Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848

Of woods below him, rocked with guttural chant
The livelong day, whilst plyed the pioneers
Their axes round him. Sunset came, and still
There rocked his form. The twilight glimmered gray,
Then kindled to the moon, and still he rocked;
Till stretched the pioneers upon the earth
Their wearied limbs for sleep. One, wakeful, left
His plump moss couch, and strolling near the tree
Saw in the pomp of moonlight that old form
Still rocking, and, with deep awe at his heart,
Hastened to join his comrades. Morn awoke,
And the first light discovered to their eyes
That weird shape rocking still. The pioneers,
With kindly hands, took food and at his side
Placed it, and tried to rouse him, but in vain.
He fixed his eye still dully down the hill,
And when they took their hands from off his frame
It still renewed its rocking. Morning went,
And noon and sunset. Often had they glanced
From their hard toil as passed the hours away
Upon that rocking form, and wondered much;
And when the sunset vanished they approached
Their kindness to renew; but suddenly,
As came they near, they saw the rocking cease,
And the head drop upon his naked breast.
Close came they, and the shorn head lifting up,
In the glazed eye and fallen jaw beheld
Death's awful presence. With deep sorrowing hearts
They scooped a grave amidst the soft black mould,
Laid the old Sachem in its narrow depth,
Then heaped the sod above, and left him there
To hallow the green hill-top with his name

VISIT TO GREENWOOD CEMETERY

BY MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY

City of marble! whose lone structures rise
In pomp of sculpture beautifully rare,
On thy still brow a mournful shadow lies,
For round thy haunts no busy feet repair;
No curling smoke ascends from roof-tree fair,
Nor cry of warning time the clock repeats —
No voice of Sabbath-bell doth call to prayer —
There are no children playing in thy streets,
Nor sounds of echoing toil invade thy green retreats.

Rich vines around thy graceful columns wind,
Young buds unfold, the dewy skies to bless,
Yet no fresh wreaths thine inmates wake to bind —
Prune no wild spray, nor pleasant garden dress —
From no luxuriant flower its fragrance press —
The golden sunsets through enwoven trees
Tremble and flash, but they no praise express —
They lift no casement to the balmy breeze,
For fairest scenes of earth have lost their power to please.

A ceaseless tide of emigration flows
On through thy gates, for thou forbiddest none
In thy close-curtained couches to repose,
Or lease thy narrow tenements of stone,
It matters not where first the sunbeam shone
Upon their cradle – 'neath the foliage free
Where dark palmettos fleck the torrid zone,
Or 'mid the icebergs of the Arctic sea —
Thou dost no questions ask; all are at home with thee.

One pledge alone they give, before their name
Is with thy peaceful denizens enrolled —
The vow of silence thou from each dost claim,
More strict and stern than Sparta's rule of old,
Bidding no secrets of thy realm be told,
Nor slightest whisper from its precincts spread —
Sealing each whitened lip with signet cold,
To stamp the oath of fealty, ere they tread
Thy never-echoing halls, oh city of the dead!

'Mid scenes like thine, fond memories find their home,
For sweet it was to me, in childhood's hours,
'Neath every village church-yard's shade to roam,
Where humblest mounds were decked with grassy flowers,
And I have roamed where dear Mount Auburn towers,
Where Laurel-Hill a cordial welcome gave
To the rich tracery of its hallowed bowers,
And where, by quiet Lehigh's crystal wave,
The meek Moravian smooths his turf-embroidered grave:

Where too, in Scotia, o'er the Bridge of Sighs,
The Clyde's Necropolis uprears its head,
Or that old abbey's sacred turrets rise
Whose crypts contain proud Albion's noblest dead, —
And where, by leafy canopy o'erspread,
The lyre of Gray its pensive descant made —
And where, beside the dancing city's tread,
Famed Père La Chaise all gorgeously displayed
Its meretricious robes, with chaplets overlaid.

But thou, oh Greenwood! sweetest art to me,
Enriched with tints of ocean, earth and sky,
Solemn and sweet, to meditation free,