'Tis night,--a night by fits now foul, now fair, As speed the cloud-wracks through the gusty air: At times the wild blast dies--and high and far, Through chasms of cloud, looks down the solemn star-- Or the majestic moon;--so watchfires mark Some sleeping War dim-tented in the dark; Or so, through antique Chaos and the storm Of Matter, whirl'd and writhing into form, Pale angels peer'd! Anon, from brief repose The winds leap forth, the cloven deeps reclose; Mass upon mass, the hurtling vapours driven, As one huge blackness walls the earth from heaven!-- In one of these brief lulls--you see, serene, The village church spire 'mid its mounds of green, The scattered roof-tops of the hamlet round, And the swoll'n rill that girds the holy ground. A plank that rock'd above the rushing wave, The dizzy pathway to a wanderer gave; There, as he paused, from the lone churchyard, slow Emerged a form the wanderer's eyes should know! It gains the opposing margent of the stream, Full on the face shines calm the crescent beam; It halts upon the bridge! Now, Indian, learn If in thy soul the heathen yet can yearn! Swift runs the wave, the instinct and the hour, The lonely night, when evil thoughts have power, The foe before thee, and no things that live To witness vengeance--Canst thou still forgive? Scarce seen by each the face of each--when, deep O'er the lost moon, the cloud's loud surges sweep; Yea, as a sea devours the fated bark, Vanish'd the heaven, and closed the abyss of dark! You heard the roaring of the mighty blast, The groaning trees uprooted as it pass'd The wrath and madness of the starless rill, Swell'd by each torrent rushing from the hill. The slight plank creaks--high mount the waves and high, Hark! with the tempest's shrieks the human cry! Upon the bridge but _one_ man now!--below, The night of waters and the drowning foe! The Indian heard the death-cry and the fall; Still o'er the wild scene hung the funeral pall! What eye can pierce the darkness of the wave? } What hand guide rescue through the roaring grave? } Not for such craven questions pause the brave! } Again the moon!--again the churchyard's green, Spire, hamlet, mead, and rill distinct are seen; But on the bridge _no_ form, no life! The beam Shoots wan and broken on the tortured stream; Vague, indistinct, what yonder moveth o'er The troubled tide, and struggles to the shore? Hark, where the sere bough of the tossing tree Snaps in the grasp of some strong agony, And the dull plunge, and stifled cry betray Where the grim water-fiend reclasps his prey!