Page:Selections from the American poets (IA selectamerpoet00bryarich).pdf/140

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
That in thy veins there springs a poison fountain,
 Deadlier than that which bathes the Upas-tree;
And in thy wrath, a nursing Cat o' Mountain
 Is calm as her babe's sleep compared with thee?

And underneath that face like summer's ocean's,
 Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear,
Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions,
 Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow—all, save fear,

Love—for thy land, as if she were thy daughter,
 Her pipes in peace, her tomahawk in wars;
Hatred—of missionaries and cold water;
 Pride—in thy rifle trophies and thy scars;

Hope—that thy wrongs will be by the Great Spirit
 Remember'd and revenged when thou art gone;
Sorrow that none are left thee to inherit
 Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

The night is come, but not too soon;
 And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon
 Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
 But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
 To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?
 The star of love and dreams?
Oh no! from that blue tent above,
 A hero's armour gleams.

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