TRAVELLER! on thy journey toiling
By the swift Powow,
With the summer sunshine falling
On thy heated brow,
Listen, while all else is still,
To the brooklet from the hill.

Wild and sweet the flowers are blowing
By that streamlet's side,
And a greener verdure showing
Where its waters glide,

Down the hill-slope murmuring on,
Over root and mossy stone.

Where yon oak his broad arms flingeth
O'er the sloping hill,
Beautiful and freshly springeth
That soft-flowing rill,

Through its dark roots wreathed and bare,

Gushing up to sun and air.

Brighter waters sparkled never
In that magic well,
Of whose gift of life forever
Ancient legends tell,

In the lonely desert wasted,
And by mortal lip untasted.

Waters which the proud Castilian 31
Sought with loning eyes,
Underneath the bright pavilion
Of the Indian skies;
Where his forest pathway lay
Through the blooms of Florida.

Years ago a lonely stranger,
With the dusky brow
Of the outcast forest-ranger,
Crossed the swift Powow:
And betook him to the rill
And the oak upon the hill.

O'er his face of moody sadness

For an instant shone
Something like a gleam of gladness,
As he stooped him down
To the fountain's grassy side,
And his eager thirst supplied.

With the oak its shadow throwing
O'er his mossy seat,
And the cool, sweet waters flowing
Softly at his feet,

Closely by the fountain's rim
That lone Indian seated him.

Autumn's earliest frost had given
To the woods below

Hues of beauty, such as heaven
Lendeth to its bow;

And the soft breeze from the west
Scarcely broke their dreamy rest.

Far behind was Ocean striving
With his chains of sand;
Southward, sunny glimpses giving,
'Twixt the swells of land,
Of its calm and silvery track,
Rolled the tranquil Merrimack.

Over village, wood, and meadow
Gazed that stranger man,
Sadly, till the twilight shadow
Over all things ran,

Save where spire and westward paus
Flashed the sunset back again.

Gazing thus upon the dwelling

Of his warrior sires,

Where no lingering trace was telling
Of their wigwam fires,

Who the gloomy thoughts might know
Of that wandering child of woe?
Naked lay, in sunshine glowing,

Hills that once had stood

Down their sides the shadows throwing
Of a mighty wood,

Where the deer his covert kept,
And the eagle's pinion swept!

Where the birch canoe had glided
Down the swift Powow,

Dark and gloomy bridges strided
Those clear waters now;

And where once the beaver swam,
Jarred the wheel and frowned the dam

"I go, as to the slaughter led:
Friends of the poor, farewell!
Beneath his hand the oaken door,
Back on its hinges fell.

"Come forth, old graybeard, yea and nay”;

The reckless scoffers cried,

As to a horseman's saddle-bow
The old man's arms were tied.

And of his bondage hard and long
In Boston's crowded jail,
Where suffering woman's prayer was
heard,

With sickening childhood's wail,

It suits not with our tale to tell :
Those scenes have passed away,
Let the dim shadows of the past
Brood o'er that evil day.

"Ho, sheriff!" quoth the arder priest,

"Take Goodman Macey too; The sin of this day's heresy,

His back or purse shall rue."

"Now, goodwife, haste thee!" Macey cried,

She caught his manly arm :Behind, the parson urged pursuit, With outcry and alarm.

Ho speed the Maceys, neck r naught,

Stand, Goodman Macey, - yield thyself;

Yield in the King's own name."

--

"No out upon thy hangman's face !" gold Macey answered then, "Whip women, on the village green, But meddle not with men.'

The priest came panting to the shore, His grave cocked hat was gone; Behind him, like some owl's nest, hung His wig upon a thorn.

"Come back,- come back!" the parson cried,

"The church's curse beware."

Curse, an' thou wilt," said Macey, "but

Thy blessing prithee spare."

"Vile scoffer!" cried the baffled priest,

"Thou 'It yet the gallows see." "Who's born to be hanged, will not be drowned,"

Quoth Macey, merrily;

"And so, sir sheriff and priest, good by!"

He bent him to his oar,
And the small boat glided quietly
From the twain upon the shore.

Now in the west, the heavy clouds
Scattered and fell asunder,
While feebler came the rush of rain,
And fainter growled the thunder.

And through the broken clouds, the sun
Looked out serene and warm,
Painting its holy symbol-light

Upon the passing storm.

O, beautiful! that rainbow span,

O'er dim Crane-neck was bended; One bright foot touched the eastern hills,

And one with ocean blended.

By green Pentucket's southern slope The small boat glided fast,

The watchers of "the Block-house"

saw

The strangers as they passed.

That night a stalwart garrison
Sat shaking in their shoes,
To hear the dip of Indian oars,
The glide of birch canoes.
The fisher-wives of Salisbury,
(The men were all away,)
Looked out to see the stranger oar
Upon their waters play.

Deer-Island's rocks and fir-trees threw
Their sunset-shadows o'er them,
And Newbury's spire and weathercock
Peered o'er the pines before them.
Around the Black Rocks, on their left,
The marsh lay broad and green;
And on their right, with dwarf shrubs
crowned,

Plum Island's hills were seen.

With skilful hand and wary eye

The harbor ar was crossed;
A plaything of the restless wave,
The boat on ocean tossed.

The glory of the sunset heaven
On land and water lay,-
On the steep hills of Agawam,
On cape, and bluff, and bay.

They passed the gray rocks of Cape
Ann,

And Gloucester's harbor-bar;
The watch-fire of the garrison
Shone like a setting star.

How brightly broke the morning
On Massachusetts Bay!
Blue wave, and bright green island,
Rejoicing in the day.

On passed the bark in safety

Round isle and headland steep,
No tempest broke above them,
No fog-cloud veiled the deep.

Far round the bleak and stormy Cape
The vent'rous Macey passed,
And on Nantucket's naked isle,
Drew up his boat at last.

And how, in log-built cabin,

They braved the rough sea-weather> And there, in peace and quietness, Went down life's vale together:

How others drew around them,
And how their fishing sped,
Until to every wind of heaven
Nantucket's sails were spread;
How pale Want alternated
With Plenty's golden smile;
Behold, is it not written

In the annals of the isle?

And yet that isle remaineth
A refuge of the free,
As when true-hearted Macey
Beheld it from the sea.

Free as the winds that winnow
Her shrubless hills of sand, -
Free as the waves that batter
Along her yielding land.

Than hers, at duty's summons,
No loftier spirit stirs,
Nor falls o'er human s ffering
A readier tear than hers.

God bless the sea-beat island!-
And grant forevermore,
That charity and freedom dwell
As now upon her shore !

THE NEW WIFE AND THE OLD.

DARK the halls, and cold the feast,
Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest :
All is over, all is done,
Twain of yesterday are one!
Blooming girl and manhood gray,
Autumn in the arms of May !

Hushed within and hushed without,
Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout;
Dies the bonfire on the hill;
All is dark and all is still,

Save the starlight, save the breeze
Moaning through the graveyard trees;
And the great sea-waves below,
Pulse of the midnight beating slow.

From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With half-uttered shriek and start,
Veels she not his beating heart?

And the pressure of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm?

Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head,
And a feeling, new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder speaks
Through her lips and changing cheeks

From the oaken mantel glowing
Faintest light the lamp is throwing
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed chair, and wainscot old,
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.

Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face;
And that forehead's knitted thought
Love's soft hand hath not unwrought

"Yet," she sighs, "he loves me well,
More than these calm lips will tell.
Stooping to my lowly state,
He hath made me rich and great,
And I bless him, though he be
Hard and stern to all save me!"

While she speaketh, falls the light
O'er her fingers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the timid lustre fling,
Love's selectest gifts, and rare,
His proud hand had fastened there

Gratefully she marks the glow
From those tapering lines of snow;
Fondly o'er the sleeper bending
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together press.

Ha!-that start of horror!- Why
That wild stare and wilder cry,
Full of terror, full of pain?
Is there madness in her brain?
Hark! that gasping, hoarse and low,
Spare me, spare me, let me go

God have mercy!- Icy cold Spectral hands her own enfold,