This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore,

I will toss with disdain to the storm beaten shore ;
Its charms I no longer obey, or invoke-

Its spirit hath left me-its spell is now broke ;
I will raise up my voice to the source of the light,
I will dream on the wings of the blue-bird at night,
I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves,
And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves,
And will take a new Manito-such as shall seem,
To be kind and propitious in every dream.

Oh! then I shall banish these cankering sighs,
And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes;
I shall wash from my face every cloud-coloured stain,
Red! red, shall alone on my visage remain.

I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow,
By night and by day I will follow the foe;
No lake shall repress me-no mountain oppose,
His blood can alone give my spirit repose.

They came to my cabin, when heaven was black,
I heard not their coming-I know not their track,
But I saw by the light of their blazing fusees,
They were people engendered beyond the big seas:
My wife and my children-oh spare me the tale-
For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE!

XV. THE SNOW-STORM.*
[Eastern Argus. Portland.]

THE cold winds swept the mountain's height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,

And 'mid the cheerless hours of night

A mother wander'd with her child.
As through the drifted snows she press'd
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow,

And darker hours of night came on,

* In the month of December, 1821, a Mr. Blake, with his wife and an infant, were passing over the Green mountain, near the town of Arlington, Vt. in a sleigh with one horse. The drifting snow rendered it impossible for the horse to proceed; Mr. Blake set off on foot in search of assistance, and perished in the storm, before he could reach a human dwelling. The mother alarmed (as is supposed) at his long absence, went in quest of him with the infant in her arms. She was found in the morning, dead, a short distance from the sleigh. The child was wrapped in her cloak, and survived the perils of the cold and the storm.

And deeper grew the drifts of snow

Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone-
O God, she cried, in accents wild,

If I must perish, save my child.

She stript her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And round the child she wrapt the vest,
And smiled, to think her babe was warm,
With one cold kiss, one tear she shed,
And sunk upon a snowy bed.

At dawn, a traveller passed by,

And saw her 'neath a snowy veil-
The frost of death was in her eye,

Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale-
He moved the robe from off the child;
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.

XVI. BRADDOCK'S DEFEAT.
[Chronicle. Reading.]

THE host moved exulting, the fortress was near,
And the forest around them waved lonely and drear;
'Twas the home of the savage, defenceless and lorn,
And they thought on his prowess, and laughed him to scorn:
But ghastly they gazed when his yelling accurst,
The war-cry of death, from that wilderness burst,
When an enemy's presence alone they could tell,
By the flash, and the shout, and the warrior that fell.
From his rocks, and his fastnesses, tangled and green,
There his fury was felt, and his prowess was seen,
For the rude chieftain shewed, though untutored in art,
That the fortress of freedom is fixed in the heart.

With the rushing of ocean, the might of a flood,
The veterans of Albion advanced in the wood;
Like the scattering of water, when dashed into spray,
The strength of the Briton was melted away.

As gleams the light rainbow, that waters spray on,
So bright from the battle-mist Washington shone,
And protected each band, that fled scattered and fast,
Like a fleet broken cloud, when the tempest is past.

Though fast fell around him his brethren in arms,
Though maddening and wild, rose the battle's alarms,
Yet the hero undauntedly stood on the field,
For the arm of Jehovah was Washington's shield.

F

XVII. THE CHAIR OF THE INDIAN KING

[Mirror. Connecticut.]

In the neighbourhood of Mohegan, is a rude recess, environed by rocks, which still retains the name of "the chair of Uncas." When the fort of that king was besieged by the Narragansetts, and his people perishing with famine, he took measures to inform the English of their danger, and was found seated in this rocky chair, anxiously watching the river, on the night when those supplies arrived, which rescued his tribe from destruction. These were conveyed in a large canoe from Saybrook, under cover of darkness, by an enterprising man, of the name of Leffingwell, to whom Uncas, as a proof of his gratitude, gave a large tract of land, comprising nearly the whole of Norwich.

THE monarch sat on his rocky throne,
Before him, the waters lay;

His guards, were shapeless columns of stone,
Their lofty helmets with moss o'ergrown,
And their spears of the braken grey.

His lamps were the fickle stars that beamed
Through the veil of their midnight shroud,
And the reddening flashes that fitfully gleamed
When the distant fires of the war-dance streamed
Where his foes in frantic revel screamed

'Neath their canopy of cloud.

Say! why was his glance so restless and keen
As it fell on the waveless tide?

And why, mid the gloom of that silent scene
Did the sigh heave his warlike bosom's screen
And bow that front of pride?

Behind him his leagured forces lay

Withering in famine's blight,

And he knew, with the blush of the morning ray,
That Philip would summon his fierce array

On the core of the warrior's heart to prey,

And quench a nation's light.

It comes! it comes !--that misty speck
Which over the waters moves!

It boasts no sail, nor mast, nor deck,
Yet dearer to him was that nameless wreck,
Than the maid to him who loves.

It bears to the warrior's nerveless arm
The might of a victor's aim—

Its freight is a spell, whose mystic charm
Shall protect the tottering sire from harm,
And the ire-doomed babe, whose life-blood warm
Was to hiss in the wigwam's flame.

The eye of the king with that rapture blazed
Which the soul in its rapture sends ;

His prayer to the spirit of good he raised,
And the shades-of his buried fathers praised
As toward his fort he wends.

That king hath gone to his lowly grave!
He slumbers in dark decay;

And like the crest of the tossing wave,

Like the rush of the blast, from the mountain cave,

Like the groan of the murdered, with none to save, His people have past away.

The monarch hath gone, but his rocky throne

Still rests on its frowning base;

Its motionless guards, rise in phalanx lone,

And nought save the winds through their helmets that

moan,

And none, but those bosoms and hearts of stone,

Sigh over the fallen race.

XVIII. THE FALL OF NIAGARA.

[From the same.]

Labitur et labetur.

THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I look upward to thee. It would seem
As if God poured thee from his hollow hand;
Had hung his bow upen thy awful front;

Had spoke in that loud voice, which seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos, for his Saviour's sake,
The sound of many waters; and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch his centuries in the eternal rocks.
Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime!
O! what are all the notes, that ever rung
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side?
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar?
And yet, bold babbler! what art thou to Him,
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains? a light wave
That breaks and whispers of its Maker's might.

XIX. POETICAL DESCRIPTIONS

OF TREES, BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES OF NEW-ENGLAND,

WRITTEN IN 1629.

[Old Colony Memorial. Plymouth.]
TREES.

TREES, both in hills and plains, in plenty be
The long-lived Oak, and mournful Cyprus tree;
Sky-towering Pines, and Chesnuts coated rough,
The lasting Cedar, with the Walnut tough;
The rozin-dropping Fir, for masts in use,

The boatmen seek for oars, light, neat brown Spruce;
The brittle Ash, the ever trembling Asps,

The broad-spread Elm, whose concave harbours wasps ;
The water spongy Alder, good for nought,
Small Eldern, by the Indian fletchers sought;
The knotty Maple, pallid Birch, Hawthorns,
The Horn-bound tree that to be cloven scorns,
Which from the tender vine oft takes his spouse,.
Who twines embracing arms about his boughs.

Within this Indian orchard fruits be some,
The ruddy Cherry, and the jetty Plum;
Snake-murthering Hazel, with sweet Saxaphrage,
Whose spurns in beer, allay hot fever's rage;
The dear Shumach, with more trees there be
That are both good to use, and rare to see.

BIRDS.

THE princely Eagle, and the soaring Hawk,
Whom in their unknown ways there's none can chalk;
The Humbird, for some queen's rich cage more fit,

Than in the vacant wilderness to sit;

The swift-winged Swallow, sweeping to and fro,
As swift as arrow from Tartarian bow;

When as Aurora's infant day new springs,

There the morn mountain Lark her sweet lays sings;
The harmonious Thrush, swift Pidgeon, turtle Dove,
Who to her mate does ever constant prove;

The Turkey-Pheasant, Heathcock, Partridge rare,
The carrion-tearing Crow, and hurtful Stare;
The long lived Raven, the ominous Screech Owl,
Who tells, as old wives say, disasters foul;
The drowsy Madge, that leaves her day-loved nest,
And loves to rove, when day-birds be at rest;
The eel-murdering Hearne, and greedy Cormorant,
That near the creeks in morish marshes haunt;
The bellowing Bitterne, with the long-legged Crane,
Presaging winters hard, and dearth of grain ;