The Father above thought fit to give
To the white man corn and wine;
There are golden fields where he

But the forest wilds are mine.

The eagle has its place of rest

The wild horse where to dwell;

may

live

And the Spirit who gave the bird its nest
Gave me a home as well.

Then back, go back, from the Red Man's track!
For the hunter's eye grows dim,

To see that the white man wrongs the one
Who never did harm to him.

EXERCISE XLVI.

THE REMOVAL.

A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade,

By which, though it seems.

-

he a fortune had made,

Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, Which he meant at his leisure to buy and pull down.

This thought struck his mind, when he viewed the estate, But alas! when he entered he found it too late;

For in each dwelt a smith: a more hard-working two
Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe.

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work,
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk;
These fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep,
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep."

From morning till night they keep thumping away;
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day;
His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song,
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong.

He offered each vulcan to purchase his shop;
But no! they were stubborn, determined to stop:
At length, (both his spirits and health to improve,)
He cried, "I'll give each fifty guineas to move."

"Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends.'
"Then come to my house, and let us part friends;
You shall dine; and we 'll drink, on this joyful occasion,
That each may live long in his new habitation."

He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale,
He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale;

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest
Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest.

"And now," said he, "tell me, where mean you to move? I hope to some spot where your trade will improve." "Why, sir,” replied one, with a grin on his phiz, "Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his!"

EXERCISE XLVII.

THE COLD-WATER MAN.

THERE lived an honest fisherman-
I knew him passing well-
Who dwelt hard by a little pond,
Within a little dell.

A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod;
So even ran his line of life,

His neighbors thought it odd.

For science and for books, he said,
He never had a wish;
No school to him was worth a fig,
Except a "school" of fish.

This single-minded fisherman
A double calling had,-
To tend his flocks in winter-time,
In summer, fish for shad.

In short, this honest fisherman
All other toils forsook;

And, though no vagrant man was he,

He lived by

"hook and crook."

All day that fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,

And gaze into the water, like
Some sedentary frog.

A cunning fisherman was he;
His angles all were right;
And, when he scratched his aged poll,
You'd know he'd got a bite.

To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way
Was just to "drop a line."

And many a "gudgeon" of the pond
If made to speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, this angler had
A mighty "taking way."

The moral of this mournful tale
To all is plain and clear:

A single "drop too much" of rum
May make a watery bier.

And he who will not "sign the pledge,"
And keep his promise fast,

May be, in spite of fate, a stark
Cold-water-man at last.

EXERCISE XLVIII.

THE GRAVE OF THE INDIAN CHIEF.

THEY laid the corse of the wild and brave
On the sweet fresh earth of the new-made grave,
On the gentle hill, where wild weeds wave,
And flowers and grass were flourishing.

They laid within the peaceful bed,

Close by the Indian chieftain's head,

His bow and arrows,

and they said

That he had found new hunting-grounds,

Where bounteous nature only tills

The willing soil; and o'er whose hills,
And down beside the shady rills,
The hero roams eternally.

And these fair isles to the westward lie
Beneath a golden sunset sky,
Where youth and beauty never die,

And song and dance move endlessly.

They told of the feats of his dog and gun,
They told of the deeds his arm had done;
They sung of battles lost and won,

And so they paid his eulogy.

And o'er his arms, and o'er his bones,
They raised a simple pile of stones;
Which, hallowed by their tears and moans,
Was all the Indian's monument.

And since the chieftain here has slept,
Full many a winter's winds have swept,
And many an age has softly crept,
Over his humble sepulchre.

EXERCISE XLIX.

UNIVERSAL FREEDOM.

OPPRESSION shall not always reign:

There comes a brighter day,
When freedom, burst from every chain
Shall have triumphan: way.

Then right shall over might prevail;
And truth, like hero armed in mail,
The hosts of tyrant wrong assail,
And hold eternal sway.

Even now,

that glorious day draws near, Its coming is not far;

In earth and heaven its signs appear,
We see its morning star;

Its dawn has flushed the eastern sky,
The western hills reflect it high,
The southern clouds before it fly; -
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!

It flashes on the Indian isles,
So long to bondage given;

Their faded plains are decked in smiles,
Their blood-stained fetters riven.
Eight hundred thousand newly free
Pour out their songs of jubilee,
That shake the globe from sea to sea,
As with a shout from heaven.

That shout, which every bosom thrills,
Has crossed the wondering main;
It rings in thunder o'er our hills,
And rolls o'er every plain.

The waves reply on every shore,

Old Faneuil echoes to the roar,

And "rocks" as it ne'er rocked before, And ne'er shall rock again.

EXERCISE L.

NEW ENGLAND.

NEW ENGLAND's soil, our happy home,
The land of hardy worth,

Where plenty crowns the social board,
And love lights up the hearth!
The land of rock, and mount, and glen
Of noble streams that sweep,
Through valleys rich in verdure,
In gladness to the deep.