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MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 235
But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending
And Night, more nearly now each step attending,
Closes at last thy very couch beside,
A matron curtaining a virgin bride.
Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting,
As of the good when heavenward hence departing,
So—could I fling o'er glory's tide one ray —
Would I too steal from this dark world away.
TO THE HUKA.
A blid peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fly constantly in the air and never touch the ground.]
BY L. P. SMITH.
Fly on: nor touch thy wing, bright bird,
Too near our shaded earth,
May lose its note of mirth.
In the home of " care-worn things;"
And thy brightly burnished wings,
The fields of upper air are thine,
Thy place where stars shine free:
Above life's stormy sea.
So near this place again,
TO THE HUMA. 237
With wing and spirit once light and free —
They should wear no more the chain
There are many things like thee, bright bird,
Hopes as thy plumage gay;
But still in air they stay.
Is ever hovering o'er,
On a waveless peaceful shore,
His echoing axe the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude, And rushing, thundering, down were flung
The Titans of the wood;
With its supporting bough,
On the wolfs haunt below.
THE SETTLER. 239
Rude was the garb, and strong the frame,
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil:
Contributed their spoil;
Where men their crowds collect;
This forest tamer decked.
The paths which wound 'mid gorgeous trees,
The stream whose bright lips kissed their flowers, The winds that swelled their harmonies
Through those sun-hiding bowers,
Dark cave and swampy lair;
His world, his pleasures, there.
His roof adorned a pleasant spot,
'Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
And herbs and plants the woods knew not,
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell,
The low—the bleat—the tinkling bell,