THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL. A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid, WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum 66 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; tho' 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, blazʼd the fires of night, Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro, As the wind pass'd, and with a fitful glow Lighting the victim's face :-But who could tell 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 his young sisters wandering hand in hand, Where the laburnums droop'd; or haply binding The jasmine, up the door's low pillars winding; Or, as day clos'd upon their gentle mirth, Gathering with braided hair, around the hearth Where sat their mother; and that mother's face - Its grave sweet smile yet wearing in the place Where so it ever smiled!-Perchance the prayer Learn'd at her knee came back on his despair; The blessing from her voice, the very tone 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 Look'd thro' the branches as thro' dungeon bars, Shedding no hope. He knew, he felt his doom— Oh! what a tale to shadow with its gloom 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, Of many hearts!-the fondly rear'd,—the fair, He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand Flamed up to light it, in the chieftain's hand. Springing unmark'd till then, as some lone flower, Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,— For hers had mourn'd a playmate brother dead. She had sat gazing on the victim long, And, by its passion's deepening fervour sway'd, Like close Liannes; then rais'd her glittering eye 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! And, as her cheek flush'd thro' its olive hue, As her black tresses to the night-wind flew, That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken. They loos'd the bonds that held their captive's breath; |