AN INDIAN STORY. I KNOW where the timid fawn abides In the depths of the shaded dell, Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hides, I know where the young May violet grows, On the mossy bank, where the larch tree throws Far over the silent brook. And that timid fawn starts not with fear Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks "T is a song of his maid of the woods and rocks, He goes to the chase-but evil eyes For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs, The boughs in the morning wind are stirr'd, With the early carol of many a bird, And Maquon has promised his dark-hair'd maid, A good red deer from the forest shade, That bounds with the herd through grove and glade, At her cabin door shall lie. The hollow woods, in the setting sun, And Maquon's sylvan labors are done, And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won He stops near his bower-his eye perceives At once, to the earth his burden he heaves, But the vines are torn on its walls that leant, By struggling hands have the leaves been rent, But where is she who at this calm hour, She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower, It is not a time for idle grief, Nor a time for tears to flow, The horror that freezes his limbs is brief- And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet, And he darts on the fatal path more fleet "T was early summer when Maquon's bride But at length the maples in crimson are dyed, But far in a pine grove, dark and cold, And the Indian girls, that pass way, Point out the ravisher's grave; "And how soon to the bower she loved," they say, HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. THE sad and solemn night Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires: Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: And thou dost see them rise, Star of the Pole! and thou dost see them set. Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet, There, at morn's rosy birth, Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air, And eve, that round the earth Chases the day, beholds thee watching there; There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. Alike, beneath thine eye, The deeds of darkness and of light are done; High towards the star-lit sky Towns blaze-the smoke of battle blots the sun The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. On thy unaltering blaze The half-wreck'd mariner, his compass lost, Fixes his steady gaze, And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast; And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right. And, therefore, bards of old, Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood, Did in thy beams behold A beauteous type of that unchanging good, The voyager of time should shape his heedful way. SONG OF THE STARS. WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke, Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath, In the joy of youth, as they darted away, Through the widening wastes of space to play, And this was the song the bright ones sung. Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, The fair blue fields that before us lie: Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, Each planet poised on her turning pole, With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, For the source of glory uncovers his face, Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass! And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. And see, where the brighter day-beams pour, Away, away!--in our blossoming bowers, Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres ! To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim. AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The mountains that infold In their wide sweep, the color'd landscape round, I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendors glow, |