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other into the general mass, to check their exultation. Occasionally the Auttering of the sails would be heard; and when the looks of the startled seamen were turned to the wheel, they beheld the stranger grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the water to the canvas. At length the ship reached a point where she appeared to be rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when suddenly her course was changed, and her head receded rapidly from the wind. At the same instant, the voice of the pilot was heard shouting — “Square away the yards !-- in mainsail !”

A general burst from the crew echoed, “Square away the yards !” and quick as thought, the frigate was seen gliding along the channel before the wind. The eye had hardly time to dwell on the foam, which seemed like clouds driving in the heavens, and directly the gallant vessel issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy waves of the open sea.

CHARLES SPRAGUE. 1791-.

Mr. Sprague was born in Boston, and was a son of one of those veterans who assisted in making “one great tea-pot of Boston harbor." He was educated in the Boston schools, but left them at an early age, and entered a commercial house, as clerk. At twenty-one, he commenced business for himself; but he has been for many years occupied as cashier of the Globe Bank. But during the intervals of business, he has found leisure for extensive reading, and for writing several admirable poems. Some of these are Curiosity, Shakspeare Ode, Centennial Ode, The Winged Worshippers, and several beautiful ones of a domestic character.

: (From the Centennial Ode."] X TRIBUTE TO THE ABORIGINES OF OUR COUNTRY.

ALAS! alas! for them — those fated bands,
Whose monarch tread was on these broad, green lands;
Our fathers called them savage, — them, whose bread,
In the dark hour, those famished fathers fed;

:*
We call them savage ; – oh, be just !

Their outraged feelings scan;

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A voice comes forth — 't is from the dust

The savage was a man!
Think ye he loved not? Who stood by,

And in his toils took part ?
Woman was there to bless his eye —

The savage had a heart!
Think ye he prayed not? When on high

He heard the thunders roll,
What bade him look beyond the sky?
• The savage had a soul!.

I venerate the Pilgrim's cause, .

Yet for the red man dare to plead -
We bow to Heaven's recorded laws,

He turned to nature for a creed;
Beneath the pillared dome,

We sought our God in prayer;.
Through boundless woods he loved to roan.

And the Great Spirit worshipped there.
But one, one fellow-throb with us he felt;
To one divinity with us he knelt;
Freedom, the self-same freedom we adore,
Bade him defend his violated shore.

He saw the cloud, ordained to grow,
And burst upon his hills in woe;
He saw his people withering by,

Beneath the invader's evil eye;
Strange feet were trampling on his father's bones ;

At midnight hour he woke to gaze

Upon his happy cabin's blaze,
And listen to his children's dying groans.

He saw — and, maddening at the sight,
Gave his bold bosom to the fight;
To tiger rage his soul was driven ;
Mercy was not — nor sought nor giveň ;
The pale man from his lands must fly;
He would be free - or he would die.

Alas! for them -- their day is o'er,
Their fires are out from hill and shore;
No more for them the wild deer bounds;
The plough is on their hunting-grounds;
The pale man's axe rings through their woods,
The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods,

Their pleasant springs are dry;
* Their children – look, by power oppressed,
Beyond the mountains of the west,

Their children go — to die.

But the doomed Indian leaves behind no trace,
To save his own, or serve another race;
With his frail breath his power has passed away,
His deeds, his thoughts, are buried with his clay;
· Nor. lofty pile, nor glowing page,

Shall link him to a future age,

Or give him with the past a rank;
His heraldry is but a broken bow,
His history, but a tale of wrong and woe,

His very name must be a blank.

HANNAH F. GOULD. 1792-.X Miss Gould is a native of Lancashire, Vermont, but her life has been mostly spent in Newburyport, Massachusetts. She did not appear before the public as a writer at an early age, but her poems occupy three duodecimo volumes.

THE SNOW-FLAKE.
“Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some lone and lowly spot,
To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot?

And there will my course be ended ?"
'T was this a feathery snow-flake said,
As down through measureless space it strayed ;
Or aş, half by dalliance, half afraid,

It seemed in mid-air suspended.

“O, no!” said the Earth ; “ thou shalt not lie
Neglected and lone on my lap to die,
Thou pure and delicate child of the sky;

For thou wilt be safe in my keeping.
But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form -
Thou wilt not be a part of the wintry storm,
But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and warm,

And the flowers from my bosom are peeping !

“ And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be
Restored in the lily that decks the lea,
In the jessamine bloom, the anemone,

Or aught of thy spotless whiteness ; — .
To melt, and be cast, in a glittering bead,
With the pearls that the night scatters over the mead,
In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed,

Regaining thy dazzling brightness.

“I'll let thee awake from thy transient sleep,
When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep,
In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap

In a drop from the unlocked fountain ;
Or, leaving the valley, the meadow and heath,
The streamlet, the flowers and all beneath,
Go up, and be wove in the silvery wreath

Encircling the brow of the mountain.

“Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies,
To shine in the Iris, I 'll let thee arise,
And appear in the many and glorious dyes

A pencil of sunbeams is blending!
But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth,
I'll give thee a new and vernal birth,
When thou shalt recover thy primal worth,

And never regret descending!”.

" Then I will drop,” said the trusting flake ;
“But, bear it in mind that the choice I make
Is not in the flowers nor the dew to wake,

Nor the mist, that shall pass with the morning :
For, things of thyself, they will die with thee;
But those that are lent from on high, like me,
Must rise, and will live, from thy dust set free,

To the regions above returning.

“And, if true to thy word and just thou art,
Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart,
Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart,

And return to my native heaven.
For I would be placed in the beautiful bow,
From time to time in thy sight to glow,
So thou mayst remember the Flake of Snow,

By the promise that God hath given!”

ORVILLE DEWEY. 1794–. Mr. Dewey is a native of Sheffield, Mass. He supplied Dr. Channing's pulpit, in Boston, while the latter was in Europe; was pastor of a church in New Bedford, for about ten years; and was afterwards settled over the Church of the Messiah, in New York, which situation he has recently resigned. He has been one of the most popular preachers in the country, pleasing by the finish of his style, and his eloquence in behalf of humanity. Besides several volumes of Discourses, Mr. Dewey has published a very interesting Journal of Observations and Reflections made on a Visit to Europe.

[From "Moral Views of Society."]

MORAL DANGER OF BUSİNESS. I ask, if there is not good ground for the admonitions, on this point, of every moral and holy teacher of the age? What means, if there is not, that eternal disingenuity of trade, that is ever putting on fair appearances and false pretences, — of “the buyer that says, It is nought, it is nought, but when he is gone his way then boasteth,” — of the seller, who is always exhibiting the best samples - not fair, but false samples — of what he has to sell; of the seller, I say, who, to use the language of another, if he is tying up a bundle of quills, will place several in the centre, of not half the value of the rest, and thus sends

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