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THE INFIDEL. 393
The tones of her voice were as thrillingly deep, As the plaintive night-wind's mournful sweep.
Strange fancies were rising within my breast, While I saw that brow with beauty impress'd; Methought a shade, from the pinions fair -Of her angel mother, was resting there.
Poor, lonely Amelia ! my heart has bled, While tracing the path which thy feet must tread; Yet 't is sweet to think, that on land or tide, The God of the orphan shall be thy guide.
.THE INFIDEL. O'er Erie's waters calmly bright
A vessel urged its trackless way, And swiftly, in its westward flight,
It bore the joyous and the gay.
Some had begun for wealth to roam, - Leaving their warmest friends behind; And others, homeless, sought a home, Which grief and want might fail to find.
And some perchance were there who sought,
Not for the riches of the west, But for some sweet, some hallow'd spot,
By a beloved one's footsteps press'd. •
And one, a dark-soul'd atheist, Scatter'd, with fearful industry,