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A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn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 shaped it for
themselves.

II.

Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, Nor vistas open'd by the wand'ring stream; Both where at evening Alleghany views, Through ridges burning in her western beam, Lake after lake interminably gleam:

And past those settlers' haunts the eye might

roam,

Where earth's unliving silence all would seem; Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home.

III.

But silent not that adverse eastern path
Which saw Aurora's hills th' horizon crown;
There was the river heard, in bed of wrath,
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown,)

Like tumults heard from some far distant town;

But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom,
And murmur'd pleasantly, and laid him down-
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom,
That lent the windward air an exquisite per-
fume.-

IV.

It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their

Own

Inspir'd those eyes affectionate and glad,
That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon;
Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone,
Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast,
(As if for heav'nly musing meant alone ;)
Yet so becomingly th' expression past,

That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last.

Nor, guess

V.

I, was that Pennsylvanian home, With all its picturesque and balmy grace, And fields that were a luxury to roam,

Lost on the soul that look'd from such a face! Enthusiast of the woods! when years apace Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's

zone,

The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace
To hills with high magnolia overgrown ;

And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone.

VI.

The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, That thus apostrophized its viewless scene: "Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! home of kindred I have never seen!

We know not other-oceans are between ;-
Yet, say! far friendly hearts from whence we

came,

Of us does oft remembrance intervene ?

My mother sure-my sire a thought may claim;But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name.

VII.

And yet, loved England! when thy name I trace
In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song,
How can I choose but wish for one embrace
Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong
My mother's looks,-perhaps her likeness strong?
Oh, parent! with what reverential awe,
From features of thine own related throng,
An image of thy face my soul could draw!
And see thee once again whom I too shortly

saw!"

VIII.

Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy;
To soothe a father's couch her only care,
And keep his rev'rend head from all annoy:
For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair,
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her

hair;

While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew, While boatman caroll'd to the fresh-blown air, And woods a horizontal shadow threw,

And early fox appear'd in momentary view.

IX.

At times there was a deep untrodden grot, Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude

wore ;

Tradition had not nam'd its lonely spot;

But here (methinks) might India's sons explore

Their father's dust,* or lift, perchance, of yore,
Their voice to the Great Spirit :-rocks sublime
To human art a sportive semblance wore;
And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime,
Like moonlight battlements, and tow'rs decay'd
by time.

X.

But high, in amphitheatre above,
His arms the everlasting aloe threw :
Breath'd but an air of heav'n, and all the grove
As if with instinct living spirit grew,
Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue;
And now suspended was the pleasing din,
Now from a murmur faint it swell'd anew,
Like the first note of organ heard within
Cathedral aisles,-ere yet its symphony begin.

XI.

It was in this lone valley she would charm
The ling'ring noon, where flow'rs a couch had
strown;

Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm
On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown :
And ay that volume on her lap is thrown,
Which every heart of human mould endears;
With Shakespeare's self she speaks and smiles
alone,

And no intruding visitation fears,

To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop hcr sweetest tears.

XII.

For, save her presence, scarce an ear had heard The stock-dove plaining through its gloom profound,

*It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their ancestors, in the cultivated parts of America who have been buried for upwards of a century.

Or winglet of the fairy humming bird,
Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round;
Till chance had usher'd to its inmost ground
The stranger guest of many a distant clime;
He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound;
But late th' equator suns his cheek had tann'd,
And California's gales his roving bosom fann'd.-

XIII.

A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm,
He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace,
Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm,
Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space
Those downcast features :—she her lovely face
Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame
Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace:
Iberian seem'd his boot-his robe the same,
And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks
became.

XIV.

For Albert's home he sought-her finger fair
Has pointed where the father's mansion stood.
Returning from the copse he soon was there;
And soon as Gertrude hied from dark green
wood;

Nor joyless, by the converse, understood,
Between the man of age and pilgrim young,
That gay congeniality of mood,

And early liking from acquaintance sprung:
Full fluently convers'd their guest in England's
tongue.

XV.

And well could he his pilgrimage of taste Unfold, and much they lov'd his fervid strain,While he each fair variety re-trac'd

Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main Now happy Switzer's hills,-romantic Spain,-