 | The battle of Niagara |  |
His sufferings, and his home unknown;
A madman—and a minstrel—thrown
Upon the barren mountain, goes
Unharmed, amid his nature's foes:
Protected by the peasant's prayer,
He wanders through the dark woods, where
Abides the she-wolf in her lair:
Such prayers are his—are his for ever!
And ne'er will be refused—O, never!
For never yet, there shone the eye,
Could let him pass unheeded by:
And every heart—and every shed,
Gave welcome to that maniac's tread:
And peasant-babes would run to cheer
His footsteps, as he wandered near:
And every sunny infant eye,
Grew sunnier as his step came nigh:
And when he went at night alone,
Where mighty oaks in fragments strown,
Proclaimed the revels of the storm—
He went in safety:—o'er his form
There hung a mute, but strong appeal,
That those, who rend the clouds, might feel:
Unharmed, upon the cliff he'd stand,
And see the Thunderer stretch his wand,
And hear his chariots roll:
And clap his hands—and shout for joy!—
Thus would that glorious minstrel-boy:
When lightnings wrapped the pole!
And he would toss his arms on high,
In greeting as the arrows flew:
And bare his bosom to the sky;
And stand with an intrepid eye,
And gaze upon the clouds that past,
Uprolling o'er the mountain blast,
And wonder at their depth of blue:—
Then—wildly toss his arms again,
As if he saw the rolling main;
And heard some ocean-chant anew:
As if—upon each passing cloud,
He saw the Tempest harping loud
Amid her fiery-bannered crew.
A madman—and a minstrel—thrown
Upon the barren mountain, goes
Unharmed, amid his nature's foes:
Protected by the peasant's prayer,
He wanders through the dark woods, where
Abides the she-wolf in her lair:
Such prayers are his—are his for ever!
And ne'er will be refused—O, never!
For never yet, there shone the eye,
Could let him pass unheeded by:
And every heart—and every shed,
Gave welcome to that maniac's tread:
And peasant-babes would run to cheer
His footsteps, as he wandered near:
And every sunny infant eye,
Grew sunnier as his step came nigh:
And when he went at night alone,
Where mighty oaks in fragments strown,
Proclaimed the revels of the storm—
He went in safety:—o'er his form
There hung a mute, but strong appeal,
That those, who rend the clouds, might feel:
Unharmed, upon the cliff he'd stand,
And see the Thunderer stretch his wand,
192
And clap his hands—and shout for joy!—
Thus would that glorious minstrel-boy:
When lightnings wrapped the pole!
And he would toss his arms on high,
In greeting as the arrows flew:
And bare his bosom to the sky;
And stand with an intrepid eye,
And gaze upon the clouds that past,
Uprolling o'er the mountain blast,
And wonder at their depth of blue:—
Then—wildly toss his arms again,
As if he saw the rolling main;
And heard some ocean-chant anew:
As if—upon each passing cloud,
He saw the Tempest harping loud
Amid her fiery-bannered crew.
| The battle of Niagara | |