That welcome was a blast and ban
Upon thy race unborn.
Was there no seer, thou fated Man!
Thy lavish zeal to warn?
Thou in thy fearless faith didst hail
A weak, invading band,
But who shall heed thy children's wail,
Swept from their native land?
Thou gav'st the riches of thy streams,
The lordship o'er thy waves,
The region of thine infant dreams,
And of thy fathers graves,
But who to yon proud mansions pil'd
With wealth of earth and sea,
Poor outcast from thy forest wild,
Say, who shall welcome thee?
DEATH AMONG THE TREES.
Death walketh in the forest.
The tall pines
Do woo the lightning-flash, and through their veins
The fire-cup, darting, leaves their blackened trunks
A tablet, for ambition's sons to read
Their destiny. The oak, that centuries spared,
Grows grey at last, and like some time-worn man
Stretching out palsied arms, doth feebly cope
With the destroyer, while its gnarled roots
Betray their trust. The towering elm turns pale,
