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“ 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 heaven; 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.

“ Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this

earth, And thee, more loved, than aught beneath the sun, If I had lived to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge ;-but shall there then be none, In future times—no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me? Yet seems it, even 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 !"

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 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.

SONG OF OUTALISSI. 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 shudderingframe!

66 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 wo;
For by my wrongs, and by my wrath !
To-morrow Areouski'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 !

“ But thee, my flower, whose breath was giv'n
By milder genii o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heav'n
Forbid not thee to weep :-
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy father's spirit grieve
To see thee, on the battle's eve,
Lamenting, take a mournful leave
Of her who loved thee most :

She was the rainbow to thy sight!
Thy sun—thy heav'n—of lost delight !-

" To-morrow let us do or die !
But when the bolt of death is hurl'd,
Ah! whither then with thee to fly,
Shall Outalissi roam the world ?
Seek we thy once-loved home ?-
The hand is gone that cropt its flowers :
Unheard their clock repeats its hours !
Cold is the hearth within their bowers !
And should we thither roam,
Its echoes, and its empty tread,
Would sound like voices from the dead !

“ Or shall we cross yon mountains blue,
Whose streams my kindred nation quaff'd ;
And by my side, in battle true,
A thousand warriors drew the shaft?
Ah ! there in desolation cold,
The desert serpent dwells alone,
Where grass o'ergrows each mould'ring bone,
And stones themselves to ruin grown,
Like me, are death-like old.
Then seek we not their camp-for there
The silence dwells of my despair !"

“ But hark, the trump !--to-morrow thou
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears :
Even from the land of shadows now
My father's awful ghost appears,
Amidst the clouds that round us roll ;
He bids my soul for battle thirst-
He bids me dry the last—the first-

The only tears that ever burst
From Outalissi's soul ;
Because I may not stain with grief
The death-song of an Indian chief."

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND,

A NAVAL ODE.

Ye Mariners of England !
That guard our native seas ;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirits of your

fathers
Shall start from every wave !-
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave :
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep ;

Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

LINES

WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.

At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mused in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the

bower, Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode,

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; And travell’d by few is the grass-cover'd road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode

To his hills that encircle the sea.

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