THE CHEROKEE'S GRAVE.
Calm be thy slumbers thou heart broken stranger,
And downy the hillock which pillows thy head,
The grave is a refuge from sorrow and danger,
Were wrong and oppression pursue not the dead:
Though far from thy cabin, thy kindred, and nation.
Unwept and unhonour'd thy relics repose,
Ere sleep with her poppies shall steal o'er creation.
Oft a requiem will hallow the even's still close:
And he who may wander at that witching hour,
On the banks of the Schuylkill the greenwood among,
Shall listen with rapture as night's shadows lower.
To a soul thrilling anthem by mortals unsung.
And there shall a cenotaph rise to the glory,
Which gilds with mild halo the temples of Penn.
Whose laurels still bloom in their records of story,
As the friend of the Indian,—the noblest of men.
But ere the wrapt minstrels evanish for ever,
May the Great Spirit grant them the heart cheering boon,
That the lucid example he furnished,—may never,
Be 'merg'd in the darkness which rests on the tomb:
That so long as the rivers replenish the ocean,
And still while with verdure the spring crowns the trees,
The heart of the white man may feel sad emotion,
When the woes of the Indian shall sigh in the breeze.
Calm be thy slumbers thou heart broken stranger.
And downy the hillock which pillows thy head,
The grave is a refuge from sorrow and danger,
Where wrong and oppression pursue not the
dead.
E.
HOPE.
Come flattering Hope! now woes distress me,
Thy flattery I desire again;
Again rely on thee to bless me,
To find thy vainness doubly vain,
Though disappointments vex and fetter,
And jeering whisper, thou art vain,
Still must I rest on thee for better,
Still hope—and be deceived again.