The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,

Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of snow

On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm

Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wild alarm !

XXVII.

But short that contemplation-sad and short

The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu !

Beneath the very shadow of the fort,

Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew !

Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew

Was near?—yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds,

Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view,

The ambush'd foeman's eye-his volley speeds,

And Albert-Albert falls! the dear old father bleeds!

XXVIII.

And tranced in giddy horror, Gertrude swoon'd ;
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone,
Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father's wound,
These drops ?-Oh God! the life-blood is her own ;

And, falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown—

Weep not, O love!" she cries, "to see me bleed—

Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone

Heaven's peace commiserate; for scarce I heed

These wounds :-yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed.

"Clasp me a little longer, on the brink

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress ;

And, when this heart hath ceased to beat-oh! think,

And let it mitigate thy woe's excess,

That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

And friend to more than human friendship just.

Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

God shall assuage thy pangs-when I am laid in dust!

XXX.

"Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart,

The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move,

Where my dear father took thee to his heart,

And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove

With thee, as with an angel, through the grove

Of peace,-imagining her lot was cast

In heav'n; for ours was not like earthly love.

And must this parting be our very last?

No! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.

XXXI.

“ Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth,——

And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun,

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

If I had lived to smile but on the birth

Of one dear pledge ;—but shall there, then, be none,

In future times—no gentle little one,

To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me?

Yet seems it, e'en while life's last pulses run,

A sweetness in the cup of death to be,

Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee !"

XXXII.

Hush'd were his Gertrude's lips; but still their bland

And beautiful expression seem'd to melt

With love that could not die! and still his hand

She presses to the heart no more that felt.

Ah heart! where once each fond affection dwelt,

And features yet that spoke a soul more fair.

Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt,—

Of them that stood encircling his despair,

He heard some friendly words;-but knew not what they

were.

XXXIII.

For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives

A faithful band. With solemn rites between,