He is gone where the footsteps of man never ventured, Where the glooms of the wild tangled forests are centered, Where no beam of the sun or the sweet moon has entered, No bloodhound has roused up the deer with his bay.
He has left the green valley, for paths where the bison
Roams through the prairies, or leaps o'er the flood;
Where the snake in the swamp sucks the deadliest poison,
And the cat of the mountains keeps watch for its food.
But the leaf shall be greener, the sky shall be purer,
The eye shall be clearer, the rifle be surer,
And stronger the arm of the fearless endurer,
That trusts naught but Heaven, in his way through the wood.
Light be the heart of the poor lonely wanderer,
Firm be his step through each wearisome mile,
Far from the cruel man, far from the plunderer,
Far from the track of the mean and the vile!
And when death, with the last of its terrors, assails him,
And all but the last throb of memory fails him,
He'll think of the friend, far away, that bewails him,
And light up the cold touch of death with a smile.
And there shall the dew shed its sweetness and luster,
There for his pall shall the oak leaves be spread;
The sweetbrier shall bloom, and the wild grape shall cluster,
And o'er him the leaves of the ivy be shed.
There shall they mix with the fern and the heather,
There shall the young eagle shed its first feather,
The wolf with his wild cubs shall lie there together,
And moan o'er the spot where the hunter is laid.
Ex. XXII.—THE BACHELORS' SALE.
I DREAMED a dream in the midst of my slumbers,
And as fast as I dreamed it was conned into numbers;
My thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter,
I am sure I never saw any poetry sweeter.
It seemed that a law had been recently made,
That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid:
And in order to make them all willing to marry,
The tax was as large as a man could well carry.
But the bachelors grumbled, and said 't was no use,
'T was cruel injustice and horrid abuse.
And declared, that to save their hearts' blood from spilling,
Of such a vile tax they would ne'er pay a shilling.
But the rulers determined their scheme to pursue,
So they set all the bachelors up at vendue;
A crier was sent through the town to and fro,
To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to blow.
And to call out to all he might meet on his way,
"Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to-day."
Presently, all the old maids of the town,
Each in her very best bonnet and gown,
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and pale,
Of every description all flocked to the sale.
The auctioneer then his labors began,
And called out aloud as he held up a man,
"How much for a bachelor? who wants to buy ?"
In a trice every maiden responded "I! I!"
In short, at a highly extravagant price,
The bachelors were all sold off in a trice,
And forty old maids, some younger, some older,
Each carried an old bachelor home on her shoulder.
Ex. XXIII.-HIS CAPTORS TO ANDRE.
Look on us, Briton! readest thou
Aught base or craven here?
On these swart lips and toil-worn brows,
Is stamped the sign of fear?
Look, man of courts, for know'st thou not
Rude arms and peasant-vest
Are lightnings in a patriot's grasp,
Proof-mail upon his breast?
Go to! we would not wrong the truth
That fills thy noble eye:
That broad, pale forehead's lift of pride
Should take no shameful dye.
We would not that a bribe should be
Clasped in a brave man's hold:
'Tis a base weapon, vainly drawn ;-
Briton! put up thy gold.
Nor hope thou thus, by prayer or threat,
To go hence, free and proud:
How faintly falls the speech of man,
When God's deep voice is loud!
"God and our country!"-hallowed words!—
Breathe them but in thy heart,
Briton! then crave us, that we bid
A mortal foe depart.
Within our souls there is a voice,-
Within our eyes a fire,—
Leaving to pity's moan no ear,
No glance to low desire:
Our country's wrong, our country's hope,-
Are written on heaven's wall:
We may but read that lightning scroll,-
Hear but its thunder call.
Plaiting mats of flags and rushes;
Of the past the old man's thoughts were,
And the maiden's of the future.
He was thinking, as he sat there,
Of the days when with such arrows
He had struck the deer and bison,
On the Muskoday, the meadow;
Shot the wild goose, flying southward,
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa;
Thinking of the great war-parties,
How they came to buy his arrows,
Could not fight without his arrows.
Ah, no more such noble warriors
Could be fouud on earth as they were!
Now the men were all like women,
Only used their tongues for weapons!
She was thinking of a hunter,
From another tribe and country,
Young and tall and very handsome,
Who one morning, in the Spring-time,
Came to buy her father's arrows,
Sat and rested in the wigwam,
Lingered long about the doorway,
Looking back as he departed.
She had heard her father praise him,
Praise his courage and his wisdom;
Would he come again for arrows
To the Falls of Minnehaha?
On the mat her hands lay idle,
And her eyes were very dreamy.
Through their thoughts they heard a footstep,
Heard a rustling in the branches,
And with glowing cheek and forehead,
With the deer upon his shoulders,
Suddenly from out the woodlands
Hiawatha stood before them.
Straight the ancient Arrow-maker
Looked up gravely from his labor,
Laid aside the unfinished arrow,
Bade him enter at the doorway,
Saying, as he rose to meet him,
"Hiawatha, you are welcome!"
At the feet of Laughing Water
Hiawatha laid his burden,
Threw the red deer from his shoulders;
And the maiden looked up at him,
Looked up from her mat of rushes,
Said with gentle look and accent,
"You are welcome, Hiawatha!”
Then uprose the Laughing Water,
From the ground fair Minnehaha,
Laid aside her mat unfinished,
Brought forth food and set before them,
Water brought them from the brooklet,
Gave them food in earthen vessels,
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood,
Listened while the guest was speaking,
Listened while her father answered,
But not once her lips she opened,
Not a single word she uttered.
"After many years of warfare,
Many years of strife and bloodshed,
There is peace between the Ojibways
And the tribe of the Dacotahs,"
Thus continued Hiawatha,
And then added, speaking slowly,
"That this peace may last for ever,
And our hands be clasped more closely,
And our hearts be more united,
Give me as my wife this maiden,
Minnehaha, Laughing Water,
Loveliest of Dacotah women!"
And the ancient Arrow-maker
Paused a moment ere he answered,
Smoked a little while in silence,
Looked at Hiawatha proudly,
Fondly looked at Laughing Water,
And made answer very gravely:
66 Yes, if Minnehaha wishes;
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha!"
And the lovely Laughing Water
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, Neither willing nor reluctant,
As she went to Hiawatha,
Softly took the seat beside him,
While she said, and blushed to say it,
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