THE INDIAN MAIDEN'S SONG,

BY WILLIAM SHOBERL.

The youth I love is far away.
O'er forest, river, brake, and glen;
And distant, too, perchance the day,
When I shall see him once again.

Nine moons have wasted[1] since we met,
How sweetly, then, the moments flew!
Methinks the fairy vision yet
Portrays the joy that ZEMLA knew.

In list'ning to the tale of strife,
When Shone AZALCO'S prowess bright,
The strange adventures of his life,
That gave me such unmix'd delight.

That dream of happiness is past!
For ever fled those magic charms!
The cruel moment came at last,
That tore AZALCO from my arms!

What bitter pangs my bosom rent,
When he my sight no longer bless'd!
To some lone spot my steps I bent,
My secret sorrows there confess'd.

My sighs, alas! were breath'd unheard,