To what strange lands must Chequi take his way!
Groves of the dead departed mortals trace;
No deer along those gloomy forests stray,
No huntsmen there take pleasure in the chase,
But all are empty, unsubstantial shades,
That ramble through those visionary glades;
No spongy fruits from verdant trees depend,
But sickly orchards there

Do fruits as sickly bear,

And apples a consumptive visage show,
And wither'd hangs the hurtleberry blue.

Ah me! what mischiefs on the dead attend!
Wandering a stranger to the shores below,
Where shall I brook or real fountain find?
Lazy and sad deluding waters flow:
Such is the picture in my boding mind!
Fine tales, indeed, they tell
Of shades and purling rills,
Where our dead fathers dwell
Beyond the western hills;

But when did ghost return his state to show,
Or who can promise half the tale is true?

I, too, must be a fleeting ghost! no more;
None, none but shadows to those mansions go;
I leave my woods, I leave the Huron shore,
For emptier groves below!

Ye charming solitudes,

Ye tall ascending woods,

Ye glassy lakes and prattling streams,
Whose aspect still was sweet,

Whether the sun did greet,

Or the pale moon embraced you with her beams-
Adieu to all!

To all that charm'd me where I stray'd,

The winding stream, the dark sequester'd shade:
Adieu all triumphs here!

Adieu, the mountain's lofty swell,
Adieu, thou little verdant hill,

And seas, and stars, and skies,-farewell,

For some remoter sphere!

Perplex'd with doubts, and tortured with despair,

Why so dejected at this hopeless sleep?

Nature at last these ruins may repair,

When fate's long dream is o'er, and she forgets to weep; Some real world once more may be assign'd,

Some new-born mansion for the immortal mind!

Farewell, sweet lake! farewell, surrounding woods!

To other groves, through midnight glooms, I stray,
Beyond the mountains, and beyond the floods,

Beyond the Huron Bay!
Prepare the hollow tomb, and place me low,
My trusty bow and arrows by my side,

The cheerful bottle and the venison store;
For long the journey is that I must go,
Without a partner, and without a guide."

He spoke, and bid the attending mourners weep,
Then closed his eyes, and sunk to endless sleep!

THE WILD HONEYSUCKI.E.

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouch'd thy honey'd blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:

No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature's self in white array'd,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died,-nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;

Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came:
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

THE PROSPECT OF PEACE.

Though clad in winter's gloomy dress!
All Nature's works appear,
Yet other prospects rise to bless
The new returning year:

The active sail again is seen,

To greet our western shore;

Gay plenty smiles, with brow serene,
And wars distract no more.

No more the vales, no more the plains,
An iron harvest yield;

Peace guards our doors, impels our swains
To till the grateful field:

The winter of 1814-15.

From distant climes, no longer foes,
(Their years of misery past,)
Nations arrive, to find repose
In these domains at last.

And, if a more delightful scene
Attracts the mortal eye,

Where clouds nor darkness intervene,
Behold, aspiring high,

On freedom's soil those fabrics plann'd,
On virtue's basis laid,

That make secure our native land,
And prove our toils repaid.

Ambitious aims and pride severe,
Would you at distance keep,
What wanderer would not tarry here,
Here charm his cares to sleep?
Oh, still may health her balmy wings
O'er these fair fields expand,

While commerce from all climates brings
The products of each land.

Through toiling care and lengthen'd views,
That share alike our span,
Gay, smiling hope her heaven pursues,
The eternal friend of man:

The darkness of the days to come
She brightens with her ray,

And smiles o'er Nature's gaping tomb,
When sickening to decay!

PHILLIS WHEATLEY PETERS, 1754-1764.

In the year 1761 there was brought to Boston, in a vessel from Africa, a young girl of about seven years of age, slenderly formed, in feeble health from the change of climate and the miseries of the voyage, and not able to speak a word of English. Mr. John Wheatley, a wealthy merchant, saw her, and, touched by her interesting face and modest demeanor, took her to his own house, and his wife, with a true woman's heart, devoted herself to the wants of the little stranger. In a short time, the effects of comfortable clothing, wholesome food, and kind treatment were clearly visible, and Mrs. Wheatley's daughter undertook to teach her to read and write. So astonishing was her progress, that in sixteen months from the time of her arrival in this humane family she had so mastered the English language as to read with ease any portion of the Bible; and to this attainment she soon added that of writing, which she acquired solely by her own unassisted efforts.

So rapid was her progress in learning, that she became an object of general attention, and corresponded with several persons of great distinction.' She attracted the notice of the literary characters of Boston, who supplied her with books and encouraged her intellectual efforts. Mrs. Wheatley, too, did all she could to promote her happiness, and to aid her in the acquisition of knowledge, treating her as a child, and introducing her into the best society of Boston. But, notwithstanding all the attentions she received, she still retained her original and native modesty of deportment, and never presumed upon the kindness of her friends and admirers. She studied Latin, and, at the age of fourteen, made her first attempts at poetry, in translations from Ovid's Fables. So creditable were these to her scholarship, taste, and poetic talent, that she was encouraged to write

1 Some years after this, she addressed a poem to General Washington, while he was at his head-quarters at Cambridge, Mass., February, 1776; who thus kindly replied: "I thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the elegant lines you enclosed; and, however undeserving I may be of such encomium and panegyric, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents, in honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to you, I would have published the poem, had I not been apprehensive that, while I only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius, I might have incurred the imputation of vanity. This, and nothing else, determined me not to give it place in the public prints.

"If you should ever come to Cambridge, or near head-quarters, I shall be happy to see a person so favored by the Muses, and to whom Nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations."

more; and before she was nineteen a volume of her poems was published in Lon. don, in 1772 1773

In 1773, her health had so far declined, from her close attention to her studies, that her physicians recommended a sea-voyage, and accordingly she sailed for England. Her fame had gone before her, and she was received with marked respect by many distinguished individuals. But in the midst of the attentions of the court she heard that her former mistress was sick, and her heart prompted her to return home at once. She did so in time to minister to Mrs. Wheatley, whose sickness terminated in death the next year; and the year after, Mr. Wheatley followed her to the grave. Thus deprived of her best friends, poor and desolate, she accepted an offer of marriage from a colored man by the name of Peters, of polished manners and a good education. He had studied law; and tradition says that he actually plead many cases at the bar. But soon after their marriage he became a bankrupt, and they were reduced to utter want. After living with him three years in great poverty, and becoming the mother of three children, her health rapidly declined, and she died on the 5th of December, 1784.

With any of our poets prior to the year 1800, Phillis Wheatley will bear a favorable comparison, whether we consider the ease and correctness of her versification, her elevated moral and religious sentiments, or her pure fancy. Indeed, when we take into view the times in which she lived, the little attention then paid to female education, her youthful years, and the difficulties of race and language which she surmounted, her poems are very remarkable."

LINES ON THE DEATH OF DR. SEWALL.

Lo, here a man, redeem'd by Jesus' blood,
A sinner once, but now a saint with God;
Behold, ye rich, ye poor, ye fools, ye wise,
Nor let his monument your hearts surprise.
He sought the paths of piety and truth,
By these made happy from his early youth!
In blooming years that grace divine he felt
Which rescues sinners from the chains of guilt.
Mourn him, ye indigent, whom he has fed,
And henceforth seek, like him, for living bread,-
E'en Christ, the bread descending from above,
And ask an interest in his saving love.

Mourn him, ye youth, to whom he oft has told
God's gracious wonders from the times of old.

1 From a Boston newspaper of May 10, 1773 :-"Saturday last, Captain Calef sailed for London, with whom went passengers Mr. Wheatley, merchant; also Phillis, the extraordinary negro poet."

2 Read "Memoir and Poems of Phillis Wheatley," Boston, 1834; "Christian Examiner," xvi. 169. "A Tribute for the Negro," p. 332.

The writer of the article in the "Christian Examiner" thus remarks:-"Such was the fate of Phillis Wheatley, a heroine, though a black one. Perhaps her genius, her unquestionable virtues, the vicissitudes of her life, and her melancholy end, ought to excite as much interest as the fate of Lady Jane Grey, or Mary Queen of Scots, or any other heroine, ancient or modern; but such, we fear, will not be the case.”—Christian Examiner, May, 1834.