MOONLIGHT ON THE HUDSON. 235 But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain's crest, Farewell! Though tears on every leaf are starting, TO THE HUMA. A bird 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, Or the warbling, now so sweetly heard, Fly on-nor seek a place of rest In the home of "care-worn things;" To dip them where the waters glide The fields of upper air are thine, Thy place where stars shine free: I would thy home, bright one, were mine, I would never wander, bird, like thee, So near this place again, TO THE HUMA. With wing and spirit once light and free — There are many things like thee, bright bird, Our air is with them for ever stirred, But still in air they stay. And Happiness, like thee, fair one, Is ever hovering o'er, But rests in a land of brighter sun, On a waveless peaceful shore, And stoops to lave her weary wings, Where the fount of "living waters" springs. 237 His echoing axe the settler swung And rushing, thundering, down were flung Loud shrieked the eagle as he dashed From out his mossy nest, which crashed With its supporting bough, And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed On the wolf's haunt below. THE SETTLER. Rude was the garb, and strong the frame, Of him who plied his ceaseless toil: To form that garb, the wild-wood game Contributed their spoil; The soul that warmed that frame, disdained The simple fur, untrimmed, unstained, The paths which wound 'mid gorgeous trees, 239 The stream whose bright lips kissed their flowers, The winds that swelled their harmonies Through those sun-hiding bowers, The temple vast-the green arcade, These scenes and sounds majestic, made His roof adorned a pleasant spot, 'Mid the black logs green glowed the grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew not, Throve in the sun and rain. The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, All made a landscape strange, |