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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 when the captive was brought out,
'Mid savage war-cry, taunt and shout,
She stepp'd into the fierce array,
As the bereaved Indian may,

And claim'd the victim for her own.
" He was restored. What need of more

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!"

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« • 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!
The hatchet and the tomahawk
Lie by me on the forest-walk;
The great chief in my hut lies low,
The ruthless pale-face struck the blow

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,
And stood before the judgment-seat,

A guilty, trembling thing!
“I was an earthly king last night,"

With a hollow voice he spoke ; “I drank the wine, I sank to sleep

Oh! how have I awoke !

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“ 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;
“Therefore I gave him to a power

More fell than death, - and he
Was racked for crime he had not wrought ; –

And so died cruelly.
“ The second had a feebler soul;

A gentle, timid thing;
A child in spirit, to whose heart,

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;
And every thought, and word, and deed,

Unperished lives again!
« For, as a leaf before the storm

Is bowed and borne away,
Some mighty power compelleth me,

And it must have its way ;
Though every word condemn my soul,

I dare not disobey!
" I see a white, low village-home ;

I see a woman there;
And a little child kneels at her knee,

And murmurs out its prayer.
“ It is the first-born of her love -

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,
Plead for me in my hour of need!

Think on my sinless youth!
Ah, no! thou canst not plead for me!

A dark and fearful time
Hath parted us, and death hath oped

The mystery of my crime!
I made thy nights a weary watch;

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;
And pure and simple had they lived,

Had it not been for me!
But now their blood unto my soul

Doth cleave like leprosy!
“ I stood as in a father's place,

As the sun before their sight, Beloved of all; and in their eyes

Whate'er I did was right.
* Alas! my heart was a cursed thing!

I lured them on to sin,
I lured them to a dark abyss,

And plunged them headlong in! * Bodies and souls I ruined them;

Yet in men's sight I kept
My name unstained - on their's alone

The infumy was heaped.
“ They were my tools, and subtly

I wrought them to my will;
A tyrant to the wretched slaves

I bound to me for ill!
“ No, no! for me thou canst not plead !

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 ;
The bitter wrongs I heaped on you,

Had power my soul to slay!
“ The third, a spirit like to mine ;

The nearest to my heart;
The only one I counselled with,

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,
I did to them, — I raised myself

On weak humanity.
Rapine and outrage, and despair,

Over the land spread wide;
And what was wrung from poverty

My luxury supplied.
" The little that the poor man had,

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
By thought of sin; so meek, so wise ;

In heart so like a child !
“In the beauty of her innocence,

She had no earthly fear:
The blackness of my evil heart

I masked when she was near. “ With subtle mockery of good,

Her pure soul did I win ;
And fervent, lying vows I paid,

Ere she was lured to sin.
“I brought destruction on her house -

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,
A small train of poor men, who bore

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.
“ The gnawing sense of evil done,

Was as a desert beast
Above its prey – my living soul

Its unconsumed feast!

"I plunged into yet madder guilt,

To hush the ceaseless cry;
I matched my strength against remorse,

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!
“So, doomed to hopeless misery,

I loathed the light of day;
I loathed the sight of human eye,

And gave the passion way! “It grew a cruel moodiness ;

The tyrant's jealous sense,
To which the joy of other hearts

Becomes black offence.
“ Thus I was hated, feared, and shunned ;

And hatred filled my mind
For all my race; and long I lived

In warfare with mankind.
“ The cup I drained was a poisoned cup -

"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 slept - I woke - oh, awful Judge!

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
The calm waves with a quiet ripple died;

With a calın hand, as nerved for coming ill,
The lazy breeze seemed all too faint to bring Then with a calm, majestic air arose,
The cry of sea-birds dipping in the tide;

And claimed protection from his following foes.” The flagging streamer droopingly did cling l'nto the mast. The unruMed ocean wide

Lay like a mirror, in whose depths were seen
Each sunlit peak, and woody headland green.

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.
With snatches of blithe song or whistle shrill;

And in a group apart, the people told
Wild tales, and dreams, and dark traditions old. From the disastrous field of Pharsaly

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,
And, as such men are wont in idle time,

Blasted and withering in the desert waste.
He from his life drew pleasant incident;
Then, as if woke to thought, began to say

What a strange dream he had ere break of day.

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.

" While then I stood, as even now I stand,

My eye upon the stilly ocean bent,
I saw a boat push quickly from the land,

Oft in the days of bright July,
And eager rowers with a firm intent

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 :


Visions of beauty, green and cool --
The water-lily's shadowy pool ;
The untrodden wood's sequestered shine,
Where hides the lustrous columbine,
And leaves astir for ever make
A breezy freshness through the brake.

I think of some old country hall,
With carved porch, and chimneys tall,
And pleasant windows many a one,
Set deep into the old, grey stone,
Hid among trees so large and green,
"T is only dimly to be seen.
I think of its dusk garden-bowers,
Its little plots of curious flowers,
Its casements wreathed with jessamine,
Flung wide to let all odours in,
And all sweet sounds of bird and bee,
And the cool fountain's melody.

I think of mountains still and grey,
Stretching in summer light away,
Where the blue, cloudless skies

Above the solitude of snows;
Of gleaming lakes, whose waters lie
In restless beauty sparklingly;
Of little island-nooks of rest
Where the grave heron makes her nest;
And wild cascades with hurrying roar,
Like the sweet tumult of Lodore -
Lodore! -- that name recalls to me
Visions of stern sublimity,
And pastoral vales, and lonely rills,
And shepherd people on the hills,
And more,-old names of men unknown
Save on their mouldering church-yard stone,
Or to some mountain-chronicler
Who talketh of the days that were ;-
For, in gone years, they of my race
Had, 'mong the hills, their dwelling-place,
In an old mansion that doth stand
As in the heart of fairy land.
Then mountains, lakes, and glorious skies
Lived in their children's memories,
There tended they, in evening hours,
Their garden's antiquated flowers,
And, on the Skiddaw mountain grey
They gambolled through the sunny day,-
Blest summer revellers! and did float
On Keswick Lake their little boat!-

The black Prince Edward sate at meat

Amid his chivalrie,
Two hundred knights at the board were set,

And the rosy wine ran free:
They were mailed men in merry cheer,

And the Prince sate on the dais,
And his laugh was loudest through the hall,

Upon that day of grace :
And some they told the jester's tale,

And some they gaily sang,
Till the hall of old Valenciennes

To the dusky rafters rang ;
But 'mid the mirth and 'mid the wine

There sale an aged knight,
And heavy thoughts within his soul

Had dimmed his spirits light;
Quoth Edward, “ By my faith, this man

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,
Done to the bravest man of France,

Within a dungeon strong,
Where night and day he pineth sore

To hear the small birds' song,
And all afar through Christendom

Thou’rt blamed for his thrall,
Even by the knights at thy right hand,

And the fair dames in the hall!"
“He shall be free !" Prince Edward said,

u No longer on a name,
So fair and far renowned as mine

Shall rest unknightly shame!
Go fetch him from his dungeon deep,

Myself will do him right.”
Eftsoons into that banquet room

Was brought the prisoned knight.
Quoth Edward, “Thou'rt a noble knight,

Name now thy ransom fee,
How small soe'er, by my good sword,

Thy ransom it shall be !"
Du Guesclin in his prison garb

Stood proudly in the ring,
And named such ransom as would free

From thrall a captive king;
Prince Edward's brow grew darkly red;

" Sir Knight, I say thee nay;
Such ransom as thou nam’st, by Heaven,

No Christian knight could pay!
Three paces stepped Du Guesclin on,

And haughtier grew his brow,
Quoth he, “ Is knighthood thus esteemed

By such a man as thou!
The kings of France and fair Castile

The sum would not gainsay,
And if I lacked elsewhere the gold,
My ransom they would pay ;

Let Mammon's sons with visage lean,
Restless and vigilant, and keen,
Whose thought is but to buy and sell,
In the hot, toiling city dwell;
Give me to walk on mountains bare,
Give me to breathe the open air,
To hear the village-children's mirth,
To see the beauty of the earth-
In wood and wild, by lake and sea
To dwell with foot and spirit free

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