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The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,-
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage!— Loud and more loud

The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene,
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud!

Of all the men

Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud and vigorous health, of all the hearts
That beat with anxious life at sunset there,-
How few survive! how few are beating now!—
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause,
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay
Wrapt round its struggling powers.

The gray morn

Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphur-ous smoke Before the icy wind slow rolls away,

And the bright beams of frosty morning dance

Along the spangled snow. There, tracks of blood,
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms,

And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path
Of the out-sallying victors. Far behind

Black ashes note where a proud city stood.
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen ;-

Each tree which guards its darkness from the day
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb!

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. (1792-1822.)

TRUTH, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;

But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among her worshipers.

BRYANT

LXXXIX.-CAUSE FOR INDIAN RESENTMENT.

M-PLA'CA-BLY, ad., irreconcilably.

FE-RO'CIOUS, a., fierce; savage.

VIN-DICTIVE, a., revengeful.
IM'PO-TENCE, n., want of power.

In hov'er, noth'ing, none, give o the sound of short u as in love, a-bove', &c.

1. You say that you have bought the country. Bought it? Yes; - of whom? Of the poor, trembling natives, who knew that refusal would be vain; and who strove to make a merit of necessity, by seeming to yield with grace what they knew that they had not the power to retain.-Alas, the poor Indians! No wonder that they continue so impla'cably vindictive against the white people. No wonder that the rage of resentment is handed down from generation to gen eration. No wonder that they refuse to associate and mix permanently with their unjust and cruel invaders and exterminators.

2. No wonder that, in the unabating spite and frenzy of conscious impotence, they wage an eternal war, as well as they are able; that they triumph in the rare opportunity of revenge; that they dance, sing, and rejoice, as the victim shrieks and faints amid the flames, when they imagine all the crimes of their op pressors collected on his head, and fancy the spirits of their injured forefathers hovering over the scene, smiling with ferocious delight at the grateful spectacle; and feasting on the precious odor as it arises from the burning blood of the white man.

3. Yet the people here affect to wonder that the Indians are so very unsusceptible of civilization; or, in other words, that they so obstinately refuse to adopt the manners of the white man. Go, Virginians, erase from the Indian nation the tradition of their wrongs. Make them forget, if you can, that once this charming country was theirs; that over these fields, and through

these forests, their beloved forefathers once, in careless gayety, pursued their sports and hunted their game; that every returning day found them the sole, the peaceful and happy proprietors of this extensive and beautiful domain. Go, administer the cup of oblivion to recollections like these; and then you will cease to complain that the Indian refuses to be civilized. 4. But, until then, surely it is nothing wonderful that a nation, even yet bleeding afresh from the mem ory of ancient wrongs, perpetually agonized by new outrages, and goaded into desperation and madness at the prospect of the certain ruin which awaits their descendants, should hate the authors of their miseries, of their desolation, their destruction,- should hate their manners, hate their color, hate their language, hate their name, hate every thing that belongs to them! No; never, until time shall wear out the history of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the Indian be brought to love the white man, and to imitate his WILLIAM WIRT. (1772-1835.A

manners.

XC.-TOO LATE I STAYED.

Too late I stayed-forgive the crime;
Unheeded flew the hours;

How noiseless falls the foot of Time

That only treads on flowers!

What eye with clear account remarks

The ebbing of his glass,

When all its sands are diamond sparks,
That dazzle as they pass!

Ah! who to sober measurement
Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of Paradise have lent

Their plumage for his wings!

W. R. SPENCER,

XCI.- BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

GAGE, n., a challenge to combat.

YEARN (yern), v. i., to long.
SWERVE, v. i., to deviate.
CON'DE, n., a Spanish earl.
GRAN-DEE', n., a man of rank.

CAI'TIFF (kā-), n., a base fellow.

PALTER-ING (pawl-), ppr., shifting.

FAL'CHION (fawl'chun), n., a sword.
LORD'LING, n., a petty nobleman.
CHAM'PI-ON, n., the leading com'bat-
ant in a cause.

DUN'GEON, n., a close dark prison.
LOY'AL, a., faithful ; true.
VAS'SAL, n., a subject; a serf.

Pronounce Sancho, Sank'ko; Castile, Kas-teel'. Do not say baird for beard.

King Alfonzo, of Spain, according to the old chronicle, had offered Bernardo del Carpio immediate possession of the person of his father, the king's prisoner, in exchange for the castle of Carpio, held by Bernardo. The latter gave up the stronghold; whereupon the mocking king caused the father to be put to death, and his corpse placed on horseback, in which state it was led out to the son, the trusting Bernardo. In Mrs. Hemans's ballad, Bernardo is represented as letting the false king go free. In Lockhart's ballad, which is far the superior in spirit, Bernardo lets the king hear from him again. By a combination of parts of the two ballads (placing that by Mrs. Hemans first), with slight alterations, we get a clear story; though chroniclers leave us in the dark as to Beraardo's history after the murder of his father.

THE warrior bowed his crested head,

And tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free
His long-imprisoned sire :-
"I bring thee here my fortress-keys,
I bring my captive train,

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!
O break my father's chain!"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father

comes,

A ransomed man, this day!
Mount thy good horse; and thou and I

Will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son,

And bounded on his steed,
And urged, as if with lance in rest,
The charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed,
There came a glittering band,

With one that 'mid them stately rode,
As a leader in the land:

"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there,

In very truth, is he,

The father whom thy faithful heart
Hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved,
His cheek's hue came and went;

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side,
And there, dismounting, bent;
A lowly knee to earth he bent,

His father's hand he took ;

What was there in its touch that all
His fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold,-a frozen thing,-
It dropped from his like lead!
He looked up to the face above,—
The face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er the noble brow,-
The brow was fixed and white!
He met, at last, his father's eyes,-
But in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed;
But who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts that saw
Its horror and amaze :

They might have chained him, as before
That stōny form he stood;

For the power was stricken from his arm,
And from his lip the blood.

Then, starting suddenly, he rushed

And seized the monarch's rein,

Amid the pale and wildered looks
Of all the courtier train;

And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp,

The rearing war-horse led,

And sternly set them face to face,

The king before the dead!

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