From the N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.
THE INDIAN BOY.
From the blood stained track of ruthless war,
An Indian boy had fled;
Remote from his house in the wild woods far,
A moss bank pillowed his head.
His glossy hair was damp with dew,
His air was mild and meek-
And it seemed that a straggling tear or two
Had wandered down his cheek.
For he saw in his dream the bayonets gleam,
He saw his kindred fall;
And he heard his mother's dying scream,
And the crackling flames take all.
In his feverish sleep he turned and rolled,
'Mid the fern and the wild flowers gay;
And his little hand fell on a rattlesnake's fold,
As coil'd in the herbage it lay.
His head the stately reptile rais'd
Unclos'd his fiery eye;
On the sleeping boy for a moment he gazed,
Then pass'd him harmless by.
'Twas well, young savage, well for thee,
It was only the serpent's lair;
Thy fate perchance would different by,
Had the white man slumbered there.