THE INDIAN'S REVENGE.

479

sycamore trees. HERRMANN, the missionary, seated alone before the cabin. The hour is evening twilight.

Herrmann. Was that the light from some lone swift canoe Shooting across the waters ?-No, a flash

From the night's first quick fire-fly, lost again

In the deep bay of cedars. Not a bark

Is on the wave; no rustle of a breeze

Comes through the forest. In this new, strange world,
Oh! how mysterious, how eternal, seems

The mighty melancholy of the woods!
The desert's own great spirit, infinite!
Little they know, in mine own fatherland,
Along the castled Rhine, or e'en amidst

The wild Harz mountains, or the sylvan glades
Deep in the Odenwald, they little know

Of what is solitude! In hours like this,

There, from a thousand nooks, the cottage-hearths
Pour forth red light through vine-hung lattices,
To guide the peasant, singing cheerily,

On the home path; while round his lowly porch,
With eager eyes awaiting his return,

The cluster'd faces of his children shine

To the clear harvest moon. Be still, fond thoughts!
Melting my spirit's grasp from heavenly hope
By your vain earthward yearnings. O'my God!
Draw me still nearer, closer unto thee,

Till all the hollow of these deep desires
May with thyself be fill'd!-Be it enough
At once to gladden and to solemnize
My lonely life, if for thine altar here
In this dread temple of the wilderness,
By prayer, and toil, and watching, I may win
The offering of cne heart, one human heart,
Bleeding, repenting, loving!

Hark! a step,
An Indian tread! I know the stealthy sound-
'Tis on some quest of evil, through the grass

Gliding so serpent-like.

[He comes forward, and meets an Indian warrior armed Enonio, is it thou? I see thy form

Tower stately through the dusk, yet scarce mine eye

Discerns thy face.

Enonio.

My father speaks my name.

Herrmann. Are not the hunters from the chase returned? The night-fires lit? Why is my son abroad?

Enonio. The warrior's arrow knows of nobler prey

Than elk or deer. Now let my father leave

The lone path free.

Herrmann. The forest way is long

From the red chieftain's home. Rest thee awhile
Beneath my sycamore, and we will speak
Of these things further.

Enonio.

Tell me not of rest!

My heart is sleepless, and the dark night swift

I must begone.

Herrmann, (solemnly.) No, warrior, thou must stay!
The Mighty one hath given me power to search
Thy soul with piercing words-and thou must stay,
And hear me, and give answer! If thy heart
Be grown thus restless, is it not because
Within its dark folds thou hast mantled up

Some burning thought of ill?

Enonio, (with sudden impetuosity.) How should I rest?—

Last night the spirit of my brother came,

An angry shadow in the moonlight streak,

And said, "Avenge me!"—In the clouds this morn

I saw the frowning color of his blood

And that, too, had a voice.-I lay at noon

Alone beside the sounding waterfall,

And through its thunder-music spake a tone-
A low tone piercing all the roll of waves-

And said "Avenge me!"-Therefore have I raised
The tomahawk, and strung the bow again,
That I may send the shadow from my couch,
And take the strange sound from the cataract
And sleep once more.

Herrmann.

A better path, my son,
Unto the still and dewy land of sleep,

My hand in peace can guide thee-e'en the way
Thy dying brother trod.-Say, didst thou love
That lost one well?

Enonio.
Know'st thou not we grew up
Even as twin roes amidst the wilderness?
Unto the chase we journey'd in one path;
We stemm'd the lake in one canoe; we lay
Beneath one oak to rest. When fever hung
Upon my burning lips, my brother's hand
Was still beneath my head; my brother's robe
Cover'd my bosom from the chill night air.
Our lives were girdled by one belt of love
Until he turn'd him from his fathers' gods,
And then my soul fell from him-then the grass
Grew in the way between our parted homes,
And wheresoe'er I wander'd, then it seem'd
That all the woods were silent.-I went forth-
I journey'd with my lonely heart, afar,

And so return'd-and where was he ?-the earth
Own'd him no more.

Herrmann.

But thou thyself, since then Hast turn'd thee from the idols of thy tribe,

And, like thy brother, bow'd the suppliant knee

To the one God.

Enonio.

Yes, I have learn'd to pray

With my white father's words, yet all the more

THE INDIAN'S REVENGE.

My heart, that shut against my brother's love,
Hath been within me as an arrowy fire,
Burning my sleep away.-In the night hush,
'Midst the strange whispers and dim shadowy things
Of the great forests, I have call'd aloud,

Brother! forgive, forgive!"-He answer'd not-
His deep voice, rising from the land of souls,
Cries but "Avenge me!"—and I go forth now
To slay.his murderer, that when next his eyes
Gleam on me mournfully from that pale shore,
I may look up, and meet their glance, and say.
"I have avenged thee."

Herrmann.

Oh! that human love
Should be the root of this dread bitterness,
Till heaven through all the fever'd being pours
Transmuting balsam!-Stay, Enonio, stay!
Thy brother calls thee not!-The spirit world
Where the departed go, sends back to earth
No visitants for evil.-"Tis the might

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!
Thy brother is at peace. Beside his couch,

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
He walks the frowning forest. Did keen love,
Too late repentant of its heart estranged,
Wake in thy haunted bosom, with its train
Of sounds and shadows-and shall he escape?
Enonio, dream it not!—Our God, the All Just,
Unto himself reserves this royalty-

The secret chastening of the guilty heart,
The fiery touch, the scourge that purifies,

Leave it with him!-Yet make it not thy hope-
For that strong heart of thine-Oh! listen yet-
Must, in its depths, o'ercome the very wish
For death or torture to the guilty one

Ere it can sleep again.

Enonio.

VOL II.-41

My father speaks

481

Of change, for man too mighty.

I but speak

Herrmann.
Of that which hath been, and again must be,
If thou would'st join thy brother, in the life
Of the bright country, where, I well believe,
His soul rejoices.-He had known such change.
He died in peace. He, whom his tribe once named
The Avenging Eagle, took to his meek heart,
In its last pangs, the spirit of those words

Which, from the Saviour's cross, went up to heaven-
Forgive them, for they know not what they do,
Father, forgive!"-And o'er the eternal bounds
Of that celestial kingdom, undefiled,

Where evil may not enter, he, I deem,

Hath to his Master pass'd.-He waits thee there-
For love, we trust, springs heavenward from the grave,
Immortal in its holiness.-He calls

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
Have wander'd far and long!-Return, my son,
To thy Redeemer!--Died he not in love-
The sinless, the divine, the Son of God-
Breathing forgiveness 'midst all agonies,
And we, dare we be ruthless? By his aid
Shalt thou be guided to thy brother's place
'Midst the pure spirits. Oh! retrace the way
Back to thy Saviour! he rejects no heart
E'en with the dark stains on it, if true tears

Be o'er them shower'd.-Ay, weep thou Indian chief!
For, by the kindling moonlight, I behold

Thy proud lip's working-weep, relieve thy soul!
Tears will not shame thy manhood, in the hour

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

Like water brooks amidst the summer hills

From thy true lips flow forth; for in

my heart

The music and the memory of their sound

Too long have died away.

Herrmann.

O, welcome back,

Friend, rescued one!-Yes, thou shalt be my guest,
And we will pray beneath my sycamore

PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY.

'Together, morn and eve; and I will spread
Thy couch beside my fire, and sleep at last-
After the visiting of holy thoughts—

With dewy wing shall sink upon thine eyes!-
Enter my home, and welcome, welcome back
To peace, to God, thou lost and found again!

483

[They go into the cabin together.-HERRMANN, lingering for a moment on the threshold, looks up to the starry skies Father! that from amidst yon glorious worlds

Now look'st on us, thy children! make this hour

Blessed for ever! May it see the birth

Of thine own image in the unfathom'd deep
Of an immortal soul;-a thing to name
With reverential thought, a solemn world!
To Thee more precious than those thousand stars
Burning on high in thy majestic Heaven!

PRAYER AT SEA AFTER VICTORY.

"The land shall never rue,

So England to herself' do prove but true."
Shakspeare.

THROUGH evening's bright repose
A voice of prayer arose,

When the sea-fight was done:
The sons of England knelt,

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;

Safer from touch of spoil,