THE GUERILLA CHIEF.
But the war-storm came on the mountain gale,
And man's heart beat high, though his cheek was pale,
For blood and dust lay on the white hair,
And the maiden wept o'er her last despair;
The hearth was cold, and the child was prest
A corpse to the murdered mother's breast;
And fear and guilt, and sorrow and shame,
Darkened wherever the war-fiend came.
It stood beneath a large old chesnut-tree,
And had stood there for years;—the moonlight fell
Over the white walls, which the vine had hung
With its thick leaves and purple fruit; a pair
