Indian Legends and Other Poems | Page 5

blasts through the valleys hurried,?Dry leaves fluttered on the gale;?But of him, the loved and absent,?Leaf and tempest told no tale.
Still and pale, a dreamless slumber?Slept he on the battle-plain,--?Steed beneath and vassal o'er him,--?Lost amid the hosts of slain.
Spring, with tranquil breath and fragrant,?Called the primrose from its grave,?Woke the low peal of the harebell,?Bade the purple heather wave;--
Lilies to the warm light opened,?Surges, sparkling, kissed the shore;?But the chieftain's orphan daughter?Saw the sunbeam--never more!
Suitors sent, her hand to purchase,?Some with wealth and some with fame;?But the vow was on her spirit,?And she shrank not from its claim.
Yet when starry worlds looked downwards,?Spirit-like, from realms on high,?And the violets in the valleys?Closed in sleep each dewy eye,--
While the night in wondrous beauty?O'er the softened landscape lay,?She came forth, with noiseless footstep?Moving 'mid the shadows gray,
Gazing ever towards the summit,?Where the gleam of scarf and plume?Faded in the hazy distance,?Leaving her to prayer and gloom.
Years, by her unmarked, unnumbered,?Crossed the dial-plate of Time;?Then she passed, one quiet midnight,?To the unseen Spirit-Clime.
But the twilight has departed,?And the moon is up on high;?Stranger, pass not, in thy journey,?Yon deserted court-yard by;
For it is whispered that, at evening,?Oft a misty form is seen,?In its silent progress casting?Not a shadow on the green,
'Neath the iron cross that standeth?On the mouldering wall and rude,?Like a noble thought uplifted?In the Past's deep solitude.
MY NATIVE ISLE.
My native isle! my native isle!?For ever round thy sunny steep?The low waves curl, with sparkling foam,?And solemn murmurs deep;?While o'er the surging waters blue?The ceaseless breezes throng,?And in the grand old woods awake?An everlasting song.
The sordid strife and petty cares?That crowd the city's street,?The rush, the race, the storm of Life,?Upon thee never meet;?But quiet and contented hearts?Their daily tasks fulfil,?And meet with simple hope and trust?The coming good or ill.
The spireless church stands, plain and brown,?The winding road beside;?The green graves rise in silence near,?With moss-grown tablets wide;?And early on the Sabbath morn,?Along the flowery sod,?Unfettered souls, with humble prayer,?Go up to worship God.
And dearer far than sculptured fane?Is that gray church to me,?For in its shade my mother sleeps,?Beneath the willow-tree;?And often, when my heart is raised?By sermon and by song,?Her friendly smile appears to me?From the seraphic throng.
The sunset glow, the moonlit stream,?Part of my being are;?The fairy flowers that bloom and die,?The skies so clear and far:?The stars that circle Night's dark brow,?The winds and waters free,?Each with a lesson all its own,?Are monitors to me.
The systems in their endless march?Eternal truth proclaim;?The flowers God's love from day to day?In gentlest accents name;?The skies for burdened hearts and faint?A code of Faith prepare;?What tempest ever left the Heaven?Without a blue spot there?
My native isle! my native isle!?In sunnier climes I've strayed,?But better love thy pebbled beach?And lonely forest glade,?Where low winds stir with fragrant breath?The purple violet's head,?And the star-grass in the early Spring?Peeps from the sear leaf's bed.
I would no more of strife and tears?Might on thee ever meet,?But when against the tide of years?This heart has ceased to beat,?Where the green weeping-willows bend?I fain would go to rest,?Where waters chant, and winds may sweep?Above my peaceful breast.
THE LOST PLEIAD.
A void is in the sky!?A light has ceased the seaman's path to cheer,?A star has left its ruby throne on high,
A world forsook its sphere.?Thy sisters bright pursue their circling way,?But thou, lone wanderer! thou hast left our vault for aye.
Did Sin invade thy bowers,?And Death with sable pinion sweep thine air,?Blasting the beauty of thy fairest flowers,
And God admit no prayer??Didst thou, as fable saith, wax faint and dim?With the first mortal breath between thy zone and Him?
Did human love, with all?Its passionate might and meek endurance strong,--?The love that mocks at Time and scorns the pall,
Through conflict fierce and long,--?Live in thy soul, yet know no future's ray??Then, mystic world! 't was well that thou shouldst pass away.
Perchance a loftier fate?Removed thy radiance from our feeble sight.?Did HE, whose Spirit wills but to create,
Far upward urge thy flight?From this low fraction of expiring time,?To realms where ages roll, as hours, in peace sublime?
E'en there does science soar?With trembling pinion, bright and eager eye,?Striving to reach the still-receding shore
That bounds the vision high:?Immortal longings fill the fettered mind;?Unfathomed glory lies around it, veiled and shrined!
Oh! when the brooding cloud?Shall pass like mist from o'er our straining sight,?And, as the sun-born insect, from its shroud
The soul speed forth in might,?From phase to phase in Being's endless day,?Shall we behold thy light, and learn thy future way?
THE VESPER CHIME.
She dwelt within a convent wall?Beside the "blue Moselle,"?And pure and simple was her life?As is the tale I tell.
She never shrank from penance rude,?And was so young and fair,?It was a holy, holy thing,?To see her at her prayer.
Her cheek was very thin and pale;?You would have turned