Precepts sublime,-a solemn ritual given,
In clouds and thunder, to their sires from heaven.

And, in the boundless solitude which fills,

Even as a mighty heart, their wild domains:
In caves, and glens of the unpeopled hills;
And the deep shadow that for ever reigns
Spirit like in their woods; where, roaring, spills
The giant cataract to the astounded plains.
Nature, in her sublimest moods, had given,

Not man's weak lore,-but a quick flash from heaven.

Roaming, in their free lives, by lake and stream;
Beneath the splendor of their gorgeous sky;
Encamping, while shot down night's starry gleam,
In piny glades, where their forefathers lie;
Voices would come, and breathing whispers seem
To rouse within the life which may not die;
Begetting valorous deeds, and thoughts intense,
And a wild gush of burning eloquence.

Such were the men who round the pilgrims came.
Oh! righteous heaven! and thou, heaven-dwelling
sun!

How from my heart spring tears of grief and shame,
To think how runs-and quickly shall have run
O'er earth, for twice a thousand years, your flame,
Since, for man's weal, Christ's victories were won;
Since dying, to his sons, love's gift divine

He gave, the bond of brotherhood and the sign.—

Where shines the symbol? Europe's mighty states,
The brethren of the cross-from age to age,
Have striven to quench in blood their quenchless hates;

Or-cease their armed hosts awhile their rage,
'Tis but that Peace may half unclose her gates
In mockery; that each diplomatic sage
May treat and sign, while War recruits his power
And grinds the sword fresh millions to devour.

Yet thus could, in a savage-styled land,

A few,--reviled, scorn'd hated of the whole, Stretch forth for peace the unceremonious hand, And stamp Truth, even upon a sealed scroll. They called not God, or men, in proof to stand:

They prayed no vengeance on the perjured soul: But heaven look'd down, and moved with wonder saw A compact framed, where time might bring no flaw. Yet, through the land no clamorous triumph spread. Some bursts of natural eloquence were there : Somewhat of his past wrongs the Indian said; Of deeds design'd which now were given to air. Some tears the mother o'er her infant shed,

As through her soul pass'd Hope's depictions fair; And they were gone-the guileless scene was o'er; And the wild woods absorb'd their tribes once more.

Ay, years have rolled on years, and long has Penn
Pass'd, with his justice, from the soil he bought;
And the world's spirit, and the world's true men

Its native sons with different views have sought
Crushing them down till they have risen again

With bloodiest retribution; yet have taught, Even while their hot revenge spread fire and scath, Their ancient, firm, inviolable faith.

When burst the war-whoop at the dead of night,

And the blood curdled at the dreadful sound;

And morning brought not its accustomed light
To thousands slumbering in their gore around;
Then, like oases in the desert's blight,

The homes of Penn's peculiar tribe were found:
And still the scroll he gave, in love and pride,
Their hands preserve,-earth has not such beside.

Yes; prize it, warning race, for never more
Shall your wild glades another Penn behold:
Pure, dauntless legislator, who did soar

Higher than dared sublimest thought of old.
That antique lie which bent the great of yore,

And ruleth still-Expedience stern and cold,
He pluck'd with scorn from its usurped car
And showed Truth strong, and glorious as a star.

The vast, the ebbless, the engulphing tide

Of the white population still rolls on!

And quail'd has your romantic heart of pride,—
The kingly spirit of the woods is gone.
Farther, and farther do ye wend to hide

Your wasting strength; to mourn your glory flown, And sigh to think how soon shall crowds pursue Down the lone stream where glides the still canoe.

And ye, a beautiful nonentity, ere long,

Shall live but with past marvels, to adorn Some fabling theme, some unavailing song. But ye have piled a monument of scorn For trite oppression's sophistry of wrong.

Proving, by all your tameless hearts have borne, What now ye might have been, had ye but met With love like yours, and faith unwavering yet.

LOVE'S MOST HOLY SIGN.

GOODWYN BARMBY.

Mine is thine, and thine is mine-
Such is Love's most holy sign:
When the mother's bosom bare
Giveth milk to baby fair;
When the ailing infant's cries
Bring tears to the mother's eyes;
Smile for smile, aud eye for eye,
Tear for tear, and sigh for sigh,
Then appears the law divine-
Mine is thine and thine is mine.

Mine is thine, and thine is mine-
Such is Love's most holy sign!
When the lover takes his bride,
Each shall share the same fireside,

Each the blue sky over head,
Each the board and each the bed;
Each the night and each the day,
Each the toil and each the play,
Pulse to pulse and start for start,
Beat for beat and heart for heart;
Thus they show the law divine--
Mine is thine, and thine is mine.

Mine is thine, and thine is mine-
Such is Love's most holy sign:
When the members of the State
Children are of Mother great;
One in heart and one in head,
Like two lover's ripely wed;

When they each shall share as one,
Morning red and evening dun,
Each the spade and each the lute,
Each the work and each the fruit,
Each the common table spread,
Each the blue sky over head;
Then shall rule the law divine-
Mine is thine and thine is mine.

KINDNESS.

(Scene from a Drama.)

DAY K. LEE.

(Enter Velasquez and Francesca.)

FRAN. Kind Heaven will bless the great Velasquez,
Wil! he but soften in one design of his !
Would it not more our mighty Sovereign please,
While joys of mind it piled in store for thee,
To take the armor of the gentle Savior,
And make thy conquests by his kindly power?

VEL. I'm set for large revenge on Ashtabula !

FRAN. For what, great Sir, hath he incurred revenge?

VEL. His tribes destroyed a ship's crew of our people.

FRAN. And would revenge restore them?

VEL. 'Twill bring some satisfaction to our minds,

And wipe dishonor off.