From his hills the stag is fled,
And the fallow-deer are dead,
And the wild beasts of the chase
Are a lost and perished race,

And the birds have left the mountain,
And the fishes, the clear fountain.

Indian woman, to thy breast
Closer let thy babe be pressed,
For thy garb is thin and old,
And the winter wind is cold;
On thy homeless head it dashes;
Round thee the grim lightning flashes.

We, the rightful lords of yore,
Are the rightful lords no more;
Like the silver mist we fail,

Like the red leaves in the gale,-
Fail like shadows, when the dawning
Waves the bright flag of the morning.

By the river's lonely marge,
Rotting is the Indian's barge;
And his hut is ruined now,
On the rocky mountain brow;
The fathers' bones are all neglected,
And the children's hearts dejected.

Therefore, Indian people, flee

To the farthest western sea;
Let us yield our pleasant land
To the stranger's stronger hand;

Red men and their realms must sever;
They forsake them, and forever!

Lake Superior.-S. G. GOODRICH.

"FATHER OF LAKES!" thy waters bend Beyond the eagle's utmost view,

When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send Back to the sky its world of blue.

Boundless and deep, the forests weave

Their twilight shade thy borders o'er,
And threatening cliffs, like giants, heave
Their rugged forms along thy shore.

Pale Silence, mid thy hollow caves,
With listening ear, in sadness broods;
Or startled Echo, o'er thy waves,

Sends the hoarse wolf-notes of thy woods.

Nor can the light canoes, that glide
Across thy breast like things of air,
Chase from thy lone and level tide
The spell of stillness reigning there.

Yet round this waste of wood and wave,
Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives,
That, breathing o'er each rock and cave,
To all a wild, strange aspect gives.

The thunder-riven oak, that flings
Its grisly arms athwart the sky,
A sudden, startling image brings

To the lone traveller's kindled eye.

The gnarled and braided boughs, that show
Their dim forms in the forest shade,
Like wrestling serpents seem, and throw
Fantastic horrors through the glade.

The very echoes round this shore

Have caught a strange and gibbering tone; For they have told the war-whoop o'er, Till the wild chorus is their own.

Wave of the wilderness, adieu!

Adieu, ye rocks, ye wilds and woods!

Roll on, thou element of blue,

And fill these awful solitudes!

Thou hast no tale to tell of man

God is thy theme. Ye sounding cavesWhisper of Him, whose mighty plan Deems as a bubble all your waves!

Oriental Mysticism.-LEONARD WOODS.

The following passage is translated from a German version of the Dschauhar Odsat, a Persian poem of the thirteenth century, and is here offered as a specimen of the mystic writings of the East,-a single sprig brought to town from a distant and unfrequented garden. These writings are characterized by wildness of fancy, a philosophy extremely abstruse, and especially by a deep spiritual life. They prove, as will be seen in the lines which follow, that the human mind has strong religious instincts; which, however, unless guided by a higher wisdom, are liable to great perversion.-Extravagant as the conception of the passage here selected must appear to us, it has still its foundation in truth. That the ideas of infinite and divine things, which slumber in the mind, are often violently awakened by external objects, is what every one has experienced. Says a modern poet, in prospect of " clear, placid Leman,"

"It is a thing

Which warns me, by its stillness, to forsake
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring."

And what is the story of Rudbari and Hassan, but an exhibition, a la mode orientale, of the same truth?

IN ancient days, as the old stories run, Strange hap befell a father and his son. Rudbari was an old sea-faring man,

And loved the rough paths of the ocean;

And Hassan was his child,-a boy as bright,

As the keen moon, gleaming in the vault of night.

Rose-red his cheek, Narcissus-like his eye,

And his form might well with the slender cypress vie.
Godly Rudbari was, and just and true,

And Hassan pure as a drop of early dew.

Now, because Rudbari loved this only child,

He was feign to take him o'er the waters wild.

The ship on the strand-friends, brothers, parents, there Take the last leave with mingled tears and prayer.

The sailor calls, the fair breeze chides delay,

The sails are spread, and all are under way.

But when the ship, like a strong-shot arrow, flew,

And the well known shore was fading from the view,

Hassan spake, as he gazed upon the land,

Such mystic words as none could understand :

"On this troubled wave in vain we seek for rest.

Who builds his house on the sea, or his palace on its breast?
Let me but reach yon fixed and steadfast shore,
And the bounding wave shall never tempt me more.'
Then Rudbari spake :-" And does my brave boy fear
The Ocean's face to see, and his thundering voice to hear?

He will love, when home returned at last,

To tell, in his native cot, of dangers past."

Then Hassan said: "Think not thy brave boy fears
When he sees the Ocean's face, or his voice of thunder hears.
But on these waters I may not abide;

Hold me not back; I will not be denied."

Rudbari now wept o'er his wildered child:

"What mean these looks, and words so strangely wild?

Dearer, my boy, to me than all the gain

That I've earned from the bounteous bosom of the main !
Nor heaven, nor earth, could yield one joy to me,
Could I not, Hassan, share that joy with thee."
But Hassan soon, in his wandering words, betrayed
The cause of the mystic air that round him played:
"Soon as I saw these deep, wide waters roll,

A light from the INFINITE broke in upon my soul!"
"Thy words, my child, but ill become thine age,

And would better suit the mouth of some star-gazing sage." "Thy words, my father, cannot turn away

Mine eye, now fixed on that supernal day."

"Dost thou not, Hassan, lay these dreams aside,

I'll plunge thee headlong in this whelming tide.” "Do this, Rudbari, only not in ire,

'Tis all I ask, and all I can desire. For on the bosom of this rolling flood, Slumbers an awful mystery of Good;

And he may solve it, who will self expunge,

And in the depths of boundless being plunge.""

He spake, and plunged, and as quickly sunk beneath
As the flying snow-flake melts on a summer heath.
A moment Rudbari stood, as fixedly bound

As the pearl is by the shell that clasps it round.
Then he followed his Hassan with a frantic leap,
And they slumber both on the bottom of the deep!

To a Sister about to embark on a Missionary Enterprise.B. B. THATCHER.

O SISTER! Sister! hath the memory

Of other years no power upon thy soul,

That thus, with tearless eye, thou leavest me-
And an unfaltering voice-to come no more?

Hast thou forgot, friend of my better days,
Hast thou forgot the early, innocent joys
Of our remotest childhood; when our lives

Were linked in one, and our young hearts bloomed out
Like violet-bells upon the self-same stem,

Pouring the dewy odors of life's spring
Into each other's bosom-all the bright
And sorrow less thoughts of a confiding love,
And intermingled vows, and blossoming hopes
Of future good, and infant dreams of bliss,
Budding and breathing sunnily about them,
As crimson-spotted cups, in spring time, hang
On all the delicate fibres of the vine?

And where, oh! where are the unnumbered vows We made, my sister, at the twilight fall, A thousand times, and the still starry hours Of the dew-glistering eve-in many a walk By the green borders of our native streamAnd in the chequered shade of these old oaks, The moonlight silvering o'er each mossy trunk, And every bough, as an Eolian harp, Full of the solemn chant of the low breeze? Thou hast forgotten this-and standest here, Thy hand in mine, and hearest, even now, The rustling wood, the stir of falling leaves, And-hark!-the far off murmur of the brook!

Nay, do not weep, my sister!-do not speak-
Now know I, by the tone, and by the eye
Of tenderness, with many tears bedimmed,
Thou hast remembered all. Thou measurest well
The work that is before thee, and the joys
That are behind. Now, be the past forgot-
The youthful love, the hearth-light and the home,
Song, dance, and story, and the vows-the vows
That we would change not, part not unto death-
Yea, all the spirits of departed bliss,

That even now, like spirits of the dead,

Seen dimly in the living mourner's dreams,

Are trilling, ever and anon, the notes

Long loved of old-oh! hear them, heed them not.
Press on for, like the fairies of the tale,

That mocked, unseen, the tempted traveller,

With power alone o'er those who gave them ear,