Day was just breaking when Susan reached the squatter's cabin. Having heard the sad story, Wilton and two of his sons started immediately for the spot. Nothing was to be seen save a heap of ashes. The party had apparently consisted of only three or four Indians; but a powerful tribe being in the neighborhood, they saw it would be too hazardous to follow them. From this time Susan lived with the Wiltons. She was as a daughter to the old man, and a sister to his sons, who often said: "That as far as they were concerned, the Indians had never done a kindlier action than in burning down Susan Cooper's hut."
THE WARNINGS OF THE PAST.
Faint dream-like voices of the spectral Past
Whisper the lessons of departed ages;
Each gathering treasured wisdom from the last,
A long succession of experienced sages
They steal upon the statesman as he sleeps,
And chant in Fancy's ear their warning numbers;
When restless Thought unceasing vigil keeps,
Trimming her taper while the body slumbers.
They bid him listen to the tales they tell
Of nations perish'd and embalm'd in story;
How inly rotting they were sapp'd and fell,
Like some proud oak whilome the forest's glory.
Sepulchral ruins crumble where a maze
Of busy streets once rang with life's commotion;
Where sculptured palaces in bygone days
Were gorged with spoils of conquer'd earth and ocean.
For Faction rent the seamless robe of Peace,
And, parting children of a common mother,
Bade fealty and loving concord cease
To link the hearts he sever'd from each other.
Such is the burden of those solemn notes
That issue from the haunted graves of nations;
Where, spread by Time, a vailing shadow floats
O'er spirits preaching from their ruin'd stations.