And the last blow has fallen—all is still! Hark to the murmur of the gentle rill— List to the breezy song the night wind sings— How the leaves shiver when the long bough swings— And this is nature—beautiful by night! Most beautiful, most heavenly in such light As now sleeps on her. Mighty God! how mean Seems the poor reptile man in such a scene! But where are they—the forms who lately stood On that wide floor, so slippery now with blood? Oh many stay there still, around they sleep In tortured attitudes of anguish deep, And some, but few, are fugitives; far down In the deep gorges of the forest brown, Are forms that struggle through the long rank grass, And pause, and start, and tremble as they pass. And Gilbert—the triumphant—where is he? Lo! ’neath the shadow of yon ivied tree A group of sorrowing, sobbing warriors bend O’er him they bled for, but could not defend. Oh destiny inscrutable! through all Unharmed to pass—the bayonet and the ball— And in the moment of success to fall! His life bleeds slowly from him; and beside Kneels she who was—or should have been—his bride; Mutely she kneels, nor moves, nor weeps, nor sighs, But only gazes on his glazing eyes, And presses his cold temples. Time rolls past, Each moment an eternity—they cast Inquiring glances on her; and they see At last his dauntless spirit is set free, Yet in her see no motion. But when gray In the far east appeared the rising day, They strove to raise the little arms that bound His silent head and stony temples round, They found her gentle spirit, too, had gone— She was a corpse, like him she rested on! * * * * * THE ISLETS OF THE GULF; OR, ROSE BUDD. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but Travelers must be content. As You Like It. BY THE AUTHOR OF “PILOT,” “RED ROVER,” “TWO ADMIRALS,” “WING-AND-WING,” “MILES WALLINGFORD,” &c. [Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by J. Fenimore Cooper, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Northern District of New York.] (_Continued from page 96._) PART XI. I might have pass’d that lovely cheek, Nor, perchance, my heart have left me; But the sensitive blush that came trembling there, Of my heart it forever bereft me. Who could blame had I loved that face, Ere my eyes could twice explore her; Yet it is for the fairy intelligence there, And her warm, warm heart I adore her. Wolfe.