And bid the echoes of the tombs awaken,

And come thou forth, that Heaven's rejoicing sun May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies, Daughter of victory!-a triumphant strain,

A proud rich stream of warlike melodies,

Gush'd through the portals of the antique fane,
And forth she came. Then rose a nation's sound!
Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound,
The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer
Man gives to glory on her high career!

Is there indeed such power? far deeper dwells
In one kind household voice, to reach the cells
Whence happiness flow'd forth!—the shouts that fill'd
The hollow heaven tempestuously, were still'd
One moment; and in that brief pause, the tone,

As of a breeze that o'er her home had blown,

Sank on the bright maid's heart. "Joanne!"-who spoke
Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew
Under one roof?" Joanne !"— that murmur broke
With sounds of weeping forth!-She turn'd - she knew
Beside her, mark'd from all the thousands there,
In the calm beauty of his silver hair,
The stately shepherd; and the youth, whose joy
From his dark eye flash'd proudly; and the boy,
The youngest-born, that ever loved her best;
"Father! and ye, my brothers!"—On the breast
Of that grey sire she sank—and swiftly back,
Ev'n in an instant, to their native track

Her free thoughts flow'd. She saw the pomp no more —
The plumes, the banners: - to her cabin door,

And to the Fairy's fountain in the glade,

Where her young sisters by her side had play'd,

And to her hamlet's chapel, where it rose
Hallowing the forest unto deep repose,

Her spirit turn'd. The very wood-note, sung

In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt Where o'er her father's roof the beech leaves hung, Was in her heart; a music heard and felt,

Winning her back to nature.

She unbound

The helm of many battles from her head.

And, with her bright locks bow'd to sweep the ground,
Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said, -
"Bless me, my father, bless me! and with thee,
To the still cabin and the beechen tree,

Let me return!"

Oh! never did thine eye
Though the green haunts of happy infancy
Wander again, Joanne !-too much of fame
Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name;
And bought alone by gifts beyond all price,
The trusting heart's repose, the paradise
Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow
The crown of glory unto woman's brow.

THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL.

WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum

On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke; — "Sing us a death song, for thine hour is come," So the red warriors to their captive spoke.

Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone,

A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; though from his cheek had flown The mantling crimson of the island-blood,

And his press'd lips look'd marble. - Fiercely bright,
And high around him, blazed the fires of night,
Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro,

As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow
Lighting the victim's face: But who could tell

Of what within his secret heart befell,

Known but to heaven that hour? - Perchance a thought Of his far home then so intensely wrought,

That its full image, pictured to his eye

On the dark ground of mortal agony,

Rose clear as day!-and he might see the band,
Of his young sisters wandering hand in hand,
Where the laburnums droop'd; or haply binding
The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding;
Or, as day closed upon their gentle mirth,
Gathering, with braided hair, around the hearth
Where sat their mother;—and that mother's face
Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place
Where so it ever smiled! Perchance the prayer
Learn'd at her knee came back on his despair;
The blessing from her voice, the very tone

Of her "Good night," might breathe from boyhood gone!

He started and look'd up; thick cypress boughs
Full of strange sound, waved o'er him, darkly red
In the broad stormy firelight; savage brows,

With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread, Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars Look'd through the branches as through dungeon bars,

Shedding no hope. He knew, he felt his doom-
Oh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom
That happy hall in England! - Idle fear!

Would the winds tell it? Who might dream or hear The secret of the forests?-To the stake

They bound him; and that proud young soldier strove His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love

the fair,

Of many hearts! - the fondly rear'd,
Gladdening all eyes to see! And fetter'd there
He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand
Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand.

He thought upon his God. Hush! hark!—a cry
Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity,

A step hath pierced the ring!-Who dares intrude
On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood? —

A girl

a young slight girl- a fawn-like child

Of green savannas and the leafy wild,

Springing unmark'd till then, as some lone flower,
Happy because the sunshine is its dower;

Yet one that knew how early tears are shed, -
For hers had mourn'd a playmate brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long,
Until the pity of her soul grew strong;
And, by its passion's deepening fervor sway'd,
Ev'n to the stake she rush'd, and gently laid
His bright head on her bosom, and around
His form her slender arms to shield it round
Like close Liannes; then raised her glittering eye
And clear-toned voice that said, "He shall not die!"

"He shall not die!"

-the gloomy forest thrill'd

To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell

On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were still'd,
Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell.

They gazed, their dark souls bow'd before the maid,
She of the dancing step in wood and glade!
And, as her cheek flush'd through its olive hue,
As her black tresses to the night wind flew,
Something o'ermaster'd them from that young mien
Something of heaven, in silence felt and seen;
And seeming, to their child-like faith, a token
That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken.

They loosed the bonds that held their captive's breath;
From his pale lips they took the cup of death;

They quench'd the brand beneath the cypress tree;

Away," they cried, "young stranger, thou art free!"

SONG OF EMIGRATION.

THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea,

A mingled breathing of grief and glee;
Man's voice, unbroken by sighs, was there,
Filling with triumph the sunny air;

Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new,

It sang, while the bark through the surges flew :

But ever and anon

A murmur of farewell

Told by its plaintive tone,

That from woman's lip it fell.