Oldalképek
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

Jarn mill."

· Thank yer honor,' sez I, but I'll cotton to Ichabod The reader will excuse my describing the scene Green in that line, since he invinted the new spun- which ensued, for, as I have before said, and as the

reader has probably assented, description is not my Soon after sundown the land wind from the south forte; beside, I am in a devil of a hurry to get the set in smartly, and by eight o'clock we were not a ship under weigh, or all will be lost. little fearful lest our kedge might drag. The captain's The hawser was cut, and we wore round under rig was brought to the stairs, and the party chosen our jib; the top-sails were hoisted and filled out befor the expedition took their places, the first mate and fore the breeze, and we began our voyage toward ship’s cousin and six stout seamen, well armed. home. Sail after sail was set, and the noble old ship Stewart was very nervous and silent; the only re- danced merrily and swiftly along, leaving the scene mark he made after we left the ship was when we of my cousin's suslering far astern; and, alas ! every swept by the end of the mole.

moment adding to the distance between Ellen and It was just nine o'clock when we hauled into the me. The lights of the distant city, shining through shade of the summer-house and its vines at the foot | the mazy rigging of the shipping before it, grew of Mr. Stowe's garden. I was commissioned to go dimmer and more faini, and ally, entirely disapto the house while the rest staid by the boat. On the peared; the wide ocean was before us. fairs of the back verandah I met Mary Stowe. The next morning we were seventy miles from ** Is it you, Frank?” she asked.

the nearest land of Cuba; and ten days afterward ** Ay; ay; is Cousin Clara here?”

the marine lists of the Boston papers announced Oh, yes! in Ellen's room, and the Superior is in the arrival of the ship Gentile, Smith, from Mathe parlor with mother. Ellen has been terribly sick, tanzas. but she was well enough to whisper just now, 'Give Frank my best love." * Here, Mary,” said I, “give her this kiss a

CHAPTER XI. thousand times."

In which the fullness of the Gentiles is accomplished. - Oh, heavens! what a pretty one! But I must go and send Sister Agatha to you; we've got a hard Great was the joy of my father and mother, and part to act when her flight is discovered. I say, good little sisters, at the unexpected appearance of Frank, give Langley my love; don't wonder at it Cousins Pedro and Clara. The money of the former, now, adieu! I 'll see you in iwo years.”'

it may be recollected, had been brought to Boston in "I waited impatiently for two minutes, which the Cabot, and placed in my father's hands, and seemed two hours; at last I heard a light step on the though Pedro could not be called a rich man, still tairs, and in a moment more held the runaway nun the sum now paid him by his uncle

was very in my arins.

handsome. This, by advice, was invested in an "Courage!'' said I, "you are safe.”

India venture to send by the Geniile; and my Cousin Throwing a cloak over her, we hastily ran down Pedro, in consequence of this and my father's recomthe orange-walk. I could not suppress a sigh as I mendation, was appointed supercargo of that ship by passed the place where Ellen had told me that she Mr. Selden, the merchant who had chartered her. thought she loved me. In a moment we reached Captain Smith was removed to a new and larger the boat; Stewart stood upon the shore to receive vessel; and the Gentile's list of officers, when she Us, caught ihe fainting form of Cousin Clara in his cleared for Canton, stood thus, Benjamin Stewart, arms, and bore her apparently lifeless to the stern- master; Pedro Garcia, supercargo; Micah Brewster, sheets; the men shipped their oars, and I seized the 1st officer; William Langley, 2nd do.; Frank Byrne, rudder-lines, and gave the word of command. 3rd do. Jack Reeves was also in the forecastle,

“Push off-let fall-give way--and now pull for but Teddy staid by his old skipper. your lives."

It was a very pleasant day when we sailed from The boat shot like lightning down the narrow river the end of Long Wharf; but we had got nearly to its mouth, then across the broad bay, glittering in under weigh before Captain Stewart the first rays of the just risen moon. The band was board. playing as we rapidly shot past the barracks.

"That's always the way with these new married I sat near the lovers in the stern-sheets, and heard skippers," growled the pilot, as he gave orders to Stewart whisper, “Dearest, do you remember that hoist the maintop-sail.” old Castilian air?" The answer was inaudible, but from the long kiss that Stewart pressed upon the lips About a month ago, the senior partner of the firm which replied to him, I judged that the reply was in of Byrne & Co. was heard to say, that he had in his the affirmative. At last the ship was reached, and employ three sea captains who had each one wooed the passengers of the boat were safely transferred to his wife in broad daylight, in a g:ırden of the city of the broad, firm deck of the old Gentile.

Matanzas.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

came on

[ocr errors]

19

[blocks in formation]

As of a strong man's grief;

His heart denied its blood-his brain spun roundIle sank upon the ground!

WEARY, but now no longer girt by foes,

He darkly stood beside that sullen wave,
Watching the sluggish waters, whose repose

Imaged the gloomy shadows in his heart;
Vultures, that, in the gried of appetite,
Süll sating blind their passionate deliglit,
Lose all the wing for flight,

And, brooding deafly o'er the prey they tear,
Hear never the low voice that cries, "depart,

Lest with your surfeit you partake the snare!" Thus fixed by brooding and rapacious thought,

Stood the dark chieftain by the gloomy stream, When, suddenly, his ear

A far off murmur caught,
Low, deep, impending, as of trooping winds,

l'p from his father's grave,
That ever still some fearful echoes gare,

Such as had lately warned him in his dream, Of all that he had lost-of all he still might save!

Well knew he of the sacrilege that made That sacred vault, where thrice two hundred kings

Were in their royal pomp and purple laid, Refuge for meanest things ;

Well knew he of the horrid midnight rite, And the foul orgies, and the treacherous spell,

By those dread magions nightly practiced there; And who the destined victim of their art;

But, as he feels the sacred amulet
That clips his neck and trembles at his breast-

As once did she who gave i-he haih sel
His resolure spirit to its work, and well

His great soul answers to the threatning dread, Those voices from the mansions of the dead ! Upon the earth, like stone, lle cronched in silence; and his keen ear, prene,

Kissed the cold ground in watchfulness, not fear! But soon he rose in fright,

For, as the sounds grew near,
He feels the accents never were of carth :
They have a wilder birth

Than in the council of his enemies,
And he, the man, who, having but one life,
Hath risked a thousand in unequal strife,

Now, in the night and silence, sudden finds
A terror, at whose touch his muhood flies.

The blood grows cold and freezes in his veins,
His heart sinks, and upon his lips the breath
Curdles, as if in death!

Vainly he strives in flight,
His trembling knees deny--his strength is gone!

As one who, in the depth of the dark night, Groping through chambered ruins, lays his hands

On cold and clammy bones, and glutinous brains,

The murdered man's remains-
Thus rooted to the dread spot stood the chief,

When, from the 2. b of ages, came the sound,

’T was but an instant to the dust he clung;

The murmurs grew about him like a cloudHe breathed an atmosphere of spirit-voices,

Most sighing sad, but with a sound between,
As of one born to hope that still rejoices,

In a sweet foreign tongue,
That seemed exulling, starting from its shroud,

To a new rapture for the first time seen!
This better voice, as with a crowning spell,
On the chief 's spirit fell;

Up starting from the earth, he cried aloud: "Ah! thou art there, and well!

I thank thee, thou sweet life, that unto me
Art life no longer-thou hast brought me life,
Such as shall make thy murderers dread the strife.

But for thy ear a gentler speech be mine,
And I will wait until the terrible hour

Hath past, and I may wholly then be thine!
Now am I sworn unto a wilder power,
But none so dear, or precious, sweetest flower,
That ever, when Palenque possessed her tower

And white-robed priesthood, wert of all thy race
Most queen!y, and the soul of truth and

grace;Blossom of beauty, that I could not keep,

And know not to resignI would, but cannot weep!

These are not tears, my father, but hot blood
That fills the warrior's eyes;

For every drop that falls, a mighty flood
Our foemen's hearts shall yield us, when the dawn

Begins of that last day
Whose red light ushers in the fatal fray,

Such as shall bring us back old victories,
Or of the empire, evermore withdrawn,

Shall make a realm of silence and of gloom,

Where all may read the doom, But none shall dream the horrid history! I do not weer—I do not shrink-I cry For the fierce strife and vengeance! Taught by thee, No other thought I see! My hope is strong within, my limbs are free.

My arms would strike the foe-my feet would fly, Where now he rides triumphant in his sway

And though within my soul a sorrow deep Makes thought a horror haunting memory,

I do not, will not weep!”

Then swore he-and he called the tree whose growth

Of past and solemn centuries made it wear

An ancient, god-like air,
To register his deep and passionate oath.

Hate to the last be swore_ wild revenge,

Such as no chance can chonge,

Vowed he before those during witnesses, Rocks, waters and old trees.

And, in that midnight hour, No sound from nature broke, No sound save that he spoke,

No sound from spirits hushed and listening nigh! His was an oath of power

A prince's pledge for vengeance to his race

To twice two hundred years of royalty-
That still the unbroken sceptre should have sway,
While yet one subject warrior might obey,

Or one great soul avenge a realm's disgrace!
It was the pledge of vengeance, for long years,

Borne by his trampled people as a dower Of bitterness and tears ;

Homes rifled, hopes defeated, feelings torn

By a fierce conqueror's scorn; The national gods o’erthrown-ireasure and blood, Once boundless as the flvod,

That 'neath his fixed and unforgiving eye

Crept onward silently;
Scattered and squandered wantonly, by bands,
Leaguered in shame, the scum of foreign lands,

Sent forth to lengthen out their infamy,
With the wild banquet of a pampered mood.
Even as he swore, his eye

Grew kindled with a fierce and flaming blight, Red-lowering like the sky,

When, heralding the tempest in his might,
The muttering clouds march forth and form on high,
With sable banners and grim majesty.
Beneath his frowning brow a shaft of fire,
That told the lurking ire,
Shot ever forth, ouiflashing through the gloom
It could not well illume,
Making the swarthy cheeks on which it fell
Seem trenched with scarred lines of hate and hell.

Then heaved his breast with all the deep delight
The warrior finds in promise of the fight,

Who seeks for vengeance in his victory.
For, in the sudden silence in the air,
He knew how gracious was the audience there :
He heard the wings unfolding at the close,

And the soft voice that cheered him once before
Now into utterance rose :
One whispered word,

One parting tone,
And then a fragrant flight of wings was heard

And she was gone, was gone

Yet was he not alone! not all alone!
Thus, having sworn--the old and witnessing tree
Bent down, and in his branches registered
Each dark and passionate word;
And on the rocks, trenched in their shapeless sides,
The Icrrible oath abides;
And the dark waters, muttering to their waves,
Bore to their secret mansions and dim caves

The low of death they heard.
Thus were the dead appeased—the listening dead-

For, as the warrior paused, a cold breath came,

Wrapping with ice his frame,
A cold hand pressing on his heart and head ;

Entranced and motionless,
Upon the earth he lies,

While a dread picture of the land's distress
Rose up before his eyes.
First came old Hilluah's shadow, with the ring

About his brow, the sceptre in his hand,

Ensigns of glorious and supreme command,
Proofs of the conqueror, honored in the king.
“Ilenovar! Ilenovar!” he cried :
Vainly the chief replied ;-
IIe strove to rise for homage, but in vain-
The deathlike spell was on him like a chain,
And his clogged tongue, that still he strove to teach,
Denied all answering speech!
The monarch bade him mark
The clotted blood that, dark,
Distained his royal bosom, and that found
Its way, still issuing, from a mortal wound,

Ghastly and gaping wide, upon his thrvat!
The shadow passed- another took his place,
of the same royal race;
The noble Yumuri, the only son
Of the old monarch, heir to his high throne,
Cut off by cunning ir: his youthful pride ;
There was the murderer's gash, and the red lide
Still pouring from his side;

And round his neck the mark of bloody hands, That strangled the brave sufferer while he strove

Against their clashing brands.
Not with unmoistened eyes did the chief note

His noble cousin, precious to his love,
Brother of one more precious to his thought,

With whom and her, three happy hearts in one,
He grew together in their joys and fears-
And not till sundered knew the taste of tears;

Salt, bitter tears, but shed by one alone,
Him the survivor, the avenger-he
Who vainly shades his eyes that still must see!
Long troops came after of his slaughtered race,

Each in his habit, even as he died :
The big sweat trickled down the warrior's face,
Yet could he move no limb, in that deep trance,
Nor turn away his glance!
They melt again to cloud-at last they fade ;

He breathes, that sad spectator,-they are gone;

He sighs with sweet relief; but lo! anon,
A deeper spell enfolds him, as a maid,
Graceful as evening light, and with an eye
Intelligent with beauty, like the sky,
And wooing as the shade,

Bends o'er him silently!
With one sweet hand she lists the streaming hair,

That o'er her shoulders droops so gracefully, While with the other she directs his gaze, All desperate with amaze, Yet with a strange delight, through all his fear! What sees he there? Buried within her bosom doth his eye The deadly steel descry; The blood stream clotted round it-the sweet life Shed by the cruel knife The keen blade guided to the pure white breast, By its own kindred hand, declares the rest! Smiling upon the deed, she smiles on him, And in that smile the lovely share grows dim. His trance is gone-his heart Hath no more fear! in one wild start He bursts the spell that bound him, with a cry That rings in the far sky; He does not fear to rouec his enemy! The hollow rocks reply; He shouts, and wildly, with a desperate voice, As if he did rejoice That death had done his worst; And in his very desperation blessed,

He felt that life could never more be cursed ;

And from its gross remains he still inight wrest

A something, not a joy, but needful to his breast ! His hope is in the thought that he shall gain Sweet vengeance for the slainFor her, the sole, the one More dear to him than daylight or the sun, That perished to be pure! No more! no more! Hath that stern mourner language! But the vow,

Late breathed before those spectre witnesses,
His secret spirit muliers o'er and o'er,
As 't were the very life of him and his-
Dear to his memory,

needful to him now!
A moment and his right hand grasped his brow-
Then, bending to the waters, his canoe,
Like some etherial thing that mocks the view,
Glides silent from the shore.

THE LAST OF HIS RACE.

BY S. DRYDEN PHELPS.

'Twas to a dark and solitary glen,

Amid New England's scenery wild and bold, A lonely spot scarce visited by men,

Where high the frowning hills their summits hold,

And stand, the storm-bear battlements of oldReturned at evening from the fruitless chase,

Weary and sad, and pierced with autumn's cold
And laid him mournful in his rocky place,
The grief-worn warrior chief-last of his once proud race.
He wrapt his mantle round his manly form,

And sighed as on his cavern floor he lay;
His bosom heaved with passion's varying storm,

While he to melancholy thoughts gave way,

And mused on deeds of many a by-gone day.
Scenes of the past before his vison rose-

The fearless clans o’er whom he once held'sway,
The bloody battle-field and vanquished foes,
His wide extended rule, which few had dared oppose.
He sees again his glad and peaceful home,

His warlike sons and cherished daughters dear;
Together o'er his hunting-grounds they roam,

Together they their honored sire revere;

But trickles down his check the burning tear,
As fades the spectral vision from his eye:

Low at his shrine he bows with listening ear,
And up to the Great Spirit sends a cry,
To bear him to his rest, and bid his sorrows die.
Tired of the lonely world he longs to go

And join his kindred and the warrior band,
Where fruits for him in rich luxuriance grow,

Nor comes the pale-face to that spirit-land:

Ere he departs for aye, he fain would stand Again upon his favorite rock and gaze

O'er the wide realm where once he held command, Where oft he hunted in his younger days, Where, in the joyful dance, he sang victorious lays. Up the bold height with trembling step he passed,

And gained the fearful eminence he sought; As on surrounding scenes his eye was cast,

His troubled spirit racked with frenzied thought,

And urged by ruin on his empire brought, He uttered curses on the pale-faced throng,

With whom in vain his scattered warriors fought And on the sighing breeze that swept along, He poured the fiery words that filled his vengeful song: Fair home of the red man! my lingering gaze On thy ruin now rests, like the sun's fading rays; 'T is the last that I give-like the dim orb of day, My life shall go down, and my spirit away. Loved home of the red man! I leave thee with pain, The place where my kindred, my brothers were slain; The graves of my fathers, whose wigwams were here; The land where I hunted the swift-bounding deer. No longer these hills and these valleys I roam, No more are these mountains and forests my home, No more, on the face of the beautiful tide, Shall the red man's canoe in tranquillity glide. The pale-face hath conquered—we faded away, Like mist on the hills in the sun's burning ray, Like the leaves of the forest our warriors have perished; Our homes have been sacked by the stranger we cherished. May the Great Spirit come in his terrible mighi, And pour on the white man his mildew and blight May his fruits be destroyed by the tempest and hail, And the fire-bolts of heaven his dwellings assail. May the beasts of the mountain his children devour, And the pestilence seize him with death-dealing power ; May his warriors all perish, and he in his gloom, Like the hosts of the red men, be swept to the lomb.

Scarce had the wild notes of the chieftain's song

Died mournful on the evening breeze away, Ere down the precipice he plunged along

Mid ragged cliffs that in his passage lay:

All torn and mangled by the fearful fray, Naught save the echo of his fall arose.

The winds that still around that summit play, The sporting rill that far beneath it flows, Chant, where the Indian fell, thelr requiem o'er his woes

DECAY AND ROME.

METHINKS I

see,
within

yon

wasted hall, O'erhung with tapestry of ivy green,

The grim old king Decay, who rules the scene, Throned on a crumbling column by the wall, Beneath a ruined arch of ancient fame,

Mocking the desolation round about,
Blotting with his effacing fingers our

The inscription, razing off its hero's nameAnd lo! the ancient mistress of the globe, With clasped hands, a statue of despair,

Sits abject at his feet, in fellers boundA thousand renis in her imperial robe,

Swordless and sceptreless, her golden hair Dishevelled in the dust, for ages gathering round !

R, HS

THE LITTLE CAP.MAKER.

OR LOVE'S MASQUERADE.

BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.

PART I.

mis-fortune, and even envying those whose daily toil Fair Ursula sits alone in an apartment which can alone bring them the necessaries of life; for, have seems fitted up for the reception of some goddess. they friends—they are true friends--there is no selfishShe is not weeping, but her dark eyes are humid ness in the bond which unites them-while she, unwith tears, An air of melancholy rests on her young happy child that she is, owes to her rank and riches face, like a shadow on a rose-leaf, while her little her thousand friends and the crowd of satellites worhands are folded despairingly on her lap. The hem shiping before her! What a foolish notion to enter of her snowy robe sweeps the rich surface of the her little head! True, it is foolish. Lovers, too, in carpet, from out which one dainty little foot, in its plenty sigh at her feet, and in the soft moonlight the fairy slipper of black satin, peeps forth, wantonly air is tremulous with sighs and music, as from becrushing the beautiful bouquet which has fallen from neath her window steals the soft serenade. But the hands of the unhappy fair one.

Crsula curls her lip disdainfully, and orders her maid Every thing in this inviting apartment is arranged to shut out the sweet sounds. Ever that hateful gold with the most exquisite taste and elegance. On comes between her and her lovers, and then she tables of unique pattern are scattered the most costly wishes her lot was humble, that she might be loved gems of art and vertu-choice paintings adorn the for herself alone! walls-flowers, rare and beautiful, lift their heads Do you wish a portrait of the unhappy little heiress ? proudly above the works of art which surround them, Behold her then: and in splendid Chinese cages, birds of gorgeous A perfect little sylph, resting on the tiniest of feet, plumage have learned to caress the rosy lips of their with hands so charming that you would feel an almost young mistress, or perch triumphantly on her snowy irresistible desire to fold them caressingly within finger. Here are books, too, and music-a harp, your own-the rich complexion of a brunette with a piano—while through a half open door leading from the bloom of Hebe on her check-her hair like bura little recess over which a multafora is taught to nished jet--eyes large, lustrous and black--but (alas lwine its graceful tendrils, a glimpse may be caught that there should be a but!) poor Ursula had an unof rosy silken hangings shading the couch where the fortunate cast in her left eye-in others words she queen of this little realm nightly sinks to her innocent squinted-yes, absolutely squinted! slumbers.

Dear, dear what a pity! Eighteen summers have scarce kissed the brow of Yet stop, do n't judge the little heiress too hastily, the fair maid, and already the canker worm of sor- for after all it was not a bad squint-indeed, if you row is preying upon her heart-strings. Poor thing, knew her, you would say it was really a becoming 50 young and yet so sad! What can have caused squint, such a roguish, knowing look did it give her! this sadness! Perhaps she loves one whose heart Nevertheless, it was a squint, and poor l'rsu'a, notthrobs not with answering kindness-perhaps loves withstanding the bewitching form and features lier one faithless to her beauty, or loves where cruel fate mirror threw back, fancied this a deformity which has interposed the barrier of a parent's frown! cast aside all her graces. And here again the gold!

No-her heart is as free and unsettered as the wind. jaundiced her imagination and whispered, “ were it

Ah! then perhaps her bosom friend, the chosen not for me what a horrible squint you would have in companion of her girlhood has proved unkind-some the straight forward eyes of the world! delightful project of pleasure perhaps frustrated, or, When her parents died Ursula Lovel was but an I dare say she has found herself eclipsed at Madame infant, yet as tender and affectionate as parents had Raynor's soirée by some more brilliant belle--no, been the good uncle and aunt to whose love and no, none of these surmises are true, plausible as they guardianship she was bequeathed. They had no appear! Then what is it? Perhaps—but you will children, and gladly took the little orphan to their never guess, and you will laugh incredulously when bosoms with pity and love-and l'rsula required all I tell you that poor, poor dear darling l'rsula weeps their watchful care, for she was ever a feeble child, because-because

giving no indications of that sprightly beauty and She is an heiress!

perfect health she now exhibited. Then indeed the That is it-yes, weepz because she is the uncon- quint was truly a deformity, for her thin, sallow trolled mistress of one hundred thousand dollars in countenance only made it far more conspicuous. houses, lands and gold, bright gold!

People should be more guarded what they say bePoor little dear-looking upon fortune as a serious fore children. One good old lady by a careless re

« ElőzőTovább »