Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June 1848

VI

Anon, far down the silent wood,
Undaunted by its solitude,
Sped Lennard on his way;
Until beneath a blasted pine,
Beyond the forest gray,
That tall, and bald, and hoary white,
Gleamed through the dusky veil of night,
As through Life's mist on human sight
Gleams vital truth divine,
He paused, and from a whistle clear,
Drew notes that thrilled the valley near.

VII

Within the rebel camp, meanwhile,
No slumbers winning smiles beguile,
From care to dreams away;
The troop who view with fearless heart
The coming strife and battle's mart;
And thus with blithesome song, though rude,
Awake the echoes of the wood:

Though dark the night,And fierce the fight,
We fear no living foe;
The swamp our home,The sky our dome,
Our bed the turf below;
We hail the strife,And prize not life,
Unblessed by Freedom's smile;

And Age and Youth,To patriot Truth,
Pledge hopefully the while.

Our Country's nameMust sink in shame,
Or sound in triumph free;
Then, brothers, on!For Marion,
Our homes and liberty.

VIII

'T was morning – from the golden sky
Night fled before day's burning eye,
As flies the minister of sin
From souls that kneel to God, to win
Courage to meet the tempter's wile,
And strength upon the strife to smile.
Scarce had the cloudless sun betrayed,
The flowers that bloomed in meadows low,
Ere toward a thickly shaded glade,
An armed horseman traveled slow;
And paused beside a gushing spring,
Whose gentle murmurs thrilled the air,
As thrills an angel's unseen wing
The distant blue when mounting there.
The dark trees hung above its wave,
A tapestry of green,
And arching o'er the waters, gave
A softness to the sheen
Of mellow light that darted through
The dewy leaves of richest hue;
While round the huge trunks many a vine,
Had bade its graceful tendrils twine;
The blossoming grape and jessamine pale,
Loading with sweets the summer gale.
Not long with hasty step he trod
The narrow path and flowery sod,
Ere gently o'er the sere leaves' bed
A maiden passed with faltering tread.

IX

Oh! light was the step of the blooming girl,
And glossy the hue of the raven curl,
And joyous the glance of the dark eye's play,
When the pride of the village was Morna Grey.
But ruthless war to her dwelling came,
Her brothers slept on the field of fame,
Her father's blood on his hearth was shed;
And the desolate orphan in anguish fled
To the cottage of one who her childhood nursed,
And who soothed the spirit that grief had cursed;
And now in the depths of that speaking eye
There slumbered a sadness still and high,
But veiled with a clear and mellow light,
Like the softened glow of a moonlit night;
And the rose on her cheek that came and went,
Like the hues of the West when day is spent,
Told how the chords of the heart below,
Quivered and shrunk at the breath of wo.
But why did a presage of coming ill,
With a fiercer pang her bosom thrill,
And pale her cheek to a deadlier hue,
As she sought the spring where the jessamine grew?
She had come to meet for a moment there,
Ere he sought the field in the strife to share,
One who her father had blessed in death,
As she pledged her faith with faltering breath;
And Huon with joyous smile and gay,
Welcomed the presence of Morna Grey.