E PATRIOT'S PLEDGE 
 
 A POEM 
 
 BY JOHN RODDY 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by John Roddy, 
 Tboy, N. Y. 
 
THE PATRIOT'S PLEDGE 
 
 A POEM 
 
 By JOHN RODDY 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by John Roddy, 
 Troy, N. Y. 
 
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The Patriot's Pledge. 
 
 i. 
 
 The patriot Schuyler, charged with the faith 
 That mocks at destiny's menace or wraith, 
 Is challenging now the growl of the horde 
 Burgoyne is massing for royalty's guard : 
 The pregnant ravines and thickets profound. 
 Fast by where the waters of Hudson ground, 
 Are bristling with steel's mad curses in hate, 
 And man's malignancy proscribes e'en fate : 
 The desperate bands of the North break loose — 
 The wild marauders of the knife or noose — 
 And blast these haunts like the specters of doom, 
 That tyranny's creed might flourish and bloom: 
 The hound of the pathless wilderness, too, 
 The painted savage, is licensed anew : 
 'Tis war — the war to the death — and for what ? 
 The heritage God ordained as man's lot, 
 The blessing of freedom, garb of the soul, 
 The grandeur of spir'tual rhythm in role. 
 An air of divinity wreathes the dream 
 That dares to invest ambition's regime — 
 The sacred regime of liberty's blend, 
 Where vested humanity shapes its end. 
 How hallowed the spirit who 'terprets time 
 In terms of hope's development sublime — 
 The sov'reignty of the conscience and heart, 
 Untouched by thraldom's dishonor or smart! 
 How noble the mystery of this life 
 When unprofaned with the challenge of strife ! 
 How sweet the fragrance eternity wafts — 
 Like whispering angel's promise in drafts — 
 The fragrance of soulful visions of love, 
 As sung in the glory patriots prove ! 
 The witchery of the breaths of the blue. 
 All charged with prophecy's mission anew, 
 Inaugurates fresh conceptions of truth, 
 Proclaiming the voice of infinite youth ; 
 Yon eloquent heights, all gaged for the fray, 
 However the orgies of fate hold sway, 
 
Rebuke the manhood and the pride of him 
 
 Who cringes or smiles 'fore tyranny's whim : 
 
 And yon proud waters, whose annals protest 
 
 A hundred triumphs, now beggar the jest 
 
 Of meek submission to shadows of fear, 
 
 And ev'ry ripple initiates cheer : 
 
 The murmurs of time's remonstrance endow 
 
 Defiance to man's distempers in vow. 
 
 sacred intelligence of the soul — 
 
 O pulse of righteousness — dream of control 
 
 The vigils of life's prerogative mask 
 
 No longer the mockery of hope's task, 
 
 But blazon adown grim destiny's page 
 
 The consummation of liberty's gage ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes — Schuyler is balking the steel-shod bands. 
 Who'd bastardize ev'ry hope of these lands ; 
 His masterly eye determines their game, 
 And his are the warriors who dare death's flame : 
 He greets the thundering legions of doom, 
 And tears asunder the creed they illume; 
 But onward they come, investing each haunt 
 Like blast of the north in desperate want. 
 The oak and the hemlock, the elm and fir 
 Respond to liberty's genius and stir, 
 And mock at the growls of the multitude, 
 A-strangling their wild assurance and mood ; 
 Each wilderness flouts their mastery now. 
 And whispering echoes rebuke each brow ; 
 The shades of the past, all sacred to time, 
 Turn back the epochs of nature sublime, 
 And stalk abroad in their challenge to fate — 
 The fate that sanctions man's bondage in state — 
 And beckon the spirit of this proud land 
 To do or die for humanity grand; 
 The pregnant vitality of the air 
 Is charging these haunts with buoyancy rare, 
 With spirituality's fragrance deep, 
 With freedom's aroma — man's soul to steep. 
 The sacred glow of the eve is abroad, 
 And nature's shading is the rhythm of God ; 
 The delicate touch of autumn appears 
 Like the sigh of hope — the kiss of all fears; 
 
The grandeur eternity paints again 
 Blooms into life like the spirit profane — 
 Profane in the witchery of its love, 
 Defying the frowns of the saints above : 
 'Tis Mother Earth now tendering her dream 
 Of Heavenly trust in myst'ry supreme ; 
 The hand of the Master speaks in each tint 
 Of tree and of shrub like vision in print. 
 
 III. 
 
 " O Tyrlow, the fervor of faith and love, 
 
 The blessing divine from Heaven above, 
 
 In soulful vigil like fragrance of dream, 
 
 I> shading to apprehensions in theme." 
 
 A maiden pleads, and the depths of her eye — 
 
 And night's darkest tint seems doubly awry 
 
 When gaged in the witchery of its wealth — 
 
 Bespeak a sanctity untouched by stealth ; 
 
 And raven her tresses, and proud and free, 
 
 And sacred the warmth of beauty in fee. 
 
 A patriot soldier, of rugged mien, 
 
 And scarred from battles' distempers and spleen, 
 
 About mature in his years and his pride, 
 
 [s drinking in ev'ry whisper aside. 
 
 " Some vague suspicion, O Tyrlow, I feel, 
 
 Some blind forebodings my confidence steal : 
 
 I know these haunts like the hound of the deep. 
 
 But somehow their silence proscribes faith's keep. 
 
 O that the menacing evils of war 
 
 Might take on the glories of peace e'ermore — 
 
 That the frenzy of steel and torture brand 
 
 Might be as the dream of time to this land ■ — ■ 
 
 That strife and its savagery, pulse of hate. 
 
 Be as the palsy of death in its state ! 
 
 But, alas, O Tyrlow, 'tis not to be ; 
 
 The recreant mischief of royalty 
 
 Is charging anew the passions and spite 
 
 Of hireling and Mohawk to curse and blight: 
 
 Each moment seems vibrant with doubt and fear. 
 
 And hopes' fond prophecy forgets its cheer. 
 
 The soldiers of the Master, tried and bold, 
 
 Must round up and drive these wolves from the fold 
 
 ^Nor reckon with fate till the skulking bands 
 
 Have ceased to breathe — are unknown to these land- 
 
" 'Tis writ adown the vision of the soul 
 
 Humanity's challenge must make the goal, 
 
 And heart-racking trials and grim despair 
 
 Are incidents to that triumph and care : 
 
 The genius of freedom in all its worth, 
 
 Despite the desperate evils a-birth, 
 
 Is stirring these depths like whirlwind from high, 
 
 And ev'ry fastness responds with a sigh ; 
 
 It tears asunder the shams of the class, 
 
 And breathes new life to the heart of the mass ; 
 
 It fires the spirit of man and of child, 
 
 And ev'ry sinew starts frantic and wild ; 
 
 'Tis eloquent as the voice of the morn, 
 
 When nature acclaims the glory new born : 
 
 Each atmosphere thrills like fragrance of hope 
 
 And whispers assurance in mystic scope : 
 
 The damnable business of tyranny 
 
 Is pitted 'gainst righteousness and its plea. 
 
 So, Tyrlow, let no expectancy gage 
 
 The breath of this life save liberty's wage ; 
 
 Let ev'ry drop of your heart-blood avow 
 
 Resistance to royalty's threat'ning brow ; 
 
 Let ev'ry nerve and muscle be aflame 
 
 That servitude may ne'er tarnish your name ; 
 
 Let ev'ry vigil of your soul rise true, 
 
 For God's proud heritage looms 'fore the view." 
 
 " Be doubly assured, O Beula, my lot 
 Is fixed to the cause, however distraught. 
 Of sacred humanity's noblest creed, 
 The grim reality justice dares plead." 
 Now Tyrlow replies: "And trust in the Lord 
 Is guaranty to our wishes' award. 
 Yes, Beula, 'tis as the blessing from High, 
 The halo of reason garbing life's sigh: 
 The hapless conceptions of borrowed pride 
 Forget their illusions these cares beside ; 
 The pulse of sov'reignty fortifies faith, 
 Condemning tradition's function and wraith; 
 The boasted assumption of minds unstrung — 
 Proud independence — in truth shall be sung : 
 We know but the challenge of kingly greed ; 
 We'll shift no issue — we cannot recede: 
 
" The spirit of the World seems present here, 
 Invoking the glory man dares revere : 
 "Tis manifest destiny fires our steel, 
 Charging each fiber with frenzy's appeal. 
 But, Beula, your home, your lot, aye, your all 
 Are here exposed to their spite or their call ; 
 Your sire, though fit for the chase or the field, 
 Is much too aged 'gainst the plots they wield : 
 80 come, be secure 'gainst the hounds of night, 
 Within our lines with your sire wait the right: 
 Remember, your ev'ry voice and your dream 
 Have echoed humanity's new regime ; 
 Such patriotism they damn with the curse 
 That bodes grave danger to mortal averse: 
 So hazard not here the lust of their hate ; 
 The passions of war grow flagrant of late : 
 
 let me escort you where you shall see 
 The wise beneficence of liberty : 
 Remember the murder of Jane McCrea — 
 
 1 beg of you, come, be off, let's away." 
 " O Tyrlow, my heart is craving to go 
 
 - Not from the fear of the desperate foe — 
 But solely because my love and my trust 
 Are circumscribed in the thoughts you adjust." 
 Now Beula replies, " But father is far, 
 And I 'm his hope like the mariner's star : 
 I must await his coming, and his need, 
 For his are hardships — mine, comforts decreed. 
 O Tyrlow, I feel like angel on High ; 
 My nerves respond to the spir'tual sigh, 
 Indigenous to the glow of this land, 
 When your appearance considers command : 
 The moment your presence graces these haunts 
 My soul grows doubly raptuous — at once. 
 O that this vision of consciousness sweet 
 Might live into being 'gainst time's conceit ! 
 O spirit, of destiny, mock and curse 
 The evils that would my glory reverse ! 
 What Heavenly ordination is mine — 
 Mine as the flavor of the sparkling wine! 
 O that this ecstacy might live for ay — 
 That earthly existence be but love's play ! 
 But Tyrlow, beware : the uniform fit 
 For God's own warriors they scoff at and spit, 
 And menace with torturing blight of doom 
 The ev'ry effort your vigils presume : 
 
8 
 
 " The leer of the Mohawk methinks I see 
 
 In evidence next each bush and each tree : 
 
 The gathering shadows of night confirm 
 
 My ev'ry conception of fear in term : 
 
 The whispering witchery of the deep 
 
 Is fashioning destiny's reach and sweep: 
 
 The voice of some spirit invests my soul 
 
 And dares to defy e'en reason's control : 
 
 My vision of romance conserves its sigh, 
 
 But dreams of the morrow lisp love's reply. 
 
 So come, Tyrlow, now bid me adieu ; 
 
 My pray'rs I tender — my trust you hold true ; 
 
 Each syllable masks like mirror of time 
 
 The heart-racking pangs of duty sublime; 
 
 The sacrifice of each vow of our plight, 
 
 If needs be so, must countenance the light 
 
 That reconciles ev'ry whim of the heart 
 
 With dawning humanity's pulse and start. 
 
 But come, be off; the solitudes of night 
 
 ISTow jeopardize ev'ry function of sight : 
 
 The patriot caught so close to their camp 
 
 Is subject for chill eternity's stamp: 
 
 So, Tyrlow, begone — let your sinews speak 
 
 Your 'legiance to freedom — the all we seek : 
 
 And yet, believe me, I 'd have you remain — 
 
 Remain where my eyes might feast at love's fane: 
 
 But go — O give me your spirit's adieu; 
 
 let me now feel your heart's sacred brew." 
 " Beula, my soul is charged with the flame 
 That dares to challenge death's vigil or aim." 
 Now Tyrlow replies: " While life 's in the clay 
 The call to freedom like dawning of day, 
 Together with love's aroma divine, 
 
 Endows my spirit with faith's ev'ry sign, 
 And goads my very existence to stake 
 The hazards of destiny as they break : 
 The thrills of glory and bruises of war 
 Ar e but the side-lights to love and its score: 
 The all-creative Genius from Above 
 Ordained His masterpiece in sacred love. 
 But, Beula, I know the demands of time, 
 
 1 comprehend fate's distempers in rhyme ; 
 I'll fashion my mission and arm my cause, 
 That I may study their strength and their flaws ; 
 I '11 enter their lines and glean their display, 
 And judge the morale of their ranks and sway. 
 

 
 " But e'er the morrow's conceptions grow dim 
 
 I '11 reappear to respond to love's whim, 
 
 To soothe the bosom of angel of earth, 
 
 To answer her blessings of trust — and worth. 
 
 O Beula, your lips speak the spirit dream — 
 
 The dream that beggars earth's grandeur supreme 
 
 O let me impress the seal of glory, 
 
 The touch of Heaven's tried rhythm in story; 
 
 'Tis life's true message of honor in vow, 
 
 The prophecy sung from innocence' ■ brow. 
 
 O let me treasure the warmth of your soul — 
 
 Yes, give me the kiss that whispers control : 
 
 The prefume a-flourish with airs of time, 
 
 The charms of nature in fragrance sublime, 
 
 Ay, even the breaths from the realms on High 
 
 Are as naught to the spell of your sweet sigh. 
 
 Ye saints above ! ye spirits of the light ! 
 
 Come, let me not know earth's weakness or blight - 
 
 But let me transcend the garb of the world, 
 
 Unstring my senses — be vision unfurled. 
 
 O Beula, my love, let your lips again 
 
 Refresh my spirit — and raptures ordain. 
 
 Ye hounds of the night ! I question your sway ; 
 
 My blade is the friend no specters dismay ; 
 
 'Tis tried and true, and each menace you flaunt 
 
 Must comprehend witchery's ev'ry haunt. 
 
 sacred jewel of love and of life, 
 Acknowledge again as my promised wife 
 The depth and fervor of Heavenly bliss, 
 The pledge of eternity in your kiss." 
 
 : ' Take heed, O Tyrlow," now Beula replies, 
 " The skulking fiends are about in disguise; 
 The mission you hazard like leer of death 
 Is bargaining for the blasting of breath ; 
 And ev'ry purpose, attendant on chance, 
 Adjudicates mischief in terms of trance — 
 The trance that seems to subsidize the mind, 
 Yet wakens misgivings of fear in kind. 
 I'd have you challenge the sleuths of the North, 
 But not single-handed — their bands start forth : 
 And yet 'tis meet that our cause and its creed 
 Should frustrate their strategy, check each deed. 
 Yes, yes, O Tyrlow, your mission, though rash, 
 
 1 dare to confirm, however fears clash ; 
 My spirit asserts its dominance now, 
 And confidence grim envelops my brow ; 
 
10 
 
 " The ugly terrors of death and its mask, 
 — The phase humanity is wont to ask — 
 The weird illusions of fancy unstrung, 
 And ev'ry distemper of sense or tongue 
 We dare to reckon with, nay, more, defy — 
 The vision of freedom rebukes each sigh ; 
 The call to sov'reignty, patriots' gage, 
 Must brook no trifling — nor dangers allege. 
 take of my soul life's function and trust — 
 Let ev'ry hope of the morrow adjust 
 The villainous whispers of crude despair, 
 That hearts' resolve be in touch with the air. 
 O may the blessings of Master on High 
 Attention your efforts and charge your eye ! 
 And may His vigils accredit your steel 
 And sanction the role your instincts reveal ! 
 O Tyrlow, adieu — farewell, till we meet ; 
 The dream of my soul like Heaven's conceit 
 Is hushed in the flourish of morrow's zest. 
 Wherein our triumph must utter God's test. 
 soldier of Providence, let me feel 
 The sacred allegiance of love's appeal ; 
 Let worldly professions of duty stay — 
 O for an instant — my spirit's at bay: 
 O breath of my hopes, O god of my pride, 
 Establish the destiny dreams confide — 
 Assure my faith with the pledge i f your kiss. 
 I'm feeling the tempest of love's mad bliss : 
 
 wild is the craving that tears my heart — 
 
 1 know not consciousness' curbing or smart ; 
 The pulsing of life's ambitions receipts 
 Not now the glories my longing completes ; 
 The raptures of Heaven debauch my brain, 
 And I'm all-faithless to liberty's fane; 
 
 I'm wont to challenge the mission you crave — 
 But, no — O Tyrlow, I'll try to be brave ; 
 I'll shackle the tremors that rack my frame, 
 And consecrate ev'ry wish of your aim : 
 O bid me adieu — yes, yes, that my lot 
 May not respond to the evils un thought — 
 That wandering apprehensions of fear 
 May stultify not my vision grown clear. 
 Adieu, my Tyrlow; yes — yes, and again: 
 O merciful God! Thy sov'reignty train. 
 And succor his vigils and bless his path 
 And balk the menace of demons of wrath. 
 
11 
 
 '• Away, crude heritage of woman's lot — 
 Ye whimsical tears! my spirit is taught. 
 O Tyrlow, adieu ; your love and your creed 
 Shall buoy up my soul — no grievance I plead ; 
 let me sip the fragrance of your lips : 
 Adieu — O adieu! my courage equips." 
 
 V. 
 
 She watches his form fade into the deep, 
 The solitude where grim witcheries sweep ; 
 Xo whisper of sympathy stirs the gloom, 
 The blend of silence seems fresh from the tomb ; 
 She casts about for the voice of the night, 
 The voice that should promise her faith its sight. 
 But all is mystery, untouched of life, 
 And destiny's specter blasphemes the strife; 
 No pulse of spirit communion affirms, 
 Nor breath of the land adjudicates terms: 
 The vested assurance of love, howe'er, 
 Refutes: the beggarly fancies of care; 
 And ev'ry whim suspicion would borrow 
 Seems lost in the vision of the morrow. 
 Her eyes are straining at fate and its aim. 
 Invoking the sov'reignty time dares claim : 
 The stars above and the thickets anigh 
 Reflect the intelligence mind must pry; 
 The speechless imagery nature endows 
 But mirrors eternity's sacred vows. 
 However, yon Hudson tenders its cheer, 
 Responsive to prophecy's atmosphere, 
 And like the confidence new born of love 
 Its lisping vigils voice reason Above; 
 The hallowed waters their triumph of trust 
 Proclaim 'gainst solitude's menace and lust. 
 An impulse startles her heart and her pride — 
 She'll dare all hazards, and be at his side : 
 But, no — her father, protector when life 
 Was but as naught in the world's ugly strife. 
 Must soon return from his journey afar — 
 r/'erchance a victim of the greed of war. 
 She scans the waters, but glory's regime 
 Is sealed in the sighs of the wistful stream : 
 Her rich dark coloring of brow and cheek 
 Reflects the constancy her love dares speak ; 
 
1: 
 
 A spiritual beauty lights up her eye, 
 
 Like somber radiance borrowed from High. 
 
 The menacing tents of royalty loom 
 
 From out the distance like specters of doom ; 
 
 And ominous mutt' rings wake from the North, 
 
 Like destiny's challenge wandering forth. 
 
 The rhythm of nature yawns sacred and sweet, 
 
 Suggestive of worldly grandeur in treat, 
 
 While yonder mirror like the garb of time 
 
 Attests no function of evil or crime : 
 
 But Beula's bosom is heaving less free, 
 
 And her lips now part as spirit in plea; 
 
 She stares at the desperate tents afar, 
 
 She questions in vain the echoes of war; 
 
 An air of anxiety garbs her brow, 
 
 And confidence seems to flourish not now ; 
 
 A vague apprehension startles a tear, 
 
 And sighs attention love's mastery near ; 
 
 The fixed resolve of her mind is at bay, 
 
 While heart's deep sovereignty bespeaks its sway ; 
 
 The incidents brewed from the womb of night 
 
 Protest in vain their promise to her sight ; 
 
 Each moment seems charged with dangers anew. 
 
 And fancies unholy profane her view ; 
 
 The ugly vicissitudes of the gloom 
 
 E'en circumstance fate's distempers abloom ; 
 
 She begs of the fastnesses some return, 
 
 Indicative of her Tyrlow's sojourn, 
 
 But all is the heaviness of the grave — 
 
 No whim of witchery pretends to rave: 
 
 'Tis nigh the hour when the vigils of dream 
 
 Are pregnant with mystery's weird regime; 
 
 She turns to her cabin of sacred fold, 
 
 Fast by where the waters of Hudson mould : 
 
 She shuns the thickening visions of fear 
 
 Within its sheltering comforts sincere; 
 
 Upon her couch like an angel from High 
 
 She whispers love's faith, however her sigh ; 
 
 The vague misgivings of doubt and of dread 
 
 Are hovering o'er like phantom outspread ; 
 
 Her trust responds inviolate and true, 
 
 But apprehensions grow vivid and new ; 
 
 Now desperate feelings refute the brain, 
 
 And haunting shadows her spirit profane — 
 
 Now fixed resolve repudiates the tear, 
 
 And love's proud consciousness questions e'en fear 
 
13 
 
 The hours grow chill 'gainst the bosom of hope, 
 And over-wrought nerves seem clotted of scope ; 
 She prays to the Master of life on High, 
 And craves indulgence of Heaven's reply, 
 But sleep, creation of the rhythm of life, 
 The breath Divinity vouchsafes 'gainst strife, 
 Is fingering now like gauze of the soul 
 Each mirror of spir'tuality's role ; 
 Her frail young form and her senses are blest 
 With slumber's mirage of glory in test, 
 And vested vitality, sung, of faith, 
 Is garbed in sacred quiescence of breath. 
 Eternity's fragrance is not more sweet 
 Than the hush of her spirit in conceit. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Xow thrice the dominant bosom of time 
 
 Has nursed its conscience in the dawn sublime, 
 
 And vitalized ev'ry promise of life, 
 
 Despite the heritage of hate and strife: 
 
 The eloquence of the muse of the World, 
 
 Like shading of prophecy new unfurled, 
 
 Is voicing humanity's creed in plea, 
 
 And freedom's aroma wakes fresh in fee : 
 
 The grandeur of nature invests the air 
 
 With ev'ry blend and delicacy rare 
 
 Of righteousness and the purpose divine 
 
 Of man's true harmony — brotherhood's sign : 
 
 The mad ambitions of royalty sleep, 
 
 Or else are blasted by destiny's sweep; 
 
 The grand bewitching canopy of mora 
 
 Now mirrors cessation of frenzied scorn, 
 
 Exemplifying the genius of peace, 
 
 As when Creation first flourished in lease. 
 
 But, list! yon waters seem questioning fate, 
 
 As doubting the glory of morn's estate: 
 
 The cadence of day's soft witchery sighs, 
 
 And wandering whispers now compromise; 
 
 The menacing silence seems charged with l|ife, 
 
 And solitude sulks while tremors grow rife. 
 
 But see, a stranger, uncouth in his mien, 
 
 ISTow starts from the depths and crosses the scene 
 
 And stealthy his tread and shifty his eye, 
 
 As challenging time's credentials anigh ; 
 
14 
 
 Now this way, now that, with anxious concern, 
 
 He searches each haunt, he questions each turn ; 
 
 The witching ravine and the waters still 
 
 Appeal in vain to the quest of his will. 
 
 " O God !" he bursts, " the vengeance of the brand 
 
 Has clone its fury like Hell in command; 
 
 The stalking specter of doom is abroad, 
 
 And life's own heritage is cursed — outlawed; 
 
 The sanctuary of Heavenly worth, 
 
 The shelter of all my glory of earth, 
 
 The home of my bride, is blasted and gone, 
 
 And these cold ashes but mock at death's yawn ; 
 
 The venomous savagery of mad hate 
 
 Proclaims in this the promise of its state. 
 
 O eloquent ruins! your plea is writ 
 
 Where sacred humanity trains its wit: 
 
 The Master Spirit of the realms on High 
 
 Is not unmindful of the crimes anigh. 
 
 Bui Beula — my Beula! O where is she? 
 
 O merciful Angels answer my plea ! 
 
 Ye infinite Beings ! O give me hope 
 
 That yet she lives, let my vision have scope ; 
 
 O let me not b'lieve that these ashes curse 
 
 The ev'ry delicacy breath dared nurse, 
 
 Her Heavenly grace, her saintly reserve, 
 
 Her charm and tenderness — life and nerve. 
 
 The waters sing on their anthems of faith, 
 
 But my soul is racked with fear's ugly wraith : 
 
 The painted demons in orgies of rage 
 
 Have dared to beggar iniquity's page : 
 
 And murder — and worse — they've gloried in here: 
 
 O God a-mercy ! is my bride anear ? 
 
 O give me some circumstance that my love 
 
 Is safe from the villainy they approve, 
 
 And that she breathes in her 1 consciousness proud 
 
 The spirit of freedom that flouts fate's cloud. 
 
 O all-seeing Providence ! grant my pray'r, 
 
 [nvesl my reason with 'telligenee rare, 
 
 The 'telligenee that interprets the deep, 
 
 That I may read this mystery in keep. 
 
 T must not allow my thoughts to get thick, 
 
 My vigils must triumph, my blade 's not sick : 
 
 The voiceless pines in their solitude loom 
 
 Like fingers of Nemesis flaunting doom : 
 
 Some whisperless pulse infringes my mind 
 
 And tenders assurance of trust in kind, 
 
15 
 
 " Accrediting soul's conception divine, 
 
 The promise of vows that challenge death's sign. 
 
 O see, a print ! "lis of human — and frail ; 
 
 Yes, yes — another ; alas, 'tis a trail ! 
 
 O God it leads to the waters fast by ! 
 
 But is 't my Beula '( dare I b'lieve mine eye ( 
 
 O mystic clairvoyance of subtle charm, 
 
 Enlighten my vigils — my fears disarm ! 
 
 O can it be she is slumbering now, 
 
 And the hush of the deep smoothes down her brow ? 
 
 And all her dreams of the morrow are o'er, 
 
 And all her glory is shattered of score ? 
 
 Her sacred allegiance to life and love 
 
 Eternity seals in the blight from 'bove ? 
 
 O ! torture my senses no more, damned fate ! 
 
 I'll not believe the evidence in trait. 
 
 The hours grow heavy ; my spirit 's at bay ; 
 
 The cravings of love grow wild in their sway ; 
 
 Each haunt is charged with visions of my bride, 
 
 But naught accredits her wandering wide ; 
 
 The vested, conceptions of hope grow cold, 
 
 And sorrow is menacing mind's own hold ; 
 
 The fastnesses of grim nature refuse 
 
 The ev'ry turn of my reason for news, 
 
 And seem to mock at my helpless despair. 
 
 Rebuking the consolation of pray'r : 
 
 The pangs of certainty methinks are less 
 
 Than tortures of fears' misgivings in guess. 
 
 The day is waning ; the fragrance of morn 
 
 Is bastardized in the shadow of scorn ; 
 
 The veil of mystery like drowsing time 
 
 Is flourishing down eternity's rhyme, 
 
 And ev'ry intimation of the day 
 
 Is sealed in the perfidy of fate's play. 
 
 But. list — a. voice ! And plaintive in its wail ; 
 
 But solitude triumphs like doom's detail: 
 
 From yonder bosom of waters it broke, 
 
 But night's distempers the challenge revoke: 
 
 Methinks 'twas Beula's — yes, yes, as I swear! 
 
 But doubly faint — too faint to charge the air. 
 
 But stay, behold ! a canoe steals abroad, 
 
 Like apparition down the realms of fraud ; 
 
 It grows from the depths of witchery's haunt, 
 
 And ev'ry wish of my spirit's in want; 
 
 It fades away o'er the waters of gloom, 
 
 And toward von shore where royalists loom. 
 
10 
 
 " O God ! a feeling — I know not its kind — 
 
 Is waking my consciousness from the blind, 
 
 And thrilling my ev'ry sinew and nerve, 
 
 Confirming the vision I'm loth to serve ; 
 
 My soul 's aflame with the love and the faith, 
 
 New born in the whispering of night's wraith ; 
 
 Vitality challenges fate's regime, 
 
 And life's true impulse responds 'as in dream. 
 
 O, dare I think that the stealthy canoe, 
 
 Coincident with this feeling in brew, 
 
 Is pertinent to my mission of love, 
 
 And that its destiny ordains my move? 
 
 The spell is dominant, and goads my brain 
 
 Like visitation of frenzy in rein ; 
 
 It seems to defy the limits of mind 
 
 Like shadow of medium unrefined. 
 
 By God ! I'll answer it, even if Hell 
 
 Is editing ev'ry touch of the spell: 
 
 I fain would challenge the whispers so weird, 
 
 But ugly despair my craving has smeared ; 
 
 I know not if aught of evil is nigh ; 
 
 However, I'll credit the witching sigh : 
 
 Ye militant voices of doom ! I come ; 
 
 The hazards of the night seem out of plumb." 
 
 VII. 
 
 So saying, he plunges and breasts the wave, 
 
 Like one who mocks at a watery grave ; 
 
 He rides rough-shod the bosom of the deep, 
 
 And mans the current, his mission to keep ; 
 
 The lisping waters seem to urge him on, 
 
 As though half conscious of the vows in pawn : 
 
 Each menace that speaks in the scowl of fate 
 
 But flourishes false to nature's estate, 
 
 And night's extravagance like zeal accurst 
 
 Is bastardized in the shadows reversed. 
 
 But onward he rides, .aud his steed proves true, 
 
 And his are the spurs the current pursue ; 
 
 The fixed resolve of his will is in range, 
 
 And ev'ry sinew is keyed to the change; 
 
 The lamps of limpid immensity burn 
 
 Like beckoning vigils of sacred turn ; 
 
 While wand'ring zephyrs soft reveries plead, 
 
17 
 
 Indulging the lisp of angels decreed, 
 
 And soothing psalms of the genius of hope 
 
 Bequeath their confidence like breath in scope. 
 
 Indeed, he welcomes the struggle, the chance, 
 
 And up the flood of the waters' advance ; 
 
 And now he studies the haunts next the shore, 
 
 And tries to confirm the vision before; 
 
 The tangled brush and the woods stultify 
 
 His ev'ry effort — but his thoughts reply ; 
 
 The pregnance of destiny flaunts in vain 
 
 Its cursed mockery of witching strain : 
 
 He searches each fastness with eye and soul, 
 
 But gloom's distempers yawn deep in control ; 
 
 He craves the vigil of the saints above, 
 
 And begs the blessing of the God of love; 
 
 He goads his spirit, and he reads the deep, 
 
 But naught confesses the fate that's asleep. 
 
 From yonder camp where the royalists gage 
 
 Anew tlie glory of history's page 
 
 There wander the smothered echoes of strife, 
 
 The muffled thunder of the curse of life. 
 
 The militant specter of sinewed steel 
 
 Is ciphering ev'ry stir of night's weal, 
 
 As back and forth in his sov'reignty grim 
 
 He studies the shore and solitude dim. 
 
 But Tyrlow observes the sentinel's range, 
 
 While faith's surveillance grows eerie and strange 
 
 Unholy vicissitudes mock at breath 
 
 And whisper the weird forebodings of death: 
 
 But vested conceptions of love divine 
 
 Repudiate ev'ry purpose malign. 
 
 He hazards approach to a hidden cove, 
 
 And stealthy his daring as shadows move: 
 
 The rippling waters sing their hymns of cheer, 
 
 And ev'ry promise assures his career. 
 
 But what was that ? was it rifle's mad growl ? 
 
 Or challenge of Hell's extravagance foul ? 
 
 It rent asunder the garb of th e night, 
 
 And spit its frenzy like destiny's blight : 
 
 The stillness becomes all pregnant with crime, 
 
 And incidents waken the voice of time; 
 
 'Tis as the onslaught of doom in its hiss, 
 
 And death is the specialty of its kiss. ■ 
 
 But Trylow stops short — and his brow is torn — 
 
 And life's sacred ooze like shadow of scorn 
 
18 
 
 Is clotting his vision, and blasting Hell 
 
 Is gloating in all its cursedness fell : 
 
 He grabs at the water, and madly so, 
 
 But all seems vain as the fancies below ; 
 
 He twists and turns as in agony wild, 
 
 And fate and its vengeance seem reconciled ; 
 
 He struggles and clutches at ev'ry wave, 
 
 But chance seems foul 'gainst the yawn of the grave ; 
 
 He's drifting ail-aimlessly with the flow, 
 
 And life's expression seems fatal in glow : 
 
 The ev'ry conception of hope grows faint, 
 
 And eye's proud spirit is charged with the taint : 
 
 The grip of destiny is tight'ning fast, 
 
 And consciousness grim seems alone in cast : 
 
 The sweet, rich fragrance of love and of faith 
 
 Is gone to its doom like evil's foul wraith. 
 
 O God ! he sinks — yes, he's gone — all is o'er ; 
 
 Eternity's veil wafts his breath before; 
 
 The hush of Heavenly slumber is his, 
 
 And ev'ry ache of the World is amiss. 
 
 But stay, O now see! again he appears: 
 
 Ye Angels of mercy, forget your tears ! 
 
 Now this way, now that, he turns and he twists, 
 
 The spark of his soul refusing death's mists : 
 
 His spirit absorbs from the sacred deep 
 
 Some inspiration 'gainst evil's dark sweep : 
 
 But onward he drifts, his sorrows forgot, 
 
 Existence alone prescribing his lot; 
 
 The waters half seem to buoy up his soul, 
 
 Despite the dragnet of doom in control : 
 
 The desperate flutter of grim despair 
 
 Espouses again life's creed and its care: 
 
 The triumph of blasted hope is a-dawn, 
 
 But doom's vicissitudes forswear the spawn : 
 
 The heavens on high are lowering fast, 
 
 And fate's wild shadows are cursing the past. 
 
 His senses as yet are palsied and blind, 
 
 But spirit is slowly charging the mind ; 
 
 He seems to arouse from his mortal ache, 
 
 And ev'ry pulse is as dream in its wake; 
 
 His struggles now shade into purpose grim, 
 
 And he studies each shore, but all is dim ; 
 
 He stares and he stares, but all is a blank. 
 
 The waters alone his confidence thank ; 
 
 The reins of consciousness are tight'ning fast, 
 
19 
 
 And eye's proud faith is as prophecy's cast ; 
 
 His hope asserts its privilege supreme, 
 
 While heart's prerogative, love's holy dream, 
 
 Is manifest in the vigils divine, 
 
 That flourish in spiritual pulse and sign. 
 
 He hesitates to abandon his course, 
 
 For soulful promptings are gathering force ; 
 
 His feelings interpret poor Beula's fate, 
 
 And dreadful visions her sorrows relate; 
 
 He knows the fiendishness of Mohawk rage, 
 
 Likewise the passions and lust of the age; 
 
 The awful misgivings like torture grim 
 
 Invest his spirit' and challenge doom's whim. 
 
 Again he starts for the haunts of yon shore, 
 
 Obeying the voice of the soul once more; 
 
 But all his efforts, though sinewed supreme, 
 
 Seem heavily weighted like life in dream ; 
 
 And each conceit of the resolute will 
 
 Now flashes in vain its dominant thrill. 
 
 But list! the curse of destiny again 
 
 Spits mystery's growl in hissing profane: 
 
 'Tis sentinel's challenge ; and Tyrlow's cheek 
 
 Is scratched by the missile of lightning streak. 
 
 O, must he abandon his mission here, 
 
 Submit as the cowardly wretch of fear — 
 
 Defeated — humiliated — and curst ? 
 
 Yes; all this — and more: consider the worst. 
 
 Consult with the terrible fancies brewed 
 
 From out the 'nitiative of love's mood, 
 
 And realize ev'ry craving and start 
 
 As but hysteria's function in smart: 
 
 While Beula in all her innocence now. 
 
 However her fate, seems torn from his brow. 
 
 The promise of heart's sweet fragrance and breath 
 
 Is blasted and racked like the mask of death. 
 
 But Beula abandon \ O God forbid ! 
 
 The dreams of his soul refuse to be hid : 
 
 Ee listens to ev'ry voice of the deep, 
 
 And begs for the hope her spirit would keep. 
 
 He swears by the sov'reignty of this life, 
 
 However the challenge of war's grim strife. 
 
 By ev'ry vow of his faith and his creed, 
 
 By all the whispers of spiritual plead. 
 
 By ev'ry blessing of the God on High. 
 
 By ev'ry flourish of Heavenly sigh, 
 
20 
 
 And by the promise of angels above 
 
 To be triumphant in the game of love. 
 
 The call to freedom and righteousness grand, 
 
 In all the sanctity of hope's command, 
 
 That beckons each patriot's nerve and brain 
 
 To nullify tyranny's bastard reign, 
 
 Asserts anew the purpose of life's vow, 
 
 And challenges ev'ry shade of his brow : 
 
 'Tis dominant as the breath of the air, 
 
 And all-creative of visions most rare, 
 
 The visions that dare to inflame the soul, 
 
 To 'stablish humanity's sacred role. 
 
 His spirit responds, and consciousness sore 
 
 Obeys the beckoning, howe'er the score. 
 
 The desperate goading of love yet sways 
 
 His ev'ry feeling, but will is in phase; 
 
 He comprehends now the creed 1 of the mind, 
 
 The heritage of man's wisdom defined, 
 
 And liberty's vigil in terms of faith 
 
 Repudiates destiny's haunting wraith. 
 
 He steadies each effort of life anew, 
 
 Abiding the menace of time's review: 
 
 He makes for the shore, resigning the trail, 
 
 But resolute that his pledge shall not fail : 
 
 Yet slowly he turns, .as balking at doom, 
 
 While mystery's license shades deep in gloom : 
 
 The hell-charged solitudes now mock his pride, 
 
 And' flout ambition's conceptions aside, 
 
 Like sloughing distempers' or blighting breath, 
 
 And nature's promise seems the blend of death : 
 
 His sinews grow weak, the strain of the role 
 
 Is 'ginning to rack the grip of his soul ; 
 
 The sway of his vitals is on the wane, 
 
 And spirit assurance appears profane ; 
 
 He struggles .and struggles, but yet afar 
 
 The shore seems dizzy — and painful his scar; 
 
 His strength and his glory are failing fast, 
 
 While nerve's grand stamina is clotting east; 
 
 The voice of his consciousness rings yet true, 
 
 But each fresh effort is as dragnet new : 
 
 'Tis as the yawning of evil's abyss, 
 
 Where ev'ry conceit vows 'ternity's kiss. 
 
 O, must life's vigil be closed in the shroud — 
 
 The bosom of waters so true and proud ? 
 
 And must the incidents of mortal ken 
 
21 
 
 w4 sealed in the witchery of night's pen ? 
 And this the goal of the genius of youth, 
 Where freedom and love are the dregs, forsooth ? 
 The 'nitiative of destiny grim 
 Is fashioning here its travesty dim : 
 It seems to summon the shadows of doom, 
 That life and its glory might now illume. 
 But Tyrlow refuses to yield the ghost, 
 For vested existence yet flaunts its boast ; 
 He twists and turns in the throes of despair, 
 And flounders madly devoid of hope's care; 
 The call of his spirit appears now stale ; 
 The phantom of the deep unfolds its veil. 
 O all-wise Providence ! endow 7 his sway, 
 Invest his soul with the the breath and the play 
 Of life's recuperative master) 7 , 
 Revitalize consciousness and its plea ! 
 But see — he startles like one from a dream ; 
 And blasted sinews — exhaustion's regime — 
 And shattered spirit and vital decay 
 Shake off the lethargy — the soul 's in sway : 
 The touch of some sweet whisper from Above 
 Has kindled anew 1 the spark of his love, 
 And fired the flame of the fervor divine, 
 Imbuing vitality's rhythm in fine. 
 He mans the merciless challenge of fate, 
 And rides the waters like triumph in state : 
 He shakes the smothering curse of the world 
 From off his spirit — and glory 's unfurled : 
 A flourish of confidence lights his brow, 
 And ev'ry instinct seems dominant now : 
 The crude paralysis exhaustion nursed 
 Is sealed in the ritual doom rehearsed. 
 The shore grows bold, and the flush of his breath 
 Rebukes the beggarly specter of death. 
 But see ! his efforts start wild in extreme, 
 Like spirit's collapse 'gainst destiny's scheme ; 
 He paws at the waters, he grabs at space, 
 He clutches at shadows of fancied grace ; 
 He struggles and craves for air — and for air; 
 The last, worn vigils of nature seem bare ; 
 His sinews no more respond to his gage; 
 Despair is clotting the dream of his rage ; 
 The boasted sov'reignty of soul 's at bay; 
 The mocking vengeance of the night 's in play: 
 
22 
 
 The demons of Hell are hissing their cheer 
 
 A ii< I cursing the unctuous breaths anear. 
 
 Alas, for the shore ! O God ! can he win I 
 
 Can racked existence balk death and its grin I 
 
 O can he accomplish the goal ere doom 
 
 Sniffs out the spark that's flickering in gloom? 
 
 The sacred mystery of life in clay, 
 
 The spirit pulse and its vision of day, 
 
 The sweet aroma and fragrance of love, 
 
 The blessing Divinity nursed Above, 
 
 The function of righteousness and its creed 
 
 And ev'ry promise the morrow would seed — 
 
 Are done for — and o'er ; he's sinking — and fast ; 
 
 Eternity's hush is soothing the past ; 
 
 The heritage of existence is o'er — 
 
 God ! lie makes it — the shore, O the shore ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The rasping of steel in its wildest rage, 
 The flashing of lightning's vengeance in gage, 
 The spitting of Hell's malignancy foul, 
 The cursing and gnashing of fiends a-growl. 
 The frenzy of musketry charged with hate, 
 The death-dealing hiss that stultifies fate, 
 The spit of venom in flourish of doom, 
 The mad distempers of malice abloom, 
 The groans of the struggle of life and death. 
 Of tyranny's challenge 'gainst freedom's breath, 
 The onslaught of squadrons in wild assault 
 Like visions of sleep that mock at world fault, 
 The desperate stealth of the bands of Hell, 
 The steel-shod vigils of savagery fell, 
 The fixed battalions that hurl back the charge 
 And flaunt defiance to hirelings at large, 
 The screech of the rifle, the cannon's roar, 
 The blasted sinews that tension no more, 
 The shattered brows of the torn and the ill, 
 The dreamless sleepers who answer no thrill, 
 The patriots true to the trust from High, 
 The warriors the God of the Eight would try, 
 The grip of despair, the pulse of the soul, 
 The sway of the spirit that flouts control, 
 The gasping sobs and the echoes of life. 
 
23 
 
 The fatal hazards of the gag© of strife 
 
 And ev'ry challenge of steel against steel, 
 
 However grim destiny shapes its weal, 
 
 And ev'ry indulgence of frenzied spite, 
 
 — All, all are hushed in the witch'ry of night. 
 
 Burgoyne and his nourishing bands .of fate 
 
 Are shattered and broken like i dJ*al<ptyofsrate. 
 
 From out of the North like tempests they broke, 
 
 But only to menace royalty's, yoke ; 
 
 For liberty's grievance like ocean's heave, 
 
 Egged on by tyranny's torments in weave, 
 
 Was crystallized in the rage of despair, 
 
 And tore asunder the hirelings of care. 
 
 The sov' reign ty of the faith of the soul, 
 
 In terms of righteousness, freedom's proud role. 
 
 Repudiates ev'ry 'legiance and creed, 
 
 Begotten of caste's presumptions, indeed : 
 
 The voice of humanity, true to life, 
 
 Responds in the challenge to mortal strife 
 
 'Gainst ev'ry sham and artifice of man 
 
 By active defiance in deeds and plan. 
 
 O sacred the pregnancy of the mind 
 
 That dares conceive like vision of the blind 
 
 The 'heritance of the spirit regime, 
 
 And makes existent grand liberty's dream. 
 
 The tried stampede of patriot glory 
 
 At Freeman's Farm has echoed its story, 
 
 And royalty's dignity and its sway 
 
 Is shattered and done for — the brain 's in play. 
 
 But, see; a scout of the patriot kin 
 
 Is wandering far like a waif in sin: 
 
 He's drifting away from the field of gore, 
 
 And trespassing where the solitudes score: 
 
 The desperate garb of the night yawns foul, 
 
 But on he flourishes, nor recks doom's scowl : 
 
 Though wounded and torn he gages his path 
 
 Like destiny's specter defying wrath: 
 
 Away to the west and the north he turns, 
 
 And charged with some purpose the mind unlearns: 
 
 And through the brush with the stealth of the snako 
 
 Responding to naught of desperate ache. 
 
 The spirit that challenges hazards mad 
 
 Ts not with normal humanity clad, 
 
 But fashioned in mystery's hope and faith, 
 
 And fed with the vision that scorns earth's wraith. 
 
24 
 
 The pulse of his being now seems to wear 
 
 The garb divinity would fain prepare: 
 
 The flash of his eye betokens some suit, 
 
 Some mission 'gainst fate's unholy repute: 
 
 Though scarred his brow, the sanctity of pride 
 
 Seems 'terpreting nights distempers awide: 
 
 Then, too, his blade and his rifle austere 
 
 Attention the trust his vigils revere: 
 
 He seems to commune with essence of air 
 
 In spirit revery, untouched of care; 
 
 For worldly vicissitudes, brewed of night, 
 
 Debauch invain the fervor of his sight: 
 
 And now he's lost in the shadows of gloom. 
 
 The solitudes yawn one echoless tomb: 
 
 The bastard conceptions of Hell now flaunt 
 
 Their ugly witcheries like death in want. 
 
 But who this wand'rer so purposed of eye ? 
 
 And wherefore his mission so lonely nigh ? 
 
 Some recreant villain who preys on chance? 
 
 Or some crude innocent soothing mind's trance ? 
 
 Or soldier of sorrow in grim despair ? 
 
 Or scout interpreting royalty's scare? 
 
 The fathomless wilds of the woods now grin, 
 
 With devilish mockery, garbed in sin, 
 
 At man's assumption of confidence grim, 
 
 And sneer at the consciousness of his whim : 
 
 They flout the fatuousness of his creed 
 
 And stultify ev'ry promise a-seed. 
 
 The charms of the soul experience blight, 
 
 And prophecy's vision forgets its light: 
 
 The weird oblivion of fate and time 
 
 Is yawning adown eternity's rhyme: 
 
 The flourish of incidents of the world 
 
 Is sealed in the destiny night uncurled : 
 
 The sov'reign.ty of the myst'ry of life 
 
 Is hushed in the pregnancy of night strife, 
 
 And all the vital ^assurance of breath 
 
 But seems to whisper the menace of death. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The sacred bosom of Horicon heaves 
 With tender emotion — nor sighs nor grieves ; 
 The waters seem charged with the glow of morn, 
 
:!5 
 
 And life's inheritance awakes new born : 
 
 The voice of nature is lisping its psalm 
 
 Of infinite mystery, grandeur's balm, 
 
 From out this mirror of romance and love, 
 
 Like spir'tual breath in dream from above: 
 
 The challenge of man with his spite and greed 
 
 Not now distempers these haunts, indeed ; 
 
 Nor seems in evidence his cursed role, 
 
 Of strife, of vengeance, of royal control : 
 
 The specialized wantonness of blind zeal 
 
 Is hushed in the fragrance of time's appeal, 
 
 As sung through nature's intelligence sweet, 
 
 And proud humanity assumes to treat. 
 
 The genius of the clime rebukes distrust, 
 
 And ev'ry charm of the autumn seems just: 
 
 The annals of sorrow forget their gloom, 
 
 And worldly despair is garbed in hope's bloom : 
 
 The air is charged with the bouyancy life 
 
 Would fain accredit unconscious to strife : 
 
 The vision-fed wisps the heavens create 
 
 Half seem to smile, reminiscent in state, 
 
 As down the canopy of blue they stray, 
 
 Like whispering angels in sacred play. 
 
 The waters of Horicon blend in strain 
 
 And flourish the prophecy faith would gain; 
 
 They plead the cause and eloquence of peace. 
 
 Reviewing the memories dreams increase; 
 
 They 'terpret the incidents of the past, 
 
 The grim vicissitudes of mortal cast. 
 
 And instance the halo-like bloom of trust, 
 
 That life and its creed might slough off strife's lust. 
 
 The dark rich pines, credentials of an age 
 
 When mental vision was blind to hope's gage, 
 
 Now seem to challenge the petty conceits 
 
 And empty grievances royalty treats., 
 
 As but the mockery of malice crude. 
 
 The weird delusions of a brainless mood. 
 
 But stay, yon thicket is trembling adeep : 
 
 Some mystic intelligence beggars sleep; 
 
 It shadows the sacred blend .and the charm 
 
 Of haunt's creation like evil a-warm. 
 
 Alas, 'tis a squaw — and ugly of mien : 
 
 And through the brush like witchery obscene 
 
 She measures the stealth of her cat-like stride. 
 
 And trips unerringly the depths awide; 
 
26 
 
 She studies each turn and follows the shore, 
 
 Till solitude's fastness looms weird afore: 
 
 And now within the bosom she is lost — 
 
 But no, the meshes seem false to the boast ; 
 
 For see, a dugout-like hovel appears: 
 
 And crude as some dungeon of heart-racked tears 
 
 She seems to sniff at the air of the place, 
 
 As though suspicious of the woods' embrace ; 
 
 She 'preaches the hovel like shade of death, 
 
 Rebuking the buoyancy of life's breath ; 
 
 She takes the fastening from off the door, 
 
 And crosses the threshold like curse a-score. 
 
 But what's the mystery, and why her stealth '. 
 
 The haunts of solitude reveal their wealth. 
 
 Or hers the cognizance of crime's foul sway \ 
 
 Or else the lot of fugitive at bay ? 
 
 But stay — O God ! What's this about the floor ? 
 
 Some infamous savage, some wretch a-sore? 
 
 'Tis stirring within the blankets unclean. 
 
 O merciful Angels observe its mien! 
 
 'Tis slight of form, with a countenance fair — 
 
 Yes, yes — a maiden ! O soul of the air ! 
 
 How proud her features, how sacred her charm, 
 
 How tender the touch of spirit alarm ! 
 
 What blend of beauty sequesters the glow 
 
 The breath of life seems fashioned below ! 
 
 The dark rich coloring of youth warms deep, 
 
 But some distemper is mocking life's keep: 
 
 The role of menacing shadows of doom 
 
 Or racking sorrow is charging the gloom. 
 
 Her raven tresses, disheveled and free, 
 
 Half challenge the vigils of destiny, 
 
 And flourish their confidence and their worth, 
 
 However the witchery of the earth. 
 
 She scans the creature of ugliness nigh, 
 
 ISTor is there blinking or twitching of eye ; 
 
 But flashes of grim determinate pride, 
 
 Of spirit aversion like dream astride 
 
 Attention her ev'ry consciousness now, 
 
 Investing the sanctity of her brow. 
 
 But see, some whispering vow of her soul 
 
 Is 'terpreting faith's assurance and role: 
 
 Her lips transcribe in the promise of hope 
 
 The loyalty of her genius in scope. 
 
 " O God of Mercy!" she pleads in her thought, 
 
27 
 
 " Is this the glory and dream of my lot ? 
 
 Am I foredoomed like vermin of the clay 
 
 To know existence in a dungeon gray ? 
 
 O what is my crime ? Or am I some slave 
 
 Whose heritage is despair to the grave? 
 
 O Infinite Spirit from High, look down 
 
 And answer my craving for life's renown, 
 
 For liberty from, this hovel of gloom, 
 
 Where ev'ry moment flaunts the curse of doom ! 
 
 O give me the air where the voice of hope 
 
 Is pregnant with righteousness, love's fond scope, 
 
 And let me breathe of the balms of this clime, 
 
 Where sacred humanity throbs in rhyme ! 
 
 O Mother in Heaven, restore my sight 
 
 And let me enter the kingdom of light, 
 
 The realm of freedom, the home of the soul, 
 
 That I may credit life's blessing in role! 
 
 What desperate fancies invest the brain 
 
 And clot the vision when miseries strain ! 
 
 How ugly the mad distempers of fate, 
 
 That shadow the consciousness dreams elate ! 
 
 My ev'ry conception of hope and faith 
 
 But seems to functionize mockery's wraith. 
 
 O Tyrlow ! Tyrlow ! O where are you now ? 
 
 O spirit of ev'ry hope I avow, 
 
 Of ev'ry vision my senses ordain, 
 
 .Must I submit to the evils profane? 
 
 And must I languish in this prison cold 
 
 Till dread eternity palsies life's mould ? 
 
 Must spirit allegiance bend to this wretch, 
 
 Whose slimy humanity hell might sketch ? 
 
 And must I welcome the smiles of her lord, 
 
 The Tory scoundrel who claims me as ward ? 
 
 O Tyrlow ! my love ! respond to my call — 
 
 Undo the shackles that rankle, enthrall — 
 
 Endow my reason with glory's new dawn 
 
 And vitalize love's sweet fragrance a-yawn — 
 
 Encourage the fortitude of my pride 
 
 And let me comprehend evils astride — 
 
 O whisper the sanctity of your vow, 
 
 And all these shadows are gone from my brow. 
 
 Alas ! .all 's vain : my pleadings and my trust 
 
 Seem doubly insipid 'gainst fate's weird lust: 
 
 No wand'ring visionary from afar 
 
 Would dare these haunts 'gainst the terrors of war. 
 
23 
 
 " I must submit to the whims of his will 
 And credit the promise he'd fain fulfill — 
 The unctuous promise of Tory zest, 
 And 'terpret the ritual he'd suggest: 
 I must forget my Tyrlow and his cause; 
 I must forsake proud freedom and its laws — 
 Yes; and for what? For a beggarly dream, 
 Whose ev'ry function is as hell's regime. 
 
 sleepless Angels from the realms on high! 
 If I dare .answer and yield to his lie, 
 Debauch and destroy this reason of mine, 
 And blast my consciousness with curse malign ! 
 Yes, Tyrlow, I swore to be true and free; 
 
 1 pledged to you my spirit and its f ee ; 
 
 I gave you my love and its all of breath — 
 I'll be your bride to the shadows of death." 
 Now all is silent, no murmur is nigh ; 
 The waters alone sing their lullaby: 
 She stares at vacancy with eyes aflame, 
 As though to challenge grim destiny's aim : 
 The tears are trickling, and they seem to plead 
 Humanity's sacredness gone to seed : 
 The morbid vicissitudes of her mind 
 Seem growing quiescent in grief refined : 
 The heritage of proud beauty is hers, 
 However the mystery time defers; 
 She seems the goddess of constancy now, 
 And all is stilled in the triumph of vow. 
 The squaw a-squat in yon corner ignores 
 The soul-laden sighs the stillness devours. 
 But stay, the door now creaks, it opens wide; 
 A stranger appears, and stealthy his stride : 
 His rifle and blade the hunter suggest, 
 But ominous glances bode mind's unrest. 
 "Your patriotism, proud maid, I admire; 
 'Tis charged methinks with divinity's fire." 
 The stranger essays, in a. blend of tone 
 That seems suggestive of effort o'erdone. 
 " Your loyalty in its grandeur of aim 
 Is like the flow'ring of dawn, and its claim 
 Must ever be sacred 'gainst war's mad game: 
 And ev'ry function of your spirit creed 
 Seems vibrant with sanctity's faith, indeed. 
 'Gainst ugly marauders and villains foul, 
 However grim destiny flaunts its growl, 
 
29 
 
 " I'll tender your care and credit your plea, 
 And see you safe as the bird of the tree : 
 I know not the wish of your heart in trust, 
 But conscious I am of war and its lust, 
 And your sweet innocence and charm of life 
 Would be as naught in the maelstrom of strife : 
 So be assured, till the law of this clime 
 is re-established and reason 's in rhyme. 
 This hovel though mean is doubly secure 
 From savagery's stealth or stragglers less pure; 
 And ev'ry confidence your pride approves 
 I'll hold 'as sacred, however fate moves." 
 
 " Your seeming professions of though tfulness 
 Are but the mouthings of empty address." 
 The maid replies, " Your purpose and your zeal 
 Are manifest in the promise you deal. 
 I crave no succor from you or your squaw, 
 Nor recognition from royalty's law : 
 The heritage of this land and its creed, 
 The God-given sov'reignty life dares feed, 
 The glory of freedom, I feel, and now, 
 However the shadows engross my brow ; 
 Its ev'ry conception invests my soul, 
 And dissipates tyranny's blind control : 
 The dawning of prophecy's gage I see, 
 Where ev'ry function of the heart is free, 
 And where humanity mocks at despair 
 And flourishes in the balms of the air, 
 Inaugurating the grandeur of hope 
 In terms of righteousness, liberty's scope." 
 
 " The merciful God from His throne on High," 
 The stranger replies, " responds to your sigh 
 And guards your ev'ry vision and your faith 
 'Gainst war's distempers, however doom's wraith. 
 I tender my vigils in sacred mood, 
 Not unctuous promise or platitude, 
 And function sincerity and its vow 
 In all the manliness of mortal brow. 
 The wand'ring insurgents have sold their cause, 
 And women alone are balking the laws : 
 The riffraff rabble of vagrants proclaim 
 For anarchy in humanity's name, 
 And flaunt, defiance to God and the King, 
 Indulging in orgies like fiends a-wing: 
 And women of maudlin temper approve, 
 While innocent maidens but shun each move. 
 
30 
 
 " The patriotism and ardor of pride, 
 
 The sweet humility your dreams confide, 
 
 And all your warmth of spirit and of grace 
 
 But meet with sneers from the whelps of this place. 
 
 And you profess allegiance to their creed, 
 
 And stultify Providence in your deed ? 
 
 And you would dedicate anarchy here 
 
 And drench in Mood life's sanctity and cheer?" 
 
 " Your rambling conception of liberty 
 And every whim of your reason in plea 
 But certify to the spleen of your soul, 
 In recognition of royalty's role." 
 The maid replies. " But freedom and its breath 
 Shall flourish in triumph 'gainst fate or death. 
 The noblest specimens of manly worth, 
 The creatures Divinity gaged at birth, 
 Proclaim the heritage of world glory, 
 The righteousness freed from allegory, 
 The brotherhood of the spirit of man, 
 And these .are the lands where God and His plan, 
 Through patriot prowess, works out the right, 
 Rebuking the sway of royalty's might. 
 The sacred airs from yon heights seem to curse 
 Each kingly witchery and creed and purse, 
 And beckon to grand humanity's start, 
 To realize aspirations of heart. 
 But where is my father, and how 'd he die ? 
 Come, answer my question, nor flaunt the lie. 
 'Tis well you shadow your consciousness now 
 In menacing perfidy of the brow : 
 But God in His infinite wisdom metes 
 True punishment to man's crimes and conceits. 
 Then,, too, what charity goaded your heart 
 To burn my home like the fiend of hell's chart ? 
 What sweet humility fashioned your brain 
 ^ To give me this dungeon to soothe my pain ? 
 What tender emotion engrossed your soul 
 To vest my heritage in squaw's control ?" 
 
 " 'Tis true, your father is sleeping the rest 
 Eternity fashions at doom's behest." 
 The stranger replies. " But war and its spleen 
 Forgets humanity's sacred routine: 
 The desperate Mohawks I held in hand 
 Broke loose and silenced your father's command : 
 And 'gainst such savagery I brought you here, 
 
" To guard, to champion your every fear : 
 I beg your confidence that I may feel 
 Relieved of the guiltiness of war's deal ; 
 I pray your 'telligence to grant me grace, 
 To ease my conscience and light up my face : 
 O 1 do not disfigure your bloom of life; 
 Let brows be hallowed, not clouded in strife; 
 And let me know that your heart and your breast 
 Approve of the hope my vigils attest." 
 
 " I know not your purpose, but if it's love, 
 The p^lsy of death with its curse above 
 Shall bastardize ev'ry pulse of my soul, 
 Ere I succumb to its mocking control," 
 The maid replies. " The vengeance of the mad 
 I'll beckon to flourish, howe'er it 's clad : 
 The blight of this dungeon with all its gloom 
 Is sweeter to me than the thoughts you groom. 
 My life and my vows I hold as a pawn 
 To him, my Tyrlow, whose smile is my dawn : 
 The incidents of the world and its harm 
 I dare to defy, I live in his charm : 
 The flash of the death-dealing bolt from high 
 I'll challenge, if Tyrlow suggests the try. 
 Affianced patriot, warrior of God, 
 I here donate the spirit of the sod, 
 The sov'reignty of the breath of this life, 
 That you may triumph in the call to strife ! 
 O Angel of Destiny ! blast — destroy 
 The squadrons of steel the tyrants employ, 
 And let me know that the halo of morn 
 Confirms to my soul the freedom new born." 
 
 " Your Tyrlow, proud maid," the stranger replies, 
 " Is hushed in the prophecy of his sighs ; 
 For now he sleeps where the fingers of time 
 Adjudicate on frail memory's rhyme: 
 On yesterday's field he fought and he died — 
 The heritage God conferred as his bride." 
 
 " You lie, you treacherous Tory ! you lie !" 
 She quickly replies. " The blend of your eye 
 Is as the whim of some monster of night, 
 Ingratiating but only to blight ; 
 And ev'ry instinct your spirit applauds 
 But 'nitiatesi perfidy with its frauds. 
 0' infinite Father ! now hear, I swear — 
 My Tyrlow, alive or dead, with God's care, 
 
32 
 
 " I'll verify 'gainst the savagery fell, 
 
 That fouls these lands like the demons of hell! 
 
 Yes. villain of the North, you've killed my sire — 
 
 You've blasted my home like vengeance afire — 
 
 You've thrown me here in this dungeon of grime, 
 
 Like desperate wanton of vice and slime, 
 
 Denying me e'en the fragrance of air, 
 
 And mocking with perfidy life's last care — 
 
 And now you're suing for confidence sweet — 
 
 O God of justice my curses complete ! 
 
 let retribution be awful .and quick, 
 
 L?'ke hush of destiny soothing the sick ; 
 
 Let palsy's distemper invest the brain 
 
 And rack the consciousness with mortal pain; 
 
 Let all the torments of hell and its blight 
 
 Destroy existence, however its right; 
 
 Let mad destruction, repudiate now 
 
 The ev'ry function of royalty's brow, 
 
 And shatter the hirelings, the whelps of fate, 
 
 Who crave submission to tyranny's state; 
 
 Let ev'ry breath from the maelstrom of doom 
 
 Be charged to blast their deviltry abloom ; 
 
 And let the thunders and the bolts from high, 
 
 The storms of heaven of death-dealing cry, 
 
 And all the torrents of the deep proclaim 
 
 Destruction to royalty and its fame!" 
 
 " You've played your role, and admirably, too, 
 Now mine's the trump, and your curses you'll rue." 
 He slowly replies. " Your spirit shall learn 
 The sanctity of the 'legiance I yearn, 
 And your conceptions of royalty's cause 
 Shall be but as slur to God and His laws: 
 Ere morrow's aroma thrice sanctions gloom 
 You'll read your destiny, let time illume: 
 So, squaw, be vigilant — your life shall pay, 
 If she escapes me, so mettle your sway." 
 
 X. 
 
 The Tory 's off down the wilds of the shore ; 
 The squaw holds sov'reignty afore the door: 
 The waters of Horicon seem to sigh, 
 As though responsive to sorrow's weird cry: 
 The lengthening shadows of twilight grow, 
 
33 
 
 And solitude, tenders its touch of woe: 
 
 ]STo air of sacred humanity pleads, 
 
 But all is charged with the menace of deeds; 
 
 No pulse of sympathy, no trust, no faith — 
 
 The spell of these haunts is as doom's fell wraith : 
 
 The night grows heavy, .and the wisps of fire 
 
 ISTow start the depths of heavens, and high'r ; 
 
 The heritage of the dawn with its smile 
 
 Is garbed in the imagery of gloom's guile. 
 
 But say, what of her, the dungeon's fair form, 
 
 Think you she'll weaken 'fore destiny's storm ? 
 
 She's at the window like prisoner now, 
 
 And ev'ry bar seems a curse to her brow ; 
 
 She sees the waters of Horicon nigh, 
 
 But all .are still to the quest of her sigh — 
 
 The mystic lisping of the depths seems o'er, 
 
 The shadows of glory forget their score — 
 
 The sacred traditions of warriors bold 
 
 But echo in vain the memories cold : 
 
 She seems to forget the hovel, yes, all; 
 
 Her eyes well thick, but her spirit 's in call; 
 
 Her bosom is heaving all true to pride, 
 
 And nerves respond like the gage of love's bride: 
 
 She studies the witch' ry of wilds a near, 
 
 But naught contributes one fragrance of cheer: 
 
 The wilderness flouts her ev'ry concern, 
 
 The hollow mockeries of night e'en spurn: 
 
 As well some desert where the role of death 
 
 Is tempting the wand'rer, to blast his breath ; 
 
 Or ocean's mad wave where life and its zest 
 
 Is blasted and shattered, a wreck unblest. 
 
 But list, she's praying. " O merciful God ! 
 
 Is Tyrlow asleep, and wrapped in the sod ? 
 
 Are all his visions and his vows of love, 
 
 His sacred ambitions and dreams thereof 
 
 But as the flourish of morrow's conceit, 
 
 The faithless conceptions the shadows greet? 
 
 O let me not b'lieve that he's gone — he's dead — 
 
 And earth, cold earth is a-clot o'er his head ? 
 
 Come, give me some promise, some pledge of hope, 
 
 That I may live in the glories that ope, 
 
 The glories of love, of freedom, of trust, 
 
 And with my Tyrlow the sorrows adjust. 
 
 T must not think it — O no, 'tis) not true — 
 
 O God approve of the thoughts I review ! 
 
34 
 
 " But, can it be so ? O Angels on High. ! 
 
 Proclaim to my heart grim destiny's cry, 
 
 Interpret the vigils of gloom .and fate 
 
 And let me realize the fears that wait. 
 
 But, if 'tis so, if my Tyrlow is gone — 
 
 If hope and its heritage, love's fond pawn, 
 
 Is blasted and done for, then let the night 
 
 And all its tortures and evils and blight 
 
 Tear out the consciousness of soul and brain, 
 
 And shatter vitality's ev'ry strain: 
 
 The future and all its visions a-trance, 
 
 The grandeur of life and the faith it chants 
 
 And all the sacred assurance and creed 
 
 Of mortal blessing — but wither and bleed: 
 
 The morrows of earth are as breaths of doom, 
 
 Where each stray whiff is as palsy abloom. 
 
 But first, I must learn that his brow is cold, 
 
 That 'ternity's hush sequesters his mould: 
 
 And then — but what ? O spirit of the dream, 
 
 The dream I've credited as life's regime, 
 
 Tone up my confidence, that I may stand 
 
 The awful agony >at grief's command ! 
 
 And then — I swear it ! each breath of this clay 
 
 Shall consecrate 'gainst the world and its way 
 
 The vows of his love, the grace of his soul, 
 
 Till death's weird specter aserts its control : 
 
 And yon brute Tory shall never profane 
 
 Nor e'en once question the trust I'll maintain. 
 
 But till the palsy of doom and its clot 
 
 I swear my 'legiance to Tyrlow — and lot!" 
 
 She manifests now no init'rest, no care; 
 
 Her thoughts seem merged in the myst'ry of air : 
 
 And now she sobs and she sighs and she grieves, 
 
 And her heart beats quick and her bosom heaves : 
 
 She seems to live but. in imagery's gage, 
 
 For prison existence forgets its page: 
 
 And now she turns from the window and seeks 
 
 The miserable couch whose spell bespeaks 
 
 The reminiscence of sorrows untold, 
 
 And her lips grow set as a statue's cold: 
 
 She recks not the garb of destiny grim, 
 
 But steadies her nerve 'gainst doom and its whim : 
 
 The soothing beams of the moon now appear, 
 
 And tender their whispers 'gainst morbid fear, 
 
 Encouraging with their eloquence true 
 
35 
 
 Her ev'ry vigil 'gainst doubt land its brew : 
 
 Her thoughts are with her affianced, and night 
 
 But typifies constancy's rhythm aright: 
 
 And now she prays for his glory, his life, 
 
 And for his triumph 'gainst tyranny's strife: 
 
 The mocking incidents of fate are past, 
 
 And all seems hushed in the air of her cast: 
 
 She prays, and she prays, and consciousness now 
 
 Is 'ginning to yield the vigil of brow; 
 
 And slumber's .aroma steals o'er her breath, 
 
 And fashions her spirit like film of death, 
 
 Disintegrating each sorrow and sigh, 
 
 Yet consecrating each vision a-nigh: 
 
 She sleeps — and beauty's divinity tints 
 
 Her ev'ry expression in innocence, 
 
 Suffusing the grandeur of life's conceit 
 
 With Heavenly faith, and in dreams complete: 
 
 Ah, yes — she sleeps ; and the bloom of her soul 
 
 Reflects the penciling, of love's control. 
 
 XL 
 
 'Tis midnight now, and the shadows of doom 
 Grow doubly desperate, and scowl and fume: 
 A nerve-racking dreariness stalks abroad, 
 And solitude beggars the realms of fraud : 
 Intemperate sighs start Horicon's breast, 
 Like whispers of evil flaunting night's jest: 
 Disheveled specters of witchery grim 
 Peer forth from the depths like ogres in whim : 
 The heavens grow pregnant iand 'gin to groan, 
 And weird distempers now flourish full-blown : 
 The eery mutterings of fate yawn deep, 
 And violate ev'ry fastness asleep: 
 Now desperate hissing rides down each breath, 
 Usurping the whims of the gage of death ; 
 And blinding flashes of lightning accurse 
 The ev'ry promise the moments rehearse: 
 The lanterns eternity fixed on high 
 Are lost in the thickening of the sky, 
 And wand'rer's heritage, the beacon true, 
 Is snuffed and done for, nor flickers anew : 
 The thunderbolts rack the hovel, the sod, 
 And tear the balsams like evil rough-shod, 
 
3G 
 
 Stampeding the ev'ry creature of night, 
 
 And goading the adder to sudden fright: 
 
 The scowling heavens now vomit their slime, 
 
 And spit their frenzy like cauldrons of crime — 
 
 The madd'ning torrents of wind and of rain 
 
 Sweep on like some wild deluge of the main, 
 
 And lash the staggering wilderness here, 
 
 And flout existence with its pledge of cheer : 
 
 The troughs of the infinite depths rage on, 
 
 And awful disturbances heave and yawn : 
 
 The storm grows wilder, the fangs of despair 
 
 Refute the prophecy nature would share ; 
 
 And ev'ry pregnane© of hope and its lot 
 
 Is as delirium of mind distraught : 
 
 The maelstrom of destiny, foul of sway, 
 
 Flaunts not its savagery of spleen in play 
 
 More ugly than elements of the air; 
 
 And awful tremors unbosom doom's fare: 
 
 The witching ravines and the heights fast by 
 
 But seem to aggravate the storm's deep cry: 
 
 The flood-gates of terror, too, froth and steam. 
 
 And life's conception is as fen's far gleam : 
 
 Xow mingled jeers of derision and spite 
 
 Wake out of the depths of the madd'ning night, 
 
 As though the fiends of the clouds curse this clime, 
 
 In furtherance of destruction and crime. 
 
 But, stay — what shadow presumes to wander? 
 
 What specter of evil dares to ponder? 
 
 'Tis as some earthless spirit of the deep, 
 
 As on it stealthily fashions its sweep: 
 
 It trespasses down the wilderness wild, 
 
 Defying the storm like some angel child ; 
 
 Yes, into the heart of the tempest it strays, 
 
 Accepting the challenge despite doom's craze: 
 
 The solitude seems like an open book, 
 
 For onward it trips, nor balks at a nook : 
 
 The great unfathomed thickets of despair 
 
 ISTow ope their mystery, fate's garb is bare: 
 
 The flash from on high but seems to assure, 
 
 In its awful grandeur, these depths secure : 
 
 The clouds are pursing their sulphurous brows, 
 
 And awful gnashing hell's vigil avows. 
 
 But on and on the shadow is stealing, 
 
 Like skulking savage, scarce night revealing; 
 
 It studies no path, it begs no suspense. 
 
37 
 
 But steady and sure like spirit of sense: 
 
 Now out of some ugly ravine it looms, 
 
 But only to challenge the wilder glooms : 
 
 The storm is lashing with, frenzy tenfold, 
 
 But onward it wends, refuting doom's hold : 
 
 The mad artillery of night still roars, 
 
 While ravenous winds accredit death's scores: 
 
 But yet yon form in its wandering now 
 
 Betrays no feature of sex or of brow. 
 
 Perchance, 'tis miscreant bent on some deed, 
 
 Whose desperate reckoning hell decreed : 
 
 Or else some innocent, hollow of brain, 
 
 Who knows not grievance of spirit or pain : 
 
 Or else some refugee, answering hope, 
 
 Coercing existence 'gainst doubts that cope. 
 
 The storm-fury lashes and froths, but nay — 
 
 The shadow prevails, grim fate is at bay: 
 
 The torrents spit forth their venom and spleen, 
 
 But naught debauches the specter's routine: 
 
 And deeper and deeper its trail is gaged, 
 
 And faith's proud rhythm is the blessing unpaged. 
 
 But now the thunders of the depths grow faint, 
 
 The frenzied torrents no longer acquaint 
 
 The demons of destiny to their charge, 
 
 And mocking echoes are merged in night's marge: 
 
 The desperate solitudes of the land 
 
 Half seem to placate the terrors at hand. 
 
 But hush — some voice, some whispering appeal 
 
 Starts forth from the depths — - and human of weal 
 
 Not angel expression invests the air 
 
 More tender of plea, more sacred in pray'r. 
 
 " O infinite God ! interpret my dream, 
 Secure to my soul the hopes I esteem, 
 And let my consciousness throb with Thy grace. 
 That I may contemplate life and its pace! 
 The awful thunders that palsy the brain, 
 Ay, more, the torrents of wind and of rain 
 Are sweeter to me and the thoughts I feel 
 Than sheltering den of royalty's seal. 
 But Tyrlow, my love! where are you now \ 
 I dare to refute the Tory's wild vow, 
 That death and its awfnlness clots your brow: 
 This very night in my sleep at yon den 
 You whispered my spirit, and swore again 
 Undying constancy, and tuned my heart 
 
" To all the ecstasy passion could start ; 
 You charged my sinews and fashioned my mind, 
 You bade me take counsel and be not blind; 
 You signaled the star of the West to me, 
 You voiced the prophecy of love's true plea; 
 You credited ev'ry pulse of my faith, 
 You mocked at despair and destiny's wraith. 
 I followed your bidding e'en as I woke, 
 And from the vigils of the squaw I broke 
 While merciful sleep was gaging her eyes, 
 And here I wander, but as yet unwise : 
 The whispers of solitude mock my zeal, 
 And flout as wanton the sorrows I feel : 
 The harrowing fears of savagery grim, 
 The yawning torments of Tory's mad whim, 
 The crude suspicions that gnaw at the sense- 
 When night and loneliness debauch suspense, 
 The vagrant delusions of spirit charm, 
 And all the witcheries of mortal harm 
 Are gathering o'er my confidence now, 
 And mine 's the consciousness the fates endow. 
 O all-seeing Master of love, of life ! 
 Is Tyrlow dead, is he cold to the strife? 
 Must I abandon my mission and trust, 
 The ev'ry promise 'gainst doom and its lust, 
 And here submit to the whelps of the deep, 
 And thank their curses, if my breath should keep ? 
 
 bastard despair, how pregnant your leer! 
 How damnably wicked your death-tuned cheer! 
 How hellish the glee your mastery turns! 
 What, devilish mischief your creed concerns ! 
 
 1 dare not go back — I dare not remain — 
 I must go on, yes, on — nor once complain : 
 The rough underbrush like talons of spite, 
 Too, tears at my eyes and scoffs at my plight: 
 The glory of the world, the pulse, the breath 
 Of soulful confidence that mocks at death, 
 And all the whispering of spirit bliss 
 
 When heart's aflame from the glow of love's kiss, 
 Are seemingly torn from my book of life, 
 And now I drift where the curses seem rife: 
 I wander at random a down the storm, 
 Unconscious at times of the earthly form : 
 My tried vitality now wilts and fades, 
 My nerves are palsied, my spirit parades 
 
30 
 
 " Iu spectral fancy, and! desperate pride 
 Is slowly and surely drifting atide: 
 The tender emotion that buoyed my soul, 
 The Heavenly blessing of faith in role, 
 Is snapping asunder like strand's of steel 
 When seismic grievance flaunts nature's appeal. 
 
 can it be that the dream plays me false ? 
 
 1 can nut think it; it beckons, it calls. 
 
 see! now the star of the West appears: 
 Away, distempers — unsavory tears ! 
 
 The storm abates and the heavens grow deep, 
 And solitude softens the whims of sleep. 
 Yes, Tyrlow, I come. Ye curses of doom. 
 Ye ills of the world, however ye bloom, 
 Are meant for bosoms benighted and frail, 
 Where love refuses to whisper its tale! 
 My Tyrlow still lives — I swear it, O God ! 
 My vision and my faith transcend vile sod : 
 
 1 feel the dominant sway of his soul ; 
 
 My nerves are kindling afresh with control ; 
 
 The smouldering fibers of spirit wake 
 
 And slough off the palsy of mortal ache ; 
 
 My wasted vitality — ■ sinews — all 
 
 ►Start doubly responsive at vision's call : 
 
 The soft gray glimmers of the dawn now steal, 
 
 And mine 's the grandeur of hope and its weal : 
 
 I dare to challenge, repudiate, spurn 
 
 The ev'ry menace the solitudes turn. 
 
 So here farewell, ye memories of fear, 
 
 Ye wilderness of despair now a-smeiar! 
 
 Farewell to yon den of sorrow and wrong ! 
 
 Farewell to royalty's evil in song! 
 
 O hail to the breath of liberty's dawn ! 
 
 And hail tenfold to the glory that's on ! 
 
 O Tyrlow, I come — and Heaven above 
 
 Attest the triumph of the vows of love!'' 
 
 XII. 
 
 She trips now onward with buoyancy true, 
 And ev'ry vigil of her soul starts new; 
 And toward the star of the West she wends, 
 Regardless of menacing shades and ends : 
 The dazzling jewels of the vault on high 
 
40 
 
 Are 'ginning to silver and wane and die : 
 The morn looks in from yon heavens afar, 
 And sniffs at the challenge of mortal war : 
 The doom-laden incidents of the night 
 Are blending their witchery with the light: 
 The rhythm of nature in fervor divine 
 Speaks out in the dawn of promise benign, 
 And wakening whispers of the morrow 
 Indulge no unctuous whim or sorrow. 
 But on she steadies like genius supreme, 
 Rebuking the doubts of danger's regime; 
 The hazards of life but tension her trust, 
 And consciousness scoffs at fate and its lust : 
 She credits the pregnant conceits of time. 
 And ev'ry illusion betrays its rhyme: 
 The varying mockeries of the earth 
 No longer protest grim destiny's worth. 
 The star of the West grows false to the trail, 
 But hers is the purpose that knows not fail : 
 The soul-tearing grievance of night is o'er, 
 And hers is the triumph of heart's sweet score: 
 The grandeur of woman's proud nature spurns 
 The dragnet of wisdom's logical turns, 
 Bui like an electric halo on high 
 It thrills to the love that never can die. 
 Xo wayward timidity balks her zeal, 
 Each pulse of her being rings true as steel: 
 She seems as fixed to the voice from within 
 As the bloom to the rose it saves from sin : 
 Xo errant conception of dream o'erdone 
 Darqs question the faith her senses enthrone ; 
 Nor desperate fancies affront her mind ; 
 There's naught but constancy's imagery blind : 
 And love's omnipotence like rhythm of life 
 Transcends the miseries of earthly strife. 
 Now far and wide with the sands of the glass 
 She tenders her presence — and dangers pass : 
 And now she comes to a whispering stream, 
 Whose waters suggest the spirit's regime. 
 The minist'ring eloquence blest of hope, 
 And w r akening breaths chant mystery's scope; 
 She lists, but the murmurs transcend her soul 
 Like sacred symphony in touch and role: 
 However, the echoes voice trust supreme, 
 And confidence smiles as the ripples beam. 
 
41 
 
 She follows the strains of the crystal sighs, 
 
 And each avowal reflects in her eyes ; 
 
 She traces her path through fields where the sod 
 
 Half seems to strengthen the pledge of her God ; 
 
 She gathers new inspirations 'gainst doubt 
 
 In wandering whispers now hereabout, 
 
 While soothing notes of the harp of glory 
 
 Repudiate ev'ry dread and worry : 
 
 The pulsings of destiny, grim and cold, 
 
 Seem merged in the fragrance of morn grown bold, 
 
 And ev'ry shadow of sorrow or fear 
 
 Is brushed aside as some blemish austere : 
 
 The mystic divimity love acclaims 
 
 Has fashioned out prophecy's creed and aims; 
 
 So maudlin conceptions of blighted troth 
 
 Forget the sanctity of woman's oath. 
 
 She trips o'er the green like nymph of the stream, 
 
 With ev'ry certainty the thoughts esteem ; 
 
 Accrediting ev'ry charm of the land, 
 
 As incidents flourish at day's command : 
 
 She brooks no weakening, nor falters now, 
 
 But tenders the cognizance of her vow; 
 
 Through ugly woods where the eyes seem undone, 
 
 And into the brush where misery's spun, 
 
 She goads her spirit like angel of faith, 
 
 Rebuking the menace of hounds 1 mad breath ; 
 
 The steady affirmance of mind rings true, 
 
 And now she trespasses, but sinews brew 
 
 No longer that fervor of zest and air, 
 
 Begotten of heart's vivacity rare; 
 
 The vested assurance of love's conceit 
 
 Begins to flag, but her vigils entreat 
 
 Obedience to the voice of the dream, 
 
 However the destiny of its scheme. 
 
 But note, what witchery presumes to foil 
 
 Her sacred sov'reignty adown the soil ? 
 
 What balks the challenge of constancy proud ? 
 
 What baffles her 'legiance like nerves half cowed ? 
 
 Alas, 'tis nature ! Vitality's bond 
 
 Is strained to the full, and shadows respond 
 
 Where glory's heritage was wont to tint 
 
 The ecstasies sung in spir'tual print: 
 
 Anxiety's seriousness yawns deep, 
 
 And confidence tensions its fervid sweep ; 
 
 The buoyancy of her soul in its phase, 
 
 The charge of the spirit, the faith, the praise, 
 
 Are slowly yielding to the whims of life, 
 
42 
 
 Where vital energies forget their strife: 
 
 Her steps grow feeble, her efforts are sore, 
 
 And ev'ry goading of the will seems o'er : 
 
 The promise of hope still beckons her quest, 
 
 But earthly vitality wilts unblest; 
 
 The weird mirage of her vision and aim 
 
 Is merged in destiny's function and game: 
 
 Her trust is waning, the garb of despair 
 
 Is clotting her brow in sorrow and care, 
 
 While desperate pride, the voice of her soul, 
 
 Is straining, but vainly, to gage the goal : 
 
 Exhaustion is mocking her ev'ry sway, 
 
 And misery's trials debauch the day : 
 
 The augury of grim fate is ahead, 
 
 And all her vows are as whispers unsaid. 
 
 A blasted fir now succors her glory, 
 
 And forms her couch 'gainst the ills that worry; 
 
 And deep within next a thicket of gloom, 
 
 Fast by where waters seem lisping to doom, 
 
 She yields to nature and its stern decree, 
 
 While wandering fancies usurp hope's plea: 
 
 Her ev'ry vigil is drowsy and dull, 
 
 And stealthy incidents her thoughts annul : 
 
 Her consciousness thickens, her eyes grow faint, 
 
 And ev'ry pulse of her core shows the taint. 
 
 Yes, sleep, the infinite drug to the soul, 
 
 The soothing essence that fashions life's goal, 
 
 Ts wafting its sacred aroma now, 
 
 Ljike twilight's imagery, about her brow, 
 
 And disillusioning the pangs of grief, 
 
 While reconciling her purpose in chief. 
 
 An air of divinity, charged with faith. 
 
 Suffuses her features and charms her breath. 
 
 Proclaiming the triumph of spirit love, 
 
 However the earthly conceits thereof. 
 
 The warmth of Heavenly eloquence speaks 
 
 From out the innocence that tints her cheeks, 
 
 And blesses her dark rich beauty and grace 
 
 In all the glory of an angel's face. 
 
 Her lips like portals to the world of hope 
 
 Attention the rhythm, the tenor, the scope 
 
 Of nature's surveillance, and cares divine 
 
 Respond in the flourish of dreams benign. 
 
 The fragrance of sweet eternity glows 
 
 Afore the sanctity of love's pure rose, 
 
 And vital pulsations of nerve and heart 
 
 Are but the Eolian notes that start. 
 
43 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The garb of day's expectancy borrows 
 
 The pregnant illusion of the morrows. 
 
 And twilight's mystery like film of fate 
 
 Is menacing ev'ry haunt and estate : 
 
 The fitful activities of the mind 
 
 Seem merged in the lethargy of the blind, 
 
 And earthly ambitions of human pride 
 
 Forget the strenuousness of their stride : 
 
 The stealthy gathering of gloom yawns deep, 
 
 And serious solitude, gaged to sweep, 
 
 Is smothering ev'ry phase of the land, 
 
 "While vast immensity's glow-worms expand. 
 
 Yes; twilight's shadows are focusing low, 
 
 And night's weird witchery but mocks time's How 
 
 The queen of the heavens rides down the east, 
 
 Revealing the challenge the depths released : 
 
 The sacred traditions and deeds of love 
 
 Are bastardized in the stillness above: 
 
 No vestige of man now functions his spite, 
 
 Nor flaunts his defiance to mask of night : 
 
 The hollow misgivings of hope and faith 
 
 Are cursed in the scowl oi destiny's wraith : 
 
 And ev'ry prophecy of mortal brain 
 
 But whispers perdition's unholy strain. 
 
 But stay, O see, yon thicket is alive ! 
 
 It throbs responsive to mystery's hive ; 
 
 It beggars the touch of solitude grim, 
 
 And flourishes with hell's mischief or whim: 
 
 Unholy specimens of mortal clay, 
 
 Two wand'ring shadows of desperate sway, 
 
 Xow start into view, like whelps of the deep. 
 
 And challenge the mastery of night's sweep : 
 
 Their rifle and blade, all gaged for the breath. 
 
 But whisper the reveille of cold death : 
 
 They study each turn, they sniff at the air, 
 
 And scrutinize ev'ry thicket threadbare, 
 
 As following some queer frenzy of mind, 
 
 Or answering infamous vow less blind : 
 
 They question the weird credentials of gloom, 
 
 The sov'reignty time rhymed off in her womb, 
 
 And feel for the pulse of fate and its creed, 
 
 But night's perversity attunes no deed, 
 
 And naught affirms their vigils or their stealth, 
 
 But solitude and its pregnance of wealth : 
 
44 
 
 The genius of evil applauds their role, 
 
 Indulging their ev'ry purpose and goal : 
 
 They 'terpret each echoless sigh about, 
 
 And read new confidence like dream-nursed scout 
 
 From ev'ry haunt and the mask of the sod, 
 
 For hope's conception is the pledge they nod : 
 
 The lisp of destiny, in terms of doom, 
 
 Too, seems to beckon the efforts they groom : 
 
 They scowl and they leer, they crouch and they grope. 
 
 But mystery's garb prevails in its scope, 
 
 And time's vicissitudes appease not now 
 
 The subtlety and the play of their brow: 
 
 The craft of their mission, though charged with spleen, 
 
 Runs counter to earth's abortive routine, 
 
 And clime's proud heritage, the grace of faith, 
 
 Responds in the witchery of night's wraith. 
 
 The distant murmurs of life and of death, 
 
 The challenge of tyranny, mad of breath, 
 
 'Gainst freedom and righteousness and their charm, 
 
 Where rasping steel reverberates alarm. 
 
 But grate as spurious echoes of chance 
 
 .Is 'gainst the promise that sways their advance — ■ 
 
 The call to honor, the plea of the heart, 
 
 Is fouled in the mockery of their start. 
 
 But onward they steal, now cursing the night 
 
 Like demons of hell, or felons of spite; 
 
 And goading each sinew to flout the trail 
 
 They tear each fastness, however cares fail : 
 
 Now into the brush, like adders of slime, 
 
 They fashion their course of mischief or crime; 
 
 While night's distempers prorogue, and with zest, 
 
 The mask of destiny, the gage unblest. 
 
 The heavens begin to shade off adeep, 
 
 And darkness seems clutching at time's grim sweep ; 
 
 The morbid intelligence of the world. 
 
 As uttered in morrow's conceits unfurled, 
 
 Usurps no more the seriousness fate 
 
 Identified iin life's function and state. 
 
 Yes ; night is 'ginning to fade and to wane, 
 
 And nature's assurance, like conscious pain, 
 
 Is tendering readjustment .of tone, 
 
 And incidents welcome the night o'erthrown. 
 
 But see, the wand'rers are lost to the eye, 
 
 And yon dense thicket responds to no sigh; 
 
 The ugly depths but stultify the aim 
 
 Of mortal dominance as fancy's claim : 
 
45 
 
 The eloquence and the purpose of doom 
 Protest in vain 'gainst the waning of gloom ; 
 But naught accredits or comprehends now 
 The drift of their trail, the mask of their brow : 
 The voice of solitude invests the clime 
 While life seems merged in the annals of time 
 The vested stillness of the night 's yet on, 
 But man's perversity is hushed and gone. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ye gods of the deep ! what startles the ear ? 
 What blasts the senses like palsy's career ? 
 What racks the solitude and flouts the deep, 
 Like merciless doom in menacing sweep I 
 What violates ev'ry fastness and turn, 
 Discrediting man and all his concern ? 
 What beggars the consciousness of the soul, 
 Usurping the function of terror's role ? 
 What curdles the reason and clots the brain, 
 Like death's grim message in triumph profane? 
 What flash of the storm-charged fury from high 
 Precipitates here such wail and such cry ? 
 Alas ! 'tis the shriek of anguish — and mad, 
 The burst of some soul most wretched and sad : 
 'Tis harrowing as the torture of hell, 
 And life's last gasping seems rhymed in its spell. 
 
 could it have been the call of some brave 
 In mortal combat, defying the grave ? 
 
 Or some lone wand'rer afar from his path, 
 
 The prey of the wolves' wild hunger and wrath ? 
 
 Or could it have been the curse of some fiend, 
 
 In sneering mockery like adder screened ? 
 
 But all is still — yes, silent as the tomb; 
 
 No mystery flaunts, nor shadows illume : 
 
 The morn is sifting, tho faintly as yet, 
 
 Its sacred aroma o'er t)ime's regret, 
 
 And heavens' deep grandeur like breath divine 
 
 Is softening out gloom's evil malign : 
 
 The etchings of twilight grow bold and free. 
 
 And day's 1 new promise yawns vital in plea. 
 
 But whose was that voice in agony wild. 
 
 Like vow of some spirit unreconciled ? 
 
 1 see, yon thicket awakes from its sleep! 
 
 Tt starts into being like fate's weird sweep ; 
 
4G 
 
 It seems to stagger like creature of life, 
 
 As apprehensive of mystery rife: 
 
 Unholy commotion like phase of doom 
 
 Disorders the rhythm of the mask of gloom. 
 
 Behold! two forms, all desperate of mien, 
 
 — ■ The one of Mohawk activity keen, 
 
 The other of menacing start and scowl — 
 
 Now dominate yonder thicket a-foul, 
 
 And stultify ev'ry grace of the morn, 
 
 Rebuking the fervor of day with scorn : 
 
 They brush aside the sanctity of earth, 
 
 And flaunt their regime of infamous worth. 
 
 But who, or what their mission or their gage? 
 
 What grievance of destiny stirs their rage ? 
 
 But list, now he of the menacing brow 
 
 Responds to the mystery of morn's vow, 
 
 And fashions the visitation of fate, 
 
 And edits the purpose his cares debate, 
 
 In sneering utterance of measured tone, 
 
 Addressing an object of seeming stone: 
 
 k, Aha . ! damned wanton — vile wretch of the night! 
 
 You Ye come to grief like some culprit affright ; 
 
 You Ye run the gamut of a conscience cursed. 
 
 Of a shameless soul with the faith reversed; 
 
 And ev'ry pulse of your consciousness now, 
 
 The heritage of the creed of your brow, 
 
 Is sullied and mocked at as thing unclean. 
 
 And yours is the guilt the gods discipline. 
 
 Yes, desperate maid, your glory we've traced 
 
 Adown the solitudes' unctuous waste, 
 
 Interpreting ev'ry phase of your path, 
 
 While stultifying war's menacing wrath ; 
 
 And ev'ry whim of your being we know, 
 
 But credit not now your sorrow or Avoe. 
 
 You spurned the shelter I tendered to you, 
 
 And spat at the squaw I charged to be true; 
 
 You dared the wilds of this infamous night. 
 
 And triumphed 'gainst storm's mad frenzy and might: 
 
 'Tis meet, therefore, in the language of fate, 
 
 That you return to the haunts of my state. 
 
 What ! you refuse? yon trifle with my word ? 
 
 Then learn, bold hussy, the will I've deferred: 
 
 Where yonder wilds of the ISTortli flout the trail, 
 
 Fntoucned by war's distemper or its wail, 
 
 I '11 soothe your spirit and temper your zeal. 
 
 And fashion the purpose your dreams reveal. 
 
47 
 
 " Your cry to the heavens is but blind pride. 
 
 And ev'ry breath of your nature is wide 
 
 Of serious anguish or true distress, 
 
 But all is the mask of spuriousness ; 
 
 Your feelings, your sorrow, your heart's conceit 
 
 Are but as shadows the senses complete. 
 
 Come, Mohawk, let us vitalize our sway, 
 
 The morn is aflush, with our cares at bay; 
 
 The challenge of doom is apt to rehearse 
 
 From some wild thicket the row of its curse : 
 
 ¥ow study the trail, and each stir relate, 
 
 Lest we repose on the bosom of fate ; 
 
 I'll tender her wants and I'll bless her grace, 
 
 But you, go before and credit the pace." 
 
 XV. 
 
 They wander all stealthily down the land, 
 
 The Mohawk gaging the wilds in command ; 
 
 They scrutinize ev'ry turn of the clime, 
 
 And strain at the whispers of mystic rhyme; 
 
 They flout the sov'reignty of worldly fear, 
 
 While challenging vigils to care austere; 
 
 They subsidize pride's allegiance and creed. 
 
 Indulging the confidence sinews need : 
 
 The grim resolve of the pulse of a brain, 
 
 Well used to menacing shadows profane, 
 
 Confirms the vested conceits of their faith, 
 
 So apprehensions are as fancy's wraith : 
 
 ISTo instance of waywardness balks their sway, 
 
 The grim regime of the spirit 's in play. 
 
 But hold, what startles the rhythm of the morn ? 
 
 What edits the vow of destiny's scorn? 
 
 What shatters the eloquence of this clime, 
 
 The promised assurance 'gainst vice and crime? 
 
 What flashes like curse of vengeance malign, 
 
 Or visitation of hell-laden brine ? 
 
 Alas ! 'tis doom in its maddened excess, 
 
 The reveille functioning time's caress; 
 
 'Tis death's fell specialty venting its spite. 
 
 The witchery of eternity's blight : 
 
 A rifle speaks, and its challenge is deep 
 
 From yon wild thicket like terror a-sweep : 
 
 The stealthy Mohawk now writhes as in pain. 
 
 And he clutches the air, but all seems vaiu ; 
 
48 
 
 He staggers, he reels, but his nerve is spent, 
 The resolute will i$ yielding consent; 
 He bites the earth in the frenzy of life, 
 But consciousness 'gins to forfeit the strife; 
 The agony of vitality's strain, 
 Like storm's wild fury when lashing the main, 
 Is slowly exhausting its mortal rage, 
 And ev'ry breath seems astray in its gage : 
 He's wrapped in the silence grim doom confers, 
 And freed from the world and its ills and slurs. 
 But stealthily now, with a cat-like steal, 
 While studying ev'ry turn and it weal, 
 The other wand'rer retraces his path, 
 Accursing the menace of hell-nursed wrath ; 
 He plunges deeper where the woods yawn crude, 
 Proscribing the trails and the hazards lewd; 
 Now towards the north he picks out his way, 
 Like skulking wolf when ferreting its prey: 
 Each whisperless haunt attentions his eye, 
 But naught avails save the fancies that lie : 
 While armed for the fray, his sinews and nerve 
 Half hesitate 'gainst the dangers that serve; 
 His dormant defiance assures his will, 
 Rebuking the doubts the senses instil; 
 The challenge of the depths, however weird, 
 He must accept, and with consciousness geared; 
 The apprehensions that mock at his pride 
 He must repudiate as whims astride, 
 And ev'ry hesitancy of his trust 
 Responds to the purpose his thoughts adjust: 
 Yes, onward he trips, but stealthy as snake, 
 And curbing each mental shadow and ache: 
 The fingers of death that reach for his throat 
 He brushes aside as menace remote, 
 And ev'ry grievance the thickets endow 
 Seems neutralized in the scowl of his brow : 
 The hours are trespassing, and now they fade, 
 But his is a confidence undismayed. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Halt, by God ! or the infamy of hell 
 Shall minister to your vision — and well ! 
 A voice commands at a break in the deep, 
 And a rifle frowns its pregnance of sweep ; 
 While he 's of hunter apparel and role 
 
49 
 
 Who startles the wand'rer's eye and control. 
 " "What damnable mystery goads your nerve 
 To challenge the destiny wilds reserve % 
 What charges your spirit to trespass here, 
 Where savagery flourishes palsy's cheer ? 
 So come, your purpose, the mission you crave ? 
 Or doom's grim blasphemy shall wake the grave I 
 Away, with your gun ! Five steps to the rear — - 
 Be quick, or death's intelligence shall queer ! 
 Too, what is that form you bosom so close, 
 As fearing the shadows the depths engross ? 
 But give me no perfidy of the heart, 
 Or instant vengeance of the gods shall start ! 
 The cast of your eye, the stealth of your tread 
 Repudiate innocence — come, what 's said?" 
 " This form is mine by the blessing of Him, 
 Who fashions destiny's triumph and whim." 
 The wand'rer replies. " 'Tis that of my wife, 
 Whom I must guard 'gainst the savagery rife: 
 Our destination is her mother's home, 
 Fast by where the waters of Champlain foam : 
 We know not mischief nor evil's address, 
 Nor aught of purpose but seriousness : 
 Our beggarly pride and desperate hope 
 Presiune to challenge these wilds and their scope. 
 I swear by the Spirit of God on High 
 That naught of witchery of mind or eye, 
 Nor furtive conception of. wrong or fraud 
 Profanes the mission my vigils applaud !" 
 " Your ev'ry assertion rings true to life, 
 And well your spirit responds to the strife." 
 The hunter replies. " But whence came you here ? 
 And what allegiance do your thoughts revere ? 
 These villainous depths, with savagery tried, 
 Methinks yawn free to the drift of your stride : 
 Then, too, that form, tho' bosomed 'gainst the call 
 Of fate's distemper, seems to spurn the shawl. 
 Some mystic intelligence, weird and dim, 
 Begins to whisper its pregnance of whim, 
 That now my spiritual function and trust 
 Affirms suspicion, however unjust, 
 And haunting impressions of doubt assail 
 The verity of your speech and your tale. 
 Then, too, what specialty of motive nursed 
 Your Mohawk comrade who 's sleeping accursed ? 
 Remove these inconsistencies and fate 
 
50 
 
 " Acquits your mission, and credits your state. " 
 " I know not the weird misgivings of air, 
 Nor the morbid whispers these depths compare.'' 
 The wand'rer replies. " My course and my zeal 
 Are solely controlled in sorrow's appeal: 
 
 grievous moments that mock at our lot! 
 Her mother lies bleeding with life distraught ; 
 The spark of her spirit perchance ere this 
 Is hushed in the breath of 'ternity's kiss: 
 The deep affliction convulses her frame, 
 And all her nerves are unsettled of aim ; 
 While ev'ry grace of her privacy now 
 Takes on distemper's undisciplined vow : 
 
 No man interprets my fervor of faith 
 
 At love's holy shrine, nor mocks at my breath ; 
 
 The blessings of heart's divinity speaks 
 
 A hundred vows in her eyes and her cheeks ; 
 
 Her sighs and her tears, her sobs and her moans 
 
 Begin to unman — like agony's groans — 
 
 My calloused senses and my hardened heart, 
 
 That now my feelings disorder my start. 
 
 From nigh Schenectady far to the west 
 
 We've held our trail, and at sorrow's behest: 
 
 My 'legiance is to the patriot cause ; 
 
 1 know not royalty's claim or its laws: 
 
 The Mohawk hound was my captive and guide, 
 Whom I enfranchised to fashion my stride. 
 The ugly incidents of fate transcend 
 Our ev'ry assurance of time's amend, 
 And solitude flaunts its menace and spite, 
 While hope's conception is racked as with blight. 
 I'd rather invite the torments of hell, 
 The scourge of doom's own veritable spell, 
 Than verify heart's sore purpose and quest 
 And reason out sorrow's prescriptive test." 
 " But pardon, wand'rer," the hunter replies, 
 1 'Tis not my challenge to tear at your eyes; 
 INTor is it my wish to mock at your fate, 
 iSTor e'en to question affliction's sore state; 
 The spurious echoes that lisp their creed 
 Are but as dream's histeria, indeed : 
 The pulse of your resolute will strikes deep. 
 Conserving the sanctity of life's keep ; 
 And liberty's heritage dares proclaim 
 The mastery of your mission and aim : 
 The terrors of destiny, cold and grim, 
 
51 
 
 " You well confront, as you measure hope's whim: 
 
 But ever the 'nitiative of worth, 
 
 Like benediction of spir'tual birth, 
 
 Affirms the probity of mortal breath, 
 
 When stultifying- the hazards of death. 
 
 'Tis well you honor the vows of her love, 
 
 The fragrance celestial from Realms above; 
 
 For God's own eloquence blesses the plight 
 
 ( )f woman's devotion as life's true light : 
 
 'Tis writ on the page of time — as caressed — - 
 
 That nature with all its grandeur expressed 
 
 Bows down to the breath of love and its creed 
 
 As sung from the heart of woman, indeed : 
 
 No earthly ambition rebukes her faith ; 
 
 No maudlin intelligence flaunts its wraith: 
 
 The visions that wake humanity's soul 
 
 And bloom and flourish 'gainst crime and its role 
 
 Are but the whispers her bosom conceived, 
 
 And righteousness triumphs where'er she's b'lieved. 
 
 But, wand'rer, explain; what heart-racking groan 
 
 Now startles this haunt like torture's deep tone ? 
 
 'Tis not the sobbing of sorrow or grief; 
 
 But more like the pulsing of life in brief : 
 
 'Tis 'gainst some merciless goading of doom; 
 
 Or else 'tis desperate frenzy abloom : 
 
 'Tis like the palsy of terror in spell, 
 
 It chills my marrow, that my thoughts rebel : 
 
 'Tis from heir bosom, and death and its curse 
 
 Is not more awful in its throe averse. " 
 
 " I swear by the constancy of this life, 
 
 By the Spirit on High who stills all strife, 
 
 That desperate grief in its bitter sway 
 
 Is racking her heart's assurance astray !" 
 
 The wand'rer replies. " These moments undo 
 
 My ev'ry effort, and my fears accrue : 
 
 I flout the damnable vision in vain, 
 
 That seems to covet her fenzy of brain : 
 
 It hovers about like doom in its phase, 
 
 And ev'ry pulse of her bosom it sways : 
 
 But these are torturing delays I fear. 
 
 Whose ev'rv touch is as agony near: 
 
 The exigency of cold fate ordains, 
 
 In all the specialty of mortal pains, 
 
 Unceasing pursuance of purpose now, 
 
 Ere night's grim vigils distemper time's brow: 
 
 We must pursue with the stealth of despair 
 
52 
 
 " — -And ere the grip of our spirit 's threadbare — - 
 
 Our onward course 'gainst the fastnesses deep, 
 
 Lest her tried soul be shattered to its sleep. 
 
 So, hunter, farewell; and your noble air 
 
 Shall ever be sacred to mem'ry's care: 
 
 And may the favors of the God on High. 
 
 Affirm the aim of your mind and your eye, 
 
 And steady your spirit in ev'ry strife, 
 
 And further your ev'ry 'enlevement in life!" 
 
 " Farewell," the hunter replies, " aye, farewell : 
 
 And may your journey, like the hopes you spell, 
 
 Be sacred 'gainst menacing scowls of hate, 
 
 And ev'ry evil be as shadow late : 
 
 And may the heaviness that clots your heart, 
 
 The sorrow and grief that palsies life's start, 
 
 Be doubly anointed and bl&st with grace, 
 
 The grace the Master assures as solace. 
 
 But stay, a moment — let me scan her brow, 
 
 That I may mock at the whispers that 'vow 
 
 Unholy allegiance to bastard doubt, 
 
 Defying the eery conceits about ; 
 
 Let me observe her lineaments true, 
 
 ]STot that T covet acquaintance or view, 
 
 But solely to stultify shadows crude, 
 
 To beggar suspicion's insistent mood : 
 
 I crave no comprehension of her mind, 
 
 Tho' premonitions flaunt their charge in kind : 
 
 But I would learn her sanctity of grief — 
 
 So come, unveil, let her features be brief." 
 
 " The privacy of her sorrows of heart, 
 
 The inner pulses that utter hope's start, 
 
 Protest 'gainst ev'ry trespass of your wish, 
 
 And this instinctively in nature's swish." 
 
 The wand'rer replies. " So pardon default, 
 
 For destiny's menace rebukes our halt : 
 
 We should commune with the depths of the North, 
 
 Confronting the savagery gloom brings forth : 
 
 We must respond to the call from afar, 
 
 Forgetting the echoes of hate and war; 
 
 And, too, ere torturing vigils of death 
 
 Sniff out the flickering of life and breath. 
 
 So, friend of the deep, I bid you farewell : 
 
 The fresh distempers of her brain compel." 
 
 " Sir, stay — I command !" The hunter replies. 
 
 'Tis exigency of grim fate grown wise 
 That challenges now your will and your grief, 
 
53 
 
 " And balks the role of your venture in brief : 
 
 The gage of destiny, however bold, 
 
 Must beckon in vain 'gainst the card I hold: 
 
 The mystic whispers seem to grow profane, 
 
 For now they silence the voice of your pain ; 
 
 They seem akin to the touch of a dream, 
 
 Or some far cloud-like surveillance in scheme: 
 
 The claim of vested necessity greets 
 
 Not now the attention my mind entreats : 
 
 So I must scan her lineaments 1 fair, 
 
 And read the verity her features wear : 
 
 I crave no usurpation of your right, 
 
 Nor do I tender annoyance or slight : 
 
 I brook no spurious function of pride, 
 
 For mine's a seriousness doubly tried ; 
 
 The flourishing gravity of grim time 
 
 Is not more loyal to 'ternity's rhyme. 
 
 Come, stand at bay — let me learn of her brow ! 
 
 No wanton fever goads my spirit now : 
 
 Unfasten that cloak — tear away that hood ! 
 
 Remember, these depths ne'er humor man's moi d 
 
 I'll read her features — and promptly, I say ! 
 
 Your path I cover, lest you heed my sway." 
 
 " Sir, God in His infinite wisdom blest 
 
 My special prerogative, faith's true test, 
 
 In ev'ry lineament of her life, 
 
 In sealing our union as man and wife." 
 
 The wand'rer replies. "And she and her grief 
 
 Must know not stranger's surveillance in brief: 
 
 1 must refuse to acknowledge your claim; 
 
 I'm bound by the Master's decree in aim: 
 
 I do not defy the quest of your mind, 
 
 Nor do I affirm the whispers refined : 
 
 I simply respond to the creed from 'Bove, 
 
 The providence present in pledge of love. 
 
 You will not profane the shrine of my faith 
 
 By urging the whim of some dream-like wraith : 
 
 You could not respect my manhood and worth. 
 
 Should I abandan the oath of love's hearth : 
 
 So I but bow to the Will from on High, 
 
 Safe-guarding her spirit from fearsi a-nigh." 
 
 " I comprehend ev'ry pulse of your pride, 
 
 The duties your oath and your cares confide." 
 
 The hunter replies. " But mine is a quest 
 
 No angel from high dares sneer at in jest: 
 
 'Tis free from ev'ry suggestion of lust — 
 
54 
 
 " And damn the grievance that credits distrust ! 
 
 Again, I command — unfasten that hood ! 
 
 The groan is not of sorrow or its mood. 
 
 What! you refuse? By the spirits of hell! 
 
 I'll shatter your ev'ry breath and its spell : 
 
 Come, let me scan her brow — nor answer make; 
 
 Or doom shall utter its curse and its ache : 
 
 The shadow of death in desperate plight 
 
 Is haunting your path like some scourge of night. 
 
 Tear away that veil ! O God ! what is this ? 
 
 And she's your wife ? and her mind is amiss ? 
 
 She 's doubly faint, and her senses seem cold ; 
 
 But grief's deep pallor plays false to her mold : 
 
 Her lines are those of frenzy and of hate — 
 
 I'll learn the truth as her feelings abate: 
 
 She's stirring like one awaking from sleep, 
 
 And consciousness visits like zephyr's sweep 
 
 The pulsing of vital energy now, 
 
 Rebuking the lethargy dreams endow: 
 
 Her eyes are 'ginning to answer life's call ; 
 
 Her bosom is heaving afresh — yes, all. 
 
 One move on your part, and the kiss of lead 
 
 Shall clot your brain with the slime of the dead ! 
 
 Come, fair lady, awake from your sorrow — 
 
 Let grief be sacred in hopes of morrow ; 
 
 Arouse from your stupor and sore distress, 
 
 And plead your purpose, and your thoughts express 
 
 The why and the wherefore your presence here. 
 
 Your destination and your cares sincere." 
 
 " O merciful stranger," she startles now, 
 
 " Let me not gaze on the cast of his brow ; 
 
 His villainous spirit has racked my soul — 
 
 My life and my mind forget their control: 
 
 'Tis true, O I swear! For days he has curst 
 
 My ev'ry craving for the dreams God nursed — 
 
 The vows I hold inviolate to death — ■ 
 
 And now he menaces my hope of breath : 
 
 He sought to dishonor my oath of love 
 
 By torturing heart's conception thereof 
 
 Within a dungeon of squalor and gloom, 
 
 A hovel where hell's damned orgies might bloom ; 
 
 He tore me away from my sacred haunts, 
 
 The home of my father, and mocked with taunts 
 
 My aged sire, his prisoner, forsooth, 
 
 Till death and its palsy condoned the truth: 
 
 He scoffed at. my pray'rs for liberty's cause, 
 
bi> 
 
 " And sneered at humanity's code of laws: 
 Yes- — on my soul ! he refused me the air, 
 The air of this clime, God's heritage fair : 
 O I have known the torments of the mind, 
 When ev'ry moment was a dagger blind, 
 And ev'ry image a specter from hell, 
 And ev'ry wish voiced eternity's knell. 
 () take me afar from his ugly sight; 
 Let me go mad — if I'm doomed to his spite; 
 Let me not know the triumph of his love — 
 'Tis damned and curst by the angels Above: 
 T beg of you, stranger, give me some hope ; 
 
 let me but learn humanity's scope, 
 
 The consciousness of devotion's true worth. 
 The heritage sung to the babe at birth : 
 
 1 pray to the manhood that trains your eye, 
 O let me enjoy sweet liberty's sigh — 
 Yes, let me go forth, as refugee wild, 
 
 That freedom be mine of the forest child : 
 
 O give me not back to his awful spleen. 
 
 To die in his den as a slave unseen." 
 
 "How say you, lady?" the hunter replies: 
 
 " He claims you as wife — ■ and dare I advise?" 
 
 " What! I'm his wife? May the tortures of hell 
 
 X'.w curse and destroy this life with its spell - 
 
 May ev'ry torment of the damned grow wild 
 
 And blast my spirit as foul and defiled — 
 
 May ev'ry pulse of my being be torn, 
 
 Yes, torn in ihe frenzy of doom's mad scorn. 
 
 If I but dare to submit to his will, 
 
 Or acquiesce in the promise he'd fill!" 
 
 She quickly replies. " The scourge of the night 
 
 Is sweeter to me than the hopes he'd light: 
 
 My vows arc plighted, and the seal of death 
 
 Shall clot my heart ere I yield to his breath ; 
 
 The shade of eternity yawns for me 
 
 Ere I consider his wish or his plea — 
 
 Ah ! sweetly it sings its lullaby true, 
 
 And sorrow's conception forgets its view: 
 
 The future and all its fragrance of life 
 
 Seems but a mockery of mortal strife, 
 
 Where love with its grandeur of Heav 'nly bliss 
 
 Is bastardized in fate's unctuous kiss: 
 
 The sanctity of the voice of the soul 
 
 Xo longer prevails, for crime flaunts its role. 
 
 O God of the innocent! hear my pray'r — 
 
50 
 
 " Approve of my vows to the love I swear — 
 
 Ordain Thy heritage of freedom grand — 
 
 Secure to my breath the air of this land — 
 
 Destroy the misery that racks my brain — 
 
 Yes, let me credit life's glory again ! 
 
 But, stranger, say, can I beg, O implore 
 
 Relief from the evil he has in store ?" 
 
 " Yes, Benla, I swear!" the hunter replies. 
 
 " come, let me see the pledge of your eyes — 
 
 O let me realize the drift of fate, 
 
 And you in my arms an angel create — 
 
 Let me assure my consciousness, my mind 
 
 Of prophecy's dream in the flesh defined — 
 
 Yes, let me unbosom my pent up love, 
 
 The passion hallowed in the realms Above. 
 
 Stand, villainous cur ! the vengeance of hell 
 
 Is itching to visit your soul — and well ; 
 
 One effort to move, and the curse of death 
 
 Shall minister to your pulse and your breath. 
 
 O Beula, my bride, my vision divine, 
 
 The hand of the Master approves our sign : 
 
 O give me your lips, that my heart might feed 
 
 On the sacred fragrance our God decreed — 
 
 Again, and again, let me know the thrill, 
 
 The ecstasy mad of a love grown still." 
 
 " O Tyrlow — Tyrlow !" now Beula replies, 
 
 And the tears and feelings convulse her eyes: 
 
 Nor more she utters; but her bosom sways 
 
 Like some frail craft down the ocean's mad ways 
 
 The pent up passion of her love denudes 
 
 Her consciousness of its aches and its moods, 
 
 O'erwhelming the vigilance of her brain 
 
 In all the mystery of soul's sweet pain. 
 
 "Yes — yes, 'tis true; 'tis my Tyrlow I see: 
 
 O God let this moment be 'ternity ! 
 
 The voice of my dream is dawning complete : 
 
 O breath of my life, this glory I greet ! 
 
 O triumph of spirit ! O hope new born ! 
 
 O blessedness sung in the psalms of morn ! 
 
 O fervor celestial of TTeav'nly gage, 
 
 The fragrance of immortality's page ! 
 
 O Tyrlow, my love, yes, dearer than life, 
 
 Approve of my oath that I'm not his wife; 
 
 Entrust to my soul again, O again, 
 
 The sacred solemnity vows ordain, 
 
 The promise of constancy and of faith. 
 
" That 1 may mock at the shadows of death : 
 Yes, let me comprehend morrow anew 
 In life's grand heritage, in love's review, 
 Where ev'ry issue of doubt or despair 
 Is smothered in sympathy's sigh and care, 
 And where the tenderness your smiles impart 
 Suffuses the crude conceits of my heart. 
 O Tyrlow, you are my Angel, my God ; 
 Your breath to me is as sun to the sod ; 
 You've reconciled hope's torn function and role, 
 And kindled afresh the pulse of my s nl : 
 You've run to earth the villain of my curse ; 
 But scrutinize well the thoughts he'll rehearse : 
 'Tis royalty's cause he credits, and now : 
 But criminal instincts engross his brow. 
 
 light of my life, I owe to you all ; 
 
 I'll do your bidding, be your slave at call." 
 
 " O Beula, my own, let your spirit greet 
 
 The sanctity of my promise complete, 
 
 The mystery sacred with creed of love, 
 
 However our days or the fate thereof." 
 
 ]STow Tyrlow replies. " The path of my life 
 
 Will be most glorious with you as wife. 
 
 But, dearest, speak on, let me know his course. 
 
 What efforts he fashioned, what thoughts, what force?" 
 
 " O Tyrlow, he dared to vouch for your death ; 
 
 As hushed in the challenge of war's mad breath/' 
 
 'Now Beula replies. ''And he seemed to sigh, 
 
 As pleading your cause 'gainst fate and its cry: 
 
 But his balm was cold and his feelings stale, 
 
 While his desperate whims forgot their veil: 
 
 1 spurned his sympathy and balked his role, 
 For honor and love enveloped my soul ; 
 
 I lived in the vows you whispered as blest, 
 Ignoring the tenders his thoughts expressed : 
 And spir'tual garb of trust and of faith 
 Confirmed my constancy, flouting doom's w T raith. 
 He dared to shackle my spirit, my love, 
 Within a hovel, but the God above 
 Accredited there the voice of a dream, 
 Indulging humanity's true regime : 
 I stole from the den where his will was law, 
 Evading the watch of his Mohawk squaw — 
 My special protector by his decree — 
 And followed a vision, O grand in plea ! 
 That beckoned me on to these depths of gloom, 
 
58 
 
 " That I might trespass where your form would loom 
 
 He scented my trail with a Mohawk brave, 
 
 And run me down like the hound of the grave. 
 
 O Tyrlow, my dear, interpret my flame 
 
 — 'My love — my passion, God's blessing and aim ; 
 
 Come, let me feel the fervor of your kiss — 
 
 Convey to my heart the warmth of your bliss, 
 
 The fragrance and glory of lips divine, 
 
 Whose sanctity knows not mortal decline : 
 
 Yes, Tyrlow, my hope, my Angel of light, 
 
 O let me confess my feelings aright — 
 
 And take me away from his cursed sight: 
 
 Let us abandon this infamous hound, 
 
 And start for the lines of patriot ground. 
 
 How grand is the air of liberty now ! 
 
 'Tis sweet as the halo on nature's brow. 
 
 What fragrance as of Divinity's breath 
 
 Inspires the spirit to challenge e'en death ! 
 
 O Tyrlow, come, let us pray to our God, ' 
 
 That our hearths be free from tyranny's nod — 
 
 That hope and its heritage of true worth, 
 
 In all its grandeur of prophecy's birth. 
 
 The blessing of independence and right, 
 
 Be realized in the morning of light !" 
 
 " O faithful patriot," Tyrlow replies, 
 
 " The standard of freedom now mounts the skies ; 
 
 And royalty and its emblem and caste 
 
 Are blasted and done for like shadows past ; 
 
 The voice of humanity, proud and true. 
 
 Kings down its sanctity of life anew 7 , 
 
 Affirming the rights of mind and of soul 
 
 To reverence righteousness, God's control, 
 
 In terms of justice and liberty* sweet, 
 
 When ev'ry throb of the spirit 's complete. 
 
 Burgoyne and his bands now yield to our cause; 
 
 Their bristling squadrons bow down to our laws. 
 
 Conie, infamous wretch, salute to the star 
 
 Of freedom divine that gleams from afar; 
 
 Too, beg on your knees for mercy from her, 
 
 For such forgiveness as her thoughts confer. 
 
 What ! you refuse ? By the Master on high, 
 
 You'll crave, and humbly, her pardon — or die! 
 
 I'll not be trifled with by dog accurst, 
 
 Nor shall I condone the torture you nursed ; 
 
 The same cold subtlety of mind and heart 
 
 Shall witness the breath of your life depart; 
 
59 
 
 " I've sealed up the whims of mercy 'gainst you, 
 
 That retribution should be swift and true: 
 
 The dragnet of destiny gathers fast, 
 
 And yours or mine shall be carcass unclassed : 
 
 This rifle now itches to clot your brain; 
 
 Your Mohawk guide can attest to its strain. 
 
 But, no: retributive justice reserves 
 
 Its purpose and challenge 'gainst heart and nerves : 
 
 The scowl and the mischief of pregnant spite 
 
 You've dared to glory in, like whelp of night, 
 
 Now summon and charge with malice anew, 
 
 For worldly conceptions yawn cold - — and few. 
 
 Come, draw your blade! This rifle and its creed, 
 
 Tho' fit for desperate dogs of your breed, 
 
 I here discard ; but the challenge of death 
 
 Is vitalized in the spirit and breath. 
 
 O Beula, aside — let me gage his worth ; 
 
 He must atone, or the morrow of earth 
 
 Shall testify to his senses astray, 
 
 Where hell and its slime conditions the way." 
 
 " O Tyrlow, my love, O breath of my life, 
 
 Creator of dream's true promise as wife," 
 
 Now Beula breaks forth, " submit to the fate, 
 
 That tenders mercy to the dregs of state ; 
 
 O let us forget the torments of time, 
 
 The wrongs and sorrows of yesterday's crime : 
 
 Let us live and breathe the fragrance of air, 
 
 The freedom and righteousness Grod would share : 
 
 The promptings of vengeance you must not heed — 
 
 O let me suggest the voice of love's creed. 
 
 The pledge of forgiveness, for life and breath 
 
 Are sacred 'gainst ev'ry menace of death : 
 
 Yes, Tyrlow, my own, let me know the bliss, 
 
 The sweets of Heaven that bloom in your kiss : 
 
 Let me realize all the thrills and dreams 
 
 Of soulful ecstasy where glory beams ; 
 
 And where the chills and the fears of this earth 
 
 Are shattered and done for — and all is mirth : 
 
 The grim, inexorable pulse of doom 
 
 Has fashioned its shadow like hush of gloom 
 
 About his ev'ry possession and nod; 
 
 The shackles of conscience are doubly shod : 
 
 O Tyrlow, we're free ; his triumph is o'er ; 
 
 Our spirits must flourish — yes, mount and soar: 
 
 The pent-up fibers of liberty start, 
 
 And consecrate now each throb of my heart : 
 
60 
 
 " I beg of you, come — his menace is past; 
 
 Yes, all his sinews are palsied, o'ercast: 
 
 let us forgive each grievance and wrong, 
 
 And breathe but love's divinity in song. 
 
 O Spirit of sweet Eternity, wake 
 
 And slough off the evil of mortal ache, 
 
 That we may sip of the Heavenly wine — 
 
 Xor feel the chill of the morrow s malign!" 
 
 " O Angel of mercy, your creed of love 
 
 Is as the fragrance of grace from Above." 
 
 Now Tyrlow replies. " The breath of your soul 
 
 Disarms the menace of vengeance's mad role ; 
 
 And ev'ry conception your bosom greets 
 
 Bespeaks humanity's sacred conceits, 
 
 Where visions of infinite hope and trust 
 
 Rebuke the cravings of hatred and lust : 
 
 The darkening brow and the bristling steel 
 
 Forego their challenge — your purpose they feel. 
 
 Yes, Beula, we'll go, but this wretch must turn 
 
 Our ev'ry advance to the haunts we yearn ; 
 
 He must determine our path and our trail 
 
 To the patriot camp, nor balk, nor fail : 
 
 And there to answer to the charge I'll frame 
 
 Afore the court-martial — his drift and aim ; 
 
 His viciousness and his malice and spite 
 
 Must plead their justification and right. 
 
 Come, captive marauder, advance, and lead 
 
 Our vigilance now to the camp decreed; 
 
 -Xor stray aside, or the whispers of death 
 
 Shall bastardize ev'ry sigh of your breath." 
 
 " I know not the bearings a down these haunts, 
 
 Xor am I wise to the voice of your taunts." 
 
 The wand'rer starts. " But I'm done for the fray, 
 
 For destiny's shadow grows dim and gray; 
 
 My gamut of earthly existence wanes, 
 
 And cursed despair is goading fresh pains; 
 
 The frenzied hope of the morrow seems dead, 
 
 And prophecy's glimmer is spent and sped; 
 
 And ev'ry assurance of vital glow 
 
 Is feeling the palsy of conscience' woe: 
 
 The pregnant presentiment of cold doom 
 
 Seems low'ring fast like the blanket of gloom. 
 
 So, patriot, go ; let the charms of life 
 
 Be sacred to you and your promised wife; 
 
 Let ev'ry triumph of the heart proclaim 
 
 The constancy of your spirit in aim ; 
 
61 
 
 '• And let vour 'legianee to the Master Mind 
 Blaspheme no hallowed indulgence or kind: 
 Within this solitude I'll make amends, 
 And beg forgiveness, for twilight offends ; 
 I'll sue to the mercy of Him on High, 
 That evil's curst blemish be cleansed a-dry ; 
 That ev'ry wrong of my consciousness now 
 Be silenced and hushed in righteousness' vow ; 
 That all my days and my actions be true 
 To> God's own teachings — and my life be new." 
 k ' Sir, those are sentiments no heart of man 
 Should question or violate, nor e'en scan." 
 Now Tyrlow replies. " But the instincts read 
 Between the lines of your role and your creed ; 
 The furtive presumption that tunes your mind 
 Bespeaks a motive of mystery blind, 
 While beggarly thought professing remorse 
 Achieves the function of hollow discourse; 
 The unctuous mask of your conscience smears 
 In vain the scruples that visit like fears; 
 The shams of mockery not now avail, 
 The voice of destiny looks through your tale; 
 No prophecy shades the blend of your dream, 
 Save what is whispered in justice supreme; 
 The summons of grim necessity greets 
 Your spurious plea, for reason receipts ; 
 Nor wakens there recognition from Him 
 Who stays the thunder or sanctions life's whim: 
 So come, be about, respond to our nod ; 
 Or learn the vengeance that's stalking rough-shod." 
 " I must refuse, for the dragnet of fate 
 Is fixing its palsy 'bout life's estate." 
 The wand'rer replies. " Each sinew and nerve 
 Now seem to forget the purpose they serve ; 
 They tremor at random, nay, more, they wilt. 
 As though congested with sin and with guilt : 
 The morrow flourishes in vain for me, 
 And hope's fond vision is as curse in fee : 
 The moments to be, however, I'll dare ; 
 I must commune with the shades of despair: 
 The sway of consciousness like yon faint stal- 
 ls yielding its myst'ry, all seems ajar; 
 And ev'ry incident of mortal zest 
 Now seems to license the stupors unblest : 
 My pride and my spirit, too, grow distraught ; 
 T feel the gathering of spells unthought : 
 
62 
 
 " I'll challenge doom's ev'ry distemper here, 
 
 Since I'm predestined to misery near : 
 
 Eternity's rhythm is whispering wild 
 
 The vow of the spirit unreconciled, 
 
 And ev'ry function of vital conceit 
 
 Is feeling some witeh'ry like curse complete. 
 
 So, stranger, go ; let your glory be true : 
 
 Within this fastness death's mischief I'll view." 
 
 " Your mouthings of hapless despair forget 
 
 The spirit indicia and heart regret 
 
 Of soul's sincerity." Tyrlow replies. 
 
 "And all your sorrows are as vaunted lies: 
 
 The garb of your 'legiauce, your vows, your plea 
 
 Suggest the reading of the court's decree; 
 
 But you and yours with your reason a-dream 
 
 Must reckon with justice and its regime : 
 
 The dawn of the morrow shall witness be 
 
 Of spirit's retributive prophecy 
 
 And ev'ry profession of heart or mind 
 
 Must bow to righteousness, the life refined. 
 
 So, wand'rer, respond to my call, advance : 
 
 Or learn the issue of destiny's chance." 
 
 " Tyrlow, come, let us hasten away, 
 
 And let this craven be as wretch astray." 
 
 Now Beula bursts forth. " The curse from on High 
 
 Will paralyze ev'ry dream of his eye: 
 
 His fate is fixed, and the plague of the deep 
 
 Is gathering fast like the veil of sleep ; 
 
 And ev'ry purpose his senses suggest 
 
 Endows in vain vitality's behest : 
 
 The empty assumptions of life remain, 
 
 The mocking conscience and the pride insane. 
 
 Come, spirit supreme, my Tyrlow, my love, 
 
 O give me your smile — let mercy approve; 
 
 Let me accredit your confidence- proud, 
 
 The creed your vigils have sanctioned — endowed ; 
 
 Let me now whisper the voice of your soul, 
 
 That freedom be his, whatever his role: 
 
 Yes, let him go forth an outcast of crime, 
 
 A wretch whom the Master on High will time. 
 
 Come, Tyrlow, I pray that you grant me this — 
 
 And let me know it in your sacred kiss." 
 
 " O angel of innocence and of trust," 
 
 Now Tyrlow replies, " you reck not his lust ; 
 
 Nor do you conceive the mask of his mind, 
 
 The bastard subtlety of thought unkind : 
 
03 
 
 " He's mocking the seriousness and faith 
 
 Of ev'ry purpose of jour quick'ning breath ; 
 
 He scans the varying touches of fear 
 
 That slip from your creed of mercy sincere; 
 
 He fashions his courage and clothes his will 
 
 As vows of the heart grow sacred in thrill, 
 
 Interpreting ev'ry drift of your plea, 
 
 But only to trifle till life stalks free : 
 
 The triumph of justice demands his corse, 
 
 For righteousness flouts his hollow remorse: 
 
 The blessing of true humanity greets 
 
 Not such as he with his cursed conceits ; 
 
 Nor is he entitled to aught of grace, 
 
 Save such as hell in its vengeance would trace. 
 
 No, Beula, my love, the court must acquit, 
 
 And set him free, if it sanctions his wit: 
 
 He must respond to the mission I gage, 
 
 Accepting the fate the morrow might wage : 
 
 As well might I dare to goad on the hound, 
 
 If I now forgive this culprit profound." 
 
 " The slurs of your positive mind stray wide, 
 
 And your assurance of motive 's denied." 
 
 The wand'rer starts. " The mischief of my brain 
 
 Is shackled by conscience where God holds rein : 
 
 I oare not for life's extravagant zest, 
 
 However the morrow or curse or jest ; 
 
 I dare to rebuke the vision of man, 
 
 As heralded down world's shadowy plan : 
 
 The wisdom of destiny greets my soul, 
 
 And earth and its whims are as mock'ry's role. 
 
 So, stranger, go, let me reconcile time; 
 
 Repentance is mine while I know hope's rhyme." 
 
 " Your studied conceptions, addressed to space, 
 
 Now mask in vain the 'telligence you grace." 
 
 Now Tyrlow replies. " Your wisdom I gage, 
 
 But justice determines life's heritage: 
 
 The •apprehension that edits your mood 
 
 Must welcome destiny's solicitude; 
 
 And ev'ry affirmance of heart undone 
 
 Betrays the cowardice, the fear begun: 
 
 The grievance of desperate pride endows 
 
 Not now the low'ring of menacing brows: 
 
 Your grim resolve is as sham of the breath ; 
 
 But justice shall triumph like creed of death. 
 
 Come, wand'rer, advance : nor mock at my nod ; 
 
64 
 
 " Xor question, nor spurn the trail or the sod: 
 My order is fixed ; obey it, or draw : 
 The steel shall utter the triumph of law." 
 " O Tyrlow, my love, my spirit, my life, 
 My only promise 'gainst miseries rife," 
 Now Beula bursts, " I beg you to forget 
 This craven, this wretch — my mercy abet : 
 Come, jeopardize not my happiness now 
 With vengeance or hate, in act or in vow; 
 Secure to my soul, untouched by despair, 
 The depth .and the fervor of love's true care, 
 Where ev'ry indulgence of sacred bliss 
 Feeds longingly on the touch of your kiss : 
 Commend the sanctity our oaths affirmed, 
 Yes, let me live on my vision untermed : 
 
 startle not now the spectre of strife, 
 The challenge of cold destruction of life ; 
 Impoverish not the spirit of trust, 
 
 But tender forgiveness, howe'er his lust; 
 
 Revere the charity the Master trains, 
 
 And list to the voice His mercy ordains." 
 
 " My Beula, my angel, the creed of love 
 
 Is goading the course my instincts approve." 
 
 Now Tyrlow replies. " The flash from on high 
 
 Is not more true to nature in reply : 
 
 I'd. fain forgive the savage of the deep, 
 
 Yes, welcome the wretch full-fledged in his sweep, 
 
 But this contemptible villain of spite 
 
 Must answer my charge, however his plight, 
 
 Must plead at the bar of righteousness true, 
 
 Whose sacred tribunal tunes life's review ; 
 
 The springs of mercy that visit my soul 
 
 Are merged in justice, the law must, control : 
 
 Our journey shall not be challenged by him — 
 
 1 cannot accept his creed or his whim. 
 You'd have me countenance this culprit now, 
 And set him adrift to season his vow- — 
 Encourage his efforts to damn the cause 
 
 Of liberty and reason, God's own laws — 
 
 A] (prove the tyranny he represents, 
 
 And mock man's brotherhood as wild pretense — 
 
 Make peace with the hound who sneered at your life, 
 
 And you, my affianced, in vows as wife — 
 
 Abjure the holy allegiance and creed 
 
 Of heart's divinity as sham, indeed — 
 
65 
 
 " Forswear the heritage of hope and faith — 
 
 And all at the beck of his pledge and breath ? 
 
 O Beula, my love, I dare to command ; 
 
 You must not distemper the course I've planned 
 
 Restrain your feelings, your spirit subdue, 
 
 And let your senses reality view : 
 
 Your tears now violate the vows of love, 
 
 The call to righteousness from Him above; 
 
 And ev'ry sob is but tyranny's cheer, 
 
 Augmenting his perfidy, not his fear. 
 
 ( 'ome, infamous wretch, by the Gods ! you'll go : 
 
 Or doom's cold palsy shall utter its woe." 
 
 " O Tyrlow, my life," now Beula replies, 
 
 " I see tlie shadows of darkness arise — 
 
 The torturing apprehensions break forth 
 
 Like specters of terror from out the north ; 
 
 My ev'ry conception of mortal hope 
 
 Is clotted and smeared, my senses e'en grope : 
 
 An awful distemper invests my brain, 
 
 And ev'ry pulse of my blood seems insane; 
 
 A wild, mad throbbing of anguish and fear 
 
 Debauches the vision I'd dare revere ; 
 
 Crude, harrowing forebodings rack and storm 
 
 My vows of constancy — despair takes form ; 
 
 The blind suggestions of evil and doubt 
 
 Now triumph, and .all my glory is out : 
 
 The Heaven-blest promise of love is o'er, 
 
 And all my happiness is chilled and sore; 
 
 The menace of yawning misery greets 
 
 The sacred assurance my love entreats; 
 
 The pangs of spir'tual sorrow are mine, 
 
 And all my dreams are as fancies malign. 
 
 O God ! let me think — enlighten my soul — 
 
 Remove the darkness that smothers control — 
 
 Revitalize now my consciousness weak, 
 
 And let me interpret the life I seek — 
 
 Accredit my purpose and bless my trust, 
 
 minister to the thoughts I adjust! 
 Yes, Tyrlow, mine all, I yield to your will ; 
 The voice of my love is silent and still ; 
 The wild, mad craving of my heart is mute; 
 Down destiny's path I follow- your suit: 
 
 1 recognize naught but the wish you gage; 
 I feel -anew the spirit of the age, 
 
 The dominant genius of freedom grand, 
 
"Now blest with justice at Heaven's command: 
 My breathing inspires fresh, confidence, too, 
 And ev'ry conception of hope yawns true: 
 I dare to affirm, however the. day, 
 My constancy fixed to you and your sway : 
 The torturing mis'riesi of doubt and fear 
 Are blasted and done for, my faith is clear ; 
 I heed the wnispers that visit my soul, 
 Proclaiming the righteousness of your role ; 
 I b'lieve in your 'legiance to God and man, 
 And comprehend now the creed of your plan : 
 The infinite mind of the Master guards 
 The ev'ry promise to His mortal wards, 
 And edits the grandeur of all we dream, 
 The true nobility of love's regime. 
 
 Tyrlow, my trust grows prouder, more true, 
 And ev'ry shadow is sweet to my view T : 
 
 1 beg the sanctity your lips impart; 
 Again I tender the vows of the heart: 
 
 O let me enjoy the touch, of your breath ; 
 
 Your smile debauches the menace of death: 
 
 The warmth and the glory of love divine, 
 
 In terms of Heavenly honor, is mine. 
 
 Ye spirits of destiny ! guard his life, 
 
 My Tyrlow, from all the dangers of strife — 
 
 Yes, consecrate ev'ry vow of his cause, 
 
 And dedicate liberty's sacred laAvs — 
 
 Affirm in triumph, the terms of his will, 
 
 And guaranty ev'ry pledge he'd fulfill ! 
 
 My pray'rs to you, O master of my lot ! 
 
 My spirit responds to your wish .and thought : 
 
 Life's sweetest conception invests my soul, 
 
 The flow'ring of love resigned to its goal." 
 
 " O sacred vision of constancy pure, 
 
 O genius of faith — nor angel more sure — 
 
 My Beula, my all," now Tyrlow' replies, 
 
 " Our dreams are sealed in the light of God's eyes ; 
 
 We'll face grim fate with its evil and wrath, 
 
 We'll triumph, for righteousness, turns our path ; 
 
 For He in His infinite wisdom blends 
 
 Each mortal .agency to gauge His ends : 
 
 Yes, Beula, the creed of justice reveres 
 
 The grim sincerity of life in tears, 
 
 But man in all the glory of his worth 
 
 Reflects the rigid discipline of earth : 
 
67 
 
 " The twilight thickens, but yon orb smiles true, 
 
 Assuring our hopes in confidence now. 
 
 Come, wand'rer, advance — our purpose attend; 
 
 We brook no mocking, w 7 e'll hazard the end: 
 
 This counterfeit sanctity of your heart 
 
 Is as the conception the fiends impart ; 
 
 The sneer of your brow and .air of your lot 
 
 But beggar the perfidy morrows plot; 
 
 The mad distempers of the world are o'er, 
 
 And hope's last heritage is damned in score ; 
 
 The shams of your zeal, your mouthings of pride, 
 
 Are now at bay — and your life must decide : 
 
 The whispers of destiny, sung of time, 
 
 Proclaim retributive justice sublime. 
 
 Come, villainous Tory, advance, I say ! 
 
 Or hell's curst heritage shall blaze your way : 
 
 What ! you refuse ? by the spirits of night ! 
 
 You'll do my bidding, and do it aright: 
 
 Unbosom the mockery of your creed — 
 
 Yes, out with your blade ! your mischief is treed : 
 
 Confront me, you wretch, or I'll blast your lot, 
 
 And cast your carcass to the worms to rot." 
 
 " I'm all unarmed — my rifle and my blade 
 
 Are false to my spirit, I'm here betrayed." 
 
 The wand'rer replies. " My sinews would meet 
 
 The ev'ry challenge your senses repeat : 
 
 I tender no sickly .apology now, 
 
 Nor do I shun the menace of your brow." 
 
 "You lie! you spurious scoundrel of night." 
 Xow Tyrlow replies. " Your blade in its might 
 Is free as mine, but the plea of your brain 
 Is the whining note of cowardly strain : 
 Come, out with your steel ! nor trifle, nor balk. 
 For death's distemper is about to stalk." 
 " Yes, infamous whelp, my blade and my pride 
 Hurl back the challenge your curses confide." 
 The wand'rer replies. "And yon and your game 
 Suggest the mockery of shadows tame : 
 Your ev'ry vigil, your vaunting conceit, 
 Your vow of purpose, the vision you greet, 
 And all your wanton assurance of faith — 
 That faith the mouthing of reason's crude wraith - 
 Are sacred, indeed, to your creed of life, 
 The counterfeit function of dreams of strife. 
 Away, with your weird imaginings now ! 
 
63 
 
 " The voice of destiny rebukes your vow: 
 
 The spirit of my cause defies your steel — 
 
 The marrow's heritage is sinews' weal: 
 
 The glory and sov' reign ty of my king 
 
 Must be inviolate with life's true ring: 
 
 My answer is sealed, and the breath of doom: 
 
 Blends sweetly or madly as time dares bloom : 
 
 If hell's hot vengeance must sizzle and steam, 
 
 Let loose, you hound, the venom of your dream 
 
 The grim inexorable turn of fate 
 
 My senses confront — the shadows I wait." 
 
 "Aha ! yon scoundrel," now Tyrlow replies, 
 
 " You show your teeth in the curse of your lies : 
 
 Your king and your cause, in flourish of fate, 
 
 Shall witness the triumph of freedom's state ; 
 
 Inexorable retribution rhymes 
 
 The perfidy of your role and your orim.es : 
 
 And ev'ry hope of your senses shall see 
 
 The crowning of justice — - God's mastery. 
 
 Forswear allegiance to your kingly creed 
 
 And be a patriot in heart and deed. 
 
 And — by the merciful Master on high ! — 
 
 I'll pardon your ev'ry evil and lie." 
 
 "A patriot be? a whelp of the slime! 
 
 Whose ev'ry motive is a badge of crime." 
 
 The wand'rer replies. " The cause of my king 
 
 Now brands as cursed the pardon you sing: 
 
 I crave no blessing from yon or your kind, 
 
 The Spirit above indorses my mind; 
 
 The incidents of crude destiny phase 
 
 Not now the purpose my vigils appraise : 
 
 I reckon alone with the God on high, 
 
 I dare to reproach your steel and your eye." 
 
 " Unholy felon, the shadows of death 
 
 Are now in session, deciding your breath." 
 
 Now Tyrlow responds. " Your bastard conceit 
 
 Is but the revision of fears discreet; 
 
 Your seeming defiance of fate or man 
 
 Is but the profession of mind's fresh plan, 
 
 The hazard of doubt's precipitate play, 
 
 Where ev'ry impulse is measured in stay: 
 
 The air of royalty that taints your soul 
 
 But utters the mischief of spite in foal ; 
 
 Then, too, the promise I tender to you 
 
 Is falsely interpreted, doubts accrue. 
 
 However, our cause is sacred 'fore God — 
 
69 
 
 " Tlie patriot's vow rings true to the sod; 
 
 The heritage of the spirit of life 
 
 Is freedom and justice 'gainst wrong, 'gainst strife; 
 
 The glory of righteousness dares affirm, 
 
 In eloquence grander than speech can term, 
 
 The noble humanity of the soul, 
 
 The sweetest craving our visions enroll : 
 
 The aspirations of brotherhood true, 
 
 Like blessing from Heaven, the hope anew. 
 
 We dare to realize 'gainst man or king 
 
 Or hireling's bayonet, how e'er its ring: 
 
 The genius of liberty breathes adeep 
 
 Through ev'ry pulsation of nature's sweep, 
 
 Transcending the mockeries man would plead, 
 
 Like dawn's proud halo rebuking earth's creed. 
 
 But, wand'rer, proceed — this parley is o'er ; 
 
 The order is fixed : obey it — or score! 
 
 Yes, you must answer for your crimes, forsooth ; 
 
 The challenge of justice reveres the truth. 
 
 Again you refuse ? Then flourish your steel — 
 
 The sinews alone must edit the deal : 
 
 Unleash your damnable vigils of hate — 
 
 The cauldron of doom now sizzles in state: 
 
 The maudlin phantoms of your scowling spite 
 
 Must testify 'fore grim destiny's light: 
 
 Unbosom the whims of your cursed heart, 
 
 And give sincerity true voice and start. 
 
 Approach, you villainous wretch of the deep ! 
 
 I'll bastardize ev'ry function you keep : 
 
 Confront me, by God ! the vengeance of hell 
 
 Is low'ring fast o'er your breath and your spell : 
 
 No mercy I ask — this blade and my life 
 
 Shall triumph or terminate in the strife." 
 
 " Unsavory dog ! your mouthings and threats 
 
 Are but as the wind's unseasoned regrets." 
 
 The wand'rer replies. "And intellect's blend 
 
 Foreshadows the mockery fate shall send : 
 
 'Tis written adown the pregnance of time 
 
 That you and your cause are bastard with crime ; 
 
 That ev'ry ambition you dare suggest 
 
 Ts but distemper of a mind unblest; 
 
 That ev'ry craving of your soul or heart 
 
 Is as the witchery of dream's wild start: 
 
 But steel and its rhythm of destiny grim 
 
 Must 'nitiate here death's purpose — now dim : 
 
 I'll blast your ev'ry assurance and pride — 
 
70 
 
 " I'll drag in the dust that brow — and your bride; 
 
 I'll humble the damned conceptions you flaunt, 
 
 The curse of liberty — its worth I taunt : 
 
 I charge my sinews, that God and my king 
 
 May know my 'legiance 'gainst reptiles that sting: 
 
 I beg no mercy, save such as my blade 
 
 Indulges in triumph to flout doom's shade. 
 
 The curses of cold eternity now 
 
 Be on your head, dismembering your brow ! 
 
 The vengeance of hell — O sweet to my thought — 
 
 Be doubly torturing to your foul lot!" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ib O Tyrlow, my love, my master, my god!" 
 Now Beula breaks forth. " I beg but your nod — 
 O recognition in your breath and smile, 
 The pledge of Heaven 'gainst evil and guile: 
 
 Tyrlow, you're bleeding — your brow is torn ; 
 Your vitals I fear are wounded and worn : 
 Come, let me assuage the ache and the pain; 
 There are no shadows where love sings its strain : 
 Yes, let me but stanch the desperate flow, 
 
 The crimson menace — your mis'ry — your woe : 
 
 1 crave assurance from your spirit true; 
 I'll do your bidding — yes — to life's adieu : 
 O let me consult the drift of your ills, 
 
 That I may challenge despair and its chills : 
 Come, take of my breath vitality's zest; 
 'Tis yours in 'legiance however we're blest: 
 
 Tyrlow, my soul suspends its conceit; 
 
 1 know but the purpose your eyes entreat; 
 
 My consciousness throbs as your thoughts progress ; 
 
 1 pray for the wish your senses address." 
 
 " O Beula, my love," now Tyrlow replies, 
 
 " 'Tis but a scratch, which I dare to despise; 
 
 My spirit 's as true to the rhythm of life 
 
 As when my sinews first weathered the strife: 
 
 Our vows and our cause must know not defeat ; 
 
 We triumph or die — no mock'ry to greet. 
 
 Yon Tory i s sleeping the summons grim 
 
 Retributive fate has tendered to him ; 
 
 The judgment of God's determinate eye 
 
 Is evidenced there in his corpse awry: 
 
 But his are slumbers no purpose can blast — 
 
71 
 
 " The throes of despair are sealed up and past. 
 
 And yet, how soothing is nature's caress! 
 
 Each thrill of his spirit like faith's address 
 
 Seems now quiescent in vested reserve, 
 
 As 'terpreting time's expedient curve : 
 
 Man's flourishing aspirations grow high — 
 
 But woe to his clay ! 'tis fashioned to die : 
 
 The ways of Providence, mystic in sweep, 
 
 Attest the solicitude hope must reap 
 
 When blended with righteousness and with truth, 
 
 Affirming the creed of reason, forsooth. 
 
 O Beula, my love, the warmth of your sigh 
 
 Together with soul's ecstatic reply, 
 
 As booked in your eyes, intoxicates now 
 
 My ev'ry assurance of mortal vow ; 
 
 And Heaven-nursed mysteries charge my brain, 
 
 And I am happy in the joy you gain : 
 
 O let me imprint the seal of my love, 
 
 The fervor sanctioned by the saints above; 
 
 Yes, let me tender the passion divine 
 
 That 's thrilling my heart, with glory benign : 
 
 Ye vigilant Angels on high ! proclaim 
 
 My Beula's honor, her faith and her name: 
 
 So come, sweet partner, my life and my trust 
 
 Are yours till the shadows of death adjust : 
 
 At Schuyler's camp with the pledge of the morn 
 
 Our sacred union shall challenge earth's scorn : 
 
 And with God's yeomanry, patriots proud, 
 
 We'll shatter tyranny's desperate cloud : 
 
 The ultimate triumph of freedom grand, 
 
 As gauged in the touch of the Master's hand, 
 
 Is here assured, and the vows of onr creed, 
 
 The glory of brotherhood, must succeed. 
 
 My gratitude and my pray'rs to the God 
 
 Who sways infinity — yet heeds our nod !" 
 
 " Yes, thanks to the Master of life and hope !" 
 
 ISTow Beula replies. " jSTo longer we grope. 
 
 O let me express my visions of love, 
 
 Unchallenged by fear or the shade thereof; 
 
 Yes, let me embrace eternity's bliss, 
 
 The fragrance of Heaven, your sacred kiss: 
 
 O Tyrlow, again — come, let me enjoy 
 
 Your lips and the faith their whispers alloy: 
 
 O that this symphony might know no pause, 
 
 That earthly existence transcend all laws! 
 
 These moments are more to my heart than breath, 
 
72 
 
 " And mine 's the blessedness that scoffs at death ; 
 
 My bosom is charged with the fire from High, 
 
 And life's conception is a dream anigh. 
 
 Ye Heavenly daughters ! confirm my trust, 
 
 I know but the feelings my hopes adjust: 
 
 Again, O Tyrlow, love's promise imprint, 
 
 The glory the angels assume to hint: 
 
 I dare to defy the terrors of doom, 
 
 I feel the confidence your eyes illume ; 
 
 I know not time's identity or sway, 
 
 I breathe the ecstasy your thoughts convey. 
 
 O may the 'legiance of heart to the mind 
 
 Be not more violate when death is signed ! 
 
 Once more, my Tyrlow, love's vow let me sip — 
 
 Yes, yes — I'm ready for life and its trip. 
 
 May ev'ry torture of hell be my lot 
 
 If ever your wishes be spurned — forgot!" 
 
 (End.) 
 
MAY 10 1907