III.

Why heeds he not these signs of death? He knows and scorns their power.

With even pulse and quiet breath

He waits the appointed hour.

His tribe is now extinct-at morn

They met their fate in battle-now Their gory scalps their foes adorn.

He hath no duty but to bow

To fate-the blistering flame to feelTo bide, unmoved, the gashing steel

To brave what savage arts avail

To make the lofty spirit quail—

To die in honor, and depart

To that far promised land of peace, Where pleasures pure rejoice the heart,

And cares, like fainting billows, cease.

IV.

Such are the noble thoughts that stay
The captive's bosom at this hour
Of desolation, and convey

To the deep soul a soothing power.
And now the pride upon his brow,
The scorn upon his lips, depart.
On the wet grass his form doth bow,

And gentle visions warm his heart.

V.

What beauty on his spirit beams,

In the far fairy land of dreams!
High on a rock he seems to stand,

And wide survey the promised land.
How gloriously the sun doth rise,
As from a liquid sea of day,

And

go all dripping to the skies,

Scattering around the rosy spray,

O'er mountains topped with spotless snow, And thousand summer vales below! There spreads the boundless forest, green As ocean- -and it gently heaves

Its bosom to the winds, unseen

Yet whispering to the conscious leaves. Here flows a river, there is found, The level prairie like a sea

Unrolled, the air its only bound

And there, afar, in majesty

Rolls in its own bright emerald dyes!

VI.

These are the golden scenes that fill

The dreamer's first long gaze-but now

His eye reposes on the still,

Lone lake, that deeply sleeps below.

How tranquil, beautiful and blue !

How smooth its glassy wave! how true Each bordering leaf, and tree, and flower, As pencilled in its holy rest!

How free the wild deer on the shore!

How white the swan that swims its breast!

VII.

Long, long entranced the dreamer gazed
On this lone spot in verdure dressed,
And felt new dreams of beauty raised
Within his cold and haughty breast.
Up from that lonely lawn and lake,
A melting voice of love and peace,
Whispered, as if Manitto spake,

And bade each human passion cease.
VIII.

Touched with these thoughts, the dreamer's eye

Was lifted toward the bending sky,

And there, remote, yet clearly seen,

A glorious mountain reared its brow,
And, wreathed with clouds of golden sheen,
Seemed like a dazzling Alp of snow.
There on that pure and glittering throne
Manitto in his glory shone-
Shadowy and dim the awful form!

Yet peaceful, as the shining bow

That writes its promise on the storm,
The Spirit's high and holy brow!
IX.

Humbly to earth the savage bowed,
In tears, yet not, O not in grief!

But hark! what shout so wild and loud,

Breaks through his dream so sweet and brief?

He wakes, and sees the kindling fire!

He knows his doom, and nerves his soul, He braves each pang, each torture dire,

And bows to Fortune's stern control!

X.

'Tis morn, the wind is toying with the leaves, And wild birds sing amid the forest bowers; Streaked with the sun, the laughing ripple heaves Its breast aloft to meet the o'erstooping flowers. The silver mists are floating in the sky,

The rainbow trembles o'er the roaring fall; The mountain robe hath caught a rosier dye, And Love and Joy go hymning o'er them all. The morn no memory of the midnight brings, No lingering Echo whispers of the dead; Life sporteth in the beam on joyous wings,

And o'er the forest-tomb forgetfulness is spread!

MARY DYRE.

BY MISS SEDGWICK.

6

THE subject of the following sketch, a Quaker Martyr, may appear to the fair holiday readers of souvenirs, a very unfit personage to be introduced into the romantic and glorious company of lords, and ladye loves; of doomed brides; and all-achieving heroines; chivalric soldiers; suffering outlaws; and Ossianic sons of the forest. But of such, it is not now our hint to speak.' Neither have we selected the most romantic heroine that might have been found in the annals of the sober-suited sect. A startling tale might be wrought from the perilous adventures of Mary Fisher, the maiden missionary, who, after being cast into prison, for saying 'thee' instead of 'you,' was examined before a judicial tribunal, and nothing found but innocence.' Released from durance, she travelled over the continent of Europe, to communicate her faith; visited the court of Mahomet the Fourth, then held at Adrianople;