YE Indian Names. E say they all have passed away, That their light canoes have vanished From off the crested wave, That 'mid the forests where they roamed But their name is on your waters, 'T is where Ontario's billow Where red Missouri bringeth Rich tribute from the west, And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps On green Virginia's breast. Ye say their cone-like cabins, But their memory liveth on your hills, Your everlasting rivers speak Old Massachusetts wears it And broad Ohio bears it Amid his young renown; Connecticut hath wreathed it Where her quiet foliage waves, And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse Through all her ancient caves. THE RHINE. Wachusett hides its lingering voice Your mountains build their monument Ye call these red-browed brethren Crushed like the noteless worm amid Ye drive them from their fathers' lands, But can ye from the court of Heaven Ye see their unresisting tribes, On through the trackless desert pass, A caravan of Think woe; ye the Eternal Ear is deaf, His sleepless vision dim? Think ye the soul's blood may not cry From that far land to him? 313 LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. The Rhine. THE castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, And scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strewed a scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou with me. And peasant girls with deep-blue eyes, Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; gray, Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of And many a rock which steeply lowers, And noble arch in proud decay, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine, Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! I send the lilies given to me: Though long before thy hand they touch The river nobly foams and flows, The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round: To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine LORD BYRON. DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. 315 The Skylark. BIRD of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! Blest is thy dwelling-place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! JAMES HOGG. O Dirge for the Year. RPHAN Hours, the Year is dead, Merry Hours, smile instead, For the Year is but asleep; As an earthquake rocks a corse So white Winter, that rough nurse, As the wild air stirs and sways January gray is here, Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier; March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps — but, O ye Hours ! PERCY BYsshe Shelley. A Sun and Shadow. S I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green, Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen, Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun,- |