_"■ /°-o -r^^v ,0^°-^%. "^°' /"-. -r^^- ^^ '^-ov^-^ *^'. %-o^' >:^-%', "^o/ .f^ ■^oV* "V-^"''/' **>'-^'\/ '^%''"^^'\-^°- . GERTRUDE OF WYOMING; THE PENNSYLVANIAN COTTAGE THOMAS CAMPBELL. WITH THIRTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS, ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL. NEW YORK : n APPLETON & CO ,u6 and 348, BROADWAY. i.sr>.s. LONDON : PRINTED BY RICHARD CLAY, BREAD STREET HILL. ADVERTISEMENT. Most of the popular histories of England, as well as of the American war, give an authentic account of the desolation of Wyoming, in Pennsylvania, which took place in 1778, by an incursion of the Indians. The Scenery and Incidents of the following Poeiii are connected with that event. The testi- monies of historians and travellers concur in describing the infant colony as one of the happiest spots of human existence, for the hospitable and innocent manners of the inhabitants, the beauty of the country, and the luxuriant fertility of the soil and climate. In an evil hour, the junction of European with Indian arms converted this terrestrial paradise into a frightful waste. Mr. Isaac Weld informs us, that the ruins of many of the villages, perforated with balls, and bearing marks of con- flagration, were still preserved by the recent inhabitants, when he travelled through x\merica in 1796. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL SUBJECT. Their timbrel, in the dance of forests broivii . ho'iV might yon the flamingo see \ Disporting like a meteor 07i the lakes . S And Gertrude climb'' d a uudo'iv'd father s knee An Indian f'om his bark approach their bower ]n vain the desolated panther flies Our 7'irgins fed her with their kindly bowls Sleep, xvearied one ! Then forth upj-ose that lone wayfaring man His pii'oqiie latinch''d — his pilgrimage begun . A valley from the river shore withdratvn \ Was Albert's home, two quiet tvoods between ' The sujirise path, at mor7i, I see thee trace . While yet the zuild deer trod in spangling deT.v . It 7c>as in this lone valley A steed, 7ie, Delights, iji fancifully 7vild costume . . . Or faivn, or 7mld bird bursting on the iving A husband to the battle doovid to go ! . . . And, heedless of the dog's obstreperous bark . To speak he tries ; but quivering, pale, and parch' d And grasp' d his arm, and look'd, and look' d him through Nor foeman then, nor cougar's crouch I fear d Then looked they to the hills, tvhere fire o'er hung The bandit groups One hand upon his lovely child he lays .... Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene And, falfriiig, on her Waldeg rave's bosom thrown While woman's softer soul iji woe dissolved aloud , the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall And roofiess homes a sad remembrance brings Ornamental Titles URAAVN BY PAGE William Hai-vey • 39 Thomas Dalziel • 41 Ditto . . 43 Ditto . . 46 Birket Foster . 49 William Harvey .^i Thomas Dalziel 53 Harrison Weir ^h Thomas Dalziel 57 Ditto . . 59 Harrison Weir 61 Thomas Dalziel 65 Ditto . . 67 Ditto . . 69 Ditto . . 71 Ditto . . 75 Ditto . . 78 Thomas Macquoid. On Susquehana's side, fair Wyoming, Although the wild-flower on thy riiin'd wall 3 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. And roofless homes a sad remembrance bring Of what thy gentle people did befal, Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore. Sweet land ! may I thy lost delights recal, And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore, Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania'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 ay, those sunny mountains halfway down Would echo flagelet from some romantic town. 4 Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes His leave, how might you the flamingo see 5 GERTRUDE OF WYOMINC. Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : And every 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. 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-eyed German changed his sword to |)runing-hook. 6 C.ERTRUDK OF WYOMING. 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 Corbrechlan 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, And plied the beverage from his own fair sheaf, That fired 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 7 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 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 trom[), Nor seal'd in blood a fellow-creature's doom, Nor mourned 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 befal ; And Albert was their judge in patriarchal hall. VIII. How rev'rend was the look, serenely aged, He bore, this gentle Pennsylvanian sire, Where all but kindly fervours were assuaged, Undimm'd by weakness' shade, or turbid ire ! And though amidst the calm of thought entire. Some high and haughty features might betray A soul impetuous once, 'twas earthly fire That fled composure's intellectual ray. As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. IX. I boast no song in magic wonders rife, But yet familiar, is there nought to prize. Oh, Nature ! in thy bosom-scenes of life ? And dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies No form with which the soul may sympathise ( Young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild The parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, An inmate in the home of Albert smiled. Or blest his noonday walk — she was his only child. X. The rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's cheek — What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire A Briton's independence taught to seek Far western worlds ; and there his household fire The light of social love did long inspire. And many a halcyon day he lived to see Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire, When fate had reft his mutual heart — but she Was gone — and Gertrude climb'd a widow'd father's knee ; 9 c GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XI. A loved bequest, and I may half impart To them that feel the strong paternal tie, How like a new existence to his heart Uprose that living flower beneath his eye, Dear as she was, from cherub infancy. From hours when she would round his garden play, To time when, as the ripening years went by, Her lovely mind could culture well repay, And more engaging grew from pleasing day to day, XII. I may not paint those thousand infant charms ; (Unconscious fascination, undesign'd !) The orison repeated in his arms, For God to bless her sire and all mankind ; The book, the bosom on his knee reclined. Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con (The playmate ere the teacher of her mind) : All uncompanion'd else her years had gone Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue summer shone. XITI. x\n(l summer was the tide, and sweet the hour When sire and daughter saw, with fleet descent, An Indian from his bark approach their bower. Of buskin'd liml), and swarthy lineament ! 1 1 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. The red wild feathers on his brow were blent, And bracelets bound the arm that help'd to light A boy, who seem'd, as he beside him went. Of Christian vesture, and complexion bright, Led by his dusky guide like morning brought l)y night. XIV. Yet pensive seem'd the boy for one so young, The dimple from his polish'd cheek had fled , When, leaning on his forest-bow unstrung, Th' Oneyda warrior to the planter said. And laid his hand upon the stripling's head, " Peace be to thee ! my words this belt approve y' The paths of peace my steps have hither led ■/' This little nursling, take him to thy love, And shield the bird unfledged, since gone the parent dove. XV. Christian ! I am the foeman of thy foe ; Our wampum league thy brethren did embrace : Upon the Michigan, three moons ago, We launch'd our quivers for the bison chase ; And with the Hurons planted for a space. With true and faithful hands, the olive-stalk ; 13 GERTRUDE OF WYOMTNO. But snakes are in the bosoms of their race, And though they held with us a friendly talk, The hollow yjeace-tree fell beneath their tomahawk ! XVI. Tt was encamping on the lake's far port, A cry of Areouski" broke our sleep, Where storm'd an ambush'd foe thy nation's fort, And rapid, rapid whoops came o'er the deep ; Rut long thy country's war-sign on the steep Appear'd through ghastly intervals of light. And deathfuUy their thunders seem'd to sweep. Till utter darkness swallow'd up the sight. As if a shower of blood had quench'd the fiery fight ! XVII. ' It slept — it rose again — on high their tower Sprung upwards like a torch to light the skies, Then down again it rain'd an ember shower, And louder lamentations heard we rise ; ^^v^■ As when the evil Manitou^ that dries Th' Ohio woods, consumes them in his ire, 15 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. In vain the desolated panther flies, And howls amidst his wilderness of fire : Alas ! too late we reach'd and smote those Hurons dire ! XVIII. But as the fox beneath the nobler hound, So died their warriors by our battle-brand ; And from the tree we with her child unbound A lonely mother of the Christian land — Her lord — the captain of the British band — Amidst the slaughter of his soldiers lay ; Scarce knew the widow our deliv'ring hand ; Upon her child she sobb'd, and swoon'd away ; Or shriek'd unto the God to whom the Christians pray. — XIX. Our virgins fed her w^ith their kindly bowls Of fever-balm, and sweet sagamite ;^ But she was journeying to the land of souls, And lifted up her dying head to pray i6 That we should bid an ancient friend convey Her orphan to his home of England's shore ; And take, she said, this token far away To one that will remember us of yore, When he beholds the ring that Waldegrave's Julia wore. 17 D GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XX. " And I, the eagle of my tribe, have rush'd With this lorn dove."^^ — A sage's self-command Had quell'd the tears from Albert's heart that gush'd ; But yet his cheek — his agitated hand — That shower'd upon the stranger of the land No common boon, in grief but ill beguiled A soul that was not wont to be unmann'd ; " And stay," he cried, " dear pilgrim of the wild ! Preserver of my old, my boon companion's child ! — xxr. " Child of a race whose name my bosom warms On earth's remotest bounds, how welcome here ! Whose mother oft, a child, has fiU'd these arms, Young as thyself, and innocently dear : Whose grandsire was my early life's compeer : Ah, happiest home of England's happy clime ! How beautiful e'en now thy scenes appear, As in the noon and sunshine of my prime ! How gone, like yesterday, these thrice ten years of time ! GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. xxir. " And, Julia ! when thou wert like Gertrude now, Can I forget thee, fav'rite child of yore 1 Or thought I, in thy father's house when thou Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor, And first of all his hospitable door. To meet and kiss me at my journey's end ! But where was I when Waldegrave was no more ? And thou didst, pale, thy gentle head extend, In woes, that e'en the tribe of deserts was thy friend ! XXIII. He said — and strain'd unto his heart the boy : Far differently the mute Oneyda took His calumet of peace,^^ and cup of joy ; As monumental bronze unchanged his look : A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook : Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier,^'^ I'he fierce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear. — GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XXIV. Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow ; As lives the oak unwither'd on the rock By storms above, and barrenness below : He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe : And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung, Or laced his moccasins,^^ in act to go, A song of parting to the boy he sung, Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly tongue. XXV. " Sleep, wearied one ! and in the dreaming land Shouldst thou the spirit of thy mother greet. Oh ! say, to-morrow, that the white man's hand Hath pluck'd the thorns of sorrow from thy feet ; While I in lonely wilderness shall meet Thy little foot-prints — or by traces know The fountain, where at noon I thought it sweet To feed thee with the quarry of my bow, « And pour'd the lotus-horn,^^ or slew the mountain roe. xxvr. Adieu ! sweet scion of the rising sun ! But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock, T-hen come again — my own adoi)ted one ! And I will graft thee on a noble stock : GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. I'he crocodile, the condor of the rock, Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars ; And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock, 'I'o pay with Huron blood thy father's scars, And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars !" — XXVII. So finish'd he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth) That true to nature's fervid feelings ran ; (And song is but the eloquence of truth :) Then forth uprose that lone wayfaring man ;^^ But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's plan In woods required, whose trained eye was keen As eagle of the wilderness, to scan His path, by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine, Or ken far friendly huts on good savannahs green. XXVIII. (Jld Albert saw him from the valley's side — His pirogue launch'd — his pilgrimage begun — 22 Far, like the red-bird's wing, he seem'd to glide ; Then dived, and vanish'd in the woodlands dun. Oft to that spot by tender memory won, Would Albert climb the promontory's height, 23 GERTRUDF': OF WYOMlNr;. If but a dim sail glimmer'd in the sun ; But never more, to bless his longing sight, Was Outalissi hail'd, his bark and plumage bright. M^ :^'^M' A VALLEY from the river shore withdrawn Was Albert's home, two quiet woods between, 27 K CIERTRUDK OF WYOMINC. Whose lofty verdure overlook'd his lawn ; And waters to their resting-i)lace serene Came fresh'ning, and reflecting all the scene : (A mirror in the depth of flowery shelves :) So sweet a spot of earth you might (1 ween) Have guess'd some congregation of the elves, To sport by summer moons, had shaped it for themselves. Yet wanted not the eye far scope to muse, Nor vistas open'd by the wand'ring stream ; Both where at evening Alleghany views, Through ridges burning in her western beam, Lake after lake interminably gleam : And past those settlers' haunts the eye might roam. Where earth's unliving silence all would seem ; Save where on rocks the beaver built his dome, Or buffalo remote low'd far from human home. 28 e;ERTRUDE OF WVOMFNC. III. i>ut silent not that adverse eastern ])ath Which saw Aurora's hills th' horizon crown ; There was the river heard, in bed of wrath, (A precipice of foam from mountains brown.) Like tumults heard from' some far-distant town ; But soft'ning in approach he left his gloom, And murmur'd pleasantly, and laid him down, To kiss those easy curving banks of l)loom, That lent the windward air an exquisite perfume. It seem'd as if those scenes sweet influence had On Gertrude's soul, and kindness like their own Inspired those eyes aftectionate and glad. That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon ; Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, (As if for heav'nly musing meant alone,) Yet so becomingly th' expression past, That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last. 29 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. V. Nor, guess I, was that Pennsylvanian home, With all its picturesque and balmy grace, And fields that were a luxury to roam, Lost on the soul that look'd from such a face ! Enthusiast of the woods ! when years apace Had bound thy lovely waist with woman's zone. The sunrise path, at morn, I see thee trace To hills with high magnolia overgrown ; And joy to breathe the groves, romantic and alone. VI. The sunrise drew her thoughts to Europe forth, That thus apostrophized its viewless scene : " Land of my fathers love, my mother's birth ! The home of kindred I have never seen ! We know not other — oceans are between ; Yet, say ! far friendly hearts from whence we came, Of us does oft remembrance intervene ? My mother, sure — my sire a thought may claim ; But (rertrude is to you an unregarded name. 33 And yet, loved England ! when thy name 1 trace In many a pilgrim's tale and poet's song, How can I choose but wish for one embrace Of them, the dear unknown, to whom belong Aly mother's looks,— jjerhaj^s her likeness strong ( 31 (;i:rtrudk ok wvominc;. Oil, parent I with what reverential awe, Krom features of thine own related throng, An image of thy face my soul could draw ! And see thee once again whom 1 too shortly saw !' VIII. Yet deem not Gertrude sigh'd for foreign joy ; I'o soothe a father's couch her only care, And keep his rev'rend head from all annoy : For this, methinks, her homeward steps repair. Soon as the morning wreath had bound her hair ; While yet the wild deer trod in spangling dew% While boatman caroU'd to the fresh-blown air, And woods a horizontal shadow threw, And early fox appear'd in momentary view. — At times there was a deep untrodden grot, Where oft the reading hours sweet Gertrude wore Tradition had not named its lonely spot ; PUit here (methinks) might India's sons explore 32 f / y^W\ Their father's dust/ or lift, perchance, of yore, Their voice to the Great Spirit :— rocks subhme 33 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. To human art a sportive semblance wore ; And yellow lichens colour'd all the clime, Like moonlit battlements, and tow'rs decay'd by tune. X. But high, in amphitheatre above, His arms the everlasting aloe threw : Breathed but an air of heav'n, and all the grove As if with instinct living spirit grew, Rolling its verdant gulfs of every hue ; And now suspended was the pleasing din. Now from a murmur faint it swell'd anew, Like the first note of organ heard within Cathedral aisles, — ere yet its symphony begin. XI. It was in this lone valley she would charm The ling'ring noon, where flow'rs a couch had strown ; Her cheek reclining, and her snowy arm On hillock by the palm-tree half o'ergrown : And aye that volume on her lap is thrown, 34 Which every heart of human mould endears ; With Shakspeare's self she speaks and smiles alone, And no intruding visitation fears, To shame th' unconscious laugh, or stop her sweetest tears.- 35 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XII. For, save her presence, scarce an ear had heard The stock-dove i:)laining through its gloom profound, Or winglet of the fairy humming-bird, Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round ; Till chance had usher'd to its inmost ground The stranger guest of many a distant clime ; He was, to weet, for eastern mountains bound ; But late th' equator suns his cheek had tann'd, And California's gales his roving bosom fann'd, XIII. A steed, whose rein hung loosely o'er his arm, He led dismounted ; ere his leisure pace, Amid the brown leaves, could her ear alarm. Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space Those downcast features : — she her lovely face Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace : Iberian seem'd his boot — his robe the same, And well the Spanish plume his lofty looks became. 36 For Albert's home he sought — her finger fair Has pointed where the father's mansion stood. 37 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Returning from the copse he soon was there, And soon as Gertrude hied from dark-green wood ; Nor joyless, by the converse, understood. Between the man of age and pilgrim young, That gay congeniality of mood, And early liking from acquaintance sprung : Full fluently conversed their guest in England's tongue. XV. And well could he his pilgrimage of taste Unfold, — and much they loved his fervid strain, — While he each fair variety retraced Of climes, and manners, o'er the eastern main : — Now happy Switzer's hills — romantic Spain — Gay lilied fields of France — or, more refined, The soft Ausonia's monumental reign ; Nor less each rural image he design'd, Than all the city's pomp and home of human kind. XVI. Anon some wilder portraiture he draws ; Of Nature's savage glories he would speak, — The loneliness of earth that overawes, — 38 ■=^^. Where, resting by some tomb of old Cacique, The lama-driver on Peruvia's peak, GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Nor voice nor living motion marks around ; But storks that to the boundless forest shriek ; Or wild-cane arch high flung o'er gulf profound,^ That fluctuates when the storms of El Dorado sound. XVII. Pleased with his guest, the good man still would ]fly Each earnest question, and his converse court ; But Gertrude, as she eyed him, knew not why A strange and troubling wonder stopt her short. " In England thou hast been, — and, by report. An orphan's name (quoth Albert) mayst have known : Sad tale ! — when latest fell our frontier fort, One innocent — one soldier's child — alone Was spared, and brought to me, who loved him as my own. XVIII. " Young Henry Waldegrave ! three delightful years These very walls his infant sports did see ; But most I loved him when his parting tears Alternately bedew'd my child and me : 40 His sorest parting, Gertrude, was from thee ; Nor half its grief his little heart could hold : By kindred he was sent for o'er the sea ; They tore him from us when but twelve years old, And scarcely for his loss have T been yet consoled." — 41 G r.ERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XIX. His face the vvand'rer hid ; but could not hide A tear, a smile, u})oii his cheek that dwell ; — " And speak, mysterious stranger !" Gertrude cried ; '' It is ! — it is ! — I knew — I knew him well ! 'Tis Waldegrave's self, of Waldegrave come to tell !" A burst of joy the father's lips declare ; But Gertrude speechless on his bosom fell ! At once his open arms embraced the pair — Was never group more blest, in this wide world of care. XX. " And will ye pardon, then," replied the youth, '■ Your Waldegrave's feign'd name, and false attire ? [ durst not in the neighbourhood, in truth. The very fortunes of your house inquire : Lest one that knew me might some tidings dire Impart, and I my weakness all betray ; For had I lost my Gertrude, and my sire, I meant but o'er your tombs to weep a day : I'nknown I meant to wee[), uni^nown to pass away. 42 " But here ye live, — ye bloom, — in each dear face The changing hand of time I may not blame ; 43 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. For there, it hath but shed more reverend grace, And here, of beauty perfected the frame ; And well I know your hearts are still the same ; They could not change — ye look the very way, As when an orphan first to you I came. And have ye heard of my poor guide, I pray ? Nay, wherefore weep we, friends, on such a joyous day ?"— xxir. " And art thou here ? or is it but a dream 1 And wilt thou, Waldegrave, wilt thou leave us more ?" " No, never ! thou that yet dost lovelier seem Than aught on earth — than e'en thyself of yore — I will not part thee from thy father's shore ; But we shall cherish him with mutual arms ; And hand in hand again the path explore. Which every ray of young remembrance warms ; While thou shalt be my own with all thy truth and charms. XXIII. At morn, as if beneath a galaxy Of overarching groves in blossoms white, Where all was od'rous scent and harmony, 44 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. And gladness to the heart, nerve, ear, and sight : There, if, oh gentle love ! I read aright, The utterance that seal'd thy sacred bond, 'Twas list'ning to these accents of delight, She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond Expression's povv'r to paint, all languishingly fond. XXIV. " Flow'r of my life, so lovely and so lone ! Whom I would rather in this desert meet. Scorning and scorn'd by fortune's pow'r, than own Her pomp and splendours lavish'd at my feet ! Turn not from me thy breath, more exquisite Than odours cast on heaven's own shrine — to please — Give me thy love, than luxury more sweet. And more than all the wealth that loads the breeze. When Coromandel's ships return from Indian seas." — XXV. Then would that home admit them — happier far Than grandeur's most magnificent saloon — While, here and there, a solitary star Flush'd in the dark'ning firmament of June ; 45 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. And silence brought the soul-felt hour full soon, Ineffable, which I may not portray ; For never did the Hymenean moon A paradise of hearts more sacred sway, In all that slept beneath her soft voluptuous ray. O Love ! in such a wilderness as this, Where transport and security entwine, 49 GERTRUDE OF WYOMINC;. Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, And here thou art a god indeed divine. Here shall no forms abridge, no hours confine The views, the walks, that boundless joy inspire ! Roll on, ye days of raptured influence, shine ! Nor, blind with ecstasy's celestial fire. Shall love behold the spark of earth-born time expire. II. Three little moons, how short, amidst the grove And pastoral savannahs, they consume ! While she, beside her buskin'd youth to rove, Delights, in fancifully wild costume, Her lovely brow to shade with Indian plume ; And forth in hunter-seeming vest they fare ; But not to chase the deer in forest gloom ; 'Tis but the breath of heav'n — the blessed air — And interchange of hearts unknown, unseen to share. in. What though the sportive dog oft round them note, Or fawn, or wild bird bursting on the wing ; Yet who, in love's own presence, would devote 50 To death those gentle throats that wake the spring ; Or writhing from the brook its victim bring I No ! — nor let fear one little warbler rouse ; But, fed by Gertrude's hand, still let them sing, ' Acquaintance of her path, amidst the boughs. That shade e'en now her love, and witness'd first her vows. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. IV. Now labyrinths, which but themselves can pierce, Methinks, conduct them to some pleasant ground, Where welcome hills shut out the universe, And pines their lawny walk encompass round ; There, if a pause delicious converse found, 'Twas but when o'er each heart th' idea stole, (Perchance awhile in joy's oblivion drown'd,) 'IMiat come what may, while life's glad pulses roll, Indissolubly thus should soul be knit to soul. v. And in the visions of romantic youth, What years of endless bliss are yet to flow ! But mortal jjleasure, what art thou in truth 'i The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below 1 And must I change my song '? and must I show, Sweet Wyoming ! the day, when thou wert doom'd, (luiltless, to mourn thy loveliest bow'rs laid low ? AV'hen where of yesterday a garden bloom'd. Death overs])rea(l his ])all, and black'ning ashes gloom'd ! 52 VI. Sad was the year, by proud oppression driv'n, When Transatlantic Liberty arose, Not in the sunshine, and the smile of heav'n, But wrapt in whirlwinds, and begirt with woes, 53 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Amidst the strife of fratricidal foes, Her birth-star was the Hght of burning plains ;^ Her baptism is the weight of blood that flows From kindred hearts — the blood of British veins — And famine tracks her steps, and pestilential pains. VII. Yet, ere the storm of death had raged remote, Or siege unseen in heav'n reflects its beams, Who now each dreadful circumstance shall note, That fills pale Gertrude's thoughts and nightly dreams ! Dismal to her the forge of battle gleams, Portentous light ! and music's voice is dumb ; Save where the fife its shrill reveille screams. Or midnight streets re-echo to the drum, That speaks of madd'ning strife, and blood-stain'd fields to come. VIII. It was in truth a momentary pang ; Yet how comprising myriad shapes of woe ! First when in Gertrude's ear the summons rang, A husband to the battle doom'd to go ! 5+ " Nay meet not thou," she cried, " thy kindred foe ! But peaceful let us seek fair England's strand 1" " Ah, Gertrude ! thy beloved heart, I know, Would feel, like mine, the stigmatizing brand. Could I forsake the cause of Freedom's holy band ! 55 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. IX. But shame — but flight — a recreant's name to prove. To hide in exile ignominious fears ; Say, e'en if this I brook'd, the public love Thy father's bosom to his home endears : And how could I his few remaining years, My Gertrude, sever from so dear a child f' So, day by day, her boding heart he cheers : At last that heart to hope is half beguiled, — And pale through tears suppress'd the mournful beauty smiled. X. Night came, — and in their lighted bow'r full late The joy of converse had endured, — when, hark ! Abrupt and loud, a summons shook their gate : And, heedless of the dog's obstrep'rous bark, A form has rush'd amidst them from the dark. And si)read his arms, — and fell upon the floor ; Of aged strength his limbs retain'd the mark ; But desolate he look'd, and famish'd, poor, As ever shii)wreck'd wretch lone left on desert shore. 56 Uprisen, each wond'ring brow is knit and arch'd : A spirit from the dead they deem him first : To speak he tries ; but quivering, pale, and parch'd, From Hps, as by some jjow'rless dream accursed, 57 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Emotions unintelligible burst ; And long his filmed eye is red and dim ; At length the pity-proifer'd cup his thirst Had half assuaged, and nerved his shuddering limb, When Albert's hand he grasp'd ; — but Albert knew not him. XII. " And hast thou, then, forgot," (he cried, forlorn, And eyed the group with half indignant air,) " Oh ! hast thou. Christian chief, forgot the morn When I with thee the cup of peace did share 1 Then stately was this head, and dark this hair, That now is white as Appalachia's snow ; But, if the weight of fifteen years' despair And age hath bow'd me, and the tort'ring foe. Bring me my boy — and he will his deliverer know ! " XIII. It was not long, with eyes and heart of flame, Ere Henry to his loved Oneyda flew : " Bless thee, my guide ! " — but backward, as he came, . 'I'he chief his old bewilder'd head withdrew, 58 And grasp'd his arm, and look'd, and look'd him through. 'Twas strange — nor could the group a smile control — The long, the doubtful scrutiny to view : 59 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. At last, delight o'er all his features stole, " It is — my own," he cried, and clasp'd him to his soul. XIV. Yes ! thou recall'st my pride of years, for then The bowstring of my spirit was not slack. When, spite of woods, and floods, and ambush'd men, I bore thee like the quiver on my back. Fleet as the whirlwind hurries on the rack ; Nor foeman then, nor cougar's^ crouch I fear'd, For I was strong as mountain cataract : And dost thou not remember how we cheer'd Upon the last hill-top, when white men's huts appenr'd ^ XV. Then welcome be my death-song, and my death ! Since I have seen thee, and again embraced." And longer had he spent his toil-worn breath ; But, with affectionate and eager haste. Was every arm outstretch'd around their guest, To welcome and to bless his aged head. Soon was the hospitable banquet placed ; 60 And Gertrude's lovely hands a balsam shed On wounds with feverVl joy that more profusely bled. GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. XVI. But this is not a time," — he started up, And smote his breast with woe-denouncing hand — '' This is no time to fill the joyous cup, The Mammoth comes,^ — the foe, — the Monster Brand t,- With all his howling desolating band ; — These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine Awake at once, and silence half your land. Red is the cup they drink ; but not with wine : Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine ! XVII. Scorning to wield the hatchet for his bribe, 'Gainst Brandt himself I w^nt to battle forth :-^ Accursed Brandt ! he left of all my tribe Nor man, nor child, nor thing of living birth : No ! not the dog that watch'd my household hearth Escaped that night of blood, upon our plains ! All perish'd ! — I alone am left on earth ! To whom nor relative nor blood remains ; No I — not a kindred drop that runs in human veins I'' 62 GERTRUDE OF WVOMINCi. XVIU. But go ! — and rouse your warriors ; — for, if right These old bewilder'd eyes could guess, by signs Of striped and starred banners, on yon height Of eastern cedars, o'er the creek of pines — Some fort embattled by your country shines : Deep roars the innavigable gulf below Its squared rocks, and palisaded lines. Go ! seek the light its warlike beacons show ; Whilst I in ambush wait, for vengeance, and the foe ! " XIX. Scarce had he utter'd, — when heav'n's verge extreme Reverberates the bomb's descending star, — And sounds that mingled laugh, — and shout, — and scream, To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar, Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war. Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assail'd. As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar ; While rapidly the marksman's shot prevail'd ; — And ay, as if for death, some lonely trumpet waiPd. — 63 (lER'J'RUDE OK WYOMING. XX. Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung The bandit groups, in one Vesuvian glare ; Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung, Told legible that midnight of despair. She faints, — she falters not, — th' heroic fair, — As he the sword and plume in haste array'd. One short embrace — he clasp'd his dearest care — But hark I what nearer war-drum shakes the glade '? Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through the shade ! XXI. Then came of every race the mingled swarm, Far rung the groves, and gleam'd the midnight grass, With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm ; As warriors wheel'd their culverins of brass, Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass, Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines : And first the wild Moravian yagers pass ; His plumed host the dark Iberian joins — And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle shines. 64 XXII. And in — the buskin'd hunters of the deer, To Albert's home with shout and cymbal throng : — Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth and cheer, Old Outalissi woke his battle song, 65 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts, Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long, To whet a dagger on their stony hearts, And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts. XXIII. Calm, opposite the Christian father rose. Pale on his venerable brow its rays Of martyr light the conflagration throws ; One hand upon his lovely child he lays. And one th' uncover'd crowd to silence sways ; While, though the battle flash is faster driv'n, — Unawed, with eye unstartled by the blaze. He for his bleeding country prays to Heav'n, — Prays that the men of blood themselves may be forgiven. XXIV. Short time is now for gratulating speech ; And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach, Look'd not on thee the rudest partisan 66 With brow relax'd to love i And murmurs ran, As round and round their wilHng ranks they drew, 67 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. Grateful, on them a placid look she threw, Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu ! XXV. Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r, That, like a giant standard-bearer, frown'd Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r. Beneath, each bold and promontory mound With embrasure emboss'd, and armour crown'd, And arrowy frieze, and wedged ravelin, Wove like a diadem its tracery round 'I'he lofty summit of that mountain green ; Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene XXVI. A scene of death ! where fires beneath the sun, And blended arms, and white pavilions glow ; And for the business of destruction done. Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow. 68 *- a ih^-.M There, sad spectatress of her country's woe ! The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of snow On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wild alarm 1 69 (IKRTRUDE OF WYOMINO. XXVII. But short that contemplation — sad and short The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu I Beneath the very shadow of the fort, Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners liew ! Ah ! who could deem that foot of Indian crew Was near ? — yet there, with lust of murd'rous deeds, Gleam'd like a basilisk, from woods in view, The ambush'd foeman's eye — his volley speeds, And Albert — Albert falls ! the dear old father bleeds ! XXVIII. And tranced in giddy horror, Gertrude swoon'd ; Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Say, burst they, borrow'd from her father's wound, These drops ? — Oh God ! the life-blood is her own ; And, falt'ring, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown — " Weep not, O love I" she cries, "to see me bleed — Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone — Heaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce I heed These wounds :— yet thee to leave is death, is death indeed. 70 Clasp me a little longer, on the brink Of fate ! while I can feel thy dear caress 71 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. And, when this heart hath ceased to beat — oh ! think, And let it mitigate thy woe's excess. That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And friend to more than hmnan friendship just. Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, God shall assuage thy pangs — when I am laid in dust ! XXX. " Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart. The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, Where my dear father took thee to his heart, And Gertrude thought it ecstasy to rove With thee, as with an angel, through the grove Of peace, — imagining her lot was cast In heav'n ; for ours was not like earthly love. And must this parting be our very last ? No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past. XXXI. " Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth, — And thee, more loved than aught beneath the sun, 72 (IKRTRUDE OF WYOMING. If I had lived to smile but on the birth Of one dear pledge ; — but shall there, then, be none, In future times — no gentle little one, To clasp thy neck, and look, resembling me I Yet seems it, e'en while life's last pulses run, A sweetness in the cup of death to be, Lord of my bosom's love ! to die beholding thee I" xxxir, Hush'd were his Gertrude's lips ; but still their bland And beautiful expression seem'd to melt With love that could not die ! and still his hand She presses to the heart no more that felt. Ah heart ! Avhere once each fond affection dwelt, And features yet that spoke a soul more fair. Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt, — Of them that stood encircling his despair. He heard some friendly words ; — but knew not what they were. XXXIII. For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives A faithful ])and. With solemn rites between, 73 J' GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives. And in their deaths had not divided been. Touch'd by the music, and the melting scene, Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd : — Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen To veil their eyes, as i:)ass'd each much-loved shroud- AVhile woman's softer soul in woe dissolved aloud. XXXIV. Then mournfully the parting bugle bid Its farewell o'er the grave of worth and truth ; Prone to the diist, afflicted Waldegrave hid His face on earth ; — him watch'd in gloomy ruth, His woodland guide ; but words had none to soothe The grief that knew not consolation's name ! Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth, He watch'd, beneath its folds, each burst that came Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering frame ! • XXXV. " And I could weep ;" — th' Oneyda chief His descant wildl\' thus began : 74 " But that I may not stain with grief The death-song of my father's son ! Or bow this head in woe ; For by my wrongs, and by my wrath 1 To-morrow Areouski's breath (That fires yon heav'n with storms of death) 75 GERTRUDE OF WYOMTNG. Shall light US to the foe : And Ave shall share, my Christian boy ! The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy ! — XXXVI. " But thee, my flow'r, whose breath was giv'n By milder genii o'er the deep, The spirits of the white man's heav'n Forbid not thee to weep : — Nor will the Christian host, Nor will thy father's spirit grieve To see thee, on the battle's eve, Lamenting take a mournful leave Of her who loved thee most : She was the rainbow to thy sight ! Thy sun — thy heav'n — of lost delight ! — xxxvir. " To-morrow let us do or die ! But when the bolt of death is hurl'd, Ah ! whither then with thee to fly, Shall Outalissi roam the world ? Seek we thy once-loved home ? — The hand is gone that cropt its flowers ! 76 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Unheard their clock repeats its hours ! — Cold is the hearth within their bow'rs ! — And should we thither roam, Its echoes, and its empty tread. Would sound like voices from the dead ! XXXVIII. " Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, Whose streams my kindred nation quafif'd ; And by my side, in battle true, A thousand warriors drew the shaft i Ah ! there in desolation cold. The desert serpent dwells alone. Where grass o'ergrows each mould'ring bone, And stones themselves to ruin grown, Like me, are death-like old. Then seek Ave not their camp — for there — The silence dwells of my despair ! XXXIX. *' But hark, the trump ! — to-morrow thou In glory's fire shalt dry thy tears : E'en from the land of shadows now My father's awful ghost appears ; 77 GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. Amidst the clouds that round us roll, He bids my soul for battle thirst — He bids me dry the last — the first — The only tears that ever burst — From Outalissi's soul ; Because I may not stain with grief The death-song of an Indian chief" ?v%^ >./j^,^yc NOTES. NOTES, Part I. ^ P. 6. Fro7Ji merry mock-bii-cTs song.^ — The mocking-bird is of the form of, hut larger, than the thrush ; and the colours are a mixture of black, white^, and grey. What is said of the nightingale, by its greatest admirers, is what may with more propriety apply to this bird, who, in a natural state, sings with very superior taste. Towards evening I have heard one begin softly, reserving its breath to swell certain notes, which, by this means, had a most astonishing effect. A gentleman in London had one of these birds for six years. During the space of a minute he was heard to imitate the wood-lark, chaffinch, black- bird, thrush, and sparrow. In this country (America) I have frequently known the mocking-birds so engaged in this mimicry, that it was with much difficulty I could ever obtain an opportunity of hearing their own natural note. Some go so far as to say, that they have neither peculiar notes, nor favourite imitations. This may be denied. Their few natural notes resemble those of the (European) nightingale. Their song, however, has a greater compass and volume than the nightingale's, and they have the faculty of varying all inter- mediate notes in a manner which is truly delightful. — Ashe's Travels in Ajnerica, vol. ii. p. 73. ^ P. 7. Green All^yn.'] — Scotland. ■^ P. 7. Thy pellochs.'\ — Pelloch is the Gaelic appellation for porpoise. 4 P. 7. And distant isles that hear the loud Corbrechtan roar.] — The Corybrechtan, or Corbrechtan, is a whirlpool on the western coast of Scotland, near the island of Jura, which is heard at a prodigious distance. Its name signifies the whirlpool of the Prince of Denmark ; and there is a tradition that 81 M NOTES. a Danish Prince once undertook, for a wager, to cast anchor in it. He is said to have used woollen instead of hempen ropes, for greater strength, but perished in the attempt. On the shores of Argyleshire I have often listened with great delight to the sound of this vortex, at the distance of many leagues. When the weather is calm, and the adjacent sea scarcely heard on these picturesque shores, its sound, which is like the sound of innumerable chariots, creates a magnificent and fine effect. P. II. Of Intskiii'd liinb, and S7varthy linea/nciit.'] — In the Indian tribes there is a great similarity in their colour, stature, &c. They are all, except the Snake Indians, tall in stature, straight, and robust. It is very seldom they are deformed, which has given rise to the supposition that they put to death their deformed children. Their skin is of a copper colour ; their eyes large, bright, black, and sparkling, indicative of a subtle and discerning mind ; their hair is of the same colour, and prone to be long, seldom or never curled. Their teeth are large and white ; I never observed any decayed among them, which makes their breath as sweet as the air they inhale. — Travels through America by Capta'uis Lewis and Clarke, in 1804-5-6. 5 P. 12. Peace be to thee! my words this belt approve. '\ — The Indians of North America accompany every formal address to strangers, with whom they form or recognise a treaty of amity, with a present of a string, or belt, ol wampum. Wampum (says Cadwallader Golden) is made of the large whelk shell, Buccinum, and shaped like long beads : it is the current money of the Indians. — History of the Five Indian Ahitions, p. 34. New York Edition. ^ P. 12. The paths of peace my steps have hither led. '\ — In relating an inter- view of Mohawk Indians with the Governor of New York, Golden quotes the following passage as a specimen of their metaphorical manner : ''Where shall I seek the chair of peace ? Where shall I find it but upon our path ? and whither doth our path lead us but unto this house ? " P. 12. Our wampum league thy brethren did embrace.'\ — When they solicit the alliance, offensive or defensive, of a whole nation, they send an embassy with a large belt of wampum and a bloody hatchet, inviting them to come and drink the blood of their enemies. The wampum made use of on these and other occasions, before their acquaintance with the Europeans, was nothing but small shells which they picked up by the sea-coasts, and on the banks of the lakes ; and now it is nothing but a kind of cylindrical beads, made 82 NOTES. of shells, white and black, which are esteemed among them as silver and gold are among us. The black they call the most valuable, and both together are their greatest riches and ornaments ; these among them answering all the end that money does amongst us. They have the art of stringing, twisting, and interweaving them into their belts, collars, blankets, moccasins, &c., in ten thousand different sizes, forms, and figures, so as to be ornaments for every part of dress, and expressive to them of all their important transactions. They dye the wampum of various colours and shades, and mix and dispose them with great ingenuity and order, so as to be significant among themselves of almost everything they please ; so that by these their words are kept, and their thoughts communicated to one another, as ours are by writing. The belts that pass from one nation to another in all treaties, declarations, and important transactions, are very carefully preserved in the cabins of their chiefs, and serve not only as a kind of record or history, but as a public treasure. — Major Rogers's Account of N'ort/i America. 7 P. 14. A cry of Areous/ci.] — The Indian God of War. 8 P. 15. As lohen the evil AIaniton.'\ — It is certain the Indians acknow- ledge one Supreme Being, or Giver of Life, who presides over all things ; that is, the Great Spirit, and they look up to him as the source of good, from whence no evil can proceed. They also believe in a bad Spirit, to whom they ascribe great power ; and suppose that through his power all the evils which befal mankind are inflicted. To him, therefore, they pray in their distresses, begging that he would either avert their troubles, or moderate tliem when they are no longer avoidable. They hold also that there are good Spirits of a lower degree, who have their particular departments, in which they are constantly contributing to the happi- ness of mortals. These they suppose to preside over all the extraordinaiy productions of Nature, such as those lakes, rivers, and mountains that are of an uncommon magnitude ; and likewise the beasts, birds, fishes, and even vege- tables or stones, that exceed the rest of their species in size or singularity. • — Clarke's Travels among the Indians. The Supreme Spirit of Good is called by the Indians, Kitchi Manitou ; and the Spirit of Evil, Matchi Manitou, 9 P. 16. Offivcr-balin, and siuect sagainile.'\ — The fever-balm is a medicine used by these tribes ;• it is a decoction of a bush called the Fever Tree. Sagamite is a kind of soup administered to their sick. ^\5 NOTES. '" P. 18. And I, the eagle of my tribe, have ritsJid With this lor 71 dove.'\ The testimony of all travellers among the American Indians who mention their hieroglyphics authorizes me in putting this figurative language in the mouth of Outalissi, The dove is among them, as elsewhere, an emblem of meekness ; and the eagle, that of a bold, noble, and liberal mind. When the Indians speak of a warrior who soars above the multitude in person and endowments, they say, ''he is like the eagle who destroys his enemies, and gives protection and abundance to the weak of his own tribe. " P. 19. Far differently the iniite Oneyda took, (Sj-v.] — They are extremely circumspect and deliberate in every wordand action; nothing hurries them into any intemperate wrath, but that inveteracy to their enemies which is rooted in every Indian's breast. In all other instances they are cool and deliberate, taking care to suppress the emotions of the heart. If an Indian has discovered that a friend of his is in danger of being cut off by a lurking enemy, he does not tell him of his danger in direct tenns as though he were in fear, but he first coolly asks him which way he is going that day, and having his answer, with the same indifference tells him that he has been informed that a noxious beast lies on the route he is going. This hint proves sufficient, and his friend avoids the danger with as much caution as though every design and motion of his enemy had been pointed out to him. If an Indian has been engaged for several days in the chase, and by accident continued long without food, when he arrives at the hut of a friend, where he knows that his wants will be immediately supplied, he takes care not to show the least symptoms of impatience, or betray the extreme hunger that he is tortured with ; but on being invited in, sits contentedly down, and smokes his pipe with as much composure as if his appetite was cloyed and he was perfectly at ease. He does the same if among strangers. This custom is strictly adhered to by every tribe, as they esteem it a proof of fortitude, and think the reverse would entitle them to the appellation of old women. If you tell an Indian that his children have greatly signalised themselves against an enemy, have taken many scalps, and brought home many prisoners, he does not appear to feel any strong emotions of pleasure on the occasion ; his answer generally is, — ''They have done well," and he makes but veiy little inquiry about the matter ; on the contrary, if you inform him that his children are slain or taken prisoners, he makes no complaints ; he only replies, "It is unfortunate : " and for some time asks no questions about how it happened. — Le7vis and Clarice's Travels. S4 NOTES. 11 P. 19, His calumet of peace, <5r=