In whom all offices unite With all fine functions that afford delight, The white plumes of the floating swan; Humming bee! The sting was needless then, perchance unknown; All creatures met in peace from fierceness free, Tears had not broken from their source; We were not mocked with glimpse and shadow then, And earth and stars composed a universal heaven. In these verses Mr. Wordsworth suggests a comparison between the history of mankind, and the lower animals. Regarding particular races of men, in respect to the countries they once inhabited nations truly are swept away, and regions are steeped in destruction. The glories of ancient Greece, and the misery and degradation of that country under the Turkish government—the military prowess and political power of republican Rome, and the feebleness and anarchy of modern Italy, afford awful contrasts of former elevation and present degeneracy of national character. But animal life exhibits no such gloomy views—the same faculties and enjoyments now exist in the lower orders of life as "When the eagle from the ark" exulted in the reconciled face of Heaven. Ages roll away, and neither improvement nor corruption modifies the powers and pleasures of those humbler objects of God's goodness, which partake with us in all the luxuries of earthly elements; and, il we believe the scriptures, the date of whose existence is coeval with ours —therefore their voices speak to us of all antiquity, and the past years of hoary Time are commemorated by the faint utterance of an insect's hum—for that very sound has been propagated by innumerable multiplications ever since Adam gave names to every living creature. The beautiful economy of bees has always been a theme for admiration to the lovers of nature. The symmetry and excellent contrivance of their cells, their order and agreement in carrying on their work, the presiding function of the queen bee, their apparent forecast, and their perseverance in accumulating their sweet food, exhibits an image of happy human society, and has often been held up as a model for the imitation of rational beings. The suggestion that bees were once stingless, is a poetic superstition. According to the Bible, man was happy and innocent in the first days of his existence, but when he disobeyed God he became subject not only to misery but to violent passions. Some poets have represented that brute animals exhibited a sort of sympathy with the fate of man, and that different tribes began to prey upon others when human beings became liable to sin and its punishment. Of that time, Milton says, The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind." But before this "all creatures met in peace from fierceness free," says Mr. Wordsworth—A Golden Age is the pretty fiction of poets more ancient than Mr. Wordsworth—It never existed— it supposes universal peace in nature's realm; but in respect to brutes, it could not possibly be, because those which subsist on animal food, have organs to seize and to destroy other animals, and appetites given to them by the Author of nature which demand animal food to sustain their life. THE FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. It is said by Mr. Hearne, a traveller among the Indian tribes who inhabit the northern regions of North America, that when the Indians, in considerable companies, undertake journeys on foot, if one of their number becomes unable through illness or fatigue to proceed with the travellers, that individual is left behind with a fire and a few articles of sustenance, and in this state languishes and dies. Mr. Wordsworth supposes a poor Indian woman to have been left thus, and in these pathetic verses has expressed what might be her distressed feelings in this situation. "Before I see another day, Oh let my body die away! In sleep I heard the northern gleams; Before I see another day, Oh let my body die away! My fire is dead: it knew no pain; For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; No pleasure now, and no desire. Then here contented will I lie! Alone I cannot fear to die. Alas! ye might have dragged me on Another day, a single one! Too soon I yielded to despair; Why did ye listen to my prayer? When ye were gone my limbs were stronger And oh how grievously I rue. That afterwards a little longer, My friends, I did not follow you! For strong and without pain I lay, My friends, when ye were gone away. My child! they gave thee to another, That he might pull the sledge for me. My little joy my little pride! In two days more I must have died. I'll follow you across the snow: Then wherefore should I fear to die? In sleep I heard the northern gleams. This alludes to the Aurora Borealis in English, the Morning of the North. In countries which lie far north, as Lapland, Greenland, &c., the heavens on the north side, often exhibit a brilliant white light, which is sometimes the same in lustre for many hours; and at other times long jets of light are thrown up, which vanish and are succeeded by others. It is sometimes imagined that these northern gleams are accompanied by explosive sounds,—these are what the dying Indian woman fancies she heard. 22 THE SOLITARY REAPER. In the Highlands of Scotland women perform some of the lighter labours of the field. They beguile their labour by singing in the Gaelic tongue—sometimes, as Mr. Wordsworth supposes, of battles long ago, and sometimes familiar matter of to-day. "Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here or gently pass! Alone she cuts, and binds the grain, No nightingale did ever chaunt No sweeter voice was ever heard Will no one tell me what she sings? Or is it some more humble lay, Whate'er the theme the maiden sung, |