صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

And fleets of gliding boats with riches crown'd,
To distant Orleans or St. Louis bound;
Nothing appear'd, but Nature unsubdu'd,
One endless, noiseless, woodland solitude;
Or boundless prairie, that aye seem'd to be
As level, and as lifeless as the sea;
They seem'd to breathe in this wide world alone,
Heirs of the Earth-the land was all their own!
'Twas Evening now-the hour of toil was o'er,
Yet still they durst not seek the fearful shore,
Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep,
And spring upon, and murder them in sleep;
So through the livelong night they held their way,
And 'twas a night might shame the fairest day,
So still, so bright, so tranquil was its reign,
They car'd not though the day ne'er came again.
The Moon high wheel'd the distant hills above,
Silver'd the fleecy foliage of the grove,
That as the wooing zephyrs on it fell,
Whisper'd it lov'd the gentle visit well—
That fair-fac'd orb alone to move appear'd,
That zephyr was the only sound they heard.
No deep-mouth'd hound the hunter's haunt betray'd,
No lights upon the shore, or waters play'd,
No loud laugh broke upon the silent air,

To tell the wand'rers man was nestling there;
While even the froward babe in mother's arms,
Lull'd by the scene, suppress'd its loud alarms,

And, yielding to that moment's tranquil sway,
Sunk on the breast, and slept its rage away.
All, all was still, on gliding barque and shore,
As if the Earth now slept to wake no more;
Life seem'd extinct, as when the World first smil❜d,
Ere ADAM was a dupe, or EVE beguil❜d.

In such a scene the Soul oft walks abroad,
For Silence is the energy of GOD!

Not in the blackest Tempest's midnight scowl,
The Earthquake's rocking, or the Whirlwind's howl,
Not from the crashing thunder-rifted cloud,
Does His immortal mandate speak so loud,
As when the silent Night around her throws
Her star-bespangled mantle of repose;

Thunder, and Whirlwind, and the Earth's dread shake,
The selfish thoughts of man alone awake;
His lips may prate of Heav'n, but all his fears
Are for himself, though pious he appears.
But when all Nature sleeps in tranquil smiles,
What sweet yet lofty thought the Soul beguiles !
There's not an object 'neath the Moon's bright beam,
There's not a shadow dark'ning on the stream,

There's not a star that jewels yonder skies,
Whose bright reflexion on the water lies,
That does not in the lifted mind awake

Thoughts that of Love and Heav'n alike partake;
While all its newly waken'd feelings prove,

That Love is Heaven, and GOD the Soul of Love.

In such sweet times the spirit rambles forth
Beyond the precincts of this grov'ling Earth,
Expatiates in a brighter world than this,

And plunging in the Future's dread abyss,
Proves an existence separate, and refin’d,
By leaving its frail tenement behind.
So felt our BASIL, as he sat the while,

Guiding his boat, beneath the moonbeam's smile.
For there are thoughts, which GOD alike has giv'n
To high and low-and these are thoughts of Heav'n.


Back shrunk the madbrain'd wanderer stung with spleen,

And sick'ning at this peaceful village scene;
It minded him of times he once had known,
Ere doom'd to wander through the earth alone;
For on this spot he once had reign'd a king,
O'er man and beast, and every living thing;
In this fair haunt from boy to man he grew,
And tasted all the bliss the savage knew;
Here had he seen his people happy dwell,
Here had they fought, were conquer'd, and all fell.
A flood of tenderness rush'd on his mind,
And for one moment the poor wretch grew


A thrill, for many, and many a year unknown,
Cut through his heart, though harden'd into stone;


A tear, the only one that e'er had stain'd
His manhood's cheek, unbrush'd away remain'd;
And, for one breath, his lone and wretched lot
Was in the mem'ry of the past forgot.
But 'twas a moment only that engag'd
His tender thoughts-the next his bosom rag'd;
Indignantly he brush'd the tear away,

And as more hotly glows the Sun's bright ray,
When past the Summer shower that soon is o’er,
And leaves it brighter than it was before,

His swelling heart with keener vengeance burn'd,
And all his tenderness to fury turn'd.



Aye-rest ye safe awhile"-he madly cried; Bask in the sunshine on my river's side,

"While the true lord of wave and wood and soil,

"Skulks from his home, and howls and starves the



Sleep soundly yet, ye curs'd-devoted train,

"Ere long ye'll slumber ne'er to wake again, "Or wake to hear the death-denouncing yell, "Rouse for the last time, with its echoing swell, "To see your dwellings wrapt in midnight flames, "Hear helpless babes, and wives invoke your names; "And call upon the Christian God in vain, "To be their safeguard, yet, yet once again. "How silent all around-how mild the eve! "Farewell awhile-a little while I leave

"These gentle haunts, which when again I see, "Wo to the white-man-he'll remember me!"

This said, he turn'd him to the glowing West,
Where day's last tints upon the light clouds rest;
And turning, saw an aged pilgrim stand
Beneath an oak, with rustic staff in hand;
Who seem'd, e'en like that day's departing sun,
As if his race on earth were almost run.
Sudden the murd'rous tomahawk he drew,
And, wing'd by vengeance, on his victim flew ;
But as he look'd upon the old man's face,
There was a mild and melancholy grace-
A fearless resignation so divine,

An eye that so forgivingly did shine,
As stopt awhile the Prophet's mad career,
And made him pause 'twixt reverence and fear.
He seem'd like patriarch of some distant age,
Return'd awhile to linger on this stage;
Bald was his brow-so very deadly fair,
As if no drop of blood now mantled there;
A few white hairs, like flaky snow unstain'd,
The reliques of a century, remain'd;

And his calm eye, as in a mirror, shew'd
The mild reflexion of a mind subdu'd;
No boiling passion foam'd and eddied there,
Av'rice or gluttony, or selfish care;
But all was like the twilight's peaceful hue,
When gentle skies in silence shed their dew.

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