CANZONET. BY C. C. CONWELL. HASTE to yon hallowed spot, Earth's dearest daughter- Haste to my viny cot, O'er the blue water. 'Tell me not dearest one How the world views us, Envy and spite alone Make them abuse us. What if the world disprove Coldly and drearly- Sweetest, while thus we love Fondly and dearly Tell me not how the vow Fervently plighted, Warm from affection now, Say not that love can flee Forms that embow'r it, And, like the sated bee, Leave the spoil'd flowret. Love, like the rose-fly, his Plant still must cherish, Share with it storm and bliss, The broad sun that bade the day Gaze on my treasure, Steals all his light away, Leaves us to pleasure. Now is the hour of bliss, Now the day closes; Now Autumn's breezy kiss, Dies on the roses. Dian o'er Ether's breast Leads her bright million, Here be our bed of rest, Heaven our pavilion- Here be our bloomy bed, Here where around thy head SAGITTO, THE WARRIOR OF THE WASHPELONG. BY MORRIS MATTSON. THROUGH what is now one of the western states, about half a century ago, there roamed a small band of aborigines, who were the terror of the neighbouring whites. They were, altogether, not more than fifty in number, consisting entirely of those, who, actuated by a restless and warlike spirit, were at continual enmity with the less enterprising and turbulent brethren of their tribe, and accordingly formed themselves into a band of reckless desperadoes. Sagitto, by common consent, was elected their war chief. He was chosen, perhaps, partly for his unwavering intrepidity; and partly, because he was known to possess extraordinary prudence and foresight. Sagitto was by no means one of the worst of men. Although bold, daring, and oftentimes merciless, yet there was a loftiness and grandeur in his character, that partially obscured every evil passion of his nature. His muscular and proportioned frame-his haughty and majestic stride-his manly and prepossessing features— all seemed to proclaim that he might be fashioned for some noble and exalted purpose. Over his followers he exercised a strange and unbounded influence. His occasional severity only tended to increase their admiration and love. They looked upon him as a superior being, invested with the entire control of their destiny; and Sagitto, shrewd and penetrating as he was, lost not the advantage of their credulity. He taught them to believe that the very elements were obedient to his command; and it was a tradition among them, that at one time, when surrounded by his enemies, he had retreated to the top of a mountain—and, lo! the heavens were overspread with clouds, and Sagitto, in his terrible and vindictive wrath, grasping the hissing and angry lightnings, hurled them over the earth, scathing and destroying all within his reach. And, when the storm had passed away a thousand corses were scattered along the wilderSo much for the traditions of a simple, confiding, ness. and romantic race. We were speaking of Sagitto's influence over his little tribe of Seminoles. At the waving of his hand, they were silent as death. A single whisper, and their battleaxes were gleaming in every direction; and then yells and whoops passed through the everlasting forest, like the loud blast of the equinox. Their retreat was in a narrow pass, between two mountains, that terminated abruptly on the Missouri river. They were continually at warfare with the white settlements; more, perhaps, for the sake of plunder, than a desire of shedding blood. But as they frequently met with opposition, a contest, of course, would ensue, which too often terminated in their complete success. The Washpelong believed that there was little probability of their hiding place being discovered. In this they were mistaken. Some incidental circumstance led to their detection. It was ascertained that their resort could be approached from the river. Boats were got in readiness and a large body of veteran marksmen were prepared to commence the attack. They chose a tempestuous night, when, they believed, the Indians would not be upon their guard. In landing, almost in breathless silence, an arrow whizzed by them. They stood, for a moment, unmoved. Another-another, and another! Still they were silent. They could see no object through the darkness of midnight. At length an arrow struck one of the adventurers in the temple; he gave a loud scream, and fell dead upon the spot. A single gun was fired, and the supposed sentinel howled in the agonies of death. The whites were drawn up on the shore, prepared for battle. The breathing of the wounded Washpelong was now distinctly heard. From the sound, it appeared as though he might be unsuccessfully endea. vouring to regain his feet. One of the men groped his way through the underwood, about fifty yards from the main body, and discharged his musket. This stratagem, though dangerous to the individual, had the desired effect. The Indians directed their attention to this quarter, and the noise occasioned by the movement, gave the whites a momentary advantage. Several volleys were instantly fired, and, as it was supposed, not entirely without effect. They were, however, too well acquainted with the subtle enemy with whom they had to contend, to remain any longer exposed, and consequently retreated immediately to their boats. The hostility between Sagitto's tribe and the borderers (or hoosiers) was now of the most deadly character. The latter, who had been the aggressors, made active preparations to defend themselves from an attack which, they had every reason to apprehend, would soon be made. For this purpose, every house was plentifully supplied with arms and ammunition; but when they fancied their security the greatest, they became, in a brief hour, the victims of their enemies. They were surprised during the night, and before they |