THE INDIAN HUNTER.

WHEN the summer harvest was gathered in,

And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,
And the plough-share was in its furrow left,
Where the stubble land had been lately cleft,
An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow,

Looked down where the valley lay stretched below.
He was a stranger there, and all that day
Had been out on the hills-a perilous way;
But the foot of the deer was far and fleet,
And the wolf kept aloof from the hunter's feet;
And bitter feelings passed o'er him then,
As he stood by the populous haunts of men.
The winds of autumn came over the woods,
As the sun stole out from their solitudes;
The moss was white on the maple's trunk,
And dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk;
And ripened the mellow fruit hung, and red,
Where the trees withered leaves around it shed.
The foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn,
And the sickle cut down the yellow corn;
The mower sung loud by the meadow side,
Where the mists of evening were spreading wide;
And the voice of the herdsman came up the lea,
And the dance went round by the greenwood tree.
Then the hunter turned away from that scene,
Where the home of his fathers once had been,
And heard, by the distant and measured stroke,
That the woodman hewed down the giant oak;
And burning thoughts flashed over his mind,
Of the white man's faith and love unkind.
The moon of the harvest grew high and bright,
As her golden horn pierced the cloud of white;-
A footstep was heard in the rustling brake
Where the beech overshadowed the misty lake,

And a mourning voice, and a plunge from shore—
And the hunter was seen on the hills no more.
When years had passed on, by that still lake side
The fisher looked down through the silver tide,
And there, on the smooth yellow sand displayed,
A skeleton wasted and white was laid;
And 'twas seen, as the waters moved deep and slow,
That the hand was still grasping a hunter's bow.

LONGFELLOW.

THE LAST OF THE RED MEN.

THE sun's last ray was glowing fair, on crag, and tree, and flood;
And fell in mellow softness where the lonely Indian stood.
Beneath his eye, in living gold, the broad Pacific lay;

Unruffled there, a skiff might hold its bright and fearless way.
Far, far behind him, mountains blue in shadowy distance melt;
And far beyond, the dark woods grew, where his forefathers dwelt !
No breathing sound was in the air, as, leaning on his bow,
A lone and weary pilgrim there, he murmured stern and low:
"Far by Ohio's mighty river, bright star, I've worshipped thee!
My native stream-its bosom never the red man more may see!
The pale-face rears his wigwam where our Indian hunters roved;
His hatchet fells the forest fair, our Indian maidens loved.
A thousand warriors bore in war the token of my sires;
On all the hills were seen afar their blazing council-fires!
The foeman heard their war-whoop shrill, and held his breath in fear;
And in the wood, and on the hill, their arrows pierced the deer.
Where are they now?—the stranger's tread is on their silent place!
Yon fading light on me is shed-the last of all my race!
Where are they now?—in summer's light, go seek the winter's snow!
Forgotten is our name and might, and broken is our bow!

The white man came; his bayonets gleam where sachems held their sway;

And, like the shadow of a dream, our tribe has passed away!"

BRYANT.

THE FIRST VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.

(A.D. 1492.)

EAGER to obtain the promised pension, the seamen were continually giving the cry of "land!" on the least appearance of the kind. To put a stop to these false alarms, which produced continual disappointments, Columbus declared that should any one give such notice, and land not be discovered within three days afterwards, he should thenceforth forfeit all claim to the reward.

On the evening of the 6th of October, Martin Alonzo Pinzon began to lose confidence in their present course, and proposed that they should stand more to the southward. Columbus, however, still persisted in steering directly west. Observing this difference of opinion in a person so important in his squadron as Pinzon, and fearing that chance or design might scatter the ships, he ordered that, should either of the caravels be separated from him, it should stand to the west, and endeavour, as soon as possible, to join company again: he directed, also, that the vessels should keep near to him at sunrise and sunset, as at these times the state of the atmosphere is most favourable to the discovery of distant land.

On the morning of the 7th of October, at sunrise, several of the admiral's crew thought they beheld land in the west, but so indistinctly that no one ventured to proclaim it, lest he should be mistaken, and forfeit all chance of the reward. The Nina, however, being a good sailer, pressed forward to ascertain the fact. In a little while a flag was hoisted at her mast-head, and a gun discharged, being the preconcerted signals for land. New joy

was awakened throughout the little squadron, and every eye was turned to the west. As they advanced, however, their cloud-built hopes faded away, and before evening the fancied land had again melted into air.

The crews now sank into a degree of dejection proportioned to their recent excitement, but new circumstances occurred to arouse them. Columbus, having observed great flights of small field-birds going towards the south-west, concluded that they must be in the neighbourhood of land, where they would find food and a resting

place. He knew the importance which the Portuguese voyagers attached to the flight of birds, by following which they had discovered most of their islands. He had now come seven hundred and fifty leagues, the distance at which he had computed to find the island of Cipango: as there was no appearance of it, he might have missed it through some mistake in the latitude. He determined, therefore, on the evening of the 7th of October, to alter his course to the west-south-west, the direction in which the birds generally flew, and continue in that direction for at least two days. After all, it was no great deviation from his main course, and would meet the wishes of the Pinzons, as well as be inspiriting to his followers generally. For three days they stood in this direction, and the further they went the more frequent and encouraging were the signs of land. Flights of small birds of various colours, some of them such as sing in the fields, came flying about the ships, and then continued towards the south-west; and others were heard also flying by in the night. Tunny-fish played about in the smooth sea; and a heron, a pelican, and a duck, were seen, all bound in the same direction. The herbage which floated by was fresh and green, as if recently from land; and the air, Columbus observes, was sweet and fragrant as April breezes in Seville.

All these, however, were regarded by the crews as so many delusions beguiling them on to destruction; and when, on the evening of the third day, they beheld the sun go down on a shoreless horizon, they broke forth into turbulent clamour. They exclaimed against this obstinacy in tempting fate by continuing on into a boundless sea. They insisted upon returning home, and abandoning the voyage as hopeless. Columbus endeavoured to pacify them by gentle words and promises of large rewards; but, finding that they only increased in clamour, he assumed a decided tone. He told them it was useless to murmur; the expedition had been sent by the sovereigns to seek the Indies, and, happen what might, he was determined to persevere, until, by the blessing of God, he should accomplish the enterprise.

Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, and his situation became desperate. Fortunately the manifestations of the

vicinity of land were such on the following day as no longer to admit a doubt. Beside a quantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they saw a green fish of a kind which keeps about rocks; then a branch of thorn with berries on it, and recently separated from the tree, floated by them; then they picked up a reed, a small board, and, above all, a staff artificially carved. All gloom and mutiny now gave way to sanguine expectation; and throughout the day each one was eagerly on the watch, in hopes of being the first to discover the long-sought-for land.

In the evening, when, according to invariable custom on board the admiral's ship, the mariners had sung the Salve Regina, or vesper hymn to the Virgin, he made an impressive address to his crew. He pointed out the goodness of God in thus conducting them, by soft and favouring breezes, across a tranquil ocean, cheering their hopes continually with fresh signs, increasing as their fears augmented, and thus leading and guiding them to a promised land. He now reminded them of the orders he had given on leaving the Canaries, that, after sailing westward seven hundred leagues, they should not make sail after midnight. Present appearances authorized such a precaution. He thought it probable they would make land that very night; he ordered, therefore, a vigilant look-out to be kept from the fore-castle, promising, to whomsoever should make the discovery, a doublet of velvet in addition to the pension to be given by the sovereigns.

The breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea than usual, and they had made great progress. At sunset they had stood

again to the west, and were ploughing the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the lead, from her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughout the ships; not an eye was closed that night. As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch. About ten o'clock he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a great distance. Fearing his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king's bed-chamber, and inquired