Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower, Scarce weaned from the love of childish play! The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower That freshens the early blooms of May! Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow Pass thoughtful shadows and joyous gleams, And I know, by thy moving lips, that now Thy spirit strays in the Land of Dreams. Light-hearted maiden, oh, heed thy feet! O keep where that beam of Paradise falls, And only wander where thou may'st meet The blessed ones from its shining walls. So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams, With love and peace to this world of strife; And the light that over that border streams Shall lie on the path of thy daily life. Ay, this is freedom!-these pure skies Were never stained with village smoke: The fragrant wind, that through them flies, Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. Here, with my rifle and my steed, And her who left the world for me, I plant me where the red deer feed In the green desert-and am free. For here the fair savannas know The bison is my noble game; The bounding elk, whose antlers tear Mine are the river-fowl that scream The brinded catamount, that lies With what free growth the elm and plane Fling their huge arms across my way, Gray, old, and cumbered with a train Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! Free stray the lucid streams, and find No taint in these fresh lawns and shades; Free spring the flowers that scent the wind Where never scythe has swept the glades. Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere With roaring like the battle's sound, And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, And smoke-streams gushing up the sky: I meet the flames with flames again, THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES. Here, from dim woods, the aged past And lonely river, seaward rolled. Broad are these streams-my steed obeys, O'er woody vale and grassy height; |