The Wyandot Pioneer

Original Poetry.

[For The Pioneer.]

A Romance.

No. 1.

BY OTHO J. POWELL.

The shades of night were gathering o'er

The valley and the plain,

And silence deep—no sound was heard

O'er nature's wide domain.

With roscate hue the azure sky,

Upon this eve was decked,

And fleecy clouds with glorious light,

Their crimson rays reflect.

The night grows dark; but yet the gloom

Hides not the spectral form,

That moves about with stealthy tread

Whilst meditating harm.

Can it be human, and thus stand,

Amid the foliage green,

And gaze upon the vaulted sky,

Unknown and unseen?

'Tis lost to sight—the spectre's gone,

And clouds of blackness rise—

The thunder rolls—a livid blaze

Of lightning veils the skies.

The wind with a tempestuous roar,

Now sweeps across the vale,

And thunders crash—the mountains shake

In torrents falls the hail.

Above the fury of the storm,

In piteous tones is heard,

A human voice—and in distress,

Came from it, but one word:

"Lost!" was the loud, unearthly sound

That filled the heart with dread,

Of him who in his frenzied state,

To this green vale had fled.

In robes of purest white reclined,

A lovely maiden fair,

Her cheeks were pale, and on her brow,

Was written wild despair.

Her eyes were filled with burning tears.

Her heart was almost broke,

She raised her tear-dimmed eyes to heaven,

In trembling words she spoke.

"Lost—lost—he is forever lost,

His face I'll see no more—

Hark! what noise—who comes to me—

Oh, that my life was o'er!

I see him—yes, my dearest Hal—

Oh! can I be deceived?.

Ah! it is but a foolish dream,

My hopes I've not retrieved.

No—no, it cannot be that I

Must die, and never see,

The form I loved to gaze upon,

Lost! lost—ah, lost to me!

Oh! God, let not thy vengeance rest,

Upon this guilty head,

But ease this beating, throbbing heart,

That for the lost hath bled.

She raised one loud heart-rending cry,

And sank upon the floor,

Her eye-lids closed—her breathing ceased,

And all her grief seemed o'er

But oh! she wakes—dread vengeance falls—

The spectral form appears'

And in a wild, distracted tone,

Her awful doom declares.

"List, maiden," and the spectre speaks:

"A word I have with thee,

Thy black, deceitful soul, ere long,

Sinks to eternity."

The madman raised a gleaming blade,

And aimed a deadly blow,

But ere the dagger pierced her heart

Appeared a vengeful foe.

"My God, dear Agnes—what means this?"

And quickly a strong arm,

Wrench'd from the fiend the gleaming steel

Protecting her from harm:

"Sav'd, sav'd!" she cried, and clos'd her eyes

When he the weapon grasped,

"Dear Hal, you've come to me again,"

The maiden faintly gasped.

A sharp report—her lover lays,

And dying—they must part—

She seiz'd the dagger—with one thrust,

Reach'd the assassin's heart.

UPPER Sandusky, Nov. 27, 1863.