Of strong affection, in one healthful flow,

On something all its own!-that kindly glow,
Which to shut inward is consuming pain,

Gives the glad soul its flowering time again,

When, like the sunshine, freed.—And gentle cares Th' adopted Edith meekly gave for theirs

Who lov'd her thus :-her spirit dwelt, the while, With the departed, and her patient smile

Spoke of farewells to earth ;-yet still she pray'd, Ev'n o'er her soldier's lowly grave, for aid

One purpose to fulfil, to leave one trace

Brightly recording that her dwelling-place

Had been among the wilds; for well she knew
The secret whisper of her bosom true,

Which warn'd her hence.

And now, by many a word

Link'd unto moments when the heart was stirr'd, By the sweet mournfulness of many a hymn,

Sung when the woods at eve grew hush'd and dim,

By the persuasion of her fervent eye,

All eloquent with child-like piety,

By the still beauty of her life, she strove

To win for heaven, and heaven-born truth, the love
Pour'd out on her so freely.-Nor in vain

Was that soft-breathing influence to enchain
The soul in gentle bonds: by slow degrees
Light follow'd on, as when a summer breeze
Parts the deep masses of the forest shade

And lets the sunbeam through :--her voice was made
Ev'n such a breeze; and she, a lowly guide,

By faith and sorrow rais'd and purified,

So to the Cross her Indian fosterers led,

Until their prayers were one.

When morning spread

O'er the blue lake, and when the sunset's glow
Touch'd into golden bronze the cypress-bough,

And when the quiet of the Sabbath time

Sank on her heart, tho' no melodious chime
Waken'd the wilderness, their prayers were one.

-Now might she pass in hope, her work was done.

And she was passing from the woods away;
The broken flower of England might not stay
Amidst those alien shades; her eye was bright
Ev'n yet with something of a starry light,

But her form wasted, and her fair young cheek
Wore oft and patiently a fatal streak,

A rose whose root was death. The parting sigh
Of autumn thro' the forests had gone by,

And the rich maple o'er her wanderings lone

Its crimson leaves in many a shower had strown,
Flushing the air; and winter's blast had been

Amidst the pines; and now a softer green

Fring'd their dark boughs; for spring again had come, The sunny spring! but Edith to her home

Was journeying fast. Alas! we think it sad

To part with life, when all the earth looks glad

In her young lovely things, when voices break
Into sweet sounds, and leaves and blossoms wake :
Is it not brighter then, in that far clime

Where graves are not, nor blights of changeful time,

If here such glory dwell with passing blooms,

Such golden sunshine rest around the tombs ? 'Twas early day,

So thought the dying one.

And sounds and odours with the breezes' play, Whispering of spring-time, thro the cabin-door, Unto her couch life's farewell sweetness bore; Then with a look where all her hope awoke, "My father!"-to the grey-hair'd chief she spoke"Know'st thou that I depart?"-"I know, I know,"

He answer'd mournfully, "that thou must go

To thy belov'd, my daughter!"—" Sorrow not

For me, kind mother!" with meek smiles once more

She murmur'd in low tones; 66 one happy lot

Awaits, us, friends! upon the better shore;

For we have pray'd together in one trust,

And lifted our frail spirits from the dust,

To God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own,
Under the cedar-shade: where he is gone

Thither I go. There will my sisters be,

And the dead parents, lisping at whose knee

My childhood's prayer was learn'd, the Saviour's

prayer

Which now ye know,—and I shall meet you there,

Father, and gentle mother!-ye have bound

The bruised reed, and mercy shall be found
By Mercy's children.”—From the matron's eye
Dropp'd tears, her sole and passionate reply;
But Edith felt them not; for now a sleep,
Solemnly beautiful, a stillness deep,

Fell on her settled face. Then, sad and slow,
And mantling up his stately head in wo,

"Thou'rt passing hence," he sang, that warrior old,

In sounds like those by plaintive waters roll'd.

"Thou'rt passing from the lake's green side,

And the hunter's hearth away;

For the time of flowers, for the summer's pride,
Daughter! thou canst not stay.