 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
[I saw the love of Mackintosh, she lay]
I saw the love of Mackintosh, she lay
Upon the warrior's tumuli, and breath'd
Sad music, such as may be heard to stray
From mermaid, as her string of shells she wreath'd;
She lay upon the tumuli reclined,
And breath'd her song upon the list'ning wind.
Upon the warrior's tumuli, and breath'd
Sad music, such as may be heard to stray
From mermaid, as her string of shells she wreath'd;
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And breath'd her song upon the list'ning wind.
Its tones were low and beautiful, they stole,
Like the low ripple on the O-co-ne wave,
When winds are sighing over it—the soul
Of feeling, mingled with the strain, and gave
A rich, and melancholy note, which told,
How all that love had sigh'd for, now was cold.
Like the low ripple on the O-co-ne wave,
When winds are sighing over it—the soul
Of feeling, mingled with the strain, and gave
A rich, and melancholy note, which told,
How all that love had sigh'd for, now was cold.
'Twas in that language, which the Indian deems
The sole-one in his fabled heaven, behind
The western hills, where rivulets nor streams,
Shall intercept the chase, or cloud the mind:
Where life shall be all morning, where fatigue
Shall never clog the form, tho' wand'ring many a league.
The sole-one in his fabled heaven, behind
The western hills, where rivulets nor streams,
Shall intercept the chase, or cloud the mind:
Where life shall be all morning, where fatigue
Shall never clog the form, tho' wand'ring many a league.
“And” sung the maiden, “shall the white man pale,
O'erspread our homes, and from the river's bank,
Pluck the red strawberry, and on hill and vale
Build the great house, from whence the swift-foot shrank,
And from thy grave the cedar tree remove,
And each memorial of thy latest love!
O'erspread our homes, and from the river's bank,
Pluck the red strawberry, and on hill and vale
Build the great house, from whence the swift-foot shrank,
And from thy grave the cedar tree remove,
And each memorial of thy latest love!
“Yet, 'tis not this,” she sung in wilder mood,
Tho' nought of feeling stole upon her look,
“Not, that the cedar tree has not withstood
The ploughshare man, or that the silver brook
Must make the mill-dam, and the red-deer shrink,
No longer in its crystal wave to drink;
Tho' nought of feeling stole upon her look,
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The ploughshare man, or that the silver brook
Must make the mill-dam, and the red-deer shrink,
No longer in its crystal wave to drink;
“But, that the Indian with the sun must glide,
To the big waters of the western sea,
And leave the vales and mountains, once our pride,
And thee, O, desert Arrow, fly from thee;
Where none shall know the story of the brave,
And strangers heedless, trample on thy grave.
To the big waters of the western sea,
And leave the vales and mountains, once our pride,
And thee, O, desert Arrow, fly from thee;
Where none shall know the story of the brave,
And strangers heedless, trample on thy grave.
Here shall thy spirit seek in vain to find,
When the pale white man has our land o'erspread,
Aught in the wilderness that may remind,
And tell thee of the glories of the dead;
The tall pine shall be torn away from earth,
As if it never had, in this wide valley, birth.
When the pale white man has our land o'erspread,
Aught in the wilderness that may remind,
And tell thee of the glories of the dead;
The tall pine shall be torn away from earth,
As if it never had, in this wide valley, birth.
It is the morning's dawn, I know it well,
By the faint ripple on the silver stream,
And op'ning of the red flower's early bell,
And through the distant woods the faint light gleam;
Another day—Oh! Mackintosh will see
Thy woman wand'ring, from thy grave and thee.
By the faint ripple on the silver stream,
And op'ning of the red flower's early bell,
And through the distant woods the faint light gleam;
Another day—Oh! Mackintosh will see
Thy woman wand'ring, from thy grave and thee.
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