THE following Poem is intended to describe the mental conflicts, as well as outward sufferings of a Spaniard, who, flying from the religious persecutions of his own country in the 16th century, takes refuge with his child in a North American forest. The story is supposed to be related by himself amidst the wilderness which has afforded him an asylum. THE FOREST SANCTUARY. I. THE voices of my home !—I hear them still! They have been with me through the dreamy night— The blessed household voices, wont to fill My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight! I hear them still, unchang'd:-though some from earth Are music parted, and the tones of mirth Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright! Have died in others,-yet to me they come, Singing of boyhood back-the voices of my home! II. They call me through this hush of woods, reposing They wander by when heavy flowers are closing, And thoughts grow deep, and winds and stars are born; Ev'n as a fount's remember'd gushings burst On the parch'd traveller in his hour of thirst, E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn By quenchless longings, to my soul I say Oh! for the dove's swift wings, that I might flee away, III. And find mine ark !—yet whither ?—I must bear I am of those o'er whom a breath of air Just darkening in its course the lake's bright wave, And sighing through the feathery canes1-hath power To call up shadows, in the silent hour, From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave !— So must it be !-These skies above me spread, Are they my own soft skies?-Ye rest not here, my dead! IV. Ye far amidst the southern flowers lie sleeping, Not thy low ripplings, glassy water, playing Through my own chesnut groves, which fill mine ear; But the faint echoes in my breast that dwell, And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell.2 V. Peace!-I will dash these fond regrets to earth, A blighted name, dark thoughts, wrath, woe-thy gifts are these. VI. A blighted name!-I hear the winds of morn- It is not murmur'd by the joyous river! What part hath mortal name, where God alone Speaks to the mighty waste, and through its heart is known? VII. Is it not much that I may worship Him, And won, through clouds, to Him, her own unfetter'd way! |