106

MONUMENT MOUNTAIN.

Below her-waters resting in the embrace
Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades
Opening amid the leafy, wilderness.

She gazed upon it long, and at the sight
Of her own village peeping through the trees,
And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof
Of him she loved with an unlawful love,
And came to die for, a warm gush of tears
Ran from her eyes.
But when the sun grew low

And the hill shadows long, she threw herself

From the steep rock and perished. There was scooped, Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave;

And there they laid her, in the very garb

With which the maiden decked herself for death,
With the same withering wild flowers in her hair.

And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe
Built up a simple monument, a cone

Of small loose stones. Thenceforward, all who passed,
>Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone
In silence on the pile. It stands there yet.
And Indians from the distant West, who come
To visit where their fathers' bones are laid,
Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day
The mountain where the hapless maiden died
Is called the Mountain of the Monument.

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around,

Brought bloom and joy again,

The murdered traveller's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung

Her tassels in the sky;

And many a vernal blossom sprung,

And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead,
And fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,

With watching many an anxious day,

Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,

When shouting o'er the desert snow
Unarmed, and hard beset ;-

108

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER

Nor how, when round the frosty pole

The northern dawn was red,

The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole

To banquet on the dead ;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,

And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.``

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;

And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.

So long they looked--but never spied
His welcome step again,

Nor knew the fearful death he died

Far down that narrow glen.

SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON.

I BUCKLE to my slender side
The pistol and the cimetar,

And in my maiden flower and pride
Am come to share the tasks of war.

And yonder stands my fiery steed,
That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,--

I took him from the routed foe.

My mirror is the mountain spring,

At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard, from wind and sin,
This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled?

It was for one-oh, only one—

I kept its bloom, and he is dead.

But they who slew him--unaware

Of coward murderers lurking nigh-

And left him to the fowls of air,
Are yet alive-and they must die.

110

SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON.

They slew him—and my virgin years

Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now, And many an Othman dame, in tears,

Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.

I touched the lute in better days,

I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays

Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
As the fierce shout of victory.