206 CHARLES A. JONES. [1830-40. Stai'tled the wild-fowl from its sedgy nest, And bi'oke the wild deer's and the pan- ther's rest. The lordly oaks went down Before the ax — the cane-brake is a town : The bark canoe no more Glides noiseless from the shore ; And, sole memorial of a nation's doom, Amid the works of art rises this lonely tomb. It too must pass away : Barbaric hands will lay Its holy ruins level with the plain, And rear upon its site some goodly fane. It seemeth to upbraid The white man for the ruin he has made. And soon the spade and mattock must Invade the sleepers' buried dust, And bare their bones to sacrilegious eyes, And send them forth some joke-collector's prize. THE DESERTED FORGE. The sounds are gone which once were heard within yon lonely hut, On rusty hinge the windows hang, the cran- nied door is shut, And round about upon the floor lies many a rusty shoe. And broken bars, and heaps of coal, the lowly forges strew. No more is heard the blacksmith's voice engaged in merry song. Which to the passing traveler came, at in- tervals along ; As all the day, unceasingly, he plied the hammer's stroke. Which, from the low and humble roof, con- tinued echoes woke. The merry song, and hammer's click, are now forever o'er, His voice is hushed, his arm can wield the massy sledge no more ; Neglected now it lies along the heavy oaken block, Which, day by day, and night by night, was shaken by its shock. No more appeareth, smooth and bright, the polished anvil's face, For over all decay is seen, to steal with mournful pace ; The cobwebs hang upon the wall, and dust has gathered there ; The spiders now will reign alone within their gloomy lair. The bellows' sound no more will greet the ear of passers by. With noise as of a distant storm, approach- ing swiftly nigh ; It long has fallen from its place, its frag- ments strew the floor. And now its wreck alone can tell what it has been before ; And every breeze that whistles by, ere sweeping on its way, With mournful voice proclaims the deeds Time worketh on his prey ; And as it passes o'er the Avreck around the cabin spread, Seems, as it sought, to waken sounds which have forever fled. Nor more within the ready trough is plunged the hissing steel, For it is rotting as it stands — its sides the tale reveal ; And round about to every spot no more the cinders fly. Which sparkle brightly as they go, and then forever die ; But all is lone and dreary there, and with the hum of life The forger's now deserted shop will never more be rife ; And, one by one, the rafters round will sink by slow decay, Until each sign and vestige there shall all liave passed away.
