Page:The poetical works of Thomas Campbell.djvu/144

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XXV."Sleep, wearied one! and in the dreaming landShouldst thou to-morrow with thy mother meet.Oh! tell her spirit, that the white man's handHath plucked the thorns of sorrow from thy feet;While I in lonely wilderness shall greetThy little foot-prints—or by traces knowThe fountain, where at noon I thought it sweetTo feed thee with the quarry of my bow,And poured the lotus-horn, or slew the mountain roe.
XXVI.Adieu! sweet scion of the rising sun!But should affliction's storms thy blossom mock.Then come again—my own adopted one!And I will graft thee on a noble stock:The crocodile, the condor of the rock,Shall be the pastime of thy sylvan wars;And I will teach thee, in the battle's shock,To pay with Huron blood thy father's scars,And gratulate his soul rejoicing in the stars!"
XXVII.So finished he the rhyme (howe'er uncouth)That true to nature's fervid feelings ran;(And song is but the eloquence of truth:)Then forth uprose that lone way-faring man;But dauntless he, nor chart, nor journey's planIn woods required, whose trained eye was keen,As eagle of the wilderness, to scanHis path by mountain, swamp, or deep ravine,Or ken far friendly huts on good savannas green.
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