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The Other wore a rimless crown
In their fraternal features I could trace
Yet they, so blithe of heart, seemed fit
Wings let them have, and they might flit
Precursors of Aurora's Car,
Scattering fresh flowers; though happier far, I ween, To hunt their fluttering game o'er rock and level green.
They dart across my path—but lo,
Your Mother has had alms of mine."
"That cannot be," one answered- "she is dead:
I looked reproof—they saw - but neither hung his head.
"She has been dead, Sir, many a day.”.
"Sweet Boys! Heaven hears that rash reply; It was your Mother, as I say!"
And, in the twinkling of an eye,
"Come! come!" cried one, and without more ado, Off to some other play the joyous Vagrants flew!
SEQUEL TO THE FOREGOING,
COMPOSED MANY YEARS AFTER.
WHERE are they now, those wanton Boys?
And ornaments of seemlier pride,
More fresh, more bright, than Princes wear;
What good or evil have they seen
Spirits of beauty and of grace!
When she encounters fraud or guile;
They met me in a genial hour,
As with the breath of one sweet flower, -
Of discontent, and check the birth
Of thoughts with better thoughts at strife,
Since parting Innocence bequeathed
Soft clouds, the whitest of the year,
Sailed through the sky--the brooks ran clear;
The faith with which it then was cheered;
Through your sweet influence, and the care
Destined, whate'er their earthly doom,
WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
And she had made a Pipe of straw,
Beneath her Father's roof, alone
She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;
Herself her own delight;
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;
And, passing thus the live-long day,
She grew to Woman's height.
There came a Youth from Georgia's shore
A military Casque he wore,
With splendid feathers drest;
He brought them from the Cherokees;
The feathers nodded in the breeze,
And made a gallant crest.
From Indian blood you deem him sprung:
And, when America was free
He 'cross the ocean came.
With hues of genius on his cheek
In finest tones the Youth could speak:
The moon, the glory of the sun,
And streams that murmur as they run,
He was a lovely Youth! I guess
And, when he chose to sport and play,
Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought
Such tales as told to any Maid
By such a Youth, in the green shade,
He told of Girls a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and shout,
To gather strawberries all day long;
When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants divine and strange
With budding, fading, faded flowers
He told of the Magnolia, spread
High as a cloud, high over head!
The Cypress and her spire;
Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.