But the hopeful spirit in my breast is all undimmed

and strong.

I know thou hast not loved me yet; I am not fair like thee,

The very glance of whose clear eye threw round a light

of glee !

A frail and drooping form is mine--a cold unsmiling cheek

Oh! I have but a woman's heart wherewith thy heart to seek.

But when thou wakest, my prince, my lord! and hear'st how I have kept

A lonely vigil by thy side, and o'er thee prayed and

wept

How in one long deep dream of thee my nights and days have past

Surely that humble patient love must win back love at

last!

And thou wilt smile-my own, my own shall be the sunny smile,

Which brightly fell, and joyously, on all but me

erewhile!

No more in vain affection's thirst my weary soul shall

pine

Oh! years of hope deferred were paid by one fond glance of thine!

Thou'lt meet me with that radiant look when thou comest from the chase

For me, for me, in festal halls it shall kindle o'er thy

face!

Thou'lt reck no more though beauty's gift mine aspect may not bless :

In thy kind eyes this deep, deep love shall give me loveliness.

But wake! my heart within me burns, yet once more to rejoice

In the sound to which it ever leaped, the music of thy

voice.

Awake! I sit in solitude, that thy first look and

tone,

And the gladness of thine opening eyes, may all be mine alone."

In the still chambers of the dust, thus poured forth day by day,

The passion of that loving dream from a troubled soul found way,

Until the shadows of the grave had swept o'er every

grace

Left midst the awfulness of death on the princely form

and face.

And slowly broke the fearful truth upon the watcher's

breast,

And they bore away the royal dead with requiems to his rest,

With banners and with knightly plumes all waving in the wind

But a woman's broken heart was left in its lone despair

behind.

THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL

"A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid,
Woman-a power to suffer and to love;
Therefore thou so canst pity."

66

WILDLY and mournfully the Indian drum
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-haired youth of England stood,
Like a king's son; though from his cheek had flown
The mantling crimson of the Island blood,

And his pressed lips looked marble. Fiercely bright
And high around him blazed the fires of night,
Rocking beneath the cedars to and fro,

As the wind passed, and with a fitful glow

Lighting the victim's face but who could tell

Of what within his secret heart befell,

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 drooped; or haply binding
The jasmine up the door's low pillars winding;
Or, as day closed 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
Learned 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 looked up. Thick cypress boughs,
Full of strange sound, waved 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
Looked through the branches as through 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.
Would the winds tell it?
The secret of the forests?

Idle fear!

Who might dream or hear
To the stake

They bound him; and that proud young soldier strove
His father's spirit in his breast to wake,

Trusting to die in silence! He, the love
Of many hearts !-the fondly reared--the fair,
Gladdening all eyes to see! And fettered there
He stood beside his death-pyre, and the brand
Flamed up to light it in the chieftain's hand.
He thought upon his God. Hush! hark!—a cry
Breaks on the stern and dread solemnity.

A step hath pierced the ring! Who dares intrude
On the dark hunters in their vengeful mood?

THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL

A girl-a young slight girl-a fawn-like child
Of green savannas and the leafy wild,

Springing unmarked till then, as some lone flower,
Happy because the sunshine is its dower;
Yet one that knew how early tears are shed,
For hers had mourned a playmate-brother dead.

She had sat gazing on the victim long, Until the pity of her soul grew strong; And, by its passion's deepening fervour swayed, Even to the stake she rushed, and gently laid His bright head on her bosom, and around His form her slender arms to shield it wound Like close Liannes; then raised her glittering eye, And clear-toned voice, that said, " He shall not die!" "He shall not die !"-The gloomy forest thrilled To that sweet sound. A sudden wonder fell

On the fierce throng; and heart and hand were stilled, Struck down as by the whisper of a spell.

They gazed their dark souls bowed before the maid,
She of the dancing step in wood and glade!

And, as her cheek flushed through its olive hue,
As her black tresses to the night-wind flew,

Something o'ermastered them from that young mien—
Something of heaven, in silence felt and seen;
And seeming, to their childlike faith, a token
That the Great Spirit by her voice had spoken.
They loosed the bonds that held their captive's breath;
From his pale lips they took the cup of death;
They quenched the brand beneath the cypress tree :
"Away," they cried, "young stranger! thou art free."