"You are the Osawanda, then;

The fair, black-haired, and blue-eyed maid,

The captive child!" the chieftain said.

"I am," said Ruth.

"You have my aid,"

Said he, "against a thousand men.”

Soon on their way were rushing fast,

Down where the Little Sugar flows, With wild bird's song and scent of rose,On through woods where the maple grows, And on till frowning hill is past.

There checked their speed for moment's breath.
Then asked of Ruth: "What now to thee
Is this young man? some kin to be

Perhaps.

to me,

66

Worlds! worlds!" said she,

And for his life I race with Death."

Then she cried: "On! my Kansas, on!"
Then he: "And save! my Beecher, save!" 5 1
Who knows by what kind power the brave
May live, or foul may find his grave?
Both come to earth, and then are gone.

Now we leave, dashing white with foam
Their steeds, - and turn unto the four
Fiends we left two hours before.
These drunken, and athirst for gore,
Have found their way to Rubin's home.

And in those two dread mortal hours,
The insult and the pain he bore
Within the threshold of his door
Cannot be told.

Why fate deplore?

Or ask the why of hidden powers?

Enough for mortal man to know:

Him stripped and tied, his flesh they gashed With knives and sharpened sticks; they lashed His back with whips; and swore and gnashed Their teeth, and mocked him in his woe.

To the kind voice of Reason dumb,
The prowling beast some mercy has;
But to these fiends pale Pity was
A painted plaything for a devil's jaws,-
They drowned and drank it in their rum.

But Rubin said: "Give me a chance,-
Four to one is not fair, when tied.
Untie; I ask not aught beside."

This was refused, and then they cried: "Come, boy! give us a song and dance."

Then at last one put his hard hand

On Rubin's heart, and cried: "Gods, men,
How it thumps against his ribs!"

He put his ear close, and again

Then

He cried: "Gush! gush! it lacks the sand."

And then he drew his knife and said: "Now, boys, this knife I whet to-day

For blood. Its point is sharp to slay; It's time for it to drink,-give way!" And high it gleamed above his head.

But the base hand, quiv' ring on high,
and to the floor the knife's fall

Staid,

Went, harmless; for a navy ball

Had pierced his heart. 'Twas the close call, Unerring, of Montgomery.

Then and there three ruffians died.

The fourth was saved, but notice took Of what Montgomery said: "Now look, You fiend, and note it in your book: Henceforth, your horde must hunt and hide."

These were Montgomery's terms, and long
The subtle foe obeyed. The maid,
With Rubin saved, stood undismayed,
Angelic in that midnight shade,
And there entwined, with passion strong,

Her hero in the arms of love.

The claim they held, and long thereat They lived, and mighty men begat Who stand for blissful home; for that Holds Freedom's ark; and ark the dove.

Montgomery, thy manly shade

Now rests in peace. The sacred grove
Now decorates thy grave in love;

And weeping waters gurgling move
Close to thy feet where thou art laid.

Thy watchful eye and daring hand
Guarded the way for Liberty,-
Here at the gates of Linn we see
Thy stalwart blade and standard high,
As thou a sentinel didst stand!

Sweet be thy rest! and while the years Roll round, thy name in memory green Shall live, and here each year be seen. Thy comrades come, and o'er thee lean, And drop the tribute of their tears.

JOHN BROWN.

Sad Linn! Dark plots and direful things. In secret hatched, and compacts made In the vile den or sickly shade,

And writ with point of Slavery's blade, In bloody book which Treason brings.

the name

In this black book appears
And sentence of each Freedom's son,-
Boldly in blood the letters run,
In the fierce hand of Hamilton.
Now stands to his infernal fame

The record of that bloody book:
Eleven blasts from hell are blown,-
Eleven teeth of dragon sown,-
Eleven sons like grass cut down;
And Hydra of his feast partook.

Then came John Brown close on his path, And boldly passing to his den,

Him struck an awful blow, and when The shackles broke and fell from men He writhed and roared in demon's wrath.

Eleven slaves are now set free,

A kindly stroke for those who fell,-
A just and righteous parallel,-

52

Their freedom won, and strange to tell Kansas has gained her liberty.

Not on far Afric's burning sand,

When age on age has come and gone, And people searching in the throng Which passing centuries prolong, Ask for some hero proud and grand,

The theme for master sculptor's hand,
Whose ancient glory and renown
The waiting multitude shall crown,
Will there remote appear John Brown;-
But will be found in every land