through the year:

But, for remembrance, after I am gone, Be kind to little Sheemah for my sake: Weakling he is and young, and knows not yet

To set the trap, or draw the seasoned bow;

Therefore of both your loves he hath more need,

And he, who needeth love, to love hath right;

It is not like our furs and stores of corn, Whereto we claim sole title by our toil, But the Great Spirit plants it in our hearts,

And waters it, and gives it sun, to be The common stock and heritage of all: Therefore be kind to Sheemah, that yourselves

May not be left deserted in your need."

Alone, beside a lake, their wigwam stood,

Far from the other dwellings of their

tribe;

Patient of toil and hunger, and not yet Have seen the danger which I dared not look

Full in the face; what hinders me to be A mighty Brave and Chief among my kin?"

So, taking up his arrows and his bow,
As if to hunt, he journeyed swiftly on,
Until he gained the wigwams of his
tribe,

Where, choosing out a bride, he soon forgot,

In all the fret and bustle of new life, The little Sheemah and his father's charge.

Now when the sister found her brother gone,

And

She

that, for many days, he came not

back,

wept for Sheemah more than for herself;

For Love bides longest in a woman's heart,

And flutters many times before he flies, And then doth perch so nearly, that a word

May lure him back to his accustomed nest;

And Duty lingers even when Love is gone,

Oft looking out in hope of his return; And, after Duty hath been driven forth, Then Selfishness creeps in the last of all, Warming her lean hands at the lonely

hearth,

And crouching o'er the embers, to shut

out

Whatever paltry warmth and light are left,

With avaricious greed, from all beside. So, for long months, the sister hunted wide,

And cared for little Sheemah tenderly; But, daily more and more, the loneliness Grew wearisome, and to herself she sighed,

"Am I not fair? at least the glassy pool, That hath no cause to flatter, tells me so; But, O, how flat and meaningless the tale, Unless it tremble on a lover's tongue! Beauty hath no true glass, except it be In the sweet privacy of loving eyes." Thus deemed she idly, and forgot the

lore

tongue, "Alas! my heart is changed right bitterly;

"T is shrunk and parched within me

even now!"

And, looking upward fearfully, he saw Only a wolf that shrank away and ran,

stern,

Now leaps with clumsy wrath, strikes short, and, falling

Crumbled to whispery foam, slips rustling down

The broad backs of the waves, which jostle and crowd

woods.

STANZAS ON FREEDOM.

MEN! whose boast it is that ye
Come of fathers brave and free,
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Are ye truly free and brave?
If ye do not feel the chain,
When it works a brother's pain,
Are ye not base slaves indeed,
Slaves unworthy to be freed?

Women! who shall one day bear
Sons to breathe New England air,
If ye hear, without a blush,

Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Like red lava through your veins,
For your sisters now in chains, -
Answer are ye fit to be
Mothers of the brave and free?

Is true Freedom but to break Fetters for our own dear sake, And, with leathern hearts, forget That we owe mankind a debt? No! true freedom is to share

All the chains our brothers wear, And, with heart and hand, to be Earnest to make others free!

They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three.

COLUMBUS.

THE cordage creaks and rattles in the wind,

With whims of sudden hush; the reeling sea