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Oft, to that spot by tenaer memory won,
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmered in the sun ;
But never more to bless his longing sight,
Was Outalissi hailed, with bark and plumage bright.
A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn
Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between,
Whose lofty verdure overlooked his lawn;
And waters to their resting place serene
Came fresh’ning, and reflecting all the scene :
(A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves ;)
So sweet a spot of earth, you might, I ween,
Have guessed some congregation of the elves (selves.
To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for them-
Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse,
Nor vistas opened by the wand'ring stream;
Both where at evening Allegany views,
Through ridges burning in her western beam,
Lake after lake interminably gleam:
And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam,
Where earth's unliving silence all would seem;
Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome,
Or buffalo remote lowed far from human home.
But silent not that adverse eastern path,
Which saw Aurora's hill th' horizon crown;
There was the river heard, in bed of wrath,
(A precipice of foam from mountains brown.)
Like tumults heard from some far distant town;
But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom,
And murmured pleasantly, and laid him down
To kiss those easy curving banks of bloom,
That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume.
It seemed as if those scenes sweet influence had
On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own
affectionate and glad, That seemed to love whate'er they looked upon ; Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, (As if for heavenly musing meant alone ;) Yet so becomingly th’ expression past, That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last.
V. Nor guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home, With all its picturesque and balmy grace, And fields that were a luxury to roam, Lost on the soul that looked from such a face ! Enthusiast of the woods ! when years apace Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone, The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace To bills with high magnolia overgrown, And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone.
VI. The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, That thus apostrophized its viewless scene: “ Land of my father's love, my mother's birth! The home of kindred I have never seen! We know not other-oceans are between ; Yet say! far friendly hearts from whence we came, Of us does oft remembrance intervene ! My mother sure-my sire a thought may claim ;But Gertrude is to you an unregarded name,
“And yet, loved England ! when thy name I trace
In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song,
How can I choose but wish for one embrace
Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong
My mother's looks,-perhaps her likeness strong ?
Oh parent! with what reverential awe,
From features of thine own related throng,
An image of thy face my soul could draw !
And see thee once again whom I too shortly saw!"
Yet deem not Gertrude sighed for foreign joy;
To soothe a father's couch her only care,
Anu keep his rev’rend head from all annoy :
For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair,
Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair;
While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew,
While boatmen carolled to the fresh-blown air,
And woods a horizontal shadow threw,
And early fox appeared in momentary view.
IX. Apart there was a deep untrodden grot, Where oft the reading hour sweet Gertrude wore; Tradition had not named its lonely spot; But here, methinks, might Indians' sons explore Their fathers' dust,* or lift, perchance, of yore, Their voice to the great Spirit :-rocks sublime To human art a sportive semblance bore, And yellow lichens coloured all the clime, [time. Like moonlight battlements, and towers decayed by
* It is a custom of the Indian tribes to visit the tombs of their ancestors in the cultivated parts of America, who have been buried for upwards of a century.
But high in amphitheatre above,
His arms the everlasting aloes threw:
Breathed but an air of heaven, and all the grove
As if with instinct living spirit grew,
Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue;
And now suspended was the pleasing din,
Now from a murmur faint it swelled anew,
Like the first note of organ heard within
Cathedral aisles,-ere yet its symphony begin.
It was in this lone valley she would charm
The ling’ring noon, where flow'rs à couch had strown;
Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm
On hillock by the palm-tree half o’ergrown;
that volume on her lap is thrown, Which every
heart of human mould endears; With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, And no intruding visitation fears,
[tears. To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest
And nought within the grove was heard or seen
But stockdoves plaining through its gloom profound,
Or winglet of the fairy humming bird,
Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round;
When lo! there entered to its inmost ground
A youth, the stranger of a distant land;
He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound;
But late th' equator suns his cheek had tanned,
And California's gales his roving bosom fanned.
A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm,
He led dismounted; ere his leisure pace,