WM. PENN AND THE INDIANS.

MARY HOWITT.

"I will not compare our friendship to a chain; for the rain might sometimes rust it, or a tree might fall and break it; but I shall consider you as the same flesh and blood as the Christians; and the same as if one man's body were to be divided into two parts."

WM. PENN'S SPEECH TO THE INDIANS.

There was a stir in Pennsylvanian woods,

A gathering as the war-cry forth had gone ; And, like the sudden gush of Autumn floods,

Stream'd from all points the warrior-tribes to one, Ev'n in the farthest forest solitudes,

The hunter stopped the battle plume to don, And turn'd with knife, with hatchet and with bow, Back, as to bear them on a sudden foe.

Swiftly, but silently, each dusky chief

Sped 'neath the shadow of continuous trees; And files whose feet scarce stirr'd the trodden leaf; And infant-laden mothers, scorning ease; And childhood, whose small footsteps, light and brief, Glanced through the forest, like a fluttering breeze, Followed-a numerous, yet a silent band,

As to some deed, high, fateful, and at hand.

But where the foe? By the broad Delaware,
Where flung a shadowy elm its branches wide-
In peaceful garments, and with hands that bare

No sign of war,—a little band they spied.
Could these be whom they sought? And did they fare
Forth from their deserts, in their martial pride,
Thus at their call? They did. No trumpet's tongue
Had pierced their wild-woods with a voice so strong.

Who were they? Simple pilgrims :—it may be, Scarce less than outcasts from their native isles,From Britain,-birth-place of the great and free, Where heavenly love threw round its brightest smiles,

Then why depart? O seeming mockery!

Were they not here, on this far shore, exiles,
Simply because, unawed by power or ban,
They worshipped God but would not bow to man?

Oh! Truth! Immortal Truth! on what wild ground
Still hast thou trod through this unspiritual sphere!
The strong, the bruitish, and the vile surround

Thy presence, lest thy steaming glory cheer The poor, the many, without price or bound.

Drowning thy voice, they fill the popular ear,
In thy high name, with canons, creeds, and laws,
Feigning to serve, that they may mar thy cause.

And the great multitude doth crouch, and bear
The burden of the selfish. That emprize,
That lofty spirit of virtue which can dare

To rend the bands of Error from all eyes;
And from the freed soul pluck each sensual care,
To them is but a fable. Therefore lies
Darkness upon the mental desert still;
And wolves devour, and robbers walk at will.

Yet, ever and anon, from thy bright quiver,

The flaming arrows of thy might are strown; And, rushing forth, thy dauntless children shiver The strength of foes who press to near thy throne, Then, like the sun, or thy Almighty Giver,

Thy light is through the startled nations shown:

And generous indignation tramples down
The sophist's web, and the oppressor's crown.

Oh might it burn for ever! But in vain

For vengeance rallies the alarmed host,
Who from men's souls draw their dishonest gain
For thee they smite, audaciously they boast,
Even while thy sons are in thy bosom slain.
Yet this is thy sure solace, that, not lost,
Each drop of blood, each tear,-Cadmean seed,
Shall send up armed champions in thy need.

And these were of that origin. Thy stamp
Was on their brow, calm, fearless, and sublime.
And they had held aloft thy heavenly lamp;

And borne its odium as a fearful crime.

And therefore, through their quiet homes the tramp
Of Ruin passed,-laying waste all that Time
Gives us of good; and, where Guilt fitly dwells,
Had made them homes in execrable cells.

We dwell in peace :-they purchased it with blood.

We dwelt at large;--'twas they who wore the chain, And broke it. Like the living rocks they stood, Till their invincible patience did restrain The billows of men's fury. Then the rude

Shock of the past diffused a mild disdain
Through their pure hearts, and an intense desire
For some calm land where freedom might respire.

Some land where they might render God his due,
Nor stir the gall of the blind zealot's hatė.

Some land where came Thought's soul-refreshing dew
And Faith's sublimer visions. Where elate,

Their simple-hearted children they might view,

Springing in joy,―heirs of a blest estate;
And where each worn and weary mind might come
From every realm, and find a tranquil home.

And they sought this. Yet, as they now descried
From the near forest, pouring, horde on horde,
Armed, painted, plumed in all their martial pride,
The dwellers of the woods-the men abhorred
As fierce, perfidious, and with blood bedyed,

Felt they no dread? No;-for their breasts were stored

With confidence which pure designs impart,
And faith in Him who framed the human heart.

And they-the children of the wild-why came

They at this summons? Swiftly it had flown Far through their woods, like wind, or wind-sent flame, Followed by rumors of a stirring tone,

Which told that, all unlike, except in name,

To those who yet had on their shores been known, These white men-wearers of the peaceful vest,Craved, in their vales, a brother's home and rest.

On the red children of the desert, fell

The tidings, like spring's first delicious breath; For they had loved the strangers all too well; And still-though reaping ruin, scorn and death For a frank welcome, and broad room to dwell,

Given to the faithless boasters of pure faith,— Their wild, warm feelings kindled at the sight Of virtue arm'd but with her native might.

What term we savage? The untutored heart
Of Nature's child is but a slumbering fire ;
Prompt at each breath, or passing touch, to start
Into quick flame, as quickly to retire :
Ready alike, its pleasance to impart,

Or scorch the hand which rudely wakes its ire:
Demon or child, as impulse may impel;
Warm in its love, but in its vengeance fell.

And these Columbian warriors to their strand

Had welcomed Europe's sons,-and rued it sore, Men with smooth tongues, but rudely armed hand, Fabling of peace when meditating gore; Who, their foul deeds to veil, ceased not to brand The Indian name on every Christian shore. What wonder, on such heads, their fury's flame Burst, till its terrors gloomed their fairer fame.

For they were not a brutish race, unknowing
Evil from good; their fervent souls embraced
With virtue's proudest homage to o'erflowing
The mind's inviolate majesty. The past
To them was not a darkness; but was glowing
With splendor which all time had not o’ercast ;
Streaming unbroken from creation's birth,

When God communed and walked with men on earth.

Stupid idolatry had never dimmed

The Almighty image in their lucid thought.
To him alone their jealous praise was hymned;
And hoar Tradition, from her treasury, brought
Glimpses of far-off times, in which were limned

His awful glory and their prophets taught