30
CHICOMICO.
Was't the soft rippling wave? was't the murmur of trees,
Which, bending, were brushed by the wing of the breeze?
Ah, no! for she shrieked, as her piercing eye caught
A form which her frenzied brain never forgot!
'Twas Rathmond! yes, Rathmond before her now stood,
And he glanced his full eye on the child of the wood.
Which, bending, were brushed by the wing of the breeze?
Ah, no! for she shrieked, as her piercing eye caught
A form which her frenzied brain never forgot!
'Twas Rathmond! yes, Rathmond before her now stood,
And he glanced his full eye on the child of the wood.
"Chicomico!" he cried, his. voice sad and low,
"Chicomico! we are the children of woe!
O, come, then! O, come! and thy Rathmond's strong arm
Shall shelter thee ever from danger and harm;
'Tis true, I have loved with the passion of youth!
I have loved; and let Heaven attest with what truth!
But, Cordelia, thy ashes are mixed with the dead"—
(Here his eye flashed more fierce, and his pale cheek turned red)
"'Twas thy father, Chicomico—yes, 'twas thy sire,
Who kindled the loved saint's funereal pyre!
But, 'tis passed"—(and he crossed his cold, quivering hand
O'er a brow that was burning like Zahara's sand,)
"'Tis passed! and Chicomico, thou didst preserve
The life of a wretch, who now never can love!
That life is thy own, with a heart, that though chilled
To passion's soft throb, is with gratitude filled!"
···········
She turned her dark eye, from which reason's bright fire
"Chicomico! we are the children of woe!
O, come, then! O, come! and thy Rathmond's strong arm
Shall shelter thee ever from danger and harm;
'Tis true, I have loved with the passion of youth!
I have loved; and let Heaven attest with what truth!
But, Cordelia, thy ashes are mixed with the dead"—
(Here his eye flashed more fierce, and his pale cheek turned red)
"'Twas thy father, Chicomico—yes, 'twas thy sire,
Who kindled the loved saint's funereal pyre!
But, 'tis passed"—(and he crossed his cold, quivering hand
O'er a brow that was burning like Zahara's sand,)
"'Tis passed! and Chicomico, thou didst preserve
The life of a wretch, who now never can love!
That life is thy own, with a heart, that though chilled
To passion's soft throb, is with gratitude filled!"
···········
She turned her dark eye, from which reason's bright fire
