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Hn^n-;\^ iifTv^tiH >rn/)fuu -nrr ■ ■'!■■■' ' t , ■■ f- .,-..-. -. » 1/ / k' -, V t^r'rdi-To n-'-/ :^7^^.- f^U'^ ,.'■ , .--l '> ^■■/^ , j . ,«■ ;;j^ Tin; II I HOOK HUNTEll'SBUIDi:; OR, INDIAN INCIDENTS. The weather was calm, and Peter Tony, an Indian of the Micinac tribe, who was always my attendant in the forest, thought that we could have no better time for the commencement of a calling expedition which T had long intended to make. September, he said, was the favorite month ; and the day alluded to being the fifteenth only, with promise of a continuation of fine weather, there seemed indeed little room for apprehension. I gave my directions accordingly, that, early the next morning, every thing connected with my hunting tackle, including a fisshing rod of five parts, should be placed in order on the hall table. As this intended excursion would, in all probability, be of a monlh^s duration, my equipments for such digression from the irksome monotony of business were as light as the nature of the sport admitted of. My outside tackle was much the same as is usually worn, with the one exception, that it was all of superior English manufacture. As something extra however, I carried a revolver in my belt ; and, in order to blaze an occa- sional tree which T might wish to remember, 1 suspended to the same article a small hatchet. The hunting bag which I wore at my left side contained the reel belonging to my fishing rod, a supply of wad, a few crusts of pem^ THE HIROCK hunter's BRIDE. mican, necktie, brush and comb, and other small conve- iiicnces. As the sun began to peep through the foliag* of the surrounding forest, we stood upon an eminence, and I looked upon the receding view of our distant tillage, for we had left it just before daybreak, ere any of its inha- bitants were astir, excepting one very parsimonious person who always made it a point to rise at two ! As I gazed first on the village, from whose simple white-washed chimnies fantastic forms of smoke now began to wreath themselves to heaven ; then athwart the bright expanse of water, dotted so, at intervals, with points and isles that it unostentatiously reminded one of the Lake of the Thousand ; and then, peering through the dense wild woods which we were about to traverse, beheld a sheeny cataract bedecking the bending foliage with its spray, — I thought could ever poet have looked on a lovelier sce- nery than this? My friendly attendant being by ro means illiterate, I was on the point of eliciting an opmion from him, when I observed that, if possible, he was already more entranced with it than I. But it required little physiognomical skill to determine by the fall of his countenance, what were the thoughts then struggling in the breast of this scion of the wilderness. 1 was anxious, for his own sake, to break the spell, and therefore urged on his attention that we had allotted to ourselves yet many miles ere we were to partake of refreshment. * AhV drawing a long breath, he exclaimed, as we left the spot, ' white man looks upon nature to admire and enjoy it : but the Indian has nothing of it left but its memory, and reveres it as a most beautiful Ciorpse.'' When we had reached the waterfall, a considerable <^.i jonve- THE HIROCK HUNTER^S BRIDE. 5 precipice projected over our heads, and my ideas of sub- limity most naturally began to subside intu a computation of the energy I every moment expected to have to put into forcfe. It seemed to me that ^ oaring through a perpetual spring, Blossoms that ne'er forsake the trees Shadowing, as the moonlight lies. With that long shade in transverse line iVinongst their leaves, witchcraft divine, • Dwelt youth in two bright faces, mild As a summer's eve, and as wild As its scenery ; one, a boy, (Jn whose soft brow no trace but joy Transcribed was visible, — his eye Shining in mirthful briliancy THE HIROCK HUNTER S BRIDE. ( )n her, the nymph of his heart's love, Fioiii whom he had not learned to rove ; She by the waters, meek and pure An the wave with heaved breast to her, On which .she gazed till it would break, The .spray-drop trickling on her neck, Then, Mniling, looked to him, her lover. Who smiled, too, from a rock above her. iSuch dreams might lure some tedious hours. And light the heart when grief would lower. And rapture make affliction\s dower ; But if the picture be not dn amed^ Not all that fancy^s mood hath schemed, Not all her silver threads, redeemed From out the old grey web that hangs Adown the nicks of nothingness, r Could light of all tkut spirit^s pangs One transient moment of distress. l>eep, shrill, the wild woods early waking. The hunter's call their quiet breaking, ►Strikes on the ear of moose as hope Oi passion's, pleasure's fullest scope ; And, shaking otf his sluggish mood, lie stands and hearkens throusrh the wood. Till once again the same deep sound Brings forth the echo's quick rebound, And then he trembles to the thrill Wliich breaks in deeper answer still ; That answer speaks the victim there, And bids the hunter not despair. The moose comes on, and as he sprino-s Each forest cavern loudly rings. .Sublime deception, — see, he breaks Impeding stumps, and rounds the lakes. And often moveth to that call, AVhich guides him fondly to his fall. t THE HIROCK HUNTER S BRIDE. The brided Huntcheitz looks away Through darkling shades of waning day. With eyes of love's beseeching prayer Which asks her God her idol spare ! Yet bends the Great, Great Spirit down. Nor meets her passion with a frown — Far, on his chase, might Bartiipp stray. — Could ought but death his steps delay ? Yet why should thus her spirit burn, 'Twas scarcely time for his return. And now, athwart yon lucent lake, < . Doth birch canue, approaching^ make Expectancy, exulting, cloy With inward rush of heartfelt joy. How swiftly comes this light canoe. As if 'twas liuncbeitz' passion drew The fragile ]>irch-bark to the shore — • They've met — 'tis love — what needs of more ? They wander'd oft. at evea-fall, , • Beneath the shade of Hirock s wall, Whose superhuman, vast design, Proclaimed its architect divine. ' And in this fortress for the brave, Were scattered window, niclie and cave ;. i And iu each cave a mystic stream, - (| • From ev'ry wall was felt, not seen, ' On all beside its radiance threw. But dazzling, dared the nuked view ; NV hat life was theirs, those best mi<2:ht tcH^ Whose lives are spent so lovely well ; Or those whose lives, thus sweetly blest, Hath glided hence to heavenly r'tst ; Yet feel earth's latest pleasure glow, With all the passion felt below. The spring of life is ever sweet ; The summer feels not its decay, M'hile still the sume loved faces greet THE HIROCK HUNTER's BRIDE. Tlie pilgrim on his pleasant way ; And shade on shade flits darkling by, Tnseen by vanity's weak eye, Till age and wisdom point the way, And prove to man that he is grey. 'I'hus blooms the rose a brighter hue, And sips, more free, the matin'dew, As every fragrant leaf is riven. And its last oders rise to heaven. *Tis war — and Bartlipp must be gone. And leave his Hunclieitz all alone, With earnest charge to keep that call Which daitL intrusion's advance well, Why deem ye, high-born mortals, sap;e, Who dote on Fiction's dazzling page, That only 'neath the sculptured dome. The wildest passions bud and bloom 1 ^ee, Huncheitz' artless blush proclaims With such her breast as truly flames ; See there expectancy's wide scope, The hectic hue of transient hope, The pallid white of falt'ring fear. And teeming fancy's fruitless tear, Display how passion'd and how true. The love the wild, wild woods-maid knew. Ere Bobei had half traced o'er The lake's dim margin, deep and Wide, The moose had swam from shore to shore, Shaken his flanks on t'other side, And now stood still as silent stone. As petrified, perchance, by fear. Till reached his ear some distant tone Athwart the waters in bis rear. Once more he shook his dripping hair, Then nerved his limbs the worst to bear. jn< 10 THE HIROCK HUNTED 8 BRIDB. And wildly dashing through the wood^ Balked his foes by many a rood. ^ Did Bobie cognizance take, rr fiheN r- What proa darted o'e.' the lake 1 M- / Whose paddle those bright waters played t "^^rhe marvelous progress Bartlipp made ? Or knew he who that form within ? Whose more than match was never seen ; To glide across the waters blue, ,., ;, * In state of nude or birch canoe< - -I . .vl.v As yet the rivals ars^ed apace^ > Tr .Ja • ;v. Unknown each other's form or face ; •' But Bobie, through forest trees, iBeheld, un vexed, the native ease By which that birch canoe became A surface flash, as 'twere of flaule. - But, gazing on that naiad's prow, A smile came o'er the old man's brow ; He wish'd his youthful rival blest, Then sank upon the ground to rest ; Yet * strange,' he said, *if this might close On yonder hunter's safe repose ; The white-man's line not distant far. And these the times of bloody war.' His grey locks, with the breezes borne, , ^, >^ tream d. all di.shevelled and unshorn ; ; \\ ith air benign, and features mild, He viewed his scalping knife, and smiled. Looked if his arrows filled their quiver. And smiled again. If to deliver •■'. His tribe from cursed oppression's sway. Were n^^eded heart as frank as day, That heart was his, tbfoui>:h cloud and ca'm. I'nchangably, ll;e one, the same. ^^^4 ^.. r<. ttft i ,K But Bartlipp neared the wooded shore : ' The dense dark foliage it wore^ /itfV. THE HIROaK HUNTER i BRIDE. 1 lirevr forth its sombre shadow now,;h iW -i, A And met the proa at her prow ; • ?^»1 J>ti^ Vt-^ And Bartlipp feit the breeze of balm, And stiil t he proa Fwiftly swam The wave-wet paddle gleamirij still, <- •Sure guide at the canoeman^s will. -J T A moment, and Ihe beach was gained, ' ' ' Where fresh the moose-track yA remained : r.o ! on the rocks were drops of b ood. An 1 shoe-tracks told where murd rers stood ; And strangely scattered here and there, Were tufts of Indian maiden* s hair ; ' *; ;.:, And from a branch, suspended, huno;, A scalp — some whiteman^s — and his tongue ! Such marks were there, nor did it seem To Bartlipp as an idle dream — h'^r^ v'*f He knew that, but three days before, To son's and sire's bitter wail. The whiteman's army had passed o'er The mountain tract and lowland vale : ' ' llaught sires wept in vacant liaU Such mansion's issue and its fall. And suns, whose sires kind though poor, Wept fondly at their cottage door. • ;.(«' p\ >'^^ The scalp suspended high in air, J The long black locks of maideu*s hair. The l)lood which oozed from brother man,^ That curse since brotherhood began, — Too plainly told what ire had done, iSince yestermorning's radiant sun. With such a guess would Hartlipp pass? Nor judge from what remained what was ; Or could he, there and then reveal This deed they cared not to conceal ? His sickened soul grew sad and sore, From gazing grimly on that gore, ; * Whi- h in his mind an age of thought, 'i'.rl 1- -y. i 1:2 THE HIROCK HUMTER's BRIDE. In such brief interim had wrought ; t Of thought) not reason to revolve The drift of desperate resolve, For Bartlipp, from that transsient view, Pwe vengeful inspiration drew. His thoughts resumed their cahned strain, Then thus he musingly began : »' No deed hath been enacted here 'Twixt armed men with bow or spear, But maiden's blood profusely shed — And yonder hangs the vanguard's head ! 'Twas his to lead this valiant host To Indian maiden's hiding place, • . I And^ for such honor, hath but lost. The scalp which crowned a coward's face. * How sternly bo d they truly were, Lol many a hhoe-ti at k's buried here, ( but only one of toot unshod. Whose grasping toe-nails print the sod ! Poor maid ! where er her corse may lay, It breasted well this bloody fray — Though sod now press, or waters lave That wasting mould, twas surely brave ! But he, this dastard crew who led, ' Already hath the raven fed Upon his scalp : h s comrades fled . - * At some slight noise and carried him. Forgetting yonder token grim — Which leaves them conquered by the dead, — But where the maid I Great Spirit ! she A corpse of their captivity. Thus Bartlipp mused, till sweli'd again, With vengeful wrath, each purple rein ; Three times he crossed himself and knelt, Then swore the deeds his spirit felt, To fall with foemen face to face, " Or extirpate the bearded race. ' «• ' THE HIRtoCK hunter's BRIDE. I But ere his will in words broke forth, F-iOud burst ]6ha vollies from the north. From whiteman's thunder bolts of war, Whose contents flies, unseen, so far. The moose, back bounding through the wood, Towards the spot where Bartlipp stood, Came on, with thitt long timrous stride. Which wakes the forest in its pride, To echo far its fearful speed. Midst crackling bush and bending reed. But in his swift career he fell, By Bartiipp's arrow struck so well That only once he leapt in air — His pondrous weight fell lifeless there. A famous moose lay weltering now. And o'er him bent a thoughtful brow. For though, in sooth, a welcome prize. And doated on by hunter's eyes, * The moose to Bartlipp were not gain. That held another s arrow stain ; And here across the shoulder blade. An arrow's erring course had laid ; And though 'twas Bartiipp's boasted skill. To ne'er have fired but to kill, Yet what, if worn in hot pursuit. Or friend or foe resigned the brute. Could art, or arrow's fatal chance, A right on prior claim advance ? The moose lay bleeding on tlu; strand. 'Neath Bartiipp's hesitating hand, When, bursting forth in eager flight. The few whom strife had spared that f\\ir\\t . Rush'd on the beacli with rcndinu yell. Shrinking from where their wariors fell, Nor would have staid their tale to tell. Whose arm had borne that conflict well, Or who had fallen, struck from fur K 14 THE HIROCK HUNTER^S BRIDE. By whiteman's thunder bolts of war, But Bartlipp rose with manly nerve, And dauntless bro^ that might not swerve, And pointing to the scalp-hung tree, He bade them feel their arms were free. And then, with gesture fierce and wild, He marked the footsteps of the child, Where struggling, though for life 'twere vain. She scalped the leader of their van ! Their clamourings ceased, and gath'ring round, Each chief drew near the fatal ground ; And fathers, struggling hard with fear And grief, beheld, they thought, such hair As clustered round some fond one's brow. l!ndeavouring to be proud e'en now, I'^ach visage grew distressed and wild — Through tears their savage features smiled. The rest stood all aloof, amazed, And, bending slightly forward, gazed With reverence, and each did fear. Lest such had been the death of her For whom his own blooil had been spilt. To save from death, or shame, or guilt, As free as pelican her breast Unlocks, lo feed her desert nest i)f famish'd young. But Luxi signed, < )f some dark thought he'd rid his mind. Tartarean he as ever stood And revel'd in a scene of blood, Xor cared, so he might have his say, Whose lile or character might pay. On Baitlipp hard he placed iiis eye, As if he dared a false reply, And thus spake he with low'ring brow : " We find thee here— ♦vhence camest thon ? Thou stoodst as if thou wouldst divide Tiiis rjucass, in whose shoulder blade THE HIROCK HUNTER's BRIDE. An older wound is found, and f, Who know how true thy eagle eye Is, on this very spot will swear Thy arrow ne'er struck partridge there. I know thee ; all the chiefs admire Thy language, bearing, strength and fire ; But when with whitemen didst thou war ? His thunder bolts more fatal are Where thou art. (^h. thou wast not h\\ And trembling whilst this dastard deed Was here enacted. Now declare Whither those men the corse did bear — Was life extinct ^ who lent the maid, Or had she, then, no scalpini? blade ? Where is she ? if thou didst not know, Methinks thou wouldst be searching now." '' Aye, search !" a hundred voices spake ; But Bartlipp moves not— doth he quake 1 His lips seem pallid and distressed, They quiver — but 'tis wrath suppressed. He turned away in utmost scorn. And but replied, " tomorrow morn, I answer thee" But this he said, Th 'n join'd the search which others led. Now in the depth of corny reed, Now in the dale where partridge feed. Now in some moss-grown rock s dank cave, "ley vainly sought the maiden's grave ; In wave-wash'd trunk of hollow tree, That breasted pales last century, In every crevice, lair, or nook. They cast an anxious ling'ring look. Their task was v.iin, their labor lost, And Death's domain and Lethe crossed, Our floatinir clay, perchance, may glide Smoothly adown the ocean tide ; And none may tell what fate befell, 15 AO. THE HIROCK hunter's BRIDE. Or which of Death's sharp shafts was driven, 1'hat cut the cord which held from heaven. • « . •■ • ■ ■ Slowly dispersing, sad and chilled, With grief and terror darkling o'er 'J'lie mystery o( who was killed, Witli heartfelt woe each breast was filed, For I.er, unknown, who breathed no more. And, 'm ngst the rest, more grieved than they With better rio;ht to grieve, forwarned Within his secret bosom s core, 1 nl«ts brooding o er his dark decrees, And gives to souls their last release. * « . « • , "•Twas past the hour when lovers move. Softly to greet the forms they love. When, transiently, the silv'ry moon h hid, to reappear too soon, 19 20 FTUGO. And show, beneath some elm's tree nliadc, The lover and the passion'd ?naid, When, in his vacant cottage room. And wrapt in midnight's silent gloom, Old Hugo, in his customM chair, Sat dreaming of a sainted fair, Whose heart, too easily deceived, ' His soul, repentant, inly grieved. Old Hugo pouderM through the night! O'er transient scenes of past delight, With nought to cheer his pensive stete^ Save that the ashes in the grate. Whose fire flam'd in ev'ry coal. Portrayed strange pictures on the walU But once he held his vagrant breathy As if a messenger of death Had struck the struggling senses still, And robbM the soul without the will. A form appeared upon the wall — A woman's — proud and ghastly tall — Clarissa's ! — how she stood and spake Unutterable words that quake The dupe of fancy's soul — for he- Could read her features, and her eye Which spake to him of former love — He felt the hearing of reproof. A gentle rap that reach'd his door, Scarce changed the aspect that he wore, Though much he marvel' d if it were. Indeed, a human visiter. That tapping comes, again^ — ^oh heaven ! Clarissa ! — Hugo's, thoughts were driven t Less palpably than, when, of yore, To laughing dames he oped the door, And seated them by his own side, And dreamed the loveliest his bride, And to divert too happy time, Told olden legends coucliu'd. in rhyme ; .. HUGO. « But tott'ring here, a portal dim Was oped less zealously by him. A haggard face, but manly form. Protruded through the raging storm ; And, with scarce audible request, That night would be old llu-io's guest. For, with a groan, the stranger said, And forward thrust his snow-wreath" d head ; His limbs, benumbed, might scarcely bear His weary weight to yonder thair. Beside the fire sat the youth. The flame revealed his features truth. On which old Hugo fitful gazed, Stirring the embers till they blazed,— Those lineaments had some expression. Which sunk into his soul s depression,— Clarissa and the boy were wove Jn one entanglement of love. ]luj,o a^ldressed with word and smile His^stranger guest, and found the while A plenteous board of frugal fare, Which he did kindly minister. And smiled, to see the grateful boy Partake with appetite and joy. Heaven is rife with infancy, And childhood charmeth evVy eye ; But not alike is even youth In beauty's dower, soul or truth : Few, perhaps, hath thrifty nature blest. But such an one was Hugo's guest Nor slow to mark his lovely face, And parts adorned with every grace, Was Huf^o : brow and archest chin. As godlike beauty triumphs in, Aftd hand— a beggar's? — more the vein Of childhood nursed on haught domain — 21 22 HUGO. All these the pensive boy possest, And all told deep in Hugo's breast. " What may your name be ? come boy, tell Me all your prief ; for it is well, At times, to lighten the hearths load : Less dreary seems lifers hapless road, When traveled thus by two." The boy Replied — " Of truth, kind sir, I know Not, neighbors call'd me what they pleased, And seldom kindly — I'm released. At last, from them, I hope forever ; For oh ! it acted like a fever Tn my veins, thus to be a mark For them to taunt with phases dark Jn my birth's history, and say That I was so much less than they. But pardon me, you ask'd my name Only, and I am much to blame, Tf I have trespassed." '* No, I love To hear you," Hugo said, " reprove Not yourself, you may yet extend The same indulgence to your friend. '' I am not old as T may seem, My youth, in years, you would not dream Of, looking on a head so grey. On which distress hath held dire sway For twenty years, and twenty more Is all I have ; yet I am sore With age, — my body tends to earth, — My soul is difPrent — its birth, And growth, has been too much for clay, Which drips like wax, and melts away When hearts of fire glow within. I think, with passion and its sin, Drivel'd with longing, worn with bliss. That I could waste, of such as thia, HUGO. ' '23 A number, and be still the same To cherish or support a flame. " When I was fresh from mine own clime, When first from chapel roof, the chine Of northern bells addressed mine ear, Tn Christian lands, and modern seer Rose through the lamp-light shades of even, Preferring orisons to heaven. My lot was cast— it boots not how — With one of soft and radiant brow. Whose very utterance v.as mine, Whose lips I almost deem'd divine. J look through twenty years, and can Each pliant grace and feature scan. Which shines on me through all those yeaiv>, Yet peopleth not this vale of tears, But call'd by the departed good, Admiring angels, and her God, Clarissa ! How she looks on me W'ith her most soft angelic eye ! My lad, you see her not, she stands Before me even to her hands. Her eye as dark as is this night, All languor now, and now as bright As the gazelPs, yet could but see Its every motion thrill o'er me — Her cheek's sweet tinge — her marble brow — Which never darken''d until now! *' I said my lot was cast with her, 'Twas thus, a tribe of Indians were. About that time amongst us, seeking A maid whom they had lost, and wreaking On all that happen'd in their path, A deadly vengeance ; it was death To meet them, children held their breath •24. HUGO. In terror, -even to descry Afar their lurking, evil eye, _ And men, whose hairs were ^rey with years. Pare scarcely check their chddren s tears, 15ut knew some evil had heen done. Tlie red man raved from sun to sun ; And dwellings, crackling through the night, AVere look'd not on with mornmg light, "Save by some white man, hid to die In rocky cave or hollow tree, From whence he ventured not, but wasted \way, and mourned he had out-lasted The blioht of all he held most dear, And cursed his early fate and fear. TTnlookedupon: the Indian gazed Not on destruction, when it blazed, lie ran, leaving his deeds behind, Though sweet to him the hot-breathed wmd. '. The land was almost desolate, Vnd still the Indian's dark, deep hate Left iraces, wheresoever you turn d, Vou viewM the burning and the burned, r marvel not : had I been one (]f those to whom such wrong was done, Their goodly hunting grounds despoiled, l-^lled by the stranger, barter d, sold, As thouoh the world were white man s own, i wouUCl know not what, have done, And vet, methinks, on only men I would have vi^ited my spleen. And not have bathed my hand m blood Of .rentle babes and womanhood: Ah ^ who can tell the depf-k of grief. Which sought in blood such dark relief ^ ♦' But 1 was on the other side. There was a maiden — not a bride. HUGO. But soon to be so— whom a tribe Of Indians captured, and each bribe Refused with more true haught disdain Than e'en most pious Christians can. We chose a band of such as were Most willing for the fray — to dare, And die, if need be, — but to earn The captive, or to ne'er return. And on we pressed, and at our head. The destined bridegroom swiftly led. We bade him, sake of her he loved. To go not with us; he reproved Us, saying he had better die Than meet not first her lovely eye ; And on he led, nor knew a tomb — And not a bride should be his doom. 'Zb He led — 'twas to his dark symar. For AzraeKs arrow was not f ar ; Though mortal drew the fatal bow 'Twas Death who bade the shaft to go ! ■ He stood upon a jutting rock, That might have stood an earthquake's shock. And at v/hose base, the rudest storm Might waste its force and ne'er deform ; And stern as this unyielding rock, Which seem'd e'en Heaven's will to mo( k. Our leader's eye discerned belovf, The must'ring tribe, our deadly foe, A moment paused, as if to view Clarissa's form, then down he flew, Impeird by bis impetuous will. Along the steep descending bill, And, fighting madly, fouf^ht ton well. For he amon mucli. But our mad rage, uncurbd, was such, C ' The sun was setting on the lakes. Yet shinin£»: brightly through some Hakei* Of falling snow ; a rocky ledge, Encompass'' d by a growing hedge Of older bushes, then might seem The boundVy of his parting beam, ' l.-U HUGO, •27 Which shone upon — mine eyes deceive — Ah no ! Clarissa yst must live ! I felt this thought, and something more, . Glad and exultingly, steal o'er My mind — for on that rocky ledge, And through that half-concealing hedge, Mine eye discover'd — and mine only — Across a dreary waste and lonely, The object of our mission,, led By one of those whose skins are red, Whatever their hearts be. " 'Twas no time For thoughts, or plans, or words sublime. But nerve and action, and the skill To find my passage through a hill Whose foliage was thick and tall, And gain, e'er dark, the rocky wall, Whose starlight was Clarissa's form, Shining, unheeded, through the storm Of battle ; now, like northern star, Which guides the dubious mariner, She guided me, while through the trees. Her scarf was trembling with the breeze. " 'Twould sound like boast in me to tell How fast I thread those woods — how well I planted ev'ry step — how firm, And yet as noiseless as the worm — My course was silent, and 'twas good It should be, otherwise I would Not here be telling you a tale. Having cross'd death's shadowy vale. . I reachd the spot — Clarissa stood Jkfore me* without further blood ; i^ut, at this last, I was not glad. Because some troublous fears 1 had That this escape at last might prove No good to her whom I did love ; . 5% HUCO. That perhaps this Indian might come back With bloody numbers in his track, My blood 1 knew they'd purchase dear, 'Twas for Clarissa I could fear. " Howe'er, the Fates decreed that she Should live, be rescued, loved by me. But ah ! I lored not then as now, Perchance 1 mighl, with wrinkled brow ; Old dotards deemed my love impure, Because 'twas passion's essence ; sure Am I, what all the world approve Is passion''s absence, — lack of love ; But then, in a!l things there's extreme, And. as for my love, 1 do deem It dangVous; this Clarissa proved, I saved her once, and then I loved,'*'* He paused, and o'er his featur&s stole The inmost workings of his soul, W ith changeful hues, and then serene — Serenity of woe — more keen Than passions, in their wildest flow, Inflict ou mortals here below. This quickly past, and left no trace Of those strange workings on his face, His lineaments were fair to view. And now assumed their wonted hue. The work of but one moment this. Memory is swift in hearts like his. Calls up long annals of the past. And joys or saddens with a blast. Clarissa's image, at his side, And like her speaking, thus replied : '' Sir, if my mind may serve me well, ^J iie same I've heard my mother tell. And how your comrades fought and fell # HUGO. But one (it must be you) who took Her safely to a neighbouring brock, And made her wade it lengthwise, so That those who foUow'd might not know What way to find you ; they would cross The river, then be quite at loss, Not finding marks the other side, And think you'd plung'd beneath the tiJe." "Your mother] mother!' asked and « aid Old Hugo, and his trembling lid Began to gather tears, surprise And joy commingling in his eyes. There was a rapture in that hour. Beyond imagination's highest power, When two souls met, so purely one, For Hugo's stranger was his son ; And in that image still was seen. How deep Clarissa's love had been, Too deep to guard her passioned breast, Too deep to be but partly blest, It still, in that fair face, outlasted The vagrant life which it had blasted. The tale is told, for none can pen As"t should be told, what followed then. Except that all was love and joy. When Hugo clasped his noble boy. And Hugo thought Clarissa smiled Upon such fondness for her child, And his — the child of mutual love ; Yet who could coldly tk> n reprove His kindness ? Ah ! who did not now Remark the demon on his brow, i .•.: Who thus could take an outcast in, And fondly love the child of sin ? His name was ruin'd — dead was she Whom he had loved too well ; and he Would share the doom who shared the bliss^ Nor deemM her love repaid by thia. 29 c2 30 TO MISS E. R M. On her being deprived of her Hearing. 'J'he crowd is silent, muttVinj? lips ne'er speak, And smiles are meaningless, the blushing cheek Hath nothing heard to heighten thus its glow, And stillness, perfect stillness, reigns below. 13eside thee we are speaking, and thy name Is not unmention'd, with thy gentle claim To all that tenderness may well impart, To soothe thy painful weariness of heart. I'hou hearest not, although our words are plain, And spoken somewhat loudly, but in vain, I'or thou art deaf awhile ^ and hast not heard, Through all this pleasant spring, one chirping bir'i. But sorrow not ; nor now too deeply yearn Vqx joys a time witheld — which will return — lleturn— familiar voices, and the notes 'j'nou Invest best from nature's myriad throats. And thou shalt walk beneath the foliaged trees, That thou wore wont to visit ; and the breeze Sliall sweep the selfsame murmuring harp on high. And all unite to glad thine ear and eye. And these, for their long absence, shall but make A softer music, memory shall take Within her spirit with a fresh delight. And day shall dawn,, dispelling thy sad night. \ . 31 THE HUNTER. Away with Fame's uncertain tale, And all its dangers to encounter, ril hie me to the woodland vale, To live and die a careless hunter r I ask not stores of fancied wealth, (To lucre-lust I'm yet a stranger,) For nought shall compensate for healthy The free, uncumber'd mountain ranger. I'll start the wild, reclining deer From where her low and leafy couch is, And homeward then the captive bear. Through growing grass and waving bushes- What food than venison more sweet. Which Nature's self so kindly blesses^ To him whose firm, unwearied feet Doth seek her vast, untold recesses. " A soothing balm the country air. To ease a languid soul, possesses, And ev'ry fragrant blossom there Its own peculiar sign expresses ; ^ But give to me the densest wood. Where fearful man afraid to tread is ; la ages past, where Indians stood Beside their dark and winning ladies. 'Tis true no woman's smile is there Shed o'er your lonely path of glory, Nor yet doth honor deign to share With such the page of future story ; But these are false, and not so pure Is sullen, vain ambition's madness, Its paltry hope, or transient lure. As the free-hearted hunter's gladness ! ■'4 32 The iiURter's steps are far and near, On lands which none but he inherits, Through goodly groves or caverns drear. Where'er is worshiped tlie ' (rreat Spirit.' For Him the Indian worships still, Unbending from his father's notion, Who felt that spirit's impulse ihrill, And rightly deem'd that thrill devotion. TACK SHIP. Nay, frown not ; although I left thee. And clasp'd thy rival to my breast, I felt that moment's deed bereft me Of heaven here and earthly rest. But when we sailed with adverse wind. And almost touch'd a beauteous shore, (I grieved to leave that spot behind,) Tack ship ! we heard the helmsman roar. Oh ! lady, such a land of flowers Has seldom met thy lovely gaze, Where friendship might have spent her hours, And love his endless flight of days But then they said 'twas false as fair — Enchanted ground, that lovely shore ; And whilst my eyes were rivet there, Tack ship ! I henrd the helmsman roar. Nay, frown not ; although I left thee, And clasp'd thy rival to my breast, I felt that moment's deed bereft me Of heaven here and earthly rest. But when I sailed with adverse wind, And almost loved a false, fair shore, (I griev, d to leave thee thus behind) Tack ship ! 1 heard the helmsman roar ' T ^ S3 BACHANAUAN. Heigli-ho, in this vacant cottage, Never sought since sought in vain ; Better fitted for man's dotage Than for youth's untrameli'd reign ; Sounds of most unearthly cadence, From some demon's clarionet, Wondrous things, beyond all credence, Such as man saw never yet, Unlike mortals. Through the portals. Pass and repass night and day ; Sometimes creeping On my sleeping In this drear and dread array : Spirits are they earthward driven. Spirits still from hell or heaven. What a life for son of Adam ! Ghosts, or grog, or gauntlet thrown ; No sweet miss nor pensive madam. None to call my dearest own — Save what memory retaineth, (Whim-whara of the whig-wham race ) When the night-dream slowly waneth. Bearing forth the loveliest face E'er the blessing Of caressing, From extended anas forbade. Always chiding, Non-abidiug Child of air ! sweet aerial maid ! Tell me once, and tell me plainly, Whither seek thee and not vainly. e. But virtue — beautiful is chaste, Or if— not decked by Nature's hand. Too kind another's fame to blast, Forgives the soft, yet shuns the bland. Then say not virtue e'er was lost, By man's or woman's fond deceit, Nor deem that it may melt, like frost Beneath the sun's meridian heat. THE SACRIFICE. 'U; <>L ! might I offer on the shrine, N' soul so long hath deem'd divine Quick to ignite, love's gentle glow .Should kindle on a breast like snow,— And little Cupid's smart device Would make my heart the sacrifice. , The fair to whom I spake was shy, But, quite indignant, made reply, '' Ah, thus my fate forever ran, *' Your dupe, oh fickle, wav'ring man ! •' Your heart?— had you ne'er won my fall, 'Twoulu be no sacrifice at all "" d2 »" ,42 THE SHADE OF GRIEF. The shade of grief, o'er beauty flung, ^^Vith chasten'd warmth's sweet mellow dye, 'Ti?, like the nestling due among — Ah no— a tear in virtue's eye. Tiu^ dow may shine mid spangled grass— The torrent yield its beauteous spray— iMom light to shade the meteor pass— Jif-'llected cloud on r ^'r^et play. ."Mveet Emma ! these but i^.atly speak or what thy sparkling eyes display— ( 'arj those, be tears upon thy cheek, Winch svem to drop and gath'ring stay ! W o'rc told, in heaven nought can weep ; When late I saw those drops appear, And thy long lashes mildly steep, i wish'd, such wishes should I keep, ^':ach smile might dazzle with a tear ! A SUNSET THOUGHT. See, yonder sets ihe radiant sun, I'.ut with a feeble, glittVing light,— < iVntle decline, — his race is run To us, yet beams beyond our sight. "i'h thus the sinking soul of earth, Whose dreary flight appears so dim, : n.th glide through death to peaceful birth, Our last sad rite its parting hynm. ris distance lends that mystic gloom ; Approach, and find all fears are past, "j Cn spiite counts moments to his tomb, And owns the sweetest were his last ! 43 SOUL VERSUS HEART. Written to a beantifal Woman who admonished the writer that he had a "Soul to Save." Enchanting woman ! yes, I have, And feel a soul within ; But know not what it would not brave, Wert thou a heaven to win. But if, from out this reckless mass. Some portion thou wouldst save, I have a heart which always wls Thy most obedient slave. If it be worth one thought of thine, With pleasure, madam, take it : Yet stay, 1 ask, since it wa& mine^ Do any thing ^nt break it ! MY PIPE. Let physicians pretend to discard thee, my pipe ! Let them say that thy heart is the den of a thief ; Of themselves, at the most, thou art merely a type — For we give thee a puff and thou showest relief. They may speak of narcotics with seeming alarm ; Let them bring of their patients the best of their cures ; Nay, be silent physicians, — I mean him no harm, — Is he itrongy like my pipe then, the more he endures ? Ye will have it, that dullness and apathy dwell With my pipe ! in its service that freedom expires ! But a bicatk of oppression ^ and its bosom will swell. And e'en G rattan had burn'd had he glow'd with its fires. 44 SONNET. O love, whose earnest origin is still Some metamorphose, spell-bound, of the mind, Imagination — heightened, reason blind Beneath a wayward glance of passion's wilf ; Thou laughest ere that wishing throb trows still. Believing that thou hast the hope of kind' Reception, and of joys that thou shalt find: These hopes mount up a pace, and make a bill Against the time in prospect. Let it pass — The days of longing, hopes unanswered fly ; ^ ' And then thou weepest for the dream that was, But — seeing clearly — death — thy death is nigh. Thou didst exist : a fancy wrought on glass Or mind can never live, laughy weep and die. TO E- Sure thy face is strangely pallid. Languors in thine eyelids leer, Oh ! be re-instated, rallied, Bride intended — of the bier ! Love, methinks, should love too truly Such as thee, Thus to rive that rose, so newly Budding, blooming beauteously. ■,,r..^i •). ;'T! t n.s ■ ;u.' But that urchin mopeth madly Over faces bright and fair, Ruthless rummager ! he sadly Broods sorrow there ; Uutil the heavy heart grows cheerless, And the cheek ^ale. And she who once was fair und fearless, Begins to droop, yet dreads death's vale. ft I 4 I '•■i 45 INDIAN DIRGE. O'er rocky shelf, through sylvan shade The streamlet holds its crystal way, And, bending fondly, bushes steep Their lengthen'd locks therein ; and glad. The skipping zephyr joins the play, Or urges onward to the deep. Adown this wood of foliaged pine, Our sires traced a course more fee, — As swift as sweeping winds are wild, Except their prey, no bound'ry line. They scoured plain and mountain high, When freedom smiled on freedom's child. Their children nought pervades but gloom ! Unroll, O Earth, the lapse of years. And let the past be past away ! With watchful eye towards yonder tomb. See ye how cultivation sneers i Our sires blood enrich'd that clay ! Above us, death's tyrannic hand Has long been wav'riug, full in view, To strike us whence we deem'd our own, For we are exiled in the land, And e'en our still remaining few Must soon be dwindled into none ! ' 46 TO A SNOW-FLAKE. Chainless spirit of ether space ! Thou*rt like the restless soul of man, Which ne'er may find abiding place, Or would not, will not, if it can. Thou art the offspring of the sea, But early left thy mother's breast, A time through earth and sky to flee, And then return to her to rest. While life is blithe, alert and spry, Thus man, in solitude to mourn. Oft leaves the fond maternal eye, But doth, at times, for love return. But then you'r more like women too. Your melting now—and that is twice I've seen you change, 'tis nothing new, Like melted maids— yoix^W soon be ice. \i Hirock Hunter's Bride • 3 Hugo ^S To Miss E. F. M 30 The Hunter 31 Tack Ship 32 Bachanalian 33 The Indian's Lot 35 To my Mother 37 Stanzas 38 Virtue ne'er was lost ^^ The Sacrifice 4.1 The Shade of Grief *2 A Sun-set Thought 4^2 Soul versus Heart *.«.... 43 My Pipe.. Sonnet • To E. Indian Dirge ^ To a Snow-flake » » 4 . ^ 44 44 45 46