Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every grace, Left 'midst the awfulness of death on the princely form and face. And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's breast, And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest, With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair behind. THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL. A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, Woman!-a power to suffer and to love, WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum On the deep hush of moonlight forests broke ;"Sing us a death-song, for thine hour is come," So the red warriors to their captive spoke. Still, and amidst those dusky forms alone, A youth, a fair-hair'd youth of England stood, Like a king's son; though from his cheek had flown The mantling crimson of the island-blood, And his press'd lips look'd marble.-Fiercely bright, And high around him, blaz'd the fires of night, Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro, As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow Of what within his secret heart befel, Known but to Heaven that hour?-Perchance a thought Of his far home then so intensely wrought, That its full image, pictured to his eye On the dark ground of mortal agony, Rose clear as day !—and he might see the band, Of her "Good night" might breathe from boyhood gone! He started and look'd up-thick cypress boughs, Full of strange sound, wav'd o'er him, darkly red In the broad, stormy firelight;-savage brows, With tall plumes crested and wild hues o'erspread, Girt him like feverish phantoms; and pale stars That happy hall in England!-Idle fear! Would the winds tell it ?-Who might dream or hear The secret of the forests ?—To the stake They bound him; and that proud young soldier strove His father's spirit in his breast to wake, Trusting to die in silence! He, the love She had sat gazing on the victim long, And clear-toned voice that said, "He shall not die!" "He shall not die !"-the gloomy forest thrill'd To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were still'd, Struck down, as by the whisper of a spell. They gaz'd, their dark souls bow'd before the maid, She of the dancing step in wood and glade! |