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It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him-Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.

Unmark'd he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,

Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face;
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm;
And, by the uplifting of his brow,
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how

But 'twas no sooner thought than done!
The field was in a moment won:-
"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;

Ten spears he swept within his grasp:

"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Their keen points met from side to side;
He bow'd amongst them like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.

Swift to the breach his comrades fly;
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart;
While instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all:

An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.

Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus death made way for liberty.

MONTGOMERY

159. THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. "METHINKS the world seems oddly made, And every thing amiss ;"

A dull, complaining atheist said,
As stretch'd he lay beneath the shade,
And instanced it in this :

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Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing,
A pumpkin large and round,

Is held but by a little string,

Which upwards cannot make it spring,
Nor bear it from the ground.

"While on this oak an acorn small,
So disproportion'd grows,
That whosoe'er surveys this all,
This universal casual ball,

Its ill contrivance knows.

"My better judgment would have hung
The pumpkin on the tree,
And left the acorn slightly strung,
'Mongst things that on the surface sprung,
And weak and feeble be."

No more the caviller could say,
No further faults descry;
For upwards gazing, as he lay,
An acorn, loosen'd from its

Fell down upon his eye.

spray,

The wounded part with tears ran o'er,
As punish'd for that sin;

Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore,

Thy whimseys would have work'd no more,
Nor skull have kept them in.

ANONYMOUS.

160. THE INDIAN.

THINK of the country for which the Indians fought! Who can blame them? As Philip looked down from his seat on Mount Hope, that glorious eminence, that

throne of royal state, which far

Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind,

Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand,
Showers on her kings barbaric pomp and gold,—

as he looked down and beheld the lovely scene which spread beneath, at a summer sunset,-the distant hilltops blazing with gold, the slanting beams streaming

along the waters, the broad plains, the island groups, majestic the forest,-could he be blamed, if his heart burned within him, as he beheld it all passing, by no tardy process, from beneath his control into the hands of the stranger? As the river chieftains-the lords of the waterfalls and the mountains-ranged this lovely valley, can it be wondered at, if they beheld with bitterness the forest disappearing beneath the settler's axe; the fishing place disturbed by his sawmills? Can we not fancy the feelings with which some strong-minded savage, the chief of the Pocomtuck Indians, who should have ascended the summit of the sugar-loaf mountain,-(rising as it does before us, at this moment, in all its loveliness and grandeur,)-in company with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic strides, with which he was advancing into the wilderness, should fold his arms and say, 'White man, there is eternal war between me and thee! I quit not the land of my fathers, but with my life. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food; on these fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How could my father sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon? They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant,-few and feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's 'fire, and have a little piece of land, to raise corn for his women and children; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says, it is mine. Stranger! there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west;-the fierce Mohawk,-the

man-eater,—is my foe. Shall I fly to the cast, the great water is before me. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I die; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war between me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for that alone I thank thee; and now take heed to thy steps, the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after with the scalping-knife; thou shalt build, and I will burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go thy way for this time in safety, but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee !'

EVERETT.

161.-
.--THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand;
"Hark ye,'

" said he, " 'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend." No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I come from it is the common chat:
But you shall hear an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
"Impossible!"-" Nay, but it's really true,

I had it from good hands, and so may you.'

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"From whose, I pray?" So having named the man Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. "Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair"Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by the way, 'twas two black crows, not three."

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,
Whip to the third, the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth-" Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact;

It was not two black crows, 'twas only one;
The truth of that you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the case."
"Where may I find him?" "Why,-in such a place."
Away he goes, and having found him out,—

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Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."

Then to his last informant he referr'd,

And begg'd to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?"

"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

"Not I!"

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, And here I find at last all comes to none !

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?”

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"Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over. "And pray, sir, what was't?"
"Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was as black, sir, as a crow." BYROM.

162.-NEW ENGLAND.

HAIL to the land whereon we tread,
Our fondest boast;

The sepulchre of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed,
A fearless host:

No slave is here-our unchain'd feet
Walk freely, as the waves that beat
Our coast.

Our fathers cross'd the ocean's wave
To seek this shore;

They left behind the coward slave
To welter in his living grave;-
With hearts unbent, and spirits brave,

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