And where is every one he printed His arms around that neck have twisted, While thus I murmured, trembling too TO MISS SUSAN B-CKF-D. I MORE than once have heard, at night, Who seemed, like thee, to breathe of Heaven! But this was all a dream of sleep, And I have said, when morning shone, 'Oh! why should fairy Fancy keep These wonders for herself alone? I knew not then that Fate had lent And yet, in all that flowery maze Through which my life has loved to tread, When I have heard the sweetest lays From lips of dearest lustre shed; When I have felt the warbled word From Beauty's mouth of perfume sighing, Sweet as music's hallowed bird Upon a rose's bosom lying! Though form and song at once combined Oh! I have found it all, at last, In thee, thou sweetest living lyre, All that my best and wildest dream, LINES, WRITTEN AT THE COHOS, OR FALLS OF THE MOHAWK RIVER.1 Già era in loco ove s' udia 'l rimbombo Dell' acqua.-Dante. FROM rise of morn till set of sun, Through shades that frowned and flowers that smiled, That wooed him to its calm caress, Yet, sometimes turning with the wind, As if to leave one look behind! Oh! I have thought, and thinking sighed― There is a dreary and savage character in the country immediately above these falls, which is much more in harmony with the wildness of such 1 scene than the cultivated lands in the neighbourhood of Niagara. See the drawing of them in Mr. Weld's book. According to him, the perpendicular height of the Cohos Fall is fifty feet; but the Marquis de Chastellux makes it seventysix. The fine rainbow, which is continually forming and dissolving as the spray rises into the light of the sun, is perhaps the most interesting beauty which these wonderful cataracts exhibit. From lapse to lapse, till life be done, CLORIS AND FANNY. CLORIS! if I were Persia's king, There is but one objection in it- SONG OF THE EVIL SPIRIT OF THE WOODS.1 Qua vía difficilis, quaque est via nulla.-Ovid. Metam. lib. iii. v. 227. Now the vapour, hot and damp, Hark! I hear the traveller's song, Hither, sprites, who love to harm, Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, passing through the very dreary wilderness be- when General Sullivan, with an army of 4000 men, The idea of this poem occurred to me in and the adjacent country, until the year 1779, the woods, and the little village of Buffalo, upon where, being obliged to live on salted provisions, tween Batavia, a new settlement in the midst of drove them from their country to Niagara, route in travelling through the Genesee country of them died. Two hundred of them, it is said, Lake Erie. This is the most fatiguing part of the to which they were unaccustomed, great numbers The Five Confederated Nations (of Indians) camped.'-Morse's American Geography. to Niagara. were settled along the banks of the Susquehannah were buried in one grave, where they had en And the cayman1 loves to creep, Hither bend you, turn you hither The alligator, who is supposed to lie in a orpid state all the winter in the bank of some ereek or pond, having previously swallowed a large number of pine knots, which are his only sustenance during the time. This was the mode of punishment for murder (as Father Charlevoix tells us) among the Hurons. They laid the dead body upon poles at the top of a cabin, and the murderer was obliged to remain several days together, and to receive all that dropped from the carcase, not only on him self but on his food.' We find also collars of porcelain, tobacco, 3 ears of maize, skins, etc., by the side of difficult and dangerous ways, on rocks, or by the side of the falls; and these are so many offerings made to the spirits which preside in these places.' See Charlevoix's Letter on the Traditions and the Religion of the Savages of Canada. Father Hennepin, too, mentions this ceremony; he also says: We took notice of one barbarian, who made a kind of sacrifice upon an oak at the Cascade of St. Antony of Padua, upon the river Mississippi.'-See Hennepin's Voyage into North America. TELL me the witching tale again, So pure to feel, so sweet to hear! Say, Love! in all thy spring of fame, And even thy errors were divine! Did ever Muse's hand so fair A glory round thy temple spread? Such perfume o'er thy altars shed? One maid there was, who round her lyre Oh! you that Love's celestial dream Too strongly through the vision glow! Dear Psyche! many a charmed hour, Thy mazy foot my soul hath traced! Where'er thy joys are numbered now, 1 See the story in Apuleius. With respect to this beautiful allegory of Love and Psyche, there is an ingenious idea suggested by the senator Buonarotti, in his Osservazioni sopra alcuni frammenti di vasi antichi. He thinks the fable is taken from some very occuit mysteries, which had long been celebrated in honour of Love; and he accounts, upon this supposition, for the silence of the more ancient authors upon the subject, as it was not till towards the decline of pagan superstition that writers could venture to reveal or discuss such ceremonies. Accordingly, he ob- |