1820-30.] M re AHP. FLINT. 59 The buried feelings of past years Nor wrung one plaint amid these fires, With that sweet vision sprung, To shame the spirits of my su'es. 'Till his clos'd lids were moist with tears, That anguish had not wrung. " They come — on yonder fleecy cloud But they were kindly tears — not weak, Slow sails the shadowy throng ; That cours'd each other down his cheek. They bend them from their misty shroud, And catch my dying song : Again he heard those accents dear — I mount in triumph from these fires, No — 'twas the savage yell, To join the spirits of my sires." That burst upon his sleeping ear, And broke the magic spell. A moment — and his waken'd eye Had scorch'd its lingering moisture dry. The sun sprang up the morning sky, THE CAMP MEETING. And roll'd the mists away ; There is a lovely vale, that, isle-like. But he was nerv'd to sufferance high; sleeps And saw without dismay Embosom'd in the rough and craggy hills That cheerful sun in glory rise. Of Tennessee. Gii't round, as wdth a As though to mock his agonies. storm Toss'd sea, by mountains hoar, precipitous Amid the flames, proud to the last, And wild, its verdant basin lies at rest. His warrior-spirit rose, And in the summer-sunshine smiles, as And looks of scorn, unblenching, cast 'twere Upon his circling foes : A soft and beauteous dimple on the harsh " Think ye I feel these harmless fires ? And furrow'd visage of the land. 'Twas No — by the spirits of my sires ! eve, The loveliest of the spring, and in that " I, that have made your wigwams red, vale. Your women captive borne. From their far homes among the distant And from your bravest chieftain's head hills. The badge of triumph torn : And desert solitudes, a mighty throng Think ye I feel these harmless fires ? Had gather'd round, to meet and worship No — by the spirits of my sires ! God. There were the gray-hair'd fathers of the " This frame to ashes ye may burn, land ; And give the winds in vain; And there, in sober manhood's hardiest I know ye cannot thus return prime, Your friends, these hands have slain : Their forest-sons. And their sons' sons Think ye I feel these harmless fires ? were there; No — by the spirits of my sires ! Their young eyes gUst'ning with the looks Of aw'd and wondering curiosity. " Shades of my Fathers ! — oh draw near. And there were mothers with their infant And greet me from the flame : babes. My foes have drawn no coward-tear, Delightful burdens, slumbering in their To stain my warrior fame ; arms ;
