The worn bird of Freedom had furled o'er our land The shattered wings, pierced by the despot's rude hand, And stout hearts were vowing, 'mid havoc and strife, To Liberty, fortune, fame, honor, and life. The red light of Morning had scarcely betrayed The sweet summer blossoms that slept in the glade, When a horseman rode forth from his camp in the wood, And paused where a cottage in loneliness stood. The ruthless marauder preceded him there, For the green vines were torn from the trellis-work fair, The flowers in the garden all hoof-trodden lay, And the rafters were black with the smoke of the fray: But the desolate building he heeded not long, Was it echo, the wind, or the notes of a song? One moment for doubt, and he stood by the side Of the dark-eyed young maiden, his long-promised bride. Few and short were their words, for the camp of the foe Was but severed from them, by a stream's narrow flow, And her fair cheek grew pale at the forest bird's start, But he said, as he mounted his steed to depart, "Nay, fear not, but trust to the chief for thy guide, And the light of the morrow shall see thee my bride." Why faltered the words ere the sentence was o'er? Why trembled each heart like the surf on the shore? In a marvellous legend of old it is said, That the cross where the Holy One suffered and bled Was built of the aspen, whose pale silver leaf, Has ever more quivered with horror and grief; And e'er since the hour, when thy pinion of light Was sullied in Eden, and doomed, through a night Of Sin and of Sorrow, to struggle above, Hast thou been a trembler, O beautiful Love! 'T was the deep hush of midnight; the stars from the sky Looked down with the glance of a seraph's bright eye, When it cleaveth in vision from Deity's shrine Through infinite space and creation divine, As the maiden came forth for her bridal arrayed, And was led by the red men through forest and shade, Till they paused where a fountain gushed clear in its play, And the tall pines rose dark and sublime o'er their way. Alas for the visions that, joyous and pure, Wove a vista of light through the Future's obscure! Contention waxed fierce 'neath the evergreen boughs, And the braves of the chieftain were false to his vows; In vain knelt the Pale-Face to merciless wrath, The tomahawk gleamed on her desolate path, One prayer for her lover, one look towards the sky, And the dark hand of Death closed the love-speaking eye.