The writings of Robert C. Sands :: :: University of Virginia Library

“O heard ye around the sad moan of the gale,
As it sighed o'er the mountain, and shrieked in the vale?
'Tis the voice of the Spirit prophetic, who pass'd;
His mantle of darkness around him is cast;

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Wild flutters his robe, and the light of his plume
Faint glimmers along through the mist and the gloom;
Where the moonbeam is hidden, the shadow hath gone,
It has flitted in darkness, that morrow has none;
But my ear drank the sound, and I feel in my breast,
What the voice of the Spirit prophetic impress'd.
O saw ye that gleaming unearthly of light?

“Among their various superstitions, they [the Algonquins] believe that the vapour which is seen to hover over moist and swampy places, is the spirit of some person lately dead.”—Mackenzie.—E.

Behold where it winds o'er the moor from our sight!—
'Tis the soul of a warrior who sleeps with the slain;—
How long shall the slaughtered thus wander in vain?
It has pass'd; through the gloom of the forest it flies,—
But I feel in my bosom its summons arise.