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GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

PART I.

I.

On Susquehana's side, fair Wyoming,

Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall

And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring

Of what thy gentle people did befall,

Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all

That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.

Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall,
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,

Whose beauty was the love of Pensylvania's shore!

II.

It was beneath thy skies that, but to prune

His Autumn fruits, or skim the light canoe,

Perchance, along thy river calm at noon

The happy shepherd swain had nought to do

From morn till evening's sweeter pastime grew,

Their timbrel, in the dance of forests brown

When lovely maidens prankt in flowret new; And aye, those sunny mountains half way down

Would echo flagelet from some romantic town.

III.

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes

His leave, how might you the flamingo see

Disporting like a meteor on the lakes

And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:

And ev'ry sound of life was full of glee,
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men,

While heark’ning, fearing nought their revelry,

The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.

IV.

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime

Heard but in transatlantic story rung,

For here the exile met from ev'ry clime,

And spoke in friendship ev'ry distant tongue :

Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung,

Were but divided by the running brook;
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung,
On plains no sieging mine’s volcano shook,
The blue-ey'd German chang’d his sword to pruning-hook.

V.

Nor far some Andalusian saraband

Would sound to many a native rondelay.

But who is he that yet a dearer land

Remembers, over hills and far away?

Green Albyn!“ what though he no more survey

Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore,

Thy pellochs rolling from the mountain bay;
Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor,

And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan roar!"

VI.

Alas! poor Caledonia's mountaineer,

That want's stern edict e'er, and feudal grief,

Had forced him from a home he loved so dear!

Yet found he here a home, and glad relief,

a Scotland.

• The great whirlpool of the Western Hebrides,

And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf,

That fir’d his Highland blood with mickle glee;

And England sent her men, of men the chief,

Who taught those sires of Empire yet to be,

To plant the tree of life; to plant fair freedom's tree!

VII.

Here was not mingled in the city's pomp

Of life's extremes the grandeur and the gloom;

Judgment awoke not here her dismal tromp,

Nor seald in blood a fellow creature's doom,

Nor mourn’d the captive in a living tomb.

One venerable man, beloved of all,

Sufficed where innocence was yet in bloom,

To sway the strife, that seldom might befall,

And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall.

C

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