My feasted hounds are slumbering round beside the

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


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


Frantic struggles-welling blood -- the strife is al

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


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

foes is sweet; Here, gild withal your 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 !


Who shall

what I


be ? Who can tell


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


be ?


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 ! or your limber bark shall be
The sport of the winds on a stormy sea.

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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