the land

XXVI. No common boon, in grief but ill beguil'd

• Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun! A soul that was not wont to be unmann'd;

• But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, • And stay,' he cried, 'dear pilgrim of the wild ! • Then come again—my own adopted one! • Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child! And I will graft thee on a noble stock:

• The crocodile, the condor of the rock, XXI.

• Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars; • Child of a race whose name my bosom warms, • And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock, « On earth's remotest bounds how welcome here! « To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars, « Whose mother oft, a child, has fill'd these arms, • And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars !' • Young as thyself, and innocently dear,

XXVII. • Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer. • Ah happiest home of England's happy clime! So finish'd he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) • How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear,

That true to nature's fervid feelings ran; • As in the noon and sunshine of my prime! [time! (And song is but the eloquence of truth :) • How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years of Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man;

But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan XXII.

In woods requir’d, whose trained eye was keen • And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now, As eagle of the wilderness, to scan • Can I forget thee, fav’rite child of yore?

His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine, • Or thought I, in thy father's house when thou Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green. • Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor,

XXVIII. * And first of all his hospitable door, • To meet and kiss me at my journey's end;

Old Albert saw him from the valley's side• But where was I when Waldegrave was no more? His pirogue launch’d-his pilgrimage begun* And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend, Far, like the red-bird's wing he seem'd to glide; • In woes, that ev'n the tribe of desarts was thy Then div'd, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun. friend!'

Oft, to that spot by tender memory won,

Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
XXIII.

If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun;
He said—and strain'd unto his heart the boy: But never more, to bless his longing sight,
Far differently the mute Oneyda took

Was Outalissi hail'd, with bark and plumage bright.
His calumet of peace, and cup of joy ;
As monumental bronze unchang'd his look:

PART II.
A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook :
Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier,

I.
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook A valley from the river shore withdrawn
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear- Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between,
A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.

Whose lofty verdure overlook'd his lawn;

And waters to their resting place serene
XXIV.

Came fresh’ning, and reflecting all the scene: Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock

(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;) Of Outalissi's heart disdain’d to grow;

So sweet a spot of earth, you might, (I ween) As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock

Have guess'd some congregation of the elves By storms above, and barrenness below:

To sport by summer moons, had shap'd it for themHe scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe:

selves.
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,
Or lac'd his mocasins, in act to go,

II.
A song of parting to the boy he sung, (tongue. Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse,
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly Nor vistas open’d by the wand'ring stream;

Both where at evening Allegany views,
XXV.

Through ridges burning in her western beam, • Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land Lake after lake interminably gleam: • Shouldst thou tomorrow with thy mother meet, And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam,

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Where earth's unliving silence all would seem; And keep his rev'rend head from all annoy:
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair,
Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home. Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair;

While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,
III.

While boatman carrol'd to the fresh-blown air, But silent not that adverse eastern path,

And woods a horizontal shadow threw, Which saw Aurora's hills th' horizon crown; And early fox appear'd in momentary view. There was the river heard, in bed of wrath,

IX. (A precipice of foam from mountains brown,) Like tumults heard from some far distant town; Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom, Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore; And murmur'd pleasantly, and laid him down Tradition had not nam'd its lonely spot; To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom,

But here (methinks) might India's sons explore That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. Their father's dust, or lift, perchance of yore,

Their voice to the great Spirit:-rocks sublime IV.

To human art a sportive semblance bore, It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime, (time. On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own Like moonlight battlements, and towers decay'd by Inspir’d those eyes affectionate and glad, That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon;

X. Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, But high in amphitheatre above, Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast,

His arms the everlasting aloes threw: (As if for heav'nly musing meant alone;)

Breath'd but an air of heav'n, and all the grove Yet so becomingly th’expression past,

[last.

As if with instinct living spirit grew,
That each succeeding look was lovelier than the Rolling its verdant gulphs of every hue;

And now suspended was the pleasing din,
V.

Now from a murmur faint it swellid anew,
Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home, Like the first note of organ heard within
With all its picturesque and balmy grace,

Cathedral aisles,-ere yet its symphony begin. And fields that were a luxury to roam, Lost on the soul that look'd from such a face !

XI. Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace It was in this lone valley she would charm Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone, The ling'ring noon, where flow’rs a couch had The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace, Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm (strewn; To hills with high magnolia overgrown,

On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown: And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone. And aye that volume on her lap is thrown,

Which every heart of human mould endears; VI.

With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, And no intruding visitation fears,

[tears. That thus apostrophiz'd its vicwless scene :

To shame th’unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest • Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! • The home of kindred I have never seen!

XII. • We know not other-oceans are between:

And nought within the grove was seen or heard • Yet say ! far friendly hearts from whence we came, But stock-doves plaining through its gloom profound, • Of us does oft remembrance intervene !

Or winglet of the fairy humming bird,
My mother sure—my sire a thought may claim;- Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round!
• But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name. When lo! there enter'd to its inmost ground

A youth, the stranger of a distant land;
VII.

He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound; • And yet, lov'd England! when thy name I trace But late th' equator suns his cheek had tann'd, • In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song,

And California's gales his roving bosom fann'd. How can I choose but wish for one embrace

XIII. • Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong • My mother's looks,-perhaps her likeness strong? A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, • Oh parent! with what reverential awe,

He led dismounted; ere his leisure

pace, • From features of thine own related throng, Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm, . An image of thy face my soul could draw ! Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space . And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!' Those downcast features :-she her lovely face

Uplift on one, whose lineaments and frame
VIII.

Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace:
Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy ; Iberian seem'd his boot-his robe the same,
To soothe a father's couch her only care,

And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became.

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XIV.

" It is!-it is! -I knew I knew him well! For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair

'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to Has pointed where the father's mansion stood.

A burst of joy the father's lips declare; [tell!'Returning from the copse he soon was there;

But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell: And soon has Gertrude hied from dark green wood;

At once his open arms embrac'd the pair, [care. Nor joyless, by the converse, understood

Was never group more blest in this wide world of Between the man of age and pilgrim young,

XX.
That gay congeniality of mood,
And early liking from acquaintance sprung;

* And will ye pardon then (replied the youth) Full fluently convers’d their guest in England's

• Your Waldegrave's feign’d name, and false attire ?

• I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth, tongue.

• The very fortunes of your house enquire; XV.

• Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire And well could he his pilgrimage of taste

Impart, and I my weakness all betray; Unfold,—and much they lov'd his fervid strain, • For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire, While he each fair variety re-trac'd

I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day,
Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main: • Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away.
Now happy Switzer's hills,-romantic Spain,-

XXI.
Gay lilied fields of France,-or, more refin'd,
The soft Ausonia's monumental reign;

• But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear face Nor less each rural image he design'd,

• The changing hand of time I may not blame; Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. • For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace,

* And here, of beauty perfected the frame; XVI.

• And well I know your hearts are still the same, Anon some wilder portraiture he draws;

• They could not change-ye look the very way, of Nature's savage glories he would speak,- • As when an orphan first to you I came. The loneliness of earth that overawes,

* And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray? Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique, Nay wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak,

day?' Nor living voice nor motion marks around;

XXII. But storks that to the boundless forest shriek,

• And art thou here? or is it but a dream ?

a Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulph profound,

• And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado

more?'sound.

• No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem XVII.

• Than aught on earth-than ev’n thyself of yore

• I will not part thee from thy father's shore; Pleas'd with bis guest, the good man still would ply

• But we shall cherish him with mutual arms, Each earnest question, and his converse court;

* And hand in hand again the path explore, But Gertrude, as she ey'd him, knew not why

• Which every ray of young remembrance warms, A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short.

• While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and • In England thou hast been,-and, by report,

charms.'
• An orphan's name (quoth Albert) mayst have
known:

XXIII.
Sad tale! - when latest fell our frontier fort, At morn, as if beneath a galaxy
• One innocent-one soldier's child-alone (own.- Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,
Was spar'd,and brought to me, who lov'd him as my Where all was od'rous scent and harmony,

And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
XVIII.

There if, oh gentle love! I read aright, Young Henry Waldegrave! three delightful years The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond, « These very walls his infant sports did see;

'Twas list’ning to these accents of delight, • But most I lov'd him when his partir

She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond Alternately bedew'd my child and me:

Expression's pow'r to paint, all languishingly fond. • His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee; • Nor half its grief his little heart could hold:

XXIV. By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea,

• Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone! • They tore him froin us when but twelve years old, " Whom I would rather in this desart meet, * And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consolid.' Scorning, and scorn’d by fortune's pow'r, than own

• Her pomp and splendors lavish'd at my feet! XIX.

• Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite His face the wand'rer hid,but could not hide • Than odours cast on heav'n's own shrine-to A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell;

please • And speak, mysterious stranger! (Gertrude cried) • Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet,

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PART III.

• And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze,

V.
• When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.' And in the visions of romantic youth,

What years of endless bliss are yet to flow!
XXV.

But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth!
Then would that home admit them-happier far

The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below! Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon,

And must I change my song? and must I show, While, here and there, a solitary star

Sweet Wyoming! the day, when thou wert doom'd, Flush'd in the dark’ning firmament of June ; Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bow'rs laid lor! And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon,

When, where of yesterday a garden bloom'd, Ineffable, which I may not pourtray;

Death overspread his pall, and black’ning ashes For never did the Hymenean moon

gloom'd. A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,

VI.
In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray.

Sad was the year, by proud oppression drivin,
When Transatlantic Liberty arose,

Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n,
I.

But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes.

Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes; O Love! in such a wilderness as this,

Her birth star was the light of burning plains; Where transport and security entwine,

Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,

From kindred hearts—the blood of British veinsAnd here thou art a god indeed divine.

And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire !

VII. Roll on, ye days of raptur’d influence, shine!

Yet, ere the storm of death had rag'd remote, Nor blind with ecstacy's celestial fire,

Or siege unseen in heav'n reflects its beams, Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time ex

Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, pire.

That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts, and nightly II.

Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams (dreams?

Portentous light! and music's voice is dumb; Three little moons, how short! amidst the grove,

Save where the fife its shrill reveillè screams, And pastoral savannas they consume!

Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum, While she, beside her buskin’d youth to rove,

That speaks of mad'ning strife, and bloodstain'd Delights, in fancifully wild costume,

fields to come. Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare ;

VIII. But not to chase the deer in forest gloom;

It was in truth a momentary pang; 'Tis but the breath of heav'n-the blessed air

Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! And interchange of hearts,unknown,unseen to share.

First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang,

A husband to the battle doom'd to go!
III.

• Nay meet not thou, (she cries) thy kindred foe! What though the sportive dog oft round them note, • But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand!'Or fawn, or wild bird bursting on the wing;

Ah, Gertrude! thy beloved heart, I know Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote

• Would feel like mine, the stigmatizing brand, To death those gentle throats that wake the spring,

• Could I forsake the cause of freedom's holy band! Or writhing from the brook its victim bring?

IX. No! nor let fear one little warbler rouse; But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing, * But shame—but flight—a recreant's name to prore, Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs, To hide in exile ignominious fears; That shade ev'n now her love, and witness'd first Say, ev'n if this I brook'd, the public love her vows.

• Thy father's bosom to his home endears:

* And how could I bis few remaining years, IV.

My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child iNow labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, So, day by day, her boding heart he cheers; Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, At last that heart to hope is half beguild, Where welcome hills shut out the universe, And pale through tears suppress’d the mournfal And pines their lawny walk encompass round;

beauty smild. There, if a pause delicious converse found,

X. 'Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, (Perchance awhile in joy's oblivion drown'd) Night came,-and in their lighted bow'r, full late, That come what may, while life's glad pulses roll, The joy of converse had endur'd—when hark! Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul. Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate;

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And heedless of the dog's obstrep'rous bark, Soon was the hospitable banquet plac'd;
A form has rush'd amidst them from the dark, And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed [bled.
And spread his arms,—and fell upon the floor: On wounds, with fever'd joy that more profusely
Of aged strength his limbs retain'd the mark;
But desolate he look'd, and famish'd poor,

XVI.
As ever shipwreck'd wretch lone left on desart shore.

• But this is not a time, he started up, XI.

And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand

• This is no time to fill the joyous cup, (Brandt, Upris'n, each wond’ring brow is knit and arch’d:

• The Mammoth comes,-the foe,- the Monster A spirit from the dead they deem him first:

• With all his howling desolating band ;To speak he tries; but quivering, pale,and parch’d,

• These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine, From lips, as by some pow'rless dream accurs’d,

• Awake at once, and silence half your land. Emotions unintelligible burst;

• Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: And long his filmed eye is red and dim;

• Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning At length the pity-proffer'd cup his thirst

shine! Had half assuag'd, and nerv'd his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd ;—but Albert knew

XVII. not him

Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,
XII.

''Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth :

• Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe * And hast thou then forgot,' (he cried forlorn,

• Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth : And ey'd the group with half indignant air)

* No! not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth, • Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn

• Escap'd, that night of blood, upon our plains ! • When I with thee the cup of peace did share ?

• All perish'd !—I alone am left on earth ! • Then stately was this head, and dark this hair,

• To whom nor relative nor blood remains, • That now is white as Appalachia's snow ;

• No!—not a kindred drop that runs in human veins! • But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, • And age hath bow'd me, and the tort'ring foe,

XVIII. Bring me my boy—and he will his deliverer know!'

• But go!-and rouse your warriors; for, if right

• These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs XIII.

• Of strip'd and starred banners, on yon height It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame,

• Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pinesEre Henry to his lov'd Oneyda flew;

• Some fort embattled by your country shines : • Bless thee, my guide!'—but, backward, as he came,

Deep roars th' innavigable gulph below The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew,

• Its squared rock, and palisaded lines. And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him

• Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show; (foe!" through.

• Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the

(troul 'Twas strange—nor could the group a smile con

XIX. The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view:At last delight o'er all his features stole, (soul, Scarce had he utter'd-when Heav'n's verge ex. • It is—my own,' he cried, and clasp'd him to his Reverberates the bomb's descending star,- [treme

And sounds that mingled laugh,—and shout -and XIV.

To freeze the blood, in one discordantjar, (scream, • Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. · The bowstring of my spirit was not slack,

Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assail'd; • When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar; • I bore thee like the quiver on my back,

[men, While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailid:• Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack; And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet • Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I fear'd,

wail'd. For I was strong as mountain cataract: • And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd

XX. • Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts ap- Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung pear'd?

The bandit groupes, in one Vesuvian glare;

Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung, XV.

Told legible that midnight of despair. • Then welcome be my death-song, and my death! She faints,-she falters not,-th' heroic fair, • Since I have seen thee, and again embrac'd.'- As he the sword and plume in haste array'd. And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath ; One short embrace-he clasp'd his dearest care But with affectionate and eager haste,

But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade? Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest, Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through To welcome and to bless his aged head,

the shade!

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