(One of a race, that from the face Of earth is fleeting fast; One of a race, of whom the trace Is mingling with the past. One of a race, of free, brave men, Who have swiftly past, on destruction's blast, The word was given-the anchor fell "Hoist out the boat!"-she was soon afloat(Some were stowing the sails meanwhile) And the first rough band, from old "father-land," Pulled on to Manhatta's isle. They landed and walk'd and wander'd about, To see what they mote see; Huge lumps of prose (you may well suppose) In that maze of poetry. And aye they marvell'd and talk'd and swore, As over the scene they hover'd; And doubtless they would have smoked their pipes, Had tobacco been then discover'd. Then soon they planned, with ruthless hand,(Small care for Nature had they,)— With ruthless hand, to despoil the land, And seize it for their prey. To fell the trees, waving light in the breeze, To uproot the delicate flowers; To build dwellings of wood, of stone, and of mud, In the sacred forest bowers. But what was said and done-what scath was wrought, How gold, and sin, and grief, were there o'er brought, Part Second. Gone, gone, all gone! from that verdant isle, Are the sacred forest bowers! Gone, gone, all gone! with their radiant smile, All-all is changed! where the wild deer ranged Where the squirrel played in the chestnut's shade, There are streets and roads, and the Men play at civilization.* many abodes On the river's banks, where the graceful ranks The calm blue waves, and the lonesome caves, There are docks and slips-and boats and ships- A ceaseless hum, and a smell of rum From the toper's loathly den. *Of course no one would be so stupid as seriously to uphold the superior advantages of a savage over a civilized state of existence; but though the times are bad enough, I hope they are not so bad, that a man is required to be rational and statistical in rhyme. And the bright young isles (fair Nature's smiles) Are built and dwelt on, I trow; They have christen'd them all with Christian names— One is "Gibbet Island" now! When morning gleams, the bright sun now beams On a region of smoke and steam; And he rubs his eyes, and vainly tries And holy Silence has fled the spot- For the rout by day, and the drunkard's fray And is this the work of that uncouth band Of that uncouth band, from old "father-land,” No! here we may trace a more restless race, Take shares in the plan of some sapient man Little did they, these good Dutch folks, These drowsy-headed men! Little did they but smoke and sleep-* And their babes were as one to ten To those of the sharp, keen-witted tribe, Down to the eastward" bred; Who "push'd from their stools" the quiet Dutch owls, And sate themselves down instead. * Note by printer's devil. Of their love of smoke, and their love of sleep, And their love of liquor-vide the Knicker Bocker of Washington Irving. (First attempt.) Sad havoc have they with nature made, And as little they care therefor, And they'll still "improve," while a single shrub Remains on that business shore. Let them do what they will, 'twill be lovely still, There are features of lofty beauty there, Go-in the gorgeous autumn time, And the sparkling Bay, 'neath his fading ray, Is one sheet of rolling fire; And the thousand hues of the piled up clouds And the tremulous ray of the flickering day And you'll gaze on a scene of the glory and power A COUNTRY RAMBLE. BY WILLIAM COX. Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, AH, Nature!-young, fresh, blooming, beautiful Nature! how pleasant art thou to the eye of the smoke-dried denizen of the populous city! How grateful is thy balmy breath to his senses-how beneficial to his lungs! We may herd together amid brick and mortar, and enmesh ourselves in the cares and struggles of life;—we may swarm in theatres, we may congregate in club-rooms, where hot punch and hotter politics, and multitudinous segars impregnate the whole air with caloric; we may study the crafts of commerce and the tricks of trade; we may become knowing fellows, and sneer at "innocent ruralities;" we may do all this and more, until we come to think slightingly and disres |