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O bi til si ol fli si Ol TI •t TI w M di ar b< rlj ra m This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmi au taux da reduction indiquA ci-dassous. 10X 14X 1IX 22X 26X »X 7 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X Th« copy film«d h«r« has lM«n r«produc*d thanks to ths gsnsrosity of: New Brunswick Muitum Saint John L'cxamplaira filmi fut raproduit grica i la g*n4rosit* da: N«w Bruniwiek MutMim Saint John Tha imagas appaaring hara ara tha baat quality possibia eonsidaring tha condition and iagibiiity of tha original copy and in kaaping with tha filming contract apacificationa. Las imagas suivsntas ont 4t6 raproduitas avac la plus grand soin. compta tanu da la condition at da la nattat* da I'axamplaira film*, at an confnrmitA avac laa conditiona du contrat da filmaga. Original coplas in printad papar covara ara fiimad bacinning with tha front covar and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraa- sion. or tha back covar whan appropriata. 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Maps, platas, charts, ate, may ba fiimad at diffarant raduction ratioa. Thosa too larga to ba antlraly includad in ona axposura ara fiimad baginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framaa aa raquirad. Tha following diagrama illuatrata tha mathod: Las cartas, planchas, tablaaux, ate. pauvant Atra filmto ii das taux da reduction diffirants. Lorsqus la documant ast trop grand pour Atra raproduit 9n un saul clichi, il ast filmi A partir da I'angla supAriaur gaucha, da gaucha A droita, at da haut an bas. an pranant la nombra d'imagas nicassaira. Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la mithoda. 'i 1 ' 2 3 t 2 3 ■■ 4 5 6 THE LAir or y;' A PO£M, ->^,' IN FIVE CANTOS; BT A NATITE OF NEW»BBrNSWICK* Km! thou been in tlie uroo^ with the boTiey bee t Hast thou been with ill» I^nb in the pastsree (iree 1 With the bare throa|h the ecq^eei and dingles wiJd T With llie butterfly Ofer the hteth^l** ....«.*..«-~-~ Mrs. Hxmars. SAINT JOHN : ftLVKttP jttu^ntLt qnvm^t 4iAniE«T<>i ^"^ -•5 ■m g«:/i:^ i# ^Jt4^3MIK5 ^0ai^r3siA I'u/.anm [ih li'fli'fcd Til i J(, PREFACE. Xhi pofidc^l oonopoiitSoA «omprii«d in tho fol* [owing pages, is the spontaneous production of a lative of New-Brunswick. Most of the incidents related therein, are literilly true, and are still fresh in the recollection of many now residing in the 'rovince. These, as well os the forest scenery, (so familiar to the eye of every American,) a descrip- tion of which the author has attempted to give, it is loped, will prove agreeable to those who may be Hnduced to devote a portion of their leiture hours [to a perusal of the work. ' Our Provincial Press having repeatedly recom- mended a more frequent display of the energies of the younger branches of society, In attempts simip lar to the one now undertaken, and having promised to extend its aid, and render due encouragement to " Native Talent," is a circumstance which has greatly induced the writer of these lines to present IV PREFACS* them to the public eye» with a degree of confidence, inspired also by a recollection of the moral and in- tellectual community^ for whoie reading they were more particularly deeignad. Truitingi however, that should this firft attempt fail in having the tendency to please^ or to Impart instruction, all classes will cordially unite, in treating with a suitable degree of tendemeH the offering of tho author. /'( :«ij;i* C %'i '^^Ij^xon^:^ i^dir^A }^dihA,i hiuiii.vii u'hj.u ;. ..Jji;\ */[='i*l ♦»*t4'ilU^. ,al;f/ut Mr»^;if^Ji^»j^;ivi;(UJ vrua t. if>i. u; *1: t^i4^^^^i^m^A>^,i^m.hm i\'\\ v4i i'i;:^;>:.y r ff^VU,. J l\i\ \ i • •' '■"?'^'^^.Mvx.*-i • • • . . . . ^ ;/. n '^iM'fp'^^ ^Miit; \yv)Viii 'ii ) !' I • ■ » *■• -rm '. 4':<^^fe HVTRODUCTIOiV. •r^*>r" -f«^ • l»*v 'V '• < J . *..^. ^irKi- r t Blest scenes of early Ufet I love thee stiU j low dear in mem'ry is each vernal scene. The combinations sweet, which Cfown'd ^pringhilU Where oft, in happy childhood, I have been : 'he cress-Iin'd brook — the closely shaded lane — ^ The rural path that wound around rock D — , 'he rustic bower, that overlooked tjie plain — *ress forward, on delighted memoxy. liock D — ! our favorite seat, where oft we sung, [And woke the echo in the neighboring wild^ {Or laugh'd so loudly, that the welkin rung, [Or with some harmless sport our time beguiPd. ; I We fdt in duty bound, when evening came, . [To dance upon rock D — ^^s smooth surface round. Or made us merry, with some rural game, Accomp'ni'd by the flute's soft thrilling sound ; | Scarce were we conscious, when night veil'd tli I So eagerly engag'd were we with play, [scene, Till the broad moon arose with face serene, , v And lit the drops that trembled on each spray ; a2 * .■ >-^'m VI INTRODUCTIOK. i 1^ .. (. Then flash'd conviction on each youthful heart. That *twas unwise to trifle thus with health. The glittering dew was signal to depart, ' And each the pastime left, as if by stealth ; And sweet, surpassing sweet, in mem*ry still. Are those delightful summer afternoons : A dreamy smoke mov*d lazily, at will, Or hung in air, in fanciful festoons. Or rested on the hills, in soft repose. And gave the mountain a cerulean hue, Blending its highest peak, at evening's close, With the warm, summer's sky, of heav*nly blue. Far in the wild were heard the mellow notes Of distant songsters, when soft eve was nigh ; *Tvvas sweet, to list the music of their throats, And sweet, to gaze on forest scenery. Dear in my mem'ry too, the playful scene. That grac'd Presoue Isle, — and gave it busy life ; Once its clear'd fields were robM in lively green, "Where peace, triumphant reign'd — nor known was strife. ■^*^--— ^■' ■'■■^-- -.^■^- '-■--: -'. ^ : Presque Isle — no more, and out post, is survey*d. On thy high banks- — thy s enes, alas ! are changed: Gone is thy garrison — thy smooth parade, Thy barracks gone^ which *long thy heights once rang'd,- .[:' ;r<. .J: ■f ••-. -»>!;»..?' INTRODUCTION. vil rone is thy worthy commnndant, who held, iJ^^^ [n iindisturb*d command, thy station long ; '"'^^ Vas there, his daughter, lov'd Eliza, dwell'd, ^ ^ly earliest friend, to whom no vice belong. Ar^^V rone, are the men once stationed on thy brow : * [o military cares their peace destroy'd. ^ , »' In my mind's eye, I see their gardens now, j w- ^- (n which, their hours were pleasantly employ'd. . 'hy guard-house, too, is leveliM with the earth, > ^hat once ffave shelter to an ased crone. -. , ^^ he, whom a century had not robb*d of mirlh, i. Hie twirl'd her rock, and sang " of days" by gone, 'here Marj/ " lilted" oft, a lively strain, ' V^hile, full of life, we trippM it round and round, 'he ancient dame would flourish her high cane, * ind laugh'd to see us skip, and gayly bound. * 'hen, would we leave her, when our dance was o'er, 'o ramble thro* the fields to Poplar Grove, ' Jj** h sauntered down thy road towards thy shore, . Ir up along thy brawling stream would rove. "V )weet grove of poplars ! where the bulmy breeze Till'd softly tliro' thy rustling foliage green ; .^ > ; lie robin carolFd luudest 'mong thy trees, t' Lnd added sweetness to the rural scene ; , . [y memory there delights to wander still, , .alls up the blissful hours I there have pass'd. , .?v, A. ' ■• ■ Ji^-.. vm INTRODUCTION. Perchance when seated on some rising hill. Where oft we chatted long^ and loud9 and fast, From whence, I) at a distance, oft have view'd, Mars' Hii.i^ which rise» on disputed ground^ Clad in the foliage of ita native wood, That shades the deer, which on its sides abound. Long previous to my birth, Presque Isle had been A place of some importance— where the young, ' Or veteran soldiers, were in numbers seen; lint they had gone-— had left their deeds unsung- Yes, they were gone — sate where a lonely grave Still mark'd the spot, — that grave a warrior rest ! There, 'mid the poplars, alept the veteran brave, While o'er his Kead, the robin built its nest. Now, crumbling into dust, and scarce perceiv'd. His monument of wood neglected lies, [griev'd, O'er which, perhaps, some faithful friend once And nam'd his virtues o'er, with tearful eyes ; Ah, little did be think 'twould be his lot, When first to thee, Presque Jsle, he smiling came, How few the years when he would be forgot, There leave his friends, his honors, and his fame. There, too, the infant sleeps beneath the sod. Its tiny grave scarce rising to the view, / ; ^ Its soul is with its Saviour and its God, For nought of sinfulness i^ ever kniew. > t'<»^v*' -»^ ■■■•:( INTllODUCTIOK. melancholy ofl stole o*er my mind, [drawn-* ^hen near those graves, my footsteps have been on decaying slabs, some name would fmd,— . » |nce then, .the Out Post, all in all, is gone. ^iA' ;t, once I hail'd with joy the promis'd day^ rt'l' ^hen I my friends would meet on Presque Isle hil)| leave my home, and carol on. my way, . ^« > ui\ id make my visit with a right good wilL<'> ' ^' I own lov'd home was some four miles, or more, low Presque Isle, hard by the river side; ■ > > y [were needless now to count its beauties o*er, i^* lo' of the country round it was the pride; :'t'A \s strange, tho' far remote, or wild, the scenes :i' }e hold as sacred, and revere the spot, There we in playfid in&ncy have been,, id never, by us, can it be iorgotif '4 rj:{ll )we'er insensible my heart may be i:r j other objects, 'tis alive to this, . a • . ■._ [olds dear the land of my nativity, [though surrounded by a wilderness ; 'was where the dawn of intellect first broke )on my infant mind, amid the wild — [was where, to nature's charms, I first awoke, id fix'd my heart on them while yet a child ; id yet, were I to sketch my native land, Poo deep a shade of foliage might be seen, '% •-•K' fW/- y ^L%nJ /» ■ w .»♦ 'L-. :..;«.; %^:. ^m ^'.A :-^. m. «;• "- X XNTROPUCTIQN. As trees must on its foreground thickly itanjj» And its back ground, a mldemess^ of green ; : ; Its minor beauties^ ftcarcdy could be drawn* ; ^ , To give relief-sunless minutely view ■ d> . . ; The eye would wander o'er the leafy lawn* Or towards the mwe m^estio» darksome wood% And few there bei who feel aa interest dear, . In paintings, where a forest stands in view» Associating wilds, with something drear, > ^ Of which they mny have heard, but never knew* 'Twere well, if, peradventure^ I could find .-. ^ A more explicit mode of making known V> > Tiie properties, with varied cliarms con)bin'd. Peculiar to my native land alone. A thoughthas struck mo^i^I its worth will sing: New-Brunswxck ! I to thee my strain^ address, Nor scorn the measure of my offering, : i /; But list my lay of this, thy wildjrnkss ! * LAI Y£Ar 'Kiy lake Jealtb, thousa Het non<^ 1 t'VM "lii .) .ji. Vu i !.;.■ "/: :\ i > ■.": i: r , ■'.•■■ ■; •■ ■■•: / I A.>' roen; ; ftWO» . « wootL lear, ; lew,. er knew. lid '^iy,. jbin'd, ^ • • ■ V 1 ' rill sing :. address, • .! . ' ' THE LAY OF THE WILD£RIVE$i$. ;'!*;rff«;:> .*?<•! M.. -.V T V !v ", f-*^ il i ssss • '•. f • 'l ' .: (.• Years are revolving o'er thy hills and dales, . Iiy lakes, thy rivers, and thy winding vales ;: ; : . Health, peace, and Competence, to thee belong, A thousand sweets are thine, unknown in song ; Ti|et non<^ essay, thy virtues to proclaim^ . , ,, . 4^k1 few, New-Brunswick, know, thee €*en by name. ■f liy natives' legends, too, are passing bjvi f*'? ^rvA ^f plumed warriorsi and their maidens' sigh; ^,;/ Tadition scarce upholds their chiefUins' feats, -.y, k points the dells, of ambush'd foes' retreats; -, ;. 'hese, with thy worth, are still unknown to those I'ho in the arms of ignorance seek repose. Then will /carol forth what bounteous heav'n, ifitting thy cold clime, hath kindly giv'n ; 11 twine a garland of thy choicest sweets, * [nd sing the fragrance of thy wild retreats ; % ^ > '. J,. , . ,*f^ JCVf'/ . It THE LAY OP Each flow'r that iu thy native forests blooms, Shall o'er my garland shed its sweet perfumes, Till I unfold the beauty of thy wilds, . Nor fear the heartless critics' envious smiles. I'll sing thy worth and comforts, to the man Who pines away his life, without a plan^ Pursued by penury — with scarce a home — Ah 1 what a field is here, would he but come : Here reap reward of toil, and busy care. And of thy many blessings, claim a share, *'" ■ And famine, know no mor&— could aught in life Augment his peaceful joys,— for here no strife Disturbs the mind of father, or of son. Here no illegal broils are ever known ; ''' •' '^'^ Our hearts are loyal, as our minds are free, N«r own we such a class as tenantry f'^'^ "'" ' In thee, New-Brunswick, on thy thousand hills, Or on thy level, broad, rich intervales, •' ■ •' A latidlord*s due, ne'er stints the humble board, Each farmer here, " Free, happy, his own lord I" ^ . :{ ■ wo^' . ni. .•ioi Iy(.^!ji llf «rj., .' Remote, I'll own, thou art ; yet hast thou stooc Coeval with the world, and GoD fronounc'dI THEE " good!'^ v.; ^■.K.^Mh V.I; .M,.. .J- THB WILDERNESS. mt'^Aim V lOMOUMCDl 13 .^v ,v :i.iU w - 'P len deadly feuds distracted the old world, Lnd all the ills of war were on lurl'dy 'hy wilds were tranquil, thy majestic trees ^aved in proud triumph to the passing breeze ; Vn when America was yet unknown, ,,v ^he Indian lov'd thee— thought thee f^l his own,;/ ^he virtue of each root and bark he knew, -f^x^^r^ lat in thy wilds, or 'long thy rivers grew ; |i ^'hy fish, thy venison, his wants supplied,-rw t /j^^ for were thy free-born natives void of pride: ,:'^ ^ise in their laws — their customs ; truly free ^^^^ from all restraints, save chaste propriety, i^jj*i^|, [heir filial love unrivaird— ev'ry art t:t > %^^ « ley used, to soothe or cheer the aged heart ; [ealth visited each village, dress'd in smiles, tnd sweet contentment dwell'd amid thy wilds; [ard by some limpid stream, or, shaded xill, .. „ [hey ranged their wig-wams carelessly at will, ^here rose the chieftain's camp above theresf^, . [owards which the stranger forward boldly press'd, [or turn'd his haughty eye on those around, ''hen he the wig-wam of the chief had found, , )r heeded the Pappooses' idle stare, , Tho looked the whys and wherefores he came there, )r curiosity, since the time of Eve, ^ ^ rolls in each clime, to every grade will cleave. U I m »■ ! X -.f.:f& 14 THE LAY OF fhho'^r hi- J ^dt I IV. mihtmi'-rmt^y n^dY, E' ,'?*. Thy nativei5*^^kres't^ei*6 WgKt/at will wduld they Join in the hunt, or slumber thro* the day, Or, round their wig-wam*s fire in silence sate. To list their aged Sannups* long debate," '■' ' ^* ^ When many legendary tales were told, " ^ ~ Of Indian lovers, and of warriors bold.' ' * Those scenes are pass'd : thou wast by Cabot found And England took possession of thy ground ; Tho' not before the Missionaries came And taught thy natives to revere the name Of the Redeemer — made them kiss the rod. And bow their heads before a living God : From France they came — in pious zeal they vied With others, in a softer clime employed. Where Pagans learn'd to love His holy word. i-.^ - «♦ ♦ % » ' -*»^* sa ' i.i\i^ ,f For France then claim'd thee — hence a little band] Of her gay people, visited thy land ; *" ' Theyj in thy pleasant places, hamlets reared, And paitialiy diy wilds by them were clearM, Light-hearted, they enjoy'd thy rural scenes, And tripp'd it blithely to their violins, '^ ' ■ And, as their custom is, kept off dull cal'e, By music, social chat, and debonair; ; ; Oi\ ■.■n*JJ*i'via. ','.'*». THE WItlfERNESS. H lut soon the sprightly- Frienchmen lost their claims, taz'd were their hamlets, slaughtered, too, their dames ; 'iH'm lyM'i.a '.'Id* t\y.A<}i' 'he strongest fled; few, now, remain to tell ; ^hat was the fate of those they lov'd so well. VIZ *-fe;M •" -^ '- Then did thy name, New-Brunswick, glimmer torth : .3 ..• If ...»*:• f»> ,. . ,f «• r . , .. )y slow degrees, was first made known thy worth ; [Twas bruited round that goodly was thy land, , ,. ^hy soil productive, thy resources scann'd, !'hy banks, thy islands, fringed with lofty elms, region fit to vie with other realms ; idvent'rers came, thy forests to explore, I'rom CoPnies planted *long the western shore, i*rom whence the needy farmer left his home, ■. 'o reap rich harvests from thy gen'rous loam, /7 Frg'd by a wish to call a farm his own, • .. ,: *. y [ore genial to his mind than honors of a crown, ii \ ii'fUWl 'U^-' ! { '- J ' i! ^ » f.'. ^1 ?. ■ f •' " ' i • r ■■ T » *''•'. ■;! ; VII. Then speculative traders came in scores ^ > * • V barter with thy natives for their furs ; ' -^ ; 'hey brought the silver cross, the sainted bead, ^' [Those intercessors for the impious deed ; - '' € .v^ ii THS XJLY OP ^:*^ And many fbrtnnes were then brieflj made, B J those engaged in that most gainful trade^* A traffic, which this period scarce can claim- Little is left thy natives, save their name; .t;^^ii'| i VIII. >• i r* fciv H it Thy land was then like to Adullam cave, Which to the son of Jesse, shelter gave— '^^'^ ^ A kind asylum, ofiPer'd to all such, ♦ •*^^^' In debt, distressed, or righteous over nmch; The disappointed sought retirement here, T" Far from the object of their hate or fear, ^" And far from all, too oft, they held most dear. '-•i J. IX. • » » , * r ■-■■ ,i . . I) J r. , ■ ' ■ f'.:l', I \\ f ,. . ' • i » ^ » •- - Among the throng that to thy Province hurried, Was one of gentle birth, and he was married r i\V To her he lov^d, and no domestic strife Had i^er been known to vex their blissful life ; He was good humor'd, social, yet refin'd ; Qood sense and piety adom'd her mind ; One beauteous pledge had added to their bliss, They had but one^ nor ask*d for more than this: A daughter, lovely as the morning star, ^^i y ., When first in orient skies it's seen afar. ^ -t », r TH£ WILDERNE88. 17 m— 11/ J-*'. -^ I Is. rf «; J •-.i I * ■m: I^^t- scarce sixteen summers' wind her cheek had fann'd, «ight was her joyous heart, her manners bland, T Ter voice unrivaird by the " featherM band.'* .1 rood were the precepts which her mother taught, 'ho stor'd her mind with every virtuous thought; [er lessons o'er, she gaily rambled forth, 'o chase the butterfly, in sportive mirth, . I ' lud from thy wilds she culled the fairest flow'r, 'o deck herself, and ornament her bow'r. Oft would the bird dart thro' the lummer's calm, sip the honey from the scented balm, ' "" hen would she stand, scarce breathe, and cease to b list the music of its humming wing, [sing, hurried J^ round it wheel'd, uncertain wltere to choose, isplaying tints of rich prismatic hues, "" ' n which her miud, and sod expreasive eye, '^ere fix'd, as if spell-bound by sorcery : * or beauty in the plumage of itf breast, ' ^ f all the feather'd tribe it itandi confcst. i dear. >ieil life; bliss, n this: i ;;-5| ff-TJ-ni.Vjy :> "?-*'>?'] r. "^'ie^^i^ 'nr:-'^'V> f -V.'i'-Vtl-i I i, ..■ .1%.+ . '.li- XL I' !%'r:-:h;:: f^' reet bird, thoti lov'st our Northern clime— 'tis here, '^hcn summer smiles, thou chooieit to appear ; B8 18 THE LAY 07 f U Young Julia lov'd thee, and oft watchM when Her garden flow'rs attracted thee again, [speed, To taste their sweets— -qiucker than thought thyl Darting thro' fragrant wilds, or flowering mead, Unconscious of the charm, the magic spell, . : The stedfast gaze of her, who lov'd to dwell Where nature, with her blest, untiring charms^ Delights the eye, the feeling bosom warms. XIL For hours, would Julia contemplate the scene Of distant hills, where Tallies intejrvene. > The hum of bees, amid the noonday's heat, The low of herds, the lambs' shrill, plaintive bleat,^ The sound of woodman's axe, the brawl of streains|pmick'c The farmers' voices, urging on their teams — The clang of cow-bells, on the distant hills, Fell on her listening ear at intervals. Fiird with delight, she oft stood musing long Upon the sweet variety of song. That issued from thy wilds ;— on flow'rs that bless Thy waving forest, with their loveliness, Entranc'd she gaz'd— 'examln'd every hue And form of every leaf that met her view, Trac'd the soft pencil touch of HxM who gave Light, li^, and impulie, and the pow'r to 5avf, ;&.,. THE T* :.DEftNESS. 19 |n the unfolding buds of ilow'rs, minute, ''et uniibrm, exact) in either shoot, delicately shaded — lines so small, is scarce perceptible, jet perfect all. -•,» ; ■ > V i > -^'■) XIII. ^ach blossom, thus examined, Julia bound ; , ito a wreath, with which herself she crown'd ; [hen, full of life, her gay, elastic mind roke the enchantment, which around it twin'd, youthful glee, her wreath away would fling, • id wake the echo with her carolling; climb the hills, or wander thro' the glade, t; trace the rivulet, wliere the white cascade [imick'd the thunders of the cataract's roar, deep ravine, by cedars shaded o*er ; . , lere Julia often stray'd—- an island rock id ages rested, and withstood the shock, le threatening menace of the waters' pour, gurgling rapids round its flinty shore — this smooth rock, in gay or pensive mood, ,, punting the dancing bubbles, oft she stood, .* [ere sung her sweetest lays, tho* they were lost > Lhe hoarse brawling of the brook she cross'd ; ; heard not her own voice, tho' loud her call, sounds were noiseless^ near the water-fall : ; THE LAY OF ■f.:. -.7 ■* ■. (!• Thus thro* the summer were her leisure hours Spent in like rambles, or in wreathing flowers. When autumn came, enrob'd in varied hues, Loaded with ripen'd grain, and fruit profuse, 'Twas then, along the gently sloping bank. Where spikenard grew, abundantly, and rank, And butter-nut, in wild luxuriance grew. Its clustering, creamy nut, to tempt tlie view, Hung high in air ; and there red cherries, wild. And purple grapes, *mid leaves and tendrils smiFd, Hazels and haws, and thousand nameless fruit. Each dressed in autumn^s variegated suit; These, simple all, such as New-Brunswick yields. All grew spontaneous, in the open fields. Or close beside the winding, brush- wood fence. Or 'long the vale, or on an eminence ; Julia, to gather these, would nimbly pass ^^ ;: Thro' bushes wild, or thro* the highest grass ; She knew none else, her ign*rance made her blest, ' The fruit of softer climes she ne*er possess*d. Nor sigh*d for grapes of Shirauz, which excel. Nor pomgranates on which the Scriptures dwell, So fragrant, luscious, delicately nice, * • f That Persians call them " fruit of Paradise;'* THB WILDER!lt88. 21 Lew, ;, wild, lis smil'd, fruit, ;k yields, fence. )ntent with wbat she hat], nor e'er d^ired, > ^ ^^ for thought of faniffi firuit — ^'twfts not required \y her— ft diild of nature— scarcely lessi row ^^r ^as modest violet of the wilderness. : y/ -. : : ! ; : i jrass ; her blest,' issM, 1 excel, ;s dwell, XV. f ,;;•;.•>-;« r,,. ■.-.. ' »> Idise; 1th artless carols, she through fields would seek le ripened fruit, or with a glowing cheek, , . . ^ look ofif the butter-nut, the squirrels claimed, . . id with shrill chidiogs, her intrusion blam'd, kimes with Julia, they would e'en dispute, ^hich should obtain the largest share of fruit, [ould leap from bough to bough, then rest a while, ^d pertly scan their rivals envied pile, len frisk along the far out-spreading limb, lere sit, to crack a nut, wi^li air so prim, look around with such a saucy eye, ;- -s, seem'd to charge her with monopoly. Striped squirrels never leave the ground, gain their winter store; the fields. around arley, wheat or Indian corn, or rye, , afford them plentiful supply, most unwearied perseverance, they jitrunks of hoUoW trees, their hoards convey, 3^1 22 tHK LAY OP T From each ripe kernel-the embryo sprout, ;.>ixio Instinctive nature bids them to take outy^^oiii io' Else would their treasured wheat, or barley grow, In their warm store-rooms hoas'd from rain and snow. XVII. Nature is wise, her dictates all are good. Whence all created beings arie endowed With some rare gift, peculiarly their pwn, How to secure, and how to let alone. * ' r And points to all whatever their nature needs ; The dreaded scorpions and centipedes, Howe'er disgusting, venomous, or rude. Alike share in her kind solieitude : ... * O'er laws instinctive, man has no control, . 'Tis one great power that reguLites the whole. it V»'*i!-V 4* »»v! IV««« *^l.^,^Vi;» •.v-'KuuWiti XVIII.' ^'r'iu.nA f/;:i:^;, . Thanks to our northern clime, from reptiles vile We have no fear ; — ^'tis nought but honest toil That ^ oighs upon our minds, creating care ; Still we prefer our cool salubrious air, ■■- To thee, Jamaica, and thy neighboring isles. Where summer triumphs with bright vernal sii..::. Where pines, banana, oranges, and limes, And each dt'lcious -fruit of tropic climes. [here ^ Ind co< [ature i [here c fhe str£ rom w] !t beat fruit ( it who. [er all i ^frightfi 'ith all jrmit m ich fori )ring fi [id bu( len ripj ids the le sighsl ;?5i^-:- It, ■ '>:.>Jxiv)' ey grow, i rain and wn, leeds ; .A whole. tiles vile *st toil zaie; r isles, ernal Si-^i' nes, les, ••■•''' "^ THE WILDERNESS. 23 ^here grow spontaneous, guavas, citrons, all, ,4 Ind cocoa trees magnificently tall ; f^ fature there wantons in luxurious sweets, it m'{ [h^re cultivated sugar cane, too, greets ' [he strangers eye^— there, too, the manchineal, i rom whose dread poison there is no appeal, . , . ;t beautiful and tempting to the view, fruit deceitful hs '^ ^ : * .1 richest hue ; it who, Jama'c'i , euvies ihee thy charms? fer all thy bounties, reptiles creep in swarms : 'frightful til iiwback this, a loathsome pest, 'ith all thy thousand sweets, thou art not blest. ,:•;-' ii. ■•-l XIX. ;rmit me then, to sketch our seasons, where . 1 ich forms an epoch in the varied year : )ring first adorns it with a wreath of flow'rs, ,1 [id budding groves, or lawns, or scented bow*rs. len ripening summer smiles o'er hill and plain, i ids the young fruit come forth, and swells the grain; len autumn follows, clad in gorgeous dyes, ',*^^'.^ Tith royal robes her gay apparel vies, W-.'^ o*er f landscape throws her mantle sheen, '^■ichly relieved, and interspersed with green, ill fading all her tints to sober grey, - . le sighs farewell, and weeps herself away ; .'i I W I ':r***!*J ■" ?m^^- 24 THE LAY OP Like to fair tiovice or religious maid, In greatest pomp and splendour is array*d. Emblem of worldly vanity is this, Which she must leave to seek for higher bliss, Puts on a humble garb of sombi^ hue^ And bids the social world a long adieu. XX. Now sounds the voice of winter in the breeze, And strips the faded foliage from the trees. The leaves ride on the wind, or lightly bound. And flirt in eddying whirls along the ground. A russet mantle o*er the earth is spread, And groves and forests wild, are carpetted. The trees dismantled, wait the coming snow, The wind now whistles through each leafless bougt The birds migrate to warmer climes, in haste, And leave to sleet and snow, the lonely waste ; Then comes old Boreas, blustering, from the nortl Yet Julia, wrapped in fur, would venture forth, And, laughing, face the gale which keenly blew. Till her young cheeks assumed a scarlet hue ; With step elastic, lightly pressed the snow. Which rested on the hills, and vales below, Mantling the leafless trees, and mountains height,"! In winter's fleecy robe of dazzling white ; THE WILDERNESS. 25 ^hen livers, lakes, and streams, are frozen o'er, ''ith bright, transparent ice, from shore to shore, sckless of danger, then, the throng on skates, giddy youth, displaying dext'rous feats; ley o'er the surface smooth, then swiftly glide '^here timorous girls are ev'n afraid to slide, . ; ^ill they in crowds, assemble on the ice, . , i id round each group, the skaters in a trice, [rcle about, with graceful, easy air, _ win the approbation of the fair. |rchance some youth betrays a secret flame, carving on the ice, his favorite's name, ir timid steps he chides with soften'd voice, id gently guides her o'er the slipp'ry ice. (t soon, the snow, comes hustling down amain, id hides, in wreathy folds, the slipp'ry plain, lis stays the agile stripplings* favorite sport, len sleighs and sledges are their next resort. XXI. lus in this dreary season of the year, )th snow with out-door pastimes interfere. |ough, sometimes, it is pleasurable, too, swiftly glide in sleighs, from view to view. fQ dazzling snow then kindly lends us aid, id we to friehds are rapidly convey'd, . . 26 THE LAY OF I M The music of the bells augments our glee ; For they, of course, then bear us company. <.' ':,.;,,;-. XXII. '• ■■ '::■/,, v../:, Fleas'd with the sound of bells, the horse appears, He curves his neck, and proudly points his ears ; And champs the bit, impatient of delay. Till o'er the glistening snow he bears the sleigh. The jingling necklace, cheers the generous steed. And gives him spirit to increase his speed ; The fur-clad traveller, swiftly glides along ; The merry bells, with their incessant song, - Beguile the tedious hours, and wear away ' The dreary dist^ijce in a stormy day. ^^^^^' ^ ^ ^gain, 1 But when a friend, o'er treacherous ice must roam? Jleas'd iizes I] they n ""o hear 'hen hi telate ti ["he fire '^hich i leds it le shr lome's [e kno^ them it own len cl( Yet name the day, when he will be at home. Should unforeseen occurrences delay His coming, and procrdstinate his stay. Ah, then, what sad conjecture fills the mind Of the expectant friends he left behind: Baffled their hope, and tortured with suspense ; ' How oft they wander to some eminence, [ground Where chill'd with standing on the snow-clad They list hie bells, to them a well-known sound, ^hine for as 11 1 M- * ■..Jff*.-.! i.i ■« iJilil .Jil- t THE WILDERNESS. 27 e: pany. ;e appears, his ears; le sleigh. >us steed) ed; long; ong, ^ay ^ hen at a distance heard-— what heartfelt joy, \ izes upon their souls, without alloy; ^ f' > 'hey rush to meet their friend, with open arms, b hear the news, and tell of their alarms ; _ hen hastening to prepare a warm repast, - - V" elate the anxious hours, they each have passM. \ he fire is then renewed — the cheerful blaze, , , , f hich gains the smiling menial ample praise, : eds its warm influence round the social hearth, e shivering traveller feels, and owns its worth ; bme's blest endearments, then seem doubly dear, e knows the friends around him are sincere ; them, recounts his pleasures, more or less, t owns " no place like home," for happiness, en closer to the fire, his chair he draws ; gain, he gives the menial great applause : I must roaniijleas'd with his welcome home, his journey passed? lome. [e, for a while, forgets the wintry blast. XXIV. lut can the suffering poor e'er well forget [he misery winter brings, nor e'er regret lat they are subject to his rigid reign, id of his freezing influence ne'er complain ? hy charms are few, dread season of the year, >wn sound, Jhine aspect cold, forbidding, and severe ; mind nd: suspense ; Ce, [grounij snow-clad 28 THE LAY OP ;u s:- All cheering rays thy frozen smiles deride. Save the irradiance of a warm fireside. ^ ■ Ev'n round the blazing hearth, we hear thy voi< Thou revel's in the blast — in storms rejoice ; Thy rage is pitiless, thy fury hurls, ■ And sweeps the snow in drifts, and eddying whirls) Wide o'er the naked plain, thy froity breath Condemns, without remorse, to certain death ; The wretch who shivering stands within thy gate^ For mercy sues, yet nought thy ire abates, * Till down thy victim falls, before thy blast. And 'mid thy chilling snow, he breathes his last. \ • --^ --^ XXV. .■.^..^. : - We know thee well, stern winter, and prepare To meet thee, at all points, with special care ; To our necessities, the ocean yields '■''> ' ' Her finny tribe — the produce of our fields. With studied care, is safely hoarded by — Prepare for winter, is our signal cry. ■ : . \ XXVI. So, near the Pole, the hardy Esquimaux, From icy shores, the weighty Walrus draw: With limbs benumb'd, they gain by urgent toil, Their winter's food — the frozen flesh and oil. •^ longd .<* THE WILDERNESS. 29 eride, n: ir thy voi< ejoice ; iying whirls! breath n death ; lin thy gate^ lates, blast, les his last. V, .VI ■ , [1 prepare ial care ; fields, aux, 3 draw: irgent toil, ind oil. len thus secur'd, the rancid, loathsome meat, 1 these (scarce human) savages to eat, i. -li. [rough months of night, while frigid winter reigns, len earth and sea are bound in frozen chains, len for a house, with blocks of snow, they build [eir winter's fabric — piece on piece is pil'd, , . ^. id snow to snow, stands interposing cold, jith walls congeaPd, in icy columns bold, [e sheltering roof, the floor, and tunnel porch, ibe-like hall, thro' which, each wretch must crouch, len to his dreary cell, he finds his way, )ed of snow, he forms, whereon to lay — lamp prepares — no fuel else he burns, other flame his chilling shelter warms. XXVII. blazing hearth the squalid infant greets. It hous'd in snow, it sucks the frozen meats. [the raw state of walrus, seal, or whale, which the horde rapaciously regale, id quaff the blubber, fuming from the mug, entrails kept, in place of earthen jug. |eir wretched laws betray privations great- ly leave their helpless parents to their fate ; (e husband Jead — the widow knows her dooi.i~- '^ longer then is she allowed a home ; c2 -^ 30 THE LAY OF ■ # No kindred claims, no friends her wants supply, Her fate is seal'd, and she is left to die. ■I v' XXVIII. Wisdom ordains ttiat all should own tlieir place. Beasts, birds, or fish, or e'en the human race ; Each loves his element, his native air, ^ Nor wants an intermediate life to share ; Some bask in heat, while others dwell in snow. And each content no other wants to know : Migrate the Esquimaux to warmer climes, Feed him on choicest food, on richest wines ; Give him each comfort we enjoy, yet he . -} Pines for his dreary shores, his icy sea, His frozen fish, to swallow cold and raw. And be again a filthy Esquimaux. Compare with these the comforts of our hearth, And home will seem a Paradise on earth. . J."-' '.' ■ *."...' XXIX. A friendly few around the evening fire — No more than these did Julia e'er desire; New-Brunswick then was in an infant states No balls or galas made her heart elate — Nor Soirees Musicales, nor circus gay, To wile the tedious winter nights away. I THE WILDERKEfl. 31 le knew not these — ^yet Imply ihe could find, amusement for her intellectual uuiu1» nature's chaste, illimitable page— istructive and sublime in every age ; ind found a rational pleasure, often ^vhere \he more enlightened mind might find despair ; [rue friendship twined around her faithful heart, liere malice found no resting place, nor art : incere herself, she scarcely could believe he human heart would purposely deceive. •ji It when convinc'd, she Bcorn'd witli honest pride ll artifice, would openly deride lypocrisy, and spurn'd the odious, mean, iissembling crew, whose venom'd deodly spleen, '^as wrapped in smiles, or seeming innocence, ^hen envy, hatred, or malevolence^ ''as rankling at their hearts, creating vile, [njust insinuations all the whlloi ich creatures / most heartily detest, ley are to me the greatest nuisance, pest^ id from all such I shudd'ring Imite away,. I would from the dreaded C/iolera I Hi 32 THE LAY Of ) 0. v.! XXXI. Julia was faithful, and her mild blue eye, Sweetly expressed her warm sincerity. A cheerful flow of gplritB made her gay, As lark that welcomes in the new-born day ; Had wit at will, yet blended with good sense. Which made her cautiouf how she gave offence. But she was human, and lometimes would hit Kather too keenly, with her poignant wit. Few that have wit, know how to wield it well. Some judgement is required to make it tell — Yet take it all and all, I hail the mind \i Wherein it lives, if moral and reEn'd. But oh ! how wit is ceniur'd by those elves. Who thank their star* thoy ne'er commit themselves, They boast of wit, yet add— (" But I refrain,") And make a merit of their leaden hrain ! XXXII. Oft was the lovely Julia pain'd to hear, Animadversions made, with envious sneer. On gifts which her Creator gave, from whom She gained her voice, her beauteous healthful bloom. The weak and envious, tho' they must respect. Will ne*er forgive superior intellect. Julia, r< RepelFc I Her ind I Yet she Her mir And selc Her chie For hour Flake afti Like fair^ Well ple£ A.nd pleas i'et did th Present a To watch To walk o To gather To trace t Then to tl To tell the refuse is »ome choi( THE WILDERNESS. 33 ise, [fence, hit ell, 1— - W- mselves, ) iin torn 1 bloom. ect, I Julia, replete with wit and mental worth, ' 1' Repell'd insidious sneers with easy mirth ; I Her indignation she would scarce disguise. Yet she expressed it merely with her eyes ; Her mirth was harmless as her brow was fair, I And seldom high displeasure rested there. ^ xxxm. > : Her chief delight in winter was the snow. For hours she watch*d it falling soft and slow — Flake after flake, descending bright and fair, Like fairy banners, floating on the air ; Well pleas*d to see it clothe the frozen ground, A.nd pleas'd to hear the merry sleigh-bells sound. ^et did the maple grove, in opening spring, Present a scene she most delighted in — To watch the sap, when dripping from the trees, To walk on snow-shoes, which she could with ease. To gather balsam from the young fir grove. To trace the fairy paths of mice she strove ; Then to the camp, unwearied, unrestrained. To tell the store of knowledge she had gained. . . , . XXXIV. *rofuse is nature, wander where you will, lome choice production, some new beauty still. 34 THE LAY OF '6 I The wilds abound in such a vast supply, C^yelBut si T' enrich th' enqmring mind, and feast the curious Froi To bli| XXXV. • - Tha Julia was pleased in frosty morn to rove, On crusted snow, to find the maple grove, Where in the centre, the rude camp was rear'd, All the utensils for the sap prepared ; And still more pleased to see the range of blaze, The boilers, tumbling sap, in headlong maze : Thus to reduce the flood of maple juice. And render sweet more sweet, for household use. To her the sugar camp was all and all. She stirred the honey, sipp'd the candied ball, The squirrel's chiding voice, the whirring sound Of partridge wing, while thro' the woods resound, The woodcock's tap — the robin's early visit. All presag'd spring, and seem'd to her exquisite. I here must pause, for soon I change my theme. From sunny hours of happy youth, to care. Which makes the blissful past seem but a dream. So fraught with sorrow is it, and despair. THE WILDERNESS. 36 , [eye the curioUi » rove, s rear*d, of blaze, maze: sehold use. But such is human life, which changes still From hope, fair, promising — from peace serene. To blighted joys, fast followed by each ill, That wrings the bosom with afflictions keen. edbalJ, ng sound ds resound, visit, exquisite. ly theme, o care, a dream, pair. ^.■■'■iH.t. , "m w I^A ■ ;;)■. \\ THE lAY OF THE WILOERHTESS. SECOND CANTO. b^. -i*.Ll--^-t,\,%-'-^i. THE I.AY OF THE IVII^DERHfE^;;;. •***iB ^^w^*** SECOND CANTO. I. One lovelj morning when all nature teem'd With animation — rheavenly it seemed, Each heart rejoic*d, and welcom'd in the spring, The farmers whistling, at their work were seen, Speeding the plough, or harrowing in the grain, Joyous that spring had blest their fields again, With prospect hiv of reaping full reward. For their hard toil in turning up the sward. The buds were just unlocked, the foliage green Began to deck the wild, unvaried scene ; The chilling snow had gone, and swell'd the riilc, The birds* shrill carol rang among the hills ; Drawn by their notes, the sweet unconscious girl Put on her hat, confin'd the glossy curl. That waved in ringlets o'er her beauteous brow, To guard it from the thick impending bough. " 40 THE LAY OF 11. Onwards she rambled, where the cedars grew, Not dreaming she had bid a long adieu To all enjoyment, the parental hearth, Dearer to her than every charm on earth : A little volume in one hand she* held. Rested awhile, and on its pages dwell'd, A pensive sadness o'er her bosom crept, She clos'd the book, and sat her down and wept ; The rustling of the foliage o'er her head, Seem'd sympathising with the tears she shed. Ne'er had she felt such gloom, though oft alone — Tl J-.,?;g>i> The stimulus for gaiety had flown. ' .- '.1- «»'i ' J. » ■ . ' III. - t'^ ' ■ r - ■■■''■*■ " 'i' '-■■■■ I - Julia had cherish'd in her inmost heart, A flame, that she for worlds would not impart- A love more true than e'er was cooing dove, 'Twas chaste and guiltless as an angel's love; But still 'twas kept confin'd to her own breast, Something it was, too pure to be express'd. The youthful Frederick had her mind inspir'd. Manly he was, and brave, and much admir'd ; Oft had she caught his young and ardent gaze, And oft in silence listen'd to his praise ; Bute Nor i Yet it Andt Oft t( And t She Si Her p But w] III fate Our fui Too of And he Victors So JuVii With w 3f unre ^nd drs To gain 5he bole )he choi bd the THE WILDERNESS. 41 few. d wept ; tied. : alone — But oftener would she, careless, pass him by. Nor seem to heed hi« bright yet serious eye. Yet in her heart she garnered up his words, And thought upon them when she spoke of birds. Oft to the grove she'd steal, and on them pore, And to herself repeat them o'er and o'er ; She saw him at her father's house caress'd. Her parents loved the youth, and she was blest. IV. But when is happiness without alloy ? j 111 fate pursues it ever to destroy : Our future prospects, be they e'er so bright. Too oft are smitten with a with'ring blight ; And half our time we're struggling hard to be, [Victors o'er ill, and from its mast'ry free. if ipart — )ve, )ve; t"cast, b. ■:.^■•■ )ir'd, |r'd; ;aze, Jo Julia's hopes were tinctur'd with a dread, '^ith war America was then o'erspread, )f unredressed wrongs, had long complain'd tnd drscontent among her people reign'd : ^ogain her freedom, or with honor die, Jhe boldly rais'd her cap of liberty ; )he chose her chio( and call'd her sons to ai ms^ ind the new world was fiU'd with war's alarms ; b2 -f '^ .■iji\ 42 THE LAY OF A fierce determined strife was then begun, Her battle cry, was " War and Washington ;" Tlie dauntless shout was heard from shore to shore, And England answer'd with her cannon's roar ; Her gallant leaders made the welkin ring, ' And echo back the cry "God save the King !" VI. Frederick was brave, and spurn'd an idle life, He long'd to join Great Britain in the strife : Four years elapsed, since first the war begun. His mother feared for him her only son, 1 \ And had till now, on him prevaiPd to dwell. Beneath his father's roof, where all went well ; Heroic deeds were still his constant theme. And rural Ufa he term'd "a fameless dream ;" To him the battle's din, the clash of arms, The spirit-stirring, martial life, had charms — Towards the army his whole soul was bent. His father prais'd his zeal, and gave consent. And adding his advice, he kindly laid His hand upon his son, jind gravely said — : " My dearest boy, forgive thy father's care. 'V Of ev'ry vice, I wish you to beware ; With f To hin Noble It glow His ma His mil ,-f -t- :-• .»> GTON ; e to shore, i roar ; .'> THE WILDERNESS. heart at early dawn. 43 Examine well yo Avoid the snares by which you may be drawn To that dread vortex, that abhorr'd abyss, Of guilt, remorse, unpitied distress. Waste not in idle talk your leisure hours, For trifling topics iioeaJcen mental powers. Scan each opinion, every latent trait. Ere vou become attach'd or intimate — Place confidence in no7ie — let your own heart Be your sole guide, nor from its rules depart ; For there the monitor is ever true, And points the right in all we say or do — Let not your better judgment lose its weight, Nor be o'er ruled — nor be precipitate; And Fred' rick, ne'er assume that vacant gaze. Which self-conceit and want of sense betrays — Be firm, be manly, ne'er be fashion's slave, And mark me, be thou eminently brave." VIII. ^'M- With filial love, he press'd his father's hand, To him his father's wish was a command ; Noble was Fred'rick's heart, and just, and good, It glow'd with that rare virtue, gratitude-^. His manly brow was stamp'd with beauty's seal ; His mind now fiU'd with military zeal ; .^^J ^ I ^; i I ' 1 Ik^'-' ■' ■ 44. THE LAY OF :t Yet o'er his heart love still maintain'd its pow'r, He sought young Julia, in her favorite bow*r — There to explain his views, and tliere impart , To her that she was dearest to his heart. * IX. He, whom she lov'dy fead on that morn express'd, The flame that Jie had cherish'd in his breast, For her fair self— and asked a mutual love, And he would ever true and faithful prove — Tho' he that morn, must leave her and his friends. But he would soon return and make fimends. The blush that mantled o'er her polish'd cheek Made tlie reply her tongue refus'd to speak — . . s«By which he guess'd, her heart was all his own, Though modesty forbade to make it known ; A sweet confusion, which she strove to hide, Her Fred'rick closer drew unto her side — Nor did he leave her till he learn'd her mind, While she » wrefttli of trembling violets twin'd. XI. Their vows of mutual constancy and truth, .With ^11 the warm sincerity of youth — - ■'.* '■ Were Norti Letgc Kema Soon 1 Sheth Asa SI ie ga^ When For of ^^* it lencft lad soo !he furtl 'et were lUr'd by hat troc ncoura^ nmindfi dvancin U were J le sight e spran 4^ TH£ WILD£RNE8H. 45 Dw'r, r — irt press'd, ;ast, i tViends, ids. cheek, ik— :. is own, m; |ind, finW. m ;*\» * .MS, Were oft repeated, nought couUlmnke them change, I Nor time, nor distance, would their hearts estrange; Let good or ill betide, their faith should still Remain unshaken and indelible. Soon his departure came— for time is brief— |She thus had sought the woodi t0 calm her grief; ls a small token of affection truC) ' . [e gave the volume ere he lighM adieu. When he had gone, she preii'd it to her heart, L^or of the donor, this now scemM n part. ' '^ XII. Lt length she rose, the wild nnd sylvan scene [ad sooth'd her grief, with nilitd then more serene, 5he further in the forest slowly movM, 1 et w^re her heart and thoughts with him she lov'd. ; XIII. . iur'd by the clucking of a partridge hen, , \\ [hat troopM her chickens down ft leafy glen — Incouraging her young and downy brood, [nmindful that a stranger near her stood — ivancing on, she near and nearer drew, [11 were her numerous younglings full in view ; le sight of which, delighted Julia's eyes, [e sprang to capture oner-ft little prize ; :*^' •>r. . ^'kim v 46 THE LAV OF .% But quick as thought they hid— she look'd around, { Not even one by Julia could be found. XIV. Instinct, the voice of naturei ii their guide, Which tells them where to f troll, and where to hide;] Cloth'd in soft down, the hue of faded leaves. Which gives them shelter, and the eye deceives. The partridge with instmctive art, and care, Led Julia off from where her chickens wen Till weary with purisuit, gave up the chase. And turn'd away to seek a resting place — Went quickly on, nor fear'd the treacherous wild,| The cunning partridge had her tense beguiFd. XV. But soon her reason fled— a fearful change [strange Came o'er her mind — the well-known place seem'| A path tliat led up through a shaded glen, Had been familiar to her eye till liien ; She wandered on, till all her w«lk« «he crossed, And knew them not-— the beauteous girl was lost Her mind grew more bewildered, more distressN And thro' entangled boughs she onwards press'd.i Thro' a [Loud n The ec] The wa Nor see ' rantic hie ray [er Iac( ^lone, How gr( Hie disf ^ost to ^ntowai ■t;::?: et while ler frier THE WILDERNESS. m d around, XVI. A consciousness, that she had gone astray, Flash*'/ on her mind, and filFd her with dUinav — No friend was nigh, to guide her steps along, i our, elay'd. mourn'd, turn'd. . the grove, re; ler name, le; mild, r wild; 10 more east, 'OSs*d lost. ay, «*■' What agony to know the day is pass'd^ > ; And night, dark gloomy night, advancing &st— And that the hapless wanderer lost^ alone! j • Still fiurdier irom his home hastes wildly on. XXI. .^ ■•,:. ',/_ .,: ■ Painful conjectures, pierced tha aching brain Of Julia's parents— they no clue could gain Whereby she might be found — atlength they trac'd, Down by a pool, where she her foot had plac'd ; The moisten^ earth retained the impress still. From whence, they trac'dher footsteps towards ahill. But there they found no 'semblance of a track, They seai'ch'd no further then, and hastened back. Besought their neighbors round to lend them aid, Ere Julia had beyond recovery stray'd. XXII. With sympathetic zeal, each manly heart. Assistance gave — each bore an active part— - The young, and even aged, sallied out— - Parties were form'd, each took a difPrent route : For nine successive days, from night till morn. The wilderness re-echoed with the horn— They shouted, call'd, and search'd each thicketthro', |Yet little else than foliage met their view; E :>. 50 THE LAY OF Till one upon a windfalPs mouldering trunk, < ^ Found an impression where her foot had sunk ; • No ether track of her was ascertain*d, No other mark where she had pass'd was gain'd ; And yet the ground for miles was traversed o'er, Till hope forsook them, and they could no more. r ' , . XXIII. lleluctantly they ceas'd the vain pursuit, And left the wilderness with sorrow mute — One still persisted — though of hope bereft — Her father — and *twas long before he left; Swiftly the painful news was spread around, The mournful truth, that Julia was not found. Words cannot paint her agoniz'd mother's grief, She sought nor consolation nor relief — . . Her throbbing heart, her started tearless eye, Told a sad tale of hopeless agony ; Maddened with grief, her arms she wildly toss'd. And shriek'd aloud — " Is then my Julia lost ?" XXIV. At intervals, a calm stole o'er her mind, A fearful calm, like that of the hush'd wind — The sure prognostic oft in climates warm. Of the dread earthquake, or terrific storm ; \ THE WILDERNESS. M k; - n'd; o*er, ► more. t — ft; " nd) und. grief, i toss'd, llost ?" nd— During those calms, she spoke of Julia gone, Essay'd to smile, and sigh'd — " God's will be done." But oh ! that smile, 'twas withering to behold, So woe-begone — so sorrowful — so cold — 'Twas vague as that of any new-born child, - ;' And chill'd the heart as if a corpse had smil'd. But time, which steals afflictions from mankind, Assaug'd her poignant grief, and sooth'd her mind; To cheer her soul, a ray divine was giv'n — A holy calm, which led her thoughts to Heav'n— Her hopes were rais*d — above the earth she trod. And plac'd a firm reliance on her God. i . - . '^ .'■ ■ . i'.'i . i ■' ' [.■ . ' li 'J ■ ., . -,. '. . •■. ■ XXV. . . . -, ,, V ,, , . < No longer of parental grief I speak-^ . ! '. . Through the dark wild I must lost Julia seek ; . There *mid its gloom, an incident belei . t . '•' The weeping wanderer, in a lonely dell-^ ■*. .' Long ere they miss*d her, she had hastened thro' A distant swamp, where spruce and hemlock grew, Then hurried on, until the solar rays Departed from *the thick bewildering maze ; The forest songsters all had ceas'd to sing. Had closed their eyes beneath the downy wing — Or flitted silently from tree to tree, Save the lone owl, which shriek'd discordantly. 52 THE LAY OP And added gloom to gloom, in Julia's breast, Who there no solace found, nor place of rest XXVL The night advanc'd ; and now the round full moon Arose, and thro* the trees obliquely »hone, Yet lent no aid ; the «raz'd, bewild^'d child Thought from the west, its rays glanc'd thro' the wild; And farther on her devious route, she took Down a deep glen, w'here brawl'd a noky brook- That dash'd o'er rocks, andfoam'd in whiten'd spray; Along whose rugged edge, she grc^d her way. Till high the moon arose, an*d one faint gleam Fell on the waters of the troubled stream ; Awhile her eye pursued its winding course. Fully assured 'twas hastening to its source ; When weak, fatigued, with bosom sad and drear, A shrill and dismal howl assail'd her ear. XXVII. Paraliz'd Julia stood — a death4ike chili Crept through her beauteous Ibrm-^the hideous yell Was that of some wild beast in search of prey. Or one which from its mate had gone astray : The cracking twigs and rustling leaves now told, That the appalling animal grew bold ; Onw As if Inlen Until WiJy With Tlie She Iv Fear « His hi With Her ti Yet th Who To sta Ueliev Julia, Till o'( Which She dr :c [Night I Ceibre t i THE WILDERNESS. 53 rest 1 moon ild be wild; ok 3T00k— 'd Spray; way, learn •se, » id drear, jeotts yell prey, \yf told, Onward it came, with eager, snuffing breath, ; As if to warn her of immediate death ; Intent on blood it seem'd, and fiercer grew, Until with hair erect, it stalk'd in view ; Wily its tail, with feline motion wav'd, , , With agonizing fears her bosom heav*d ; The wolf took aim, and on her fix'd his t^ye, She knew her fate, and gave a piercing cry ; Fear seiz'd the wolf, and up the glen he tore, His howling ceasM, and he return'd no more. XXVIII. With ovei'flowing gratitude, she kneel'd Her trembling limbs — ^her palsied senses reel'd ; Yet thanks pour'd forth to that protecting Povv'r, Who watch'd in mercy on that trying hour — To stay the hungry wolf, had stretch'd his arm, lleliev'd her fears, and shielded her from harm. Julia, at length, sat down : in sadness wept, Till o*er her wearied frame a torpor crept, Which staid her tears — she could no longer weep, She drop'd her aching head, and fell asleep. XXIX. 1 Night had her veil withdrawn, the day had broke, Before the lost, unhappy girl awoke; e2 u 54 THE LAY OP A heavy mist hung o'er the deep ravine. The birds were twitt'ring 'mong the foliage green. The trees, the flow'rs, and every thing that grew In that lone wild, was wet with morning dew. The hapless Jalia woke, benumb'd with cold, The bed of leaves her lost condition told-— Dejected, pale, with sdfFen'd limbs, she rose From where she'd lain in comfortless repose ; Weakened with sorrow, and the want of food, She walk'd on feebly, through an c^en wood ; The spicy le^f of partridge-berry chew'd, Which partially her failing strength renew'd — She did not weep, yet a convulsive sob Responded to her aching bosom's throb. XXX. All the endearments of her much loVd home Rush'd to her mind, and added to her gloom ; When fancy painted her fond parents* grief, And she alas, could give them no relief^ — She thought of Frederick, motionless sh« stood, Nor pow'r had she to move, till came a flood Of scalding tears, which bath'd her pallid cheek. She even doubted that she could awake — E'er feel such anguish, 'twas a troubled dream. She call'd her parents, calFd her Frederick's name ; TH£ WILDEftVTESS. 55 ire green, bat grew dew. ih cold, I— rose pose; ' food, vood; 'd, snew'd — b But soon the sad reality return'd, She pressed her temples which with fever burn'd ; A brook was nigh, and in its limpid wave She bath'd them o*er and o*er, and ceas'd to rave. XXXI. She pass'd along, where she the day before, Had in her madness traversed o'er and o'er— - She now was calm, yet so bewilder'd still. That when she saw her bonnet, where it fell The previous night, she recogniz'd it not. And sympathized with the unhappy lot Of one, whose fiitc. • ; cm'd similar to her's, And who had rush' 1 *^ wildly through the firs; Nor had she miss'd the bonnet from her head. So griev'd was Julia> o bewildered. XXXII. Forlorn in heart, her garments wet and torn, She heard the winding of a distant horn^-> She gave the trees around a brief survey. And onward urged her speed in great dismay— Asc ib'd the horn to some imagin'd foe. And ran until she could no farther go. Just then she saw an op'ning through the trees, And thither bent her steps by slow degrees ; ''^j'" '' 56 THE LAY OF ;- She fondly hoped that she at last had come Out to a clearing, which was near her home. ■•.:j ..-'■s-' ; •■•■' . ' i ' -. - ii ■■ ■'- :'„- ;• ■ ;; .,/:':■.' .,.. XXXIII. ■..•::]■.. . . ;:.. With tott'ring 5=^f»ps she mov'd, until she view'd A placid lake, embosomed in the wood — Its surface calm, unruffled by a breeze, And mirror-like, reflected drooping trees Which grac'd its edge, a wild romantic scene, Where ne'er the foot of civiliz*tl man had been. xxxiv: Fearless of danger in this still abode. The wild duck on its quiet bosom rode — Or skimm'd its surface — there the sportive drake Turn'd suramifrsets upon the limpid lake ; And there the diving loon, a wary bird, W^ith querulous voice around the beach was heard. There sang the sparrow — th^re the little wren. The full toned paddoc and the meadow-hen ; The robin tuned its pipe, and joined the choir. And snipes with wavy motion throng'd the shore : Their voices, blending, musical and rude, Eacii one exulting in its quietude. . .. j; 'ir Long Her < Yetfi And, i In all Thegi Vnccfa Did n( And sti Whei* I *r>-. THE WILDERNESS. 37 !W ne, been. drake as heard. wren, len; ; choir, e shore : I , i' XXXV. ■ -■ " Long Julia g&z-d, but no relief was there, Her disappomtme?it heighten -d her despair ; Yet further on her fedble limbs $he bore, And, swooning, fell upon, the lonely s^hore. In all her frequent wanderings, she had press'd The gift of Frederick to her aehing breast ; Unconscious of her clasp, a casual look Did not remind her that it was a book — And still she held it firmly m her hand, I Where s^ lay senseless on the liumid sand. XXX VL [Had Frederick known, how dreary, how forlorn [Was Julia's bosom on that hapless morn — iHis love of fame had vanished into air, [And all his joys had turn'd to black despair ; 5ut he, in happy ignorance of her fate, 'ursued his course with sanguine hopes elate — ind gain*d the seat of war, where all was gay, Lnd battle scenes the topic of the day; !'he merits of each leader were discuss'd, dl loudly talked because they thought they must. XXXVII. Jo medium in opinion was observ'd, Some were applauded more than they deserv'd — y 58 THE LAY OF While others were condemned for trifling cause, But each took care to give himself applause ; One letter of the Alphabet went round, The hero of each tale with wonders crown*d — *Twas / — /gave the word — /gave the blow — / fearless stood— 'twas / pursued the foe : ^ Till Fred'ric»^ f lead grew dizzy with the ncise, He thought of home, and sigh'd for peaceful joys. I XXXVIII. At first was Frederick muchdiagrin'd to find. That he true happiness had left behind ; But soon the homesick youth forgot to sigh, And pleasure once more splarked in his eye — The pomp of war, which he now daily view'd, Created valour, and his zeal renew'd ; The admonitions which his father gave, Kept vice aloof, and made him truly brave — '■ Promotion followed, and his dreams of fame Were realized, and blended with his name. *Tis sweet to carol when the mind 's at ease, *Tis sweet to meet a friend we dearest love — But is it sweet, when we most wish to please. To find our kind endeavours fruitless prove ? _.,• -.^,. THE WILDEHNESH. 59 cause) 56 ; ., I had a something that I winh'd to say, But I no longer have a heart to speak, A turn of thought has ta'on tho wish nway, I languid feel, and calm repose will seek. [Well here I am again, witli mind compos'd, And much inclined to sing, could I but find ceiu J y 'IgQUje cheering subject— for I feel disposed To cast dull thought, and duller care behind. wn'd — dIow — • . - ■ 3 ncise, to^find, sigh, eye- view' d J Fair Julia, where art thou ?— hnvo I ibrgot That thou wert lying on a lonely sliore > Jo — still I sympathize thy hapless lot, Though frowning fate hm good lor icc in store. rave^- fame name. ease, jst love — please, is prove ? 4^ / :i I^A ixt 'rm. THE TiA¥ OF THE WILDERPIfESS. THIRD CANTO. . ■ . . ;jfc'iafi(^."c i JrJfii. A ^; . ^ \\ ^■'* *»-'i,!-i :-'-tj. An he FuIJ o To be Watch And s She wd Otiiiin, Hadth Provisi( Or hun Here to And gai And no A wood ■a^v^^ \ 1*[K"lf»U"P*?r>» ■•'■". ;V THE LAY OF THE 1¥ILDER]¥E!^S. -»•#•< THIRD CANTO. I. An hour had pass'd, the morning sun now beam'd Full on her face, and her existence seem'd To be no more — but kindly Providence Watch'd o'er the life of helpless innocence — And sent her timely succour — but for this, She would have perished in the v^ilderness. II. Otwifif an Indian, and his aged squaw. Had three days previous, left their camp to draw Provision from the wild-fowl of the lake, Or hunt the musquash 'mid the curling brake ; Here to supply their wants, they oft had been, And gained abundance from this sylvan scene — And now again, they nimbly carried through i A woody portage, their light bark canoe — ' A. /.»(»,..: 64 THE LAY OF From our majestic river, the Saint John, Long ere the sun upon its waters shone ; Their temporary wigwam they forsook, A iire it merely was, beside a brook. III. Unmindful of a camp, the Indians roam. They light their evening's 6re, and feel at home ; With sweet contentment, they seem truly blest, Careless of shelter, they retire to rest — And though we look upon them with an eye Of pity, or contempt, or courtesy ; Alike to them our frowns, or friendly smile. They care for neither, and despise our toil — Accustom'd from their infancy, to move From place to place, they early learn to love To stroll at will — free as the winds of heav'n. And no inducement ever can be giv'n To make them change their kettle, light fusee^, Their bark canoe, their modes of living free — For all the luxuries of wealth or art. Or all the joys refinement can impart. Ant Wh In I Nor Tilli Scatt Th'a O^eri Circle Rang The si Thatp The s Skimm IV. Eager to gain a bountiful repast. These sought the lake ere they had broke their fast- THE WILDERNESS. 65 home; blest, eye t % lile, >U— )ve iv'n, And with keen eager eyes the lake survey'd, Where the clamorous ducks in numbers play'd, In blissful ignorance of approaching woe, Nor apprehensive of a murderous foe — Till the loud thunder of the gun's report, ' Scattered the busy flock, and checked their sport. Th' affrighted ducks rose up with hurried maze, O'er the dense cloud of smoke with wonder gaz'd ; Circled about, while yet around the roar Kang through the trees, which done, they cared no more. The simple birds, fear'd not the baleful lead That pierced the hearts of their companions dead — The sound was all, — which hush'd, they sought the cove — Skimm'd on the wave, again quack'd o'er their love. V. fusee^, I The skilful Indians with unerring aim, free — | Supplied their wants, with spring's delicious game — Then to prepare their meal, their sport gave o'er, To build a fire beside the reedy shore ; Yet busily engaged, 'twas long ere they Their feast gave o'er, or from it turn'd away — At length by seeming chance, old Agnes spied eir fast — ■ iThe form of Julia, near the water side. •J G6 '^'\{" " : '• J» " THE LAY OF VI. Struck with amazement, they approach'd the place, And gazed upon her pale yet beauteous face — Nor long they gazed, with quick discernment they Perceived that life was ebbing fast away — They gently raised her from the chilly ground, A warm and strength'ning root then quickly found — Obtained its juice, which in her mouth they pourM> And soon to life the hapless girl restored ; With kind caresses, they then asked her name. Who were her parents, and from whence she came ? Too much exhausted, she made no reply, Her w*ords died on her lips — a bursting sigh Evinced her weakness, and her agony. VII. Her youth, her beauty, they beheld with eyes Of pity, admiration, and surprise — - No friend was ihere to save, she seem'd alone, And they now plann'd to take her as their own. With hasty strides, her feeble frame they bore O'er the short portage to the river shore — [speed, Then launched their bark, and with the lightening'^ EscapM exposure of their treach'rous deed. T' evade pursuit, their failing strength renewed, Pushed on thro' rapids, and the voyage pursued ; inc Til] The WJi Whj The Ther A sen Forev Uncu] Theb Soone With Their To he And They t To cla ui She qui! I'Twas b Enrag'd Unwisel '■'^'""■W "^■■■■''-^5 THE WILDERNESS. 67 B place, le — It they ound, found — r pour'd? name, lie came ? h igh eyes ilone, ir own. bore — [speed, litening'^ eed. enewed, ursued ; incessantly they toil'd t' effect their scheme. Till they had reached the Tobique*s limpid stream — There then they rested, there they sought repose, Where on its banks an Indian village rose — Which long had been their favorite resort, The stream abounding with their summer's sport. VIII. There Julia's strength return'd, and with it came A sense of degradation — was her name Forever lost, or blended with the rude. Uncultivated, savage multitude ? The bare idea, pierc'd her heart with dread. Sooner would she be number'd with the dead ; With indignation undisguised, she spurn'd Their mode of life, and begg'd to be return'd To her dear home, her parents* fond regard, And urg*d the certainty of their reward. They to her warm entreaties gave no heed, To claim the lovely girl was ample meed. IX. I She quickly read their cool evasive glance, 'Twas by design she saw, and not by chance; Enrag'd to find persuasive language vain, Unwisely told them, she would yet regain ■J) i '"i, < ■ •*-. 68 THE LAY OF Her own lov'd home, without then- treacherous aid, Or ev*ii their knowledge — this was rashly said. Those threats awak'ned all their savage art, Otwin resolved with Julia ne'er to part — Now took immediate counsel of his friends, To make concealment sure, and gain his ends. «Tc "To <«Th ''To X. Then to a camp, in haste, they all withdrew, And various were the plans they had in view ; Yet were they mute, till Pierre the silence broke, Aged was Pierre, 'twas he alone that spoke — ; And thus he said — '• Otwin, secure thy prize, " Her form is faultless, radiant are her eyes — " Complete the scheme, thou hast so well begun, " And make her worthy of thine only son. " Begone this instant, take the threatening girl " Up far beyond the Tobique's eddying whirl- XL '• Where the dark Wabskahagen waters glide, " That red, discolored stream, with rapid tide — " Which joins the 1 obique, with a steady pour, " Mingles its waters, and is seen no more. *' There build thy wigwam 'mid the dark red pine, " Cherish the maiden, round her heart entwine ; Pierre To the Their ] He waj 'Twere Or fron jWeJlph jAnd left [Then up JThe sad, [Which 1 J'^nd stroi ^0 motiv Uthoughj pome dee ler furth .it*'.v.".L-.-i.-:.„^.^^. THE WILDERNESS. 69 aid, 1. " Teach her our arts, and our superior skill " To work a basket, or wild game to kill. . <* There gain her love, and all her studies guide ** To that grand aim, to be an Indian's bride." nds. w; broke, ce — ize, yes- begun, girl hirl— hide, Itide — pour, red pine, Itwine ; xir. Pierre ceas*d, and each gave an assenting nod. To them was Pierre, an oracle, a god — Their brave forefathers he could well describe. He was the eldest chief of all their tribe ; 'Twere deemed unwise, his precepts to disdain, Or from his sage examples to retrain. XIII. Well pleased was Otwin, with old Pierre's advice, And left the Tobique village in a triee — Then up the Wabskahagen stream, he took iThe sad, heart-broken Julia and her book — [Which Agnes kindly said she should retain, [And strove to cheer her — ^yet her words were vain. Id motive was assigned why they withdrew, Llthough, 'twas evident they had in view ^ Some deep design, for which they had removed //- ler further still, from those she dearest loved. i' s*:- ^\' 70 THE LAY OF XIV. t -I Convinced of this, her agony of mind Now knew no bounds, nor no relief could find ; Until old Agnes artfully expressed. That she herself was equally distressed — And would but Julia cea.^e to give her pain, She should the sooner se«^ her friends again. This soothed poor Julia, tho' she scarce believed, The wily squaw, and still in secret grieved — In secret sighed for her parental roof, And from the Indians kept herself aloof. The I Walk To ran A som< I And of lit breat rouncf XV. Yet in their costume was she now arrayed, Of scarlet cloth and ribbon was it made — Her leggins, bound with silk, and beaded o'er- Her breast adorned with brooches near a score ; The beaded moccasin adorned her feet, Her cap of scarlet, richly trimm'd and neat — The fur pitsnoggin at her side was hung. Its silken tassels with gay beads were strung. A band of wampum round her waist she wore, A silver crucifix, which they adore — Was from the neck, suspended by a string Of the grey wampum, they delighted in. THE WILDERNESS. find; ►ain, in. )elieved, ed— The beauteous girl, in this becoming dress, Walk'd forth unseen, amid the wilderness. ':i^i^ n led, led o'er— la score ; ieat — > '■■"■ |;rung. le wore, |ng XVI. - To ramble through the woods she still was fond, A something told her she should not despond — jAnd oft a small, still voice, stole thro* her mind. It breathed of hope, that blessing to mankind; Young hope is ever sweet, like that of heaven. To cheer us on through life 'twas surely given — [And Julia still had hope, for hope is strong, Particularly so when we are young ; [lope then is so persuasive, on we drive, ind fondly think all things with us will thrive. |Twas so with her, and others I could name — [^lope was — is now — will ever be the same ; ]ome then sweet hope, and aid me while I write, lor like an ignis Jiutuus cheat my sight — . lor urge me on, if all my toil is vain, )e true this once, and I'll no more complain ; |f after this entreaty, I should meet thee, fair smiling hope, a faithless cheat — 'would break my heart — for I still cling to thee, [hough thou hast ever disappointed me. * .=i: ,.«.. _jj__ ^y <■ T?. THE LAY OP XVIL ,'^f4^ Intent on her escape was Julia still, * • Though Agnes often said she would fulfil The promise she had made — yet weeks pass*d by, And still was Julia in captivity; She ev'n was ignorant; why she was detained Where solitude in awful grandeur rcign'd- — Where the red pine, as far as eye could see, Towtr'd to the clouds, with godlike majesty ; The de: p, dark grove, that near the wigwam rose, Gave the wild .^^ :cii«^ an air of deep repose. XVIII. In Inilian style, their wigwam was arranged— Green boughs composed the couch on which tliey| loung'd ; The glossy cedar carpeted the earth, And formed a circle ronnd the wigwam's hearth. Far from the camp would Julia oft repair, To be al jnc, and breathe the forest air — Her mem'ry there, would long and fondly dwell On that sad morn, when Frederick sigh*d farewell Yet did her aspect wear a deeper gloom, When fancy painted her once happy home— The keen affliction, which her loss would bring On her kind parents, kept her sorrowing. Old . And I He. til To sp( Yet Fi A love For bi^ One br( Beneatl For eve Was he The rus That ha To drive Herof^ For in tl Some sei While A Her love i' f* i. THX WILDSAMI8I. XIX. is'd by, d"~- see, r'd— irhich they I hearth. iir. ly dwell farewell;! me- ld bring Old Agnes oft the pensive Julia eyed, And long'd to show her lOHf his destined bride. He tlien was absent on a hunting match- To spear the salmon, or the moose to catch ; " Aud la bis ribsence, they the lake had sought, Yet Francis knew not, dreamt not, they had bro*t A lovely stranger to that distont wild. For bijii, their dearest, best, their only child. XX. One breezy morn, when Julio fcor*d to rove Beneath the waving branches of the grove. For ever and anon a crashing sound Was heard amid the wilderness around : The rush to earth, of tall, gigantic trees. That had for ages proudly stood the breeze. XXI. To drive away, or kill harassing thought. Her of^ perus'd volume, Julia caught, For in the poem she could daily find Some sentiment congenial to her mind ; While Agnes oiu in secret, joy*d to see Her lovely captive rend composedly ; 4 '■■i — fc .^ »-<. Mm^,. n > THE LAY 07 I Yet for her son, her boffom hourly ycam*d Till Otwin signed, that Francis had returned. Julia was seated on a cedar bought Upon her book intent^ with thoughtful brow- When he with noiseless stepi and bow unbent With Indian quicknessi dorted in the tent. His mother, read, widi half averted eyes, Her darling son*s agreeable lurprlse, With closely folded arnii apart he stood. As if in sullen, contemplative mood — With jealous care, suppresi'd a rioing sigh, And fix d on Julia's face \m subtle eye. ■■ XXIL ' " " ' But oh that look, 'twere diflTicult to pourtray. Indifference, thou art mine, it seem'd to say — i But in its seeming apathy, one might trace The wily art, peculiar to his race. His form vas stately, and his haughty mfcn Bore the proud impress of the neighboring scene : The vast gigantic pine, the rolling tide, Seem*d to pay tribute to bis lofty pride ; The stream, the lake, tlie wood, to him were free, He claimed their $i>ml with fearless liberty. The plodding white man's labour he disdain'd. And valued not the comforts thus obtoin'd ; 1 f. " THE WILDERNESS. 76 d. ent •ay, say— e 1 scene : ere free, ain'J, Looked down on each, with proud exulting smiles, He was the Indian in his native wilds. . ^ xxiii. •■7 -r-f-*^ ^ # . i f > « His mother viewed him with maternal pride, Her present wants, his hunt had well supplied — So well perfected seem*d her plan — so ripe, ^ " She sat with careless ease, and smoked her pipe. By mere appearances are cares relieved, And we most happy seem when most deceived— Whatever is deem'd improbable, we love, And grasp impossibilities to prove That our anticipations are not vain, It majf be possible — we mat/ attain The pinnacle of bliss or fame, with ease. Thus do we argue, thus our cares appease. XXIV. Reason may urge the weakness of our scheme, Deaf to her voice, we still pursue the theme — Ambitious views our reason oft benumbs, Till disappointment with a vengeance comes. When truth comes forth, the fallacy of hope Is then self-evident — our spirits droop — Reason then triumphs — then is her voice obey*d, And all the wheels of bliss run retrograde. 'A\ ■^ 70 THE LAY OF But I digress, when 'tis of no avail. Digressions only interrupt a tale ; Well then my narrative I will pursue, And tell the hope young Frani is had in view. i. j; »n ,;:•::./ : XXV. - , Of Pierre's siiggf>stion, he was made aware, Assur'd of his success, yet was his air Reserved in the extreme, and scarce a word Fell from his lips, that Julia ever heard ; His eyes alone, expressed whatever he thought. They to her mind a strong conviction brought That she was loved, though o'er his haughty sou!, Twould seem, that gentle love had no control ; His watchful eye oft turned towards the grove Where she, to shun his gaze, would often rove — Yet Francis scorned to follow, or intrude Himself, where Julia wished for solitude. Sometimes indeed, as if by mere mistake. He took the route, which he had seen her take^- But turned his head away, and seem'd to view Some distant object, or some bird that flew — When he approach'd the spot where Julia stood. Beside the gurgling stream, or near the wood — Yet he a haughty silence still maintained, For ought of freedom his proud heart disdained. Vf. ght, lught ty soul, trol; ve rove — ce — w ood, )d— ned. THE WILDERNESS. XXVL 7T On rainy days, or when the earth was damp, Julia would seek amusement in the camp— ' ' Assisted Agnes, or would sit to sew. These were the happiest hours that Francis knew. It seemed mere chance that he sat by her side, Yet uiere he oft would lounge with careless pride — There formed his implements with curious art, Fully assured his skill would gain her heart. XXVII. When winter came, and all without was drear. He grew more social, and essay'd to cheer The hapless girl, with legends of his race, x Their chiefcains' victories, their foes* disgrace — Their freeborn rights, unknowing ought of bounds, Save round hereditary hunting grounds — That she might form a higher estimate Of Indian life, and cease to mourn her fate ; He taught her all theii useful artft and modes, So well adapted to their wild abodes. xxvm. He taught her too the language of his tribe. Yet to affection, he would ne'er ascribe v2 78 THE LAY 07 te. His perseverance, and would smiling say 'Twas merely done, to wile his hours away, For Julia, he a pair of snow-shoes made. On which she through the forest often stray*d — There, where the giant trunk of some old tree Gave shelter from the blast, would Julia be. Tho* nought was there to please, except she heard A disrtant chirping of the teekel bird ; Yet thither she would stroll, there meditate, And pore upon the strangeness of her fate. XXIX. These were her leisure hours, tho' few they were. For neat was Julia, as herself was fair — Nor followed the examples of the squaw, Whose careless habits she too often saw. Yet would old Agnes, when her toil was o*er. Renew the boughs upon the earthen floor — Arrange the wigwam orderly and neat, Though she had neither table, nor a seat Whereon to sit, and boughs alone composed Her sofa, and the bed, where she reposed ; On these young Julia, rested through the night. On these she sat to sew, or read> or write. - ■•■... ^. - -■; ...,.-. ..... ....„., ..-^--^ : : For sh That s She to And m Prepar Or qui With a The wl For she No lonj Her pe From a But gre With tl She wr( Her bo( Till evei Each bh Three y( The Ind jB jl**.^* THE WILDERNESS. 79 tree k e heard were. er. s'd XXX. For she did write, though strange it may appear That she could get pen, ink, and paper there — She took a feather from a wild-fowl's wing, And made a pen — her ink was coloring Prepared to give their basket stuff a hue. Or quills of porcupine, while they were new. With apparatus she was thus supplied, The which, by Francis, jealously was eyed ; For she no longer look'd to him for news, No longer could his anecdotes amuse ; Her pen, her book, oft drew her mind away From all that Francis now could do or sjiy. XXXI. ^ But great relief these gave her aching heart, With these her sorrows were beguil'd in part. She wrote upon the margin of each leaf. Her book contained, her mode of life, her grief; Till every margin there was scribbled o'er. Each blank fiird up, and she could write no more. < light, xxxn. Three years had glided off — one Autumn came, The Indians had prepared for winter's game — u 80 THE LAY OF Had left the Tobique village, to reside Near the dark Wabskahagen's water side j Their range of wigwams rose among the trees. And looked the seat of competence and ease — The young pappooses, wild and void of care, Were shooting arrows in the ambient air — Or at a mark with emulative strife, Which gave the wild, an air of busy life. XXXIII. Poor Julia view'd them with unfeign'd delight, For they now seem'd young cherubs in her sight ; So long immured, so lonely had she been. That ev'n their wild shouts now cheered the scene. Perchance I may, thought she, among this crowd, Find one with faith and honesty endowed — On whom I can with confidence depend, Or who for some rev^ard would be my friend. XXXIV. But ere the Autumn passed, one sunny day A Frenchman to that village found his wav ; From Montreal he came, with sundry goods, And had the Indians traced to these dark woods ; His box was open'd, and lis goods surveyed. Feathers, beads, and wampum he displayed. Theli Of sea TheFi And fo They 1( Where On loolU A publi Soon on Julia ht Far to a Yielded i There sli And reac Of civil Balls, th( Of fortun Of blissfi She weep Hie bus^ • While she Had joyle ,» r l « l l i> lr il.t.. THE WILDERNESS. 81 ees. ire, light, r sight ; h e scene. crowd, ;nd. y ly ; )ds, iwoods ; fc'ed, Id. The Indians were enraptured with the sight Of scarlet cloth, and crucifixes bright — The Frenchman's tawdry prints too, gained applause, And found a ready sale among the squaws — They look'd around for Julia, — who had gone Where she might read, and weep, and rave alone. XXXV. On looking o'er the goods, her eyes had met A publication — 'twas an Old Gazette. Soon on the earth it carelessly was thrown, Julia had caught it up, and then had flown Far to a bank, where balm of Gilead trees Yielded their sweet perfume, to Autumn's breeze — There she sat down beneath the kindly shade, And read, while o'er her head the foliage play'd. Of civil life, the business of the day, Balls, theatres, and shallops cast away — Of fortunate escapes, and haply too, Of blissful moments, such as she once knew. She weeping, sobb'd aloud, for she now found Fhe busy world had gone its daily round ; While she unknown, unthought of 'mong the crowd, Had joyless been-:— again she sobb'd aloud. !# THE LAY OF XXXVI. ■0 ■ ■ Then next with tearful eyes, did she peruse The columns fill'd with war's afflictive news — Long had America been the seat of war. Her battles, her retreats were known afar. The agitated Julia sought to find The regiment named, which Fred'rick had join*d ; 'Twas there — and quick on Frederick's name she gazed. She saw his brave, his gallant conduct praised ; Then in another column were detail'd, The Balls and Suppers which had him regal'd. Together with his corps — and he 'twas said A conquest o'er the ladies' hearts had made. XXXVIL Oh God ! she cried, had Fred'rick known my fate, Would he with smiles have grac'd the festive scene ? Knowing that Julia's heart was desolate. Would he among the joyous crowd have been ? Where was I then. Oh Frederick ? — was I g«»y Amid the gloomy pines, where human voice Was seldom heard— v^here ne'er a cheering ray Bid my sad, heavy, tortur'd heart rejoice? And sti Who No tenc They While 1 Forgt Absence And Some fa Or wi With sw Till h Men seej Infatii Truth ir A virti Wliere i And f Will e'ei That t *' /. oh, f. That J THE WILI>£^N£6S. 83 r. I join*d ; lame she raised ; gal'd, id de. my fate, le festive [e been ? 1 voice ig ray te? And still surrounded by a savage race, Who watch my sorrows with a jealous eye — No tender sympathy in them I trace, They hold me captive by their subtlety. While he perchance, ere this, with fame elate, Forgets the hour we met beside the lea — Absence, he said, would ne*er his love abate, And asked for mutual vows of constancy. XXXVIII. Some fairer maiden may attract his eye, Or with bewitching wiles his heart ensnare- With sweet assurance offer up a sigh, Till he of her fond love is well aware. Men seem to idolize a female's art. Infatuation stronger is than love--^ Truth in a female seldom gains a heart, y A virtuous love the base will e'en reproye. .i i ■> XXXIX. Where virtue is, reserve will ever dwell. And faithful hearts in secret will repine, Will e'en deny to those they love too well. That they can love, and mutual love decline. ** *. oh, could Fred'rick my sad fortune learn, That 1 was haunted by , an Indian's kve — « I »v 84 THE LAY OP All arts, all blandishments, his soul would spurns- Would leave them all to wrest me from tlie groTc. XL. Now Francis had near Julia softly crept, Had seen with high displeasure that she wept-— Had heard her sighs, had heard her piteous moan, Did Julia leave him thus to weep alone ? His Imughty breast with deep resentment burned, Witb< rage suppressed, her constancy had leam*d — That notwithstanding his superior art, Another kept possession of her heart. XLI. When she arose, he cautiously withdrew With noiseless steps, he to his father flew ; With energetic gestures, there expressed The jealous pride, that warr'd within his breast — " That Julia loves," he said, " her weeping proves, "But is it Otwin's god-like son she loves? " No, her affections on some youth are placed, " And my acknowledged skill, has not effaced ** The first attachment from the maiden's mind, " She must be obstinate or more than blind ; " Yet is she, Otwin, at your sole command, ** And I now claim the promise of her hant^ "Ifsh "She I "Now "Whe " Then " Shall Francis, In this t But recc That ma Unknow These ar Let all tl That vol Is what Sooner \ Then sm* And soon That her That she So soon a Shall be { ■;' " T>^--'-i .;««r*^^-c.-^T,-r'-:*^-^="'^frf"y.'{|^ '-^'■••fit^l^^' THE WILDERNESS. » spurn— e groTe. ept— 9 moan, aurn*d, jam'd — reast — troves, ' • aced, ed nind> d; " If she should hesitate to be my bride, <.j.i,V^«(«:vtWi.fAi IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) i /. m fA 1.0 I.I 1.25 lis 12.8 1^ 1^ Its 110 1.4 11 1.6 Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) S72-4503 ^t^-'^ ^ . -c-?": 'v Peace Her in The fai In Briti The olc Sought Here tc Withtl Were I Here d] To thecj Whoku '>t-^ ., li£*-r*— L ' t *t>\^ ^ ■ . JSv* • >- V I .1 THE LAY OF THE FOURTH CANTO. M - L . FfiACE with America was now proclaim^, Her independence Wasliington had guinM — The faithful Loyalists^ of all berefl» In British transports fast her shores had leit ; . The old, the young, the greater, and the less, Sought here a home, amid thy wilderness. Here too, the British troops, who long had fought With the Americans, were promptly brought — Were here disbanded, officers and men, Here drew their land, on mountaioi hill, and glen. w ' ' • . - t f ■ f > n. . To thee, New-Brunswick, many thousands came, Who knew not Julia's fate^ nor e*QU her name ; X 94 THE LAY OF But Other cares they had — ^for who is free — They had to build log houses, fall the tree, [bouse, Which lean'd, perchance, too near their humble Or that their lean, impoverish'd cow might brouse* Severe their toil, by poverty assaiPd, Frosts then were frequent, and their harvei ts failed, Through all the Province then, was scarce a road ; The Loyalist beneath a weary load, Slowly pursu'd a narrow, winding way That led thro* forest, where the god of day Was just admitted thro' the matted leaves, And lit the path that wound among the trees* ' • ■ ■ • - ■, ■ ';'v "'-■'•: ^, .:; ;. ,: ■. ■ III. His march was oft impeded by a slough. Or by a creek, or where a drooping bough Hung o'er the shaded track, he sought to trace. And lash'd with painful stripes his care«wom ft ^ Swarms of musquitoes ready for attack, Whose torturing bite was equal to the rack, Buzz'd in his ears, and joyous seemed to sing. While choosing where, to fix the poisonous sting ; In vain his efforts to increase his pace, For gnats in millions fastened on his face, £ach step ^augmented the vexatious train, \ Till tortar'd e*en to madness with the pain, Heth And c Perchj WouI( And w Retrac And th( Whose The gicl Ere gra For loss And for Th« cha By swea The offic No soldic With cap And all tl Such timi Now scati No martis To urge t ,\.klL:-*(A',._'--.--'.""ri.-^'4"L't. ,8* ■%■■».. ■■!( *.-.... .1 ».,■ ;i«*,::t;...v...«M-jAj.:...jii'^i THB WILDERNESS. m louse, ixnble rouse* failM» oad; >• ice. ft . •ting; He threw his burden down, aod groan'd aloud, And curs'd with savage rage the hungry crowd-— Perchance the modicum, he thus obtain'd Would ill supply the family he maintain'd ; And when this pittance fail'd, he with a sigh, Retrac'd his steps to seek a fresh supply. IV. And those accustom'd to a life of ease, Whose only study had been how to please The giddy world — now met a sad reverse, Ere grateful England could them reimburse, For losses they'd sustain'd by land and sea, " And for their warm, devoted loyalty — The change was most severe, yet they essay'd By sweat of brow to earn their daily bread. ' V. • The officers encounter'd ev'ry ill — No soldiers now subservient to their will, With cap in hand, their trifling orders wait, And all their, seeming wants anticipate. I Such times were o'er with officers and men. Now scattered far and wide o'er hill and glen ; No martial strains they heard, nor bugle blast, To urge them on, or cheer their plain repast ; 9e THE LAY OF Nor fulUton'd bandy with soft bewitching airsy That thrills the souly and breathes away our cares-- Subdues the sterner passions^ soothes the mind*- Music, enchanting art i in thee we find, ti' ^ Our sweetest solace, 'tis alone in this ^ We e'er on earth experience ought of bliss. VI. The scene was changed, with those of whom I speak, A scanty pittance they had e'en to seek— - No quick promotions in these wilds were known, Preferment here had ceas'd— -'twas toil alone The long, unbroken forest held to view ; 'Twas dreary, twas commencing life anon— Yet while Great-Britain, with maternal pride, Allowed them rations, and their wants supplied, They felt at ease, nor dreamM of coming woe. Nor of hard toil which they must undergo- But when their rations ceas'd, then came the cry Of sorrow and vexatious poverty. ■» *, VII. Their half-pay scarce subdu'd all*conqu'ring wont, Nor frbm their threshold bid dull care avaunt ; It was by labour they alone obtain*d - '1 A competence— 'twas seldom this they gain'd. Some c See yoi Impei'v 'Twasi Wasth Was sk And us( Could h Were tl Or yond Or the I Objects Ignorani That su< " What That ho] But he, 1 A cabin ; Of archit Was the ' But see ! Still hold THE WILDERNESS* 9T Some discontented grew, and left their land- See yonder field, where cherry bushes stand, Impei^vious to the eye, an infant wild— 'Twas there an half-pay officer once toil'd. : ? i' 11 i i - VIII. i:. Was that a proper place for one whose mind Was skiird in arts, with sciences refin'd ? And used to all the luxuries of life. Could he there feel an emulative strife ? Were the dark waters of yon miry cove, Or yonder dank, entangled hemlock grove— ; Or the bold cliffs of yonder rugged isle, j ; /.' Objects which could from care his mind beguile ; Ignorant he was when he his land first drew, , /^ That such a waste would meet his anxious view ; " What devil was *t?" that urged him on to draw That horrid place — a worse I never saw. ? '*!? IX. But he, by dire necessity compelPd, . A cabin reared, in which he lonely dwcird— Of architecture rare, and seldom seen, . , Was the rude buildins of this man I ween. But see ! the chimney of his fallen hut, -' > Still holds its own, and keeps its balance yet ; H 98 THE LAY OV A monument, o'er which might Comus pray, Or shake his sides, with laughter thro' the day, The rude fireside of that queer-modeird pile, His only solace was, when freed from toil. 'Twas wasting life, to drudge from mom till night, On soil, that ill his labour would requite — See, With grey rock 'tis nearly overspread ; He left it ; do we woodeir that he fled ? ~^.w ■ X. While those, to whom more lenient were the Fatefe, Still held their wild, yet promising estates — Where patient industry once more restored • A plenteousness, to cheer their social board* Woodstock, thy rising fame, thy farms imply Thy great advancement in prosperity, Acquired alone by unremitting toil, ' • ' ' : fV ' Thy trees were felPd, and cultur'd was thy soil By those of whom I have already said, Disdain'd nor toil, nor pain, to earn their bread ; And now, in good old age, their hopes are crown*d With everv comfort from their fields around. > * •I Yet they delight to count past suff 'rings o'er. Each one has some droll ailecdote in store, <^y '■ Some well-remember'd mortifying scene, '■^ - And laughing, tells how poor he once has been. ' THE WXLDEEME8S. 99 day, le, , 11 night, le Fatelb, ird* nply ly soil bread ; crown*d 'er. JCI. ■*;! '" -fJV Though great and Tnanifold their hardships were, Yet had theur soldiers still a greater share ; Oftimes starvation stared them in the face, '^ And step by step, pale want with them kept pace. Till were their children able to assist, Were these poor settlers more or less distressed. But when their sons to hardy manhood grew, Their prospects brighten'd, and they noia can view Their fields of grain, their pastures and green meads. Producing all the stardy farmer needs. I> '.-'A jTi' (i 'i\', \ i 1 -.,. ■"'' iv .!■* :^;«iti. :iXA^ d • i;i i '. - .)'. r"-'j> J XII. i .'J r*» - , J- 4 ' 1 - )een. While those unblest with children or a wife, ,»f Led, in its fullest sense, a hermit's life ; / / Their, humble shed, perchance in lonely glen. Or on a hill ; but for a specimen, - I will of one I oft have seen, relate ;. >^ His mode of life, who murmured not at fate-^ .: Unknowing of seclusion Donald seem'd. His soul was wi:app'd in selfishness, he deem'd That nought in life was worthy of a sigh. Save what anno/d himself^ exclusively m^ f, A. .._.j-;j, . , i:;A. A_,,„„ X 100 .. 4^' THE LAY OP XIII. '1.4, 'Twas well that Donald never had a wife. For oil with angry passions he was rife : For merest trifle, battle dire ensued, Whene'er he chose to feel in savage mood ; A change of faces, he but seldom knew. From social haunts of men, in scorn withdrew : His cow, his pig, his cat, his hut, his spring. All claim'd his care, all own'd his fostering. A wooden tray, in which he made his bread, PillowM, at night, its owner's heavy head ; Most laughable it was, to see him bake, Or rather singe, his tough, unleaven'd cake ; On errand sent, I oft have found his hut. And household cares devolved Upon his cat — Her master gone, and puss, in sleek attire. Half clos'd her eyes, and purr'd before the fire. ?*;..#,..■,< XIV. w^ -h'';'^'. » Though far from martial scenes he liv'd retired. The soldier's uniform he still atimired; ';<,:; A scarlet waistcoat, worn with special care. Gave Donald a smart, military air — Particularly on n Snbbath morn, :,: :; ^ r - Would Donald, with this vest himself adorn : ---•-^...i.-^ THE WILDERNESS. 101 . '.■!> 4. ew: nre. red. Though none should view his dress, except his cat, On went the waistcoat, and a black cravat, • t His jacket button'd back to add a grace, « •:/ l Well shav'd, too, was his ruddy, shining face. : t K* XV. Stern was his aspect, and his flashing eye • ^ Bespoke the inward man's severity — Suspicious of each look,, or playful smile. His quivering lip evincing vengeful guile ; [peace, He watdi'd each movement, nor would seem at Till ought in us like sprightliness would cease^- For deaf to common tones, the loudest call Alone subserved to make him hear at all; And thus he deemed himself the sport of those Who talked apart, and looked on them as foes. ' Yet speak him fair, and mention but the time.. * When he was in the years of manhood's prime — An instantaneous change would then take place, A grateful smile would fast illume his fece— ^ And tales of blood and carnage, conflicts dire, The dying groans of diose he'd seen expire-^ r ) The steady aim, that he so oft made tell, ^ u. . i Were chosen themes on which he joyed to dwell ; And looked for our applause, while we with pain Beheld the man who had so many slain. h2 %■ 102 ..<■ THE LAY OF ■^mt XVI. ::. , ■ Yet he a vague idea cherished still, ' ' ' That God will punish those who here do ill—- And deemed it sinful ever to neglect, • Or treat his holy day with disrespect. Yet such seclusion did this hermit seek. He sometimes erred in reckoning up the w«ek. I well remember one bright morn in May, He came in spirits more than usual gay — And brighter glowed the scarlet of his vest, "Which told that he was in his very best ; ; \ 'Twas on a Friday, and we asked him, why He had arrayed himself so tastefully Upon a day when all were busy round, In clearing land or ploughing tillage ground ? '' Ye ken 'tis Sunday, and Til nae the morn ** Be sowin' rye, or wheat, or planting com,'* He answered, " 'tis the Sabbath of the Lord, " And I'll nae work, though ill I can afford "To lose the day." — We then explained witli ; care, . , . , In gentle words, and with the gravest air, » ' His error — he confounded stood awhile, And gazed upon us with a vacant smile ; On no occasion did he e'er betray . . . \ , So deep a sense of going ought astray. .^ ^ if> € 'M THE WILDERNESS. 103 I— ek. id? n •n 71 HD, d witli Strict in the habits of his early youth. He utteved nought but downright honest truth- He loved his native hills, and Scotland's name On his lone heart still held the dearest claim — Still o'er his mind maintained an influence strong, For Scotia's sons, with him, could ne'er do wrong. ..' ," XVII., I see him now, methinks, his brow of care. Pacing before his hut, with martial air — Or on a hill hard by, where oft he stood. To guard his fields, that none should there intrude ; Yet when /le gave permission, one might bound O'erhisrude fence, and through his meadow ground ; Was even welcomed then to gather free The juicy bramble or the strawberry. XVIII. How oft in childhood have I waded through His smiUng mead, where orange lilies grew ; High o'er the grass they waved with modest grace, Their drooping heads with variegated face. 'Twas there the sweet boblinkin lingered long. To cheer his brooding partner with a song — Perched on some waving bush, he tuned his lay. And carroUed sweetly through the livelong day ; 104 THE LAY OF And other songsters cheerily would sing High on the boughs that shaded Donald's spring. This rural spot is dear in mem'ry still — The mead, the spring, and gently rising hill : When called to my remembrance, they retain Their beauty, and I seem a child again, rr Before the evening closed, would Donald roam Beside the wood, to call his Darry home. The gentle cow obeyed her keeper's call, -. . Would leave the forest, herds of cattle all — To seek her master, with a plaintive low. Where he stood waiting on a sloping brow ; '■^■ Methinks I hear e'en now, 'mid twilight gloom. Old Donald's well-known call, " Come, Darry, ..I come. » \iV<<: 4*-'jti-.*-4.i,-.,* XIX. On scenes of early life I long could dwell. And sighing, leave a theme I love so well ; To other days 1 turn, of earlier date, ., , ,,w; To pen the sequel of fair Julia's fate — . , Back to the period when the war was closed, And North America in peace reposed ; I must my steps retrace, and hither lead The blithesome Fred'iicki from New-York with speed* .V ^ ,'^ , _ . ,„, ■, ,.,.;'.;'■,■ .. „'«i''>-..i-^« /. ►." There, A plac Was a Which Brougl The As refu Harras While Hope "V Ofkmd The sti 1 All the! While 1 Himselj A statel A gentl The crc Soon le Few on For hea Whose ■.- ':u . r^iv.;i^i,.,^i-.a4U"i-iA.-ir„ -. - .v.-. •iMi»ii^1ff''MJ-. ly. ^ THE WILDERNESS. 103 t f'tMf ff XX. 1: 3tain oam ..... . \ rloom, Darry, There, where the British subject, no more found A place of rest, nor owned a foot of ground — Was all confusion, save in Frederick's heart, Which throbb'd with joy, to him the word * Depart* Brought pleasure in its sound, for soon he heard The Province of New-Brunswick was preferred As refuge mete, for British troops, where those Harrassed by war, could peacefully repose. While to his corps this seemed a luckles.s doom, Hope whispered him his happier hours had come ; Of kindreds, kindly greetings, early love. The strength and truth of which he soon should prove. .:ifr)t. t:: All these anticipations he enjoyed. While he for his departure was employed. d. 'k with '■'1 " XXI. Himself and regiment, now embarked on board A stately transport, which was soon unmoored A gentle breeze fast filled the swelling sail. The crowded ship borne by the western gale- Soon left New- York's proud city far behind. Few on that deck were to their fate resigned — For hearts were there who felt a sad regret. Whose star of fame now seem'd forever set ; 106 THE LAY OF The spirit-stirring warfare then was o*er, And they were going to a dreary shore— . ,«,, With scarce one gleam of hope to cheer the soul, They viewed the heaving billows onward roll, Which urged the transport on her trackless way, And bore her to the entrance of a bay.. Hiii '\ . , .. XXII. . . . ., When Frederick saw the Island Grand Manan, A thrilling rapture through his bosom ran. Those frowning cliffs, lashed by the combing wave^ Where oft the sailor finds a watery grave — Now rose with milder aspect, to a mind Filled with fond hope, and faithful love combined. As nearer to the western shore they drew. He on the crowded deck now stood to view The Bay of Fundy, which then lead the way Where all his brightest, happiest prospects lay. He knew the comforts of his father's hall, Unknown to him was poverty's dread call; Not like his fellow-soldiers — houseless, poor» But in an easy fortune felt secure. XXIII. . Aware of this, he viewed the gallant corps With eyes of pity, as they neared the shore ; Thetr Wher. Their And so Benea Where Was Men, w When Accustc Throug To him So drea Not so They si A forest But noi Awaker They oi For he And ha That in Thehu Else ha ''.uu,!':^^^^'^-'-^^*''^-- '-^^' ' THE WILDERNFSS. lOT The transport anchored ofFth. dieerless wilds, ' Where now Saint John, our thriving city smiles. Their boats werelaunched, by hardy seamen manned, And soon the voyagers reached the promised land ; Beneath Fort Howe, a bank of lively green, Where clumps of will THE LAY Ot Is that dark soul, whatever his mind hath plann'd, Who loves not, next to God, his Native Land J t XXV. .:.* tin: A dismal swamp of.spruce then thickly grew Where now high, handsome dwellings cheer the A narrow miry path then lead around, [view ; Where now the Portland cottages abound — To that high ridge, which scarce is mentioned now, On which in former days was seen Fort Howe ; . There too was seen, 'mong spruce and cedar trees, The soldiers' tents, and officers' marquees. Till were arrangements made, and schemes were planned * To build a town, or cultivate the land. XXVL I leave them now, to follow Frederick through The walk of life, his fate bade him pursue ; Impatience made each moment seem a day, * Nor would he brook the semblance of delay. Eager to know the change three years had made, For often busy fancy had pourtrayed — What time, or chance, or his long abiience wrought In Julia's mind, all else to him was nought. And ye When Withth And oft And wh To each The risi The grie The kinc With wh At length Which pi( And whei He sough The men, That left t He called And bade Then Por To seek a i:iii,!.'j.i-i}^i,ii,'.:\i^'t ^^iji. i;it.»lji:\ ^Jll^^tVl)^!'-:^^ - .1a.^ THE WILDERNESS. 109 annM, tnd ! *, — XXVIL . ^'Pi r; r^ eer the [view ; ed now, owe; ir trees, 3S. 65 were ugh ke: llav. 1 * Imade, rrought ht. And yet a pang shot through his friendly heart. When he reflected, that he now must part With those whom he in friendship long had lived. And oft their act of kindness had received — And when the moment came, his hand he gave To each respected friend — the gay, the brave ; I The rising tear that could not be suppressed, The grief that struggled in each manly breast — The kind embrace, and faultering accents proved I With what sincerity he was beloved. XXVIII. I At length was sighed the sorrowing vrordjarewell J Which pierced each feeling heart like funeral knell ' And when this serious parting scene was o'er, He sought each individual of his corps — The men, the women, e'en each sportive child, [That left the tents, to ramble through the wild — iHe called around him, ere he left the place, |And bade adieu to each familiar face. XXIX. ["hen Pordand's rocky portagfe hurried o'er, ^'o seek a passage from the river shore — '■A 110 THE LAY 07 With joy he hailed the ivnters of Saint John, Keeping their steady couriei in silence on. Till rugged rocks Impede their quiet course, They then betray, in language loud and hoarse — A furious rage, for interrupted peace, Incessant is their roar, nor do they cease Till ocean's flood, the noisy Falls oppose. And bids the angry waters find repose. XXX. ^ The tide was up, when Frederick reached the shore Where stood the Indian Hottse, now seen no more ; And there a well-known object met his view. An Indian sannup, in a bark canoe'— His wild and ardess music chaunting o*er. Perchance a hymn of praise, or savage lore — Or of some warlike chieflain*s deeds he sang, Till Frederick's shout around the welkin rang. The Indian ceased — a bargain soon was made, And Frederick up the river was conveyed. * 'Twas ere the sun arose, at early dawn, Young Frederick hastened o'er a woody lawn — Where peeped a mansion from n grove of trees, Whose leaves were rustling with the morning breeze. J n *Twas With Some To che( Still wa With p The hoi And loi That so Approac And sooj " Cease, th Op'ning « This fa THE WILDERNESS. Ill A curling smoke rose circling in the air, ' s '. i ' The inmates busy, with their daily care— * Unheeded his approach ; — the rural scene Was one of quiet life, an air serene i I a ..;.,: i Hung o'er the softened, mellow landscape bright, Where all was mild and peaceful to the sight. XXXII. 'Twas his paternal home that thus appeared. With joy his bosom throbb*d, and yet he feared Some melancholy tidings he might learn. To check the transports of his glad return; Still was his ardent breast with hope elate. With palpitating heart he reached the gate. The house-dog heard his footsteps from the hall, And loudly barked, to warn the inmates all That some intruder at that early hour. Approached the house, and lingered at the door. XXXIII. And soon was heard his father's w ell-known voice " Cease, cease," he said, " old Watch, why all this noise ?"* Op'ning the door, he smiled, and cried " walk in, << This faithful dog has raised a needless din — 112 •«;- ffHX LAY OF f/-' << But bee4 him not--«orae in, yon bare no cause *< To hesitate, young mcov i^y do yoa pause?' But Frederick's bosom swelPdr^he paused drhile. Then asked his Either, with a pleasant smile^ " If all were well ?'-^hk father tum'dy and gaz'd Upon his fac^ 4liea said ** now Ood be praised — *^ Thou art my son, and have I lived to see <' You home once more, from war's dread perils free ? *' 'Tis strange indeed I should not know thy face, " My sight, alas, is failing me apace" — " I knew your voice at once,"-^your mother call. She heard the shout, and hastened to the hall. ■ XXXIV. :: Quicker than thought he in her arms was pressed. She wept for joy, and clasped him to her breast — " My son," she cried, ** are you again returned ? << How has your mother's anxious bosom yearned " To see this day, to hear your much-loved voice i " To hold thee thus, how does my heart rejoice I " O speak again, and let your parents hear ^' Those well-known accents now so doubly dear.. XXXV. -., , .:vi. .;. " Mother," he cried, " our mutual joy it great* " 'Twas joy that made me linger at the gate — -A MiM«flMM TUS WILDERNESS. 113 lis free? f face, it call, ball. " And yet with this was mixed a secret dread, /r * " My dreams of home are dreary, wild, and sad — " Julia's neglect in writing pained my heart, " Caprice it seemed, or was it girlish art ' * " To try my constancy ?— but why those tears ? " Be brief, dear mother, and relieve my fears." " Be firm," she answered, " while I now relate " The sad catastrophe— dear Julia's fate. " From you I have withheld, from motives kind, " I knew despair would seize your Qrdent mind — <* Unfitting you, for arduous duty there, « Far from your home, and my maternal care." XXXVI. <« Forgive me Frederick, you too soon will learn " Your disappointment, Julia to that bourne " From whence no traveller doth c*er return, << Long since has gone, yet what her fate has been << Is still unknown — no eye hath ever seen " The smallest vesdge, to elicit where " She breathed her last— no doubt in wild despair. " The forest inch by inch was searched, — the horn " Was echoed through the woods, from night till morn: " Yet all in vain : — three tedidus years had passed, " And still her wanderings have not yet been traced. i2 ■^'<' :J>iAj 114, THE 1*AY or ti A strange, xnysteriouf fete, hath Julia's been, << And QoD alone, can now withdraw the screen *< That hangs between i;is and the hapless maid : *< The morn you left, she thro' the forest strayed ^^ To weep unseen ; at least, so we surmise, ^' And yet perchance it hath been otherwise^ XXXVIL " Oh God,** he cried, " is then my Julia dead ? " Why do I live, when all my joys are fled ?*' '^ A gleam of hope still lingers at my heart, " To you alone, my son, I this impart — *' That Julia still survives, your mind misgives, " I see you too, have hope that Julia lives." *' No, dearest mother," Frederick cried, '* I see " Your kind endeavours to enliven me; <' Your hopes are groundless, Julia is no more, << And all my promised bliss, alas, is o'er." Wildly he gazed, and smote his manly brow, With agony intense, his reason now Seemed reeling from its throne, till tears relieved His bursting heart, by Pithless hope deceived. > i . : ■• ) ■• \ "' •• '-'if THE Wn^DERNESS. 115 The frowns of fate Tvc sung, — pennit me now To sing her smiles, e'er blended with deceit — Inconstant ever on her changeful brow, Still are they witching, still surpassing sweet. ad? r Her frowns ai«pal the heart, though oft we find That calm reflection follows in their train : Thus are they cruel only to be kind, And teach us wisdom while they give us pain. ves, . see But when Injustice lifts her hated form — Calls forth Hypocrisy, or tempts with gold — Then Truth unveils, makes bpro her beauteous arm. And drives the fiendish monster from her hold. ore. »» w. lieved id. That black injustice finds no footing here, In thee, New-Brunswick, gladly would I sing- But let me whisper softly in your ear — She's here in very deed — I've felt her sting. I But proud Integrity, unshaken, rose Superior to her vile opponent's aim — [Firm to her purpose, nought could discompose Her strength of mind, or sully her fair fame. l-:,'..^.- ■ •- '^ Je -/O.iii''^ 116 THE LAY OP r r She smiled in scoro, vrhile she witli.high disdain •Withdrew the sting, and scanned it through and through— i^!t^;:?SP.;1'i ?b:! i^^-i^i'i :l^^'rii^^^> ^ And found 'twas made of meanness, love of gain. The lack of sense, and want of feeling too. Hence, vile injustice, hence ! nor dare to shew Thy hideous face ; — think you diat I forget ? No ! while I live, thou base, thou fellest foe, Will I remember thee, with deepest hate. ( And all the fiends, that rallied round thy den, 1*11 bear in mind, the greater and the small — While mem'ry holds a seat in my poor brain. Will I despise, will I detest "jc all ? • . . ' ' But thanks to God, within the present year, Thy ^ons, New-Brunswick, have enlightened grown — < Oppression they now see, with vision clear, ■ And through the Press they dare to mak^ it known. ■A Thine age of dr^ r^isr they V,ave struggled through, Oh may i.he Gi^^er of all good, impress 5 \ THE WILDERNESS. lit /^ A sense of virtue on their mind anew, And grant them prudence, wisdom, and succrss. To Frederick I must now devote an hour, And strive to soften or remove the pain Which nearly h c/J» U;'nved him of the power Of reason, aole director of the brain. n ^■^ liAl : a Jfeii jiAt^kaia'^-. ^'.^.^v lio^i^A.. THE liAY OF THE WILD£R]V£8|i|». FIFTH CANTO. Ilil The daj His mini And he " To seek Where o With he I And still Braiding nft-rr The mor To hide Then on While of THE liAlT OF THE WIIiDERIVEISIS. ••^ ^ ^Bp^P 44** FIFTH CANTO. I. The day passed off, but ere the evening closed, His mind became more tranquil, more compoied ; And he walked forth at twilights serious hour To seek his Julia's parents and her bower— Where oft in converse sweet, the time had flown, With her lie fondly thought to call his own ; And still in fancy, he beheld her there, Braiding a wreath, to deck her auburn hair. II. The morn he left, she playfully essayed To hide her grief, a crown of violets made- Then on his brow she placed the garland fair, I While oft she turned to wipe the falling tear— 122 THE LAY OF " By proxy, I thus crown your youthful head, " You go to earn this wreath," she smiling said — " Yet fame will fade, as will those violets blue, " And pass away, e'en like the morning dew." III. Prophetic words, — my fame — distracted thought, Death to my dearest h<^)es alone hath brought ; Stung with regret, he slowly reached the hill, And viewed the cottage, with a painful thrill — That once contained his Julia — there it stood Sweetly embowered, beside a sheltering wood. IV. And there the garden, there the rustic Iwwer Where slie so oft had twined the fairest flower ; The shaded walk, that led to rural seats, And formed in summer, pleasing cool retreats — Were now with envious weeds and grass grown o'er,. And told the tale, that Julia w^s no more ; There all was silent, save the rustling leaf, The bower and garden bore tlie marks of grief. Then turning quickly from the moumful spot, Where all seemetl desolntetl and forgot — A sho He in With Where And f( Arouni Whol And h^ The ar A sulk When With h That hi That h His woi Kesoun ^'Twas J Had sc Withw She fou Each n In tear There 1 And th( THE WILDERNESS. 123 A shout of fury from the cottage came, He indistinctly heard his Julia's name; With hurried strides he gained the cottage door, "Where he full many an eve had been before — And found the household, had assembled all Around an Indian, in the cottage hall — Who had, it seemed, exchanged a book for bread, And by this act, had happily betrayed The art and treachery of his savage race, A sullen gloom spread o*er his tawny face — When he now found the volume was well known, With hellish rage, he swore it was his own; That he had found it on the Tobique shore. That he had owned it twenty years or more. VL His words were vain — * my child, my child survives,' Resounded through the hall, " My Julia lives," 4'Twas Julia's mother — she the book had caught, Had scanned its pages, with glad tidings fraught ; With weeping eyes and agitated frame, She found of recent date, her daughtei*'s naine : Each margin there contained her daily grief. In tears alone, had Julia sought relief — There filial love breathed forth on ev'ry page, And then wouldTrederick her sad mind engage ; i! ' i^ i' r~T^n"'f J .,«^r'^^. — / 124 THE LAY OV His name was writ with nice peculiar care. And mutual love was often mentioned there. . VII. That Julia lived, no further doubt remained, Yet where she lived, was still to be explained— The minutes in her book had this revealed, That she in some lone forest was conceaVd — Where no voice was heard in the dark recess, Save the moaning voice of the wilderness. The wrathful savage in the hall could tell, He knew the darkest, wildest places well — Each tree throughout the forest, far and nigh. Had grown familiar to his searching eye. VIII. With kindest words, the Indian was im[)lored To tell, why Julia had not been restored ? To seize the book, he forward fiercely sprang, With hideous, savage whoop, the cottage rang— His rage increased, for no one there he feared, But fortunately Frederick then appeared : A scream of joy atinounced his welcome there, Kind Heaven in mercy surely sent you here— To save us from this savage wretch, they cried. Though we to soothe him, every art have tried. Know Asked Withii Had ml 'Twerel The w< Till thi A book That \» Which When Yoursel A dawr That hi Nor dee If we n Peruse That he A diffici Would Entreat That le THE WILDERNESS. IX. 125 Know you the trial we have undergone, Asked Julia's parents in a sorrowing tone : Within this hour, we deemed our much-loved child Had met a fearful death in yonder wild ; 'Twere useless now, to paint our hapless state, The world around seemed drear and desolate — Till this man came, and offered to e^cchange A book for bread — the barter was so strange. That we were curious to behold the book, Which soon he from his greasy mantle took — When lo, to our amazement, 'twas the gift Yourself presented Julia, ere you left. '9 ed, d. X. A dawn of hope this incident revived That haply our lamented child still lived — Nor deem it mere allusion of the brain. If we now hope to see our child again. Peruse this writing, then will you believe That hope oft faithless, does not now deceive ; A difficulty yet attends her fate, Would but this Indian be less obstinate ; Entreat bim, dearest friend, to point the road That leads to Julia's comfoi'tless abode. k2 126 THE LAY OP XL This wretch ? asked Frederick, him I'll not intreat ; And laid the sannup prostrate at his feet ; Confess, cried he, or your accursed soul Shall hence go howling — speak—confess the whole. Or, by that power which rules, your loathsome race I'll scourge from off the earth : say, in what place, Is kept concealed, by your unhallowed tribe, The suffering Julia, quick the place describe; Provoke me not, or ere the hour hath passed, Here by my hand you will have breathed your last. The sannup now of Frederick felt afraid ; He feared the solemn proirise he had made — And loudly then exclaimed in wild surprize. Oh spare my life, and I without disguise — Will tell you all that book has left untold, I ign'rant was, that books could thus unfold The secret thoughts, and secret deeds relate Of Indian men, whom you abominate. XIL That book speaks truth ; the maiden's deep distress I oft have witnessed in the wilderness ; Alone she wanders by the water's side, Or through the woods she pensively will glide. In ear Wild Where Have I The sc( While When Just m< To that And we Old Ot Though Has fix( On tha But she To his We lau Thougii ■4v THE WILDERNESS. 12t Her sole companion, was her little book, With which, she oft has sat beside a brook That winds along, and murmurs through a glade Where balm of Gilead yields u pleasing shade. XIII. In early spring, around that brook is seen Wild adder-tongue, with leaf of mottled green — Where too are seen, long ere the drifts of snow- Have melted off' the mountain's rugged brow — The scented violets white, which sweetly peep, While other flow'rs in their embryo sleep. When winds were hushed, or when a balmy breeze Just moved the foliage of the ibrest trees : To that sweet spot, the maid will oft repair, And well I know what sends her weeping there. XIV. Old Otwin's son, a handsome wcll-form'd youth, Though proud withal, for I now speak the truth — Has fixed his heart, as all his actions prove. On that fair maid, and seeks a mutual love ; But she avoids him> and prefers the wilds, To his superior skill and haughty smiles. We laugh in secret at his foolish pride, Though none dare, in his presence, e'er deride 128 THE LAY OF His matchless art, his quick unerring aim, By which he gains with ease the choicest gamo ; Conscious of this, he looks for our applause, Yet scorns to wed the loveliest of our squaws. He thinks forsooth, to spend an easy life, And have that English maiden for his wife. XV. With horror, Julia's mother heard this strain, Her daughter now seemed lost to her again — Madness was in the thought, she gasped for breath. To have her thus beset 'twere worse than death. " Perchance ere this, my Julia has been driven *' To wed that savage ; oh, forbid it. Heaven ! ** Rather than this, her death I e'en would crave, " And end my life, in weeping o'er her grave." XVI. Thus did she rave, at length the sannup smil'd. As if in scorn, then said in accents mild — " If you from dire suspense would wish relief. Then rise superior to such childish grief; A woman's tears avail but little, when Th' occasion needs the fortitude of men And strength of mind — most women are too weak To form opinion, or in council speak ; And sai The da The gai And th( Certain Your ch The Ind " I dare « Furthe " Yourse "Soiftl « Then t " A turg " In whi '« The sh. " And oi " A gro\ « To fini " The pi " The ea THE WILDERNESS. 129 'Twere better for your daughter's future fate If you would give o*er weeping at this rate — And save, ere she by wedlock is ensnared, The day is fixed, the wedding-dress prepared ; The game is caught in order for the feast. And they now wait the sanction of the Priest : Certain I am, that ere a week has pass'd Your child will be to you, forever lost." XVII. • The Indian then to Frederick lurn*d and said " I dare not in this business lend my aid, " Further than to describe the forest, where " Yourself can find the object of your care. " So if the blue eyed maiden you would seek, " Then trace this river, till you reach Tobique, " A turgid stream, that speeds its limpid wave, " In which the moose in summer loves to lave ; '' The shoreless narrows of that stream pass through, " And onward speed your buoyant bark canoe. " A grove of dark red pine will be your guide, " To find the Wabskahagen's coloured tide ; " The pines around it are the deepest green, " The earth the deepest red, that e*er was seen. 130 THE LAY OF XVIIL ** There when the autumn's sun but dimly shines, " We build our wigwams, 'mid the lofty pines, *' Which shield us from the fury of the storm, " And lend a shade in summer when His warm — " A long frequented, favorite resort, *' 'Tis there we meet, to share our winter's sport : " When spring returns, a different route each takes, '' Some hunt the woods, while others hunt the lakes; " Yet Otwin there, throughout the year abides, " While his athletic son for him provides. " *Tis there the maiden dwells — then haste away, " I can no more, nor must I longer stay.' For Jul How cl The sw< So unsu Ere the^ • How tri f» XIX. No stimulative pow'r did Frederick need, He left the cottage with an eagle's speed — Called on his youthful friends, and asked their aid, A prrty formed, and preparations made — Canoes were mustered, none inactive stood, For '•non the news spread thro' the neighborhood ; Then neighbours gathered round the cottage door. To he,' ,r the tale repeated o'er and o'er. Congratulations flowed from ev'ry tongue. The nr ws was hailed with joy by old and young. Frederic To give Then on J o jom Each vol They Ian Both nip Nor sto[: Till wea To rest No humi Where t The poi s^ The rus THE WILDERNESS. 131 ! sp:}rt : zh. takes, lie lakes; )ides, i away, 3ir aid, For Julia was belov'd by all who knew How cheerful was her heart, how kind, how true, The sweetness of her smiles won every heart, So unsuspecting, so devoid of art, Ere they had found, or e'en had time to find, How truly they portrayM her guiltless mind. XX. Frederick, in haste, now to his parents ran, To give them information of his plan : Then on the alert, away again he hied To join his party, at the water side. Each youth had joined the enterprize with glee, They launched their barks, and pushed on cheerily ; Both night and day they journey'd hard and fast, Nor stopped, except to take a slight repast — Till wearied out, at length they all agreed To rest one night, from their severe fatigue. hood; ;e door. oung. XXI. No human habitation near them rose, Where they might find refreshment or repose — The pointed rocks, round which the whirlpools swept. The rush of water, as o'er rocks it leaped— ♦ »--7.-. ]32 THE LAY OP The rugged bank, where trees projected o'er, With limbs gigantic, on the shelving shore — No promise gave of shelter or of rest, — To find some smoother beach they onward pressed. XXII. Just then they saw, and welcomed with delight. Far in a woody cove, a blazing light ; To it they drew, to gain an evening fire, 'Twere all, in present haste, they could desire; There near the river's brink, on humid sand Which flits not with the breeze — a shining strand — Where the light pencil's touch, left impress deep. Where the device, for days or weeks would keep. Th'^re sat Jerome, whose grizzled locks were bare, The wild wind sporting through his matted hair — There was the lonely wretch, with pencil rude, Drawing a sketch, in this his solitude — Upon the moistened sand, of creeks and swamps. And beaver ponds — far from, the Indians' camp. XXII. An isolated being was Jerome, \ Shunned by his race, — nor camp had he, nor home ; A mark'd man long had been, and kept aloof From his red brethren's taunting, keen reproof — h • ., THE WILDERNESS. 133 A lonely wand*rer, from his tribe expelled, For he, in youth, a beauteous wife had killed ; His evening fire was formed in circle round, Within to sit was wisdom most profound— To parry off with fire his murdered wife, *Twas by this plan he thought he saved his life. Near by the magic ring he sat alone, Like maniac, on a visionary throne- Issuing his mandates, blending sense with whim. Wise without reason, thus it was with him. XXIV. Intent upon his sketch, he heard no sound. Though Frederick and his party walked around — And watched the aged sannup, while he drew The plan of hunting grounds he had in view ; With uncouth gestures, he then pointed round, Mimicked the moose chace o*er the hunting ground. In full pursuit, his speed increasing stilly Through brake, through trees, and o'er the high- est hill — Fast gaining on the chase, he sped away. Until he brought the stately moose to bay I But just when in the act of taking sights " I They loudly called tsj him, and with the fright 134. THE LAY OF /■ t He sprang his length, and gave a fearful yell, And forward rushed, to gain the magic spell ; Then leaping in the circle, trembling stood, And wildly gazed upon the darksome wood. . ' ■ . " XXV.' ' The trav'Iers then assembled round the ring, . Where stood Jerome, appall'd and trembling— But when he saw that they were living mqn, Jerome, like Richard, was himself again ; They asked him, why the ring of fire was formed, And why their voices had him so alarmed ? He answered brieflv, while the fitful blaze Played on his pallid cheek, in flickering rays : I am a Murderer ! ! ! and my victim's shade Disturbs me nightly, with a serenade; But for this fire, the spectre of my wife Would in the hours of darkness take my life. J^ast night it came, and I, in wild disma}^ My fusee fired, Vvhich drove the ghost away ; Her frightful iiineks. still ringing in my ears. Then do you wonder at my present fears. ' XXVI. ' ' For my protection, I had duly made The blazing circle, which is here displayed ; Ithei My ci Whei ■ While Wrap I had When Fully Out-g€ Hadp Fire is And nc In ev'rv Or stefi Or mur I hear t Oft tim< Then v; Yet ere Whicli 1 My hosi Such ar I watch 'Tis ther -_y<:A.A/i ; i. iV-- THE WILDERNESS. 135 I then delineated with much skill, My customary draught of dal« and hill ; When I design to shoot the bright eyed moose, "While they are browsing in their loved recluse : Wrapp'd in the contemplation of the chase, I had forgot my usual resting plac&— When I your Toices heard, I shrunk aghast, Fully assured the phantom had at last Out-gen'raU'd m^ in watching for the night. Had pounced on me, while outside of the light : Fire is at night my safeguard from the ghost. And ne'er agmn will I desert my post. XXVII. In ev*ry gale that sweeps the mountain's brow, Or steals more softly o*er the vales below — Or murmurs up the glen, or dark ravine, I hear the wail of Mary Maddelin^ j Oft times her shade flits round my ev^i:ing blaze, Then vanishes in air, and mocks my gaze : Yet ere she leaves, I hear her piercing cries, Which banish peace; and sleep forsakes mine eyes— - My bosom throbs, cold sweat bedews my frame : Such are the nights I spend, each night the same ; I watch till day is dawning in the east, 'Tis then I sleep, yet cries disturb my rest — 136 THE LAY 09 My slumbers are unquiet, in my dreams , n- ; . My Maddeline still haunts me with her screams.. . -. ■ • '• ■ ^ . . • : ■ ' , xxviiL : , ■ . :; Methought one mom, this Autumn, while X slep^ She sat beside me, in the dark, and wept ; The wound I gave her seemed to bleed afresh, ■ I saw the blood from her pale temples gush- She feebly pointed to the wound, and said See where you sunk the hatchet in my head ; For this dark deed, a fiat has been given. To blot your name from the blest book of Heaven — Your soul shall sufler in eternal gloom. And think not. Murderer \ to escape your doom* In horror I awoke, the sentence seem'd So real, that I scarry believed I dreamed. XXIX. Jerome while speaking, slowly turned his eye, And fixed his gaze upon the star-lit sky — But started, when the bushes round him wav*d. In the damp air of night, and then he crav'd Frederick and his companions, to pass through The ^^Jiety ordeal" where he stood in view : Just then an evening breeze began to rise, ■. > Which hurled the smoke and cinders in his eyes — r^^j'.T.":;^** THft WILDERNESS. 137 Sometimes so dense, as to obscure the sight, Then cleared again, and brought his form to light ; Yet there he staid, tho' flames around him whirled. Nor would he venture from them for the world. Oh, superstition, bom of guilt — the ban Of ign'rance dark, and conscience-stricken man ; Tenaciously adhered to — judgment fails Whene'er benighted bigotry prevails. XXX. Frederick to sleep, within the ring declined, 'Twas not congenial to his guiltless mind ; Wrapped in his cloak, he with his friends soon found A place of rest, and sank in sleep profound. Jerome, as usual, kept his watch through night, Nor dared to close his eyes till dawning light: While they refreshed with sleep^ ere it was day, Had left Jerome, to conscience still a prey. Through rapids, where the river rushed with force, They steadily pursued their wonted course : Though oft the current staid their light canoes, And surged with frightful power against their bows ; There 'mid the rush of waters would they cheer, Though they each other's voices scarce could hear : l2 138 THE LAY or I'iitf..-., . To keep their balance, firmly braced their {eet. And by mere strength of arm moved on their fleet — Till they ha^jpassed each brawling dangerous place. And o'er smq^ water glided on apace. Thus on they journeyed, till they reached Tobique> Where stood the Indian village near the creek. XXXII. Then up the Tobique turned, without delay, And thro* the shoreless narrows forced their way ; Tremendous cliffis rose high on either side. And cast their shadows o'er the sweeping tide. Fast ran the stream with whicli they liad to cope. Yet they progressed, led on by cheering hope — And when the Wabskahagen streom they gained, Where solitude in solemn silence reigned — In stern repose and of the deepest green, The pines unruffled by a breeze were seen ; No warbler of the wild was heard along The bank, where laved the rapids smooth and strong : A fragrance filled the air, both sweet and mild. Well known to those who range the scented wild. Here nature seemed at rest— where Autumn's dye Had tinged the leaves, as if to please the eye ; The moose-wood red, and gold and crimsoned o'er, Were the ground-maple bushes long the shore — These Hung As if Whicl So cal That The y< Cling No sou Repelh With That s^ Awhile If augh But sav In this ] Butwhe Along t Light-h To seiz€ While s To laud THfi WILDERNESS. 13D eet, fleet— I place» )biquc> }ek. way; le. cope, ^e — med, These, where the rapids, were by eddies staid. Hung o'er the bank in gayest tints arrayed ; As if ambitious to behold their dress. Which the still coves reflected more or less : So calm, so soothing to the mind the scene, That all confess its charms, who here have been. The youthful party, felt its influence sweet Cling round their hearts, which high with friend- ship beat — No sounds were heard, save when the rippling tide Repelled the bart, each youth there well could guide; With graceful skill, they steer'd the light canoe, That seemed to cut the dancing bubbles through — Awhile the voyagers paused, and list to hear If aught that breathed of life would meet the ear : But save the noise of rapids, where they rushed In this remote dark grove, all sounds were hushed. trong *> wild, s dye ' i .1 o'er, •e — XXXIII. But when they came, where Indian wigwams ranged Along the water side, the scene was changed : Light-hearted mirth around the welkin rang, To seize the ball, the young pappooses sprang — While some with bows and arrows stood in groups, To laud the ballot players with wild whoops. 140 THE LAY OF Till Frederick and his friends approached the shore, They then their noisy shouts and play gave o'er — To watch the motions of the stranger gang, Nor deemed politic, the loud harangue. • ^ As Frederick landed with his brave escort. The children stared, or ran to make report — While some more brave, thro* age or Indian art. Shewed unconcern, and merely stood apart. • XXXIV. . - . When Frederick saw the camps beside the creek. The color heightened in his glowing cheek — He leaped on shore, and cried, my friends be brave. Haste to the camp where those proud banners wave — Rush on, and take the village by surprise, " Give the wild savages no time to rise : Swift as an arrow from the bow, he sped. His faithful friends fast followed where he led : They dashed aside the blanket door, and saw A sight that for a moment gave them awe — A crowd immense, in scarlet cloth arrayed, ' - Of stately sannups, of the highest grade — Around a Priest, in sacerdotal vest, ' Who with much pomp, the eager crowd repressed : With rev'rence they drew back; the Priest then cried, " Lead forward, Francis, your intended bride !'* A tall That Hisn Seem( And a Ackn( Soon Came Her c Hadb Theb( The si The b( Wrou^ 'Twas » For id The Pj And as Oh, H He hac His SOI Express THE WILDERNESS. u\ XXXV. >i'»■ , '>^i .'■*. V <^ THE WILDERNESS. ut ,.i ■ They hail'd him, but Jerome no answer iiuid% . :M^ I ^^^ ^^^ renew'dy then romid the ring snrveyed ; The glowing light betrayed his fearful gaze, . : . They passed him by, encircled by the blaze*^^ ^ -^l flame; it, !"^|\ itate, .«•■ ■, ,!. ' • J •♦ — ■ ■ ily; n, ^M. ^ » ■*- fd lied ^ xLiv. _;, At home once more, in her fond parents' arms. Now view fair Julia, whose increasing charms I. Enhanced her parents* joy, and as they viewed Their beauteous child, with mental worth endowed— Their bosoms swelled with gratitude to God, Who had in mercy staid the chastening rod. > ~ And now before the altar, see her stand '. 1 With modest grace, to give her willing hand ^^11 To her loved Frederick, whose dark eye revealed K His heart-felt bliss, and thus their vows were sealed. Her bridal dress gave ev*ry eye delight, . . So rich, so tasteful, such a novel sight: ; \m T For Julia in the dress old Agnes made. By Frederick's soft persuasion was arrayed-— ^».' I True to the promise he had made the squaw, ii >V^ From which, with honor, he could not withdraw : And ere a little month away had rolled, '(■-■■ . ^ ^ Agnes was amply paid in weighty gold; , > . / ' And ofl she came and Otwin : — ^but their son, <..{ ;. Who proudly called blest liberty his own— r ■ » ^ ; f-'^ r?"! 148 THE LAY OF /■' :» I !*{■, * With haughtiness of soul, disdained \o call,^ Or e'en to look towards the house at all — Where Frederick and his Julia dwelt in peace, For mutual love, with wealth, bids sorrow cease* Healthful and happy, they both live to see • ' ! Their children's children, strolling sportively i Thro* pastures green, where the dark forest stood, Where Julia once was lost amid the wood ; Though much of her activity is o*er. She still delights to ramble as before — Her children's offspring prattling by her side, And oft entreating her to be their guide Where she once wandered, there to point the place. While they with eagerness, essay to trace The route she took — the swamps and brook she cross'd ;. That memorable mom, when she was lost ; . \ i What once herself had been, they now appear,. , Their questions and inquiries charm her ear i Curious to learn, they frequently will ask . . \ Such questions, which to answer proves a task j And ask them o'er and o'er, with serious eye, Till told, God wraps all such in mystery — THE WILDERNESS. U9 jace, cease* ely t stood, de, e place, ok she jar. . > [ask; le, r "'Hi:-' Then with a thoughtful look they turn away, And lose their wonder in some childish play. XLVI. But ever well disposed to list the tale Of Julia's walks o*er woody hill and dale, Now cleared away, and fields of Indian corn, With blade as fragrant as the blossomed thorn — Of stately growth, with shining stalks, and tweet, Standing in rows, straight, parallel, and neat — The space, deep-shaded by the tasselled stalks, Affords the farmer < I refreshing walks — The thrifty ears w: ^ !;*iken tresses crowned. The husk of fibrous web close wrapped around — The cob, thick studde'^ with full kernels bright. Nutritious, healthsome; beaming with delight, The eye surveys the corn, luxuriant, grand, Clothing in beauty, rich, alluvial land ; 'Mong the tall corn, the pompions bright are seen. Of golden hue, or pale, or vivid greens- Shining beneath their broad rough leaves and vines. Round which the tendril gracefully entwines — Their yellow, gaudy blossom, broadly blown. Holds through the season, till the frost comes on — Seen side by side, the full-grown pompions oft, These bell-shaped gilded cups of texture soft-^ m2 m t y -4 .^ if\ THE LAY OF .150 ^ Appear, with emulatioD, to outshine ,, The riper charms of the far-spreading vine. XLVII. Where the thick grove of maple once was seen^ Where Julia in blithe girlhood oft had been — Is now a meadow, where the lilies play. And sweet boblinkins carol through the day — And fields of wheat are seen alonfj the vales, Low-bending to warm summer's ripening gales: Where she in early life for hours had played. Had gathered floial sweets beneath the shade, Of tall, umbrageous trees, now seen no more. All felled, save drooping elms that fringe the shore. Or where the3'*ve been preserved to shade the rills. That murmur thro' the beauteous iutervales ; There too, the butternut, is left to please The eye and taste, and wanton in the breeze — The pride of forest growth — which all confess The choicest nut-tree of the wilderness : Beneath whose spreading branches, flocks and herd, LuU'd to repose, lie listless on the sward Of velvet softness, or at leisure rove, And breathe the gales that fan the 'laughing grove.' ■'■'^%,. THE WILDERNESS. J51 ;een, lies: de, re, shore, le rills. sS herd. rove. XLVIII. The sylvan lake, where once the v