VIII.

How rev'rend was the look, serenely ag'd,
He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire,
Where all but kindly fervors were assuag'd,
Undimm'd by weakness' shade, or turbid ire:
And though amidst the calm of thought entire,
Some high and haughty features might betray
A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire
That fled composure's intellectual ray,

As Ætna's fires grow dim before the rising day.

IX.

I boast no song in magic wonders rife,

But yet, oh Nature! is there nought to prize, Familiar in thy bosom-scenes of life?

And dwells in day-light truth's salubrious skies

No form with which the soul may sympathise?

Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild

The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise,

An inmate in the home of Albert smil'd,

Or blest his noonday walk-she was his only child.

X.

The rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's cheek— What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire A Briton's independence taught to seek

Far western worlds; and there his household fire

The light of social love did long inspire,

And many a halcyon day he liv'd to see

Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire,

When fate had reft his mutual heart-but she

Was gone-and Gertrude climb'd a widow'd father's

knee.

XI.

A lov'd bequest,-and I may half impart―

To them that feel the strong paternal tie,

How like a new existence to his heart

That living flow'r uprose beneath his eye,

Dear as she was, from cherub infancy,

From hours when she would round his garden play; .

To time when as the rip'ning years went by,

Her lovely mind could culture well repay,

And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day.

XII.

I may not paint those thousand infant charms;

(Unconscious fascination, undesign'd!)

The orison repeated in his arms,

For God to bless her sire and all mankind;

The book, the bosom on his knee reclin'd,
Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con,

(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind):
All uncompanion'd else her years had gone

Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue summer

shone.

XIII.

And summer was the tide, and sweet the hour,
When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent,
An Indian from his bark approach their bow'r,
Of buskin❜d limb, and swarthy lineament;
The red wild feathers on his brow were blent,
And bracelets bound the arm that help'd to light

A boy, who seem'd, as he beside him went,

Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright,

Led by his dusky guide, like morning brought by

night.

XIV.

Yet pensive seem'd the boy for one so young

The dimple from his polish'd cheek had fled;
When, leaning on his forest-bow unstrung,

Th' Oneyda warrior to the planter said,

And laid his hand upon the stripling's head,
Peace be to thee! my words this belt approve;

6

The paths of peace my steps have hither led:

This little nursling, take him to thy love,

And shield the bird unfledg'd, since gone the pa

rent dove.

XV.

'Christian! I am the foeman of thy foe;

'We launch'd our pirogues for the bison chace,