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(TAE story of MOGG MEGONE has been considered by the author only as a frame-work for sketches of the scenery of New Eng. land, and of its early inhabitants. In portraying the Indian character, he has followed, as closely as his story would admit, the rough but natural delineations of Church, Mayhew, Charlevoix, and Roger Williams; and in so doing he has necessarily discarded much of the romance which poets and novelists have thrown around the ill-fated red man )
Who stands on that clity, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
While beneath him the Saco its work is doing, Hurrying down to its grave, the sea,
And slow through the rock its pathway hewing ! Far down, through the mist of the falling river, Which rises up like an incense ever, The splintered points of the crags are seen, With water howling and vexed between, While the scooping whirl of the pool beneath Seems an open throat, with its granite teeth! But Mogg Megone never trembled yet Wherever his eye or his foot was set. He is watchful: each form in the moonlight dim, Of rock or of tree, is seen of him : He listens; each sound from afar is caught, The faintest shiver of leaf and limb:
But he sees not the waters, which foam and fret,
Of the gnarl'd beech, whose naked root
Coils like a serpent at his foot,
aves in the wind one lock of hair,
Reserved for him, whoe'er he be,
When breast to breast and knee to knee,
And Modocawando's wives had strung
Of beaded wampum around it hung.
What seeks Megone? His foes are near
Grey Jocelyn's eye is never sleeping, And the garrison lights are burning clear,
Where Phillips'il men their watch are keeping. Let him hie him away through the dank river
fog, Never rustling the boughs nor displacing the
rocks, For the eyes and the ears which are watching for
He starts—there's a rustle among
the leaves :
With Indian blood on his English sword ?
How lights the eye of Mogg Megone!
“ Boon welcome, Johnny Bonython!”
The hunted outlaw, Bonython ! 14
And nought of English fashion on;
pauses-dark, over cheek and brow,
From the leaping brook 15 to the Saco river
The wife of Mogg Megone forever.”
There's a sudden light in the Indian's glance,
Of love or triumph, or both perchance,
Over his proud, calm features stealing.
« But father!”-and the Indian's hand
Falls gently on the white man's arm And with a smile as shrewdly bland
As the deep voice is slow and calm“ Where is my father's singing-bird
The sunny eye, and sunset hair? I know I have my father's word,
And that his word is good and fair; But, will my father tell me where Megone shall go and look for his bride ?For he sees her not by her father's side."
The dark, stern eye of Bonython
Flashes over the features of Mogg Megone,
In one of those glances which search within ; But the stolid calm of the Indian alone
Remains where the trace of emotion has been. * Does the Sachem doubt? Let him
with me, And the eyes of the Sachem his bride shall sen."
Cautious and slow, with
Hark !—is that the angry howl