THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. My heart, that shut against my brother's love, "Brother! forgive, forgive!"-He answer'd not- Herrmann. Oh! that human love Of the strong passion, the remorseful grief At work in thine own breast, which lends the voice Unto the forest and the cataract, The angry color to the clouds of morn, The shadow to the moonlight.-Stay, my son! When of the murderer's poison'd shaft he died, I knelt and pray'd; he named his Saviour's name, Meekly, beseechingly; he spoke of thee In pity and in love. Enonio, (hurriedly.) Did he not say My arrow should avenge him? Herrmann. Were all forgiveness. Enonio. His last words What! and shall the man Who pierced him with the shaft of treachery, Walk fearless forth in joy? Herrmann. Was he not once Thy brother's friend?-Oh! trust me, not in joy Ere it can sleep again. Enonio. VOL II.-41 My father speaks Of change, for man too mighty. Herrmann. Which, from the Saviour's cross, went up to heaven- Where evil may not enter, he, I deem, Hath to his Master pass'd.-He waits thee there- His brother to the land of golden light And ever-living fountains-could'st thou hear His voice o'er those bright waters, it would say, 'My brother! oh! be pure, be merciful! That we may meet again.' Enonio, (hesitatingly.) Can I return Unto my tribe, and unavenged? Herrmann. To Him, To Him return, from whom thine erring steps Be o'er them shower'd.-Ay, weep thou Indian chief! Thy proud lip's working-weep, relieve thy soul! Of its great conflict. [the bow, Enonio, (giving up his weapons to Herrmann.) Father, take Keep the sharp arrows till the hunters call Forth to the chase once more.-And let me dwell A little while my father! by thy side, That I may hear the blessed words again- Herrmann. O, welcome back, Friend, rescued one!-Yes, thou shalt be my guest, PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY. 'Together, morn and eve; and I will spread With dewy wing shall sink upon thine eyes 483 lingering for a moment on the threshold, looks up to the starry skies Father! that from amidst yon glorious worlds Of thine own image in the unfathom'd deep PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY. "The land shall never rue, So England to herself do prove but true." THROUGH evening's bright repose With hearts that now could melt, For on the wave her battle had been won. Round their tall ship, the main Heaved with a dark red stain, Caught not from sunset's cloud; While with the tide swept past Pennon and shiver'd mast, Which to the Ocean Queen that day had bow'd. But free and fair on high A native of the sky, Her streamer met the breeze; It flow'd o'er fearless men, Though hush'd and child-like then, Before their God they gather'd on the seas. Oh! did not thoughts of home O'er each bold spirit come As, from the land, sweet gales? In every word of prayer Had not some hearth a share, Some bower, inviolate 'midst England's vales ? Yes! bright green spots that lay In beauty far away, Hearing no billows roar; For that day's fiery toil, Rose on high hearts, that now with love gush'd o'es The breathless burning sky! Billows, where strife hath been, And words, that breathe the sense Making a minster of that silent deep. Borne through such hours afar, Where eagle's wing ne'er flew ;- Thou of the hearths unstain'd, Oh! to the banner and the shrine be true! EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY. FATHER of heaven and earth! I bless thee for the night, The holy pause of care and mirth, Now, far in glade and dell, Have shut around the sleeping woodlarks's nest- Bless thee, O God! O father of the oppress'd. Yes, e'er I sink to rest, By the fire's dying light, Thou Lord of earth and heaven! I bless thee, who hast given Unto life's fainting travellers, the night, THE DAY OF FLOWERS. A MOTHER'S WALK WITH HER CHILD. Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows, THE DAY OF FLOWERS. Rules universal nature.-Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, freak, or stain, Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, Happy who walks with him!"--Cowper. COME to the woods, my boy! Float in with each soft current of the air; Come to the woods, my boy! What! wouldst thou lead already to the path Amidst the reeds, and bounding in free grace Of some low skimming swallow shakes bright spray Seem, as they glance, to scatter sparks of light Across the narrow current, from the tuft How delicate, how wondrous! Yes, my boy! Well may we make the stream's bright winding veir For ever deepening. Oh, forget him not, Dear child! that airy gladness which thou feel'st Wafting thee after bird and butterfly, As 'twere a breeze within thee, is not less His gift, his blessing on thy spring-time hours, 485 |