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“I knew they were athirst for blood;
That they had pity none to spare ;Besides, bound to a tree, I saw
An English captive there.
“I saw his war-plume, soil'd and torn;
I knew that he was doom'd to die; Pale, wounded, feeble, there he stood ; The ground was crimson'd with his blood; Yet stood he as a soldier should
Erect, with calm, determined eye.
“ I would not he should see me then,
The sight his courage had betray'd ; Therefore unseen we stepp'd aside,
Into the forest-glade.
* Long looked she on the pictured face,
Which from my neck I took and gave; Long looked she ere a word was spoke, And then she slowly silence hroke, • The hatchet is not buried yet; The tomahawk with blood is wet;
And the great chief is in his grave! « • Yet for the father Onas' sake
For their sakes who no blood have shed; We will not by his sons be blamed For taking life which they have claimed ;
The red man can avenge his dead!' “So saying, with her broken heart
She went forth to the council-stone;
And claim'd the victim for her own.
To tell the joy that thence ensued ! But sickness followed long and sore, And he for a twelvemonth or more,
With our good, peaceful friends abode.
An Indian woman there was set,
We knew her, and to her were known; The wife of a great chief was she, Deck'd in her Indian bravery ;
Yet there she sat alone.
«« Woman,' I said, the silence breaking,
• Thou know'st us — know'st that we belong To peaceful people, who have ne'er
Done to thy nation wrong. * * Thou know'st that ye have dwelt with us,
As friend upon the hearth of friend;When have ye ask'd and been denied,
That this good faith should end ?
“But we, two plighted hearts, were wed;
A merry marriage ye may wis; And guess ye me a happy life In England here, an honoured wife, Sweet friends, ye have not guess'd amiss! “But never more let it be said,
The red man is of nature base; Nor let the crimes that have been taught, Be by the crafty teachers brought
As blame against the Indian race!"
THE DOOMED KING.
« • Go, Indian woman, and do this,
For thou art mighty with thy race ! The Indian made me no reply,
But looked into my face.
" Mighty! said'st thou ?' at length she spoke,
• Mighty! - to one no longer wife!
And yet thou com'st to me for life!
The voice of an archangel spake
“A dark one draweth near, Covered with guilt as with a robe; –
Wherefore doth he appear ?" And another answered solemnly
“He comes for judgment here!" Through myriad, myriad shapes of bliss,
On went the Spectre King,
A guilty, trembling thing!
With a hollow voice he spoke ; “I drank the wine, I sank to sleep
Oh! how have I awoke !
“ Alas! my life has been a dream
A sinful dream : 't is o'er! And through eternity, my soul Shall slurnber never more!
“ The first, he died a dreadful death,
or lingering, horrid pain ; I saw him as a stealthy spy
His soul had broke my chain;
More fell than death, - and he
And so died cruelly.
A gentle, timid thing;
Good never ceased to cling. 'T was vain I crushed him, scorned him, spurn'd;
His was a truth unchanged: Fallen as he was, his steadfast love
Kept with me unestranged !
“ Back through the past my soul is urged ;
Back through each guilty stain;
Unperished lives again!
Is bowed and borne away,
And it must have its way ;
I dare not disobey!
I see a woman there;
And murmurs out its prayer.
Fairest, and most caressed ; Heaven only has a second place
Within that woman's breast. " Mother, dear mother! by thy love,
Thy sorrowings, and thy truth,
Think on my sinless youth!
A dark and fearful time
The mystery of my crime!
I gloomed thy days with shame; And a dark word by which men are cursed,
I made my father's name! "I was the eldest of our house ;
Beside me there were three;
Had it not been for me!
Doth cleave like leprosy!
As the sun before their sight, Beloved of all; and in their eyes
Whate'er I did was right.
I lured them on to sin,
And plunged them headlong in! * Bodies and souls I ruined them;
Yet in men's sight I kept
The infumy was heaped.
I wrought them to my will;
I bound to me for ill!
I spoke not for the three ; And in thy broken-heartedness,
I kept them far from thee, With cruel, specious lies ! — no, no,
Thou canst not plead for me!
“ And, in my after misery,
When evil days came down, He saved me; and my coward life
He ransomed with his own! “ Brothers ! why rise ye not, each one,
Upon this judgment-day ;
Had power my soul to slay!
The nearest to my heart;
Who in my power had part: “ He sate with me at the board last night,
He took from me the wine; Traitor, there's blood upon thy hand,
And judgment will be thine! “Ah, no! the guilt is mine — is mine!
I drew the three from Heaven; I sold them to work wickedness,
And may not be forgiven! “ Talents and time — the noblest gifts
Ever on man bestowed, Were mine ; a soft and winning speech,
And beauty like a god! “All, all were passion's vilest slaves ;
All ministered to crime; And now a dark eternity
Doth make account with time. “I had a power, an awful power
Over men's minds ; I wove, Base as I was, around all hearts
A chain, half fear, half love. “They were as clay ; I moulded them
With the light words of my tongue; Old men and wise alike obeyed :
And thence ambition sprung. “The sin of angels was my sin ;
And, bold as was my thought, Men, weak and willing instruments, They gave me what I sought!
* Then woke the tyrant stern and proud;
And, as unto the three,
On weak humanity.
Over the land spread wide;
My luxury supplied.
In vain he guarded well; Mine eye was as the basilisk's,
That withered where it sell. “My sceptre was an iron rod!
The suffering people's groan, Like sullen thunders heard asar,
Was echoed to the throne : “ To me it was a mockery!
I scoffed at wise men's lore; And to the madness of my power
I gave myself still more. “Of seven dark and deadly sins,
Like plague-spots on the past Of seven dark and deadly sins,
I must recount the last :“ There was a maid — a fair young thing
High-born, and undefiled
In heart so like a child !
She had no earthly fear:
I masked when she was near. “ With subtle mockery of good,
Her pure soul did I win ;
Ere she was lured to sin.
The blameless and the brave! And its grey-headed sire went down
Dishonoured to the grave. “ This was the triumph of my art;
This gave her to my power; Poor slave to passion's tyranny,
The idol of an hour! “ Vain was her passionate despair,
My callous heart to wring; I left her to her misery
A lorn, heart-broken thing! “ I took of her no further thought
My life was in its prime; And in a wild carouse I lived
Of luxury and crime. “'T was, staggering from a long debauch,
From some impure retreat, At midnight, in a dark disguise,
Along the city street,
And I and my companions saw,
Amid our shameless mirth,
Some child of clay to earth. " A thought of mad impiety
Rushed through my drunken brain; I seized the foremost by the arm,
And stopped the funeral train. ** Let's look upon the dead! I cried ;
No answering word they said ; But gazed on me upbraidingly,
And then unveiled the dead! “The dead! yes, on the dead I looked !
Oh! sight of woe to me! The one I drew as down from heaven,
And cast to infamy! "Not in her beauty was she laid,
As for the high-born meet; The coarsest garb of poverty
Was her poor winding-sheet! “The drunken frenzy of my brain
Was gone - and through my soul A wild, remorseful agony,
Like a fierce weapon stole! “ From that night, life became a pang :
A dark, upbraiding sprite Seemed ever nigh, for that one sin
Reproaching day and night.
Was as a desert beast
Its unconsumed feast!
"I plunged into yet madder guilt,
To hush the ceaseless cry;
And sinned more recklessly! “Vain, vain! through war, through civil strife
Kept with me in each place, The broken-hearted wretchedness
Of that dead woman's face!
I loathed the light of day;
And gave the passion way! “It grew a cruel moodiness ;
The tyrant's jealous sense,
Becomes black offence.
And hatred filled my mind
In warfare with mankind.
"T was red wine at the brim ; I took it from my brother's hand I had no fear of him!
“I sank down on the couch to rest,
The while he watched near;
I woke — and I am here!"
Till the Dictator quaked; or when he bore
In triumph trophies from ten nations quelled, Ardent and bold, whom myriads as he went Hailed as immortal and magnificent.
“ Not now as then — pale, thoughtful, ill at rest, THE DREAM OF PETIÇIUS.
His fate seemed warring with his mighty will;
His hand on his contracted brow was prest,
As it the force of throbbing thought could still; Still lay the vessel like a sleeping thing;
Anon he wrapped his mantle o'er his breast
With a calın hand, as nerved for coming ill,
And claimed protection from his following foes.” The flagging streamer droopingly did cling l'nto the mast. The unruMed ocean wide
Even while some pondering sate with thoughtful air,
'And some made merry with so strange a tale, II.
All eyes were turned in sudden wonder where More than a league they had not sailed that day;
White o'er the waters gleamed a little sail ;Yet on the coast was seen each sleeping hill;
On through the calm the striving pinnace bare ;And island, that at noon before them lay,
Then sorrow woke, and firmest brows grew pale, In the calm evening lay before them still.
For worn and wearied, Pompey they behold, The wearied seamen sped the time away
Even as that prophetic dream foretold.
He fled - his star of fate was in the wane;
He had lived a life of victory to see The captain was a thoughtful man, whose prime
In one brief hour his veteran legions slain ;Had been in foreign lands and voyage spent ; But yesterday — the world's proud lord was he, Who brought back marvellous history from each clime,
To-day — a fugitive upon the main ;And found adventure wheresoe'er he went.
Like a fair tree by sudden blight defaced,
Blasted and withering in the desert waste.
The sea for him by that dead calm was bound, IV.
For now a strong wind filled the swelling sail, 'T was while our vessel scudding to the breeze,
And shook the cordage with a rattling sound; Fled, like a strong bird, from your pleasant shore,
Forward the pennon floated on the gale, My dream was of these bright and stirless seas,
And the dark living waters heaved around; The flagging canvass, and the useless oar;
No more the islands to the right they hail, I saw, as now I see, in slumbrous ease
Green Pelion's woody crown no more was seen ; Green Pelion's head, and those dim mountains hoar But the ship voyaged free to Mitylene. Resting afar; I saw yon glancing bird ; And the low rippling of these waves I heard.
LODORE, A SUMMER VISION.
Oft in the days of bright July,
When the parched earth is brown and dry, Make towards the ship. Within, a little band
And the hot noon-day's sun looks down Sate in mute sadness, as by travel spent;
Upon the dusty, barren town, And 'mid them one, superior to the rest,
And scorching walls, sun-smitten, glare Pale, as his soul by heavier thought was prest.
And stifling is the breezeless air,
And through the day, flows all around
A ceaseless tide of wearying sound, * They neared,-and marvelling yet more and more, And busy crowds with restless feet, I saw 'twas Pompey; not as I beheld
Pass up and down the burning street Flim in the senate, when he stood before
I sit in some still room apart, Fierce Sylla, and with taunts his wrath repelled, And summer visions fill my heart :
DU GUESCLIN'S RANSOM.
Visions of beauty, green and cool --
I think of some old country hall,
I think of mountains still and grey,
The black Prince Edward sate at meat
Amid his chivalrie,
And the rosy wine ran free:
And the Prince sate on the dais,
Upon that day of grace :
And some they gaily sang,
To the dusky rafters rang ;
There sale an aged knight,
Had dimmed his spirits light;
Doth mar our heartsome cheer! Sir knight, do battle with thy woe,
Or stay no longer here." “My liege." said he, “ my soul is dark
With pondering on the wrong,
Within a dungeon strong,
To hear the small birds' song,
Thou’rt blamed for his thrall,
And the fair dames in the hall!"
u No longer on a name,
Shall rest unknightly shame!
Myself will do him right.”
Was brought the prisoned knight.
Name now thy ransom fee,
Thy ransom it shall be !"
Stood proudly in the ring,
From thrall a captive king;
" Sir Knight, I say thee nay;
No Christian knight could pay!
And haughtier grew his brow,
By such a man as thou!
The sum would not gainsay,
Let Mammon's sons with visage lean,