I would never wander, bird, like thee,
So near this place again;

With wing and spirit once light and free,
They should wear no more the chain
With which they are bound and fettered here,
For ever struggling for skies more clear.

There are many things like thee, bright bird; Hopes as thy plumage gay;

Our air is with them for ever stirred,

But still in air they stay.

And Happiness, like thee, fair one,

Is ever hovering o'er,

But rests in a land of brighter sun,
On a waveless, peaceful shore,
And stoops to lave her weary wings,

Where the fount of "living waters" springs.

THEODORE DWIGHT.

AFRICAN DISTRESS.

66

HELP! oh, help! thou God of Christians!

Save a mother from despair!

Cruel white men steal my children !

God of Christians, hear my prayer!

"From my arms by force they're rended,
Sailors drag them to the sea;
Yonder ship, at anchor riding,

Swift will carry them from me.

"There my son lies, stripp'd, and bleeding; Fast, with thongs, his hands are bound. See, the tyrants, how they scourge him! See his sides a reeking wound.

"See his little sister by him;

Quaking, trembling, how she lies! Drops of blood her face besprinkle ; Tears of anguish fill her eyes.

"Now they tear her brother from her;
Down, below the deck, he's thrown;
Stiff with beating, through fear silent,
Save a single, death-like, groan."

Hear the little creature begging!—
"Take me, white men, for your own!
Spare, oh, spare my darling brother!
He's my mother's only son.

"See, upon the shore she's raving:
Down she falls upon the sands:
Now, she tears her flesh with madness;
Now, she prays with lifted hands.

“I am young, and strong, and hardy; He's a sick, and feeble boy;

Take me, whip me, chain me, starve me, All my life I'll toil with joy.

"Christians! who's the God you worship?

Is he cruel, fierce, or good? Does he take delight in mercy? Or in spilling human blood?

"Ah, my poor distracted mother! Hear her scream upon the shore."Down the savage captain struck her, Lifeless on the vessel's floor.

Up his sails he quickly hoisted,
To the ocean bent his way;
Headlong plunged the raving mother,
From a high rock, in the sea.

HANNAH F. GOULD.

THE SNOW FLAKE.

"Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some low and lonely spot,
To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot?

And then will my course be ended ?" 'Twas thus a feathery Snow-flake said,

As down through the measureless space it strayed, Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid,

66

It seemed in mid air suspended.

O, no," said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie, Neglected and lone, on my lap to die,

Thou pure and delicate child of the sky;

For thou wilt be safe in my keeping :

But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form;
Thou'lt not be a part of the wintry storm,

But revive when the sunbeams are yellow and warm,
And the flowers from my bosom are peeping.