3. With a sneer on his brow, and a cùrse in his breast,

"Thou shalt have," cries the tyrant, "shalt have thy re

To thy sister repair, and her nuptials attend, [quest;
Enjoy thy three days, but-mark well what I say-
Return on the third; if, beyond that fixed day,
There be but one hour's, but one moment's delay,
That delay shall be death to thy friend!”

4. Then to Pythias he went; and he told him his case;
That true friend answered not, but, with instant embrace,
Consenting, rushed forth to be bound in his room;
And now, as if winged with new life from above,
To his sister he flew, did his errand of love,
And, ere a third morning had brightened the grove,
Was returning with joy to his doom.

And when the poor pilgrim arrived at the shore,
Swoll'n to torrents, the rills

Rushed in foam from the hills,

And crash went the bridge in the whirlpool's wild roar.

6. Wildly gazing, despairing, half frenzied he stood; Dark, dark were the skies, and dark was the flood, And still darker his lorn heart's emotion;

And he shouted for aid, but no aid was at hand,

No boat ventured forth from the surf-ridden strand,
And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er the lessening land,
And the stream was becoming an ocean.

7. Now with knees low to earth, and with hands to the skies, "Still the storm, God of might, God of mercy!" he cries"O, hush with Thy breath this loud sea;

The hours hurry by,-the sun glows on high;
And should he go down, and I reach not yon town,
My friend he must perish for me!"

8. Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing,

And waves upon waves still dissolved without ceasing,
And hour after hour hurried on;

Then by anguish impelled, hope and fear alike o'er,
He, reckless, rushed into the water's deep roar;
Rose-sunk-struggled on-till, at length, the wished
shore,-

Thanks to Heaven's outstretched hand-it is won!

9. But new perils await him; scarce 'scaped from the flood, And intent on redeeming each moment's delay,

As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark wood,
A band of fierce robbers encompassed his way.
"What would ye?" he cried, save my life, I have
naught;"

"Nay, that is the king's."-Then swift having caught
A club from the nearest, and swinging it round

With might more than man's, he laid three on the ground,
While the rest hurried off in dismay.

11.

Soon shoots through his frame,

[sigh

And he turns, faint and way-worn, to Heaven with a

"From the flood and the foe,

Thou'st redeemed me, and oh!

Thus, by thirst overcome, must

effortless lie,

And leave him, the beloved of my bosom, to die?"

Scarce uttered the word,

When startled he heard

Purling sounds, sweet as silver's, fall fresh on his ear;
And lo! a small rill

Trickled down from the hill!

He heard, and he saw, and, with joy drawing near,

Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and renewed his career.

12. And now the sun's beams through the deep boughs are

glowing,

[ing,

And rock, tree, and mountain, their shadows are throw-
Huge and grim, o'er the meadow's bright bloom;

And two travelers are seen coming forth on their way,
And just as they pass, he hears one of them say—
""Tis the hour that was fixed for his doom!"

13. Still anguish gives strength to his wavering flight;
On he speeds; and lo! now in eve's reddening light
The domes of far Syracuse blend ;-

There Philostratus meets him, (a servant grown gray
In his house,) crying, (°) "Bàck! not a moment's de-
No cares can avail for thy friend.
[lay;

14. "No; nothing can save his dear head from the tomb; So think of preserving thy own.

Myself, I beheld him led forth to his doom;

Ere this his brave spirit has flown!

With confident soul he stood, hour after hour,
Thy return never doubting to see;

No sneers of the tyrant that faith could o'erpower,
Or shake his assurance in thee!"

15. "And is it too late? and can not I save

His dear life? then, at least, let me share in his grave!
Yes, death shall unite us! no tyrant shall say,
That friend to his friend proved untrue; he may slay,--
May torture, may mock at all mercy and ruth,
But ne'er shall he doubt of our friendship and truth.”

16. 'Tis sunset; and Damon arrives at the gate,

Sees the scaffold and multitudes gazing below;
Already the victim is bared for his fate,

Already the deathsman stands armed for the blow;
When hark! a wild voice which is echoed around,
"Stày!-'tis I-it is Damon, for whom he was bound!

17. And now they sink in each other's embrace,
And are weeping for joy and despair;

Not a soul, among thousands, but melts at their case;
Which swift to the monarch they bear;

Even he, too, is moved-feels for once as he ought-
And commands, that they both to his throne shall be
brought.

18. Then, alternately gazing on each gallant youth,· With looks of awe, wonder, and shame ;

"Ye have conquered!" he cries, "yes, I see now that That friendship is not a mere name.

[truth,

Go;-you're free; but, while life's dearest blessings

you prove,

Let one prayer of your monarch be heard,
That-his past sins forgot-in this union of love,
And of virtue-you make him the third."

LESSON XXXI.

CHARACTER AND CONDITION OF THE WESTERN

INDIANS.

GEORGE CATLIN.

1. IMPRESSIONS of the most vivid kind, are rapidly and indelibly made by the fleeting incidents of savage life; and for the mind that can contemplate them with pleasure, they afford abundant materials for its entertainment. The mind susceptible of such impressions, catches volumes of incidents which are easy to write-it is but to unfold a web which the fascinations of this country and its allurements have spun over the soul-it is but to paint the splendid panorama of a world entirely different from any thing seen or painted before, with its thousands of miles, and tens of thousands of grassy hills and dales, where naught but silence reigns, and where the soul of a contemplative mold is seemingly lifted up to its Creator.

2. What man ever ascended to the pinnacle of one of Missouri's green-carpeted bluffs, a thousand miles severed from his own familiar land, and giddily gazed over the interminable and boundless ocean of grass-covered hills and valleys which lie beneath him, where the gloom of silence is complete-where not even the voice of the sparrow or cricket is heard-without feeling a sweet melancholy come over him, which seemed to drown his sense of every thing beneath him?

3. In traversing the immense region of the classic West, the mind of a philanthropist is filled with feelings of admiration. But to reach this country, one is obliged to descend

from the light and glow of civilized atmosphere, through the different grades of civilization, which gradually sink to the most deplorable condition along the extreme frontier; thence through the most pitiable misery and wretchedness of savage degradation, where the genius of natural liberty and independence have been blasted and destroyed by the contaminating vices and dissipations, introduced by the immoral part of civilized society.

4. Through this dark and sunken vale of wretchedness, one hurries, as through a pestilence, until he gradually rises again. into the proud and chivalrous pale of savage society, in its state of original nature, beyond the reach of civilized contamination. Here he finds much, upon which to fix his enthusiasm, and much to admire. Even here the predominant passions of the savage breast, of ferocity and cruelty, are often found; yet restrained and frequently subdued by the noblest traits of honor and magnanimity. Here exists a race of men who live and enjoy life and its luxuries, and practice its virtues, very far beyond the usual estimation of the world who are apt to judge the savage and his virtues, from the poor, degraded, and humble specimens which alone can be seen along our frontiers.

5. From the first settlements of our Atlantic coast to the present day, the bane of this blasting frontier has regularly crowded upon them, from the northern to the southern extremities of our country; and, like the fire in a prairie, which destroys every thing where it passes, it has blasted and sunk them, all but their names, into oblivion, wherever it has trav eled. It is to this tainted class alone that the epithet of "poor, naked, and drunken savage," can be, with propriety, applied; for all those numerous tribes which I have visited, and are yet uncorrupted by the vices of civilized acquaintance, are well clad, in many instances cleanly, and in the full enjoyment of life and its luxuries.

6. It is a sad and melancholy truth to contemplate, that all the numerous tribes who inhabited our vast Atlantic States, have not " fled to the West;"-that they are not to be found here, that they have been blasted by the fire which has