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passion,--too late, and too unavailing;-he may talk of truths in which he himself does not believe, and which he has long exhorted me, and has at last persuaded me, to cast away as the dreams and the delusions of human folly! From such comforters may heaven preserve me! soul come not thou into their secrets. Unto their assembly, mine honor, be not thou united !"
Death-Scene in Gertrude of Wyoming.*-CAMPBELL.
But short that contemplation-sad and short
The pause to bid each much loved scene adieu ! Beneath the very shadow of the fort,
Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew,
Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew
Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view,
And tranced in giddy horror Gertrude swooned ;
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound,
These drops ?-Oh God! the life-blood is her own; And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown" Weep not, O Love !"—she cries, “ to see me bleed
Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee aloneHeaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce I heed These wounds ;-yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed.
*The three characters mentioned in the above passage, being warned of the approach of a hostile tribe of North American Indians, are forced to abandon their peaceful retreat, in the vale of Wyoming, and fly for safety to a neighboring fort. On the following morning, sun-rise, while Gertrude, together with Albert, her father, and Waldegrave, her husband, are looking from the battlements on the havoc and desolation which had marked the progress of the barbarous enemy, an Indian inarksman fires a mortal shot from his ambush at Albert; and, as Gertrude clasps him in agony to her heart, another shot lays her bleeding by his side. She then takes farewell of her husband in a speech which our greatest modern critic has described as "more sweetly pathetic than any thing ever written in rhyme.”—McDiarmid.
Clasp me a little longer, on the brink
Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;
And let it mitigate thy wo's excess,
That thou hast been to me all tenderness,
Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,
*Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart;
The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, Where my dear father took thee to his heart,
And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove
With thee, as with an angel, through the grove
In heaven; for ours was not like earthly love:
* Hushed were his Gertrude's lips ! but still their bland
And beautiful expression seemed to melt With love that could not die! and still his hand
She presses to the heart no more that felt.
Ah, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt, And features yet that spoke a soul more fair.
Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt, Of them that stood encircling his despair, He heard some friendly words ;-but knew not what they
WHITHER, 'midst falling dew,
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
On the chafed ocean-side ?
There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,The desert and illimitable air,
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end,
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou’rt gone! the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my
heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain fight, In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
Of Iser,* rolling rapidly.
The darkness of her scenery.
* Pron. Eser.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Far flashed the red artillery.
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
And charge with all thy chivalry!
turf beneath their feet,
* Pron. cum'bat.
+ ch as in church.
Over thy spirit, and sad images
The golden sun,