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our minds upon the Indian character, at the thought of Pocahontas our rigor relents.” With a softened heart, we are ready to adınit that there must have been fine elements in a people, from among whom such a being could spring.

Plea for the Red Man. CHARLES SPRAGUE.
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 seek our God in prayer ;
Through boundless woods he loved to roam,

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 th' 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 given;
The pale man from his lands must fly;
He would be free, or he would die.

And was this savage ? Say,

Ye ancient few,

Who struggled through
Young Freedom's trial day, -
What first your sleeping wrath awoke?
On your own shores war's 'larum broke;
What turned to gall e’en kindred blood ?
Round your own homes th’ oppressor stood :
This every warm affection chilled ;
This every heart with vengeance thrilled,
And strengthened every hand;

From mound to mound

The word went round -
“ Death for our native land."

Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh
For them who thus could dare to die?
Are all your own dark hours forgot,
Of soul-sick suffering here?

Your pangs, as from yon mountain spot, *
Death spoke in every booming shot

That knelled upon your ear ?
How oft that gloomy, glorious tale ye tell,

As round your knees your children's children hang,
Of them, the gallant ones, ye loved so well,
Who to the conflict for their country sprang !

In pride, in all the pride of woe,
Ye tell of them, the brave laid low,

Who for their birthplace bled ;
In pride, the pride of triumph then,
Ye tell of them, the matchless men,

From whom th' invaders fled.

And ye, this holy place who throng,

The annual theme to hear, And bid th' exulting song

Sound their great names from year to year ;
Ye, who invoke the chisel's breathing grace,
In marble majesty their forms to tracc;

Ye, who the sleeping rocks would raise
To guard their dust and speak their praise ;
Ye who, should some other band
With hostile foot defile the land,
Feel that ye, like them, would wake,
Like them the yoke of bondage break,

Nor leave a battle-blade undrawn,
Though every hill a sepulchre should yawn, -
Say, have not ye one line for those,

One brother-line to spare,
Who rose but as your fathers rose,

And dared as ye would dare ?

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.

O, doubly lost! Oblivion's shadows close
Around their triumphs and their woes.
On other realms, whose suns have set,
Reflected radiance lingers yet;
There sage and bard have shed a light
That never shall go down in night;
There time-crowned columns stand on high,

To tell of them who cannot die;
Ev'n we, who then were nothing, kneel,
In homage there, and join earth's general peal.
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.

Cold, with the beast he slew, he sleeps ;

O’er him no filial spirit weeps ; No crowds throng round, no anthem-notes ascend, To bless his coming and embalm his end; E'en that he lived, is for his conqueror's tongue; By foes alone his death-song must be sung;

No chronicles but theirs shall tell

His mournful doom to future times::
May these upon his virtues dwell,

And in his fate forget his crimes !

b:- ebb, cub, tube, bib, glib, babe, bulb, barb, blue, im

bibe, embark, imbue, disburse, unblessed.

THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar :

I love not man the less, but nature more;
From these our interviews, in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean

-roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control

Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.