Outalissi's Death-Song.

"AND I could weep; "-the 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 his head in wo;

For, by my wrongs and by my wrath!
To-morrow Areouski's breath,

That fires yon heaven 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 given By milder genii o'er the deep,

The spirits of the white man's heaven
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 heaven-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 cropp'd 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 mouldering 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."

Robin and Anna.

SHE listens; “ ”Tis the wind," she cries:
The moon, that rose so full and bright
Is now o'ercast: she looks, she sighs,
She fears 'twill be a stormy night.

Not long was Anna wed. Her mate,
A fisherman, was out at sea:

The night is dark, the hour is late,

The wind is high-and where is he?

Oh! who would love! oh! who would wed
A wandering fisherman, to be

A wretched, lonely wife, and dread.

Each breath that blows, when he's at sea!

Not long was Anna wed. One pledge
Of tender love her bosom bore:

The storm comes down! the billows rage!
Its father is not yet on shore!

"Oh! who would think her portion bless'd
A wandering seaman's wife to be,
To hug the infant to her breast,
Whose father's on a stormy sea!"

Campbell.

The thunder bursts! the lightning falls!
The casement rattles with the rain!
And, as the gusty tempest bawls,

The little cottage quakes again!

She doesn't speak; she doesn't sigh;
She gazes on her infant dear—
A smile lights up the cherub's eye,
Which dims its mother's with a tear:
"Oh! who would be a seaman's wife!

Oh! who would bear a seaman's child!
To tremble for her husband's life!

To weep--because her infant smiled!"
Ne'er hadst thou borne a seaman's boy-
Ne'er had thy husband left the shore--
Thou ne'er hadst felt the frantic joy
To see-thy Robin at the door!-

To press his weather-beaten cheek,
To kiss it dry and warm again,
To weep

the joy thou couldst not speak-
So pleasure's in the debt of pain.

Thy cheerful fire, thy plain repast,
Thy little couch of love, I ween,
Were ten times sweeter than the last-
And not a cloud that night was seen!

O happy pair! the pains you know
Still hand in hand with pleasure come;
For often does the tempest blow,

And Robin still is safe at home!

Knowles.

Lord William.

No eye beheld when William plunged
Young Edmund in the stream;
No human ear, but William's, heard
Young Edmund's drowning scream.

Submissive all the vassals own'd
The murderer for their lord;
And he, as rightful heir, possess'd
The house of Erlingford.

The ancient house of Erlingford
Stood in a fair domain,
And Severn's ample waters near
Roll'd through the fertile plain.

And often the wayfaring man
Would love to linger there,
Forgetful of his onward road,

To gaze on scenes so fair.

But never could Lord William dare
To gaze on Severn's stream;
In every wind that swept its waves
He heard young Edmund scream.
In vain, at midnight's silent hour,

Sleep closed the murderer's eyes;
In every dream, the murderer saw
Young Edmund's form arise!

In vain, by restless conscience driver, Lord William left his home,

Far from the scenes that saw his guilt
In pilgrimage to roam.

To other climes the pilgrim fled—
But could not fly despair;

He sought his home again—but peace
Was still a stranger there.

Slow were the passing hours, yet swift
The months appear'd to roll;
And now the day return'd, that shook
With terror William's soul-

A day that William never felt
Return without dismay;

For well had conscience kalendar'd
Young Edmund's dying day.

A fearful day was that! the rains
Fell fast with tempest roar,

And the swoln tide of Severn spread
Far on the level shore.

In vain Lord William sought the feast,
In vain he quaff'd the bowl,

And strove with noisy mirth to drown The anguish of his soul

T

The tempest, as its sudden swell
In gusty howlings came,

With cold and deathlike feelings seem'd
To thrill his shuddering frame.
Reluctant now, as night came on,
His lonely couch he press'd;
And wearied out, he sunk to sleep,-
To sleep-but not to rest.

Beside that couch his brother's form,
Lord Edmund, seem'd to stand;
Such and so pale, as when in death
He grasp'd his brother's hand.
Such and so pale his face, as when,
With faint and faultering tongue,
To William's care, a dying charge,
He left his orphan son.

"I bade thee with a father's love

My orphan Edmund guard— Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge! Now take thy due reward!"

He started up, each limb convulsed

With agonizing fear:

He only heard the storm of night,—
"Twas music to his ear.

When, lo! the voice of loud alarm
His inmost soul appals;
"What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste!
The water saps thy walls!"

He rose in haste, beneath the walls
He saw the flood appear;

It hemm'd him round, 'twas midnight now
No human aid was near!

He heard the shout of joy, for now
A boat approach'd the wall;
And, eager to the welcome aid,

They crowd for safety all.

My boat is small," the boatman cried,

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"Twill bear but one away;

Come in, Lord William! and do ye

In God's protection stay."