To one that will remember us of yore,
When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia
"And I, the eagle of my tribe,* have rushed
With this lorn dove."—A sage's self-command
Had quelled the tears from Albert's heart that gushed;
But yet his cheek-his agitated hand—
That showered upon the stranger of the land
No common boon, in grief but ill beguiled
A soul that was not wont to be unmanned;
"And stay," he cried, " dear pilgrim of the wild!
Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child!—
XXI.
"Child of a race whose name my bosom warms,
On earth's remotest bounds how welcome here!
Whose mother oft, a child, has filled these arms,
Young as thyself, and innocently dear,
Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer.
Ah happiest home of England's happy clime!
How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear,
As in the noon and sunshine of my prime !
How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years of time.
"And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now,
Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore?
Or thought I, in thy father's house when thou
Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor
And first of all his hospitable door,
To meet and kiss me at my journey's end?
But where was I when Waldegrave was no more?
*The Indians are distinguished both personally and by tribes by the name of particular animals, whose qualities they affect to resemble either for cunning, strength, swiftness, or other qualities.-As the oagle, the serpent, the fox, or bear.
And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend,
In woes, that ev'n the tribe of deserts was thy friend!"
He said—and strained unto his heart the boy:
Far differently the mute Oneyda took
His calumet of peace,* and cup of joy;
As monumental bronze unchanged his look:
A soul that pity touched but never shook:
Trained, from his tree-rocked cradlet to his bier,
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear-
A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.-
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow;
As lives the oak unwithered on the rock
By storms above, and barrenness below;
He scorned his own, who felt another's wo:
And ere the wolfskin on his back he flung,
Or laced his mocasins, in act to go,
of parting to the boy he sung,
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly
ર Sleep wearied one! and in the dreaming land
Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet,
Oh! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand
Hath plucked the thorns of sorrow from thy feet;
While I in lonely wilderness shall greet
*Calumet of Peace.-The calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity. †Tree-rocked cradle.-The Indian mothers suspend their children in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be rocked by the wind.
Thy little foot prints-or by traces know
The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet
To feed thee with the quarry of my bow,
And poured the lotus-horn,* or slew the mountain roe.
"Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun!
But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock,
Then come again-my own adopted one!
And I will graft thee on a noble stock:
The crocodile, the condor of the rock,
Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars;
And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock,
To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars,
And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!"
So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth)
That true to nature's fervid feelings ran;
(And song is but the eloquence of truth :)
Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man;
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan
In woods required, whose trained eye was keen
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan
His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine,
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.
Old Albert saw him from the valley's side-
His pirogue launched-his pilgrimage begun-
Far, like the red-bird's wing he seemed to glide-
Then dived, and vanished in the woodlands dun.
*From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriand presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any other water.
Oft, to that spot by tender memory won,
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmered in the sun;
But never more to bless his longing sight,
Was Outalissi hailed, with bark and plumage bright.
A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn
Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between,
Whose lofty verdure overlooked his lawn;
And waters to their resting place serene
Came fresh'ning, and reflecting all the scene:
(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;)
So sweet a spot of earth, you might, I ween,
Have guessed some congregation of the elves [selves.
To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for them-
Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse,
Nor vistas opened by the wand'ring stream;
Both where at evening Allegany views,
Through ridges burning in her western beam,
Lake after lake interminably gleam:
And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam,
Where earth's unliving silence all would seem;
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome,
Or buffalo remote lowed far from human home.
But silent not that adverse eastern path,
Which saw Aurora's hill th' horizon crown;
There was the river heard, in bed of wrath,
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown.)
Like tumults heard from some far distant town;
But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom,
And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down
|