'We saw thee, O stranger, and wept!
We looked for the youth of the sunny glance,
Whose step was the fleetest in chase or dance!
The light of his eye was a joy to see;
The path of his arrows a storm to flee!
But there came a voice from a distant shore;
He was call'd—he his found 'midst his tribe no more!
He is not in his place when the night fire, 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 roused him--we bade him no longer pine;
For we heard a step--but that step was thine.' HEMANS.

'What was that cry of joy, Oriana?' exclaimed Henrich, as one evening
during their journey, he and his companion had strayed a little from
their party, who were seeking a resting-place for the night. 'What was
that cry of joy: and who is this Indian youth who has sprung from the
ground so eagerly, and is now hurrying towards us from that group of
overhanging trees? Is he a friend of yours?'

‘I know him not!’ replied Oriana. 'I never passed through this forest
before: but I have heard that it is inhabited by the Crees. They are
friendly to our allies, the Pequodees, so we need not fear to meet
them.'

As she spoke, the young stranger rapidly approached them, with an
expression of hope and expectation on his animated countenance; but
this changed as quickly to a look of deep despondence and grief, when