Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June 1848

Roused from the apathy of thought
He sought the casement with a start,
And watched the raging storm sweep by
With kindling cheek and flashing eye.

XVI

On! on! it came with fiery breath,
Instinct with rage and winged with death,
As downward swept, ere Time begun
His swift and varied race to run,
Through realms chaotic and sublime,
With wing of light and forehead pale,
Immortal in remorse and crime,
Thrilling the Infinite with wail,
The apostate troops from lands of light
To darkness, shame and withering blight.
On! on! it came, and in its path
The tall trees bent beneath its wrath,
And fell with hollow, crashing sound,
Torn and uprooted, to the ground.
Still nearer grew the lightning flash,
And heavier broke the thunder crash;
And as, with almost blinded gaze,
Watched Lennard the electric blaze,
He saw through rain and densest night
A thin, pale line of waving light
Speed to a lofty oak, whose head
Sunk powerless to its parent bed.

XVII

The hours passed on – the storm had spent
The fury to its madness lent,
And wild and sullen clouds on high
In broken masses swept the sky,
As Lennard left the ruined hall,
And, bounding o'er the garden wall,
Walked swiftly o'er the lonely plain,
Till 'neath the blasted pine again
He paused, and blew the whistle low;
Soon from a clump of firs below
An aged servant slowly led
A saddled steed: the pale moon shed
Its fitful gleam as Lennard sprung
Light to his seat, then fearless flung
The bridle loose, and spurring, soon
Drew up beside a deep lagoon,
Whose stagnant waters 'neath the moon
Glimmered through bush and hanging vine,
And cypress bald and ragged pine.
Concealed within the spectral gloom,
Of wide morass and forest tomb,
His comrades there he found;
By many a devious winding led,
Where the pale fire-flies' torches shed
A fitful gleam around,
He paused at length where Huon stood,
Amid his faithful band, though rude,
And thus his errand told:
"Where bends the Santee in the plain
Has Tarleton's troop encamped again,
With careless movement bold;
One half his men will march to-night
To join the troop on Charleston height,
The guard will be both dull and light;
A few short hours, with speed and care,
Must lead us to the station there."

XVIII

His mission o'er, with thoughtful look,
The boy sought out a shaded nook,
Apart from all – yet near
The opening where the men had laid
Their rations on the mossy glade,
Beside the swamp-marsh drear.
Silent was he, reserved and shy,
Seldom raising cap or eye;
Not many days since first his hand
Had joined him to that patriot band;
Yet none more truly did fulfill,
The duties of his arm required,
Though slight withal, and often still
When the loud signal-gun was fired,
The herald of the coming fight,
His cheek would pale like flowers at night
Beneath the autumn's chilling blight;
None knew his residence or name,
Save that of Lennard, which he told
The morn when to the camp he came,
And begged that he might be enrolled
In Huon's corps, to serve with those
Who bled to heal their country's woes;
Of late his arm had bolder grown
When in the rout and skirmish thrown,
And stronger, too, and Huon loved
The slender boy who at his side
Stood nobly when o'er War's red tide
The fiery death-shot moved.