Richmond Enquirer

Yamoyden: A Tale of the War of King Philip, in six Cantos, by the late Rev. Julius A. Rockwell, A. M., and his friend.

A poem with this title has lately been published in New York. It is the posthumous and unfinished work of a young clergyman, whose poetical talents would, had he been graciously spared to his country, have reflected lustre on the American literary character.

The following spirited verses are from the Third Canto of Yamoyden.

[ Nat. Gaz.

Thou! of the ocean rock! what eye
The secret mind shall scan?
No conqueror now, in monarch high
A lone, a captive man!
Thine was the chance, in regal sway,
Amid thy pilloried array,
And gallant pomp around
To meet thy last, decisive day.
When war, along the kindling fray,
With dazzling horrors frowned!
While maddened swords around thee moved,
Flushing afar the blaze beloved;
And with thy name their battle cry.
The charging squadrons rushed to die.
But here, in swamps inglorious swamp,
In subterranean, unwarlike camp,
The stones his pillow, and the reeds
The only couch he asks or needs,
A hero lay, whose sleepless soul
Was given the spirits to control
Of lesser men: of heart as great
As thine, spottled favorite of fate!
And he was wise, as bold and true,
To use the simple craft he knew;
But skillful nature can
A different clime, a different age.
His enrolled his deeds in glory's page,
As proud as thine his wreath had been:
But if unlike thy closing scene,
How more unlike thy fame!
Thy strife was for another's throne.
For realms and subjects not thine own,
And for a conqueror's name:
He fought because he would not yield
His birthright, and his father's field;
Would vindicate the deep disgrace,
The wrongs, the ruin of his race:-
He slew, that well avenged in death,
His kindred spirits pleased might be;-
Died, for his people and his faith,
His sceptre, and his liberty!