Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, Be FREE-not chiefly from the iron chain, But from the one which passion forges; be The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. Seek VIRTUE. Wear her armor to the fight; Seek Virtue; she alone is all divine; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. TRUTH-FREEDOM-VIRTUE-these, dear child, have power, If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour: Neglect them-thy celestial gifts are vainIn dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled; Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. The Western World.-BRyant. LATE, from this western shore, that morning chased Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near. And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay 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 Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned O'er mound and vale, where never summer ray Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild; Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled. 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 maidAnd in the flood of 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 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 To life of man-that short and fitful dream! I look around me ;-no where can I trace These are the murmuring waters, these the flowers I mused o'er in my earlier, better hours. Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. Long years have past since this was last my home! But all this vale shuts in is still the same: 'Tis I alone am changed; they know me not: I feel a stranger-or as one forgot. The breeze that cooled my warm and youthful brow, With whom I talked-but I have talked with men! 1 And fare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale.-DANA. THE sun was nigh its set, when we were come Above our heads-the elm in golden light. At length I spake "No! here I must not stay He did not urge me. Looking in my face, The silent night has past into the prime Be to me ever as at this calin hour. The tree tops now are glittering in the sun: Why should I stay, when all I loved are fled, |