Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. Then, all his youthful paradise around, And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake Spread its blue sheet, that flashed with many an oar, Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake, And the deer drank-as the light gale flew o'er, The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore; And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, A look of glad and innocent beauty wore, And peace was on the earth and in the air, The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there: Not unavenged-the foeman, from the wood, Beheld the deed, and, when the midnight shade Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood; All died-the wailing babe-the shrieking maid— And in the flood cf fire that scathed the glade, The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew When on the dewy woods the day-beam played; No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, And ever by their lake lay moored the light canoe. Look now abroad-another race has filled These populous borders-wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled; The land is full of harvests and green meads; Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze Their virgin waters; the full region leads New colonies forth, that toward the western seas Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees. Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, To a Waterfowl.-BRYANT. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,- Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, The Constancy of Nature contrasted with the Changes in Human Life.-DANA. How like eternity doth nature seem These are the murmuring waters, these the flowers Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. 'Tis I alone am changed; they know me not: The breeze that cooled my warm and youthful brow, With whom I talked-but I have talked with men! Seen hope cast down, turn deathly pale its glow; And fare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale.-DANA. THE sun was nigh its set, when we were come Once more where stood the good man's lowly home. We sat beside the door; a gorgeous sight Above our heads-the elm in golden light. Thoughtful and silent for awhile-he then Talked of my coming." Thou❜lt not go again From thine own vale; and we will make thy home Pleasant; and it shall glad thee to have come." Then of my garden and my house he spoke, And well ranged orchard on the sunny slope; And grew more bright and happy in his talk Of social winter eve, and summer walk. And, while I listened, to my sadder soul A sunnier, gentler sense in silence stole; Nor had I heart to spoil the little plan Which cheered the spirit of the kind old man. At length I spake "No! here I must not stay I'll rest to-night-to-morrow go my way." He did not urge me. Looking in my face, As he each feeling of the heart could trace, He prest my hand, and prayed I might be blest,Where'er I went, that Heaven would give me rest. The silent night has past into the prime Of day-to thoughtful souls a solemn time. For man has wakened from his nightly death, And shut up sense to morning's life and breath. He sees go out in heaven the stars that kept Their glorious watch while he, unconscious, slept,--Feels God was round him while he knew it notIs awed-then meets the world-and God's forgot. So may I not forget thee, holy Power! Be to me ever as at this cal hour. The tree tops now are glittering in the sun: Away! 'Tis time my journey was begun. Why should I stay, when all I loved are fled, Strange to the living, knowing but the dead; A homeless wanderer through my early home; Let me go, rather, where I shall not find Then for the dashing sea, the broad full sail! SONNET. The Free Mind. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.* HIGH walls and huge the body may confine, And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways: *This sonnet, written during Mr. Garrison's despotic imprisonment, possesses a nobleness and an energy in the thought, a corresponding ease and originality in the expression, and an antique richness in its whole structure, which make it worthy of the happiest Olden Times' of the English Muse. With all the heart, we bid its author God speed in his efforts in the cause of freedom. But it needs patience and prudence, as well as stern moral courage. The possible result of the Colonization Society, and the success which may attend the efforts for the entire abolition of slavery in this coun try, constitute the great problem, on the solution of which our prosperity, and perhaps even our existence as a nation, depends. Every man who can speak, every editor who can influence the public mind, should certainly be doing all in his power to hasten forward the period of complete emancipation. "Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come !" ED. |