THE SETTLER. Rude was the garb, and strong the frame, The soul that warmed that frame, disdained 239 240 THE SETTLER. Which was the living chronicle The violet sprung at Spring's first tinge, And still the lone one laboured there, His garden spade, or drove his share He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot, His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed, His fangs, with dying howl; THE SETTLER. Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground, The beaver sank beneath the wound Humble the lot, yet his the race! Who cumbered Bunker's height of red, 241 "La rose cueillie et le cœur gagne ne plaisent qu'un jour." THE maiden sat at her busy wheel, Her heart was light and free, And ever in cheerful song broke forth Her song was in mockery of love, "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart Can charm but for a day." I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek, And I sighed to think that the traitor love, But she thought not of future days of wo, A year passed on, and again I stood By the humble cottage-door; BALLAD. The maid sat at her busy wheel, But her look was blithe no more; The big tear stood in her downcast eye, "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart Oh! well I knew what had dimmed her eye, The maid had forgotten her early song, While she listened to love's soft tale. She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup, And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, Had charmed but for a day. 243 |