XX. • And I, the eagle of my tribe, 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 • Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child! XXI. • Child of a race whose name my bosom warms, The Indians are distinguished both personally and by tribes by the name of particular animals whose qualities they affect to resemble either for cunning, strength, swiftness, or other qualities. As the eagle, the serpent, the fox, or bear. • 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! XXII. • And, Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now, Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore? 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 desarts was thy friend!" He said-and strain'd unto his heart the boy: Far differently the mute Oneyda took His calumet of peace, and cup of joy; As monumental bronze unchang'd his look: A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook: A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear. * Calumet of peace. The calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity. Tree-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. XXIV. 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: He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe: And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, Or laced his mocasins, in act to go, A song of parting to the boy he sung, Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly tongue. XXV. • Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land • Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, • Oh! 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 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. XXVI. Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun! • But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, • Then come again-my own adopted one! • And I will graft thee on a noble stock: • The crocodile, the condor of the rock, • Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars; 8 From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriant presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through the desart often find a draught of dew purer than any other water, |