Page:The Forest Sanctuary.pdf/141

He is not in his place when the night-fires burn,
But we look for him still—he will yet return!
—His brother sat with a drooping brow
In the gloom of the shadowing cypress bough,
We rous'd him—we bade him no longer pine,
For we heard a step—but the step was thine.

We saw thee, O stranger, and wept!
We Iook'd for the maid of the mournful song,
Mournful, though sweet—she hath left us long!
We told her the youth of her love was gone,
And she went forth to seek him—she pass'd alone;
We hear not her voice when the woods are still,
From the bower where it sang, like a silvery rill.
The joy of her sire with her smile is fled,
The winter is white on his lonely head,
He hath none by his side when the wilds we track,
He hath none when we rest—yet she comes not back!
We look'd for her eye on the feast to shine,
For her breezy step—but the step was thine!

We saw thee, O stranger, and wept!
We look'd for the chief who hath left the spear
And the bow of his battles forgotten here!