Who dread to hear the warwhoop sound, Not one who fears to die !" XIII. They cast the prisoner to the ground, His brow upon the ancient rock They laid with wild and bitter mock, That moment in the prisoner's eye, As sudden, swung aloft in air, He sees the bloody mace on high! Keen are the eyes that watch the blow, A thousand eyes that gloating glow, The arm that wings the mace is bending, With vision dim, with thoughts benighted, XIV. And what of him, that savage sire? A moment leapt he to his feet, When first her sudden form is seen, Across the circle darting fleet, The captive from the stroke to screen. Above his head, with furious whirl, The hatchet gleams in act to fly ; But, as he sees the kneeling girl, The glances of her pleading eye,— The angel spirit of mercy waves The evil spirit of wrath away, And all accords, ere yet she craves Of that her eye alone can pray. Strange is the weakness, born of love, To captive of his bow and spear, 'Twas, as if sudden, touch'd by Heaven, A power to sooth, and still subdue, To more than queenly sway she grew? Oh! brief the doubt;-Oh! short the strife, She wins the captive's forfeit life ; She breaks his bands, she bids him go, Her idol, but her country's foe, To those that round her heart she wears. Mary's Charm. BY ANNA CORA MOWATT. 'Twas not the features-not the formThe eyes' celestial blue— "Twas not the blushes soft and warm- The waving of her golden hair- He gazed upon her speaking eye, But 'twas the soul to see; He mark'd the glance, the smile, the sigh, That spake of Purity: He sought the charms that long endure, That beauteous make the mind; He only loved the jewel pure That this fair casket shrined. Selfishness. BY MISS E. JANE CATE. "YES, mother, but one cannot endure having the house torn down about one's ears! Who could eat or study, I wonder! One might I suppose with Miss Harriet; for I fancy she is given to solitude, poetrywriting, revery, and long rambles; and I could manage to live a month under the same roof with a young lady, if she would sometimes keep out of my way. But that Susan! Ah, from such as her, 'ye ministers of defend us grace There was the look of supplication in his—I mean Harry Porter's-eye, and its feeling was evidently in his heart as he spoke. His sister sat near him with her finger-point resting on the page she had been reading, conjecturing, all the while, what faculty in its extraordinary development, or what in its want of growth or activity, induced such unreasonableness, when woman was in the question, in her otherwise reasonable brother. It came in fact from his selfishHe chose to sit and fold his hands in his luxurious idleness, to wait for his mother, his sister, his ness. |