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النشر الإلكتروني

Yet whenever I cross the river

On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean

Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,

And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,

As long as life has woes ;

The moon and its broken reflection

And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in heaven,

And its wavering image here.

TO THE DRIVING CLOUD.

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty

Omawhaws; Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose

name thou hast taken ! Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk

through the city's Narrow and populous streets, as once by the mar

gin of rivers

Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us

only their footprints. What, in a few short years, will remain of thy

race but the footprints ?

How canst thou walk in these streets, who hast

trod the green turf of the prairies ? How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast

breathed the sweet air of the mountains Ah! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain

thou dost challenge Looks of dislike in return, and question these

walls and these pavements, Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while

down-trodden millions Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its

caverns that they, too, Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim

its division !

Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west

of the Wabash! There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn

the leaves of the maple Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold, and

in summer Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous

breath of their branches. There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer

of horses ! There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks

of the Elk-horn, Or by the roar of the Running-Water, or where

the Omawhaw Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like

a brave of the Blackfeet !

Hark! what murmurs arise from the heart of those

mountainous deserts ?

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