Along a winding path we strayed,
     Which through the forest led,
   While not one gentle zephyr swayed
     The branches overhead.

   Deep mutt’ring thunders soon were heard,
     Dark shadows gathered round;
   The trees, at intervals, were stirred
     By gusts of threat’ning sound.

   The hurricane arose in wrath,
     The rain in torrents poured;
   Huge trees were flung across our path,
     Loud crashing thunders roared.

   When vivid lightnings round us blazed,
     He told me not to fear;
   My little trembling hand he seized,
     And checked the rising tear.

   Loud thunders through the forest pealed;
     He smiled, and cheered me on,
   Exclaiming, “we’ll soon reach the field,
     Then all the danger’s gone.”

   But soon, in hurried tones he said,
     “Run, sister, run with me,
   Look! look! directly o’er your head,
     Behold that falling tree!”

   But, while I heard the warning sound
     Rise o’er the raging storm,
   Its double trunk had clasped around
     My little trembling form.

   Why did my brother linger there,
     Nor strive to gain the field? 
   Torn branches filled the darkened air,
     Huge trees above us reeled.

   Like some stern warrior on the field,
     ’Midst danger, death, and strife,
   He stood, determined not to yield,
     Until he saved my life.

   That awful tempest, and thy care,
     My mem’ry still retains,
   Engraved upon those tablets fair,
     ’Twill live while life remains.

LINES

   Addressed to an absent sister.

   Dear sister, though absent, your image is bright,
   It dwells in my heart and prompts me to write;
   Your health, is it blooming, your spirits in cheer? 
   You know ’twould rejoice me, such tidings to hear.

   The din of the village, and hum of the mill,
   Can they charm my sister like our quiet vale? 
   Does our little cottage seem humble and mean,
   Embosomed with trees, and surrounded with green?

   Like father and mother, are those where you dwell? 
   Like brothers and sisters who love you so well? 
   Or do you look forward and sigh for that hour,
   When we shall all meet in your jessamine bower?

   Where vines that you planted, will wave o’er your head,
   And nature’s green carpet sweet odors will shed;
   Each cool breeze is playing with flowers growing near,
   Which sister has planted, our spirits to cheer.

   Your roses and lilacs, among the pine trees,
   Are swarming with butterflies, humbirds, and bees;
   I view them each morning, all spark’ling with dew,
   And fancy they’re emblems of sisters like you.

   Come home and do housework, tend poultry and flowers,
   At noontide recline in our cool shady bowers;
   Could not such employment still yield you delight,
   Where birds are all singing from morning till night?