The tall, gray forest; and a band They sang, that by his native bowers A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Before, a dark-haired virgin train Stripped of his proud and martial dress, Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless, With darting eye, and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread, He came; and oft that eye so proud They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the village-bell, And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, Thus on its sounding anvil shaped ENDYMION. THE rising Moon has hid the stars; And silver white the river gleams, Had dropt her silver bow On such a tranquil night as this, |