1832.] [ 629 ] 



THE SONG OF THE TRANSFORMED. 



A tradition was current, amongst the natives of Hispaniola, when discovered by Colum- 

 bus, that the light of the sun was fatal to the aboriginal inhabitants of the island, turning 

 them into trees and stones ; and that a man, sent out to fish, by a chief named Vagoniona, 

 and changed into a melodious singing bird, came at night annually about the time he had 

 suffered this transformation, and bewailed his misfortune in a mournful song, which is the 

 cause why that bird, mistaken by Columbus for the nightingale, sings always at night. 

 A r ide Irving's Life of Columbus. 



A SONG ! a dreary song. 



Each night, and all night long 

 Is mine the hapless Toomahee ! to sing ; 



Far, in some leafy nest 



To swell my plumed breast 

 In plainings wild, and droop my listless wing ! 



'Tis mine, with shame to spealr, 



Of wing, and breast, and beak, 

 MAN, once that was : now, but a lonelj Bird ; 



To shun day's mortal light, 



And vex the hush of night, 

 With solemn wailings, as my soul is stirr'd! 



A holy, luscious calm 

 Is round me, and the balm 



Of cool, low-breathing winds, with sighings sweet 

 From pale, delicious flowers, 

 Which wake but at these hours, 

 Faint forest-voices, soft and sad, to greet. 



Yon golden fires above, 



Rays, of divinest love, 

 Shed on the quiet earth, and waters clear ; 



To them, with piercing wail, 



I pour my piteous tale, 

 But ah ! they will not heed, or cannot hear. 



The spirits of these woods, 



The guardians of the floods, 

 The genii of the radiant, racy flowers, 



Know well, the long drawn tone, 



By hopelessness alone 

 Urg'd, and sigh'd forth, intenderest midnight hours. y 



My languid wings have sought 



Those, who in anguish'd thought 

 Live to me ever : dear ones, ne'er forgot 



Through years, in which no voice 



Of man, hath bid rejoice 

 My loving breast, I've sought, and found them not. 



I've sung: but where are they, 



Who've echoed not, my lay ? 

 Transform'd perchance, to tree, or rock, or bird ? 



Silent in death ? ah ! why, 



May not the Chang'd One die ? 

 Why must his wail eternally be heard ? 



B. M. L. 



