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AlTIIOR OF QUEBKC, THE HARP, AND OTHEH POLMS. A tale of the times of old. OSSIAX. AJONTREAL J. A. HOISISGTOJf, & CO. SI. PAUr.-STUEET. 1831 I 1 ;•' 1 ^ i) PR y? t^D ,Vv'3M 5 V TO JAMEiS SCOTT, EI^Q. TUI TALXMTBB EDITOR Or THE MOHTHRAT. liEKAI.P, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, HT HIS FCIEND, "x W. F. IIAWLEY. k 1 \ I PREFACE. I ,' But a few months have elapsed since a first pub- lication, composed principally of the irregular effii- Bions of early life, was offered to the public : The flattering manner in which that volume was received, has induced the author again to claim its indul* gence at this early period. Neither the polished strains of Campbell, the wild energy of Byron, nor the magic wand of Moore, wreathed with flowers, and glittering with gems, must be expected in the wilds of America; yet, if I have essayed faithfully to delineate its unknown •cenery, together with the dark traits of its early history, and to cheer the fire-side of our long win- ter evenings with " TliO deeds of days of oilier years," th« attempt may claim some indulgence. ' ^i tm fcTTTWTfm ' II I |i'ii"ifi VIII PREFACE. As regards the plan of this work, I must con- fess myself an imitator ; as there are many instan- ces of several independent tales having been con- nected in a similar manner, among which the Ara- bian Nigltts and Lalla Rookh stand pre-eminent ; and I can only hope that this circumstance may not induce a comparison, which must prove fatal to these pages. Would the reader know why this plan has been adopted, I can assure him he knows as well as myself: — It pleased my fancy, and if it please hiSjthat is sufficient ; if not, no logical attempt at a reason would induce him to "unbend his brow." The hint for the Maid of St. Paul, is found in Chataubriand's travels in the East, where the fate of Evadne, also the massacre of the villagers, in the same poem, is delineated. With these exceptions, the characters and incidents of that and the remain- ing poems are fictitious. ■ - .. As this is the last work which I shall publish in this country, at least, for some years, I cannot a- void expressing my gratitude to the numerous and PREFACE, IX highly respectable subscribers, who have so liberally come forvv:ird to patronize my humble efforts, in a country where literature is in its infancy ; a liberal- ity which promises a speedy developement of the dor- nianl..talents of the country ; and that talents of no ordinary class exist, no one can deny who has read the fugitive peicesof Sweeny, Willis and Dugal, many of which, to use the language of the Foreign Literary Gazette, when speaking of Canadian poe- try " would do no dishonour to laureled heads. " n i i Monlroal, JaDuarjr, 1831. \ -1 *r1 ^-..f rW, ..•>:; y;^;^Ui^ ^r^v \ M^ * ' **W I* *lwii B « >^A« i !W i il iii- U ' ' *.1.' 'i » ;abf.<^t^-;^ II OR LAYS OF THE FOREST li"; ( THE UJ^RRfOWN, • — ■ i ' 'i ^g *%»^vi^a^-^ »4BUL-]j"i^tfilM [places .■^.ff'imw^'* ■>T?''' ' t' i-m O'lX . .fil,i-}iiitiMi -h .Cjfii f^^iUo .ail iJ;*-^*/?:;-.! .vac/i-f*- 1 U >:: K'f '■ ffi^OP^i'ii THE UNKNOWN, b\iisol'.>,\'^^^^rJ^■'•b i!i: OR jk- -i -atcTiM. ri 1 LAYS OF THE FOREST. ,, ,' . 'i ■ .-i •■;:/ ':■', t. JOrV } '■/ .,? \^- • In the year 1633, peace being restored between England and France, the storm which had threat- ened the utter annihilation of Canada, or New France, passed away, and the rejoicing foresters again dreamed of golden harvests, springing from the ruins of the ancient wilderness. ,_f .^,;,, . f, Quebec, Montreal, or, as the savages termed it, IHochelaga, and Trois Rivieres were the only places where the ambitious Europeans had yet sue- .t u TIIR UNKNOWN. ^-^- . cecded in forming cs.ablishments. The last men' tioned place standti inidw ay between the other two, having for its site a sandy plain, lying upon the northern shore of the St. Lawrence. At the period of which we write, the primeval forest had disappeared for a small distance around, with the exception of some few scattered elms, whose fantastic wreaths, almost touching the ground, appeared weeping for the destruction of their .an* cient friends. Among these representatives of the forest stood a few houses, built principally of rude- ly squared logs ; and, a little detached from these humble dwellings of the strangers, was one which attracted even the eye of the savage, as he glided through the trees at night, like a noiseless spectre, to the distant ambuscade, or went forth in his prid« on the shaded path of the deer. ' ' ' ' '''" This cot was situated on u trifling elevation, north of the principal houses, and difleicd from them ex- ternally, by being covered with whitewash — a sub- | **%« ■"■ "•"^iraj-riir"" OR LAYS OP THE FOREST. 15 stitute for paint nov/ general among the Canadian peasantry. In front of the cottage a few trees re- mained, and in its rear a flower-garden threw up its perfume, and seemed to rejoice amid the wilder- ness. , . ■? > i ■-• ■ About one fourth of a mile north of the village, the St. Maurice discliargcs it;) deep and dark wa- ters into the St. Lawrence, and at an equal dis- tance to the west, appeared what was termed the Coteau; although upon reaching this apparent hill, it proved to be bul: the commencement of a more elevated plain, extending many milcy into the in- terior. This plain is a barren sand, covered with the moss of ages, and produces nothing but a scanty growth of small ever-greens — a few stinted whortleberries — and an occasional patch of sorry strawbery vines. This dreary back ground is on- ly relieved by a few wild-flowers, among which tho Canadian snow-drop shows its white bell, imbed- ded in moss. . ( ■ !i f •iSt.!-,., ir> THE UNKNOWN, ^ Hi f^ i I ii { !^''' - On tho verge of this upper plain, and overlook- ing the village, was perched a small hut, surround- ed by an unusually high stockade, after the Indian manner. The only inhabitant of this lonely dwell- ing was a youth perhaps twenty years of age : The singularity of the stranger's choice of a situation, together with his extraordinary deportment when iie left his hut, which was but seldom, made him the frequent topic of conversation. It was not kno.vn to what country he belonged, as he convers- ed with equal facility with the French inhabitants, and with two or three Germans and Italians who had foiuid their way into the solitudes of the New World. At times he had an almost inanimate look, as he gazed for hours on the crystal waters of the St. Lawrence, apparently watching the stars, as they danced with the gentle undulations of the waves. ,•- • . i : .,-. - ■ Many supposed that the youth was crazed — and they certainly had appearances in favour of such a ii.., ^^SssiiaB fl t)>f I ! ■) ■ « ■ — I ■III If' 1 1 II eriod of the friendly savages' visits to Trois Ri- vieres. ■ Perhaps none in the place regarded The Un- known with more intense interest than the inmates of the white cottage before described. M. de Lau- zon, the head of that family, had once been in af- fluent circumstances, but by continued reverses he became much reduced, and finally determined up- *An Indian named Piscartt, was at this time one of the captains of the greatest fame anriongthe Adirondacks, r COLOEN, p. 25, iiii iiAiiiiiiiliiiiii OR LAYS OF Tlie. FOHEST. 19 on trying the fur-trade in Canada, or New France, then, as now, the last expedient of of tlie discon- tented and unfortunate. His family consisted of his wife and two daughters, one about twenty y^ars of age, the other seventeen. The mother, a weak but amiable lady, seemed slowly sinking under re- peated afflictions, but the two daughters were just passing the romantic region of youth, and those fearful forebodings which would sometimes intrude, when the piercing yell of the lynx, or the still more appaling war-whoop, came through the silence of night, passed off rapidly as the shadow of a sum- mer cloud from the bright surface of a slumbering lake. > . Little Eloise, the youngest of these wood-nymphs, was a perfect specimen of an incorrigible romp, but as beautiful as an Houri ; and her wild deviations from every position of the most desperete posture- master, together with her unchangeable good na- ture, drew many a smile from the wan lip of her 8d TIIR UNKNOWN, 9 mother. Lconio was tailor and less fair tlnn hor Blister, and as grp^olul and .stately as the majestic swnn, when ho ar his nook an«l glides over tho golden waves to meet the sun bursting from his li- quid couch. ' «^ • >i»i">^ 1 '^'- :^ a#j - «.;^' w 'In the early part'of September, of the year above- mentioned, tins family group was seen in the little garden in rear of the cottage, etijoying the soft and balmy r.ir of a Canadian uiitunm. The sun was just sinking in the v.est, and appeared like an immense ball of fire, thrice its usual magnitude, Tho atmo!-phero imparted a luminous mellowness to every object, and i tinge, not unlike that of ripo corn, rested upon the St. Lawrence. Tho White Maple had already felt the finger of approaching winter, and glowed like tlie crimson banner of a pirate ; its leaves occasionnlly whirling and eddy- ing through tho air till they touched the ground, with a rustle like tho fdl of an Indian's foot — or j^eaching the water, glided rapidly along its sur- OR I«\Y» OP TilE FOREST. 2i hce, secnting to tell liovv swiftly tlic bright tltijig!^ of thiH world hurry away. M. tie Lauzon was support iiij; lii.s lady ; Eloi.so briskly engaged in attaching a boquct to the tail ot a favorite cat ; and Leonie pensively gazing at the little cot, which appeared as if drawn against tht' tianhes, imitating the «li:slaiit gloaming of musketry. At length tlie noc- turnal ruinhow rose gratlually, till it spancd the horizon, and crossing the milky-May at the zenith, it appeared like a strip of twisted gauze, having streaks of flame continually crossing il transversely. At times the confused howl ol* a troop of wolve»» broke the stillness around, and a few solitaiy fire- flies were yet seen among the yellow foliage of the Qver-ttTching elms. A brighter flames from the Aurora Borealis gleam- ed around, and he turned his head to admire ;5ome new freak of the splendid meteor : — At this mo- ment a fearful sound as of a tliousand demons burst through tlie stillness of night, and as he sprung in- stinctively towards the houses, flames were curling along their sides. In an instant the air was filled with the discharge of guns, the shrieks of women and children, rushing lialf-naked from the burning lioutscs, and the yells of the painted warriors in tlieir OR LAX^S or TUB FOREST. 'Ho nitating tlie th the uoc- spaiied the , tlio zenith, uze, having ransvprscly. p of wolves solitaiy lire- ^liuge of tl)e rtiU'i^u realia gieani- admire ;5omc |At this nio< einons burst e sprung iu- erc curling it was filled s of women the burning iors in their work of death. With phrcuiicd strides M. dt; Lauzon sought his own house, around which the contest appeared hottest. At the corner of the gar- dun a female was writhing in the grasp of a pow- erful savage : It was Eloisc — and in the agony of tlio moment, the fatiior's presence of mind entirely forsook him, for whatever course he might take en- dangered the life of his daughter. However, be- fore he had time to act, a dark form glided by, and ♦.lit; savage, with a fierce shout, fell dead at the leot of The Unknown, whose knife had found a shcatii in his heart. "To the house with the girl, in- stantly;" he cried, and immediately disappeared in the direction of the fight. The fire-arms of the villagers at first gave them the advantage, but as the fight became more regu- lar, the wily foes of the Pale-faces sought the cover of the trees, and, having the advantage of numbers, nearly surrounded the little band of Europeans. The arrows were showered upon them from all -1 i '\ i ■ :] ft 26 ' •• THE UNKNOWN, .•30 qiiiiitorrs some had f-llen, and many felt the t ,/;.?.;.,.. Within the once happy dwelling of M. de Lau- zon a scene of heart-breaking sorrow presented it- self. The pale form of Madame dc Lauzon was ex- tended on a bed, writhing in convulsions, and the physician, hardened to scenes of anguish, attempt- ed not to hide the tears which fell on his hands, as he prepared some potion for his patient. The aged fa- tiier appeared more calm, but it was the deceptive calm of intense suffering, and the once gay Eloise, burying he: face in the couch of her mother, sobbed as if her heart would break with anguish. This group perceived not the entrance of a stran- ger : — It was The Unknown. — He was equipped in the Indian manner ; a small cap, adorned with a OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. 29 tuft of eagle's plumes, covered his head ; his face was painted — black lines running round the eyes, and from the corners of his mouth nearly to his ears ; two red marks ran across his cheeks, look g like ghastly wounds, and his forehead and chin were fan- tastically dotted with blue. A blanket passed over one shoulder, and about his bod; , reaching to his knees : This was secured around his waist by a belt ornamented with beads aiMl porcupine quills, and in this belt was stuck a hatchet, and from it de- pended a pouch and scalping-knife. He wore red leggins and moccasins curiously ornamented in the same manner as the belt. Upon his breast which was nearly bare, appeared a hare, in blue paint. — - His gun, and an immense powder-horn by his side, completes the picture. r^ .-. % ,- . > * He gazed a moment around, and in a low voice articulated — " M. de Lauzon!" — The father started, and Eloise screamed as she saw one in that garb sa near ; but as they recognized their protector, M de 3* : i T* THE UNKNOWN, ii Lauzon arose and pressing his liand attempted to speak, but words came not to express his feelii)gs, ,, "I go to seek your daughter:" said The Un- known ; — "take thJs packet, and if I never return do what you please with it." " Leave us, Father" — cried Eloise, "and go with the good, the brave stranger." "No," said The Unknown, "it would ruin all — Farewell!" — and before M. do Lauzon could second the wish of his child, The Unknown disappeared beneath the bank of the river, and they *' saw his bark canoe turn the point and glide rapidly up the St. Maurice. vw^^.^^^-f ; 'k Winter came, with his chill mantle — the rivers were as the solid land ; the bare trees whistled to the tempest, as it raited the white covering of the ground, and swept it as dust over the St. Lawrence : — Leonie — The Unknown — came not; hope sick- ened, and the vacant chair at the fireside of M. de Lauzon was despondingly set against the wall. All hopes of the lost one had passed away, and the OR LAYS OP THE FORTST. 51 wretched family monrned the untimely fate of that generous youth, who, for one of them, had sacrificed his own life. -?^' ,* <« < ' ' ' One evening Eloise suddenly recollected the packet, which had been forgotten in their grief ; and, as ail expectation of The Unknown's return had van- ished, it was determined to examine its contents. They were neither gold nor precious stones — but a manuscript, written in a small, neat hand, contain- ing four poems, over which appeared, " Lays of the Forest." All the mysterious vagaries of the young stranger were at once explained — his extravagant fooleries were no lon^^er a wonder — he was a poet ! " The young Dard hath passed away;" said M. do Lauzon, " but perhaps he has lefl a legacy which, for a moment, may steal our thoughts from the past, and bear us away to the regiotis of romance : Come, my Child ! draw thy chair nearer the liglit, and while the savage wind is drifting the snow acrainst the windows of our cot, read us a tale of The Un- 1 32 THE UNKNOWN, I f# known." Eloise obeyed, and the little family group soon forgot ther own sorrows, as the clear, sweet voice of their daughter gave forth the simple strain of tlie Stranger. ':<■■} 'fif%-'^ vW,^.-;jd:vsv.S!^;'v...c,^..j^, % '^^•f^(i''t:. li' ■;*J:^i .,;,,,i. )•"):-/{/. miLElMO. ''Spirits of earth ! Spirits of air ! Corae to me over the silver sea ; Lay the locks of my tangled hair, For the lov'd, the lost one is coming to me ! 1'^ I see her sailing on yon light cloud, With wreaths of roses upon her hung, And wildly around her moon-beam shroud Her glistening locks of jet are flung. 34 MILENO. I sec the light of her polished brow— I feel the beam of her laughing eye ! (Jorae, invisible Spirits, now, Aiiii boar me away to yonder sky ! Spirits of earth ! Spirits of air ! Throw your spells on the flying shade ! For she slowly fades from the moon-light's glare, And tells me not where her rest is made." Thus sung a stranger, bending o'er . The cliffs which bound Italia's shore, As night came down on wild and lea. And h'ng her shadows o'er the sea. No lines of age were on his brow, All bare, beneath the moon-beam's glow, His cheek, tho' pale, still full and fair, Unmix'd the locks which clustered there ; And but a wild, unearthly gleam Of his dark eye, revealed the dream, ik MIT.ENO. tjr> Which hid in its obscurity Lite's maddening, curs'd reality. i I None knew from whence the craz'd one came. None knew or how, or whence the flame Arose, to sear his erring brain, ''•' • •"'*' A Or who the fair, that in liis strain. Seemed rising to his sight again. They only knew, when winds were high, ' ' And threw the foam against the sky, A fragile bark was seen to glide, • ■ f^''^ As if by magic, o'er the tide, And dashing on the beach, there canic A stranger frohi its shattered frame. ^ Calm and unmov'd his features lay. As on the shore, from day to day, He wandered, till a cave he found Upon the ocean's rugged bound ; — V t. Ii\. ao MILENO. •A A dark and rayless home that cave, Its roof and walls of ragged rock, And its rude entrance scarce the bravo Had ever passed without a shock ! Yet there that lost, bewildered one Groaned hours, and lingering days away ; And neither morn, nor evening sun, With quick 'ning, renovating ray, Upon his fading form had come Since first he found that cheerless home. But as the shadowy evening threw On flower and bush the chastening dew. Then came the crazed one from his den, And pac'd with folded arms the glen. Or, spirit like, hung o'er the steep To catch the shadows on the deep ; Then fearful and unmeaning sounds Told that his vision fled the bounds Of earthly keeping : Much he sung, With action quick and passionate, If ILK NO. 37 ! '.rr »i *','.;'' I ■I I rt ''i > Of love, and often round him flung, With rolling eye and brow elate, '- His arms, as if some form were there. Mocking the ravings of despair : Then, as he felt their vacant close, ' A wild and shuddering shriek arose, Deep from his bare and heaving breast — So loud, the sea-bird from her nest n^ Affrighted sprang, and o'er the deep f ' Threw her white wing, with sullen sweep. For days no huriaan being came Near that abode; and on his frame .f ' .ui Famine came slowly — and his eye Grew dull with Want and misery ! v.'-; ■n^Sx His cheek and lips turned thin and pale— >(Ml at ni^^ht, His heart lu>al t'aiiiUy v. itii utlngliit, ti-M'-- Thon; \vat«, nut distant far, a 8])0t VVhicli Mhrinking Solitudo might lovo, VVh«^n', amid rnius, HtiKul a cot, i>t»^ ftil:^ t Hard by an agrd lonion grovo ; ,^ : And one, who \v\\ hischiistor't* air, ,,ta>'* i> To worship Uod in Hilonco thoro, >^)rvvU'y Had mark'd tho prasant turning pah> i v ,n\ As hu dincUKsM thu wondrouti tulu Ot^that craz'd strnngor, wl»o, ho Raid, > , j Liv'tl on — yot nut l»y Ihish, or hruad ! Years wore upon TJernardi'a brow, -u-.^kt And thoNo who Hought his life to know, {Saw a long truck of gentliuu;»a — ' ^ >'* "i Tho doods of ono wim Monght to blew lli» frail and wandering tidlow men, And bring them bark tuptMico again ! ^,. itHiMiiir(Tftnr'l ~ Mlf.CNO. an Thoro was* no luirflhuf's.H in \\\a eluy — ^ No fH>nli(l tliirstingH lutirkM his wny — And in In.-* mil«l »ml passioulo.ss oyo, '^*:t- ♦'* !Ii^ brow. «r.:irco JurrowM. l»roa«vjvr. .j, ()n«> uholiatl rtMichM a tranquil vwn, And ncur'il tlu' ^l«)wint» courts of ll(«!ut'n I— ' Ant! surii thi' uwin '.vho hou^Iu that d«M», »;^ *^' To win the loKt ono back a^ain— ^ I* * To try if all Ium g«MitU' art "*i Mijjht wile the scorpion fnnn liiH In^art. ii J t r Tho »un Imd !*et — tlio stars slionr cmt From thoir untrodd(Mi dopth of bhu>- As tioar tho period of his routo Tho holy man witli oautidn drew. A ^'/^ / ■n'r- r— m »i i i .yii !..._^.-^'.*' '""" ""'"■''''sr I MII.RNU. No form was vitiblc, and he i|f ,- ■• •* Paus'd ill the shadow of a tret**— i,,* . An a^ed trno, wliich seemed to Bland ? , Like that wild stranger, all ulone, „• .,;\ With noithor flower nor mate at hand, To hear its deep and startling moan, .t. When tcMnpests came, with sullen s()und, 1\> throw its sickening leaves around ! i,r\ All on that spot was lone and wild — J luge, hlackeued rocks, abruptly pil'd, ' INivnlall the height, and far below, It i < . The ocean's everlasting flow rt ,ij ,*'■ Uroaned like a whirlwind, when it comes To toss the seamen's watery homes. Not long he waits, when from among Those rocks ascends a broken song, •ir... ..,^ t'Jil And slowly from his shadowy home ,t{*f The maniac is seen to come ;— rf. MILKNO. .J!,t 41 Biiro was lii» huatl— his ravuii hair , liiiy tiirigloJ on \m forohon:- •t\:.-^<^y^' ;•( r MtMHMMlM 44 MILklNO. i^ ''^^" M What .should bo doiM' ! — The loasl drhiy M'v/M !*tr«l lhiit\vr(!ck of lifr iiway . — nornardi was in y<'ais, yol strong — , Ho gtuUly rais'd, and horc along ^ , j That pliant, shrank and blightod lorni, , j Which onco had langh'd at fijrht or storm ! Willi rapid stride ho poMi'd o'or Tho brokun, wild and rocky tdioro, ( And hasloning to his lowly f*hod .; ,. | , * Uc placed him en his humble bed :— , . , < Then ( nly did JJernardi shake . ,,.. , j ; liOvSt that repose »hoidd never break ! Vainly his humble skill he plied, ., ,| And vainly ^taunch'd the blood which dyed His torn and soiled And \iCv lifiii) lout i(H smiling flowcrn, When burning firos uro in tlio soul, Ami |i(iHHi()iiH furcc diificd controul, W\u>u ull in loHt in onn widr btako— t Why if4 (h(! honrt. forbid to brt-Hk !" So murmiir'd ho who wiitch'd that frnnic. As on those lidu a tremor come, ■:■' t'' i Ho light-— it iniglit be fancy istill — TIk! hand ho hold wan damp and chill, And icy drops fstood on his brow And minjrled with the crimw^n's How :— He lives ! at hingth that rayle«» eye Again unclosea heavily ! — And mild and settled jrlancen come As reason has rcHum'd its home, '. Like glimpses of the quiet Kky l'v% •., • When sable clouds are out on high. i " Stranger !" — Beriiardi stop'd him — " Nay, - Unbroken rest to-night, and day — ff i'f il ir> MILKNO i'' >« * ■ ■It ■ I know whtit thou wotild'st af^k — shall give All that I know:" — Unhoped reprieve, To one just on the verge of time, Awaiting the reward of crime- When blank futurity looks dim, And all of life seems lost to him — Kindlcth no incense for the heart, • Bringeth no hallow'd influence, Like that which genth; deeds impart To waning life and wavering sense! ''^'''- A sickly simile cnme o'er him then, *'' '"''' And e'vn his eye was most again.— Ah, days, long days their watch had kept Since he had either smil'd or wept, ^H>1. And now that smile was strange and grim, As human smiles were not for him ! ' Calm as a sleeping child he lay. And thought those creeping hours away, J milf.no. § And aM a mother o'r^r her child, The good Bernardi watch'd and Hniil'd ; But not without an cllurt caino That stiUncHS on his wasted frame ; A silence which was gratitude— For ho could not ecem rashly rudn, To one whoso gently chiding eycj Secm'd as his aires in infancy, n . i The morning came — and did it bring Oblivion on its crimson wing ? Ah, no ! The sun may rise and set- Still burning memory haunts him yet! But calm he seem'd, at times, and ne'er Betray'd by word, or sigh, or tear, The weight of sorrow—or of sin — Which lay immutable within ! .T In seeming rest a week had sped. And he would rise from that dull bed. mmmm Mll.riNO. f I To guze upon the glorious sky Ami talk with nature's ninjnsty : — And woll ho know thathallow'd place — For brighter hours had left their trace Too vividly for years of pain To blot them from his heart or brain ! ^^ ir p'. ^•« .;'. i Here had that master-spirit dwelt, ^ , At whoso proud shrine the nations knelt In after days — and he would rove, Once more, in that deep orange grove, To dream of nobler times that were, And then awaken — to despair ! - ^ 'f' v*'^' 'Twas evening, and the shadows grow > M^^l Along the ocean's azure hue, ^ When from a rustic seat that pair Sigh'd o'er the spot, so lone, yet fair '.-^ '..■^■iiiV Beneath them were the waves which bore ^ueas to that silent shore, jf ^^iiiirK^;>». 'a\ 1 ! I' MILENO. Around, those ruins grey and lone — Arch'd passages, and vault, and bath, With envious weeds half over«grown— Nor distant far that sign of wrath, (A sign of everlasting shamo, 'Gainst that Triumvirate of blood — . v, A glory to a freedinan's name,) The monument of murder, stood I ^ The orange grove in silence lay, In silence Ischia, on the Bay, And hush'd was Somma's ^breath of fire, Like giant slumb'ring from his ire. ' # iA " Mark ye," the stranger said — ** how deep- How beautiful is nature's sleep !" .^i Solemn and low, his accents fell — "There is a sad, a sacred spell Upon me, when the silent night Has put the noisy day to flight ! i.^wiijfcinii*rr nmy ^r^l ttifi* Pjx^tl iRHin-* * d-Wm^^ # Nay, I urn onim — donpnir iiml pain Arc slumlicring i\v.v\) within my lioiirt, Ami otv \\n cnrv'Wurw Hhrow pnrt, For \hoy nn .vnKinp: forMrr Tnsi, < • I \vo\il(l «liBi lo)H' nil — nil \hr pnst."— Il(> pr\u»M — ni> tonvfi ihopr drops l»rlow- Thoy Ptnitod (Voin liif» niinhlo hrowl That luomontiuy f»tni^fl[l«' o'or, Aim! all was tiaiupiil an luMoro f- n ••My nanio Milrrtf*— why do'Pt »WM1 1 tliou^l 1 i\\M name waa loid apart From tho (Vail inrmory of tho land—* IndtMul this fras no strij>linjT's band!- W( II, whon a Imy, my sirw was slain By ono Filario, on tho plain, Not far from Home : — Tito murdoror flrtd To tbreign cUmee. My mvHher shod in^M. I1M.KNO. 61 Few trnrw — ImU, O ! how oil mIio ninli'^J ! * Ami with thcsiiiiiiiu^r flowers nh'; UUmI I .^,i . A till lh«n I we|»t — l')njy[, Uuig I vvrpl, Am! fifl fltraii.nu rt'i'liiiijHoii iiu; crept, , I rtiin'tl my huhi puny hnmlH, • ,. And vowM to vinit «listmil I ifkIm, . Ami vow'il (I l)iuody i>ligiil hIiuuIU come ITpon iIhj f»j»oil€«r of my homo I , ,.,. , ,. "Hut timo swept l)y, nrid rumour brniiglit A IxilHiim to my liroodiii^ lliou^lit : Thny f^iiid I'liario diu|>U)(l witii Ih>I(( uiul liluudy Htr:lu, Tint young Miloiio 4{ru|>|>UMl lliorti^ A t* 'tmiiioi I IukI rvdt Imi^u— ni tliHl my tlKuiiiiH hud riuird (Ikui, III Um Willi ('huiiH oi'tlio Onlii-- Tlu'h li'iil not Imhii thi» ntckoning flight i 'H / is ' i'Muriu littil Mil only uom — A lirotlit^r Nol(liHr-<«(Uul to hIiuii My iutltitr'n niiirilHror'H Hon I iritMl, 'IMiouyh oil wo Mtrug^lod tddo t»y Huk\ In doHportito Htrifo. — lliMHister— nny ! IMitii Httn, III ono torloin vtilVay, WUuu ull my Hion ur<»iiin tntitl. Aiiti jjdiii'd our iVittiid'*, tu )uiii tlit^ ory, 'V\ui ^loruiu^ »hi>ul uC'Viotdry I' llo vvfti u ikiIiIh youtit, himI (iiml, Hoiiii ultt^r, Uglitiuij Ity luy ^tUu, Aiiil liiuriuurtnl iHihtiy, Hit ho foU-^ 'Mih»uj — i»iiitei-«-l'arH thoo well I' A ltd 1 hm\ ^twui'ii, uii hour U>ruf«, tf, orutliHl (UtuI h^la WAS iluiio. Hh dtur ^row (lini, to mIiiiio riumofe, TlitU litn«s UoitorUHl tlowor Hhoultl ba Ait futlior — tiiothor— ^ft"it>»tl— vlo me : "De'inurth — Uo»it thou boo tlitanoar ]-» 1 iouud it thiit hloDiiy ivftr : Lung, loiiij thut wouiiil refuit'd to clove Thay Raid it uoudad tiau)— 4a|>oiH)--v ; 54 MILENO. t> rt,' i '':l' ;. 1 I Inglorious ease: — I hied to Rome, That solitary orphan's home — Be still, thou fiends ! — one little hour, And then exert thy fiercest power I" ■*h 'i' >y --i i^^L He ceas'd — again that pallid cheek Was flush'd with anguish, and his meek, Subdued, and almost rayless eye Grew lustrous with insanity ! But soon the rising storm was quell'd, And every startling glance dispell'd. — He gazes on the quiet sky — ' ''^ ■ The starry gems are bright on high. And seem upbraiding with their rays That phrenzied dream of other days! He looks upon the boundless deep — And there the evening shadows sleep, Like spirits of those waves suppress' d, ^^^-^^ ^ All dim and silent in their rest ! ■ - i . ■ • .. H h'ihP. yfoST ^** *fn ^4T ■\ a ■".#■ y 'Jll . I'"'* neek, ;,r^ »«— ep, -.'i'* s'd, ; t; 9vl .^■I'V MILENO. Calm and subdued his accents fell — *'*« ^^^ " Bernard! — 'tis not — 'tis not well, i^-* '»^*^* That this still hour — perhaps nay last — For, to that bourne r hurry fast — ^ ^r. It is not well this hour should be ^ *^; All wild as in its wrath yon sea !— '^ " I said I went to Rome — and there I found that sister of my friend, Whom I had sworn to love — defend : — I will not say that she was fair — It were like looking on the sky, When not a cloud appears on high, And calling that bright heaven blue ! She was a wild-flower — in whose leaves '" Weto blended, with its gentle hue, Tiiose veins of beauty all unknown To ruder eyes — where nf.ture weaves Its bidden charms! — To me were shown ^V^ V- ', r it ^miiimJL._ ..Jtet. ' #» . . It ti '•- ml \' I I'lr ► il 50 MILKNO. The folded plumes of that young dovo — .t, \> And wilt thou ask inc, did I love ! — ^ ■< M " We lov'd ! — and o'er mc, day by day, ,.;j Did Clari watch — and timile away , <.,» )\ Each piercing pang — each hovering dream ., Of glory ; and oach martial gleair Was as a vision — dim and faint , „ j ^-.j^. \ • Though, at each loud and wild complaint Of dark defeat, my blood grew high — // Yet, as I gave a soldier's cry, , fi;^.' * And murmur'd * Death or victory !' ; , ,y, ,f Oh ! she would look so sad, so lone— j, ii ,< /? i That frail young being of .an hour — x,-, 'Twerc base and heartless to be gene, „j, ,. ,j,|,,. To leave her in the rude world's |K)w'r ! ** Indeed it had been madness then, ., .^j To torapt the sulphurous field again , ,,| , J 1 -si MILENO. Yet, but for her imploring eye, ' That wound liad been as naught, and I * Ajrain the maddened strife had tried — Rush'd to the field — and fought — and died ! '• And time — I know not how it flew — '^u-'^^ '-' Rush'd by : — Again I freely drew My wonted breath, but then there camo No burning for the field of fame ! ^> *»^iiW Those liours o.' love were all to me, And in my spirit's revelry, Tl.e past was but a troubled sea, '^ All wild with its immensity ! " We rov'd beneath the palm-tree groves- Rut never whispered of our loves ! She little said — nor oft her eye Was lifted to the sunny sky. But rested upon gentler things— The transient fly's transparent wings, ii*^ 1 1 It / 58 HILKNO. ■\i •(i f i The tiny blade, the fragile flow'r, ,i\l\i:,f Unfolded for one little hour, The glossy streandet's sparkling throes, Where cool and fresh, the lily rose, | The woodland songster's cheerful cry — These things could raise a smile or sigh. } . ''But oftsho smil'dnot — and the world vi/i Was as a fearful banner furl'd — , i o'/i A frightful thing, whose very breath, Or burning touch, were worse than death ! Yes, Clari was like those fair flowers, ,o <^4'T Which, peering from their silent bowers, ^ View the rude things around with dread, And drooping, hang the fragile head ! ,-» .j |* We lov'd ! — Oh ! could 1 linger on That sound — those days — till years were gone ! If years were mine to cast away On words and times as chaste as they ! -^JfW'v 'iftir'^V. _ V r MILENO. SO i< ■;lh*i "But no — a wilder talo must come ! — At morn it was my wont to roam, To breathe the free and chastened air, While heaven and earth were bright and fair ; And by the Coliseum's wall, All rent, and tottering to its fall, I thought upon the shapes of old — Those mortals of immortal mould : And, as I mus'd, a stranger came And look'd upon that mighty frame — ■ ' ^'^ ' Perus'd the noble columns o'er, f''>^*^< ir, As he had seen that wreck before, * '' *'*^" ^ For no emotion, or surprise Show'd in his motions, or his eyes — He rather scem'd to scan the scone To find what changes there had been I. 1 ^.-ii!,'*' } *'Some fifty winters he had told, But still, his broad, herculean mould, • ■ .,..., ,.,;,^;f'> M*^ X GO MILENO. M ^li ■ ■ >. f § W'l And buried sinews, seem'd to say He had not seen so long a day. — I know not why — my bosom burn'd At that side-face — at length he turn'd — Filario ! — Heavens ! It cannot be — The murderer died beyond the sea ! It was ! for well that face I knew, In childhood — well remember'd, too ! — 'Villian !' my hand was on my swoid — And our eyes met at that stern word :— He started, for in me was seen What in his youth my sire had been — He would have fled ! — 'Nay, cowa:d ! see That murdered father's son in me !' — 'Coward ! His son !' — He fiercely turn'd, And fearfully that dark eye burn'd, And forth that fatal sword he drew, And firm as ice each muscle gre^^ :— *1 would not add thy death to guilt — But, young intruder ! as thou wilt!' — ii )^ i! n'f .^L SIlI MILENO. As if of vengeance yet to come — .t\-f<-r ■ A presage of my early doom] ii'^ri >.»r. \ r f m' /' I ■ *»',%■ ;!i'i.;ii <".' "J-, --n;. -r 6 t mji m G'Z MH.KNO. I .lis -it 4 m J ■ i r 1 t. i '.•* ; f i ; 1 1 Ifc ^ / '*( >. i" U-i !■ ^^ f ^-i ' n '■ « "And Clari — Clari — where wert thou, With that soft eye and gcntic row ! That thought came on me, uo a blight rtiifi'iS Of mnny years : — Thi/ father's blood *.! Was on my hand ! — All — all was night, And chill'd, and statue-like I stood ! 'A'," 'Twas true, he fell in dark disgrace — •,.,; ..^,}i But still it was hei' fathei's fac^ ' ^j,{ .,,;'{• Which coldly, darkly threatened there, i,,./^ And bade, in silence — to despair' iu ' **H.|#yji?rn.hi:^ li'f "*^ ■-;•:« r?^r^; ;twri' " And there I stood — and when the cry h r'A Of blood arose, ell wild and high — » *ll When ' blood fcr blood' was all the sour d "biH Of the base rabble closing round — ^; -/.ui n J 1 calmly sheaih'd my smoking brand ; > A - And when they knew the fierce brigand, i' ■•« „ As lone and desolate as I, - ; , And call d it in my wanderings 'i'he monument of brighter things — The wreck of that fair temple, now Laid, as my peace, forever low. "One star-lit night, unconsciously, Her little bower I wandered by, And she' — Bernardi — she was there. All pale and faded — yet how fair! ■-,i' - ». I ill :;*.;: as MILLNO- Cm She saw inc not — and bending o'er A stalk with neither leaf nor llow'r, Such tones came from her as before Ne'er thrill'd the heart at that still hour : It was the deep and solemn sound Of autumn winds, when all around Of bright and beautiful has flown, And dewy Hovvers and bdrds are gone. * My llow'rs!' she said — '1 heed them not, But, O ! this is a hallowed spot ! The confident of gentle things — And faithful, taunting memory brings Me here to dream of seasons fled^ And weep as o'er a brother dead ! Yes, father — brother — all are gore I Milcno craz'd — and I alone l' >'.■.' .-i *■■ '*And I was craz'd — for from that hour, I knew nor sense nor reason's pow'r!- ' i ' *l 6» irf" 90 MII.ENO. ,'" H iii Yt'8, madness darkcnoiil o'er my thought, And deep and perfect ruin wrought, My brain, a fabric overthrown, With c'vn its deep foundation gone ! — And all was depth of night, till thou f Didst fmd mc on the cliflf's rough brow : That evening, things that were, again Came crowding on my heart and brain ! {} 4'^ I' i .# "Bernardi, didst thou ever see .*: Tiic black clouds rising heavily, , * Till heaven, and earth, and ocean — all L. Were darkened with their sable pall, And il>en, a fairy bird on high, ^ , 5 . / With snow-white plumes against that sky ? r If so, thou know'st how fair, how bright, , .^ff, Amid life's high and traublrd sea, Those transient hours of joy and light, > When love and hope were young, to mo 1" i i. MILUNO. t>7 With faint and tottering stops he rose, And souf^lit within that col repose! All hush'd, ill socmiinf!; quiot, thero Ho liiy — no si;:fh oscnp'd .iirain — Hilt his lips niov'd — })orh:ipH with pray'r — PorhapM with linfjering words of pain! But all was still, as if the dead I fad sluiid)erod in that lowly shed. ■>^ What rap is that nt rnidniirht deep? ' What wotnan's voice, when such should sleep '^ Ask ye who neipr dce[)ly lov'd, " -• ' Nor woman's warm alTection prov'd I '" Ask re, dark souls! who never knew -• ' What frail and blir^hted frames can do! But ycster-nifrht she licard ihtun say ' ■ • That he was dying, far away — ^ '• ' :* But yestor-nij^ht she heard tint, talo, Upon a couch of sickness, pale, 0' V ^.;,i Their hearts were shrinking blossoms, made Tor some wild glen's sequestered shade : — Thrown open to the winds, and worn Feeble — with leaves and fibres torn — ,. y A burst of sun-shine on them came, ,=^ , ; And fell'd tliem with too bright a flam»! They rest together on tlie shore, As such should sleep when life is 0' er, ,j( MII-KNO. 141 G9 And long a flower its perrunie shed, And wept its dow-drops on tlieir bed ; And otl that aged priest was there, j With sighs and tears for that voting pair! Bernard i, and that flower are gone — :mi'!^ "^ All — all departed, and unknown ! }> ''v>v.,->. ■ 'i ' ■ •„ *.! «»;»»!' •: \i '...' •■■ ;,4i< ;>:.^-.-.< jviv^-. '■ -^ :%-]■: ::•■'■>■.' ^-'f; i':): 'r'*' ;»■"' . nii^'^if iSE^i^'T ':i!»5U ;ij'?^<; I? rr ■*?'i J) _••--?:■ ■"■::"' ;; ■ '-it! -'if,, I ,--',M /tiss:;, ^ ' 't .'''^5* "'.if • 'r ^^;i'l 1 ; ; 1 1 1 t i -^^ % ■ 1 ( ^,{ 11 'I* yi. i*t ( J: 70 TMK UNKNOWN. Eloise read the sad close of Mileno with a voice faint and tremulous with emotion, and walking to the window, looked out upon the clear but boisterous heavens. The moon was near the full, and shone with a chilling lustre upon a few white clouds, driven furiously across the sparkling points which studded the light-blue sky. At times the wind seemed raising the whole body of snow from the ground, and whirling it aloft, every object be- came hidden as in a thick mist. Then again it came in eddies, and striking the hollows of the drifts, the snow spun upward in spiral columns, many feet into the air, and then seemed to dis- solve like the spray of a cataract ; and when a momentary calm occurred, the surface of the plain, white as alabaster, sparkled as with myriads of silver .spf^ngles. - - . But all seemed desolate and cheerless. The OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. 71 rless. The very moon and stars, although shining with a histre never seen in warmei' climes, appeared emitting the most intense cold. With a shudder, lest some shel- terless wretch should then be exposed to that fitful blast, Eloise sought her couch, but her once light and joyous slumbers had departed ; and she dream- ed of the hapless Clari, labouring through the drifting snovi^s, and finally perishing amid a thou- sand horrors. Clear and intensely cold the morning rose upon Trois Rivieres. The wind had fallen, and the sun shoiiO with a dazzling splendour upon the tops of the drifts, raised many feet in height, and looking like the waves of the sea, when the tempest has cov- ered its broken surface with foam. Th« frost with which the air was filled sparkled like a shower of gold dust, and, when the doors opened, a cloud of vapour was seen hovering about them. Few of the villagers ventured from their cabins on that day, and those who did felt a prick- fit 73 VfiKfiOWS.^'^*''^ R .'■.'rf.}t>i ^itiM-J 1 1, 'ii"'J'i. '«ij xr^ ,<» •Ur'bi .:U'.M» 'i'otl .i'V/r^'.. »M H^r, ' 1 4 • • i i<'i: 1 I iti", «5'i,;' -!' ii:C-»'J •"''• c^n/ f. •\' •\M.J. '> M.f.J •W fil' 'U . •' '■Mi'U fM\';':>H'» '■^,•. <-- tq-i 'ViM V ■f " ;» . ii -.^A: »U.*M l.;(V*P>-s-'-.> *5- "t/'' »'■' •■.f^ii'fj' l»f*d:« H ..i, i.' '^1^- . «»!:;{ . Hi . ^'■nn ^iH ^iO ,ni''H\mifii -'K^ mi'^^ try* Kv*ir*^.>» aiU 0*vl -HXJ- vi f;j:iv-,t7--.v-:''*i^ c\s.'^<^?^U;?*>i,at'' i*Mm,!if^«. it'K'i'l ijsi ¥ ;m :.!• , & M .i.ir. p'V^ii? n.,>>,-; y ,t.iMt.P,qT imih .-m-. 1, tS' irlhr| sjbi »«ii!ji.''^f , , ,jv _^y ■ '{ m »!? «(.*} '.Hli r', -^ f. ". •>.>/. '^!■') .;• ^w . » «*,* :1 -:*• (i- ^V -i.-^f' i**Vl Zff]MIN. A f'ERSIAN TALE. lit-' -' r :', ! •?; .f ■; The sun over gay Shiraz is bright, » ' • And happy the birds in its arbours singing, - " And beautiful are iis flowers of light, And pure its founts from marble springing :-— But purer, brighter, happier far Than fountam or flower or bird at play, Is the rose of the vale, young Nouronnihar, * On the smiling morn of her bridal day ! 7 t' ifi! ■'i (•• 1 ■\l 74 ZEMIN And, Zemin ! hast thou escap'd at last From the fields where war hath blown his blast, From the Genii's spells and Peris' pow'r, ^ To clasp thy bride in this blissful hour ! Then give to the winds thy warrior dreams — For false and wild are their vapoury sway — From streams of crimson their meteor-gleams, ie't'iijs the heart and hand astray : Awa) . ith i' y sword and waving plume! Not for v/ar is that band appearing, Not for the field those cheeks of bloom — Nor for the fight that joyous cheering ! Thy spear may slumber to-day from war, ^ , And thy ■oble steed to the trumpet prancing, ,^ In her crimson veil comes Nouronnihar, With her fairy troop of maidens daricing ! She comes — and her chosen virgins lead By the gilded rein her snowy steed, * And one of that light and joyous band A mirror bears in her snowy hand, * in !J' .-t 3r'» liO ■i ^^m ZEMlN. Behind are coming a festive throng, And around her arises the Bridal Song : "Look again!— then forever Lay thy maiden mirror by ! Once again — and then ever View thyself in Zemin's eye ! IVwi t^l^/^^■«^.i Should his eye lids close, '«• -^t Hush'd in deep rispose, Let not ev'n the rose Wave within thy bow'r ; Lest his dreams should be ^f"**** '*■' Of war's troubled sea, Or of aught but thee, In that silent hour ! .rj '^ Mi: } n n ■'■(1 fl i 'i $^ 70 ■ m ZUMIN. Look again— ere to-morrow ^ t, ^^^jj^ Zemin's cares and tears are thine ; But, to-day, tears and sorrow Are no guests of thine or mine Joyful moments fly — ?V#Tjf^-^-.>T«,i V? Youth soon passes by — Dreams of ecstasy Break at opening day : ^^,^,i > jj^,,.*. Ere those flow'rs depart Bind them round the heart, , ">■ ■,.' -!■ '.1. ;\Vk,- Tho' thy tears may start ^i,., ,»>,,=/ O'er their memory ! ,» » hi-m^ HiV'H ^vvT-^v'i? "Are there none o Yet, yet a feeling wilder for, ' ; ' A doubt of his Nouronnihfr, 'f> , .' Came on his heart, and hilJ'd despair — ♦ .;' ^ But made a fearful chac^ tliere ! i ." YoY tho' he lov'd as few may love, . » And decm'd that geiitle one above All oJ her sex, he doubted alt, ' And thought thtin likt; the sunny wall , "- W here every passiiig form nii Not far Shiraz — tl\e space between In youth had often traversal been, When hope and friends were gay around, And joy sent up its syren sound ; But now a chill was on his brain Colder tiian even that chilling rain. And when his weary feet had stray'd An hour along tlie shrouded glade, No sound familiar caught his ear. No guiding light sent forth its cheer. And as he deem'd his dwelling near. Ml Ml /F.MIN. jiul, Simp rocks and roaring stroams iirouM(l Pronl'iiinM On mo mtain'.; rii:^^^^ Ivound. ,f FanisU'd and cold — opprcss'd with care — Say, wore it strange if wan Despair Came fiercely on his Whirling brain, And bound it in his mad'ning chaiii ! — Yet long his feeble limbs he plied, *fAMi By rnggcd rock and swollen tide, > i'<' 4 Till strength, and t It I i| ri* 90 ZEUIN. The rock uncloses at her feet, And round a band of maidens meet, Who gently raise the youth, and go By winding marble steps, below ! His eyes unclose :— Is this a dream? Or is that mild and sootliing gl<^am Beaming around, from Alla's throne, In the blest bowers of Paradise ? Such form.' of beauty never shone <-. To glad the child of earthly skies. As burst upon his coming sight ; . Within that hall of shadowy, light ! At one extremity, a throne Of Indian gold ^ ^ with diamonds shone, And on the throne a rilph-like form . Was half-reclined, her snowy hand Under a check with crimson warm ; . And round her brow a jeweJled band, •il '■ lI ,fc ' i' * A ZBMIN. H With white and azure flowers ontwin'd, Beuud half her dark, and silken hair, Yet manf a raven lock resign'd To show her brow and neck more fair : — Not Agridagh's untrodden snows ^* Are purer than the spotless lawn, Which half her fair proportions sho\v%, Like glimpses o^ the earth at dawn! Over her spread a canopy Of azure silk— a mimio sky ! For many a topaz sprinkled there Shone out like golden Stars — and bright The green embroidered hangings were With flowers, and gems for dews of night ! And she, the Q,ueen>of this fair snow, With her soft eyes^ and beauteous brow. And smiles for which a sajnt might fall, Was fairer, lovelier than all ! IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I l^|2£ 12.5 ■^ 1^ ill 2.2 ^ U& ill 2.0 1-25 1.4 1.6 .« 6" ► V <^ /^ (^». oV :> Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. MS 80 (716) 873-4503 V^ ^L> MP "^ :\ \ U C^ \ 9-2 /.KftllN. P 1 'I ' ". M A crimson velvet couch was spread Just at her feet, o'er which were shed Such perfumes, from a viewless hand, As sham'd the flowers of Sarmarcande, ' ' And every breathing of the air Brought eddying showers of rose-leaves there Upon that couch Zemin awoke, "When first the light upon him broke ; Surprised, bcwilder'd, lialf uprais'd, The wond'ring youth in silence gaz'd, Like one awaken'd with the sound Of siren music breath'd around I P i On either sido that fairy hall Was bounded by a crystal wall, On v/hich, as in a mirror seen. Were verdant bowers of waving preen : In one a pearly fountain sprung From mossy rocks, all overhung 7.i:Mt.V. m With mvrtla hoiiglis, which kiss'd its spray, And held a pair of doves at phij^ : \ 'J'he otlier show'd a dnsky grove — A phice for gentle words of love? And a=i the breezccs stole among The boughs, where golden fruitage hung, The ripened peach and orange fell On jasmine, rose and asphodel : > Within a narrow vista, there, • A snow-white shrine was seen, and fair Young forma were gliding from those bowers, With oiTeriacTS of fruits and llovv'rs. A golden lamp .above tiie throne Hung from a wreatlied silver chain — But shadowy was the light which shone. And one might look, and look again, To find the ceiling whence it camo ; • And round that soft and chastened flame ^.i i . I I I if in*. \ 94 ZK.MIN Lustres of opal, chrysolite, Of amethyst and emerald green. Of hyacinth, of saphire bright. And azure torquoise-stone, were seen, Like a gay cloud of butterflies, When summer lights the sunny skies, r That spacious hall's remotest verge Was visionary as the surge ' Of ocean, when the night descends, And with the waves its shadows blends ! There unrevealed shadows throng, Form, and dissolve, or sweep along «<» Looking like shades escap'd their graves, And Riding on the foam-capp'd waves! "iis Bewildered, Zemin gaz'd around — v;j He saw no movement heard — no sound ;— All silent, soft and motionless — ;; > Not even wav'd one fairy tre»s J^ Zt^MIN. ' m m Of that bright being, brighter far ■ Than even thee, Nouronnihar! She claps lier hands — that distant gloom Shows eyes of light, and cheeks of bloom \—^ A band of smiling maids advance And to the lute's soft music dance. Forming a wreath about the throne i . Of glancing eyes and waving hair ; And coronal and turban shone, With manv a burning diamond there, O'er forms Mixurious as the sky - Ol Iran, when the moon is high ! ' Each varied dross in that array — • . And all unveil'd — and all were gay,' As in those holy dwellings where < No jealous eyes i re on the fair. V* X —I it Ih ,?,-'■■ .i !1 . I I .■ if ZliMIN. Some were equipp'd with turban light !- An azure tunic to the knee — * fi*. A sash with chisps of diamond brij:;ht, And trowFcrs high as phantasy ! Their little yellow slippers seen Gliding along that carpet green, ' ' Seem'd daisies waving gracefully Upon the meadow's emerald sea. One a sweet song of Hafez sung * ^ And the deep notes were upward flung With trembling lip — with dewy eye — And heaving breast of ecstasy ! Another, dress'd in many a fold Of stainless white, and zone of gold, Z"^'" ' '»' ' .'-^^'•] Seated herself at Zemin's feet rr,^; :Jj\>'n -. I And threw her snovvy fingers o'er '"'" "^' "" A light guitar: — A voice as sweet As greets the blest upon the shore ; V: 4 'A ZEMIN. Of Paradise, came on his heart, W Bidding each thought of earth depart -. 'i^ .1 '. j.;/i ■ ' a i . ^> SONG. "Wc Peries are gay .^ ,. As the bulbal in May, • When the rose is in bloom And the air free from aloom ! Zemin, rest thee here awhile! I ; .< r , Earth hath naught for thee to cherish ; False the fairest mortal's smile — I u Things of earth are born to perish ! Here no tyrant's rod is hung, • *'J • ' Here no tempest's breath is sighing ; Giauhara, ever young Sways the bright and never-dying! I! 9ej ' -. ^'f *'• ■:il I -i KEMIN We Peries are bright h. ii" As the vision of light, .'^c .. ^; * - In the infant's repose, At the day's silent close I Zemin, thou shalt be our king! We will cull thee fairer flowers * Than in earthly regions spring, • From our ever-blooming bowers : Lutes shall bring thee sweet repose, And thy bright and joyous dreaming^ y^ When those weary eye-lids close, ::| Shall have nought of earthy seeming! \ " " ' ' f ^ . £ , , ^ fc . ^ . . * ; .^ We Peries are true . » As the heavens are blue, , . ^ O'er the land of thy birth, , . ,. j-^j ? Qn the sorrowing earth I" 4 ' > : ,. ,^ . - .15 . / KkMIN. 90 The song is hush'd, those forms are gone, The Peri Queen remains alone: Then first she spoke, with voice as soft As summer's zephyr, flung aloft - From angel wings, to clear the sky Of Iran, when the plague is nigh : 'i\' "Zemin, thy guardian spirit am T! I tended thy couch in infancy, And when in young boyhood thou didst stray I hover'd invisible, over thy way I chill'd with my wand the coiled snake, I frightened the tiger from the brake, I cool'd the fire of the sultry day, I chas'd the withering plague away ; '- And when as a sjldier thou dicist ride, " ' With thy sword of Shiraz ^ ^ and helm of pride I shivered the spear as it near'd thy heart, I dash'd away the careering dart, ;} . ,'.1 ■ *'»f^'^'} ^-T^ ■ ' 100 ^KMIN I shouk the folds from the veil of doom, 41 Till victory sat upon thy phunc! ..' t r > "But thou wert growing too proud .ind high. Forgetting the Power above the sky, And the order came for thy cup to be < . Drugg'd with the bitterest misery ! — And now thou ijiayest return again — .. v But Iwarn thee of biting care and pain — Or thou may'st dwell forever with nie^ «/ Forgetting, in love and revelry, ■ ' The deceptive wreath of tumultuous war, - i And the fa -r V.:.';.. v" • ' "' 'n;iJ-'-,C V That thriling name struck at his heart, ■>'')>'■ » And fast the burning tears did stream, r Those burning tears which seldom start ik^^^ But for some fondly cherish'd dream I " Peri, tho' earth hath naught for me But mocking and inconstancy — \ ZEMIN. Tho' poverty and lone despair, •*. With sickening touch, await me there, Yet would I not forsake that star. My own, my lov'd Nouronnihar, Not, Peri for the brightest eyes That ever shone in paradise !" 101 ) ' i \ " Mortal, then receive thy doom As a bird with fairy plume Thou shalt die, yet find no tomb ! Ever changing shalt thou be — For a spell is over thee, To fumi thy destiny !" 'y' lU She wav'd her wand — and throne and hall, With odorous lamp, and crystal wall. Faded as in a dream away, .. ...rt in k And round him was the opening day! ; 9* '^ ''r,^"-rv' ^.l 102 ZEMIN. 1-1 } •■ ( ,( But, uh ! the charm hath on him wroujrht. ■' And chang'tl him with the speed of thought. As a young niglitingalc he Ihcs, '^ ' Spreading his piniojis to the skicy I Ah, hickless Zemin! such a fate Hath often fill'd thy dreams of Jate, When slumbering on the criirison ground With bleeding friends and foes around. }'' t .' li i' Away he flits, and in an hour , ., . ,;, ,.", Is hovering o'er his lady's bow'r : — All silent there — the weeds had sprung : The flow'rs, neglected, drooping hung — Where once were flowers and music glad All seems forsaken, lone and sad. ■* , AWd '■;.:' - ?.=■! ■ ■■ ..- \^v,/...„ What fcm;dc comes with pensive pace, With mourning f^arb and palid fnce 1 Nouronnihar ! — what do'st thou here So early 1 — Dost thou seek to cheer *f 1^' (\ ZEMIN. 103 Tliy loiioliiicss by si^lu and sound ' Of birds, and dew-drops ^rlisteiiing round '? Or is thy Zcinin in tliy mind Like traces of thy infancy — His name a sound \yith ease rcsign'd, Unclierisb'd in thy memory ? — \!i A U doting woman fondly love And he bclov'd be doom'd to perish, If thou would'st tliat affection prove, To find if she hath aug^^t to cherish Go look into her swollen eye, Go gaze upon her faded oheek, And listen to tiic deep-drawn sigli — Those are the words which truly speak ! < I Her eye was as the star of night When fiJiny clouds have o'er it flown — Her chock, tho moon-beam's yellow light Upon a foaming billow thrown I ' ^' 4 I'l 104 r.KMIN. Ilnr ciyn wnnon n fadin;^ ro?ip,— > » - lliir l»o.««(»iii wild willi |i!innioiiiil(< lhroc;»— And Hilrnt jTiiHliiii^H of drfpjiir VvW iiiiii^liiiir »villi flir dcu-drojiH llirro! Tliul w iiH till' loMCfd' wliicli lir niiid, Wilt II lir lo join \\)v liiitllc pprd, " Aiul llioii bIiiiIi pliicU it, hi\r, for mo Wiirn I irtnrii ii;r,'iiii tn tlicr'" iSlic drnn'd liiiii dcfid, for mirli llio tnlr, Not (IrtMnii'd lliiil tliin yoiitij; iii^liiingnlr, Ilov(!riiijtt w) loudly rontid, wiih ho — 'V\w idol ol' lirr niiHtry. o Yoiinir bird" — Hln'n«tirtimr'd willi n nigh- Wit I iiilllrd wiiijr mid licdvy vyv IImIIi Mitiic iiido liiind tliy ilowrrt tfikrn? Or liiilli llif hloniiM itH IVail lr«vr« HhiiUcn T (io — iIhtc ni'»> ituiiiy llouciMlor llico " * HiU, liiirml, uu\y one iotnxoV i. ! /iKIftll*. »05 Tlin (liiy liMili pusM, iiiiil III llm wi««t Tlio U'cfiry huh ilc.HivmU fo rf'«t, Yf'l Ntill lliiil niurliiiiigHlu \n tl ••«, My lliy pile nil", NfMirtHiniliiir ! — A riHliiii4 Hdiiiiil i'l in llic nUy — Am •Mi;^ln tlniivos lliu air on lii;,rli, Aiul ilimlici oil lint mmirtiriil liird — One »linrl iiiil jiirrriiiif fry in lifninl, Anil Zi'inin'H iiiinJ tftkcn t\» (lij^lit, Uf'Hl III:' Will. Ml a Ir-im'- mI mi(f IM All Arali mI'mH wiih \v(iviii}{ iiiniio Ami f'iii'iiMi4 I>I>)imI ill rntMV vrin ! Anil wliiit if« lip who jriiitlcw tinit liorso, With j(;illiii4 ln"'l mi«l hriitiil ('or«'»' 7 Who lint llin l*rr« But ere his eager horse could start A Persian dagger finds his heart — A slave whom he hath made a slave Has sent the tyrant to his grave! ♦ What form is starting from the earth ? Is it a son of mortal birth ? It is — and mystic words of cheer Are sounding in that mortal's ear! 107 » k "Zlerain, arise! the spell is past — The despot of Iran hath breatii'J his last! Ilush'd to sleep is thy fiery pride, And true thou knowest thy gentle bride :— Never forget, in thy wayward mood, ■ . , That forms of light are around the good : Never forget that a power on high Rules in Wisdom thy destiny! «\...; i - Here is thy own good sword atid steed — Mount ! and away ! to the combat lead !" r^^#,.. ^' ^■ ^i i' ■ ..^<.* - :. „- :.>li 1 1 V *,« i m ^' ■■ij' !■ i" lOS ZEMIX. ' 'A Again his reeling sense returns, *Siif*&- Again his blood for battle burns; A few arc quickly gathered round, - i\ A»ti charge as swells the trumpets sound :— Ah, fearful is the struggling fight In the dim watches of the niffht The fiend-like shout — the sabre's clash — ti The changing squadron's mingled crash — j; The meteor light from meetiuii brands, >.i Showing fierce eyes and bloody hands — The horse unriuden dashing by, '^ ,^m .^Ip And the dc« p gioan of agony I ...',:, ■' ;; Then Zemin's name came fiercely out :.; In many a wild and cheering shout, y-':::f^jf But hosts of foes were on them yet; ; j . ]' And oft, on every side beset, ii i' ..^ IliJj hand had hew'd a bloody way To some more numerous array ; 'Il UIKMIN. lOU Vor broken early in the fight They strive in vain to reunite .,< . , The scatt'^red powers of either host, Ami more lh;m once all t^cenrd as lost, And move than once a victory, ;v Deceptive, secm'd lo either nii^h. Fierce bands swept swiftly round the plain And met — never to p;i'-t ;ig,iin! And when the opening dawn of day Lifted fro!;i earth its mantle '%i'cy, , It slioiie upon disjointed bands, ' • On single pairs, with sti a rgliiiir hands, On many a gor'd, and li-aving burst, • And bloody banner,; roll'd in dus^t! :;,.. .■j\', A Then, Zemin all his miodit did wield To join his powers upon the iicld .-,1., Q,nick words, with quicker acts obcy'd, '•-'*• Were given lo meet tlioi^o bands that stray 'd 10 % %l M \j ■"'■'. lil 110 ZFIMIN. i I IV I .1 f I The rallying sound Was shrilly bloTnr '-<' ' And fallen banners upward thrown! — ' ' The leaders to their chargers set, ' ; V Soon as a fair array had met, '^r • i" Then dashinfr on the broken foe.. " i • Defeat and perfect overthrow, . .■ . j i; Wild flijj^ht, and rapid victory, • Sent up their noises to the sky! . > ■ ' ' ■ ' - -* h . L *-■ I - * ^ ... r , ■ , "_ * ' --'.-'■ • ! . : '7- ■ ■■ ' ■!,,■"'■ . . f ..- Zemin hath left the sounds of war • - And lists to the lute of his Nouronnihar : — She pluck'd for him that promis'd rose' « As the day sent up its silent close — ;' ,> She hath twin'd a laurel crown for him, But still with a tear her eye is dim! '^^ • ' Such tears alone may she ever know, • Or purer drops for another's woe! = .5 • Like a distant dream is her sorrowing, v>7 And Zemin the brave — is Persia's King ! :S ot o tei hoi ass at I SLirr and ^ M TUE UNKNOWN. Ill Several evenings intDi'vencd before the ill health of Madame do Liuzon permitted the continuance of those tales of The Unknown. Her nervous sys- tem had become completely deranged, and the bark- ing of their old and faithful dog, raised imagej of horror in her mind, with difficulty allayed by the assiduity of M. do Lauzon and Eloisc. However, at her own request the manuscript was again re- sumed, and Ebise seated herself by her bed-side and commenced the third tale. I ;■% ; j' i-i'\ ', i<.f;'- ...■4'. % f .•■' ". ht^^- ' i' V^:, •E■;^:^t,J ■ 'v\ J V ii i H* •^t.«. '!■','. ! ■ : '- ) f . '' ' ' i . > : '. :' (' "i'..n •■.■ li.' >r ^' . .;-i.i^vi. THE ?NiISANTH5«0PE. i ^, '.-■l .-•! 5:r •V;-.: j: ,..%■, : t. "Aged one, the sun liath sot The shadows of night in the cast have met, And the bird hath sought its nest : Thy time-thin'd locks arc hoary wliite, Thy bended form hath lost its might, And the old should rest with the closinff night- A- Enter my cot and rest." ' - r- t TUE MISANTHROPE m 113 "Youth, thy check is round and fair, /'■> ;. .< Full and soft thy wavin;| hair — And bri;^]it thy j'jyous eye : — What acro3:} thy path hath sped, -•- What of bli;^ht upan thy head, •• • • Which hath taught tuoc thus to shed A joy on misery ? ' ■ • ' ' 111 "Had thy joiirnoy been as mine, ..i:ry». r-^ T Hadst often krudt at sorrow's shrine, <''f iw^ Thy ])ity Wvorc not strange : And yel tho bittor sconos of life, ^ ' ''■»•> 10 Shrouded in malice and in strife, But that tale to me ' • ■ Raises forms too often met — --ii ■\*-tPi- Forms which I would fain forget— Forms too wildly cherish'd yet ^i&!iit;^u i:. ti' Ever to fade or flee 1 ^ V i 1 I ! 1.1 ^ UG THE MISANTHROPE. VIII. H 1 I I 'i\ "But that hated tr.lc may ho . - •> ■ • ! ^> As a gentle naming voice to thee; ,^. , ^t And a word in youtli ,. Cheats the path of after life a Of its sharpest thorns, of its wildest strife, < And leadr, old acjo, with honours rife, , To wisdom and to truth. , y V IX. "Ah ! youth with me was wild and bright, A scene of cuciiantmcnt and delight, ^ ,., ^ Of unknown an^cl forms! Each beat of the heart was ecstasy, Each sound of earth a melody, Each motion the reckless revelry Of the easle amid his storms! «'» 1 ; t ( rilR ftllS.WTIIflOPK ir "And I thouglit tho gnutlc words around Wcrosomothiii^ more thin ii courteous sound, Unmo.mini,' as tho strain ■"• or tho !uo3!cin;-bird, which mimics tho jay Or Iho ni'^htiu^Jo'r, more serious l;iy, Or, if tho raven be neirer th:ia tliey, i. .fi.v.if.., Re-ecliocs his croali a^ain! XI. "I thought those smiles, so li^jht and free, Spokcof the kind heart's innocent glee, Nor dream'd of trea ^on or h:irni, Nor knew that the brightest smiles Jay wliere Is spicad for the young and unwary a snare, More fatal far than the tiger's lair, '*'^^ ^^ ' Or the treacherous serpent's charm. ¥ (i ' 1 F*-- 118 TIIR MISANTHROPE. XII. "But boy-lnotl's golden fruiti and flow'rs Faded and fell, as the last lair hours By luij^hiiig Tiir.c ucrc told ; And manhood came — and then I knew '1 h;it poisonous weeds have !)lofcsoms too !• Slandered and cheated, in time I grew Su!?picious, rescrv'd and cold. .!« XIII "But a light fell on my waywardness; Youth, Bcefct ihou this auUurn tress? — It wav'd o'er as fair a brow As ever was lit by an azure eye — An eye of iiic aiid mygtery, Which lold of feelings warm and high, And spirits of endJcEs flow I F I I iU K •M \ v.. \' \ THE MISANTIIROPK- 119 XIV. "She, too, looU'd coldly on the throng Of busy idlers, pissing along, And Icain'd that throng to shun; Quickly a union of H'r^ljiig grew — We said in our hearts there are but two, Chaste and faithful, honest and true, Breathing beneath the sun ! XV. % "Then wo those perfect ones, did wed, And the world, for which we car'd not, said, The eagle hath found its mate ; For wo were alike in voice and form, , In those passionate feelings, high and warm, In that glance which scem'd to defy the storm, And lauiih at the shocks of fate. 120 ii niV. MISANTHROPK XVI. *'Wg cn'd, nnd that very erring :.naf-^'' Our licnrls us ncnr ns ihc tree to itp phtide ^■' Or the utorn to its crimron hues : But sl;c wp.s tlic gentler, milder far — I, like the comet, ihc, the star, " ' '' "' * And licr love liuli" hdl'd the cca,'eIc5^H war ' ' Wliich I v.ith tlic \\orld had made. XVII. "And yet, crc mi ny months had ;-pcd ''' A colcnc£s Lccm'd in all ehc r'.''i V XXV. , "But I could not bear the jocund glee ', ' ' Of my warrior males in their revelry i • ' ^'^ And I laid aside my helm ; My plumes were tiirown to the tempest's breath, My sword was left to rust in its sheath, i^^^' ' And I left afar that sea of death, . * ■' ''■-" For its waves would not o'er whelm ! I \ A ^M THE MISANTHROPE. 125 XXVI. 1? tL--:) "J It Then I bade farewell to my native land, And vovv'd to visit each foreign strand^ And said, if I could fnid : ,v But one whose heart 'vas gentleness, if- :v,. Whose soul was form'd its fellow to bless, I would forego my wretchedness, ,_^ ,j , And dwell in peace with my kind. XXVI 1 Li . 1 breath. III "And thus for many years I stray'd, ' > And the part of a spy with men I play'd, ., But the hearts of men were steel ; Indeed they were not always cold, When their eyes were on my lavish gold — And their souls 1 found were readily sold, But dead to other appeal ! , ^ a* 126 ti I .*m M U< I i'^ 'r wi THE MISANTHROPE. XXVIIl. "The great survey 'd the boundless world As a mystic roll for them unfurl'd, r*>'- * Where the vulgar might not read ; And they glanc'd upon earth's lowly child • As another being, strange aiiu vild, '* As if no God upon upon him smil'd * ' In his pleasures or his need 1 "^ XXIX. The poor beheld the lofty brow Of the rich with curses deep, if low, ^ ^*'^ '^ And eyes wiih envy fiH'd ' '" And the haughty glance of the others eye Emitted no beams of sympathy — ■ Nor at sight of his fellow's misery One pitying drop distill'd. 'ilJ hsfi ii- Tire MigANTnnopR. XXX ■m "And holy men, with chastened gait, •^i'^^ '. With action formal and sedate ;;''.> ^ • • ' Look'd on sin with sorrowing ; They gave to the poor with a visible hand, They took a high and threatening stand Against the vain ones of the land — And worship'd some hidden thing ! i* < ■:-L^ XXXI. "There were zealots, too, of each varied creed, Ready to combat, burn, or bleed For their own all-perfect code, • And each his neifjhbour's faith revil'd ' ' 'V With passionate speech and action wild, And each the other's flock bcguil'd — And each — forgot his God ! I . i? 128 THE MISANTIIROPK. XXXII. •'The young warrior wore his plume witha grace; With a hiruuous eye — with an angel's face Was the babe and its mother slain ; « And the patriot (ought for liberty With a powerful arm and a flashing eye, 'f And exulting shoots went up the sky if. , As he gave a triple chain ! /. XXXIII. "The Hiir and beautiful ones of earth ;'»' Wrought their spoils amid scenes of mirth And sybil revelry, \ ^^j . For the smiling young and the wealthy old, And ever their eyes were caught with gold, For they heeded not if their charms were sold For glittering pageantry I 11! J. II: » 'j^^r" THE MISAiNTIIUOPK 129 XXXIV. "But flowers arc not for tlie frosty head, And wlieii the moment of doting had fled Tlioy crush'd tliem without a sigh, Yet the younger kill'd with a gentler art — - Each set his chosen victim apart, And winning witii smiles aod sighs the heart, Left if aione to die! ' =; ■ \ * XXXV. •'Such was the world to my darkened eye, But the days of my prime were passing by And brought a calmer time ; Again the rustling sails unfurl'd, ' Ajrain the billows around me curl'd As I left the track of the polish'd world To hide in a barbarous clime. n ., 130 TUB MISANTIIROPC. XXXVl. ,'l > ,,I sought the cast, wljorc the Tartar roves, Where the tiger lurks in his orange groves ! . ^ And a fancy on nie came. To throw each trace of splendor by, And once again as a mendicant try • i ; If the earth had aught of humanity :, • . ; To quench that mysterious flame. ; 's ■ i XXXVII. "I learn'd the sounds of a savage tongue, My beard and hair around me hung, ,, ., And a Callcnder's garb was mine, " But ere a second sun did rise , ,^ 'J'hc Faithful * saw my frail disguise. And the death-blows follow'd my quick surprise ^ And my carcass away was flung! i > TUB UISANTUUOPI::, 131 XXXVIil. ' ; "But the angol of death was absent yet, And when tlie evening sun luid set An ancient Dorviso came ; He bore in his feeble hand a spade, That my frame with its kindred earth might bo . ; ., laid, , ,: » : For lie would not have a banquet made For beasts , of the human frame ! XXXIX. irpnse , "A fluttering pulse the stranger found — He stole me away without a sound To his humble clay-built cell , He hid me within an inner part — Well did he ply his simple art, And he kept intrusive steps apart And nurs'd a Christian well ! . m .Al lUv TflR MUANTmtht»l<^. 1 E I t XXXIX, "AihI \\lirn nj^nin n»y jvaron rnmo (iol»r \V(lf< tli:il .'*rll'-roiiMllnJn;t lli joy Thn ilniuls iVcim my «Tiiii)j l»iaiii luu) pn ^•H { M Ainl I M tin- pfoil, ' *'*' ' Ami olUirtl llii- Imml ol pciu'o I t \ V r *'f ,j: ■V* -I'^.fc^i.-u kH^-^ THR MIMNTIIROPR. laa XLI. XUI. I I nt-'H (5, U\v I'll^l '•Then' liv'd wiihiii that iViiunJly gnt«i A tnoihrr and lior oiuliiroti tMfjhi, ,• And rnrhdid wril Km port, Tlir rhiidrmi itniil'd nround llirir guest The nmlhor l»n«lr nho Chrinlmn tcni And tho (iirr oach lingering foar Ktipproiut'd :,u And mM>ih'd my nickeiiM huort. " 1 lohl my tiilo— iho Dorvind iiaid; ' Urothor a (hoUNftnil havo hrm Km! AMrny, ar* thou harti Ntrny'd: Hul iho «arlh haih ImhIi iri wimmIi* ami llowfr.". ltd hldiiting Nlorm.", and iiH gonial fdiowori*; (Jo again i«) that land of your^, And with ninn ihy peaco ho mndof li / t,A \\ 134 THE MISANTHROPK. XLIII. *" And if a weary wanderer come ' ' ^^'ni'l - Across thy path, without a home, ' •^'i''- ■ ^ *;i#> Do thou as I have done ; And thy spirit shall find a gentle rest— The lisping infant shall call thee bleat, ^ And thy sun as it calmly sinks to rest, Leave a glow on the clouds when gone ! ['■■ ■ / XLIV. "* Go in peace! and our common Go, t .M }ri',V5 r» " My heart and head from tl^arldom freed, Many a gentle word and deed Came from the hearts of men ; But still one sorrow doth here remain — That bride of my youth hath been sought in rain, And could I but hear her voice again My spirit would slumber then. ' --■• Mm f^**"' i^ B' 136 THB MISANTHROPE. XLVll. ^! ■ fit ft ^li i \ ** Bless'd be my Herbert then !" said a voice, *' Bless'd be the one of my early choice ! — The stray bird hath return'd to his nest ! Father, behold thy stranger son! •* Husband, receive thy repentant one !" — ' ■' Her voice grew faint, and her words wete done — She fainted upon his breast ! • xLvin. She had shrunk when she heard a stranger there, For her days had pass'd in lonely pray'r Since the wayward one had fled ; But his voice had come as a lovely sound, ' '■ And her heart at his closing words did bound, For the cherish'd form of her soul was found, And came as if from the dead ! ^oice, his nest I - ; ^r ;te done — THE MISANTIIRUPB. XLIX. 137 The mounting sun, as he came from the sea, And burst through his clouds in majesty * ■' To light the impearled flowers, ' *• ^ I^eok'd upon three whose hearts were one, That father, mother and gentle son ; And three more blest he ne'er shone upon Since he lefl his infant bowers. i' iW: ' ,iy'- mger there, ■'r •'• Jd; ind, Id bound, is found, f::,> ■ :-\ ..... .r ••'■ ., ., 138 TUK UNKNOWN. /<:.t.iv. "11 ti ;' .1 The iuoreaeing ill health of Madame de Lauzon for some weeks precluded every thought of amuse- ment within their little cot. The fate of Leonie was evidently preying upon her weak frame, and M. de Lauzon saw with agony the probability of a loss which he felt he could not survive. His Lady had become capricious as the April winds which were then alternately freezing and thawing the masses of snow, still remaining in those places least exposed to the rays of the sun. Instead of a- Yoiding melancholy recollections, she almost con- tinually spoke of Leonie. She would revert to her inlantlle peculiarities; and, with a retention pecu- liar to persons of her temperament, recall long-for- gotten traits of her demure childhood, which had given her the title o^ La petite Madmnc. From this subject she would wander to her own dear Franco; ii, \ 1 OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. 139 Lauzon amuse- ' Lepnie me, and lity 9f a ril winds thawing le places ;ead of a- lost con- 3rt to her ion pecu- long-for- lich had 'Vom this Franco; and then again would come strange fancies of The Unknown, for she imagined a resemblance be- tween him and a distant relative who had married in Italy, and eventually fallen in a duel. This singu- lar conceit had so far taken possession of her mind, that the manuscript of the stranger was looked u\y- on as a family relic, and Eloise was again called upon to read the remaining poem. M. de. Lauzon never openly opposed her fancies, but, laying a painful restraint upon his own desponding reflec- tions, endeavoured to lead her mind to more cheer- ful subjects. This however he seldom effected, and Eloise, naturally sensitive, aided but sadly in its accomplishment, r- ~ . ..' . ; r^ The first spring rain had commenced as the even- ing closed on which Madame de Lauzon called Eloise to the bed-side, and requested that the Lays of the Forest might be brought to wile away the tedi- ous hours. She obeyed with alacrity, and began the last })oeni of the Manuscript. rt>1 h II i^ UkKi ,'f*H*«V»> .-■••Jillffc. V •; ji' '( »' .'Y^ n?' r 'il; V /.ir-oK'.' -,•-;. I 1 » f-, ■ ii , ,' ih >i '. i; ' ' '; V fi THE MAID OF ST. PAUI- ■.,,,,.,.>,.. .1-.; :.; S.Vf,>M«''- y*'"^tt'.. ii^i ■*. i iff It ' , » Kt«tr'''- iii--.«fjb, ••> -it- !• ,.: t -' >- rSlll.^/*. J-": ' rr-Oi' And apt thoa fallen, land of song and lyre ! ' Thy temples silent, and thy martial fire, ■ /^^^mH Which not the Persian throngs could overwhelm. Lighting alone the bandit's blade and helm!— Where are thy joyous shouts, which fill'd the sky — Thy laurel'd heads and songs of victory ? — Seek not for Greece — her halls are desolate, **' Whftre words of thunder broke, and sages sate! *^ ' M ; . i I THE MAID OF ST. PAUL. 141 UL. ! ! ' — U) whelm, i!— le sky — Yet, land of Helen ! would I give to thee i, .' My song — my sad and liumble minstrelsy ! Be mine to sigh, to weep o'er what remains, Thy broken pillars and thy crumbling fanes, Thy fallen children, and their tyrant's chains ! Vr-f^; ;; sate! The evening sun is bright on Eva's hills, The shadows round St. Paul's sequestered rilb Are hovering o'er the pine-tops, and the cry * Of Paynim's call to prayer is heard on high. What mounted stranger comes with dusty steed, With seeming weariness and lessened speed ? A foreigner he seems, in foreign garb, ;4}^ i i And fiercely doth he rein his restive barb. And mutters unknown curses on his head, z-u-^' Glancing around by stealth as if with dread Lest that high mettled courser might betray Too fresh a spirit for the traveller's way. *. msW n I .i",^ 142 THE MAID or ST. PAUL. A wary word he whispers to his man, And enters carelessly the village kan ; ^iv^-i ..i*i There on the soft divan his frame he throws, '' J' And seeks, or seems to seek, that frame's repose. Not young, nor old — some thirty seasons say — • And yet, he may not know so long a day ; For the light wrinkles on his lofty brow Seem rather marks than furrows, mid the flow '" Of raven locks ; and tranquil is his eye ; — tnr < Rut if a turban chance to pass him by ---^iin^ ;»uv It burns like lightning in its sable cloud, ,ns*i v^i And liis lip curls with feelings fierce and proud t A light carbine lay by him carelessly— ^ No other weapon caught the curious eye ; — ii»«^ But once a Turk, in passing,, rudely press'd *^oi- Against him — and his hand was in his breast And play'd convulsively a moment there — Was it a thrill of pain, — a pang of fear,— '^ - THE MAIO or IT. PAUL. 143 fl The hidden workings of some fearful guilt, — Or, (heaven forbid!) a dagger's ivory hilt? The night is resting on St. Paul — each star Hath set its light in heaven, and from afar '• ,1 Shines like a golden spangle, and that kan - Is dark and silent, as if living man Breath'd not within it : — Who is he that slidea iM From the small window, and in silence glides, ;;"\ Like a dark spirit, underneath the pines f «<" It is the stranger who his couch resigns At this late hour! — a pistol in one hand, m .*,<^. Beneath his cloak the other holds a brand, * ,. As if its glimmer might attract more eyes ^ f")il Than needful seem, to aid his enterprise ; And once he pauses in an old tree's shade, ^^ And bares his good right arm and trusty blade, At the quick flutter of some bird of night, ^^: ) Awakened by his steps to sudden flight ! ^^^ 11 If I ) U M >',? i 144 THF. 5IAID OP BT. PAUL. Again he stopp'd, and jealously around Glanc'd his quick eye — no treacherous sight or sound . - ». Repaid his scrutiny, and with a bound He clear'd the barrier of a garden wall, .„, ; Anu uninvited stands within a hall Where one dim lamp throws out a doubtful flaoM Upon a female form: — So still he came ,^1^' That yet upon a book her eyes are bent, ^^^,4 On some romancer's tale of love intent! y^^ „ .,^\j She was a thing of beauty ! One light wave Of auburn sought her bosom, as to save \fj. Her night attire's betrayal — and her eye, i.«ti >f sA Half-clos'd upon that tale of misery, yiidT Seem'd like an opening violet moist with dew ; sA And pale as whitest snow-flake was the hue Upon her cheek — her trembling lips unbent, rA Just tinged with light carnation, softly blent ?'!^ , 1 M iS THE MAID OF ST. PAUL. 146 m. » rA J 'i 4 4 ve 1' .»i. A ui'V lew F * e »t, nt ^' - * • With her cheek's paleness — and her arched brow Lay like a pencil'd line amid the flow Of her gold-spangled tresses * curling round Her graceful neck and heaving bosom's bound ! She was a form of beauty — such as raov'd The soul of Phidias — such as Paris lov'd — All Grecian, and all dignity and grace — A swan-like dignity — a speaking face; Where passion never slumbered! — One fair hand Lay on that page, and shamed it, one her band Unclasp'd, was holding, on that rich divan Of azure silk ; and thrilling tremors ran Along her fingers, at that tale of grief, Like the light trembling of the aspen leaf A faded jasmine, fallen from her hair, ^ Lay at her crossing feet, which lay half bare, And half enveloped in the envious flow Of light blue trowsers — little clouds of snow-* !■ . if UA TMK MAIf> OF iT TAVL. Twin cloudtt, reposing in a summer »ky, And rovtiiling in their )>eauteoui itymmetry t i-*vil Us ** Kvadne *' — and he «j¥>kn Out name alone, Out that one word, ttiat deep and thrilling? tone Wam all iiurticient to the ruaiden'ii ear, - ' ^*- That rtingle word, that c^eri»h'd iom of cheer. fat her hath more of mu#*ic thun eaeh sonnd Of joy within the varied earth around ! «^|. ;ai'.-f>i. H'^'il * S| !_ M*! Ye who have hop'd, tdl hope grew half despair, Tdl the heart aickened— tdl the phrenxied pray'f Went up in agony, yet faithh^asj still. From long, long douhimg— tdl the eye would fill From ihe o'ereharged heart— till every heat Of the wild pulae grev f ihter— ye may njeet With the>M!, and wie them truly a-i they met— The «igh of tranftiw rt, and the dim eye wel, The fluttering heart, the Hush of either fare, jAod the hu«h'd ulence of the long cmhracre ! 4- -, i? Hi ¥ TIIK MAII» Of MT. fACil.. 147 r»eer, nd I. |.ray't [l — H'A, (I 4. ,*4f tv^, l4aftc»rifl, I UaU ilruarn'd thou (vulU»t f<>fgel • .. C'. -» 1 Likfi many of lliy faahl«>*» **i% — ami yei r /;>. I Oiouglii 11 not, Uui loar il tin; Turk in wraih Had fifiund iheo in ihy wandiinngal" •And hft halh — And lit) hath found thi^ hrttnti I Forget iht!^! yea, Wht:n day m night, and nij^ht m vinionjettn! M When rolling months or years my thought.'* eMrang* Frow then 0i^Mtug« I" /. Ilin pale li|> quivered and hif» eye grew hrigh^ .,.- .# With an implacahle aiul fearful light , — , ,, ^ "r Mr ait hut a moment and ihentorm |taiiii'd hy, And love and joy again were in hei eye, i And when he ft|H>ke hia %otce \%^n low and mUd r Ai the tir»t limping of the innocent child! '/i •' Kvadne! fearful stormji have oVif me paAn'd, i With high cnreeri()g »ince 1 oaw thed hut, ^. » H I M L-e« i tj i »i4k. H»=* mmm^ mam 148 THR MAID OP ST. PAUL. h^ And swept away my kindred — Did'st thou hear Nought of Ithome's hatod work of fear ? " "No, nothing!"— " Well, that turban'd race of hell — Nay, but I loiU be calm, if one may tell That tale with calmness ! — I had compassed all My plans within the Turkish capital — , ., That place, Evadne, where my months were day», Nay, moments, and my heart, beneath the rays Of those blue eyes, was full with joy and love-— . When all abroad, beneath, around, above, ^' •• Seem'd young as our young hearts ! — Thou gayest ■ girl! — {'['" ' ■ '"" I wander, like the bird whose wings unfurl * When storms are on the earth — which upward fl'ies, And sports his flowing plumes in azure skies, -' Far, far above the tempest ! — But the flame Forever tempting, night and day the same, . - Will scorch the hovering moth — so we retui i -^ By some enchantment to the things we mourn, "t ':(/ j' H THB MAID OF ST. PAUL. 149 near »f hell- ed all ' ,._.--^' Brc days, le rays love— ou gayest irl * Iward flicft, ies, ime lourn, And will not let them sleep ! — A courier camo ♦ With news which made my heart and head a flame^ A flame to burn forever ! — Rumour said, ' ' ' ' "■' '■ That, near Ithome, Moslem slaves had shed The blood of many rebels, and that fire Had swept a hundred hamlets, in their ire : — '" Thou know'st my aged sire, my sisters fair "*^' And my fond moti er, all were dwelling there — And, O! the sickness which upon me came, When first was heard that tale of blood and flame ! >i, f Sir; r out ' fl " All else was then forgotten and that day We found our little vessel under way — The blast which drove us onward seem'd a breeze — And gentle breath of summer — tho' the trees, I) per* the sbn^-c and islands, soem'd to fly, ■-' ■ As o'er us dash'd the foam in rushing by ! P -r !-\* ': ■'^ iK' " 'Twas midnight when I reach'd the little gien Where once i^bode those cherish'd ones — and then, n ) \ 9 J 150 THS MAID OF ST. PAUL. r> All there was black and silent— All were gone, Yes, all Evadne ! and I stood alone Among the dead ! — Then my burning eye li ^ Was rais'd in silence to the blackened sky, And a low vow was registered on high — By the fresh ashes of the loved I vow'd — And by my murdered grand-sire '^ bloody shroud-— By the psJe flitting shades of those who fell- By the deep burnings of the deeprjt hell— And by the great Jehovah — ^that this hand Should work a dreadful vengeance ! — that this brand Should never slumber from its work of blood Until within these veins the boiling flood .imk^i >? Should he congeal^ \n death I — That night pas^'d on -••■•'•^" ' ■ ■ In awful stillness, and the iijorning shone ^t^iH rjv, if Uix)n a wretch, blighted^ ^\\d wijd, and lone ! t^ *' Not long they gave to mourn, — the fiend-like cry, > * Another rebe;!!' ^];i the wooi^ 0(n high, '^v? i'l^ '<»■ t:l TUE MAID OP ST. PAUL. 151 l\ Came from tiie slaves, and I was forc'd away. For one unarm'd, Evadne, could not slay ! But ere I saw another morn depart . t This blade had felt the murderous Osman's heart, Their leader— and I roam a hunted thing t '* O'er which the eager vulture plumes his wing ; 'V But not alone*— a fierce and eager band *• v t In Eva's mountains waits this guiding hand, A band of Spartan blood, * and one loud cheer ' Would b.'ing them down with gun, and sword and ''''■ spear, --■ ;■- ■ - . ' , ^. '•> \ --i >'.. . ■>). To rescue or to die!" — ,, ^ ■ ■., h ,}^^ •* What wouldst thou do "?"— (( Sweep from the earth the vile and hated crew ! A few of swiftest foot abroad are spread, -'••ir Among the mountains to arouse the dead ; ■• ' ' The cors&irs too are summoned on the sea, ^" '•'•' ' And if the Greeks are Greeks, they shall be free !" I \' m 1^ \i .Vj n 153 THE MAID OF ST, PAUL. * 1 yr " And if they fail, Lascaris!" — vr ■ "We shall die As those who slumber at Thermopylaj, Making defeat a victory — If I fall Withcleav'd and bloody turbans for my pall, '-'^ ^ A Paynim's carcass for ray sabre's sheath, r ''^ ' His blood my bier — my heart will leap in death !" Paler and paler had Evadne grown ; — ^ It eeem'd as if each drop of blood had flown Back to her heart — her lip had lost its hue, "^■' A death-like calmness in each feature grew, ^"^ And »»^hen she spoke the words came firm and slow. Like the deep murmurs of the river's flow. *' I give thee to our country ! — May'st thou be ^'^^ ^ The glorious battle-cry of liberty ! tt b P*^*^ There are none left to weep for ua when gone, ^'^ Ix)ng have /been, and now thou art alone,' U: V?«i" "■!i. (<■ ifi It 1 THE MAID OF ST. PAUL. 153 And I will go with thee, Lascaris — I, Tho' all at last forsake thee, will not fly!" ) ' 1 * j' ^if. i- A fearful struggle feels Lascaris now, ' ' And the cold drops are starting from his brow :— An angel seemM to beckon him away, To distant climes — a demon ba(Je him stay- Alternately his face is pale and flush'd. And deep his breathing — but at length 'tis hush'd — That burst hath pass'd from Passion's wildest child Again, and left him calm, and still, and mild, V As if no tempests ere disturb'd the rest — The dreamy slumber of hii quiet breast ! v '^ "^'^f* "It may not be, Evadne! cannot be! '^ ' *' ''^' How would that frame, rear'd up in luxury, Bear the fierce pelting of the mountain stoim, The rock a pillow, and the" — '- ^^^ " Woman'3 forrti Ui^ a;.:: i'> .'iV-.f :i "si *^fl it k 154 TUB MAID or ST. PAUL. Hath borne far more, Lascaris — and again * I fjo^ Will bear for one belov'd !- " .1 U. '. J'l " This whirling brain 1 — A dream of happier climes was on me now ../.- ^^ /, And half-forgotten that relentless vow — Thou wert an orphan, low and desolate — -^ The Moslem's sword hath made for thee a mate ! '" A mate in phrenzied wo, in burning pain — -;|[; That pair w?/s< part — perhaps to meet again! " t^k^ He's gone !— -a piercing shriek is in the hall, And forth she rush'd — to see him pass the wall : \ Her snowy arms out-stretch'd as if to clasp Some visionary form escap'd her grasp! — Was it a dream — or was Lascaris here, ^^^^.^ |^.. With that bright eye — with words of love and fear T He was, but he is gone, and days of pain ^| laj*^ And silent loneliness must come again, ^,,^^:^^ vtil* With the dim taper of the sleepless night, With wild and chilling visions of alTright^ K THE MAID OP ST. PAUL. 46^ iU. r Of ghastly trunkless heads— of streaming gore— ' And the loud thunder of the cannon's roar: Her maids awakened by that shriek have come, '^' And bear her senseless form within her home ; *T While, rushing wildly on, that wayward man k Seeks recklessly again the silent kan ! The morn is dawning on St. Paul — the west '^ Weareth one star upon its pearly vest — ' ■•'' The azure zenith, shadowy, soft and pale, Like a blue robe beneath a snowy veil, And in the east a golden cloud hath won The first embraces of the unrisen sun : — Lascaris, mounted, looks upon that sky *■ , * * -> f As if no tempest ev6r raged on high, , sfj^lr»( As if no storms were slumbering in that soul — f Storms which a breath might raise beyond control! hah >Si An eye of cool sed toncss, dead to wrath — Such as the good — and desperate villain hath j His frame, tho' small, of bone and sinew good, And form'dfor deeds of desperate hardihood,. W*i. «■ .',.'«. Lascaris whispers : — " Larno, mark me well, The Spartan ruins where I am will tell ; And if the Aga dare- — as rumours say-r Ev'n dream qi her, he dies I" He is away \ The dust is rolling from his courser's feet, And ao he dashes through the nlent street A wanng hand is from a casement seen— r That steed is check'd — there is .-^o midnight screen- His hand is wildly driven against his heart, 'f. And moving forward with convulsive start, His spurs are reeking, and his good steed flies Till far among the hills the clattering dies. E !*■«% THB MAID or 8T. PAUL. Wl thj »ood, [>d. ij The Aga of threescore had left his bed, As the meridian sun his gay beams shed Upon St. Paul: ,_. " Hassan !" — the slave hath come — " Go tell Evadne, that the Aga' s home . , Is hers — that Alia hath upon her smil'd— Hath mov'd me ev'o to wed the beautiful child !" The slave is gone, and on his soft divan, Immers'd in clouds of smoke, that bearded man. The sofa scarce supports his corpulence, And in his visage every gleam of sense , Seem'd sweetly slumbering, and his half-cloa'd ey« l^ resting in unwinking apathy ! i screen— t, ■.■• '. flies "■n :j;i";^ •> n*t;\p t' ',%"•'' Hassan returns :— " The girl th'.3 answer sends : — ' The stream of Lacedsemon never blends With foreign waters !"' 14 158 THE MAID OF ST. PAUL. Hi Ji I I ^ .-').,-...; "Ha! the slave! this hour ^' Then shall she know that Artaz hath the power To force obedience !" " - " A ga, one abroad At sun-rise, saw that stranger as he rode Forth on his way, and as he hurried by ' -.- *t>?l » Her cot, a waving hand was seen on high, vit iji'l He paus'd— wav'd his — and madly rode away Upon the meuntain path — and rumours say ' That stranger was Lascaris, in disguise I" "'' '' >n t '-* -> .* • Kt '^ f._- •vS -n. 'I- *' By Alia ! then, the amorous beauty dies ! — Call here the ruffian Larno :" — He hath come With mien so calm, he seem'd the gentle home Of conftdential words — and his still eye Awake, yet resting in tranquility : . i ":..•• '^« I » '. f'.:'- wtji'-n>^ .nfl" ■** Greek, thou can do a deed for gold — canst not?" fr <{ To-i Or. our er 1 '' ■ , . ■- *r « ■ < « 'J » 1 me •'r » •.;l t not?" THE MAID or ST. PAUL. "IrfiV/adeed, thou know'st" — ' ' ^^ •* • ■ "And I forgot The promised purse — but here it is— and now — Larno^ the victim hath a fairer brow •' - Than that old Pachai, both thy foe and mint!'' -.'-'.■',;t 'b>«'- ;^ J : .\i\'-'..\ \- I ■ ' 1 'f. 'v;;i ->.-.. • ., I \ " Name it and fair reward" — ' ■' "It shall be thine! Take thou this dagger — use it ere the morn — 'Tis for Evadne."— ?*• -^^ '-' ' - ' ■ •• ' i^ivc ..; "No — the night's return Must find me at Migitra : — Aga, there My father struggles with the last despair ' ' ■ -' ♦ Of closing life ! — To morrow night the deed *^ Shall be well done:" — ■*"" ••"»". , '>'--v>6 \s- " Larno, the slave should bleed To-night — but gf. — to-morrow night she dies, Or, Larno, thou shalt feed the birds and flies!" ' ' "* i (I • 160 TUB MAID or are. paul. ;';)' The Aga settles to Iiis dull repose, ■ >v. And, answering with a nod, the ruffian goes, But mutters as he coolly Ntridcs away : , i " Fooll dost thou think th^s haiul was made to slay Aught but thy hated race! — Yea, yes — t/te deed To-niorrow night, if Larno lives, shall speed — But thou the victim!" — i Staidly, warily, Hepasu'd the village bounds — luit when his eye Caught the deep shadows of the mountain pUib, The rushing eagle in his glowing wrath DurtH not more fiercely on his threatening foe . K^ Thau he, descending the ravines below, » • Dashing along the mountain torrent'n stream, . '' Or straining where the heights in suU'light gleam ! He leaps the brooks, bounds o'er the fallen treea, Brushes the foliage as a wanton breeze, • . Breaks through the dark defdes, and breathless gains The gentlcir swellings of the mooii-lit plains ; t*' THE MAID or ST. PAUL. 101 t". 1 Wliero the Eiirotas softly murmuring flows, h ••' »' Like noma dim Hitting shadow, on ho goes. Nor thinks upon tlio glorious forms of old — Of Ilclon'i azure lillios, or the hold • fi : '\ Lconidns, wlio drank that limpid flood, , ;, V- In infancy, and on its margin stood, ^ , . , ». ni Perhaps, to cast one h)ok ore lie couhl fly -< • . • - To grasp a wreath of glory — and to die ! . , ,. 'Twas mi(hiight when he rcach'd a gentle hill, And gain'd its summit : All around was still, , As if no mingle«l voices ere had hecn ^ , »; ^ ^^^^ To raise a n urmur o'er that noiseless scene ! i A ruin'd wall around its hrow was thrown, /nd many a relic of the ages gone . -•. ,i| Lay there : the broken shaft — the fallen w ehome in« ■yv 5-<': ly! rs. ivr ^"•it* %,-if liarno hath risen for his lonely way-^- Winds among barren hills, nor heeds tlie pUy Of the Eurotas, as he fords its tide And gains by rugged steps tiie mountain'f side. The day was dawning on those sHent wilds, And shadows flkting in its deep defiles, When instantly esM'^h sign of haste was dropp'd As at a wretched Turkish kan he stc^p'd : — He heedlessly accosts a listening Greeks And laughs and chats as in some idle freak, Till left with him alone : — „ " Lascaria — speak- Where is Lascaris ?" — ^.- ►' " In the torrent glen • Hawking the turban'd villains— and his men"— i. ''r i* -^ ■ No more he lists, but swiftly onward goes, Nor doth he seek, nor seem to need, repose ! »i. f •n, . i." ♦ ^ S' 4% THE MAID or ST. PAUL. Through rocky rifts he speeds — o'er oak-crown'd height — '* But ever pauses in his rapid flight, ' ' If aught of life is either heard or seen, ^ r^r i-^ !>r,* And quick assumes the plodding traveller's mien. *' Again 'tis midnight — and the glen is won : — **' '''' With ready hand and eye he passes on J> ^^ Beneath o'er-hanging rocks and branches thrown Together over-head — so dense, there shone • •?' No moon-beam on his darkly vaulted way *"* ' '11'" To tell if friend or foe in ambush lay. All slept in deathlike silence, save the owl Hooting above him, or the lengtheki'd howl, : r«j>l; Of some half-famish'd wolf! — Ha ! whence that glejim! , ii *»5'V'f .^' The rocks around are sending out a stream if)/! Of fire upon him, and a shower of lead Is hissing round, and whirling past his head ! i TH* MAID Of ST. PAUL. 166 awn'd nien. rown 7 t f. : 'V ^.!t^ ce that !*f "' dl Fleetly as startled doe he bounds along, ' ' ' '*- And hears the steps of the pursuing throng, And feels — the verging blood and clammy sweat Stream from his brow and weary limbs — but yet He presses forward, though each leap is made In pain, and leaves behind a darker shade ! . ' T '-.'■"■■ ■■'"" . 1 - -■".... And still though feebler, fainter, on he goes. But gaining on him are his fresher foes ! — Nearer and nearer come their rapid strides, And many a murderous bullet past him glides ! — He shouts "T^ascaris" — and the answering sound From fifty voices strikes the rocks around — Again he rushes on — meets them — and cries-— As sinking in their midst — " Evadne — haste ! — and dies! ,,, -\ ■, ■ . ■■-,,.. .,•, ..,.. . : '• -. -., Then rose the shout of vengeance loud and high, Commingled wildly with the Paynims' cry ; i l!i L6C THE MAID or ST. PAUL. Quick flashes lit the foliage, and between The shaggy rocks the cambatants were seen Grappling as warriors grapple, with strain'd eye /^ And haggard look of wild insanity ! ^g^r"'^ And fiercest, foremost, wildest in his ire, ^| With indrawn breath, clench'd teeth, and eye of fire, » - • - ■- ' ' ' :^%nk The Chief Lascaris: — Recklessly he rush'd ,?^ Amid their ranks, and where he strikes, all hush'd The vain opposer, or a stifled groan '.ri* Burst forth to tell how well the deed was done ! Then Larno ! thy cool eye and steady hand, ,'j,p»f Ready to charge, to '"liy, or withstand, >i,r* ,ijf, Had been a host amid that wild affray ! * i'^» But cold, insensate, dreamless, there he lay. With lips apart, as if in act to tell '*..! ;i£»iilT The message borne so fatally, so well ! waitaajo' ' _iia« -1— -I THE MAID OP 8T. PAUL. 167 The foe is driven from the torrent's bed, 'i^iviiiT But from the rocks are firing over-head, And lightning seems to flash in every leaf, And fast the Greeks are falling round their chief! t The word is given —" Charge up the rocks !"-- , ., they rush, .vt,., .,,^ And cjiing to every pointed crag and bush ; ■ But some arf; falling from their fragile hold, And, with a fiendish yell or curse, are roll'd From crtg to crag, till far below they lie, A broken mass to glad the vulture's eye ' *J ^'i Other's mid-way have met the de ath-wing'd ball * And as a senseless clod in silence fall, j^-a^^ viii^i. - •■i,:i^^ 'MT Lascaris only gain'd the rocky height, And seem'd cut off from victory or flight; •"^''' He saw his fate — and yet he shunn'd it not, - ' But grimly stood a mark for sword or shot,. i.u.'l \^ » ^i I — -WV.'- V'!»'.iVi 16a T^a MAID OF 8T. VAUL. Thorgh not inactive — where ho struck was blood — A ghastly cureless wound, a vital flood — In vain the cry to slay the rebel — still He seem'd reserv'd for good— or greater ill. ,1¥ . Yes, '* slay the rebel!" was the only cry, .^^f ^ And on him turn'd each hand and glancing eye, And none perceived the remnant of his band, [^.J- "^^training in silence up to gain that stand, I'Vl shouts arose, and vengeful blades were flungM^. Into their eyes : — Then, then Lascaris sprung ,- Tike the crouch'd tiger on his heedless prey I-- * A moment's struggle and the foe givej way — They break — essay to fly — no flight is there, . f And all unhear'd the wild, half uttered pray'r, Cut short with thirsty blade, or fatal ball, .^ ^^ Till death had done his bloody work on all { i:ry' r No word was spoken till those panting men otir^jyf Again descended to the shrouded glen : — w THE MAID Of ST. PAUL. 169 In sullen silence there the victors stand > htrfi And sternly view the wreck of all their band ; gw ii^ A score, of thrice the number, now remain, • i-M And few of these but feel some burning pain ! II And had the chief forgotten Larno's word? 11' He had amid the fight — but now was heard Ih His startling voice : — *^ « ♦«] '«*ifc t»«w?? »*S ,**»,4»tit.T "Ho! Faro! haste — my steed Nay four — of four stout hearts I shall have need !" No Faro answers to his fierce command :-• ,, >^ "What Faro gone! — O, I shall miss that lanc; 1--^ Well then, Cornelius! thou :" — and from a nook, .^ Worn in a rocky fissure by a brook, * ,^_ The steeds are led ; and from among his band He chooses three of firmest ho^urt and hand. #7^^ " You who remain, when morn again hath comc,W Lay ye your comrades in their final home,' '^MW " ««' i& ; 1 L iH <' 170 TBK MAID OP ST. rAOl.. And then retire to yonder nook, and keep - A wakeful watch upor? the dizzy steep, ''i^ ^*i'» But when four nights and days have passed away, If I return not, each may go his way I" They stood in silence — he with fearful speed, Along the rocky pathway urg'd his steed ; But then the phrenzy of the fight had pass'd, And dread forebodings rush'd upon him fast, Engulphing all around, and ofl his horse Was driven with fury from his destin'd course, '^'^ And those companions call'd and call'd again. Ere they awoke him from those spells of pain ! - Suspense grew madness in his thoughts' career — He shuddering fear'd — and knew not what to fear — But well he knew, some threat'ning evil hung "*! Over Evadne, and that knowledge sprung Within his heart, like Java's poisonous tree, ' Which stands in blighting, solitary glee. i.-. Ttie MAID or ST. rAUL. 171 And waves its branches io the desert's breath, And rules in its reahn of ghastly death ! The night descended as through Eva's wild They rode, anddeep'ning clouds and darkness smii'd Upon their enterprise : — The wild wind dash'd Against the mountain tops, the lightning flash'd In vivid sheets, the rain in masses pour'd, And bellowing from their heights the torrents roar'd ! Their reeling steeds were sway'd by every blast, And, nearly spent, St. Paul is reach'd at last! . The foaming steeds no longer useful, roara Instinctively to gain their mountain home, > ^ i But, stiffening with the cold, with half-clos'd eye, They stand, a moment — stagger, fall, and die, . ,, The silent victims of that lordly race Which vainly boasts a God-like form and face, And yet, when passion stirs the selfish will, Docs deeds to shame the vilest creature still, u Hi t ,» ti' IVi THI MAID or ST. lATJL. ^ f^i Like evening clouds edged round with red and gold Yet bearing lightning in each shining fold! ^ The Chief had left his men prepar'd to aid His hand, whate'er that desperate hand essay'd , But as ho reach'd her cot his doubting grew To 'wildering madness ; and the hot blood flew 'igii • Up to his brain, then backward to his heart— And long he paus'd — then with a feverish start Rush'd wildly forward — leapt the gardens bound, And sought what might of hope or fear be found. 'Tis her, all hush'd in deep and sweet repose Upon her couch ! — The feeble taper throws Across her marble face its shadowy ray, And clustering round her neck the tresses play, As through the open door the circling air Breathes gently, as to woo that being fair! ' '' • With gentle voice he calls her — calls again Evadne spoke not — ne'er will speak again ! // e tnB MAID OP ST. PAUL. 17S His cyo hath caught the atain upon hor breast, And a?onizin -. . Such fires in gentler bosoms never glow, And such the passionate heart but once may know, And knowing once, all hope, and joy, and mirth, Are banish'd from the barren path of earth ! At length he weeps — but tears bring no relief To such as he ! Their burstings, wild and brief, Are but the exhalations of the heart, »: r,.» rA And leave all parch'd and glowing, whence thef ■tart! - M .; :• . '■ ■'. ■ y>> 'I,.- 1 ( is» * ■ ^ ^f* ■"^y^tt M i ^m w r w^. 174 THE MAIO OF ST. TAUI., A moment more ujk)!! iior face he bent, n Then, strangely calm, fortli from ihc murdered went ; — ,:.•:,, / Hifj friends were call'd— lie sought the Aga's placo—- And blood within those walln Hoon left itn trace ! The deed was done so quickly, silently, ,, Th(il scarcely op'd the villain's lazy eye ! ■"•^i*. '" i:,r'i .:/' l.«NCnriHgOM upon hi» mountain path, , ,i > A being pledg'd to never nlumbering wrath! .;,*' lie goo» — nnd looks not where that form is laid, / Tliat form which once around his light heart play'd A« an enchanting vision ! — She iw gone > ' «i» ' ; ■!?.:«- i'l '^i' l^< * ;■ 't- fi^'ni t'. t i n.,1. '! 'U: "Ji * " ■;•.!! * * * ■ t' i^<>#, -,-, t^f •, i ' / 1 *« » f i.'fi ■s*:>«&!'i*v. ,1 u .Of, 176 TIIK UNENOWlf. J .»?■ Never had the family of M. de Lauzon passed such a May-day as the one following the events be- fore narrated. True, Eloise might have sought in vain for the gay flowers of France, in the less hos- ^ pitable regions of her new home ; but she actually appeared to have forgotten that none were so mirth- ful, or so boisterous in their mirth, as she when surrounded by the companions of her childhood in her own native village. That village, those com- panions were far away over the broad Atlantic : the bright imaginings of her infant days, and the hap- py slumbers of her early nights had fled ; and Leo" Qie — where now was that dear companion of her innocent joys and petty sorrows ? These, with a thousand other reflections no less melancholy, rushed upon her at the return of that OQce happy period, and the tears coursed freely ,^ t^^S^:- '* ?!?tf OR LAYS or THE PORlilST. 177 ■ t.,P.* passed nts he- ight in ss hos- ctually mirth- ; when lood in se com- ic*, the le hap- id Leo" of her Ino less )f that freely down her checks, as she thought of that distant land, never to be revisited, and of the bright hopes of childhood never to be realized. M. de Lauxon seemed less affected, but thought was busy with the past his brows were contracted and his lips severe \y compressed, as he hurriedly paced backward and forward in front of the cottage. . Eloise caught the severe expression of her father's countenance, as she looked through the open door, towards the quiet waters of the St. Lawrence ; .ind her own sad recollections gave way to surprise and sorrow at the appearance of his unusual excitement. She was about to join him wh-^n she perceived an In- dian coming from amon^ the trees, and approaching their habitation. At this time they had, in some de- gree, become familiarized with ihe appearance of the friendly savages ; and as this was evidently one of the above class, she did not hesitate to gratify her curiosity, in some degree excited by the fine form and princely bearing of the savage chieftain, for as \ If .,1* .1 ■«■ ■ i i i II 'H i W I l iii — I i lj i ' i "*it- 178 TUB CNKNOWIf. he approached, she recognize'? the Al/ropkin, Pit- caret, whose name alone had once sa;eatl/o village from annihilation, r. • v •* • n . +4^ iv He approached M. de Lauzon, and remained a moment with his eyes fixed upon him. After wait- ing as if to be addressed the chief commenced : — "The snows are gone and the Red-man is on the war-path : Doth the pale-face rest in his cabin ?" M. de Lauzon knew something of the Indian pe- culiarities — and likewise knew that the Chiefs visit was not without an object, but that object was not yet visible, and it was necessary to answer him cau- tiously. \^-y-'': 'v-:'-; -i. :=„•''■'-'■-" ■ ^ •m^^'M^ "We Europeans never go forth to war without sufficient provcation." * ; •ffj*4|tf- •'-■> " Where is thy young one. In her own nest, or in the nest of the raven !" * - < ' •-?*>«*.»■# m At this allu ion to Leonie a look of inteiligencfe was exchan^ 1 , and M. de Lauzon asked with U f- ■^ if^ OK LAYM or TBS VOKEiST. IW emotion^ — "Thinkesf ihou my child laar.iong the living?" "Ask the Manito — * He knoueth the flight of young birlsl" "But do you think it possible?" asked M. do Lauzon with increasing emotion, a , - .. " The Unknown is with her." " And who is the Unknown '?" , ,. i, " A pale-face, who hath the foot of the young roe, the head of the otter, and the heart of the pan- ther ! - ^,,r^■ 1, - , , . . t- ; ! ■■ -■■:T.X ■ >- ■ r.^,» "Chieftain, if there is hope, in the name of my God and thine keep me not in suspense! What can be done?" . ., , ..,. ,,.,, , _ ,,,,,^^„, , ;, ^ *' I have been on the path of the Iroquois, aud knew not till yesteiday what had been done, but the Unknown is the fr-ond of the Algonkins, and tomorrow I go towards the setting sun." .„ ^.j^/,,. ^■ * Tba God of the Aborigiaes. ^- m 'i 15 :r i 'SEv?^ 180 THE UNKNOWN. m - " And I go with thee, Piscaret !" said the excit' ed father. t %»*»*#»» ^ " It is well !" ond the savage hero strode away with a step noiseless as the fall of the thistle-down in autuirin. ■''---'.■. '-i >- ■.i.n.i ,.,,•. ,.»l ,eM *^ Eloise, wlio had heard nothing of what passed between her father and Piscaret, saw with surprise his flushed .cheek and the beaming of his eye^ as she received the pfiternal embrace ; but when she learned that there were still hopes of Leonie, she appeared almost mad with joy. The effect of such intelligence upon Madame de. Lauzon was still more powerful : She had not lett her bed for weeks, but that evening and the following day she was seen arranging her domestic affairs with a step ap- proaching the elasticity of youth. • i'i j-nr ts/iMi. The day following the interview jist described, passed away without the appearance of Piscaret, but at night-fall he came, and, en.ering gently, seated himself without speakiug. M. de Lauzon %. .,m OR LAY3 or TUB lOREST. 181 the eicit- ode away istle-down lat passed th surpriic his eye, as t when she 'ieonie, she Feet of such n was still i for weeks, ay she wa» fi a step ap- It described, lof Piacaret, ring gently, de L»«i7,on embraced his daughter — she wept, hut the tears of hope and fear were mingled, and, probably for the first time, she wished herself a man, that she might share the danger of the enterprise. The adieu of Madame de Lauzon was of a dif- ferent description. So much had her whole mind been engrossed by the anticipation of Leonie's re- covery, that the danger necessarily accompanying the expedition never occurred to her till the mo- ment of her husband's departure; then it came up- on her with a force which seemed to threaten her rery existence. She clung to him as the mariner clings to the last plank of his wreck, and when he burst away her hysterical shriek sunk into his heart like the knell of a dear departed friend. ^ The Algonkin chief left the cottage at the com- mencement of this scene, anc' M. de Lauzon found him rpon the bank of the river, with arms folded, and eyes bent upon the ground; he remained si- lent, and with rapid strides followed the course of I i ' ^ V -I 18-2 Tlir, UNKNOWN. Jh the St. Lawrence to the sandy point where that river is intersected by the St. Maurice, or, as it is more generally termed in that part of the country, the Black River, '■ At this place the sandy bank of the last men- tioned river rises almost perpendicularly to perhaps fifty feet, and the top of this embankment was at that time scantily clothed with scrubby pinos, a spe- cies of willow, and small patches of ha/^N, Pi?- caret looked cautiously along the shore, and towards some small barren islands, which lie in the mouth of the river, and after satisfying his scrutiny, placed an arrow to his bow, and pointed it at the trunk of a pine, which stood near the edge of the bank :— The arrow was seen quivering in the wood, and immediately after seven savages appeared from a- moug the brush-wood, bearing a bark canoe; and, jUBt as the Night-hawk began his vesper song, the canoe had received its burthen of stout hearts and shot forward on its way up the St. Maurice. brw OR LATH or THE FOREST. 183 ^her« that )r, as it !• tf J country, last men- to perhaps BUt was at incs, aspe- 7.eh. Pi?- nd towards the mouth iny, placed he trunk of le bank . — wood, and red from a- anoe; and, r song, the hearts and rice. %-. Silently but rapidly did their frail bark speed on- ward. In its stern sat the Indian chief, grave and stern as those warriors of old Rome, who gave their mandates to the world. Next him sat M. de Lau- zon wrapt in the gloom of his own solitary reflec- tions. Then came the erect and statue-like forms of the other warriors, the only evidence of whose animation consisted in the monotonous motions of their arms and paddles. Thus did the little canoe glide along as by magic over the broad and deep waters of the St. Maurice. M. de Lauzon started involuntarily, as he awoke from the intensity of his own dark thoughts to a consciousness of his novel situation. He was now in the depths of an American forest, borne over one of the mighty rivers of the western world by the gigantic arms of one of its native princes and those of his irascible train. It appeared like a scene of magic — all was silent, save the pattering of the drops which fell from the paddles — for their dip- "*' \^. VL. i itti III 1 11 ~ I i 7 \ I 4 '■IIS JBllI k t 184 TMI UNKNOWN. ping was unheard — the light riple of their canoe, ind the murmuring of rapids as they approached the different portages, and passed through the dark for- est to avoid the unnavigablc parts of the river. Late at night our little band landed upon an is* land of a few acres in breadth, and about a mile in length. The shore was sandy, yet 'he canoe was taken out of the water lest collision with some small stone migiit injure its bottom. Not one word was spoken, but each one of the party except M. de Lauzon appeared to underiitand the part he was lO act. ,. - , , .,^ .;■ .r .:,■■■,.: ^ ' . *» Piscaret motiongd their white associate to li? down by the canoe, and immediately each of the Indians disappeared in different directions. In the course of twenty minutes the warriors came gliding in, one after another, noiseless as ghosts, and last of all came their chief. Silence was now broken for the first time since their departure from Trois Rivieres, and M. de Lauzon was given to under- -V o*.*-t~tt^*- "- "■ — .7- kr«l OR LAYS OF TUB FORICST m ir canoe, iched the dark for- river. pon an is- 3Ut a mile ♦he canoe with some it one word except M. ^art he was Iciate to li? ach of the •ns. In the ame gliding Its, and last low broken from Trois n to under- stand that this island, now called Pigeon Island, was the general rendezvous of the western Indians, on their way dovrnward. - "• • A\ When they again embarked the grey dawn was appearing in the east. Tlie river was so smooth that it appeared like an immense mirror; tlio wild ducks arose in dark masses as the canoe started them from their early voyages; and little wreaths of TSpour curled along the surface of the water. Spots of foam soon appeared, indicating the vicin- ity of some cataract ; As the sun rose, volumes of spray were seen rising above the spire-like points of the evergreens, and soon after came a low rushing sound like the coming of a tempest. ^ :^ i^^^ A bay, perliapsa mile in breadth, now opened upon them, at the upper end of which the land rose abrupt- ly to a great height. Immense masses of foam rolled from abre kin thisboldshore, and as they advanced into tlie bay the upper part of the fall was seen like a large sheet suspended on high, the bottom being r , J I^J IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 ■^■^8 12.5 |50 '■^" MHB 1^ 1^ III 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.4 V] c' / /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 fV "N? •% Wt <6 V '^^•^ M> ^-^-<> '0".A. «p='.''/> 186 THE UNKNOWN. concealed by a rocky point of the right bank. Towards this i^oint the canoe was steered, and M. de Lauzon again forgot himself in his admira- tion of the tremendous falls of the Shawenagam. They were now at the foot of the lesser fall, divi. ded from the principal one by a small island. The canoe was taken from the water and carefully con- cealed among the bushes, and then each one of the Indians proceeded to the brink of the overhanging rocks, and in silence made his offering to the Dei- ty, by casting into the foaming waters some trifle, such as an arrow, a bow, or a paddle. The offer- ing of the chief was a belt of wampum, and never had the Frenchman been inspired with such awe, amidst the imposing forms of his own religion in the splendid temples of his own land, as by this simple rite of a simple race. Let not the austere Totary of laboured creeds smile — it was the wor- ship of nature, taught by the God of the wilder- ness and preferable to his. :' i«i,."'S '.t^- ^5 OR LAYS OP THE FOREST. 187 The party then resumed all their caution, and,strik- ing into the wood on the right, proceeded, at a short distance from the edge of the shelving bank which runs parallel with the foot of the two falls, towards the pricipal i'all. The object of the party was con- cealment, as the Indians, in their descent, would pass the Shawenagam about that time in the day, providing they left their usual place of bivouac ear- ly in the morning, and one of the party had been left concealed on the point, whose eye commanded the portage and the whole circle of the bay. The path from one fall to the other was difficult,, and not without danger. The wood was almost impenetrable from fallen trees and brushwood, and as they approached the shoro, through the roots of the trees they saw the writhing foam, a hundred feet below them. They crossed chasms at the bot- tom of which the water was continually driving in and out, and roaring like the billows of the sea up- on a rocky shore. i! \h i ♦ ■ t t. 188 THE UNKNOWN. m At length the Shawenagam opened before thera with its world of convulsed waters, and M. de Lau- lon, unprepared for such a scene, stood for some moments lost in astonishment. From crag to crag of the immense masses of irregular rocks which lay at the bottom of the fall, M. de Lauzon and Piscaret descended, and as they could not be seen from the portage or the river above the falls, the European found himself at liberty to examine the surrounding scenery. As the river turns abruptly at the foot of the fall, they stood immediately in front of it, amidst great masses of black rocks, which from time to time had been detached from the bank by the violence of the waves. On these rocks the spray was con- tinually falling like a heavy shower of rain, and a- mong them yawned gloomy caverns, worn out by the continual action of the water. The sides of these rocks both within and without their dark chasms were studded with jji/rites, looking like pie- i ^ OR LAT9 or THE FOREST. 189 ces of solid gold, and the little poob of water, a- mong tiie rocks, were filled with white mica, so that one might easily imagine the riches of Peru offering on all sides their numerous lures. The fall was not perpendicular, but nearly so, and the great body of the river came down in sha- dowy masses, occasionally thrown against the rocks which bounded the stream, with a roar like the re- port of a thousand pieces of ordnance ; then for a moment the whole became one uniform sheet of foam — but again the compressed air would break its barrier, and the water would swell up in a coni- cal form and burst with a shock which would make the solid rocks shake to their foundation. , - An island lies at the top of the falls, like a green crest, dividing the waters above ; but the two branches again blend just at the brink of the preci- pice, and descend in one mass. As M. de Lau- zon cast his eye up to this island he saw a fine stag standing just upon the edge of thte precipice — i*H>' i ,. 190 TUB UNKNOWN. « ! the next instant something crossed liis eyes like a beam of light, and the stag leapt into the air, and falling over the rocks, swept down the Shawena- gam. The unerring arrow of Piscaret had found his heart, but in vain their eyes followed the tur- bulent waves — he was probably dashed to pieces in descending the cataract, M. de Lauzon, still gazing upon the river below, was stP'-tled by an exclamation from the chief, who sunk among the rocks, and with a powerful arm pulled him down by his side. The eyes of Pisca- ret were fixed intently on the island above the fall, and following theii direction, M. de Lauzon's were eagerly turned upon the same point. Several min* utes elapsed, during which nothing was seen but the dark ever- greens which crowned the island, as they stood in solitary grandeur, as if triumphant over the dark and angry floods which surrounded them. f With the rapidity"of thought Piscaret raised two :. 4 ' ^ .-t<...*^..iiiii#»i[iii ■»■ s 192 THE IINKNOWH. !l fc »■-« de Lauzon, passed rapidly up the rocks till they found a cover from observation in the depth of the forest. Here his followers awaited his coming. Pia- ca':et spoke apart with the oldest of his men, and then, addressing a few words to his warriors, they all disappeared, among the surrounding trees. It was impossible to determine to what nation the depredators of the previous year had belonged, but Piscaret appeared to know the character of the two Indians seen upon the island perfectly. They were enemies, and he now wished to ascertain their num- ber and destination. A wary watch was kept upon the bay and portage, but no farthe;- indication of the strangers was observable throughout the day. The night came down dark and threatening. — The party took their evening meal of dried venison, and the chief of the Algonkins prepared to recon- noitre. In the French tongue he bade M. de Lau- zon remain with two of the savages who lay con- cealed to keep a vigilant eye upon the bay; the oth- \\ fv- on T-AVS or THE rOREST. till they [i of the ing. Pis- [len, and s, they all J. lation the nged, but >f the two riiey were their nura- kept upon itionofthe day. Ltening. — Id venison, ll to recon- de Lau- 10 lay con- ly ; the oth- ers wercplacodat different points of observation, with the exception of tlie aged warrior already men- tioned, who accompanied his chief. ;i>rSl /;,},'S5»I The cano« floated down the stream in silence, the paddle of the chief guiding it close along shore till it reached the bottom of the bay; then the rapid strokes of two paddles urged it swiftly a- cross the stream to the opposite side, where it was left upon the sand, so near the water's edge that one }X)werful hand would have sent it dancing upon the gently heaving billows. * -\- . ' They had scarcely landed when a fire 'vnp seen rising on a sandy beach at the head of the bay, just under the ridge forming the portage. The old savage lay down by the canoe quietly as if in his own lodge, and Piscaret struck into the forest, and proceeded silently as a shadow, to gain the portage above the fire. This was accomplished with ease, and he approached the unconscious enemy half aa hour from the time of embarking. ' >^^'^ %.*»,^, .* -^^fc- I V- IM TIIK UNKNOWN. Oil the opposite side he broke a decayed branch from it within three feet of the chiefs head. Pis- caret's hand grasped hiw knife, but the fire being low, the savage returned without perceiving him. His retreat became more difficult than his approach, as several of the savages sat directly facing him, and nothing intervened to cast a friendly shadow upon him. In this exigency he had recourse to strata- gem : — Near his head grew a tuft of Juniper ; — with the eye ef a lynx he watched the motions of those before, and in the meantime cut a few stalks of Ju- niper; these were slowly and cautiously gathered in- to one hand and held upright before him, as if grow- ing, and in this manner he gradually retired, never changing his prostrate position, and moving back- ward till he reached the clump of hazels— then the Juniper was thrust into the sand, and left standing, while with more rapid, but equally wary motions he gained the elevation of the portage. ,? Piacaret had yet seen nothing of the caooes be- N-. t v.. ')R LAYS or TAR FOREST. 197 i branch ad. Pis- fire being ving bim. approach, r bim, and ulovv upon to Btrata- 3er ; — with IS of those talks of Ju- lathercd in- as if grow- ired, never ving back- ! — then the standing, motions he caooes be- longing to the party, and judged that they had been incautiously left at the head of tho portage. In ihia conjecture he was right; the savages were pro- ceeding to Pigeon Island when tho a'Jair with tho stag occurred, and that being decmod an ill omen, tho more superstitious ones proposed returning. In consequence, early in tho evening a council was cal- led, in which it was determined to despatch scouts to Trois Rivieres, and the remainder of the party was to wait the result of their observations. ''■ " ' In the confusion consequent On their supernatural fears the canoes were allowed to remain at the i.ead of the portage, and Piscaret proceeded with exul- tation to set them forward on their passage d^^-vvn the falls of the Shawenagara. Retiring to the corer of some underwood he watched them as they glided swiftly towards the falls, and when he saw them shoot over tho edge of the precipice with the velo city of an arrow, he bounded away into the forest, and quickly regained his canoe at the foot of the bay^ «» i ■m lOH •j'S •Mil* UNltf/OW^. *» '»* Oropiiing off, th<^y flomtod down with the ouriwnt dhil landed At noinn drstfiiicd Itelow tlio t'nlh, rb k rtrtftriir Approiich ox|iio.sod them to the view of th« hoatih^ party ; an«l it tiitpenrfnl Btrnu}j[e that thf^y \iH<\ before flucooeded in croi^Hinjj witliout being ob- iurvod. Tho conif)aiiion of Piseftrftt whh iinmedi* ately diHputciied for then uoinruduN, and in twenty niinuteN the whole party waH asneinhhul, nnd enga- ge(i in discuNHing the propriety of nn attack upon the enemy • - ' No eouiiuil fire wno lighted^ and the ahnuMt Im* penetrnble darknenM of the night, aided by the thick li»i>^jglirt of ilie dark evergreen«, rendered the N|)eC- trii formo {)f the pAtty nntirly invi^ibh to enth oth- er Heated upon thd thiukR nf xomeohl trecB whith the tl'nipi^iit had upr<^oted,ahd time matted with moio, the WmI warriors of the wiUlb^ne»t-6woi« k-ad l^faift Und ■ "UlMP". >•• ■ -.'i i' OH l.AVH Of THK l'OI!Kril\ iW do Lim/on in Freiiolu ;ili^^*; ^y^li im^ ,s,Yfjtffetfl^* *• Tho woir in on tha jvith of iho door ! Will tlin whitO'inni) %)it, or will he returrt aitd liiid laa loii u Iniriiinn, iiutl hi.s ht^lpletiti Diiru nriiong the focM of hiB rilQO 7 I \|int- U'^« » ?ii"» ' !tf(( M. .;(»* ia'?h ^?^t' v "Piaoarot, we inunt attempt turning the ravon tVoni hinpruy i" ^^ * '' » - f»^ .rr v» ».?i ^s " It is well!" nnil he turned to conNuli lii,>i own men.— Kauh ono gnvti Iuh voicu for nn imiiiediattt Attack, Mu\ UM tho niiiiht wao udvuncing, tho ueqe»~ aary diioclitHia wuru given in tew worda :-^M. da Uauxou, iinpurftictly uc(|uuinted with thu niudu gf warl'aro |)ructised ninojig tlio nativuh, wnti to keep eliMK) to th« chief, uid, if podNiblo, to iivoid cloaiog with any of tho cjriouty. r^^^ >• Thtt MHVAgos of fiacnrot wuru all iirniud with nunt- k«ttf, tomaluiwkti und (icalping-4ntve.s, uud jionieof 900 THE UNKNOWIfi ma. \ i them still retained their bows, slung across their shoulders, and their buckskin quivers filled with ar-* rows. M. de Lauzon, in addition to his double- barrelled piece, wore a small sword, in the use of which few men excelled him, and a pistol stuck in his sword-belt. Piscaret carried only his fusee and tn unusually long knife. i^^»y.Nw*»srf ^w fw*^t>^ ' The river was soon crossed, and the party ad- vanced in silence through the woods which skirted the bay. The chief led, M. de Lauzon fol" lowed, and then came the other savages, in sin- gle file. In this manner they approached within two hundred yards of the enemy's fire; they then left the wood, and each man sought concealment as he best could behind the clumps of willows grow-^ ing along the sandy beach of the bay. In a few minutes the whole party had gained positions within a short distance of their unconscious foe, and cool- % ly waited for the signal of Piscaret for the attack. This he appeared in no haste to give, and M. d« a * -^ •SSte-SttJft - -. — OR I.AY8 or THE FORKST. 201 Lauzon thought that silent pause of a few minuts an age of useless delay. The adverse party was seat- ed around their fire, and silent as the crouchiug party of Piscaret. . .. > , j * 7*'^ '-■ At length a noise was heard from the chief re- sembling the whistling of a deer — the savages about the fire instantly sprung upon their feet, and the party of Piscaret, throwing in one destructive vol- ley, gave the appalling war-whoop, and rushed up- on them. The result was such as Piscaret had foreseen : — Previously subdued by the anticipation of sotne unknown evil, the enemy waited not tho onset, but fled precipitately from the thunder of the pale-faces over the ridge of the portage. A sicken- ing howl of despair arose as they saw the extent ol their misfortunes in the loss of their canoes. At this instant Piscaret and his as.sociates charged up- on them down the almost perpendicular head of the portage. Here a sanguinary struggle took place. The enemy still hod the advantage of number-^ ■.r ! !l 909 ti^j^ THK UNKNOWN. , 1i } although the first discharge was fearfully de- structive, from the circumstance of their having Btood grouped around the fire, but the steep descent of the ridge, to the very brink of the seemingly fathomless water's edge, gave the attacking party decidedly the advantage. ' ^^^-^ But after their first panic had subsided the ad-t verse party fought with that species of cool despe- ration which men assume, wlien they see all lost, and determine to sell their lives as dearly as possible. One fierce rush they made to regain the bank, and the struggle was for a moment doubtful. The two parties were then about equal in numbers ; oind one fought with the confidence of victory, the other with the madness of despair. The conflict was •hort, silent and decisive ; nothing was heard but the deep breathing of the combatants and the groans of the dying, as they sunk from the bloody weap- on to rise no more. In this trial of strength the patty of Piscaret was reduced to himself, M. do ":aK-'.^,; OR I.ATS or THB rOftCST. 903 Laazon and three savages, and the Frenchman had received more tlian one dark form upon the point of his sword as they sprung on him with the uplifted tomahawk, ready to give the fatal blow. . - •:, Only two of the enemy now remained — the chief and his son. With the agility of a young tiger the boy sprung within the point of M de Lauzon's swoid, and, but for his sword-belt the French- man had f(dt the stripling's knife within his vitals ; but before the blow could be repeated the strength of the man triumphed, and the young savage lay disarmed, the prisonor of a hated pale-face. ,^ When M de Lauzon looked up from his rencon- tre, tho chiefs were standing nearly upon a level with each other, face to face, silent and immove- able as statues, and each apparently waiting the on- set of the other. The savages of Piscarct had drawn back at the signal of their chief — they had beou taught never to interfere when but one wai Q|ipoied. Their only weapons were knives vfli^k A) ii f t i« 204 THE UNKNOWW. m '■ V: f ' » ^ were held near the hip, a little drawn back. A rapid motion of each at the same instant showed them locked together, the left arm of either thrown round the powerful frame of his foe, while the right hand of Piscaret firmly griped the wrist of the other. Then the struggle became terrific ; and as the pale moon looked through the dark clouds, the contortions of their .strongly marked features were horrible. The issue became more doubtful than could have be n anticipated from the age of the strange chief, which appeared almost double that of Piscaret, but his powerful frame seemed to retain all the vigor of green manhood. At times they ap- peared struggling to regain their knives, which v/ere lost at the same instant on their first closing ; then again they attempted throwing each other into the river ; at length both fell, and with one sim- ultaneous and convulsive movement plunged into the water, and sunk firmly locked in the iron grasp of each other. yp i -i J j <#i I 1 L^I^S£i(^f r'M^iniiiiM'iiiTTiiif ^I/J^^": t\^\ OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. 205 back. A nt showed of either foe, while 1 the wrist le terrific ; lark clouds, ed features ire doubtful the age of t double that tied to retain les they ap- ives, which irst closing ; ti other into h one sim- unged into iron grasp The combatants soon re-appeared, and found themselves within the influence of the falls ! On- ward the smooth but mighty waters were bearing them to one terrific grave ! Then were they seen powerfully labouring for land; Piscaret attempting to regain the shore, and the other striving for the island which divides the great from the lesser fall. They were soon in fearful proximity to the verge of the horrid descent. Rushing wildly forward M. de Lauzon caught a decayed pole and thrust it forward for Piscaret to seize — it was be- yond his reach ; at length he caught it, but his ea- gerness frustrated his design, and it broke just as he was within two yards of the shore. Again he swept onward, but just as destruction seemed inev- itable, he made one last powerful effort, and cling- ing to the point of a rock was helped out by M. de Lauzon. '""'-' ' v . ^ , i« f* At this instant the eyes of all were directed to the aged chieftain • — he appeared safe, being well IS M '\\ 200 THE UNKNOWN. ?«■:;£ ir ''lil^ fli ' up the river, and quite close upon the island ; but just as they expected to set him leap out of the wa- ter, the current swept him into the stream, and the next instant he raised his arms convulsively above his head and darted into the awful chaos beneath. During the whole of this scene the youth stood in apparent appathy, but, his eyes were continually darting from Piacaret to his father, and as the for^ mer neared the shore ho hastily snatched a bow from the ground and, with the quickness of thought, sent an arrow on its way. It passed under the arm of M. de Lauzon, just touched the head of Piscaret for whom it was intended, and glanced away over the falls. The darkness prevented this movement from being seen, and as they returned, he stood proudly erect, still holding the bow, as if in defi- ance of their wrath. Z"' The youth might have fled but, as he afterwards said, he remained to show his enemies and the pale-face how the son of the " Great Eagle" could ^-! .-^':^iLi!li^£s^!m rv- OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. tM)7 ind; but f the wa- , and the ely above beneath, ith stood mtinually ,s the for'- ^d a bow >f thought, er the arm f Piscaret away over movement he stood ' in deft- afterwards is and the orle" could die on his first war-path. In moody silence the victors remained grouped in the midst of the slain, during the remainder of the night. A heavy show- er had paf5sed off to the south, and the clouds were again breaking and showing little spots of blue, dotted with stars. The wind came in low gusts, bringing at intervals the rushing sound of the Shaw- enagam, and the prowling wolf scared from his ban- quet, howled a requiem from the adjoining forest. M. de Lauzon leaned against a tree, and the dull hours passed rapidly away, for thought was busy with the past and future. He again trod the green paths of his boyhood, with his school-mates around him, beneath the fostering smiles of indulgent pa- rents. He again received the warm kiss of that fair sister, with her blue eyes and lightly waving locks. Again he lived over the high romance of youth, frought with wild schemes of eagle-winged ambition, and when he awoke to the dark reality of the present, and found himself in a foreign land, «> ¥• •208 THE UNKNOWN. surrounded by savage foes, bereft of one child and in continual danger of still greater evil? — his heart recoiled from the harsh coir' -ison ; but then again came the consciousness that, , n singular train of circumstances, the almost certain destruction of not only his own family but of the whole village had been prevented by the sanguinary conflict of that night — and his soul arose in humble thankfulness to Him who ruleth the universe. ; 'i>'. ; l .ni r* At length day dawned upon them, and unveiled the bloody work of the preceding night. The old chief before, mentioned as accompanying Piscaret had fallen by an arrow from the boy, now the pris- oner of M. de Lauzon. This chief was the great- est brave among the followers of Piscaret, and had been the companion of all his most desperate ex- ploits. The chief showed signs of grief, but it was the staid and quiet grief of an Indian warrior, not expressed by words, those lying beacon-lights ;Fii •' ^:;;ra. '. iin ..s^rij^-^ce/li^ I' OR LAYS or THE fOKEST 300 of lh« heart, but by the drooping eye, and the stern rigidity of the curled lip. .. -i' f/t« - ' ' ' As the sun rose, preparations were immediately made for the rites of sepulture. The dead were lK>rne to the high ground, a little removed from the usual path of the portage, where a kind of seaflfold- ing was erected, the platform of which was formed of light poles, fastened at the ends by the bark of the elm. Upon this the bodies were placed, and aflor the bow and arrows, with the other arms of each, had been deposited by the side of their re- spective owners, the whole was covered with an- other layer of poles, over which were thrown the bouglis of ever-greens. Then a little dried venison being placed upon the scaffolding, the simple cere- mony concluded. \J,,^ ':"-U:^i->Tiim. ' Thus were the bravest of a brave people com- mitted to their last repose; and thus thousands,, whose lives were marked by acts of the most daring exploits, have passed away from the earth with no I8» m- h '■ > ^1 210 THE UNKNOWN. ', ■ ■ I historian to register their names, with no bard lo place them on the roll of immortality, with not even a humble atone to say *' here lies the brave." t The bodies of the hostile party still remained on the scene of the wild encounter, and as M. de Lau- zon returned to the shore, where the young lad was bound to a tree, he intimated to Piscaret his wish that they should be interred, and that the youth might be consulted as to the metliod, as the different tribes have various modes of depositing the dead. Piscaret assented, and made the inquiry. The youth pointed to the falls and said " Let them rest with their chief, that their way may be joyful as they go on the hunting-path, in the land of SOiritS !" « ■»'- .=;'<''*''v-'^f" '• v^iw i^'.^jw i.n>V5*av»jj[«u-. All the bodies were accordingly brought and com- mitted to the water, and gliding swiflly down the river, soon disappeared as they passed over the falls. Not one of their party had escaped, and al- though there was present safety in this, M. de Lau- •*v OR LAYS or THE F0UE8T. 211 r! 5 10 bard lo ti not even »> ^ t nained on I. de Lau- pung lad iscaret his i that the jod, as the depositing the inquiry. " Let them ly be joyful he land of it and cora- y down the pd over the >ed, and al- M. de Lau- zon sickenod as he thought of the vengeance which this encounter might bring upon tho settlement. In the present state of affairs it seemed impossi- ble to proceed up the river, as it was necessary to secure the scout, on his return from Trois Riv- ieres. Whether the number exceeded one, was uncertain, and although the attempt to gain infor- mation from their prisoner, both of this and of the lost ones, was suggested by M. de Lauzon, yet, from the natural shrewdness of the Indian character, and from the proud bearing of the youth little was an- ticipated from the experiment • •- • Piscaret, however, was willing to make the trial, as he appeared positive that a party of this tribe had made the former attack when Leonie was ta- ken ; he therefore immediately commenced the ex- amination, while two of the party were despatched for the canoe. ' •* ? ^ -;. .». . " Will the son of the Great Eagle return to his lodge!" ;« ; >t.^ jw. M I 213 TIIR VNW.KOWV. ** Wahconnah can die ! t> ,1% !♦;* <( No— He is the prisoner of the pale-face, and he says live." -, .. ■■^jv- ']■* .,f^* ''f.^^^^m^j^f m «:*' The eye of the young warrior sparkled with rage, as he looked at his fettered hands and an- swered : ,,...;.,.:, , ....... ^ .,w.x.- .■. . " Does the deer run when his legs are bound V Piscaret immediately loosed his hands*-— ^^r.r *' Will Wahconnah say to the white pigeon of the Pale-face, depart, when he goes to his own peo- ple?" ■■'' ..^;t:i .i.,;irrr; -t^r''k. •'■, ■',\^-'r>i T . ^^■((^td^^t^aaih' A slight flush came over the cheek of the youth, and he paused before answering :— -** '; " Wahconnah hunteth not the timid pigeon — he goeth on the path of the deer, the bear and the pan- I " Wahconnah would return with his people as they come from the Big River V .^inaa^iir -rtftli 4 "He is alone, but he knoweth the path to his own country !" .<<■ OR LAYS OP THE FORCST. 213 ii <•£■».. rac«» and SI.' lied with and an- bound 1" • f-A own peo- the youth, geon— h« the pan- people ai ith to his " Will Wahconnah plant the tree of poace with Piscaret?" - ' -' ■-- ■■■■•■■ ^' v^,-.,.... Till this moment the boy had no suspicions that this was the hero of whose prowess ho had heard from his earliest infancy, and he now gazed upon him with undisguised admiration. After a mo- ment's pause Piscaret repeated the question : The youth raised himself to his highest elevation as he answered: - -. - . - -- " VVnhconnah will be a brave !'' ^ i ' riscaret's eyes brightened as he turned to M. de Lauzon, saying — ** He hath the tongue of a red warrior, and not that of an old woman !" It was now evident that no information could be attained from Wahconnah,and no time was to be lost in making the necessary arrangements for securing the scout as he returned up the river. This was con- sidered essentially necessary, as the alarm conse- quent on his return, would render any attempts at )' M> i5 i\ i •-«,.* ♦. ■- 214 THE UNKNOWN. rescuing Leonie and The Unknown extremely dilficult, if not impracticable. - v * li^i**,* . The savages proceeded to the foot of the por- tage, and carefully removed every trace of the re- cent struggle in that quarter, after which they placed tliemselves among the brush-wood on the ridge for- ming tlie portage, within a few yards of the path by which the returning scout must pass. ...;?...- In the meantime M. de Lauzon and Wahcon- nah proceeded a little farther into the wood, when the former produced his store of dried venison, giv- ing a part to his prisoner. The sun was past the me- ridian and for the season shone with uncommon sul- triness. The birds were beginning to jjing their wild notes, and the half-open leaves just chequered the dead foliage with which the ground was covered ; the sound of the Shawenagam came up like a sum- mer breeze sweeping through the pine-tops, and every thing around tended to tranq uilize the con- \ extremely r the por- of the re* hey placed ! ridge for- f the path i Wahcon- tood, when 3ni8on, giv- sast the rae- omraon sul- g their wild (quered the .8 covered ; like a Bum- tops, and lize the Con- or. LAVS OF THC FOKEST ♦il5 flictiug passions which had long been warring in the bosom of M. de Lauzon. ; He was sitting upon the trunk of an old tree, so completely covered with moss that it was impossi- ble to say what name it had borne when standing among the stately sons of the forest, and resting against a large birch which spread its gnarled branches over his head, he soon became insensible to all his carCvS : Wahconnah and the towering for- esi trees seemed to swim and blend before him, as overcome by fatigue Juid watching, he slept, and his gun fell from his relaxed grasp to the ground. When he awoke the stars were looking through the branches. The first thought which broke upon his reviving senses was the certainty of Wahcon- nah's escape ; it was by his interference he had been left unbound ; with a convulsive spring he started to his feet— his gun was gone — he looked around, and there stood the boy, apparently immoveable as the towering pillars around him. Still his gun was m Ml It i { ) > 1 ,' I J» 216 TI1R UNKNOWN. \i ^:.. ■m t si f ! >'; missing ; but as he anxiously groped about for it, Wahconnah quietly pointed to where it lay, under the side of the log. *•*• ' • • "v 'i The night was far advanced, and the French- man knew not whether aught had happened to his Indian allies during his sleep. After an hour of fe- verish expectation he heard a stifled groan, followr- ed by a sullen plunge into the water : — A moment af- ter a light step approached, and as he threw forward his fusee, he recognized the tall form of Piscaret: — They had been successful — the scout had shared the fate of his companions ! ■ " The day arose upon Shawenagam beautifully clear and serene. The volumes of spray from the falls rose perpendicularly, and formed into light clouds which assumed a thousand fantastic shapes as the rising sun made their fleecy outlines more apparent ; the blue-bird, gave out his cheerful note and the swallows were again throwing iheir purple wings over the St, Maurice. . ^ fc'^i' OR LAYS or THE FOREST. Sir M. de Lauzon awoke from the fearful scenes by which he had been surrounded, and, for the first time during many long, long months, his heart expanded with joy and hope as the bark ca- noe glided over the tranquil waters. They soc swept past the cluster of islands which lies above the falls, and about nine o'clock approached what has since been termed by the Voy^getirs, La Grande Merc. These falls are divided by a rough, rocky island of two or three acres extent, and immediately be- low them opens a bay similar to that of the Shaw- enagam, but much smaller ; the waters of this bay are kept in continual commotion by the force of the falls, and large masses of foam are continually whirling from the eddies at their feet, covering the conflicting waves with their detached fragments. On the southern side of the island, and just up- on the brink of the cataract, arises the rock from which these falls derive their name. This rock ]9 i \ M n . f I m ii^i i i I 218 THE UNKNOWN. very much resembles a dilapidated castle, and rises perpendicularly from its everlasting basement, its scathed and weather-beaten head crowned with a few small evergreens, and toppling rocks, seeming the guardian spirit of the wild and solitary scene, At times the spray is thrown up from the wild chaos far beneath, and curls about its elevated brow, leav- ing a dew-like moisture to nourish the moss which has grown there for ages. Upon the other side of the river is the twin fall, < and between, the island, broken into ravines and precipices, wild as nature could form them in her most eccentric mood. Below, the whole river is thrown into rapid currents, eddies and whirlpools, and above, it opens, broad, tranquil and unbroken, as if no convulsions awaited its silent march. i The party of Piscaret had nearly reached the foot of the portage when one of the savages sud- denly stopped paddling, and pointed to the top of the rock : They all looked just in time to distin- , and rises ement, its id with a 3, seeming ary scene, wild chaos 3row, leav- aoss which e twin fall, Eivines and (lem in her pie river is whirlpools, unbroken, arch, -t cached the Lvages sud' the top of 8 to distin- OR LAYS OF THE FOREST. 219 guish the form of a man, through the mist of the fall, as it sunk among the evergreens which crown- ed the rock. The savages gazed as if overcome with terror and amazement, and seemed to hesitate about proceeding ; after a moment's pause the head of the canoe was directed to the southern part of the bay, where the party landed in evident con- sternation, and bearing their canoe, immediately retired into the forest. 9 - i Here a consultation was held as to the nature of the strange apparition. Alarm was visible even in the marble features of Piscaret, and all the savages concurred in the opinion that it was no human be- ing, as no native would have the hardihood to at- tempt the ascent, it being deemed the abode of the Great Spirit. M. de Lauzon enquired whether it was accessible, and was answered in the negative, but none of the party had ever been on the island, and he thought it possible that some bold spirit had made the popular superstition subservient to his !1 i! 1 , 1 1 I \ , i 1 i 220 TIIK UNKNOWN. • r 'V views, whatever they might be, confident ot n*' maining in the undisturbed possession of his re- treat. . , None of the party would agree with him, and all but Piscaret seemed inclined to return, regard- ing the strange appearance as ominous of the fail- ure of their expedition. It appeared strar?']fe that Wahconnah exhibited no signs of surprise, although it was evident he had seen the inexplicable form fcOon as any one of the party. n. t tr . -.j -.• .T-rj At the moment when all were at a loss how to act, a man was seen descending the portage, and approaching along the open sands. The quick eye of Piscaret immediately recognized their visitor, and turning to M. de Lauzon, in a low tone of ex- ultation he exclaimed — " The Unknown !" 1 1 It was indeed The Unknown, and the heart of the Frenchman sunk within him at the conscious- ness that his hopes or fears were about to be con- firmed. Piscaret presented his hand afler the Eu- It ot re- >f his re- lim, and , regard- the fail- LTTi^e that , although able form ss how to tage, and quick eye sir visitor, )ne of ex- heart of onscious- o be con- r the Eu- OU LWH OF TUiu FOKttiT, i-il ropean nuinner, but the blood rushed to the heart of M. de Lauzon as he faintly articulated —•* Leonie — my daughter?" "She is safe!" said The Un- known:— ^; . ,. , ,, jj. " Where, where ? Let nie once ngiin see my child!" ;..-.... .... . . . • " Follow me, and you shall soon sec her :" ,., The Unknown led the way to the portage, where they embarked in his canoe, and, crossing the riv- er just above the falls, proceeded to the highest point of the island. Here they landed on the rocks, and climbing over their rugged points, descended to a little glen, where the lost one was found and again restored to her now happy (ather. This island had been the residence of The Un- known since the preceding autumn, and from this he had made several essays to rescue Leonie, none of which had been successful, till after the departure of the old chief and his son, on their expedition to Trois Rivieres. Having a ffected her rescue, he \ 10* ^ H^ ,i. ^ i ' 222 THE UNKNOWN. ^ I. but awaited the return of the hostile savages to re- store his prize to her parents. Nothing now remained to prevent their returning : — Wahconnah was told he might depart to his own people, with the canoe of The Unknown ; but he only requested a bow and quiver might be given him, and fixing his fine dark eyes for a moment upon the fair form of Leonie, he strode into the forest, and soon disappeared behind the boughs of the dark evergreens. * ' . " Ah ! how brightly the sun shines upon the hap- py ! and it never shone upon happier hearts than those which beat at the story of Leonie, on the fol- lowingf day, within the white cottage of M. deLau- zon. But she spoke gently of the wild sons of the forest; she had not been rudely treated, and the young Wahconnah had been as a brother to her. He had taught her to bend the bow, and to guide the arrow to its distant murk ; he had taught her to weave the pliant willow into baskets, and to deco- kf. ■■ ■te k->'* es to re- turning •. ► his own ; but he be given moment I into the boughs of 1 the hap- sarts than on the fol- ►i.deLau- lons of the , and the er to her. to guide ^ight her to to deco- OR LAT8 OF THE FOREST. J- 4 223 rate her moccasins with quills of the porcupine, dyed crimson and azure , and when she lost her path in the wilderness, Wahconnah saved her from perishing, and again brought her to the lodge of his father. ' ■ ' ' ' The Unknown was an eccentric and enthusiastic young Frenchman, who had left his country with the visionary hope of teaching the Red-man to aban- don his ancient forests, together with his eagle plumes and scalping knife, for the garb of France, and the monotonous routine of plodding industry. In order to accomplish this he deemed it neces- sary, in some measure, to become one of them. This he most happily accomplished. He became familiar with their language, mode of warfare, re- ligious rites and rude forms of government. He bore the fatigues of the chase, in the fastnesses of their native wilds, with the hardiest, and braved :# ''C^W \- iM in \ J'^ 224 THE UNKNOWN. h fl Im '^ll'h' danger with the bravest, and at length gained the distinguising appellation of Pechou.* ., , , , ^.^ ., When his plans appeared sufllciently matured, the most distinguished ciiicfs wore invited to a feast. The Calumet was lighted, and in sdencc passed from one to another of the native warriors. Pechou then arose, and with the most persuasive eloquence proposed changing their wild habits for those of his countrymen. He was listened to with the profound- est attention, and a long silence having followed his proposition, Piscaret arose and answered in the following manner. ... * " Pechou is a Brave ! but when he came among the Red-men he was a child. Piscaret hath taught him when hungry to strike the bounding deer, and when cold and naked to clothe himself in the spoils of the otter. — He hath taught him when sick to gather the plants of the wilderness, and when sur- t{ *LjDX :0 OR LATS or THE FORFST. 225 ined the - .,••■■', matured, to a feast. ;c passed , Pechou eloquence lose of his profound- p followed jred in the ime among lath taught deer, and the spoils n sick to when sur- (h rounded by foes to pass from them unhurt. He now says, come and learn of me ! But can he find the beaver, the otter and the deer by digging in the earth ? Can he call up the forest which has fallen by the axes of his countrymen, to hide him from an enemy ? Can he take up his heavy lodge and bear it to HochelagaorCluebeis?*No! Pechou is the brother of Piscaret — but the swan can never teach the eagle to forsake his path among the clouda for her own shadowy fountains!" Indeed, Thf Unknown found it more difficult to change the habits of the aborigines than for him to forget those of his own country, and awaking from his fantastic dream to a happy reality, he be- came an inmate of the white cottage; but many were the mad pranks played upon him by tiie now gay Elo- ise, ere he led to the altar the more sedate, but not less happy, Leonie. *The Indian names for Montreal and Quobec. I'i ) . Vk 'i* .<■■»( '■■r,^, :*'( ^Sf »( ■ \U\ '■'li'' •'-<'' M ■> "fl; 'U^Hi 'tf! * -... "^s L ■']■ I ■r'ri, ,y " • f ^4' -. :-i;r' '.y'}. ^.r^i . r^fif # *■ ■ i,^ t ^v>i'i ''<*f 'ii' '•f -"■•'&' '^^ NOTES H if i/ ? ) " '"Tv^BwjW:;' ■ \ y £?s. 'i: ''~^^ti^-^ i. tf. i: I. • i I ■ ,< Cic( ed Mo the w was si I In a t AK.-»it iit -.n ,.(n;it») '^■' :■'->■■.)«•:, Us NOTES TO MILENO. v. ■ : i f|i- Ml'' Here 7md! that master-spirit dwelt, ,n, .' *4t whose, proud shrine the nations hndt In after days. Page 48, line 7. Ciccio is hero referred to. " The haven of Gaeta (call- *»• ed Mola) is built on the ruins of the town Forma?, within the walls of which the Formianuui of the philosopher was situated. Kotzcbuc. AVjr distant far that sign of wrath, {A sign of everlasting shame, 'Gainst that TiiumviroU of blood — Aglorytoafreedmon'sname,) The monument of murder stood ! <| * Page 49, line 8. In a lemon grove, in the environs of the town, Cicero 20 i\ i^ 'W {'■ 230 NOTES TO MILENO. wu murdered, and a monument siected to him bj his freed- maa. 7 J? '^ -^'■ V.,v; And hush'd vias Somma's breath of fire. Page 49, line 11 . In the vicinity of the mountain, Vwuviua is called Sora- Ta gaze upon that pillar high. Page 64, line 9. »:"',■>' ■ •' A fevr years ago but one pillar remained of the Temple of Peace in Rome. »"«*?«• K i'*** his freed- * « "■ t>- NOTES TO ZEMIN. ...» ■ \\\ line 11. ailed Som- ■;. > '•> T I, line 9. } Temple of i;^ J • <* i''"^* The 9un over gay Shiraz is bright. Page 1, line 1. The town and vale of Shiraz, or Shirauz, both by mod- ern and ancient writers, is represented to be the garden ot Persia. 3 ■Jfouronnikur. Pago 1, line 2, from bottom. Ad Arabian word which means " dawn of the daj.' ffi i'* ;' ? <^ij,i- 'f ■^•n^tf'Jni- i-n'Jte'- V: V^*' C*/.- »v From the Genii's speUs and Peri's pote'r. ^ Page 73, line 3. The Genii and Peries of the East were supposed to pos- great power over the destinies of mankind. i- I t I , > ¥ '^ \\ ■-M 232 NOTES TO ZEMIN She comes— and her chosen virgins lead By the gildad rein her snow-white steed. Page 74, line 3, fronj bottom. Hanway tclla us that women of distinction rode on white horses. See Hanway 's travels into Persia. ,; i 6 Jl mirror bears in her snoioy hand. Page 74, last line. Bearing a mirror before the bride is a custom general in the East. 6 Her lids of jet. '^ ' ' ' Page 78, line 1. _ The eastern custom of adding brilliancy to the eyes by using a powder called Surma is alluded to. ,:•>■ ' ' i Kot past our marriage festival. f.^o iic'i ^r ' r V Page 78, line 3, from bottom. V ' * ft ^ iad zed. 3n» bottom. ode on white lA, lastlioe. torn general in •i. ra 78, line 1. to the eyes by from bottom. NOTES TO ZEMIN. 233 Their marringo festivals continue nine or ten days. •r« ..■'.' B :• '.i; ■«> ■ , rV'., .■,■'•». ,-ii;^ ' When I had wings and flew afar, ^-j' '■ s^' ^nd saw the groves of Bisnagar. Page 80, line 3, from bottom. The inhabitants of Bisnagar arc said to be so fond of rosea that the aii is perfumed with them. » - By thy own cherished Hafez' tomb. ' Page 83, line6. About ttvo miles from Shiraz is the tomb of Hafez ; a po- et whoae memory is almost worshipped by the Persians. 10 .^nd now he hailed that marble white. Page 83, line 9. Authors differ as to the colour of the marble, some repre- senting it to be white, others grey ; and Moricr says : " The whole is of the diaphanous marble of Tabriz, in colour a »• * i ( 4 -k 934 N0TE8 TO ZEMIN. /( t r combination of light greens, with here and there a vein of red and sometimes blue." The probability ia that time haa wrought changes in the colour of the marble, and that some have described as they found it at the period of their visits, and others from the testimony of those who knew as littU about it as themselves. 11 Tht ajpress boughs around were sighing. Page 87, line 3, from bottom. The tomb of Hafez was formerly surrounded by a grove of noble cypresses, but modern travellers say they are now blended with the sacred dust which they once shaded. Drown' d was the voice «/ Roknabad. ''■-•■ |,. , Page 88, line 1. Near the tomb runs the stream of Roknabad, immortal- ized in the strains of the poet. 13 hit. At At one extrcmiUj a throne Of Indian gold with diamonds shone. Page 90, line 5, from bottom^ W "1 4«)^-«J«*5»s--'"«! ft vein of t time has that some leir visits, IV as littU bottom. by a grove ly are no^ aded. line 1. immortal- NOTES TO ZEMIN. 235 "Embroidered with Indian gold" Story of the three Callcndertf, u Not ^gridaffh' s untrodden snows. M... iu Page 91, lino 5b Agridagh ia the Turkish name for Ararat. ts Jls shamtd thejlotcers of Samarcande. •fiKyrv*^ ' .1 itf' . . ' 1. 1 , •■' ■■M ^ ..- ': ■/''''. -, .'■'••;,;, .^h''' ,-is in those holy, dwellings. ,4.1 - -": Page 95, Inst line. The inhabitants rf the holy villages claim immediate de- scent from the Prophet : Speaking of Iman Zada Ismael, Porter says : — " We were surprised to find the women of the place not only walking about with freedom, but completely unveiled, and mixing'promiscuously in discourse and occupa- tion with the male inhabitants." See Porters Travels. \\ M 1 bottom^ 23a NOTES TO ZEMIN. '" V, '■''^'"- 17 One a sweet song of Hafez sung. Page 96, line 9. ;■ > "Another sung some of tho odes of Hafez, accompanied by tho Ilamouncha, and in a chorus by the tamborines." — Morier's Persia. ■■::l« :' \ And tehen as a soldier thou didst ride, With thy sword of Shiraz and helm of pride. Pago 99, line 3. Tho swords of Shiraz arc much esteemed in tho east. 19 But ah ! the charm hath on him wrought And changed him with die speed of thought ; As a young niglitingale he flies. Page 102, line 3. Tho power of the Genii and Pcries to transform the human frame into beasts and birds is still a favourite belief in the East. if i ~1 ._^ .-.iiihi-iti ■m^ %N-T-^trWMr-s,fl*4»*t- i'i''lii ■ i" MJIiliriAi ft ■■■■■i) ; raif iaif»i^?>wT»M NOTES TO THE MISiVNTHROPE. I, line 9. companicd l)orines." — pridt. ), line 3. east. ' ht ught ; \, line 3. the human ilief in the -iJ ... t. 5 t Like the fiery icing of that fatal wind To the rover of Araby. Stanzas xxiii, line 7. For an animated description of the fearful blast which sometimes sweeps over the desert, sec Campbell's Travels- 2 The poor beheld the lofty broto Of the rich with curses deep, if low. Stanzas xxix, line 3. " Curses not low, but deep." — Macbeth. 3 Atid a Callender'sgarb was mine. Stanzas xxxvii, lino 3. The Callenders arc a kind of Mahomedan monk, who pro- fess poverty and great sanctity. 1 ft ■I, '"»♦ . .-^ ■^l 339 NATrs TO THE MISANTUROFI. ■'•' >:r:'. ' But ere a second $un did rise Tht Faithful saw my frail disguise. Stanzas xxxvii, liae 5. The MaboiaedaDfl Urro tbemselvet " The FaJtbAil." « ■•? « <-«t'fi4' ' >■,'; i;%r : \,.^- >V...>-.: ;-»:vr;- % ''#: 4 .»i., NOTES TO THE MAID OF ST. PAUL. * « ^nd her arched broto Lay like a penciled line amid the fiott Of her gold-spangled tresses. a Pago 145, line 3. " Much time ia consumed in combing and braiding the hair after bathing, and, at the greater festivals, in enriching and powdering it with small bits of silver gilded." Chandler page 134. A faded jasmine,/ Icn from her hair. Lay at her crossing feet.' Page 145, line 4, from bottom. "In Bom e ringlets near the face they place the floweri of th« jaamine." Clarke, page 347. % ^ # ♦ * ;t 240 NOTIS TO TAP M. ^ ^E MA,D or ST. PAUL. ■ , ^ ■ 3-' ^^^'"^ storms a, con the earth. r f -Page 148, line 13. -lit::::::;::*----.-.. 'fe- ■^>? OS^J^T «l ' ' ' " "^ ^'^^^^ "f Spartan blood.:- ' ^8ge 151, Jinc 9. "Tho Greeks of these mountainscalifh. , ^- d..e„dan. or e.e Laced. ^^"^ '^^^-^-^^«^- page 112. ^^^monians." Chateaubriai^d I'^genO, line 2 from bottom. Tiiistree, in the island of Java, s,. «nd neither animal miles of if. ds nor vegetable life can on a barren plain, ejost within itiaay ^ {'! THE END #• :i \, ..«flirt. .# 'P ST. PAUL, ose teings unfurl rth. Page 148, line 13- Ed to, which is said lo \ 1 and delicate plumage .; V , .. .N f^^\ M V J Pago 151, line 9. 1 tliemselves the genu- Ds." Chateaubriand. \Gisonous tree. neSfrom bottom. is on a barren plain, exist within many i. • ■ ■ If.' ,* ERRATA. In consequence of the Author's absence several errors have crept into the work, to the grossest of which the atten- lion of tho Reader is directed. Pn^^c 74, line 3, from bottom. For " snowy" read 'snow- whitn." P. 81, line 6. For " when" read " where." P. 86, last line. For " the" read " its." p. y4, lino 11. For " shadows" read " spirits." P. 95, line 2. For " thee" road "thou." P. ^^, line 4. For " high" read " light." P. 108, line 8. For " changing'* read " charging." \. For " burst" read " bi p. 109, line 0, from bottom bust. A . ^v,.,, will. V/, ..v.... »*v,iiv^.... ,. ^. ^^.^. .cuu UUBl. P. 110, line 11. For " she pluck'd" read " she hath pluck'd." X> 1in i;nr. 19 Vnr H cent" roaA (( enrM^a " P. 110, line 12 For " sent" read ** sends.' P. 122, Stanzas XX, line 4. The quotation should stand thui : I saw a note : — ' 'Tis time to fly — I go to one whose gentle eye Hath naught of man's inconstancy — We never may meet again.' P. 135, Stanzas xlv, lino 4. For "waving" read " waxinff." P. 148, line 12. For " gayest" read " gazest." P« 150, lino 3. For "dead" read "murdered." P. Ifi3, line 9. For " listening" read " loitering.'* P. 165, line 3. Fo. " verging^' read " oozing." P. 171, line 2. For " rules" read " revels." P. 172, line 11. For " her" read " she," F. 174, line 2, from bottom. For " after" read "ofteo." »-C- ..iiN