But once, when Spring with aspect meek,
Smiled on dissolving snows,
His mother's paleness mark'd his cheek,
And to her arms he rose.
CHILLY M'INTOSH.
'Twas night.—The traitor chief reposed
Where shades involved his cabin deep,
Stretch'd on his couch, his eye was closed,
But say,—can Treachery sleep?—
Yes!—while forbearing Heaven extends
Her smile to all,
While morning's purple tinge she lends
And spreads mild evening's balmy pall,
And bids the dews of mercy fall
Alike on foes and friends,
Man sins and sleeps.—
While Nature like a pitying matron weeps,
And spares her erring son;
From his devoted head the lightning charms,
And gives him shelter in her sacred arms;
Still guilt dreams on,
And still his harden'd breast from conscience shields,
Till brief probation's hour to retribution yields.—
MacIntosh slept.—But near his home
Were the steps of a hostile train,
Like the rush of a mountain stream they come,
Who never strike in vain.
