ELIAN GRAY.

BY MARY HOWITT.

"OH ! Elian Gray, rise up, rise up!”
His neighbours cried, "still dost thou sleep?
The bloody Indians are come down,
Flames rise from the near English town;-
And hark!-the warwhoop, wild and deep!"

"I sleep not," said the ancient man,
"Fly you-but tarry not for me!—
I dare not quit this lonely ground,
Though the wild Indians camp around,
For God commands me not to flee.

"I know not what may be his will,

But when I rose up to depart,

Fly not thou hast no cause to fear,—

Thy place of duty still is here;'

Like lightning-words passed through my heart.

Therefore, I dare not quit this place,-
But you, whom no commands delay,
Haste and secure by timely flight
Your wives and little ones this night,-

Fly! fly, my children! while ye may!"

They fled like wild deer through the woods, And saw from each commanding height, Afar, and all around, aspire

The red flames of consuming fire,

Marking the Indians' path that night.

Alone, alone sate Elian Gray,

With unbarred door, beside his fire, Thoughtful, yet cheerfully resigned, Awaiting with submissive mind

What the Great Master might require.

Seven days went on, and where was he?
A captive, travel-worn and spent
With many marchings night and day,
Through the far wilderness, away

To a wild Indian settlement.

And now the old man's strength had failed, And powerless as a child new-born, Stretched in that lonely forest-place, Among a fierce and savage race,

He lay, as if of God forlorn!-

Forlorn !—and yet he prayed to live
With a wild, feverish agony;
And fearful, doubting grew his mind,
And for a moment he repined

That God had brought him here to die.

When lowly murmured by the door
Of the rude hut in which he lay,
He heard, as if in dreams he heard,
Mournfully many an English word
Cast to the desert winds away.

He looked-it was an Indian woman,
Singing, as if to soothe some woe
Which at her very heart was strong,-
The sad words of an English song
That he remembered long ago,—

The ballad of a broken heart ;

But how could her soul understand

The sadness of that story old?
How could an Indian tongue unfold
The language of another's land?

Ere long the mystery was revealed,

And then the old man, Elian Gray, Saw the great work of God was clear, And she was the poor stricken deer

For whom his path through peril lay!

"No, I am not of Indian birth!"

Said she, "I have an English name,
Though now none give it unto me ;-
Mahontis, child of misery,

They gave me for my Indian name,
And 'tis the only one I claim.

"And yet I love the English tongue,
And let us two our converse hold
In that dear, unforgotten speech,
For it hath words my grief to reach,—
The Indian tongue is harsh and cold.

"The place of which I scarce can think
Thou know'st, and knowing it, art dear;
For thou wilt say there's not on earth
A spot like that which gave me birth-
Know'st thou the Vales of Windermere ?

"And yet it matters not-thou dost!—
There was my birth-place; there I grew,
Without a care my youth to dim,
A mountain-maiden strong of limb,

And free as the wild winds that blew.

'My step was firm, my heart was bold,

I crossed the lake, I clomb the rock ;
Clad in that simple country's dress,
I was a mountain shepherdess,.

And there I kept my father's flock.

P

"I grew, and I became a wife;

And he who was my chosen mate, Though midst our lonely mountains bred, Much knowledge had, and much had read,— Too much for one of his estate.

"He knew all lands, all histories old-
He understood whate'er he saw:
His words poured out like waters free;
His was that native dignity

Which could respect from all men draw.

"Wise as he was, he could not toil,

And all went wrong about our place: The years were wet, we'd nought to reap ; Amid the snows we lost our sheep,

And misery stared us in the face.

"We left the land that gave us birth—
And I, who was become a mother,
Within my inmost heart kept deep
My burning tears-I would not weep ;-

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"T is hard our bitterest griefs to smother!

'My parents' graves among the hills, We left them in their silence lying! My husband's hopes were high and strong, And with light heart he went along,

Good omens in each thing descrying.