THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT. AN Indian girl was sitting where "I've pulled away the shrubs that grew That, shining from the sweet south-west, "It was a weary, weary road That led thee to the pleasant coast, Where thou, in his serene abode, Hast met thy father's ghost; Where everlasting autumn lies On yellow woods and sunny skies. "'Twas I the broidered mocsen made, That shod thee for that distant land; 'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid Thy bow in many a battle bent, "With wampum belts I crossed thy breast, And decked thee bravely, as became A warrior of illustrious name. "Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed The long dark journey of the grave, And in the land of light, at last, Hast joined the good and brave; Amid the flushed and balmy air, The bravest and the loveliest there. "Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray,To her who sits where thou wert laid, And weeps the hours away, Yet almost can her grief forget, "And thou, by one of those still lakes That in a shining cluster lie, On which the south wind scarcely breaks A bower for thee and me hast made "And thou dost wait and watch to meet The rustling of my footsteps near." ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION. FAR back in the ages, The plough with wreaths was crowned; The hands of kings and sages Entwined the chaplet round; Till men of spoil disdained the toil By which the world was nourished, The proud throne shall crumble, The tribes of earth shall humble The pride of those who reign; G |