Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/217

O'er cloud-capped mounts, through forests, dense with shade,
O'er bridgeless rivers, swoln to torrents hoarse,
O'er prairies like the never-ending sea,
Following the chart that had been dimly traced
By stranger-guide.
                             At length they reached a lodge,
Deep in the wilderness, beside whose door
A wrinkled woman, with the Saxon brow
Sate, coarsely mantled in her blanket-robe,
The Indian pipe between her shrivelled lips.
Yet, in her blue eye dwelt a gleam of thought,
A hidden memory, whose electric force
Thrilled to the fount of being, and revealed
The kindred drops, that had so long wrought out
A separate channel.
                              With affection's haste
The sister clasped her neck, "Oh lost and found!
Lily! dear sister! praise to God above!"
Then, in wild sobs, her trembling voice was lost.
The brother drew her to his side, and bent
A long and tender gaze, into the depths
Of her clear eye. That glance unsealed the scroll
Of many years. Yet no responding tear
Moistened her cheek, nor did she stretch her arms
To answer their embrace.
                                       "O Lily! love!
For whom this heart so many years hath kept
Its dearest place," the sister's voice resumed,