SONG OF EMIGRATION. 39 SONG OF EMIGRATION. THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea, Of fresh green lands, and of pastures new, It sang, while the bark through the surges flew: But ever and anon A murmur of farewell Told, by its plaintive tone, That from woman's lip it fell. "Away, away, o'er the foaming main!" "But alas! that we should go" "We will rear new homes under trees that glow, "But woe for that sweet shade Of the flowering orchard-trees, 'Midst the birds and honey-bees!" "All, all our own shall the forests be, 66 But, oh! the grey church-tower, We have bid them all farewell!" "We will give the names of our fearless race "But who shall teach the flowers, Which our children loved, to dwell -Home, home and friends, farewell!" THE INDIAN WITH HIS CHILD. 41 THE INDIAN WITH HIS DEAD CHILD.' In the silence of the midnight I journey with my dead; In the darkness of the forest-boughs, But my heart is high and fearless, I have raised thee from the grave-sod, I bear thy dust, my child! I have ask'd the ancient deserts 1An Indian, who had established himself in a township of Maine, feeling indignantly the want of sympathy evinced towards him by the white inhabitants, particularly on the death of his only child, gave up his farm soon afterwards, dug up the body of his child, and carried it with him two hundred miles through the forests to join the Canadian Indians.—See Tudor's Letters on the Eastern States of America. And the tossing pines made answer "Go, bring us back thine own!" And the streams from all the hunters' hills, Rush'd with an echoing tone. Thou shalt rest by sounding waters In the silence of the midnight I have left the spoilers' dwellings, Unmingled with their household sounds, Alone, amidst their hearth-fires, When his head sank on my bosom, When the death-sleep o'er him fell, Was there one to say, "A friend is near?” There was none!—pale race, farewell! To the forests, to the cedars, To the warrior and his bow, Back, back!-I bore thee laughing thence I bear thee slumbering now! THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT. I bear thee unto burial With the mighty hunters gone; In the silence of the midnight I journey with the dead; But my heart is strong, my step is fleet, 43 THE KING OF ARRAGON'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER.' "If I could see him, it were well with me!" COLERIDGE'S Wallenstein. THERE were lights and sounds of revelling in the vanquish'd city's halls, As by night the feast of victory was held within its walls; And the conquerors fill'd the wine-cup high, after years of bright blood shed; But their Lord, the King of Arragon, 'midst the triumph, wail'd the dead. 1The grief of Ferdinand, King of Arragon, for the loss of his brother, Don Pedro, who was killed during the siege of Naples, is affectingly described by the historian, Mariana. It is also the subject of one of the old Spanish ballads in Lockhart's beautiful collection. |