Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low : Why so slow? Do you wait till I shrink from the

pain? No, the son of Alknomook will never complain. Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation

awayNow the fire rises fast, you exult in my pain, But the son of Alknomook can never complain. I go to the land where my father is gone, His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son ; Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain, And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to com: plain.

MRS. HUNTER.

ILLINOIS DEATH SONG.
Rear's midst the war-empurpled plain,
What Illinois submits to pain!
How can the glory-darting fire
The coward chill of death inspire!
The sun a blazing heat bestows,
The moon midst pensive evening glows,
The stars in sparkling beauty shine,
And own their flaming source divine.
Then let me hail the’ immortal fire,
And in the sacred flames expire;
Nor yet those Huron hands restrain;
This bosom scorns the throbs of pain.

No griefs this warrior soul can bow,
No pangs contract this even brow;
Not all your threats excite a fear,
Not all your force can start a tear.
Think not with me my tribe decays,
More glorious chiefs the hatchet raise;
Nor unrevenged their Sachem dies,
Nor unattended greets the skies.

MRS. MORTON.

A MAROON SONG. HASTE, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er;

[are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar,

[groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his O'er the deep tangled thicketour toils shall prevail,

In vain to the steep cliff the savage shall run; Where the cocoa waves gay to the balm-scented

gale, And the aloe expands its tall spires to the sun. Ye spirits that triumph'd in death o'er your foe,

But left the dark sons of your race to complain; Ye that bade, in your anguish, the heirs of your woe

Be the heirs of your hatred, the chiefs of disdain; If ye sail in your pride on the sun's slanting beam, If ye robe your stern shades in the mist's fleet

ing form; Or if rather ye joy in the lightning's fierce gleam, And stride on the whirlwind, and trample the

storm;

O, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave,

To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the

brave, And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger away,

[pass’d, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around us their sway,

[blast. We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er;

[are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar,

[groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his

P. M. JAMES,

SONG TO ZEPHYR.

ZEPHYR! whither are you straying,

Tell me where ?
With prankish girls in gardens playing,

False as fair?
A butterfly's light back bestriding,
Queen bees to honeysuckles guiding,
Or in a swinging harebell riding,

Free from care?
Before Aurora's car you amble

High in air;
At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol,

Braid their hair;

When on the tumbling billows rolling,

Or on the smooth sands idly strolling, Or in cool grottos they lie lolling,

You sport there.

To chase the moonbeams up the mountains

You prepare ;
Or dance with elves on brinks of fountains,

Mirth to share;
Now seen with lovelorn lilies weeping,
Now with a blushing rosebud sleeping,
While fays, from forth their chambers peeping,
Cry, O'rare!

LEFTLY.

FAIRY SONG.

WOULD you the fairy regions see,
Hence to the green woods run with me;
From mortals safe, the livelong night,
There countless feats the fays delight,
Where burns the glowworm's lamp so blue,
One gives each flower its proper hue;
While, near, his busy huswife weaves
Ribands of grass and mantling leaves;
Some teach young plants with grace to move,
Some lead the woodbine to her love,
Some strew the shores with shells and sand,
While others pilot weeds to land :
By moonlight these their labours free,

Then follow me, follow me,
And the chaffer's bugle our guide shall be.

LEFTLY.

0, come on your clouds, o'er the wide-rolling wave,

To the hills of our freedom in triumph repair; For the blue-mantled mountains are trod by the

brave, And the dark-dwelling sons of defiance are there. Hark! the horn's swelling tones call to danger away,

[pass’d, And when the stern course of our pleasure is Though the whirlwinds of heaven wake around us their sway,

[blast. We will heed not the tempest, and sing to the Haste, haste, my companions! the night dews are o'er;

[are flown; From the mist-skirted mountains the shadows The bright morning star calls to the chase of the boar,

[groan. And the rock's secret echoes are waiting his

P. M. JAMES,

SONG TO ZEPHYR.

ZEPHYR! whither are you straying,

Tell me where ?
With prankish girls in gardens playing,

False as fair?
A butterfly's light back bestriding,
Queen bees to honeysuckles guiding,
Or in a swinging harebell riding,

Free from care?
Before Aurora's car you amble

High in air;
At noon, when Neptune's seanymphs gambol,

Braid their hair ;