Nee-ba-naw'-baigs, water-spirits. Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart. Nepah'win, sleep. Shahbo'min, the gooseberry. Shah-shah, long ago. Shaugoda'ya, a coward. Noko'mis, a grandmother; mother of Weno- Shawgashee', the craw-fish. nah. No'sa, my father. Nush'ka, look! look! Odah'min, the strawberry. Okahah'wis, the fresh-water herring. Ome'me, the pigeon. Ona'gon, a bowl. Onaway', awake. Opechee', the robin. Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. Owais'sa, the blue-bird. Oweenee', wife of Osseo. Shawonda'see, the South-Wind. Shaw-shaw, the swallow. Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game of the Bowl. Shin'gebis, the diver, or greebe. Shuh'shuh'gah, the blue heron. Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted. Subbeka'she, the spider. Ozawa 'beek, a round piece of brass or copper Ugudwash', the sun-fish. in the Game of the Bowl. Pah-puk-kee'-na, the grasshopper. Pau'guk, death. Unktahee', the God of Water. Wabas'so, the rabbit; the North. Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler. Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yenadizze, Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow. the Storm-Fool. Pawwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie. Pe'boan, Winter. Wa'bun, the East-Wind. Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Morning Star. Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried Wahono'min, a cry of lamentation. SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, The low desire, the base design, That makes another's virtues less; The revel of the ruddy wine, And all occasions of excess; The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, That have their roots in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will ;— All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen, and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains, that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As we to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore We may discern-unseen before- Nor deem the irrevocable Past, As wholly wasted, wholly vain, PROMETHEUS, OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT. OF Prometheus, how undaunted Beautiful is the tradition Thus were Milton and Cervantes, By affliction touched and saddened. But the glories so transcendent That around their memories cluster, And, on all their steps attendant, Of that flight through heavenly por- Make their darkened lives resplendent tals, The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission Of the fire of the Immortals! First the deed of noble daring, Born of heavenward aspiration, Then the fire with mortals sharing, Then the vulture, -the despairing Cry of pain on crags Caucasian. All is but a symbol painted Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer; In their feverish exultations, In their triumph and their yearning, In their passionate pulsations, In their words among the nations, The Promethean fire is burning. Shall it, then, be unavailing, All this toil for human culture? Through the cloud-rack, dark and trailing, Must they see above them sailing Such a fate as this was Dante's, With such gleams of inward lustre ! All the melodies mysterious, Through the dreary darkness chanted; Thoughts in attitudes imperious, Voices soft, and deep, and serious, Words that whispered, songs that haunted. All the soul in rapt suspension, All the quivering, palpitating Chords of life in utmost tension, With the fervour of invention, With the rapture of creating! Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! In such hours of exultation Round the cloudy crags Caucasian ! Though to all there is not given Strength for such sublime endeavour, Thus to scale the walls of heaven, And to leaven with fiery leaven All the hearts of men for ever; Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted THE PHANTOM SHIP. In Mather's Magnalia Christi, A ship sailed from New Haven, That filled her sails at parting, Were heavy with good men's prayers. "O Lord! if it be thy pleasure"Thus prayed the old divine"To bury our friends in the ocean, Take them, for they are thine!" A MIST was driving down the British Channel, And through the window-panes, on floor and panel, It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon, And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover, To see the French war-steamers speeding over, Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions, Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations Each answering each, with morning salutations, And down the coast, all taking up the burden, As if to summon from his sleep the Warden Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure No more, surveying with an eye impartial Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal For in the night, unseen, a single warrior, Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper, He did not pause to parley or dissemble, Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble, Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated |