Loved his own people from his heart;

And, taking counsel sage,
His peerage summoned to advise,
And offer up a sacrifice

To soothe Apollo's rage.

Quoth Lion, “ We are sinners all ;

And even, it must be confessed,
If among sheep I chance to fall,

I-I am guilty as the rest.
To me the sight of lamb is cursed ;
It kindles in my throat a thirst,-

I struggle to refrain,-
Poor innocent ! his blood so sweet!
His flesh so delicate to eat !

I find resistance vain.

“Now to be candid, I must own

The sheep are weak and I am strong,
But, when we find ourselves alone,

The sheep have never done me wrong.
And, since I purpose to reveal
All my offences, nor conceal

One trespass from your view,
My appetite is made so keen
That with the sheep the time has been

I took the shepherd too.

" Then let us all our sins confess,

And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt, To ease my people's deep distress,

Let his atoning blood be spilt.
My own confession now you hear.
Should none of deeper dye appear,

Your sentence freely give ;
And, if on me should fall the lot,
Make me the victim on the spot,

And let my people live.”

The council with applauses rung,

To hear the Codrus of the wood ;) Though still some doubt suspended hung

If he would make his promise good.
Quoth Reynard, “ Since the world was made,
Was ever love like this displayed ?

Let us like subjects true
Swear, as before your feet we fall,
Sooner than you should die for all,

We all will die for you.

“But please your majesty, I deem,

Submissive to your royal grace,
You hold in far too high esteem

That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race ;
For oft, reflecting in the shade,
I ask myself why sheep were made

By all-creating power :
And, howsoe'er I tax my mind,
This the sole reason I can find

For lions to devour.

“ And as for eating now and then

As well the shepherd as the sheep,How can that braggart breed of men

Expect with you the peace to keep ? 'Tis time their blustering boast to stem, That all the world was made for them,

And prove creation's plan ; Teach them by evidence profuse That man was made for lions' use,

Not lions made for man.”

And now the noble peers begin,

And, cheered with such examples bright, Disclosing each his secret sin,

Some midnight murder brought to light. Reynard was counsel for them all; No crime the assembly could appal,

But he could botch with paint: Hark, as his honeyed accents roll, Each tiger is a gentle soul,

Each bloodhound is a saint.

When each had told his tale in turn,

The long-eared beast of burden came,
And meekly said, “My bowels yearn

To make confession of my shame ;
But I remember on a time
I passed, not thinking of a crime,

A haystack on my way :
His lure some tempting devil spread,
I stretched across the fence my head,

And cropped a lock of hay.

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“Oh monster ! villain !” Reynard cried

“No longer seek the victim, sire ; Nor why your subjects thus have died

To expiate Apollo's ire.”

The council with one voice decreed ;
All joined to execrate the deed,-

“'What, steal another's grass !".
The blackest crime therr lives could show
Was washed as white as virgin snow;

The victim was—the Ass.

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. [Born in 1795, died in 1868. His maternal descent was from John Eliot, "the Apostle of the Indians." He engaged in business, acting for several years as agent to the great capitalist Astor.) RED JACKET, A CHIEF OF THE INDIAN TRIBES, THE




COOPER, whose name is with his country's woven,

First in her files, her Pioneer of mind-
A wanderer now in other climes, has proven

His love for the young land he left behind ;?
And throned her in the senate-hall of nations,

Robed like the deluge rainbow, heaven-wrought,
Magnificent as his own mind's creations,

And beautiful as its green world of thought.
And, faithful to the Act of Congress, quoted

As law authority, it passed nem. con. :
He writes that we are, as ourselves have voted,

The most enlightened people ever known ;
That all our week is happy as a Sunday

In Paris, full of song, and dance, and laugh ;
And that, from Orleans to the Bay of Fundy,

There's not a bailiff or an epitaph.
And furthermore---in fifty years, or sooner,

We shall export our poetry and wine ;
And our brave sleet, eight frigates and a schooner,

Will sweep the seas from Zembla to the Line.
If he were with me, King of Tuscarora !

Gazing, as I, upon thy portrait now,
In all its medalled, fringed, and beaded glory,

Its eye's dark beauty, and its thoughtful brow-
Its brow, half martial and half diplomatic,

Its eye, upsoaring like an eagle's wings ;
Well might he boast that we, the Democratic,

Outrival Europe, even in our Kings ! 1 Red Jacket appeared originally in 1828, soon after the publication of J. Fenimore Cooper's Notions of the Americans.

For thou wast monarch born. Tradition's pages

Tell not the planting of thy parent tree, But that the forest tribes have bent for ages

To thee, and to thy sires, the subject knee.

Thy name is princely :if no poet's magic

Ćould make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme, Though some one with a genius for the tragic

Hath introduced it in a pantomime,

Yet it is music in the language spoken

Of thine own land, and on her herald roll; As bravely fought for, and as proud a token

As Coeur de Lion's of a warrior's soul.

Thy garb—though Austria's bosom-star would frighten

That medal pale, as diamonds the dark mine, And George the Fourth wore, at his court at Brighton,

A more becoming evening dress than thine ;

Yet ’tis a brave one, scorning wind and weather,

And fitted for thy couch on field and flood, As Rob Roy's tartan for the Highland heather,

Or forest green for England's Robin Hood.
Is strength a monarch's merit, like a whaler's?

Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong,
As earth's first kings-the Argo's gallant sailors,

Heroes in history, and gods in song.
Is beauty ?—Thine has with thy youth departed ;

But the love-legends of thy manhood's years,
And she who perished, young and broken-hearted,

Are—but I rhyme for smiles and not for tears.

Is eloquence ?-Her spell is thine that reaches

The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport; And there's one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches,

The secret of their mastery- they are short.

The monarch mind, the mystery of commanding,

The birth-hour gift, the art Napoleon,
Of winning, fettering, moulding, wielding, banding

The hearts of millions till they move as one :

Thou hast it. At thy bidding men have crowded

The road to death as to a festival;
And minstrels, at their sepulchres, have shrouded

With banner-folds of glory the dark pall.

Who will believe? (Not I—for in deceiving

Lies the dear charm of life's delightful dream ; I cannot spare the luxury of believing

That all things beautiful are what they seem)

Who will believe that, with a smile whose blessing

Would, like the Patriarch's, soothe a dying hour, With voice as low, as gentle, and caressing,

As e'er won maiden's lip in moonlit bower ;

With look, like patient Job’s, eschewing evil ;

With motions graceful as a bird's in air ; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil

That e’er clenched fingers in a captive's hair? That in thy breast there springs a poison fountain,

Deadlier than that where bathes the Upas-tree; And, in thy wrath, a nursing cat-o’-mountain

Is calm as her babe's sleep compared with thee !

And underneath that face, like summer ocean's,

Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotions,

Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow-all save fear. Love-for thy land, as if she were thy daughter,

Her pipe in peace, her tomahawk in wars ; Hatred- of missionaries and cold water ;

Pride—in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars ; Hope—that thy wrongs may be, by the Great Spirit,

Remembered and revenged when thou art gone ; Sorrow—that none are left thee to inherit

Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne !


HOME of the Percy's high-born race,

Home of their beautiful and brave,
Alike their birth and burial place,

Their cradle and their grave !
Still sternly o'er the castle gate
Their house's Lion stands in state,

As in his proud departed hours ;
And warriors frown in stone on high,
And feudal banners “flout the sky

Above his princely towers.

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