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talons, and stained with his own blood, that already flowed from a dozen wounds, would shake off his furious foe, like a feather, and, rearing on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, with his jaws distended, and a dauntless eye.
But age, and his pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff for such a struggle. In every thing but courage, he was only the vestige of what he had once been.
A higher bound than ever, raised the wary and furious beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a desperate, but fruitless dash at it, and it alighted, in a favorable position, on the back of its aged foe. For a single moment, only, could the panther remain there, the great strength of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his neck, which had been glittering throughout the fray, was of the color of blood, and, directly, that his frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of the panther to extricate itself from the jaws of the dog, followed; but they were fruitless, until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed, and his teeth loosened; when the short convulsions and stillness that succeeded, announced the death of
Brave. Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the beast. There is said to be something in the front of the image of the Maker, that daunts the hearts of the inferior beings of his creation; and it would seem that some such power, in the present instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the monster and the kneeling maiden met, for an instant, when the former stooped to examine its fallen foe; next, to scent its luckless cub. From the latter examination it turned, however, with its eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, its tail lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting for inches from its broad feet. Miss Temple did not, or could not, move.
Her hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer; but her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy; her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror. The moment seemed now to have arrived for the fatal termination; and the beautiful figure of Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke, when a rustling of leaves from behind seemed
rather to mock the organs, than to meet her ears. “ Hist! hist!” said a low voice; stoop lower, gal; your bunnet hides the creater's head.”
It was rather the yielding of nature, than a compliance with this unexpected order, that caused the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom; when she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was rolling over on the earth, biting its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches within its reach. At the next instant, the form of Leather-stocking rushed by her; and he called aloud, “ Come in, Hector; come in, you old fool; 't is a hard-lived animal, and may jump ag’in.” The old man maintained his position in front of the maidens, most fearlessly, notwithstanding the violent bounds and threatening aspect of the wounded panther, which gave several indications of returning strength and ferocity, until his rifle was again loaded; when he stepped up to the enraged animal, and, placing the muzzle close to its head, every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.
J. F. COOPER.
THE SULIOTE MOTHER.
[It is related, in the life of Ali Pashaw,that several of the Suliote women, on the advance of the Turkish troops into the mountain fastnesses, assembled on a lofty summit, and, after chanting a wild song, precipitated themselves, with their children, into the chasm below, to avoid becoming the slaves of the enemy.]
She stood upon the lofty peak,
Amid the clear, blue sky:
And a dark flash in her eye.
“Dost thou see them, boy ?-through the dusky pines
For in the rocky strait beneath,
Lay Suliote sire and son:
Before the pass was won.
And now the horn's loud blast was heard,
And now the cymbal's clang,
As cliff and hollow rang.
“ Hark! they bring music, my joyous child!
But nearer came the clash of steel,
And louder swelled the horn,
Through the dark pass was borne.
“ Hear'st thou the sound of their savage mirth?
And from the arrowy peak she sprung,
And fast the fair child bore :
MRS. HEMAXS *Pronounced Tam-boor 13
HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS.
The inorning broke, Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dyes; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.
All things are dark to sorrow; and the light, And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, And the young birds were caroling as life Were a new thing to them: but, oh! it came Upon her heart like discord, and she felt How cruelly it tries a broken heart, To see a mirth in any thing it loves. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood left them; and the wandering veins Of her transparent forehead were swelled out, As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, Which made its language legible, shot back From her long lashes, as it had been flame.
Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet, Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up Into his mother's face until he caught The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, As if his light proportions would have swelled, Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.
Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now
His lip is quivering, and his wonted step
Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn, And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, Bend lightly to her tendencies again ? O no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no! Make her a slave; steal from her cheek the rose, By needless jealousies; let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain ; Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup a bitterness—yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An emblem of devotedness like hers. But, oh! estrange her once, it boots not how, By wrong or silence, any thing that tells A change has come upon your tenderness, And there is not a high thing out of heaven Her pride o'ermastereth not.
She went her way with a strong step and slow; Her pressed lip arched, and her clear
undimmed, As it had been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed His hand till it was pained ; for he had caught, As I have said, her spirit, and the seed Of a stern nation had been breathed upon.
The morning passed, and Asia's sun rode up