XXII.

And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now, 'Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore?

'Or thought I, in thy father's house when thou
'Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor,
And first of all his hospitable door,

To meet and kiss me at my journey's end? 'But where was I when Waldegrave was no more? And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend,

'In woes, that ev'n the tribe of desarts was thy friend!'

XXIII,

He said and strain'd unto his heart the boy :

Far differently the mute Oneyda took
His calumet of peace, and cup of joy ; 7
As monumental bronze unchang'd his look:
A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook:
Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier,
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear-
A stoic of the woods-
3-a man without a tear.

7 Calumet of peace.-The calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity.

8 Tree-rock'd cradle.-The Indian mothers suspend their children in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be rocked by the wind.

XXIV.

Yet deem not goodness on the savage

stock

Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow;
As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock
By storms above, and barrenness below:
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe:
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,
Or lac'd his mocasins, in act to go,

A song of parting to the boy he sung,

Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly

tongue.

XXV.

Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land 'Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, 'Oh! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand 'Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet; While I in lonely wilderness shall greet

Thy little foot-prints-or by traces know

The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet To feed thee with the quarry of my bow,

And pour'd the lotus-horn, 9 or slew the mountain roe.

9 From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriant presumes to be of the lotus kind; the Indians in their travels through the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any other water.

XXVI.

< Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun! 'But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock,

'Then come again-my own adopted one!

'And I will graft thee on a noble stock :
The crocodile, the condor of the rock,
• Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars ;
'And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock,
To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars,
And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!'

XXVII.

So finish'd he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth)
That true to nature's fervid feelings ran;
(And song is but the eloquence of truth:)
Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man ;
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan
In woods requir'd, whose trained eye was keen
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan

His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine,
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.

XXVIII.

Old Albert saw him from the valley's side-
His pirogue launched-his pilgrimage begun-
Far, like the red-bird's wing he seem'd to glide;
Then div'd, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun,
Oft, to that spot by tender memory won,
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun;
But never more, to bless his longing sight,

Was Outalissi hail'd, with bark and plumage bright.

GERTRUDE

OF

WYOMING.

PART II.

I.

A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn

Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between,
Whose lofty verdure overlook'd his lawn;
And waters to their resting place serene
Came fresh'ning, and reflecting all the scene:
(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;)
So sweet a spot of earth, you might, (I ween)
Have guess'd some congregation of the elves

To sport by summer moons, had shap'd it for themselves.