And I will leave my blessed home, my father's joyous hearth, It is my youth, it is my bloom, it is my glad free heart, A mournful thing is love which grows to one so wild as thou, To listen for thy step in vain, to start at every breath, To watch through long long nights of storm, to sleep and dream of death, To wake in doubt and loneliness-this doom I know is mine,— That I may greet thee from thine Alps, when thence thou comʼst at last, That I may hear thy thrilling voice tell o'er each danger past, THE INDIAN WITH HIS DEAD CHILD.* IN the silence of the midnight I journey with my dead; In the darkness of the forest-boughs, A lonely path I tread. But my heart is high and fearless, As by mighty wings upborne; *An Indian, who had established himself in a township of Maine, feeling indignantly the want of sympathy evinced towards him by the white inhabitants, particularly on the death of his only child, gave up his farm soon afterwards, dug up the body of his child, and carried it with him two hundred miles through the forests to join the Canadian Indians.-See TUDOR's Letters on the Eastern States of America. The Indian with his Dead Child. I have raised thee from the grave-sod, I bear thy dust, my child! I have ask'd the ancient deserts And the tossing pines made answer- Thou shalt rest by sounding waters In the silence of the midnight I journey with the dead, Where the arrows of my father's bow I have left the spoiler's dwellings, Unmingled with their household sounds, Alone, amidst their hearth-fires, When his head sank on my bosom, Was there one to say, There was none !-pale race, farewell! To the forests, to the cedars, To the warrior and his bow, Back, back!--I bore thee laughing thence, I bear thee slumbering now! 441 I bear thee unto burial With the mighty hunters gone; In the silence of the midnight But my heart is strong, my step is fleet, SONG OF EMIGRATION. THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea, Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new, 66 But ever and anon A murmur of farewell Told, by its plaintive tone, That from woman's lip it fell. 'Away, away o'er the foaming main!". This was the free and the joyous strain"There are clearer skies than ours, afar, We will shape our course by a brighter star; There are plains whose verdure no foot hath press'd, And whose wealth is all for the first brave guest.' "But alas! that we should go". "We will rear new homes under trees that glow, |