"And curse thee with a load of worthless life, "Reft of thy old associates, babes, and wife;

66

Loathing the present as a bitter curse,

Fearing the future, that still threaten'd worse; "Yet bearing still to live, in hopes one day, "The bloody debt with interest to repay? "Such was, such is, my lone and wretched lot"But what of that-in sooth, it matters not; "I cannot write my wrongs, nor make appeal "To those who watch o'er other people's weal; "And if to Heav'n I raise the suppliant prayer, "And ask redress, I get no justice there; "For as ye rule on earth, so in the skies "Rules your great God, and all redress denies. "See!" cried he, as the frenzy caught his brain"How their white bones lie bleaching on the plain! "Their shadows haunt me wheresoe'er I stray, "Their howling shades still cross my fearful way; "I have no other kindred now but these,

"I hear no other music in the breeze;

66

66

They call upon me in shrill dismal screams,

They haunt my waking thoughts, my nightly dreams; "Whene'er I stretch my hand, their cold, cold clasp, "I feel like ice within my shrinking grasp;

"With shades I dwell, they haunt me every where, "And howl for vengeance in the midnight air.

"Buried within this gloomy vault alive,

66

Vainly to quit its mildew'd walls I strive,

"Condemn'd with worms and mouldering bones to bide, "And ghosts that chatter as before they died. "Go-go in peace-ere yet thy limbs I tear, "And cheat with half a meal, some half-starv'd bear!" "I pity thee-Heaven knows I pity thee,

"And wish to Heav'n such things might never be. "But learn of me, thou lone and wretched man, ""Tis impious the ways of GOD to scan. "For so it is, alas! or right or wrong, "The weak are ever victims of the strong; "In polish'd states the master mind presides, "In barb'rous nations force of arm still guides; "Mind in the one the stoutest nerves obey, "Force in the other holds despotic sway. "If thou wouldst let us, we would be thy friends, "And for thy ancient wrongs make rich amends; "From long-remember'd woes thy thoughts beguile, "And teach this world to wear its sweetest smile,

66

By pointing all thy hopes to yonder skies, "Where the lost bliss of every mortal lies; "There shall you find, if still ye

seek aright, "The baffling Bliss, and fugitive Delight, "That stopt a moment with their laughing train, "Then bade good-bye, and never call'd again. "O! come with me! thou wild bewilder'd thing, "Leave vengeance to yon sky-enthroned King, "That better knows than you, to spare or strike, "And punishes the wicked all alike;

66

Here, if they 'scape, still, still they meet their doom, "In fires that never quench, and ne'er consume;

Forgiving, and forgiv'n, thy days shall glide

"

Smoothly and brightly as yon sparkling tide; "The white-man shall thy age's weakness bless, "The red-men cherish, and their wrongs redress; "Teach them to tread the only path that guides

"The steps of man where Truth and Justice bides; "Give them rich lands, where they may dwell in peace, "And every passing year their stores increase."

66

"Fair promises! but canst thou wake the grave? They have no lives to bless, no souls to save. "Hast thou forgot, or dost thou mean to jeer? "I told thee that I had no kindred here;

And, if I had, think'st thou I would forego "The only hope that lights me here below; "Sell my revenge, forget my murder'd tribe, "And cheat my kinsmen for a worthless bribe?

66

Thy memory is bad, thou dost forget

"I am a savage, not converted yet―

""Tis for the white-man, who his Maker sold, "To sell his brothers for accursed gold.

66

“Peace—peace, thou hoary tempter of fourscore— Begone!-and never seek these woodlands more; "Away!"-he cried, with frenzy-lighten'd brow, "Were I a Christian I would scalp thee now; "Go home, and lie amid thy very pray'rs, say the bloody Indian never spares."

"And

This said-he darted in the woods amain, To seek his warriors of the wilds again. The aged Pilgrim, sighing, turn'd away, And marvell'd so that he forgot to pray, That men were born with such a stubborn mind, And hearts so hard, and eyes so wilful blind.

FANNY.

THIS sprightly little poem is one of the cleverest

efforts of the American Muse. It is the first attempt which has been made by the transatlantic poets to imitate a style of writing, with which we were but imperfectly acquainted before the publication of the "Prospectus of an intended National Poem," and which has since been rendered popular by "Beppo," and "Don Juan." The great art in this species of composition seems to be, to disappoint the feelings of the reader, by a provoking mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous, and by an equal confusion of imagery and expression. The Author of "Fanny" seems to have been very successful in catching this spirit, and it will perhaps be thought, that in some passages he fully equals his English prototypes. The story is extremely simple, and it is to be feared, by no means