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How often, 0, how often,

In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight

And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, o, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom

O'er the ocean wild and wide ?

For my heart was hot and restless,

And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,

It is buried in the sea ;
And only the sorrow of others

Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river

On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odour of brine from the ocean

Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands

Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,

Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,

And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,

As long as life has woes ;

The moon and its broken reflection

And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in heaven,

And its wavering image here.

TO THE DRIVING CLOUD.

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the

mighty Omawhaws; Gloomy and dark, as the driving cloud, whose

name thou hast taken! Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk

through the city's Narrow and populous streets, as once by the

margin of rivers Stalked those birds unknown, that have left

us only their footprints. What, in a few short years, will remain of thy

race but the footprints :

How canst thou walk in these streets, who

hast trod the green turf of the prairies ? How canst thou breathe in this air, who hast

breathed the sweet air of the mountains ? Ah! 'tis in vain that with lordly looks of dis

dain thou dost challenge Looks of dislike in return, and question these

walls and these pavements, Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds,

while down-trodden millions Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from

its caverns that they, too, Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim

its division ! Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions

west of the Wabash ! There as a monarch thou reignest.

tumn the leaves of the maple Pave the floors of thy palace-halls with gold,

and in summer Pine-trees waft through its chambers the

odourous breath of their branches

In au

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