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."-BERTRAM's Travels through North and South Carolina, &c. The additional circumstances in the "Isle of Founts" are merely imaginary.] SON of the stranger! wouldst thou take To reach the still and shinning 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,* 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 ?t Shall swell those wood-notes o'er the waves. 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 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 American missionaries Laxas de Musica, and alluded to in a former pote. The emerald waves!--they take their hue Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear Of founts that ripple through its glades; But wee for him who sees them burst With their bright spray-showers to the lake. For ever pouring through his dreams, Bright, bright in many a rocky urn, E'en thus our hunters came of yore Back from their long and weary quest ;- The lightning of their glance was fled, They lay beside our glittering rills, Their spears upon the cedar hung, 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! Bencath our pines yon greensward heap Shows where the restless found their sleep. Son of the stranger! If at eve Silence be 'midst us in thy place, 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 a like manner announced by a bow unstrung, and therefore straight.-See the Cambrian Antiquities.] THERE was heard the sound of a coming foe, "Heard you not the battle horn ?- Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!" And the reaper arm'd, like a freeman's son ; Let the wolf go free to-day, Leave him for a nobler prey! 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, In the bower and in the hold! Where the goatherd's lay is sung, Where the minstrel's harp is strung! Foes are on thy native sea Give our bards a tale of thee!" And the prince came arm'd, like a leader's son; "Mother! stay thou not thy boy! Sister! bring the sword and spear, 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 the First, that after the death of his son. Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Nor mandy, he was never seen to smile.] THE bark that held a prince went down, 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, The stately and the brave; 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 heard the minstrel sing, He saw the tourney's victor crown'd, A murmur of the restless deep Was blent with every strain, A voice of winds that would not sleep- Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace Of vows once fondly pour'd, And strangers took the kinsman's place At many a joyous board; Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, Were left to heaven's bright rain, Fresh hopes were born for other years He never smiled again! CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. 529 CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. (The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Cœur de Lion who, on beholding it, was struck with horror and remorse, and bitterly reproached himself for that rebellious conduct which had been the means of bringing his father to an untimely grave.] TORCHES were blazing clear, And warriors slept beneath, And light, as noon's broad light was flung On the settled face of death Though dimm'd at times by the censer's breath, As if each deeply furrow'd trace The marble floor was swept As the kneeling priests, round him that slept, And solemn were the strains they pour'd Through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, There was heard a heavy clang, And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang And the holy chant was hush'd awhile, As, by the torch's flame, A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle, He came with haughty look, But his proud heart through its breastplate shook, He stood there still with a drooping brow, And clasp'd hands o'er it raised ; For his father lay before him low, It was Cœur de Lion gazed! |