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A CHILD beside a hamlet's fount at play,
Her fair face laughing at the sunny day;
The cheerful girl her labor leaves awhile,
To gaze on Heaven's and Earth's unsullied smile ;
Her happy dog looks on her dimpled cheeks,
And of his joy in his own language speaks;
A gush of waters, tremulously bright,
Kindling the air to gladness with their light;
And a soft gloom beyoud, of summer-trees,
Darkening the turf, and, shadowed o'er by these,
A low, dim, woodland cottage :-this was all!


What had the scene for memory to recall, With a fond look of love? What secret spell With the heart's pictures bade its image dwell? What but the spirit of the joyous child,

That freshly forth o'er stream and yerdure smiled, Casting upon the common things of earth

A brightness, born and gone with infant mirth!


SILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief,
In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb;

His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with grief,
And his arms folded in majestic gloom,
And bis bow lay unstrung beneath the mound,
Which sanctified the gorgeous waste around.

For a pale Cross above its greensward rose,

Telling the cedars and the pines that there Man's heart and hope had struggled with his woes, And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer. Now all was hushed-and eve's last splendor shone, With a rich sadness, on the attesting stone.

There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild,

And he too paused in reverence by that grave, Asking the tale of its memorial, piled

Between the forest and the lake's bright wave; Till, as a wind might stir a wither'd oak, On the deep dream of age his accents broke:

And the grey chieftain, slowly rising, said,

"I listened for the words, which years ago Passed o'er these waters; though the voice is fled

Which made them as a singing fountain's flow; Yet, when I sit in their long-faded track, Sometimes the forest's murmur gives them back.

"Ask'st thou of him, whose house is lone beneath? I was an eagle in my youthful pride,

When o'er the seas he came, with summer's breath,
To dwell amidst us on the lake's green side.
Many the times of flowers have been since then,
Many, but bringing nought like him again!

"Not with the hunter's bow and spear he came,
O'er the blue hills to chase the flying roe;
Not the dark glory of the woods to tame,

Laying their cedars like the corn-stalks low;
But to spread tidings of all holy things,
Gladdening our souls as with the morning's wings.

"Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met,

I and my brethren that from earth are gone, Under his boughs to hear his voice, which yet

Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone? He told of One, the grave's dark bands who broke, And our hearts burned within us as he spoke !

"He told of far and sunny lands, which lie

Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell, Bright must they be! for there are none that die,

And none that weep, and none that say, 'Farewell!' He came to guide us thither, but away The happy called him, and he might not stay.

"We saw him slowly fade-athirst, perchance, For the fresh waters of that lovely clime; Yet there was still a sunbeam in his glance,

And on his gleaming hair no touch of time: Therefore we hoped-but now the lake looks dim, For the green summer comes-and finds not him!

"We gather'd round him in the dewy hour

Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree; From his clear voice at first the words of power Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swelled, and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong.

"And then once more they trembled on his tongue,
And his white eyelids fluttered, and his head
Fell back, and mists upon his forehead hung-

Know'st thou not how we pass to join the dead?
It is enough!-he sank upon my breast,-
Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest!

"We buried him where he was wont to pray,
By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide;
We reared this Cross in token where he lay,
For on the Cross, he said, his Lord had died!

Now hath be surely reached, o'er mount and wave, That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave!

"But I am sad-I mourn the clear light taken

Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken,

And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast."

Then spoke the wanderer forth, with kindling eye:-
"Son of the wilderness! despair thou not,
Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by,
And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot:
Heaven darkly works,-yet where the seed hath been,
There shall the fruitage, glowing yet, be seen.

"Hope on, hope ever!-by the sudden springing

Of green leaves which the winter hid so long;
And by the bursts of free, triumphant singing,

After cold, silent months, the woods among;
And by the rending of the frozen chains,
Which bound the glorious rivers on their plains;

"Deem not the words of light that here were spoken, But as a lovely song, to leave no trace!

Yet shall the gloom which wraps thy hills be broken,
And the full day-spring rise upon thy race!
And fading mists the better paths disclose,
And the wide desert blossom as the rose.'

So by the Cross they parted, in the wild,

Each fraught with musings for life's after-day, Memories to visit one, the Forest's Child,

By many a blue stream on its lonely way; And upon one, 'midst busy throngs to press Deep thoughts and sad, yet full of holiness.


"And none did love him,-not his lemans dear,--
But pomp
and pow'r alone are woman's care;
And where these are, light Eros finds a feere."

Lord Byront.

No mistress of the hidden skill,
No wizard gaunt and grim,
Went up by night to heath or hill,

To read the stars for him;
The merriest girl in all the land
Of vine-encircled France,
Bestowed upon his brow and band
Her philosophic glances


I bind thee with a spell," said she,
"I sign thee with a sign;

No woman's love shall light on thee,
No woman's heart be thine!

"And trust me, 'tis not that thy cheek
Is colorless and cold,

Nor that thine eye is slow to speak
What only eyes have told;
For many a cheek of paler white

Hath blush'd with passion's kiss;
And many an eye of lesser light

Hath caught its fire from bliss;
Yet while the rivers seek the sea,

And while the young stars shine,
No woman's love shall light on thee;
No woman's heart be thine!

"And 'tis not that thy spirit, aw'd
By Beauty's numbing spell,
Shrinks from the force or from the fraud
Which Beauty loves so well;
For thou hast learn'd to watch and wake,
And swear by earth and sky;

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