THE RED INDIAN
Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,
Thy longest war-whoop, and thy last,
Still rings upon the rushing blast,
That oer thy grave sweeps drearily.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy haughty brow,
Beneath the hand of death bends low,
Thy fiery glance is quenchëd now,
In the cold graves obscurity.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy rising sun
Is set in blood, thy day is done;
Like lightning flash thy race is run,
And thou art sleeping peacefully.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy foot no more
The boundless forest shall explore,
Or trackless cross the sandy shore,
Or chase the red deer rapidly.
Rest, warrior, rest! thy light canoe,
Like thy choice arrow, swift and true,
Shall part no more the waters blue,
That sparkle round it brilliantly.
Rest, warrior, rest! thine hour is past,
Yon sinking sunbeam is thy last,
And all is silent, save the blast,
That oer thy grave sweeps drearily.
TO
Oh, turn those eyes away from me!
Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays;
And though they beam so tenderly,
I feel, I tremble neath their gaze.
Oh, turn those eyes away! for though
To meet their glance I may not dare,
I know their light is on my brow,
By the warm blood that mantles there.
SONG
Yet once again, but once, before we sever,
Fill we one brimming cup,it is the last!
And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,
Breathe oer this pledge, the memory of the past!
Joys fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow
Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,
Yet, in the bitter cup, oerfilled with sorrow,
Lives one sweet drop,the memory of the past.
But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining
Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;
But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,
Now farewell all, save memory of the past.
LAMENT FOR ISRAEL
Where is thy home in thy promised land?
Desolate and forsaken!
The strangers arm hath seized thy brand,
Thou art bowed beneath the strangers hand,
And the stranger thy birthright hath taken.
Where is the mark of thy chosen race?
Infamous and degraded!
It hath fallen on thee, on thy dwelling-place,
And that heaven-stamped sign to a foul disgrace
And the scoff of the world, has faded.
First-born of nations! upon thy brow,
Resistless and revenging,
The fiery finger of God hath now
Written the sentence of thy wo,
The innocent blood avenging!
Lion of Judah! thy glory is past,
Vanished and fled for ever.
Homeless and scattered, thy race is cast
Like chaff in the breath of the sweeping blast,
To rally or rise again, never!
A WISH
Let me not die for ever, when Im gone
To the cold earth! but let my memory
Live like the gorgeous western light that shone
Over the clouds where sank days majesty.
Let me not be forgotten! though the grave
Has clasped its hideous arms around my brow.
Let me not be forgotten! though the wave
Of times dark current rolls above me now.
Yet not in tears remembered be my name;
Weep over those ye loved; for me, for me,
Give me the wreath of glory, and let fame
Over my tomb spread immortality!
SONG
The moment must come, when the hands that unite
In the firm clasp of friendship, will sever;
When the eyes that have beamed oer us brightly to-night,
Will have ceased to shine oer us, for ever.
Yet wreathe again the goblets brim
With pleasures roseate crown!
What though the future hour be dim
The present is our own!
The moment is come, and again we are parting,
To roam through the world, each our separate way;
In the bright eye of beauty the pearl-drop is starting,
But hope, sunny hope, through the tear sheds its ray.
Then wreathe again the goblets brim
With pleasures roseate crown!
What though the present hour be dim
The futures yet our own!
The moment is past, and the bright throng that round us
So lately was gathered, has fled like a dream;
And time has untwisted the fond links that bound us,
Like frost wreaths that melt in the mornings first beam.
Still wreathe once more the goblets brim!
With pleasures roseate crown!
What though all else beside be dim
The past has been our own!
TO MRS.
Oh lady! thou, who in the olden time
Hadst been the star of many a poets dream!
Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime,
Weddest the gentle graces that beseem
Fair womans best! forgive the darling line
That falters forth thy praise! nor let thine eye
Glance oer the vain attempt too scornfully;
But, as thou readst, think what a love was mine,
That made me venture on a theme, that none
Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one.
Thou art most fair, though sorrows chastening wing
Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow,
And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing
The splendour of thy beautys summer now.
Thou art most fair! but thine is loveliness
That dwells not only on the lip, or eye;
Thy beauty, is thy pure hearts holiness;
Thy grace, thy lofty spirits majesty.
While thus I gaze on thee, and watch thee glide,
Like some calm spirit oer lifes troubled stream,
With thy twin buds of beauty by thy side
Together blossoming; I almost deem
That I behold the loveliness and truth,
That like fair visions hovered round my youth,
Long soughtand then forgotten as a dream.
A WISH
Let me not die for ever when Im laid
In the cold earth! but let my memory
Live still among ye, like the evening shade,
That oer the sinking day steals placidly.
Let me not be forgotten! though the knell
Has tolled for me its solemn lullaby;
Let me not be forgotten! though I dwell
For ever now in deaths obscurity.
Yet oh! upon the emblazoned leaf of fame,
Trace not a record, not a line for me,
But let the lips I loved oft breathe my name,
And in your hearts enshrine my memory!
A SPIRITS VOICE
It is the dawn! the rosy day awakes;
From her bright hair pale showers of dew she shakes,
And through the heavens her early pathway takes;
Why art thou sleeping?
It is the noon! the sun looks laughing down
On hamlet still, on busy shore, and town,
On forest glade, and deep dark waters lone;
Why art thou sleeping?
It is the sunset! daylights crimson veil
Floats oer the mountain tops, while twilight pale
Calls up her vaporous shrouds from every vale;
Why art thou sleeping?
It is the night! oer the moons livid brow,
Like shadowy locks, the clouds their darkness throw,
All evil spirits wake to wander now;
Why art thou sleeping?