He hath none by his side when the wilds we track, We saw thee, O stranger, and wept ! We look'd for the first-born, whose mother's cry And to watch for a step-but the step was thine! THE ISLE OF FOUNTS. AN INDIAN TRADITION. "THE River St. Mary has its source from a vast lake or marsh, which lies between Flint and Oakmulge rivers, and occupies a space of near three hundred miles in circuit. This vast accumulation of waters, in the wet season, appears as a lake, and contains some large islands or knolls of rich high land; one of which the present generation of the Creek Indians represent to be a most blissful spot of earth: they say it is inhabited by a peculiar race of Indians, whose women are incomparably beautiful. They also tell you that this terrestrial paradise has been seen by some of their enterprising hunters, when in pursuit of game; but that in their endeavours to approach it, they were involved in perpetual labyrinths, and, like enchanted land, still as they imagined they had just gained it, it seemed to fly before then, alternately appearing and disappearing. They resolved, at length, to leave the delusive pursuit, and to return, which, after a number of difficulties, they effected. When they reported their adventures to their countrymen, the young warriors were inflamed with an irresistible desire to invade, and make a conquest of, so charming a country; but all their attempts have hitherto proved abortive, never having been able again to find that enchanting spot."-BARTRAM's Travels through North and South Carolina. The additional circumstances in the "Isle of Founts" are merely imaginary. SON of the stranger! wouldst thou take To reach the still and shining lake Along whose banks the west winds play?— Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile, Oh! seek thou not the Fountain Isle ! Lull but the mighty Serpent King,* Thy step that lake's green shore may gain; Yes! there, with all its rainbow streams, And breathings from their sunny flowers, Or hast thou heard the sounds that rise To which the ancient rocks gave birth ?+ The emerald waves !-they take their hue And wouldst thou ply thy rapid oar, Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear And ever should the sound be near Of founts that ripple through its glades; The Cherokees believe that the recesses of their mountains, overgrown with lofty pines and cedars, and covered with old mossy rocks, are inhabited by the kings or chiefs of the rattlesnakes, whom they denominate the "bright old inhabitants." They represent them as snakes of an enormous size, and which possess the power of drawing to them every living creature that comes within the reach of their eyes. Their heads are said to be crowned with a carbuncle of dazzling brightness.-See Notes to Leyden's "Scenes of Infancy." The stones on the banks of the Oronoco, called by the South Americar missionaries Laxas de Musica, are alluded to in a former note. The sound, and sight, and flashing ray But woe for him who sees them burst Bright, bright in many a rocky urn, E'en thus our hunters came of yore Back from their long and weary quest ;— Had they not seen th' untrodden shore, And could they 'midst our wilds find rest? The lightning of their glance was fled, They dwelt amongst us as the dead! They lay beside our glittering rills, With visions in their darken'd eye, Their joy was not amidst the hills, Where elk and deer before us fly; Their spears upon the cedar hung, Their javelins to the wind were flung. They bent no more the forest-bow, They arm'd not with the warrior band, The moons waned o'er them dim and slowThey left us for the spirits' land! Beneath our pines yon greensward heap Son of the stranger! if at eve The strength of battle and of chase! THE BENDED BOW. IT is supposed that war was anciently proclaimed in Britain by sending messengers in different directions through the land, each bearing a bended bow; and that peace was in like manner announced by a bow unstrung, and therefore straight. See The Cambrian Antiquities. THERE was heard the sound of a coming foe, "Heard ye not the battle-horn?— Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!" And the reaper arm'd, like a freeman's son, "Hunter! leave the mountain-chase! Let the wolf go free to-day, Let the deer ungall'd sweep by, Arm thee! Britain's foes are nigh!" And the hunter arm'd ere the chase was done, "Chieftain! quit the joyous feast! And the chieftain arm'd, and the horn was blown, "Prince! thy father's deeds are told, Where the goatherd's lay is sung, Where the minstrel's harp is strung!— Give our bards a tale of thee!" And the prince came arm'd, like a leader's son, "Mother! stay thou not thy boy! Britain calls the strong in heart!" And the Bended Bow and the voice pass'd on, HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN. IT is recorded of Henry I., that after the death of his son, Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile. THE bark that held a prince went down, The sweeping waves roll'd on; And what was England's glorious crown He lived-for life may long be borne Ere sorrow break its chain ; Why comes not death to those who mourn? He never smiled again ! There stood proud forms around his throne, But which could fill the place of one, That one beneath the wave? Before him pass'd the young and fair, In pleasure's reckless train, But seas dash'd o'er his son's bright hair- He sat where festal bowls went round; He saw the Tourney's victor crown'd, |