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Fear in his heart and frenzy in his eyes ;
Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds,
LIX.--A SOLLUM FAC'.
WERRY funny feller is de ole plantation mule ;
An' nobody'll play wid him unless he is a fool.
friend; You has made a big mistake; but before de heart repents, You is histed werry sudden to de odder side de fence. Well, you feel like you'd been standin' on de locomotive track An' de engine come an' hit you in de middle ob de back; You don' know wat has happened, you can scarcely cotch your breff , But you tink you've made de 'quaintance ob a werry vi'lent deff.
Now a sin in de soul is percisely like de mule ;
LX.—THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS.
ILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief,
In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb ;
And his arms folded in majestic gloom,
For a pale cross above its greensward rose,
Telling the cedars and the pines, that there
And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer,
There came a lonely traveller o’er the wild,
And he, too, paused in reverence by that grave,
Between the forest and the lake's bright wave;
And the gray chieftain, slowly rising, said-
Which made them as a singing fountain's flow,
“Ask'st thou of him whose house is lone beneath ?
I was an eagle in my youthful pride,
side. Many the times of flowers have been since then; Many, but bringing naught like him again.
“Not with hunter's bow and spear he came, O’er the blue hills to chase the flying roe; Not the dark glory of the woods to tame,
Laying their cedars, like the corn stacks, low; But to spread tidings of all holy things, Gladdening our souls as with the morning's wings.
“Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met,
I and my brethren that from earth are gone, Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet
Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone ? He told of one the grave's dark lands who broke, And our hearts burn'd within us as he spoke !
“He told of far and sunny lands, which lie
Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell : Bright must they be! for there are none that die,
And none that weep, and none that say “Farewell!” He came to guide us thither ; but away The happy call'd him, and he might not stay.
“We saw him slowly fade—athirst perchance,
For the fresh waters of that lovely clime ; Yet was there still a sunbeam in his glance,
And on his gleaming hair no touch of time; Therefore we hoped—but now the lake looks dim, For the green summer comes and finds not him.
“We gather'd round him in the dewy hour
Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree: From his clear voice at first the words of power
Cawe low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swell’d, and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong.
“And then once more they trembled on his tongue,
And his white eyelids flutter'd, and his head
Know'st thou not how we pass to join the dead ?
“We buried him where he was wont to pray,
By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide ; We rear'd this cross in token where he lay,
For on the cross, he said, his Lord had died ! Now hath he surely reach'd, o'er mount and wave, That Aowery land whose green turf hides no grave !
“But I am sad—I mourn the clear light taken
Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken,
And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs, in each fitful blast."
Then spoke the wanderer forth, with kindling eye:
“Son of the wilderness. despair thou not, Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by,
And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot; Heaven darkly works,—yet where the seed hath been,
There shall the fruitage, glowing, yet be seen."
So down he came; for loss of time
Although it griev'd him sore; Yet loss of pence full well he knew
Would trouble him much more.
Now see him mounted, once again,
Upon his nimble steed;
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well shod feet,
Which gall'd him in his seat.
“So, fair and softly!”' John he cried ;
But, John he cried in vain : That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down (as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright) He grasp'd the man with both his hands,
And, eke, with all his might.
His horse-(who never in that sort
Had handled been before)
Did wonder more and more,
Away went Gilpin-neck or nought!
Away went hat and wig ;
Of running such a rig.
The dogs did bark--the children scream'd;
Up flew the windows all ;
As loud as he could bawl.
Away went Gilpin.--Who but
His fame soon spread around, “He carries weight !” — “He rides a race!"
6. 'Tis for a thousand pound!”
And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view How, in a trice, the turnpike men
Their gates wide upon threw.
Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,