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Scalps hung in rows, and whitening bones were strew'd;
Where, round the broiling babe, fresh from the womb,
With howls the Powaw fill'd the dark abode,

And screams, and midnight prayers, invoked the evil god.

"There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest,
Without, beside the moss-grown altar, stood,
His sable form in magic cincture dress'd,
And heap'd the mingled offering to his god,
What time, with golden light, calm evening glow'd,
The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom,
And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd;
Bright rose the curling flame; and rich perfume
On smoky wings upflew, or settled round the tomb.

"Ther, o'er the circus, danced the maddening throng,
As erst the Thyas roam'd dread Nysa round,
And struck, to forest notes, the ecstatic song,
While slow, beneath them, heav'd the wavy ground
With a low, lingering groan, of dying sound,
The woodland rumbled; murmured deep each stream;
Shrill sung the leaves; all ether sigh'd profound;
Pale tufts of purple topp'd the silver flame,
And many color'd forms on evening breezes came.

"Thin, twilight forms; attired in changing sheen
Of plumes, high tinctured in the western ray:
Bending, they peep'd the fleecy folds between,
Their wings light rustling in the breath of May.
Soft hovering round the fire, in mystic play,
They snuff'd the incense, waved in clouds afar,
Then, silent, floated toward the setting day;
Eve redden'd each fine form, each misty car;

And through them faintly gleam'd, at times, the western star.

"Then (so tradition sings,) the train behind,
In plumy zones of rainbow'd beauty dress'd,
Rode the Great Spirit, in the obedient wind,
In yellow clouds slow sailing from the west.

With dawning smiles, the God his votaries bless'd,
And taught where deer retired to ivy dell;

What chosen chief with proud command to invest,
Where crept the approaching foe, with purpose fell,
And where to wind the scout, and war's dark storm dispel.

"There on her lover's tomb, in silence laid,

While still, and sorrowing, shower'd the moon's pale beam,

At times, expectant, slept the widow'd maid,
Her soul far wandering on the sylph-wing'd dream.
Wafted from evening skies, on sunny stream,
Her darling youth with silver pinions shone ;
With voice of music, tuned to sweetest theme,
He told of shell-bright bowers, beyond the sun,
Where years of endless joy o'er Indian lovers run.

"But now no awful rites, nor potent spell,
To silence charm'd the peals of coming war;
Or told the dread recesses of the dell,
Where glowing Mason led his bands from far:
No spirit, buoyant on his airy car,

Control'd the whirlwind of invading fight:
Deep died in blood, dun evening's falling star
Sent sad o'er western hills its parting light,
And no returning morn dispersed the long, dark night.

"On the drear walls a sudden splendor glow'd,
There Mason shone, and there his veterans pour'd.
Anew the hero claim'd the fiends of blood,

While answering storms of arrows round him shower'd, -
And the war-scream the ear with anguish gored.
Alone, he burst the gate; the forest round
Re-echoed death; the peal of onset roar'd,

In rush'd the squadrons; earth in blood was drown'd;
And gloomy spirits fled, and corses hid the ground.

"Not long in dubious fight the host had striven,
When, kindled by the musket's potent flame,
In clouds, and fire, the castle rose to heaven,
And gloom'd the world, with melancholy beam.
Then hoarser groans, with deeper anguish, came;
And fiercer fight the keen assault repell'd:
Nor e'en these ills the savage breast could tame;
Like hell's deep caves, the hideous region yell'd,
Till death, and sweeping fire, laid waste the hostile field."

THE FARMER'S ADVICE TO THE VILLAGERS.

Not long since lived a farmer plain,
Intent to gather honest gain,

Laborious, prudent, thrifty, neat,

Of judgment strong, experience great,

In solid homespun clad, and tidy,
And with no coxcomb learning giddy,
Daily, to hear his maxims sound,

The approaching neighbors flock'd around;
Daily they saw his counsels prove
The source of union, peace, and love,
The means of prudence, and of wealth,
Of comfort, cheerfulness, and health :
And all, who follow'd his advice,
Appear'd more prosperous, as more wise.

Wearied, at length, with many a call,
The sage resolved to summon all :
And gathering, on a pleasant Monday,
A crowd, not always seen on Sunday,
Curious to hear, while hard they press'd him,
In friendly terms, he thus address'd 'em.

"My friends, you have my kindest wishes;
Pray think a neighbor not officious,
While thus, to teach you how to live,
My very best advice I give.

"And first, industrious be your lives;
Alike employ'd yourselves, and wives:
Your children, join'd in labor gay,
With something useful fill each day.
Those little times of leisure save,
Which most men lose, and all men have;
The half days, when a job is done;
The whole days, when a storm is on.
Few know, without a strict account,
To what these little times amount:
If wasted, while the same your cost,
The sums, you might have earn'd, are lost.

"Learn small things never to despise :
You little think how fast they rise.
A rich reward the mill obtains,
Though but two quarts a bushel gains:
Still rolling on its steady rounds,
The farthings soon are turn'd to pounds.

"Nor think a life of toil severe :
No life has blessings so sincere.
Its meals so luscious, sleep so sweet,
Such vigorous limbs, such health complete,

gay,

A mind so active, brisk, and
As his, who toils the livelong day.
A life of sloth drags hardly on;
Suns set too late, and rise too soon;
Youth, manhood, age, all linger slow,
To him, who nothing has to do.
The drone, a nuisance to the hive,
Stays, but can scarce be said to live;
And well the bees, those judges wise,
Plague, chase, and sting him, till he dies.
Lawrence, like him, though saved from hanging,
Yet every day deserves a banging.

"Let order o'er your time preside,
And method all your business guide.
Early begin, and end, your toil;
Nor let great tasks your hands embroil.
One thing at once, be still begun,
Contrived, resolved, pursued, and done.
Hire not, for what yourselves can do;
And send not, when yourselves can go;
Nor, till tomorrow's light, delay
What might as well be done today.
By steady efforts all men thrive,
And long by moderate labor live;
While eager toil, and anxious care,

Health, strength, and peace, and life impair.

"What thus your hands with labor earn,
To save, be now your next concern.
Whate'er to health, or real use,
Or true enjoyment, will conduce,
Use freely, and with pleasure use;
But ne'er the gifts of heaven abuse:
I joy to see your treasured stores,
Which smiling plenty copious pours;
Your cattle sleek, your poultry fine,
Your cider in the tumbler shine,
Your tables, smoking from the hoard,
And children smiling round the board.
All rights to use in you conspire;
The laborer's worthy of his hire.

Ne'er may that hated day arrive,

When worse yourselves, or yours, shall live
Your dress, your lodging, or your food,
Be less abundant, neat, or good;
Your dainties all to market go,
To feast the epicure, and beau;

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But ever on your tables stand,
Proofs of a free and happy land.

"Yet still, with prudence, wear, and taste; Use what you please, but nothing waste: On little, better far to live,

Than, poor and pitied, much survive.
Like ants, lay something up in store,
Against the winter of threescore.
Disease may long your strength annoy;
Weakness and pain your limbs destroy;
On sorrow's bed your households lie;
Your debtors fail, your cattle die;
Your crops untimely seasons kill,
And life be worn with many an ill.

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""T is folly in the extreme, to till
Extensive fields, and till them ill.
The farmer, pleased, may boast aloud
His bushels sown, his acres plough'd;
And, pleased, indulge the cheering hope,
That time will bring a plenteous crop.
Shrew'd common-sense sits laughing by,
And sees his hopes abortive die;
For, when maturing seasons smile,
Thin sheaves shall disappoint his toil.
Advised, this empty pride expel;
Till little, and that little well.
Of taxing, fencing, toil, no more,

Your ground requires, when rich, than poor;
And more one fertile acre yields,

Than the huge breadth of barren fields.

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"When first the market offers well,
At once your yearly produce sell.
A higher price you wait in vain,
And ten times lose, where once you gain.
The dog, that at the shadow caught,
Miss'd all he had, and all he sought.
Less, day by day, your store will grow,
Gone, you scarce know or when, or how;
Interest will eat, while you delay,
And vermin steal your hopes away.
In parcels sold, in ways unknown,
It melts, and, unobserved, is gone.
No solid purpose driblets aid,
Spent, and forgot, as soon as paid:

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