Imágenes de páginas

Nee-ba-naw'-baigs, water-spirits.

Shahboʻmin, the gooseberry. Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart.

Shah-shah, long ago. Nepah'win, sleep.

Sbaugoda'ya, a coward. Noko'mis, a grandmother; mother of Weno Shawgashee', the craw-fish. nah.

Shawonda'see, the South-Wind. No'sa, my father.

Shaw-shaw, the swallow. Nush'ka, look ! look!

Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the Game of Odah'min, the strawberry.

the Bowl. Okahah'wis, the fresh-water herring.

Shin'gebis, the diver, or greebe. Ome'me, the pigeon.

Showain'neme'shin, pity me. Ona'gon, a bowl.

Shuh'shuh'gah, the blue heron, Onaway', awake.

Svan-ge-ta'ba, strong-hearted. Opechee', the robin.

Subbeka'she, the spider. Osse'o, Son of the Bvening Star.

Sugge'ma, the mosquito. Owais'sa, the blue-bird.

To'tem, family coat-of-arns. Oweenee', wife of 08seo.

Ugh, yes. Ozawa beek, a round piece of brass or copper Ugudwash', the sun-fish. in the Game of the Bowl.

Unktahve', the God of Water. Pah-puk-kee-na, the grasshopper.

Wabas'so, the rabbit ; the North. Pau'guk, death.

Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler. Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsomo Yenadizze, / Wabe'uo-wusk, yarrow. the Storm-Fool.

Wa'bun, the East-Wind. Pawwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie.

Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the East, the Pe'boan, Winter.

Morning Star. Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo dried Wahono'min, a cry of lamentation, and pounded

Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly. Pezhekee', the bison.

Wam'pum, beads of shell. Pishnekuh', the brant.

Waubewy'on, a white skin wrapper. Pone'mah, hereafter.

Wa wa, the wild-goose. Pugasaing, game of the bowl.

Waw'beek, a rock. Puggawau'gun, a war-club.

Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose. Puk-Wudj'ies, Puk-Wudj-In-in'ees, little Wawonais'sa, the whippoorwill. wild men of the woods ; pigmies.

Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar. Sah-sah-je'-wun, rapids.

Weno'nah, the eldest daughter. Hiawatha's Sah'wa, the perch.

mother ; daughter of Nokomis. Segwun'. Spring.

Yenadizze, an idler and gambler ; an Indian Sha'da, the pelican.


Birds of Passage.



.. come i gru van cantando lor lai.
Facendo in aer di sè lunga riga.



SAINT AUGUSTINE ! well hast thou said, | We have not wings, we cannot soar ; That of our vices we can frame

But we have feet to scale and climb A ladder, if we will but tread

| By slow degrees, by more and more, Beneath our feet each deed of shame!! The cloudy summits of our time. All common things, each day's events, The mighty pyramids of stone

That with the hour begin and end, That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, Our pleasures and our discontents, When nearer seen, and better known,

Are rounds by which we may ascend. Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The low desire, the base design,

The distant mountains, that uprear That makes another's virtues less; Their solid bastions to the skies, The revel of the ruddy wine,

Are crossed by pathways, that appear And all occasions of excess;

As we to higher levels rise. The longing for ignoble things ;

The heights by great men reached and The strife for triumph more than kept truth ;

Were not attained by sudden flight, The hardening of the heart, that brings But they, while their companions slept,

Irreverence for the dreams of youth ; Were toiling upward in the night. All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, Standing on what too long we bore That have their roots in thoughts of With shoulders bent and downcast ill;

eyes, Whatever hinders or impedes

We may discern-unseen beforeThe action of the nobler will ;

A path to higher destinies. All these must first be trampled down | Nor deem the irrevocable Past,

Beneath our feet, if we would gain | As wholly wasted, wholly vain, In the bright fields of fair renown If, rising on its wrecks, at last

The right of eminent domain. | To something nobler we attain.


OR THE POET'S FORETHOUGHT. Or Prometheus, how undaunted

| Thus were Milton and Cervantes, On Olympus' shining bastions

Nature's priests and Corybantes, His audacious foot he planted,

By affliction touched and saddened. Myths are told and songs are chanted, Full of promptings and suggestions.

But the glories so transcendent

That around their memories cluster, Beautiful is the tradition

And, on all their steps attendant, Of that flight through heavenly por- Make their darkened lives resplendent tals,

With such gleams of inward lustre ! The old classic superstition Of the theft and the transmission

All the melodies mysterious, Of the fire of the Immortals !

Through the dreary darkness chanted;

Thoughts in attitudes imperious, First the deed of noble daring,

Voices soft, and deep, and serious, Born of heavenward aspiration,

Words that whispered, songs that Then the fire with mortals sharing,

haunted. Then the vulture, – the despairing Cry of pain on crags Caucasian.

All the soul in rapt suspension,

All the quivering, palpitating All is but a symbol painted

Chords of life in utmost tension,
Of the Poet, Prophet, Seer ;

With the fervour of invention,
Only those are crowned and sainted With the rapture of creating!
Who with grief have been acquainted,
Making nations nobler, freer.

Ah, Prometheus ! heaven-scaling!

In such hours of exultation In their feverish exultations,

Even the faintest heart, unquailing, in their triumph and their yearning, Might behold the vulture sailing In their passionate pulsations,

Round the cloudy crags Caucasian ! In their words among the nations, The Promethean fire is burning.

Though to all there is not given

Strength for such sublime endeavour, Shall it, then, be unavailing,

Thus to scale the walls of heaven, All this toil for human culture ? And to leaven with fiery leaven Through the cloud-rack, dark and trail All the hearts of men for ever; Must they see above them sailing

| Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted O'er life's barren crags the vulture ? Honour and believe the presage,

Hold aloft their torches lighted, Such a fate as this was Dante's, | Gleaming through the realms benighted,

By defeat and exile maddened ; 1 As they onward bear the message!


In Mather's Magnalia Christi,

That filled her sails at parting,
Of tbe old colonial time,

Were heavy with good men's prayers.
May be found in prose the legend
That is here set down in rhyme.

« O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure"

T Thus prayed the old divine-
A ship sailed from New Haven, | “To bury our friends in the ocean,
And the keen and frosty airs,

Take them, for they are thine !"

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When, steadily steering landward, And the pastor of the village
A ship was seen below,

Gave thanks to God in prayer, And they knew it was Lamberton, Master, That, to quiet their troubled spirits, Who sailed so long ago.

He had sent this Ship of Air.

A MIST was driving down the British Channel,

The day was just begun,
And through the window-panes, on floor and panel,

Streamed the red autumn sun.

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon,

And the white sails of ships;
And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon

Hailed it with feverish lips.

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover,

Were all alert that day,
To see the French war-steamers speeding over,

When the fog cleared away.

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions,

Their cannon through the night,
Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance,

The sea-coast opposite.

And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations

On every citadel;
Each answering each, with morning salutations,

That all was well.

And down the coast, all taking up the burden,

Replied the distant forts,
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden

And Lord of the Cinque Ports.

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure,

No drum-beat from the wall,
No morning gun from the black fort's embrasure

Awaken with its call !

No more, surveying with an eye impartial

The long line of the coast,
Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field-Marshal

Be seen upon his post !

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior,

In sombre harness mailed,
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer,

The rampart wall has scaled.

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper,

The dark and silent room,
And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper,

The silence and the gloom.

He did not pause to parley or dissemble,

But smote the Warden hoar; Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble,

And groan from shore to shore.

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,

The sun rose bright o'erhead: Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated

That a great man was dead.

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