"His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee:
"Nor half its grief his little heart could hold:
"By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea,
"They tore him from us when but twelve years old,
"And scarcely for his loss have I been yet consol'd.”-

XIX.

His face the wand'rer hid,-but could not hide
A tear, a smile, upon his cheek that dwell ;-
"And speak, mysterious stranger!" (Gertrude cried)
"It is!-it is!-I knew-I knew him well!

"'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell!"
A burst of joy the father's lips declare;

But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell :

At once his open arms embrac'd the pair,

Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care.

XX.

"And will ye pardon then (replied the youth)
"Your Waldegrave's feigned name, and false attire ?
"I durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth,
"The very fortunes of your house enquire;
"Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire
"Impart, and I my weakness all betray;
"For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire,
"I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day,
"Unknown I meant to weep, unknown to pass away.

XXI.

"But here ye live,-ye bloom,-in each dear face
"The changing hand of time I may not blame ;
"For thee, it hath but shed more reverend grace,
"And here, of beauty perfected the frame;
"And well I know your hearts are still the same,-
"They could not change-ye look the very way,
"As when an orphan first to you I came.

"And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray?

"

[265]

Nay wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous day?

XXII.

"And art thou here? or is it but a dream?

"And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us more?
"No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem

"Than aught on earth-than ev'n thyself of yore-
"I will not part thee from thy father's shore;
"But we shall cherish him with mutual arms,
"And hand in hand again the path explore,
"Which every ray of young remembrance warms,

"While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and charms."

XXIII.

At morn, as if beneath a Galaxy

Of over-arching groves in blossoms white,
Where all was od'rous scent and harmony,
And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight:
There if, oh gentle love! I read aright,
The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond,
'Twas listening to these accents of delight,
She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond
Expression's pow'r to paint, all languishingly fond.

XXIV.

"Flow'r of my life, so lovely, and so lone! "Whom I would rather in this desart meet,

66

Scorning, and scorn'd by fortune's pow'r, than own "Her pomp and splendor lavish'd at my feet! "Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite "Than odours cast on heav'n's own shrine-to please— "Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet,

"And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze, "When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas.”

XXV.

Then would that home admit them-happier far
Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon

While, here and there, a solitary star

Flush'd in the dark'ning firmament of June;

And silence brought the soul-felt hour, full soon,
Ineffable, which I may not pourtray;

For never did the Hymenean moon

A paradise of hearts more sacred sway,

In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray."

DEATH OF ALBERT AND GERTRUDE.

[From the same.]

XXVII.

"BUT short that contemplation-sad and short The pause to bid each much-lov'd scene adieu !

Beneath the very shadow of the fort,

Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew ;
Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew

Was near?-yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds,
Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view,
The ambush'd foeman's eye-his volley speeds,

And Albert-Albert-falls! the dear old father bleeds!

XXVIII,

XXVIII.

And tranc'd in giddy horror Gertrude swoon'd;
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone,
Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father's wound,
These drops?-Oh God! the life-blood is her own;
And falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown-
"Weep not, O Love!"-she cries," to see me bleed-
"Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone-

"Heaven's peace commiserate; for scarce I heed

"These wounds;-yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed.

XXIX.

"Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

"Of fate; while I can feel thy drear caress;

"And when this heart hath ceas'd to beat-oh! think,

"And let it mitigate thy woe's excess,

"That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

"And friend to more than human friendship just.

"Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

"And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

"God shall assuage thy pangs-when I am laid in dust!

XXX:

"Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart,

"The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move,
"Where my dear father took thee to his heart.
"And Gertrude thought it ecstacy to rove

"With thee, as with an angel, through the grove
"Of peace,-imagining her lot was cast

"In heav'n; for ours was not like earthly love. "And must this parting be our very last ?

"No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.

XXXI.

"Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,"And thee, more lov'd, than aught beneath the sun, "If I had liv'd to smile but on the birth

"Of one dear pledge ;-but shall there then be none, "In future time-no gentle little one,

"To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me; "Yet seems it, ev'n while life's last pulses run,

"A sweetness in the cup of death to be,

"Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee!"

XXXII.

Hush'd were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland

And beautiful expression seem'd to melt

With love that could not die! and still his hand

She presses to the heart no more that felt.

Ah

Ah heart! where once each fond affection dwelt,
And features yet that spoke a soul more fair.
Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt,-

Of them that stood encircling his despair,

He heard some friendly words;-but knew not what they were.
XXXIII.

For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives
A faithful band. With solemn rites between,
'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives,
And in their deaths had not divided been.
Touch'd by the music, and the melting scene,
Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd:-
Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen
To veil their eyes, as pass'd each much lov'd shroud-
While woman's softer soul in woe dissolv'd aloud.

XXXIV.

Then mournfully the parting bugle bid

Its farewell o'er the grave of worth and truth;
Prone to the dust afflicted Waldegrave hid
His face on earth ;-him watch'd in gloomy ruth,
His woodland guide: but words had none to sooth
The grief that knew not consolation's name :
Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth,

He watch'd, beneath its folds, each burst that came
Convulsive, ague-like across his shuddering frame!

XXXV.

"And I could weep ;"-th' Oneyda chief

His descant wildly thus begun :

"But that I may not stain with grief

"The death-song of my father's son !

"Or bow this head in woe ;

"For by my wrongs, and by my wrath!

"To-morrow Aerouski's breath,

"(That fires yon heav'n with storms of death),

"Shall light us to the foe:

"And we shall share, my Christian boy!

"The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy!