Beneath the pines, beneath the yews, the deep magnolia shades, The clear Waukulla swift pursues its way through floral glades; Beneath the pines, beneath the yews, beneath night's falling shade, Beneath the low and dusky moon still marched the cavalcade. "The river widens," said the men; "Are we not near the spring, The fountain of eternal youth that health to age doth bring?" The cacique sighed, And Indian guide, "The spring is near, Waukulla!" "The fount is fair and bright and clear, and pure its waters run; Waukulla, lovely in the moon and beauteous in the sun. But vainly to the blossomed flower will come the autumn rain, And never youth's departed days come back to man again. O men of Spain! O men of Spain! 'Tis you that say the spring Eternal youth and happiness to withered years will bring!" The cacique sighed, And Indian guide, "The fount is deep, Waukulla!" The river to a grotto led, as to a god's abode; There lay the fountain bright with stars; stars in its waters flowed; The mighty live-oaks round it rose, in ancient mosses clad; De Leon's heart beat high for joy; the cavaliers were glad, "O men of Spain! O men of Spain! This surely is the spring, The fountain fair that health and joy to faces old doth bring!" The cacique sighed, And Indian guide, "The spring is old, Waukulla!" "Avalla, O my trusty friend that we this day should see! Strip off thy doublet and descend the glowing fount with me!" "The saints! I will," Avalla said. "Already young I feel, And younger than my sons shall I return to old Castile." Then plunged De Leon in the spring And then Avalla old, Then slowly rose each wrinkled face above the waters cold. The cacique sighed, And Indian guide, "The fount is false, Waukulla!" O vainly to the blossomed flower will come the autumn rain, And never youth's departed days come back to man again; The crowns Castilian could not bring the withered stalk a leaf, But came a sabre flash that morn, and fell the Indian chief. Another sabre flash, and then The guide beside him lay, And red the clear Waukulla ran toward Appalachee Bay. Then from the dead The Spaniards fled, And cursed the spring, Waukulla. "Like comrades life was left behind, the years shall o'er me roll, For all the hopes that man can find lies hidden in the soul. Ye white sails lift, and drift again across the southern main; There wait for me, there wait us all, the hollow tombs of Spain!" Beneath the liquid stars the sails Arose and went their way, And bore the gray-haired cavaliers from Appalachee Bay. The young chief slept, The maiden wept, Beside the bright Waukulla. HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.