And thou didst pale thy gentle head extend,

In woes, that ev❜n the tribe of desarts was thy friend!'

XXIII.

He said—and strain'd unto his heart the boy:

Far differently the mute Oneyda took

His calumet of peace, and cup of joy;

As monumental bronze unchang'd his look:

A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook:
Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier,
The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear-

A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.

• Calumet of peace.—The calumet is the Indian name for the ornamented pipe of friendship, which they smoke as a pledge of amity.

"Tree-rock'd cradle.-The Indian mothers suspend their children in their cradles from the boughs of trees, and let them be rocked by the wind.

XXIV.

Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow;

As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock
By storms above, and barrenness below:
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe:
And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,

Or laced his mocasins, in act to go,

A song of parting to the boy he sung,

Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly

tongue.

XXV.

Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming land 'Shouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet, Oh! tell her spirit, that the white man's hand

• Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet;

• While I in lonely wilderness shall greet

Thy little foot prints-or by traces know

The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet 'To feed thee with the quarry of my bow,

'And pour'd the lotus-horn, or slew the mountain roe.

XXVI.

Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun!

"But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, Then come again-my own adopted one!

' And I will graft thee on a noble stock: 'The crocodile, the condor of the rock,

• Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars; And I will teach thee, in the battle's-shock,

From a flower shaped like a horn, which Chateaubriant presumes to be of the lotus kind, the Indians in their travels through the desart often find a draught of dew purer than any other water.

To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars,

And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!'

XXVII.

So fmish'd he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth)
That true to nature's fervid feelings ran;
(And song is but the eloquence of truth:)
Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man;
But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan
In woods requir'd, whose trained eye was keen
As eagle of the wilderness, to scan

His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine,
Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.

XXVIII.

Old Albert saw him from the valley's side

His pirogue launch'd-his pilgrimage begun--
Far, like the red-bird's wing he seem'd to glide;-
Then div'd, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun.

Oft, to that spot by tender memory won,
Would Albert climb the promontory's height,
If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun;

But never more, to bless his longing sight,

Was Outalissi hail'd, with bark and plumage bright.