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As if drinking the breath of each sunny ray,
Which it lives but to feel one short spring's day.
And the proud magnolia's lofty cone
Has its snowy robe around it thrown,
Of pure large flowers where rich odours lie ;---
A form, and a spirit in harmony!

They have enter'd their barks, and as they row
Towards the wide river's centre, calm and slow,
They chaunt a farewell to the winter shore,
And the measure, they mark with the splashing oar;
But list !---'mid their voices, there is one tone
Which thrills through the heart, like a dying moan!--
A strain now wildly shrill, as from agony;
Now low as the sound of despair's last sigh.
The song of the tribe ceases suddenly,
Their checkd oars rest just above the sea;
A pale woman, guiding a small canoe
Has fixed their fierce gaze; but absorb'd in woe,
Her dark hollow eyes roll abstractedly,
While the voice of her grief breathes unconsciously,
Her trembling lips are withered and wan,
And the bloom from her youthful form is gone,
A mother too, for her heaving breast,
With its wild pulse rocks one child to rest,
And with look of pain, and tear dimn'd eye,
Another lists to her mourning sigh.

They have gathered round Yeruka's bark
And to her wild words are list'ning.

The chieftain's brow is gathering dark, And a tear on his rough cheek is glistening.


Oh bid me not join in the song of your gladness,

Mine must a death dirge be;
Nor echo your laugh, though I could laugh in madness,

Or in grim mockery,---
My own heart I could mock, as beneath the death blow
The warrior sinites scorn on his conquering foe.

There are flowers on the earth, and warm beams in the sky,

They cheer not, they warm not me;
And the sounds of rejoicing, that around me rise high,

But wake me to misery.
Songs, gladness, and laughter but shew me the gloom
Of the desert of darkness, my soul has become.

When the rich streams of love in the heart overflow,

Like pure and sunny dreams,
On the clear waves are caught every fair thing that now

To me unlovely seems ;---
But when they have ebbed on the dry tideless shore
Of the heart, lone and loveless, beam bright forms no more,

Earth blooms,—but no sun can the soul's spring renew;

And mine is as winter drear,
Like the elk in the grasp of the fierce carcajoux,

My heart is with despair.
The whirlwind's rude roar, and the lightning's sad light,
More than sunbeams, or song, can my lost heart delight.

Oh! it needed not her song to tell That she had lov'd :-whence ever fell Such misery on woman's heart, But love had urged the poison'd dart. Man loves,—but with selfish thought retains Within his own grasp, his golden chains, And when, like a foul breath tarnishing T'he spirit of change, with its vapour wing Passes through his thoughts, he wrenches then, (Though the heart might never close again, From whose inmost pulse that link was torn,) 'The once bright love chain he had borne Ere now with ecstasy; and hears Unmov’d, deep prayers, and sees hot tears Stream from those eyes, whose light he thought Once was his life, and heeds them not ! But urged by ambition, by change, by pride, He flings all the wealth of the heart aside, But when waken'd, the fervour of woman's soul, Where its ardent thoughts clings, she gives the whole Of her faith, of her trust, nor can she ever Though 'tis anguish to hold, from these twined thoughts sever. The widow'd wife of a living lord, Yeruka, thy heart keeps thy plighted word; But the faith and the love once vow'd to thec, The prize of another thou couldst not see; From the soul that was faithless you fled, but in vain Doth thine own seek to part from the shiver'd chain.

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On their green shores spread, was twined o'er
Head leafless trees from their earth-beds tore
By the torrent's rage. Above their banks
The water-lily 'mid rainbow-ranks
Of brilliant blossoms, its white head rears
And like flake of snow each bell appears,
As if the fleece drifts, yet loiter'd to show
How fair they could seem e'en ʼmid summer's glow.
There's a murmur of sounds from these fairy isles,
For flamingos, blue herons, young crocodiles,
And serpents, whose brightness of glossy green
Is the emerald's tint, on their banks are seen.

Now again, they row on their light canoes,
But oh, what a cry at that moment rose !
Whilst the flowery isles they mark'd to glide,
Yeruka, her bark, down the river's tide
Has turn’d, and now it is swiftly borne
By the current on ; and the Indians mourn
And yell in vain : now a wild death song
Is borne on the air as she rows along;
The dark tribe join, for too well they know
That the cataract soon with its foaming glow
The boat must whelm. Ah! how swiftly see,
On, on goes the bark of misery
To its dreadful doom; and her voice is clear
As a strain of joy she were singing to cheer
The children who sportively pull in shreds
The flowers with which she has wreath'd their heads,
She pauses now, as the deaf'ning roar
Of the tumbling torrent had prov'd its power
Ev'n her to awe, who its rage defy'd.
Now a sound, as if on it the heart had died, ---
So thrilling, so sad, yet a tone of song,
As to show what sweet sounds may to grief belong.
A shriller tone! and a pause ---the last ---
The horror of her wild death is past.---
The cataract's fall, and the whirlpool's sweep,
She heeds them not now, she is in the deep!
The Indian's moon of flowers* is come;
But the deep cold sea is Yeruka's home!


• The month of May, or the part of the year corresponding with that wbich we so term, has obtained amongst the American Indians, the very poetic title of the “month of flowers," at which period, they leave, with much exultation, their winter retreats.


Spirit of Freedom!

Whatever thou art
That once dwelt in Greece

Like the life in the heart,
Awake from thy slumber,

-Thou never canst die,-
The shadowless light

Of Eternity
Is within and around thee, oh! hide not that light
From thy children who sorrow in bondage and night.

Our sinews are crushed

By a pitiless chain,
We have grappled our tyrant,

We struggle in vain,
The aid of the free

We have vainly implored,
-We will turn to the shrine

Where our fathers adored ;
Spirit of Freedom !

Thou surely art God !
Come down on the land

Thou so often hast trod,
The sword of our fathers

Is drawn in thy name,
Their life was thy worship,

Forget not their fame.


One ev’ning wrapt in fancy's dream,

While slumb'ring near the shore, Methought a barque came o'er the stream,

A glorious freight it bore ! Upon its deck a various throng,

The young, the fair, the brave, Time row'd the gallant bark along,

Light bounding o'er the wave.

An altar stood upon the strand,

'Twas rais'd to Friendship's name, Its emblem was a hand in hand,

A maiden fed its flame.

Old Time now hail'd the guardian fair,

As near the bank she drew,
And bade her quick on board repair

To join his motley crew.

The maiden grasp'd thi' united hands,

And boldly answer'd Time,
“ The pow'r I serve, thy might withstands,

Unchang'd in ev'ry clime.
Love, valor, wit, and beauty's flow'r

Must yield to swift (lecay,
All must bend to Time's stern pow'r,
But Friendship scorns thy sway.”

M. J. S.


AMUSEMENTS or Cork in 1749.—“On Hammond's Marsh, is a large pleasant bowling-green, planted, on its margin, with trees kept regularly cut, whose shade makes it an agreeable walk; it is also washed by a branch of the Lee; and on it, a band of music has been supported by a subscription, for the entertainment of the Gentlemen and Ladies who frequent it; adjacent to it, is the Assembly-House, where assemblies are held two days in the week, as also, a weekly concert, which is maintained by a subscription, for the support of the Infirmary. Here is an organ; the other performers play on violins, German flutes, &c., with vocal music, and are sometimes assisted by Gentlemen, who play to encourage this charity, Mardyke is a pleasant walk, being a bank, walled on both sides, and filled up, extending westerly from the city near an English mile, and washed on each hand by the channel of the river. This bank is carried through a marshy island, and was done at the private expence of Mr. Edward Webher, anno 1719, who also built an house on the west end, where are good gardens, planted with fruit, for the accommodation and entertainment of those who frequent this walk.

As to diversions, every entertainment that has the authority of fashion in Dublin, (which place also takes its example from London) prevail here; and some, perhaps, in a liigher degree: card playing, in the winter evenings, is an entertainment observed to be more used in Deland, among polite people, then in England; the Ladies are rather fonder of this amusement than the men; and dancing, that pretty innocent house diversion, hardly vields to it in their eyes; for which purpose, here is a weekly drum, besides the assembly where card playing is intermixed with dancing. Besides the public concerts, there are several private ones, where the performers are Gentlemen and Ladies of such good skill, that one would imagine the god of music had taken a large stride from the continent, over England, to this island; for indeed, the whole nation are of late become admirers of this entertainment; and those who have no ear for music, are generally so

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