Our wily Indian foe, In the days when we were pioneers, We shunned not labor; when 'twas due, We lived not hermit lives, but oft And fires of love were kindled then, In the days when we were pioneers, We felt that we were fellow-men; By Heaven's upholding hand. Our temples then were earth and sky; In the days when we were pioneers, Our forest life was rough and rude, SONG OF THE PIONEERS. Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts O free and manly lives we led, Mid verdure or mid snow, In the days when we were pioneers, But now our course of life is short; We're walking on with halting step, And on our way to it we'll soon Yet while we linger, we may all A backward glance still throw 355 BYRON'S FINEST IMAGE. [The following lines, from Lord Byron's English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, refer to Henry Kirke White, a too ardent student, born at Nottingham, England, March 21, 1785, and died at Cambridge, England, Oct. 19, 1806. Byron says of H. K. White: "His poems abound in such beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sacred functions he was destined to assume."] Unhappy White! while life was in its spring, And thy young muse just waved its joyous wing, KINDRED HEARTS. MRS. HEMANS. H! ask not, hope thou not too much Few are the hearts whence one same touch Few and by still conflicting powers Such ties would make this life of ours It may be that thy brother's eye It may be that the breath of spring, A rapture o'er thy soul can bring- The tune that speaks of other times A sorrowful delight! The melody of distant chimes, The sound of waves by night, The wind that, with so many a tone, Some chord within can thrill,— These may have language all thine own, Yet scorn thou not for this, the true And steadfast love of years; The kindly, that from childhood grew, The faithful to thy tears! If there be one that o'er the dead And watch'd through sickness by thy bed,-- But for those bonds all perfect made, Like sister flowers of one sweet shade, Oh! lay thy lovely dreams aside, Or lift them unto heaven! |