Oh! bear her gently; lay her feeble form Close by the lake, where beam the waters bright: Oft has she watched from here the coming storm, And oft, as now, the glow of evening's light. Why weep her friends that fails her parting breath, That cold the pressure of her powerless hand! List!--Ye may hear from far the voice of death, Calling from earth her soul to spirits' land. Well do they know the fairies of the lake, That with its waves have mingled oft her tears, Here would she nature's solemn silence break With the death-song of woman's hopes and fears. I go,--I go, Where is heard no more The cry of sorrow or pain; I will wait for you there, Where skies are fair, But I come not to earth again. Mother, you weep! Yet my body will sleep Right near you, by night and by day: And, when comes the white snow, You will still weep, I know, That the summer and I've passed away. When the storm-spirit scowls, When the winter-wind howls, Oh! crouch not in cowardly fear. Not unwatched, then, the form That with life once was warm,-- My spirit will ever be near. My sisters! full well A dark tale I could tell, How my lover in death slumbers sound: My brother's strong arm, Made the life-blood flow warm: And he laughed as it covered the ground. I heard his deep sigh, I saw his closed eye, I knew that life's struggle was past. When his heart ceased to beat, Then I wept at his feet,-- My first love, my only, my last. Well my proud brother knew That my heart was as true To my love as the bird to its mate. I go to him there, Where flowers bloom fair: Will his spirit the Drooping Eye wait? Comes quickly my breath! The dampness of death, Oh! wipe from my brow with thy hand. Earth's sorrows are o'er, I may weep never more,-- Tears are not in that bright spirits' land. OLD JOHN. THE MEDICINE-MAN. BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. If ever "life was a fitful fever," it was with Old John, the Medicine-Man.