UNIV. OF CALBORM.

PROEM.

Realm of the Senecas! no more

In shadow lies the Pleasant Vale; Gone are the Chiefs who ruled of yore, Like chaff before the rushing gale.

Their rivers run with narrowed bounds,

Cleared are their broad, old hunting grounds,

And on their ancient battle fields

The greensward to the ploughman yields ;
Like mocking echoes of the hill

Their fame resounded and grew still,
And on green ridge and level plain
Their hearths will never smoke again.
When fade away the summer flowers,
And come the bright autumnal hours,
The ripened grain above their graves
Nods to the wind in golden waves.
Fled are their pomp and power like dreams,
By scribe unmarked, by bard unsung;
But mountains, lakes and rolling streams

Recall their wild rich forest tongue,
And names of melody they bear,
Sweeter than flute-notes on the air.

Oblivion swallows, one by one,
Old legends by the sire to son

Around the crackling camp-fire told-
Their oaks have fallen, trunk and bough,
And hut and hall of council now
Are changed to ashes cold.
Toiled have I many a weary day
To gather their traditions grey,
And rescue from effacing time

A few brave deeds and traits sublime.
Now listen, for the tale I tell
Perchance may be remembered well,
Though coarsely framed my sylvan lyre,
Harsh its wild tone, untuned its wire!

YONNONDIO.

CANTO FIRST.

THE CAMP.

Lovely is Summer in old Mother Land,
Lighting up garden, park and pasture green;
Wrecks of monastic pomp, and castle grand,
Forever hallowed features of the scene!
But lovelier look the nymph puts on, I ween,
Amid lone forests of the Western World,
Though brown of visage and untamed of mien-

Moss-fringed her robe-her ringlets all uncurled With dew in leafy halls, at noontide hour impearled.

Oak

groves of merry England are renowned

In rustic legend and in polished lay;

Mort on the horn her early monarchs wound,

While bled the stag, beneath their branches gray,

And still their iron trunks defy decay

But rugged woods of our Hesperian clime

Have wider empire:-clothed in dark array

That graced their arches at the birth of Time, When new-born spheres, with song, began their march sublime.

I.

Through pines that crowned the wooded steep,
Winds, freshened by the lake were sighing,
And in his basin, broad and deep,

Irondequoit was darkly lying.

A deeper, more luxuriant green,
In grassy spire and wood-plant seen;
A clearer tinkle in the rill,

And light more lustrous on the hill,
A richer fragrance in the breeze,
And wilder, sweeter melodies,
Told that serene and happy May
To summer had resigned her sway;
That arching sky had caught its hue
From June's clear orb of radiant blue.

II.

Earth was in gala dress arrayed,

And blushed with flowers the forest mould,

While stately tulip trees displayed

Their honied cups of glistening gold;

Rich robe was over maple flung;
On chestnut golden tassel hung;

Light airs a slumberous tune evoked

From leaves that trembling poplar cloaked, And oaks a thicker foliage bore,

To canopy the forest floor;

Where open space on hill side lay,
Exposed to ripening warmth of day,
The sod, with strawberries bestrown,
Was tinted like the ruby-stone.

III.

Far up the reedy bay were seen

Bright upland swells with vales between, Through which ran brooks of crystal sheen; The lily-stem its silver cup

Above the water lifted up,

And throwing on deep pool a shade,
Waved the long flag its emerald blade;
To crumbling marge, with eager cries,
The heron bore his dripping prize,
And down the rough uneven bank
The snorting wild deer came and drank;
Amid the reeds that fringed the shore
The water-rat and otter swam,

And fearlessly the beaver bore

His tooth-hewn timber to the dam.

Wild was the scene!—his ragged cone,