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Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud
Alas ! I little thought that the stern power
efore the strain was ended. It must cease-
Oh, cut off
To copy thy example, and to leave
Now thou art not—and yet the men whose guilt Has wearied Heaven for vengeance-he who bears False witness -he who takes the orphan's bread, And robs the widow—he who spreads abroad Polluted hands of mockery of prayer, Are left to cumber earth. , Shuddering I look On what is written, yet I blot not out The desultory numbers let them stand, The record of an idle revery.
THE MASSACRE AT SCIO.
WEEP not for Scio's children slain;
Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed, Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain
For vengeance on the murderer's head.
Though high the warm red torrent ran
Between the flames that lit the sky, Yet, for each drop, an armed man
Shall rise, to free the land, or die.
And for each corpse, that in the sea
Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, A hundred of the foe shall be
A banquet for the mountain birds.
Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain
To keep that day, along her shore, Till the last link of slavery's chain
Is shivered, to be worn no more.
THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT.
An Indian girl was sitting where
Her lover, slain in battle, slept; Her maiden veil, her own black hair,
Came down o'er eyes that wept ; And wildly, in her woodland tongue, This sad and simple lay she sung :
“ I've pulled away the shrubs that grew
Too close above thy sleeping head, And broke the forest boughs that threw
Their shadows o'er thy bed, That, shining from the sweet south-west, The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.
« It was a weary, weary
Hast met thy father's ghost;
66'Twas I the broidered mocsen made,
That shod thee for that distant land; 'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still cold hand; Thy bow in many a battle bent, Thy arrows never vainly sent.
"With wampum belts I crossed thy breast,
And wrapped thee in the bison's hide,
In plenty, by thy side,"
« Thou’rt happy now, for thou hast passed
The long dark journey of the grave, And in the land of light, at last,
Hast joined the good and brave; Amid the flushed and balmy air, The bravest and the loveliest there.
“ Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid
Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray, To her who sits where thou wert laid,
And weeps the hours