XX.

Then look'd they to the hills, where fire o'erhung The bandit groupes, in one Vesuvian glare;

Or swept, far seen, the tow'r, whose clock unrung,
Told legible that midnight of despair.

She faints, she falters not,-th' heroic fair,-
As he the sword and plume in haste array'd.
One short embrace—he clasp'd his dearest care-
But hark! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade?
Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through
the shade!

XXI.

Then came of every race the mingled swarm,

Far rung the groves, and gleam'd the midnight grass, With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm;

As warriors wheel'd their culverins of brass,

Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass,

Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines :

And first the wild Moravian yargers pass,

His plumed host the dark Iberian joins

And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle

shines.

XXII.

And in, the buskin'd hunters of the deer,

To Albert's home, with shout and cymbal throng:-
Rous'd by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer,
Old Outalissi woke his battle song,

And, beating with his war-club cadence strong,
Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts,

Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long,
To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,

And smile aveng'd ere yet his eagle spirit parts.

XXIII.

Calm, opposite the Christian father rose,
Pale on his venerable brow its rays

Of martyr light the conflagration throws;
One hand upon his lovely child he lays,

And one th' uncover'd crowd to silence sways;

While, though the battle flash is faster driv'n,-
Unaw'd, with eye unstartled by the blaze,

He for his bleeding country prays to Heav'n,

Prays that the men of blood themselves may be for

given.

XXIV.

Short time is now for gratulating speech;

And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began

Thy country's flight, yon distant tow'rs to reach,

Look'd not on thee the rudest partizan

With brow relax'd to love! And murmurs ran

As round and round their willing ranks they drew, From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. Grateful, on them a placid look she threw,

Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu!

XXV.

Past was the flight, and welcome seem'd the tow'r,

That like a giant standard-bearer, frown'd

Defiance on the roving Indian pow'r.

Beneath, each bold and promontory mound
With embrasure emboss'd, and armour crown'd,

And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin,

Wove like a diadem its tracery round

The lofty summit of that mountain green;

Here stood secure the group, and ey'd a distant

scene.

XXVI.

A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;

And for the business of destruction done,

Its requiem the war-horn seem'd to blow.
There, sad spectatress of her country's woe!
The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm,
Had laid her cheek, and clasp'd her hands of snow
On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm

Enclos'd, that felt her heart, and hush'd its wild alarm!

XXVII.

But short that contemplation-sad and short

The pause to bid each much-lov'd scene adieu!

Beneath the very shadow of the fort,

Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew ;