Part 37

Tlalcol, the keeper of the dead, corresponds to the Chebiabo of the Algonquins.

That golden reign spread arts anew, O'er all his Andes mountains, And temples that his sires ne'er knew, Arose beside their fountains.

Pizarro's bloody day flew past, Nor shook his place of sleeping, Though, as with earthquakes, deep and vast, The land with ruins heaping.

Nor had the cherished ruler more, Broke the deep trance from under, But that a stronger, sterner power, Arose the charm to sunder.

No gentle genii more could wield, The wand of his dominion; No power of Indian guardian yield, Or wave her golden pinion.

It was the spirit of progress fell, And trade, and gain united, Who swore an oath, and kept it well, That Tlalcol's blessing blighted.

Deep dug they down in Chili's hills, Deep--deeper laid their levels, To drive those cars, whose screaming fills The ear, with sounds like devils.

And as they dug, they sang and dug, As digging for a treasure, That should, like dire Arabic drug, Rise, with unmeasured measure.

Old Indian arts, and Indian spells, And all their subtle seeming, Passed quick away--as truth expels, The palsied power in dreaming.

Down rolled the cherished Indian corse, The sands no more could hold him, Nor rite--nor genii--art or force, Nor golden shroud enfold him.

WAUB OJEEG'S DEATH WHISPERINGS.

I go to the land where our heroes are gone, are gone, That land where our sages are gone; And I go with bright tone, to join hearts who are one, That drew the bold dart at my side, at my side, That drew the bold dart at my side.

Those lands in the bright beamy west, the west, Those lands in the bright beamy west, As our fathers foretold, are the plenty crowned fold, Where the world-weary warrior may rest, may rest, Where the war-honored hero may rest.

My life has been given to war, to war, My strength has been offered to war, And the foes of my land, ne'er before me could stand, But fled as base cowards in fear, in fear, They fled like base cowards in fear.

My warfare in life it is done, it is done, My warfare, my friends, it is done; I go to that Spirit, whose form in the sky, So oft we have seen in the cloud-garnished sun, So oft in dread lightning espy.

My friends, when my spirit is fled, is fled, My friends, when my spirit is fled, Ah, put me not bound, in the dark and cold ground, Where light shall no longer be shed, be shed, Where daylight no more shall be shed.

But lay me up scaffolded high, all high, Chiefs, lay me up scaffolded high, Where my tribe shall still say, as they point to my clay, He ne'er from the foe sought to fly, to fly, He ne'er from the foe sought to fly.

And children, who play on the shore, the shore, And children who play on the shore, As the war-dance they beat, my name shall repeat, And the fate of their chieftain deplore, deplore, And the fate of their chieftain deplore.

TO THE MISCODEED.

Thy petals, tipped with red, declare The sanguinary rites of war; But when I view thy base of white, Thoughts of heaven's purity invite. Symbols at once that hearts like thee Contain two powers, in which we see A passion strong to war inclined, And a soft, pure, and tender mind.

Earliest of buds when snows decay From these wild northern fields away, Thou comest as a herald dear, To tell us that the spring is near; And shall with sweets and flowers relume Our hearts, for all the winter's gloom. Soon the opeechee comes to sing The pleasures of an early spring; Soon shall the swelling water's roar Tell us that winter is no more; The water-fowl set up their cry, Or hasten to more northern sky; And on the sandy shore shall stray, The plover, the twee-tweesh-ke-way. Soon shall the budding trees expand, And genial skies pervade the land; The little garden hoes shall peck, And female hands the moss beds deck; The apple-tree refresh our sight, With its fair blows of pink and white; The cherry bloom, the strawberry run, And joy fill all the new Seegwun.

Spring beauty, C. Virg.

Robin.

Spring.

THE STAR FAMILY.

Waupee found a deep-trod circle In the boundless prairie wide; In the grassy sea of prairies, Without trace of path beside.

To or fro, there was no token Man had ever trod the plain; And he gazed upon the wonder, Gazed the wonder to explain.

I will watch the place, quoth Waupee, And conceal myself awhile; This strange mystery to unravel, This new thing to reconcile.