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But the low wall's contracted bound

The Ivy's amorous folds entwine,
And wanton woodbines circling round,

To deck the blest retreat combine.

The Lilac, child of frolic May,

There flings her fragrance to the breeze;
There, too, with golden tresses gay,

Laburnums wave in graceful ease.
And there, in loveliest tints array'd,

How sweetly blooms the blushing Rose!
While round, a soft and varying sbade

The Willow's bending form bestows.
Far in ny garden's utmost bound

The modest mansion rears its head,
There noisy crowds are never found,

No giddy throngs its peace invade;

1

No "stores beneath its humble thatch,"

Like Edwin's," ask a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,"

Receives the lonely swain or fair.
Within inscribed, above, around,

Are lines of mystic import seen;
And many a quaint device is found,

And many a glowing verse between.

'Tis here, at morn or dewy eve,

In meditative mood reclined,
The world, its pomps and cares, I leave,

And shut the door on all mankind.

Full many a tome's neglected weight,

Here, page by page, mine eyes survey;
Full many a patriot's warm debate,

And many a youthful poet's lay;
Whep noisy, rough, intestine broils,

Or rude commotions, sore molest,
My sentimental soul recoils,

And here I fly for peace and rest.
Sweet! oh sweet, the evening hour,

'Tis then I bid the world farewell-
'Tis then I seek the lonely bower

In which my soul delights to dwell. Miss Pyefinch was charmed with tion offered, finally concluded that this production of my cousin's muse; the whole was merely a flight of the only thing that puzzled her was, fancy, or, as she phrased it, "a whereabouts this nice little retreat poetic fiction." could possibly be situated, as memory The period was now rapidly aprefused to supply her with any edifice proaching when it was thought ad. about the grounds at all answering visable that I should be removed the description given. Sir Oliver from Westminster to the University, indeed hazarded a suggestion, but I was turned of eighteen, tall and the fair Sappho was highly scanda- active, and furnished with a suffilized at the bare insinuation, and cient quantum of Greek and Latin to most indignantly rejecting the solu- make my debút among those classic

scenes, without any violent appre- her eyes, and remained obstinately hension of a failure. Colonel Staf- blind to what was perfectly apparent ford had been some time in England; to every one else, and fondly flathis constitution, originally not a tered herself that the increasing strong one, had been much injured debility of her husband might be by the exertions, privations, and fa- successfully combated by quiet, his tigues, necessarily attendant on a native air, and the soothing attendesultory and protracted series of tions of conjugal affection. Her campaigns; of late, too, the mode of hopes were groundless; the hectic warfare had begun to assume a more on his cheek became, it is true, more decided character, and the “ march- vivid, but it contrasted painfully ings and counter-marchings” were with the sallow paleness of the rest now, as the plans of the great com- of his countenance, while a short dry mander who directed the operations cough, and his attenuated form, changed from the offensive to the evinced but too surely that his stadefensive, interspersed with skir- mina were affected, if not reduced. mishes and actions, dangerous in the The symptoms were but too proextreme during their progress, though phetic; as spring (the third since his ever glorious in their results. Fre- return) advanced, his inability to quently exposed, from the nature of contend against disease became daily his official situation on the staff, to more evident, till early in the fatal the hottest fire of the enemy, and month of May, a month so critical to urged by the innate gallantry of a invalids, my dear father resigned his disposition rather impetuous than upright and honourable spirit into prudent, into dangers which he the hands of Him who gave it. might perhaps without discredit My poor mother was overwhelmed have avoided; still the “sweet little with the most profound grief by this cherub that sits up aloft,” seemed melancholy event, the more so, as to watch over my father's safety although of late the conviction had with unwearied vigilance. Often been forced upon her, that Colonel was the weapon levelled by man, Stafford was in a rapidly declining but Heaven averted the ball; and state, still she had never contemwith a single exception, he came out plated the probability of so sudden of every conflict scathless and unin- a dissolution of those ties which jured. It was not till after his re- formed the principal joy of her exturn to England, whither he was at istence. It was done, however. length despatched with the official Those ligaments of the soul which accounts of the battle of ---, and bound her to an adored and adoring his subsequent retirement into the husband, were at length severed ; bosom of his family, that the ravages and till their reunion in a future made in his health, by his long con- world, I was the only object to tinued subjection to the hardships which she was now to look for comof a military life, passed under the fort and support. My father's death inauspicious combinations of an ac- had been so sudden, th I had baretive enemy and an ungenial climate, ly time to reach home, from Christ were fully apparent. A wound, too, Church, of which I was now a memoriginally of a trivial nature, as his ber, in order to receive his blessing. friends had been taught to believe, He died like a Christian, calm, fearbut which had never been entirely less, and resigned, with his latest healed, now joined to occasion alarm breath commending my mother to to his friends, and to give a charac- my care. Years have since rolled ter to other symptoms which be- on, but the moment is fresh as ever tokened a sure, though gradual de. in my memory.—May I never forget cay, Mrs Stafford, for a while, shut it!

THE INDIAN'S REVENGE.

But by my wrongs, and by my wrath,
To-morrow Oroonoko's breath
That fires yon Heaven with storms of death,
Shall guide me to the foe!

Indian Song in Gertrude of Wyoming."

SCENE IN THE LIFE OF A MORAVIAN MISSIONARY.*

Scene The shore of a Lake surrounded by deep woods- A solitary cabin on

its banks, overshadowed by maple and sycamore trees-Herrmann, the Miss sionary, seated alone before the cabin- The hour is evening twilight,

Herrmann. Was that the light from some lone swift canoe
Shooting across the waters ? —No, a flash
From the night's first quick fire-fly, lost again
In the deep bay of Cedars. Not a bark
Is on the wave; no rustle of a breeze
Comes through the forest. In this new, strange world,
Oh! how myslerious, how eternal, seems
The mighty melancholy of the woods !
The Desert's own great spirit, infinite!
Little they know, in mine own father-land,
Along the castled Rhine, or e'en amidst
The wild Harz mountains, or the silvan glades
Deep in the Odenwald, they little know
Of what is solitude! In hours like this,
There, from a thousand nooks, the cottage-hearths
Pour forth red light through vine-hung lattices,
To guide the peasant, singing cheerily,
On the home.path ;-while round his lowly porch,
With eager eyes awaiting his return,
The clustered faces of his children shine
To the clear harvest-moon. Be still, fond thoughts !
Melting my spirit's grasp from heavenly hope
By your vain earthward yearnings. O my God!
Draw me still nearer, closer unto Thee,
Till all the hollow of these deep desires
May with thyself be filled !-Be it enough
At once to gladden and to solemnize
My lonely life, if for thine altar bere
In this dread temple of the wilderness,
By prayer, and toil, and watching, I may win
The offering of one heart, one human heart,
Bleeding, repenting, loving !

Hark! a step,
An Indian tread! I know the stealthy sound-
'Tis on some quest of evil, through the grass
Gliding so serpent-like.

He comes foruard and meets an Indian warrior armed.
Enonio, is it thou? I see thy form
Tower stately through the dusk; yet scarce mine eye
Discerns thy face.

Enonio, . My father speaks my name.

Herrmann. Are not the hunters from the chase returned ?
The night-fires lit? Why is my son abroad?

Circumstances similar to those on which this scene is founded, are recorded in Carne's Narrative of the Moravian Missions in Greenland, and gave rise to the dramatic sketch,

Enonio. The warrior's arrow knows of nobler prey
Than elk or deer. Now let my father leave
The lone path free.

Herrmann. The forest-way is long
From the red chieftain's home. Rest thee awhile
Beneath my sycamore, and we will speak
Of these things further.
Enonio.

Tell me not of rest!
My heart is sleepless, and the dark night swift.
I must begone.

Herrmann (solemnly.) No, warrior, thou must stay!
The Mighty One hath given me power to search
Thy soul with piercing words—and thou must stay,
And hear me, and give answer! If thy heart
Be grown thus restless, is it not because
Within its dark folds thou hast mantled up
Some burning thought of ill ?

Enonio (with sudden impetuosity.) How should I rest?
-Last night the spirit of my brother came,
An angry shadow in the moonlight streak,
And said—“ Avenge me!- In the clouds this morn,
I saw the frowning colour of his blood-
And that, too, had a voice.--I lay at noon
Alone beside the sounding waterfall,
And thro' its thunder-music spake a tone,
-A low tone piercing all the roll of waves-
And said—“ Avenge me!—There have I raised
The tomahawk, and strung the bow again,
That I may send the shadow from my couch,
And take the strange sound from the cataract,
And sleep once more.
Herrmann,

A better path, my son,
Unto the still and dewy land of sleep,
My hand in peace can guide thee-ev'n the way
Thy dying brother trode.--Say, didst thou love
That lost one well ?
Enonio.

Know'st thou not we grew up
Even as twin roes amidst the wilderness ?
Unto the chase we journeyed in one path,
We stemmed the lake in one capoe; we lay
Beneath one oak to rest.-Wheu fever hung
Upon my burning lips, my brother's hand
Was still beneath my head; my brother's robe
Covered my bosom from the chill night air.
Our lives were girdled by one belt of love,
Until he turned him from his fathers' gods,
And then my soul fell from him—then the grass
Grew in the way between our parted homes,
And wheresoe'er I wandered, then it seemed
That all the woods were silent.—I went forth-
I journeyed, with my lonely heart, afar,
And so returned:—and where was he?- the earth
Owned him, no more.
Herrmann.

But thou thyself since then
Hast turned thee from the idols of thy tribe,
And, like thy brother, bowed the suppliant knee
To the one God.

Enonio. Yes, I have learned to pray
With my white father's words, yet all the more,
My heart, that shut agaiņst my brother's love,
Hath been within me as an arrowy fire,
Burning my sleep away.-In the night-hush,
Midst the strange whispers and dim shadowy things

Of the great forests, I have called aloud
“ Brother, forgive, forgive !”_he answered not
- His deep voice, rising from the land of souls,
Cries but “ Avenge me?”—and I go forth now
To slay his murderer, that when next his eyes
Gleam on me mournfully from that pale shore,
I may look up, and meet their glance, and say
--" I have avenged thee.”
Herrmann.

Oh! that human lore
Should be the root of this dread bitterness,
Till Heaven through all the fevered being pours
Transmuting balsam !-Stay, Enonio, stay!
Thy brother calls thee not !- The spirit world
Where the departed go, sends back to earth
No visitants for evil. —'Tis the might
Of the strong passion, the remorseful grief
At work in thine own breast, which lends the voice
Unto the forest and the cataract,
The angry colour to the clouds of morn,
The shadow to the moonlight-Stay, my son!
Thy brother is at peace.-Beside his couch,
When of the murderer's poisoned shaft he died,
I knelt and prayed; he named his Saviour's name,
Meekly, beseechingly ;-he spoke of thee
In pity and in love.

Enonio (hurriedly.) Did he not say
My arrow should avenge him ?
Herrmann.

His last words
Were all forgiveness.
Enonio.

Wbat! and shall the man
Who pierced him, with the shaft of treachery,
Walk fearless forth in joy?
Herrmann.

Was he not once
Thy brother's friend ?-Oh! trust me, not in joy
He walks the frowning forest. Did keen love,
The late repentant of its heart estranged,
Wake in thy haunted bosom, with its train
Of sounds and shadows-and shall he escape ?
Enonio, dream it not!--Our God, the all-just,
Unto himself reserves this Royalty-
The secret chastening of the guilty heart,
The fiery touch, the scourge that purifies,
Leave it with Him !-Yet make it not thy hope.com
For that strong heart of thine-oh! listen yet
Must in its depths o'ercome the very wish
For death or fortune to the guilty one,
Ere it can sleep again.
Enonio.

My father speaks
Of change, for man too mighty.
Herrmann.

I but speak Of that which hath been, and again must be, If thou wouldst join thy brother, in the life Of the bright country, where, I well believe, His soul rejoices.- He bad known such change. He died in peace. He, whom his tribe once named The avenging eagle, took to his meek heart, In its last pangs, the spirit of those words Which from the Saviour's cross went up to Heaven: Forgive them, for they know not what they do, Father, forgive i—And o'er the eternal bounds Of that celestial kingdom undefiled Where evil may not enter, He, I deem,

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