"This is no time to fill the joyous cup, The Mammoth comes,—the foe,—the Monster Brandt,* With all his howling desolating band ; These eyes have seen their blade, and burning pine Awake at once, and silence half your land. Red is the cup they drink; but not with wine: Awake, and watch to-night! or see no morning shine. XVII. Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, To whom nor relative nor blood remains, XVIII. "But go and rouse your warriors;—for, if right Go! seek the light its warlike beacons show; Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe!" XIX. Scarce had he uttered,-when heav'n's verge extreme Reverberates the bomb's descending star * Brandt was the leader of those Mohawks, and other savages, who laid waste this part of Pennsylvania. Vide the note at the end of the volume. [scream, And sounds, that mingled laugh,—and shout,—and Then looked they to the hills, where fire o'erhung Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung, She faints, she falters not,-th' heroic fair, One short embrace-he clasped his dearest care- XXI. Then came of every race the mingled swarm, As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass, And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle shines. XXII. And in, the buskined hunters of the deer, To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer; Old Outalissi woke his battle song, And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, Tells how his deep stung indignation smarts, Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long, And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts.— XXIII. Calm opposite the Christian father rose, Short time is now for gratulating speech; Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach, With brow relaxed to love! And murmurs ran Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu! XXV. Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the tow 'r, That like a giant standard-bearer, frowned Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r. Beneath, each bold and promontory mound Wove like a diadem its tracery round The lofty summit of that mountain green; Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene. XXVI. A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun, XXVII. But short that contemplation-sad and short Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew; XXVIII. And tranced in giddy horror Gertrude swooned; Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wounds, 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 [deed. These wounds;-Yet thee to leave is death, is death inXXIX. Clasp me a little longer, on the brink G And when this heart hath ceased to beat-oh! think, And let it mitigate thy wo'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, In heaven; for ours was not like earthly love. 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, If I had lived to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge;-but shall there then be none, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me! A sweetness in the cup of death to be, Lord of my bosom's love! to die beholding thee!" XXXII. Hushed were his Gertrude's lips! but still their bland And beautiful expression seemed 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, |