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Than the old inmates to my love, my thoughts,
2. A sound of music touched mine cars, or rather,
Indeed, entrănced my soul: as I stole nearer,
3. A nightingale,
Nature's best-skilled musician, undertakes
Into a pretty anger, that a bird,
5. The bird (ordained to be
Music's true martyr) strove to imitate
6 He looked upon the trophies of his art,
Then sighed, then wiped his eyes; then sighed and cried,
Shall never more betray a harmless peace
CXLI. — POETRY OF THE SEASONS.
2. THE BLUE-BIRD'S Song. — A. B. Street.
We leave the stifling room ;
Spring, glorious Spring, has come!
Are leaping off in showers ;
And birds, will soon be ours.
3 THE DELIGHTS OF SPRING. — Mary Howitt.
She is the mother of the flowers ;
Our star of hope through wintry hours,
As if they had a chase of mirth;
The skies are blue, the air is balm;
That sheds a beauty o'er the earth.
4. THE FIRST WARM DAY OF SPRING. — Horace Smith.
5. A WELCOME TO SPRING. — Wm. G. Simms.
First bright day of the virgin Spring,
Giving the leaping bird his wing !
They bound with a feeling long suppressed,
Leap the glad hopes in my heaving breast.
Thou hast no tidings of gloom and death,
And sweets thou breathest with every breath.
6. THE BIRDS OF SPRING.
sing on by fane and forest old, by tombs and cottage eaves, * And tell the waste of coming flowers, the wood of coming leaves, Sing the same song that o'er the birth of earliest blossoms rang, And caught its music from the hymn the stars of morning sang! It hailed the radiant path of Spring by stream and valley fair, And o'er the earth's green hill-tops when no step but hers was there And, like the laurel's gift of green, the violet's depth of blue, [t has survived a thousand thrones, and yet the song is new.
7. DIVINE BOUNTY MANIFEST IN SPRING. — Thomson..
These arts of love diffuses? What, but God?
CXLII. — THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.
1. TRAITS OF CHARACTER. — Flint. An Indian seldom jests. He usually speaks low, and under his breath. Loquacity is with him an indication of being a trifling character, and of deeds inversely less as his words are more The young men, and even the boys, have a sullen, moody, and unjoyous countenance; and seem to have little of that elastic gayety with which the benevolence of Providence has endowed the first days of the existence of most other beings. In this general remark, we ought not, perhaps, to include the squaw, who shows some analogy of feeling to the white female.
The males evidently have not the quick sensibilities, the acute perceptions, of most other races. They do not easily sympathize with what is enjoyment or suffering about them. Nothing but an overwhelming excitement can arouse them. They seem callous to all the passions, but rage. Every one has remarked how little surprise they express for whatever is new, strange, or striking. True, it is partially their pride that induces them to affect this indifference, — for, that it is affected, we have had numberless opportunities to discover. It is, with them, not only pride, but calculation, to hold in seeming contempt things which they are aware they cannot obtain and possess. But they seem to be born with an instinctive determination to be independent, if possible, of nature and society, and to concen'trate within themselves an existence, which, at any moment, they seem willing to lay down.
Their impassible fortitude and endurance of suffering, their roptempt of pain and death, invest their character with a kind of moral grandeur. Some part of this may be the result of their training, discipline, and exercise of self-control ; but it is to be doubted whether some part be not the result of a more than ordinary degree of physical insensibility. It has been said, but with how much truth we do not pretend to say, that, in undergoing amputation, and other surgical operations, their nerves do not shrink, or show the same tendency to spasms, with those of the whites. When the savage — to explain his insensibility to cold — called upon the white man to recollect how little his own face was affected by it, in consequence of its constant exposure, the savage added, “ My body is all face.”
Surely it is preposterous to admire, as some pretend to do, the savage character in the abstract. Let us make every effort to convey pity, mercy, and immortal hopes, to their rugged bosoms. Pastorals that sing savage independence and generosity, and gratitude and happiness in the green woods, may be Arcadianel enough to those who never saw savages in their wigwams, or never felt the apprehension of their nocturnal and hostile yell, from the depth of the forest around their dwelling. But let us not undervalue the comfort and security of municipales and social life; nor the sensibilities, charities, and endearments, of a civilized home. Let our great effort be to tame and domesticate the Indians. Their happiness, steeled against feeling, at war with nature, the elements, and one another, can have no existence, except in the visionary dreamings of those who have never contemplated their actual condition.
It is curious to remark, however, that, different as are their religions, their discipline, and their standards of opinion, in most respects, from ours, in the main they have much the same notion of a great, respectable, and good man, that we have. If we mark the universal passion for military display among our own race, and observe what place is assigned by common feeling, as well as history, to military prowess, we shall hardly consider it a striking difference from our nature, that bravery, and contempt of death, and reckless daring, command the first place in their homage. But, apart from these views, the same traits of character that entitle a man to the appellation of virtuous and good, and that insure respect among us, have much the same bearing upon the estimation of the Indians. In conversing with them, we are struck with surprise, to observe how widely and deeply the obligations of truth, constancy, honor, generosity, and forbearance, are felt and understood among them.
As regards their vanity, we have not often had the fortune to contemplate a young squaw at her toilet ; but, from the studied arrangement of her calico jacket, from the glaring circles of ver