-Had they not seen th' untrodden shore, And could they 'midst our wilds find rest? The lightning of their glance was fled, They dwelt amongst us as the dead! They lay beside our glittering rills, With visions in their darken'd eye, Where elk and deer before us fly; Their spears upon the cedar hung, They bent no more the forest-bow, They arm'd not with the warrior-band, The moons wan'd o'er them dim and slow-They left us for the spirit's land! Beneath our pines yon greensward heap Son of the stranger! if at eve Silence be 'midst us in thy place, The strength of battle and of chase! THE BENDED BOW. It is supposed that war was anciently proclaimed in Britain by sending messengers in different directions through the land, each bearing a bended bow; and that peace was in like manner announced by a bow unstrung, and therefore staight. See the Cambrian Antiquities. THERE was heard the sound of a coming foe, "Heard ye not the battle-horn? Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red!" And the reaper arm'd like a freeman's son, "Hunter! leave the mountain-chase! Take the falchion from its place! Let the wolf go free to-day, Leave him for a nobler prey! Let the deer ungall'd sweep by,- And the hunter arm'd ere the chase was done, "Chieftain! quit the joyous feast! Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall." And the chieftain arm'd, and the horn was blown, And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on. "Prince! thy father's deeds are told, In the bower and in the hold! Where the goatherd's lay is sung, Give our bards a tale of thee!" And the prince came arm'd, like a leader's son, And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on. "Mother! stay thou not thy boy! Give thy brother words of cheer! Britain calls the strong in heart!" And the bended Bow and the voice pass'd on. And the bards made song for a battle won. HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.* It is recorded of Henry the First, that after the death of his son, Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile. THE bark that held a prince went down, To him that wept a son ? He lived-for life may long be borne Ere sorrow break its chain ; Why comes not death to those who mourn? *Originally published in the Literary Gazette. |