They laid within the peaceful bed, Where bounteous nature only tills The hero roams eternally. And these fair isles to the westward lie, And song and dance move endlessly. They told of the feats of his dog and gun, And o'er his arms, and o'er his bones, And since the chieftain here has slept, Over his humble sepulchre. 23.- -TO THE EAGLE. BIRD of the broad and sweeping wing! PERCIVAL Where wide the storms their banners fling, Thou sittest like a thing of light, The midway sun is clear and bright- Thy pinions, to the rushing blast 'Thou art perch'd aloft on the beetling crag, And on, with a haste that cannot lag, They rush in an endless flow. Again, thou hast plumed thy wing for flight And away like a spirit wreath'd in light, Thou hurriest o'er the myriad waves, When the night storm gathers dim and dark, Quick as a passing dream. Lord of the boundless realm of air! The hearts of the bold and ardent dare Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs For thee they fought, for thee they fell, Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, Till the gather'd rage of a thousand years Burst forth in one awful hour. And then, a deluge of wrath it came, And the nations shook with dread; And it swept the earth till its fields were flame, And where was then thy fearless flight? To the lands that caught the setting light, There, on the silent and lonely shore, For ages And the world, in its darkness, ask'd no more And they breasted the unknown wave; "And now that bold and hardy few Are a nation wide and strong, And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song; And over their bright and glancing arms On field and lake and sea, With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, 24.-HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. [The standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole who fell in the attack upon Savannah, during the American revolution, was of crimson silk einbroidered by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, in Pennsylvania.] WHEN the dying flame of day And the censer burning swung, That proud banner, which with prayer And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while Take thy banner !—may it wave Take thy banner !—and beneath Take thy banner! But when night Spare him-he our love hath shared- Take thy banner !-and if e'er LONGFELLOW 25.-EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF G. MORRIS, IN CONGRESS, ON THE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI. MR. PRESIDENT,-My object is peace. I could assign many reasons to show that this declaration is sincere. But can it be necessary to give this senate any other assurance than my word? Notwithstanding the acerbity of temper which results from party strife, gentlemen will believe me on my word. I will not pretend, like my honourable colleague, to describe to you the waste, the ravages, and the horrors of war. I have not the same harmonious periods, nor the same musical tones; neither shall I boast of Christian charity, nor attempt to display that ingenuous glow of benevolence, so decorous to the cheek of youth, which gave a vivid tint to every sentence he uttered; and was, if possible, as impressive even as his eloquence. But though we possess not the same pomp of words, our hearts are not insensible to the woes of humanity. We can feel for the misery of plundered towns, the conflagration of defenceless villages, and the devastation of cultured fields. Turning from these features of general distress, we can enter the abodes of private affliction, and behold the widow weeping, as she traces, in the pledges of connubial affection, the resemblance of him whom she has lost for ever. We see the aged matron bending over the ashes of her son. He was her darling; for he was generous and brave; and therefore his spirit led him to the field in defence of his country. We can observe another oppressed with unutterable anguish; condemned to conceal her affection; forced to hide that passion, which is at once the torment and delight of life: she learns that those eyes, which beamed with sentiment, are closed in death; and his lip, the ruby harbinger of joy, lies pale and cold, the miserable appendage of a mangled corpse. Hard, hard indeed, must be that heart, which can be insensible to scenes like these; and bold the man who dare present to the Almighty Father a conscience crimsoned with the blood of his children! Sir, I wish for peace; I wish the negotiation may succeed, and therefore I strongly urge you to adopt these resolutions. But though you should adopt them, they alone will not ensure success. I have no hesitation in saying, that you ought to have taken possession of New Orleans |