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Hark! what murmurs arise from the heart of those
mountainous deserts? Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty
Behemoth, Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of
the thunder, And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red
man ? Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows
and the Foxes, Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of
Behemoth, Lo! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily breasts the
Missouri's Merciless current! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the
camp-fires Gleam through the night; and the cloud of dust in the
gray of the daybreak Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dex
terous horse-race; It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the
Camanches ! Ha! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the
blast of the east-wind, Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy
As the clocks were striking the hour,
Behind the dark church-tower.
I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.
Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;
Rose the belated tide,
The seaweed floated wide.
And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
That filled my eyes with tears.
In the days that had gone by,
And gazed on that wave and sky!
I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!
For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.
But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea ;
Throws its shadow over me.
On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odour of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.
Of care-encumbered men,
Have crossed the bridge since then! I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro
And the old subdued and slow.
And for ever and for ever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as life has woes;
And its shadows shall appear,
And its wavering image here.
The shades of night were falling fast,
His brow was sad; his eye beneath
In happy homes he saw the light
“Try not the Pass !" the old man said; “Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!” And loud that clarion voice replied,
“O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
“Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
At break of day, as heavenward
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
There in the twilight cold and gray,
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, “ If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm. Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom-ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison-bar,