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 thou
Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor,
And first of all his hospitable door
To 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 extend
In woes, that ev'n the tribe of deserts was thy friend!"
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 thou
Wert lightest hearted on his festive floor,
And first of all his hospitable door
To 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 extend
In 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 took
His 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 bier
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook
Impassive—fearing but the shame of fear—
A stoic of the woods—a man without a tear.
He said—and strained unto his heart the boy;—
Far differently, the mute Oneyda took
His 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 bier
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook
Impassive—fearing but the shame of fear—
A stoic of the woods—a man without a tear.
XXIV.
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow;
As lives the oak unwithered on the rock
By 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.
Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock
Of Outalissi's heart disdained to grow;
As lives the oak unwithered on the rock
By 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.