Imágenes de páginas

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 Nurth and South Carolina, &c.

The additional circumstances in the “Isle of Founts" are mere. ly imaginary.)

Son of the stranger! wouldst thou take

O'er yon blue hills thy lonely way,
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, *

'Midst the grey rocks, his old domain; Ward but the cougar's deadly spring,

Thy step that lake's green shore may gain,
And the bright Isle, when all is pass'd,
Shall vainly meet thine eye at last!
Yes! there, with all its rainbow streams,

Clear as within thine arrow's flight,
The Isle of Founts, the Isle of dreams,

Floats on the wave in golden light;
And lovely will the shadows be
Of groves whose fruit is not for thee!
And breathings from their sunny flowers,

Which are not of the things that die,
And singing voices from their bowers,

Shall greet the in the purple sky;
Soft voices, e'en like those that dwell
Far in the groen reed's hollow cell.
Or hast thou heard the sounds that rise

From the deep chambers of the earth?
The wild and wondrous melodies

To which the ancient rocks gave hirth ?t
Like that sweet song of hidden caves
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 thein 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 Laras de Musica, and alluded to in a former Dote.

The emerald waves !they take their hue

And image from that sunbright shore ;
But wouldst thou launch thy light cance,

And wouldst thou ply thy rapid oar,-
Before thee, hadst thou morning's speed,
The dreamy land should still recede!
Yet on the breeze thou still wouldst hear

The music of its flowering shades,
And ever should the sound be near

Of founts that ripple through its glades;
The sound, and sight, and flashing ray
Of joyous waters in their play!
But wre for him who sees them burst

With their bright spray-showers to the lake . Earth has no spring to quench the thirst

That semblance in his soul shall wake,
For ever pouring through his dreams,
The gush of those untasted streams!
Bright, bright in many a rocky urn,

The waters of our deserts lie,
Yet at their source his lip shall burn,

Parch'd with the fever's agony !
From the blue mountains to the main,
Our thousand floods may roll in vain.
E’en thus our hunters came of yore

Back from their long and weary quest ;Had they not secn 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 fung.
They bent no more the forest-bow,

They arm'd not with the warrior-band,
The moons waned o'er them dim and slow

They 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 beʼmidst us in thy place,
Yet go not where the mighty leave

The strength of battle and of chase!
Let no vain dreams thy heart beguile,
Oh! seek thou not the Fountain Isle !


(It is supposed that war was anciently proclaimed in Britain by send

ing 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,
There was sent through Britain a bended bow;
And a voice was pour'd on the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.

“Heard you not the battle horn ?-
Reaper ! leave thy golden corn!
Leave it for the birds of heaven,
Swords must flash, and spears be riven!
Leave it for the winds to shed

Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!"
And the reaper arm’d, like a freeman's son;
And the bended bow and the voice pass’d on.

“ Hunter! leave the mountain-chase !
Take the falchion from its place!
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 ;
And the bended bow and the voice pass'd on

Chieftain ! quit the joyous feast !
Stay not till the song hath ceased :
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fires give ruddy Tight,
Leave the hearth, and leave the hall

Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall."
And the chieftain arm’d, and the horn was blown;
And the bended bow and the voice pass'd on.

“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;
And the bended bow and the voice pass'd on.

• Mother! stay thor not thy boy!
He must learn the battle's joy.

Sister ! bring the sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer!
Maiden! bid thy lover part,

Britain calls the strong in heart!”
And the bended bow and the voice pass'd on;
And the bards made song for a battle won


It is recorded of Henry the First, that after the death of his son Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coas: of Nor mandy, he was never seen to smile.)

The bark that held a prince went down,

The sweeping waves rollid on;
And what was England's glorious crown

To him that wept a son?
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 never smiled again!
He sat where festal bowls went round,

He heard the minstrel sing,
He saw the tourney's victor crown'd,

Amidst the knightly ring:
A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep

He never smiled again!
Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace

Of vows once fondly pour’d,
And strangers took the kinsman's place

many. a joyous board;
Graves, which true love had bathed with tean,

Were leti to heaven's bright rain,
Fresh hopes were born for other years

He never smiled again!




(The body of Henry the Second lay in state in the abbey-church of

Fontevraud, where it was visited by Richard Ceur 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,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontevraud.
Banners of battle o'er him hung,

And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as noon's broad light was flung

On the settled face of death.
On the settled face of death

A strong and ruddy glare,
Though dimm'd at times by the censer's breath,

Yet it fell still brightest there :
As if each deeply furrow'd trace

Of earthly years to show,-
Alas! that sceptred mortal's race

Had surely closed in woe!
The marble floor was swept

By many a long dark stole,
As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,

Sang mass for the parted soul:
And solemn were the strains they pour'd

Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,

And the silent king in sight.
There was heard a heavy clang,

As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang

With a sounding thrill of dread;
And the holy chant was hush'd awhile,

As, by the torch's flame,
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle,

With a mail-clad leader came.
He came with haughty look,

An eagle-glance and clear;
But his proud heart through its breastplate shook,

When he stood beside the bier!
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 Cæur de Lion gazed!

« AnteriorContinuar »