Page:The poetical works of Thomas Campbell.djvu/143

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XXII.And Julia! when thou wert like Gertrude now.Can I forget thee, favourite child of yore!Or thought I, in thy father's house, when thouWert lightest hearted on his festive floor,And first of all his hospitable doorTo meet and kiss me at my journey's end?But where was I when Waldegrave was no more?And thou didst pale thy gentle head extendIn woes, that ev'n the tribe of deserts was thy friend!"
XXIII.He said—and strained unto his heart the boy;—Far differently, the mute Oneyda tookHis calumet of peace, and cup of joy;As monumental bronze unchanged his look;A soul that pity touched, but never shook;Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bierThe fierce extreme of good and ill to brookImpassive—fearing but the shame of fear—A stoic of the woods—a man without a tear.
XXIV.Yet deem not goodness on the savage stockOf Outalissi's heart disdained to grow;As lives the oak unwithered on the rockBy storms above, and barrenness below;He scorned his own, who felt another's woe:And ere the wolf-skin on his back he flung,Or laced his mocasins, in act to go.A song of parting to the boy he sung,Who slept on Albert's couch, nor heard his friendly tongue.
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