Who looks thee cheerly in the face,
And little apprehends thy flight;

Till, through the war of waves and winds,
Regardless of their threatening roar,
Thou guidest the smuggler, till he finds
The port, and treads the sunny shore!
The traffic's made, the treasure stow'd,
The wind is fair, the sail is spread,
And, labouring with her secret load,
Scarce heaves the little skiff her head.
Now is the smuggler's time of care:

A weary watch he keeps; nor night,
Nor day, he rests; nor those who share
The fortunes of the venturous wight.
A veering course they steer, to shun

The armed sail; and strive to reach The nearest friendly land, and run

For some safe creek, or shelter'd beach;
Which soon, at night, they near: and then
Laugh at their fears and perils o'er !-
When, lo! the wary beacon's seen
To blaze !-An enemy's ashore➡

Down goes the helm, about the sheet-
The little bark obeys, and now,
To clear the fatal land must beat
The heavy surge with labouring prow.
She weathers it, when, lo! a sail,
By the faint star-light gleam, they find
Has left the shore: as they can tell,
She is about a league behind,

In chase of them!-Along the shore-
The smuggler knows it well-there lies
A little creek, three leagues, or more,
And thither will he bear his prize.
Well sails the little skiff! but vain
Her efforts; every knot they run
The stranger draws on them amain—
She nears them more than half a one!

The smuggler thinks 'tis over now;
Thrice has he left the rudder, and
The fruitless dew from his sullen brow
Dash'd with his indignant hand:

When lo!-and think you not there was
Some bright and pitying spirit there,
That hover'd o'er the smuggler, as
He gave his rudder to despair ?-
Just as the heavy tears begin,

Upon the smuggler's cheek, to roll
Warm from that not unholy shrine,

The husband's and the father's soul-
The cutter springs her mast! and lies
A useless log upon the seas;

While the staunch skiff her wrath defies,
And likes the air and freshening breeze!
But look!-what threatens yet behind?
The wrath-fraught waves swell high and proud,
It 'gins to grow a squally wind,

With many a little ragged cloud

Sailing before the muffled storm,

Wrapp'd in a hundred clouds, with frown As dark as death, and giant form,

Threatening to rush in thunder down,

In lightnings and in deluge !-Now

It comes
Great is the roar above-below!
The flashes thick as the big rain,
That beats and batters the huge wave,
Rolling in wrath along !-what now
The smuggler's little skiff can save ?-
If heaven ordains, I think I know !

it blows a hurricane !—

Her mainsail and her jib are down;
Under her foresail reef'd she flies,
Through the black, fiery storm, whose frown,
Of death the smuggler still defies

With dauntless arm the rudder rules,
Erect his brow and bold his mien;

And as it scowls at him, he scowls,
And looks it in the face again!

All night it rages on; but now,
As night declines it dies away;
And leaves the blessed East, to show
The rosy lids of waking day,

That opes its glittering eye; and Oh!
How radiantly it shines it shines
Upon the smuggler's cliff!-'tis so!
Yet how 'tis so he scarce divines!

And, look! who stands upon the beach,
And waves a welcome with her hand?
What little cherub strives to reach

Its father from the nearing land?
O treasures dear!-What dome of state,
The haunt of luxury and show,

Contains so blithe a joy as that
The smuggler's hut will shelter now?
Oh! how he glows again, to tell
What perils he hath run!-what store
Of merchandise he brings !-how well
The skiff her share of duty bore !

Now tell me not, but, in my mind,
Whate'er the smooth and sophist tongue

Of luxury may sing,-you'll find

Our sweetest joys from pain have sprung!

Outalissi.

Night came, and in their lighted bower, full late,
The joy of converse had endured—when, hark!
Abrupt and loud a summons shook their gate;
And heedless of the dog's obstreperous bark,
A form has rush'd amidst them from the dark,
And spread his arms, and fallen upon the floor :
Of aged strength his limbs retain'd the mark;
But desolate he look'd, and famish'd poor,

As ever shipwreck'd wretch lone left on desert shore.

Uprisen, each wondering brow is knit and arch'd:
A spirit from the dead they deem him first!

To speak he tries; but quivering, pale, and parch'd,
From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed,
Emotions unintelligible burst;

And long his filmed eye is red and dim

At length the pity-proffer'd cup his thirst

Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd;-but Albert knew not him!

And hast thou then forgot, he cried forlorn,' And eyed the group with half indignant air,'Oh! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn When I with thee the cup of peace did share? Then stately was this head, and dark this hair, That now is white as Appalachia's snow; But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, And age hath bow'd me, and the torturing foe, Bring me my boy-and he will his deliverer know!'It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew:

'Bless thee, my guide !'-but, backward, as he came, The chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew,

And grasp'd his arm, and look'd and look'd him through.

'Twas strange-nor could the group a smile controlThe long the doubtful scrutiny to view:

At last delight o'er all his features stole,

'It is my own!' he cried, and clasp'd him to his soul.-
"Yes! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then
The bowstring of my spirit was not slack,
When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd men;
I bore thee like the quiver on my back,

Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack;
Nor foeman then, nor cougar's couch I fear'd,
For I was strong as mountain cataract!

And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd,
Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appear'd?

Then welcome be my death-song, and my death! Since I have seen thee, and again embraced!'

And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath
But with affectionate and eager haste,

;

Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest,
To welcome and to bless his aged head.
Soon was the hospitable banquet placed;
And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed

On wounds, with fever'd joy, that more profusely bled. 'But this is not a time,'-he started up,

And smote his breast with wo-denouncing hand'This is no time to fill the joyous cup!

The Mammoth comes the foe-the Monster Brandt!

With all his howling desolating band!-

These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine
Awake, at once, and silence-half your land!
Red is the cup they drink;-but not with wine! •
Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine!
'Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe,
'Gainst Brandt himself I went to battle forth:
Accursed Brandt! he left of all my tribe
Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth:
No!-not the dog, that watch'd my household hearth,
Escaped, that night of blood, upon our plains!
All perish'd!-I alone am left on earth,

To whom nor relative nor blood remains-
No!—not a kindred drop that runs in human veins !
'But go and rouse your warriors!-for-if right
These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs
Of strip'd and starred banners-on yon height
Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines,
Some fort embattled by your country shines:
Deep roars th' innavigable gulph below
Its squared rock, and palisaded lines.
Go, seek the light its warlike beacons show!

Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe!'
Campbell.

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Jaspar

Jaspar was poor, and vice and want
Had made his heart like stone;