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My feasted hounds are slumbering round beside the

watercourse, And plenty of sweet prairie-grass for thee, my noble

horse.

Hist! hist! I heard some prowler snarling in the

wood;

I seized my knife and trusty gun, and face to face we

stood ! The Grizzly Bear came rushing on,-and, as he

rush’d, he fell! Hie at him, dogs! my rifle has done its duty well !

Hie at him, dogs! one bullet cannot kill a foe so

grim; The God of battles nerve a man to grapple now with

him,And straight between his hugging arms I plunge my

whetted knife, Ha-ha! it splits his iron heart, and drinks the ruddy

life!

Frantic struggles—welling blood -- the strife is al

most o'er, The shaggy monster, feebly panting, wallows in his

gore,

Here, lap it hot, my gallant hounds,—the blood of

foes is sweet ; Here, gild withal yoar dewlapp'd throats, and wash

your brawny feet !

So, shall we beard those tyrants in their dens another

day, Nor tamely wait, with slavish fear, their coming in the

way ; And pleasant thoughts of peace and home shall fill

our dreams to-night, For lo, the God of battles has help'd us in the fight !

THE SONG OF SIXTEEN.

Who shall

guess
what I

may

be? Who can tell

my

fortune to me? For, bravest and brightest that ever was sung May be—and shall be—the lot of the young !

Hope, with her prizes and victories won,
Shines in the blaze of my morning sun,
Conquering Hope, with golden ray,
Blessing my landscape far away ;

All my meadows and hills are green,
And rippling waters glance between,-
All my skies are rosy bright,
Laughing in triumph at yester-night :

My heart, my heart within me swells,
Panting, and stirring its hundred wells ;-
For youth is a noble seed, that springs
Into the flower of heroes and kings!

Rich in the present, though poor in the past,
I yearn for the future, vague and vast ;
And lo! what treasure of glorious things
Giant Futurity sheds from his wings;

Pleasures are there, like dropping balms,
And glory and honour with chaplets and palms,
And mind well at ease, and gladness, and health,
A river of peace, and a mine of wealth!

Away with your counsels, and hinder me not,-
On, on let me press to my brilliant lot ;
Young and strong, and sanguine and free,
How knowest thou what I

may

be?

FORTY.

Ah, poor youth! in pitiful truth,
Thy pride must feel a fall, poor youth:
What thou shalt be well have I seen,-
Thou shalt be only what others have been.

Haply, within a few swift years,
A mind bowed down with troubles and fears,
The commonest drudge of men and things,
Instead of your-conquering heroes and kings ;

Haply, to follies an early wreck,
For the cloud of presumption is now like a speck,
And with a whelming, sudden sweep
The storm of temptation roars over the deep ;

Lower the sails of pride, rash youth,-
Stand to the lowly tiller of truth ;
Quick! limber bark shall be
The sport of the winds on a stormy sea.

or your

Care and peril in lieu of joy,–
Guilt and dread may be thine, proud boy :
Lo, thy mantling chalice of life
Is foaming with sorrow, and sickness, and strife ;

Cheated by pleasure, and sated with pain,-
Watching for honour, and watching in vain,-
Aching in heart, and ailing in head,
Wearily earning daily bread.

-It is well. I discern a tear on thy cheek :
It is well,—thou art humbled, and silent, and meek :
Now,-courage again ! and, with peril to cope,
Gird thee with vigour, and helm thee with hope !

For life, good youth, hath never an ill
Which hope cannot scatter, and faith cannot kill ;
And stubborn realities never shall bind
The free-spreading wings of a cheerful mind.

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