The moon of the harvest grew high and bright, When years had passed on, by that still lakeside A skeleton wasted and white was laid, And 't was seen, as the waters moved deep and slow, ODE WRITTEN FOR THE COMMEMORATION AT FRYEBURG, MAINE, OF LOVEWELL'S FIGHT, And printed in the Gazette of Maine, May 24, 1825. Air-Bruce's Address. I. Many a day and wasted year Bright has left its footsteps here, Still the tall trees, arching, shake II. In these ancient woods so bright, That are full of life and light, The stern warriors kept. But their altars are bereft, Fall'n to earth, and strewn and cleft, And a holier faith is left Where their fathers slept. III. From their ancient sepulchres, Tow'rd the setting sun that makes The Indian chief, Jeckoyva, as tradition says, perished alone on the mountain which now bears his name. Night overtook him whilst hunting among the cliffs, and he was not heard of till after a long time, when his half-decayed corpse was found at the foot of a high rock, over which he must have fallen. Mount Jeckoyva is near the White Hills. H. W. L. The United States Literary Gazette, August 11, 1815. They made the warrior's grave beside The dashing of his native tide: And there was mourning in the glen The strong wail of a thousand men — O'er him thus fallen in his pride, They made the warrior's grave beneath When the dark hunter's piercing eye Where, scattered by the sharp wind's breath, Where was the warrior's foot, when first Where was the warrior's foot when night Down the bare rock so high and white! But he that drooped not in the chase They found him there, when the long day And traces on that barren cleft Of struggling hard with death were left- THE SEA-DIVER. The same, August 15, 1825. This with thirteen other poems was included in a volume published in 1826, entitled Miscellaneous Poems selected from The United States Literary Gazette. My way is on the bright blue sea, My sleep upon its rocking tide; Where billows clasp the worn seaside. My plumage bears the crimson blush, Full many a fathom down beneath They rested by the coral throne, Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown At night upon my storm-drench'd wing, And when the wind and storm were done, I saw the pomp of day depart — The cloud resign its golden crown, The sailor's wasted corse went down. Peace be to those whose graves are made MUSINGS. The same, November 15, 1825. I sat by my window one night, And watched how the stars grew high; And the earth and skies were a splendid sight To a sober and musing eye. From heaven the silver moon shone down And beneath the crowded roofs of the town In broad light and shadow lay. A glory was on the silent sea, Till a haze came over the lowland lea, Bright in the moon the autumn wood And the trees like a splendid army stood I saw them waving their banners high, SONG OF THE BIRDS. Published in The Atlantic Souvenir, 1827. With what a hollow dirge, its voice did fill |