AN

Her lover, slain in battle, slept; Her maiden veil, her own black hair, Came down o'er eyes that wept : And wildly, in her woodland tongue, This sad and simple lay she sung:

"I've pull'd away the shrubs that grew Too close above thy sleeping head, And broke the forest boughs that threw Their shadows o'er thy bed,

That, shining from the sweet south-west, The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.

"It was a weary, weary road,

That led thee to the pleasant coast,
Where thou, in his serene abode,

Hast met thy father's ghost,
Where everlasting autumn lies
On yellow woods and sunny skies.

""Twas I the broider'd mocsen made,

That shod thee for that distant land;
"Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still cold hand;
Thy bow in many a battle bent,
Thy arrows never vainly sent.

"With wampum belts I cross'd thy breast,
And wrapp'd thee in the bison's hide,
And laid the food that pleased thee best,
In plenty, by thy side,

And deck'd thee bravely, as became
A warrior of illustrious name.

"Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast pass'd

The long dark journey of the grave,

And in the land of light, at last,

Hast join'd the good and brave;

Amid the flush'd and balmy air,
The bravest and the loveliest there.

"Yet oft to thine own Indian maid,

Even there, thy thoughts will earthward stray,

To her who sits where thou wert laid,

And weeps the hours away;

Yet almost can her grief forget

To think that thou dost love her yet.

“And thou, by one of those still lakes That in a shining cluster lie,

On which the south wind scarcely breaks
The image of the sky,

A bower for thee and me hast made
Beneath the many-colour'd shade.

"And thou dost wait and watch to meet
My spirit sent to join the bless'd,
And, wondering what detains my feet
From the bright land of rest,
Dost seem, in every sound, to hear

The rustling of my footsteps near."

SPIRI

Beside the founts of truth-the living springs

Of Beauty infinite:-Spirit of thought,

Of youth, hope, joy!- Angels array'd thy wings

In glory, and endow'd thy harp's bright strings With power, with music, and sublimityEnwreath'd thee with immortal offeringsStretch'd out the heavens before thee far and free, And sent thy genius forth through all immensity!

II.

First from the mount thou saw'st the sea launch'd wide
Through the unfathom'd channels of the earth;
Thou saw'st the Light flash from Jehovah's side—
The primal wonders of the world burst forth;

Thou heard'st the Word, that call'd the skies to birth,
And woke the planets to their watch of years;-
Thou heard'st creation sing His boundless worth,
While like the flashing of ten thousand spears
Out-sprung the blazing sun amidst the heavenly spheres!

III.

For ever hast thou been a gift of light,

A voice in the eternity of days,

A presence in the everlasting sight,

Soaring where even seraphs fear to gaze

Snatching the secret fire of heaven's own rays—
Wielding the thunders in thy fearless hold;
The awful hand alone, that made thee, stays

Thy vast ambition-thine aspirings bold,—

And with its touch of might bids thy wild pinions fold.

IV.

Who hath not proved the power of poesy,
When from the sepulchres of greatness fled,
He watch'd the clouds of centuries roll by,
And stood and spake with the illustrious dead!—