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 murderous.

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!

XXIX.

"Clasp me a little longer on the brink.

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress:

1

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,
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 heaven; 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, 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,
'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives,
And in their deaths had not divided been.
Touch'd by the music, and the melting scene,
Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd:
Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen
To veil their eyes, as pass'd each much-loved
shroud -

While woman's softer soul in wo dissolved aloud.

XXXIV.

Then mournfully the parting bugle bid
Its farewell, o'er the grave of worth and truth;
Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid
His face on earth;—him watch'd, in gloomy ruth,
His woodland guide: but words had none to
soothe

The grief that knew not consolation's name :
Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth,

He watch'd, beneath its folds, each burst that came
Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering frame!

XXXV.

"And I could weep ;" th' Oneida chief

His descant wildly thus begun :

"But that I may not stain with grief

The death-song of my father's son,

Or bow this head in wo!

For by my wrongs, and by my wrath!

To-morrow Areouski's breath,

(That fires yon heaven with storms of death,)

Shall light us to the foe;

And we shall share, my Christian boy!

The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy!

XXXVI.

"But thee, my flower, whose breath was given By milder genii o'er the deep,