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it chains them to the earth by its pressure. A wilderness is essential to their habits and pursuits. They can neither be tamed nor overawed. They subsist by war or hunting; and the game of the forest is relinquished only for the nobler game of man. The question, therefore, is necessarily reduced to the consideration, whether the country itself shall be abandoned by civilized man, or maintained, by his sword, as the right of the strongest.

It may be so; perhaps, in the wisdom of Providence, it must be so. I pretend not to comprehend, or solve, such weighty difficulties. But neither philosophy nor policy can shut out the feelings of nature. Humanity must continue to sigh at the constant sacrifices of this bold but wasting race. And Religion, if she may not blush at the deed, must, as she sees the successive victims depart, cling to the altar with a drooping heart, and mourn over a destiny without hope and without example.

STORY.

YET Sometimes, in the gay and noisy street
Of the great city, which usurps the place
Of the small Indian village, one shall see
Some miserable relic of that race,

Whose sorely-tarnished fortunes we have sung;
Yet how debased and fallen! In his eye
The flame of noble daring is gone out,
And his brave face has lost its martial look.
His eye rests on the earth, as if the grave
Were his sole hope, his last and only home.
A poor, thin garb is wrapped about his frame,
Whose sorry plight but mocks his ancient state,
And in the bleak and pitiless storm he walks
With melancholy brow, and shivers as he goes.
His pride is dead; his courage is no more;
His name is but a by-word. All the tribes,
Who called this mighty continent their own,
Are homeless, friendless wanderers on earth.

MCLELLAN.

LESSON CXVIII.

POCAHONTAS.

THE romantic story of Pocahontas forms a beautiful episode in the early history of Virginia. Her intercession for Smith is thus described by the historians of that period. "The captive, bound hand and foot, was laid upon the stones, and Powhatan, to whom the honor was respectfully assigned, was about to put him to death. Something like pity beamed from the eyes of the savage crowd, but none dared to speak. The fatal club was uplifted; the captive was alone among hostile savages, without a friend to succor him. The multitude were anticipating the dreadful crash that was to deprive him of life, when the young and beautiful Pocahontas, the king's darling daughter, with a shriek of terror and agony, threw herself on the body of the victim. Her dark hair unbound, her eyes streaming with tears, and her whole manner, bespoke the agony of her bosom. She cast the most beseeching looks at her angry and astonished father, imploring his pity, and the life of the captive, with all the eloquence of mute, but impassioned sorrow."

"The remainder of this scene" says Burke " is highly honorable to Powhatan, and remains a lasting monument, that, though dif ferent principles of action, and the influence of custom, had given to the manners of the people an appearance neither amiable nor virtuous in general, yet they still retained the noblest property of human character; the touch of sympathy, and the feelings of humanity. The club of the Emperor was still uplifted; but gentle feelings had overcome him, and his eye was every moment losing its fierceness. He looked around to find an excuse for his weakness, and saw pity in every face. The generous savage no longer hesitated. The compassion of the rude state is neither ostentatious nor dilatory, nor does it insult its object by the exaction of impossibilities. Powhatan lifted his grateful and delighted daughter from the earth, but lately ready to receive the blood of the victim, and commanded the stranger captive to rise."

Pocahontas, who performed so important a part in this interesting scene, though born and reared in savage life, was a creature of exquisite loveliness and refinement. The gracefulness

of her person, the gentleness of her nature, her benevolence, her courage, her noble self-devotion in the discharge of duty, elevate this lovely woman to an equality with the most illustrious and most attractive of her sex; and yet, those winning graces and noble qualities were not the most remarkable features of her character. This was even more distinguished by the wonderful tact, and the delicate sense of propriety, which marked all the scenes of her brief, but eventful history.

The mingled tenderness and heroism of her successful intercession for the adventurous Smith present a scene, which for dramatic effect and moral beauty, is not excelled either in the records of history, or the most splendid creations of inventive genius. Had the generous spark of love, which is inbred in the heart of woman, been cherished by the refinements of education, it could not have burned with a brighter flame. The motive of that noble action was benevolence, the purest and most lofty principle of human action. It was not the caprice of a thoughtless girl, it was not a momentary passion for the condemned stranger, pleading at a susceptible heart, for her affections were reserved for another, and the purity, as well as the dignity of her after life, showed that they were truly and cautiously bestowed.

By her intervention, her courage, and her talent, the colony of Virginia was several times saved from famine and extermination, and when perfidiously taken prisoner by those who owed every thing to her noble devotion to their cause, she displayed in her captivity a patience, a sweetness of disposition, and a propriety of conduct, that won universal admiration. As the wife of Rolfe she was equally exemplary; and when at the British court she stood in the presence of royalty, surrounded by the beauty and refinement of the proudest aristocracy in the world, she was still a lovely and admired woman, unsurpassed in the appropriate graces of her sex.

JAMES HALL.

LESSON CXIX.

THE CHIEFTAIN'S DAUGHTER.

(Pocahontas.)

UPON the barren sand

A single captive stood,

Around him came, with bow and brand,
The red men of the wood.

Like him of old, his doom he hears,
Rock-bound on ocean's rím;

The chieftain's daughter knelt in tears,
And breathed a prayer for him.

Above his head in air,

The savage war-club swung;
The frantic girl, in wild despair,
Her arms about him flung.
Then shook the warriors of the shade,
Like leaves on aspen-limb,

Subdued by that heroic maid,

Who breathed a prayer for him.

"Unbind him!" gasped the chief,
"It is your king's decree!"
He kissed away her tears of grief,
And set the captive free.

"T is ever thus, when, in life's storm,
Hope's star to man grows dim,

An angel kneels in woman's form,
And breathes a prayer for him.

GEO. P. MORRIS.

LESSON CXX.

THE PERUVIAN SOLDIER.

Pizarro, Davillo, Gomez, Spaniards, and Orozembo, a Peruvian

prisoner.

(Enter Gomez.)

Pizarro. How! Gomez, what bringest thou?

Gomez. On yonder hill, among the palm trees, we have surprised an old Peruvian. Escape by flight he could not,

and we seized him and his attendant unresisting: yet his lips breathe nothing but bitterness and scorn.

Pizarro. Drag him before us. (Gomez leads in Orozem bo.) What art thou, stranger?

Orozembo. First tell me which ainong you is the captain of this band of robbers.

Piz. Audacious ! This insolence has sealed thy doom. Die thou shalt, gray-headed ruffian. But first confess what thou knowest.

Oro. I know that which thou hast just assured me of; that I shall die.

Piz. Less audacity, perhaps, might have preserved thy life. Oro. My life is as a withered tree; it is not worth pre serving.

Piz. Hear me, old man. Even now we march against the Peruvian army. We know there is a secret path that leads to your strong hold among the rocks: guide us to that, and name your reward. If wealth be thy wish

Oro.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Piz. Dost thou despise my offer?

Oro. Thee, and thy offer! Wealth? I have the wealth of two, dear, gallant sons; I have stored in heaven the riches which repay good actions here; and still, my chief treasure I do bear about me.

Piz. What is that? Inform me.

Oro. I will; for it never can be thine: the treasure of a pure, unsullied conscience.

Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian dares speak as thou dost.

Oro. Would I could believe there is no other Spaniard who dares act as thou dost.

Gom. Obdurate Pagan! How numerous is your army? Oro. Count the leaves of yonder forest.

Piz. Which is the weakest part of your camp?

Oro. It has no weak part; on every side 'tis fortified by truth and justice.

Piz. Where have you concealed your wives and your children?

Oro. In the hearts of their husbands and their fathers.
Piz.

Knowest thou Alonzo?

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