GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. PART III. I. O LOVE! in such a wilderness as this, Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire. II. Three little moons, how short! amidst the grove While she, beside her buskin'd youth to rove, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume; III. What though the sportive dog oft round them note, IV. Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, Where welcome hills shut out the universe, And pines their lawny walk encompass round; There, if a pause delicious converse found, 'Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, (Perchance a while in joy's oblivion drown'd) That come what may, while life's glad pulses roll, Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul. V. And in the visions of romantic youth, Sweet Wyoming! the day when thou wert doom'd, Guiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bowers laid low! When where of yesterday a garden bloom'd, Death overspread his pall, and blackening ashes gloom'd! VI. Sad was the year, by proud oppression driven, When Transatlantic Liberty arose, Not in the sunshine and the smile of heaven, But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes, Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes; Her birth-star was the light of burning plains;1 Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows From kindred hearts-the blood of British veinsAnd famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. VII. Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote, Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams Portentous light! and music's voice is dumb; That speaks of maddening strife, and bloodstain'd fields to come. 1 Alluding to the miseries that attended the American civil war. VIII. It was in truth a momentary pang; Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe! First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, A husband to the battle doom'd to go! 66 Nay meet not thou (she cried) thy kindred foe! But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand!" "Ah, Gertrude, thy beloved heart, I know, Would feel like mine the stigmatizing brand! Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band! IX. But shame-but flight-a recreant's name to prove, To hide in exile ignominious fears; X. Night came, and in their lighted bower, full late, The joy of converse had endured—when, hark! Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate; And heedless of the dog's obstrep'rous bark, A form had rush'd amidst them from the dark, XI. Uprisen, each wondering brow is knit and arch'd: A spirit from the dead they deem him first: parch❜d, From lips, as by some powerless dream accursed, Emotions unintelligible burst; And long his filmed eye is red and dim: At length the pity-proffer'd cup his thirst Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd;—but Albert knew not him— XII. "And hast thou then forgot," (he cried forlorn, And eyed the group with half indignant air,) "O! hast thou, Christian chief, forgot the morn When I with thee the cup of peace did share? Then stately was this head, and dark this hair, That now is white as Appalachia's snow; But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair, |