IX.

Old Winter gone, and Spring returned,

The red men sought again

The foreign tents, and fiercely yearned

The battle-axe to stain.

X.

The chieftain took the youth aside,

And shed a stern man's tears;

"My son," he said, "thou canst not hide

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Thy true heart's hopes and fears."

XI.

Beyond our woods and lakes and streams

Thy home-sick fancy strays,

And other faces haunt thy dreams,

And scenes of other days.

XII.

Thy debt to me is more than paid

While grateful love survives

"The sun divides the cloud of night,

But mine it cannot part,

And though the Spring seem warm and bright, 'Tis Winter in my heart.

THE LIFE-DEBT PAID.

A NORTH AMERICAN ANECDOTE.

I.

WORD followed word-frown answered frownOut-burst the tempest dire—

Like meteors swift bright war-blades shone,

And dark eyes flashed like fire!

II.

Those foes were friends-from days of yore

Seemed one their double life

Yet in the fraction of an hour

Their hearts were turned to strife.

III.

Though fiercely fought those warriors twain Soon ceased their struggle dread ;-

A dimmed axe smokes with blood and brain

Low lies a lifeless head!

IV.

That sight hath touched the victor's heart,

So noble though so stern,

Yet none may see the tear-drop start,

Or sign of care discern.

V.

But grief is on his soul.-Before

The dead man's home he stands "Friends of my friend! his life is o'er, But mine is in your hands.

VI.

"As friendship's blood my weapon stains The slayer's shall be shed;

Oh, that the life within these veins

Might pass into the dead!

VII.

"I ask but one brief moon's reprieve,
To range the woods once more,
Lest one who ne'er made mortal grieve
Should want her winter store."

VIII.

The mourners signed their grave assent-
The moon rolled quickly by—
Motionless as a monument

Stands one prepared to die.

IX.

The stern crowd whisper-" It is well."
The sharp axe riseth now-

Oh! never hideous death-stroke fell

Upon a calmer brow!

SONG.

I.

O'ER the lake's smiling surface, when kissed by the moon

On green hills at sun rise-in still woods at noon

In isles, fairy-haunted-in caves on the shore-
Hath the poet oft heard mystic music before.

II.

But never, Oh, never, have tones such as thine-
So entrancing and dream-like-so truly divine-
Breathed a glory around, or with magical art
So bewildered his spirit or melted his heart.

III.

If the fragrance of Spring when the dew's on the ground,
And the fair hues of flowers were turned into sound-
If the rich glow of sun set-the gay tints of morn,
Could speak a sweet language to scenes they adorn-

IV.

If the looks of the lovely-if virtue and worth—
And all that is brightest and best on the earth-
Were but made in one musical spell to combine,
It would seem, dear Enchantress, an echo of thine!

TO A LADY.

OH! were I, fairest friend, a poet true

I would not wish a prouder theme for praise

Than worth like thine. Yet when such meed is due
How poor must seem the most melodious lays!

It is not that thy flexile figure gives

At each sweet change the line that painters love;

It is not that the soul of beauty lives

In that large fawn-like eye; nor that above

Its liquid light the bow of Cupid bends ;-
Nor that each lovely lineament transcends
The common mould; nor that thy voice's tone
Is music's magic Oh! not these alone

Would fix for life each friendship of an hour:-
But this thy praise-that with such sovereign power
As would inebriate the vulgar brain,

Unconscious of thy glory as a flower,
And guileless as a child, thy gentle reign

Ne'er gave a rival's heart a passing pain.