Then seek we not their camp-for there

• The silence dwells of my despair!"

XXXIX.

' But hark, the trump!-tomorrow thou

' In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears:

• Ev'n from the land of shadows now
'My father's awful ghost appears,
'Amidst the clouds that round us roll;
• He bids my soul for battle thirst-
'He bids me dry the last-the first-
• The only tears that ever burst
From Outalissi's soul;

Because I may not stain with grief • The death-song of an Indian chief.'

NOTES.

NOTES.

PART I.

Stanza 3. 1. 6.

From merry mock-bird's song.

The mocking bird is of the form, but larger, than the thrush; and the colours are a mixture of black, white, and grey. What is said of the nightingale, by its greatest admirers, is, what may with more propriety apply to this bird, who, in a natural state, sings with very superior taste. Towards evening I

: