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"Even such as his may be my lot,
What cause have I to haunt

My heart with terrors? Am I not
In truth a favoured plant!

The Spring for me a garland weaves
Of yellow flowers and verdant leaves;
And, when the Frost is in the sky,
My branches are so fresh and gay

That You might look at me and say,

This Plant can never die.

"The Butterfly, all green and gold,

To me hath often flown,

Here in my Blossoms to behold
Wings lovely as his own.

When grass is chill with rain or dew,
Beneath my shade the mother Ewe

Lies with her infant Lamb; I see

The love they to each other make,
And the sweet joy, which they partake,
It is a joy to me."

Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued

Her speech, until the stars of night

Their journey had renewed.

But in the branches of the Oak

Two Ravens now began to croak
Their nuptial song, a gladsome air;
And to her own green bower the breeze
That instant brought two stripling Bees

To feed and murmur there.

One night the Wind came from the North

And blew a furious blast;

At break of day I ventured forth,

And near the Cliff I passed.

The storm had fallen upon the Oak

And struck him with a mighty stroke,

And whirled and whirled him far away;

And in one hospitable Cleft

The little careless Broom was left

To live for many a day.

THE COMPLAINT

OF A FORSAKEN

INDIAN WOMAN.

[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins; and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the Desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other Tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting

work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern Latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanza of the following poem.]

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