Weep not for Scio’s children slain;

The hunter of the west must goIn depth of woods to seek the deer.His rifle on his shoulder placed,His stores of death arranged with skill,His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,–Why lingers he beside the hill?Far, in the dim and doubtful light,Where woody slopes a valley leave,He sees what none but lover might,The dwelling of his Genevieve.And…

Among the herbs that hung aroundThe borders of the winding stream,The pretty stream, the placid stream,The softly-gliding, bashful stream.A breeze came wandering from the sky,Light as the whispers of a dream;He put the o’erhanging grasses by,And softly stooped to kiss the stream,The pretty stream, the flattered stream,The shy, yet unreluctant stream.The water, as the wind…

Nor round the sleeper’s name hath chisel wroughtThe emblems of a fame that never dies,—Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf,Twined with the laurel’s fair, imperial leaf.A simple name alone,To the great world unknown,Is graven here, and wild-flowers, rising round,Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground,Lean lovingly against the humble stone.Here, in the quiet earth,…

That openest when the quiet lightSucceeds the keen and frosty night.Thou comest not when violets leanO’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,Or columbines, in purple dressed,Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.Thou waitest late and com’st alone,When woods are bare and birds are flown,And frosts and shortening days portendThe aged year is near his end.Then doth thy…

The yellow violet’s modest bellPeeps from last-year’s leaves below.Ere russet fields their green resume,Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare,To meet thee, when thy faint perfumeAlone is in the virgin air.Of all her train, the hands of SpringFirst plant thee in the watery mould,And I have seen thee blossomingBeside the snow-bank’s edges cold.Thy parent sun,…

But he, whose loss our tears deplore,Has left behind him more than fame.For when the death-frost came to lieOn Leggett’s warm and mighty heart,And quenched his bold and friendly eye,His spirit did not all depart.The words of fire that from his penWere flung upon the fervent page,Still move, still shake the hearts of men,Amid a…