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Thou wilt not leave, in doubt and fear,
The humble soul, who loves to hear
The lessons of thy word.
When foes around us thickly press,
And all is danger and distress,
There’s safety in the Lord.

The bosom friend may sleep below
The churchyard turf, and we may go
To close a loved one’s eyes:
They will not always slumber there;
We see a world more bright and fair,
A home beyond the skies.

And we may feel the bitter dart,
Most keenly rankling in the heart,
By some dark ingrate driven:
In us revenge can never burn;
We pity, pardon; then we turn,
And rest our souls in heaven.

'Tis thou, O Lord, who shield'st my head,
And draw'st thy curtains round my bed;
I sleep secure in thee;
And, O, may soon that time arrive,
When we before thy face shall live
Through all eternity.

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THE earth, all light and loveliness, in summer's golden hours, Smiles, in her bridal vesture clad, and crowned with festal flowers, So radiantly beautiful, so like to heaven above, We *::: can deem more fair that world of perfect bliss and ove.

Is this a shadow, saint and dim, of that which is to come *
What shall the unveiled glories be of our celestial home,
Where waves the glorious tree of life, where streams of bliss
gush free,
And all is glowing in the light of immortality!

To see again the home of youth, when weary years have
passed,
Serenely bright, as when we turned and looked upon it last;
To hear the voice of love, to meet the rapturous embrace,
To gaze, through tears of gladness, on each dear familiar face—

Oh! this indeed is joy, though here we meet again to part

But what transporting bliss awaits the pure and faithful heart,

Where it shall find the loved and lost, those who have gone before,

Where every tear is wiped away, where partings come no more 1

When, on Devotion's seraph wings, the spirit soars above,

And feels thy presence, Father, Friend, God of eternal love,

Joys of the earth, ye fade away before that living ray,

Which gives to the rapt soul a glimpse of pure and perfect day—

A gleam of heaven's own light—though now its brightness scarce appears

Through the dim shadows, which are spread around this vale of tears:

But thine unclouded smile, O God, fills that all glorious place,

Where we shall know as we are known, and see thee face to face

—o

Geehale. An Indian Lament.—ANoNYMoUs.

THE blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore As sweetly and gayly as ever before; For he knows to his mate he, at pleasure, can hie, And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly. The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright, And reflects o'er our mountains as beamy a light, As it ever reflected, or ever expressed, When my skies were the bluest, my dreams were the best.

The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night,
Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light,
And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track,
For they know that their mates are expecting them back.
Each bird, and each beast, it is blessed in degree:
All nature is cheerful, all happy, but me.

I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair;
I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair;
I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows,
And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes;
I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed,
For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead;
But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay;
The steel of the white man hath swept them away.

This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore,
I will toss, with disdain, to the storm-beaten shore:
Its charms I no longer obey or invoke;
Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke.
I will raise up my voice to the source of the light;
I will dream on the wings of the bluebird at night;
I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves,
And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves;
And will take a new Manito—such as shall seem
To be kind and propitious in every dream.

O, then I shall banish these cankering sighs,
And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes;
I shall wash from my face every cloud-colored stain;
Red—red shall, alone, on my visage remain!
I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow;
By night and by day I will follow the foe;
Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor snows;–
His blood can, alone, give my spirit repose.

They came to my cabin when heaven was black:
I heard not their coming, I knew not their track;
But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees,
They were people engendered beyond the big seas:
My wife and my children,_0, spare me the tale —
For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE |

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Scene.—A high-wood walk in a park. The towers of Warkworth cattle, in Northumberland, seen over the trees.—Enter ARTHUR, in a huntsman’s dress.

...Arthur. HERE let me pause, and breathe awhile. and wipe These servile drops from off my burning brow.

Amidst these venerable trees, the air
Seems hallowed by the breath of other times.—
Companions of my fathers, ye have marked
Their generations pass. Your giant arms
Shadowed their youth, and proudly canopied
Their silver hairs, when, ripe in years and glory,
These walks they trod to meditate on heaven.
What warlike pageants have ye seen what trains
Of captives, and what heaps of spoil! what pomp,
When the victorious chief, war's tempest o'er,
In Warkworth's bowers unbound his panoply:
What floods of splendor, bursts of jocund din,
Startled the slumbering tenants of these shades,
When night awoke the tumult of the feast,
The song of damsels, and the sweet-toned lyre?
Then, princely Percy reigned amidst his halls,
Champion, and judge, and father of the North.
O, days of ancient grandeur, are ye gone
For ever gone? Do these same-scenes behold
His offspring here, the hireling of a foe!
0, that I knew my fate! that I could read
The destiny that Heaven has marked for me!
Enter a Forester.
Forester. A benison upon thee, gentle huntsman!
Whose towers are these that overlook the wood 2
...Ar. Earl Westmoreland's.
For. The Neville’s towers I seek.
By dreams I learn, and prophecies most strange,
A noble youth lurks here, whose horoscope
Declares him fated to amazing deeds.
...Ar. (starting back.) Douglas!—
Douglas. Now do I clasp thee, Percy; and I swear
By my dear soul, and by the blood of Douglas,
Linked to thy side, through every chance, I go,
Till here thou rul'st, or death and night end all.
Percy. Amazement! Whence —or how —
Doug. And didst thou think
Thus to elude me?
Per. Answer how thou found'st me.
What miracle directed here thy steps ?
Doug. Where should I look for thee, but in the post
Where birth, fame, fortune, wrongs, and honor call thee!
Returning from the isles, I found thee gone.
Awhile in doubt, each circumstance I weighed;
Thy difficulties, wrongs, and daring spirit;

The gay, delusive show, so long maintained
To lull observers; then set forth, resolved
Never to enter more my native towers
Till I had found and searched thee to the soul.
Per. Still must I wonder; for so dark a cloud—
Doug. O, deeper than thou think'st I’ve read thy heart.
A gilded insect to the world you seemed;
The fashion’s idol; person, pen, and lyre,
The soft, devoted darling of the fair.
By slow degrees, I found Herculean nerve
Hid in thy tuneful arm; that hunger, thirst,
The sultry chase, the bleakest mountain bed,
The dark, rough, winter torrent, were to thee
But pastime; more were courted than repose.
To others, your discourse still wild and vain
To me, when none else heard thee, seemed the voice
Of heavenly oracles.
Per. O, partial friendship !
Doug. Yet had I never guessed your brooded purpose.—
Rememberest thou the regent's masque the birth night?
Per. Well.
Doug. That night you glittered through the crowded halls,
Gay and capricious as a sprite of air.
Apollo rapt us when you touched the lyre;
Cupid fanned odors from your purple wings;
Or Mercury amused with magic wand,
Mocking our senses with your feathered heel.
In every fancy, shape, and hue, you moved,
The admiration, pity, theme of all.—
One bed received us. Soon your moaning voice
Disturbed me. Dreaming, heavily you groaned,
“O, Percy! Percy! Hotspur ! O, my father!
Upbraid me not! hide, hide those ghastly wounds!
Usurper! traitor! thou shalt feel me!”
Per. Heavens ! -
Doug. 'Tis true:—and more than I can now remember.
Per. And never speak of it?
Doug. Inly I burned;
But honor, pride, forbade. Pilfer from dreams!
Thou knew'st the ear, arm, life of Douglas, thine—
Per. And long ago I had disclosed to thee
My troubled bosom ; but my enterprise
So rife with peril seemed—to hearts less touched,
So hopeless s Knowing thy impetuous soul,
How could I justify the deed to Heaven?

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