Then down again it rain'd an ember shower,
And louder lamentations heard we rise:
As when the evil Manitou,* (7) that dries
Th' Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire,
In vain the desolated panther flies,
And howls amidst his wilderness of fire: Alas! too late, we reach'd and smote those Hurons dire!
"But as the fox beneath the nobler hound,
So died their warriors by our battle-brand;
And from the tree we, with her child, unbound
A lonely mother of the Christian land-
Her lord-the captain of the British band-
Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay.
Scarce knew the widow our deliv'ring hand;
Upon her child she sobb'd, and swoon'd away
Or shriek'd unto the God to whom the Christians
pray,
"Our virgins fed her with their kindly bowls
Of fever-balm and sweet sagamite: (8)
But she was journeying to the land of souls,
And lifted up her dying head to pray
That we should bid an ancient friend convey
Her orphan to his home on England's shore;
And take, she said, this token far away,
To one that will remember us of yore,
When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave s
Julia wore.
* Manitou, Spirit or Deity.
"And I, the eagle of my tribe,* (9) have rush'd With this lorn dove."-A sage's self-command Had quell'd the tears from Albert's heart that gush'd;
But yet his cheek-his agitated hand
That shower'd upon the stranger of the land
No common boon, in grief but ill-beguiled
A soul that was not wont to be unmann'd:
"And stay," he cried, "dear pilgrim of the wild!
Preserver of my old, my boon companion's
"Child of a race whose name my bosom warms,
On earth's remotest bounds how welcome here!
Whose mother oft, a child, has fill'd these arms,
Young as thyself, and innocently dear,
Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer.
Ah, happiest home of England's happy clime!
How beautiful ev'n now thy scenes appear,
As in the noon and sunshine of my prime!
How gone like yesterday these thrice ten years
of time!
And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now, Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore?
*The Indians are distinguished both personally and by tribes by the name of particular ani. mals, whose qualities they affect to resemble, either for cunning, strength, swiftness, or other qualities:-as the eagle, the serpent, the fox, or bear.
Or thought I, in thy father's house, when thou
Wert lightest-hearted on his festive floor,
And first of all his hospitable door
To meet and kiss me at my journey's end? But where was I when Waldegrave was no more?
And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend, In woes, that ev'n the tribe of deserts was thy friend!"
He said and strain'd unto his heart the boy;
Far differently, the mute Oneyda took (10)
His calumet of peace,* (11) and cup of joy;
As monumental bronze unchanged his look:
A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook;
Train'd from his tree-rock'd cradle to his
bier, (12)
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook
Impassive (13)-fearing but the shame of fear-
A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow;
As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock
By storms above, and barrenness below:
Calumet of peace-The Calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity.
tTree-rock'd cradle.-The Indian mothers suspend their children in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be rocked by the wind.
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe:
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,
Or laced his moccasons, (14) in act to go,
A song of parting to the boy he sung,
Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his
friendly tongue.
"Sleep wearied one! and in the dreaming land Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, (15)
O! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet; While I in lonely wilderness shall greet
Thy little foot-prints-or by traces know
The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet To feed thee with the quarry of my bow,
And pour'd the lotus-horn, or slew the mountain-roe.
"Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun!
But should affliction's storms thy blossoms mock,
Then come again-my own adopted one!
And I will graft thee on a noble stock,
The crocodile, the condor of the rock, (16)
Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars;
And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock,
To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars,
And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!"
* From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriand presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through the desert often find a draught of dew purer than any other
So finish'd be the rhyme (howe'er uncouth)
That true to nature's fervid feelings ran;
(And song is but the eloquence of truth:)
Then forth uprose that lone wayfaring man; (17) But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan In woods required, whose trained eye was keen As eagle of the wilderness, to scan
His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine,
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.
XXVIII.
Old Albert saw him from the valley's side-
His pirogue launch'd-his pilgrimage begun-
Far, like the red-bird's wing, he seem'd to glide;
Then dived, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun.
Oft, to that spot by tender memory won,
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun;
But never more, to bless his longing sight,
Was Outalissi hail'd, with bark and plumage
bright.
A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn
Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between,
Whose lofty verdure overlook'd his lawn;
And waters to their resting-place serene
Came fresh'ning, and reflecting all the scene
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