I ax the spirit that dweils in the fower;
Mine is the exquisite music that fies,
When sience and moonlight reign over each bower,
That blooms in the glory of tropical skies.
I who the bird with his melody glowing
Ta up in the sunshine, and warble its strain,
Ani mme is the odor, in turn, that bestowing,
The songster is paid for his music again.
There dwells no sorrow where I am abiding;
Cure is a stranger, and troubles us not;
And the winds, as they pass, when too hastily riding,
I woo, and they tenderly glide o'er the spot.
They pause, and we glow in their rugged embraces,
They drink our warm breath, rich with odor and song,
Then hurry away to their desolate places,
And look for us hourly, and think of us long.
Who of the dull earth that's moving around us,
Would ever imagine, that, nursed in a rose,
At the opening of spring, our destiny found us
A prisoner until the first bud should unclose;
Then, as the dawn of light breaks upon us,
Our winglets of silk we unfold to the air,
And leap off in joy to the music that won us,
And made us the tenants of climates so fair!
THE blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore,
As sweetly and gayly as ever before;
For he knows to his mate he, at pleasure, can hie,
And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly.
The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright,
And reflects o'er our mountains as beamy a light,
As it ever reflected, or ever expressed,
When my skies were the bluest, my dreams were the best.
The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night,
Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light,
And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track,
For they know that their mates are expecting them back. Each bird, and each beast, it is blessed in degree:
All nature is cheerful, all happy, but me.
I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair;
I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair;
I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows,
And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes;
I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed,
For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead;
But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay;
The steel of the white man hath swept them away.
This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore,
I will toss, with disdain, to the storm-beaten shore :
Its charms I no longer obey or invoke ;
Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke.
I will raise up my voice to the source of the light;
I will dream on the wings of the bluebird at night;
I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves,
And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves;
And will take a new Manito-such as shall seem
To be kind and propitious in every dream.
O, then I shall banish these cankering sighs,
And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes;
I shall wash from my face every cloud-colored stain;
Red-red shall, alone, on my visage remain !
I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow;
By night and by day I will follow the foe;
Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor snows;—— His blood can, alone, give my spirit repose.
They came to my cabin when heaven was black:
I heard not their coming, I knew not their track;
But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees,
They were people engendered beyond the big seas:
My wife and my children-O, spare me the tale!——
For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE!
IT hath passed, my daughter; fare thee well!
Pledged is the faith, inscribed the vow;
Yet let these gushing tear-drops speak,
Of all thy mother's anguish now;
And when, on distant, stranger-shores,
Love beams from brighter eyes than mine,
When other hands thy tresses weave,
And other lips are pressed to thine,—
O, then remember her who grieves
With parent-fondness for her child;
Whose lonely path, of thee bereft,
Is like some desert, lone and wild,
Where erst a simple floweret grew,
Where erst one timid wild bird sung;
Now lonely, dark and desolate,
No bird nor flower its shades among.
And when thy children climb the knee,
And whisper, "Mother, mother dear !"
O, then the thought of her recall
Thou leavest broken-hearted here;
And as their sinless offerings rise
To God's own footstool, let them crave
A blessing on her memory,
Who slumbers in the peaceful grave.
When care shall dim thy sunny eye,
And, one by one, the ties are broken
That bind thee to the earth, this kiss
Will linger yet thy mother's token;
'Twill speak her changeless love for thee,
Speak what she strives in vain to tell,
The yearning of a parent's heart—
My only child, farewell! farewell!
MY NATIVE LAND-MY NATIVE PLACE.
My thoughts are in my native land,
My heart is in my native place,
Where willows bend to breezes bland,
And kiss the river's rippling face;
Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent,
And raise their blossoms high to heaven,
As if in calm acknowledgment
For brilliant hues and virtues given.
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