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Go! go! she needs thee not! for she has seen

Far into life thou canst not comprehend :
Her hidden and delicious youth has been

Steeped in the dews of ancient thought, that lend

A winged vigour to the heart, and send
Into the tender spirit such a glow,
As dims even crowns, and darkens all below.


And hither is she come, from her still woods;

From the fair mansion of her long, high line ; Where the spring-flowers did send their joyous floods

Of fragrance through her casement; where the shine

Of peaceful suns awoke her; the dark pine Waved murmuring round her; and the cuckoo's hail Came, like a fairy shouting up the dale.


There, lulled in Plato's dreams of heavenly thought,

Or that diviner lore, that on the hills Of Galilee a lowly Hebrew taught,

That wondrous lore, which every bosom thrills With love, deep love, and quenchless hope, and fills The world that once did scorn it,—there she grew, A hidden life, that its own sweetness knew.



The world was her's all freshly to partake;

But far into the spirit-realms unseen
She went, her soul's deep thirst of life to slake;

And thence, with calmest heart, and eyes serene,

She gazed on earth, but as a cloud between Her spirit and its purpose; and became Gentle, and wise, but with no mortal aim.


What had the world with such a soul to do?

Or she with its dark quest of guilty glory?
Its base and selfish heart ?— its demon crew,

Who blast the earth, and blacken all its story
With contests mean-or terrible and gory?
She asked, she sought alone to glide through life,
Linked with its love;—the daughter, sister, wife !


Yet here she kneels in her unfolding years !

All yet unreached the height of womanhood ! Kneels face to face with Death, and feels no fears,

Though the keen axe be soon to drink her blood.

Calm looks she as the seaman on the flood, Which, though it loudly rage and wildly foam, Shall bear him bravely to his distant home.


Oh, deeply-wronged, yet unresenting !-wise

Beyond thy day and people — it is past! What now are all thy sorrows? Centuries

Of death's enduring calm are on them cast.

Hushed in thy bosom,—yet in ours they last ;
And to the youthful eye, thy name appears
A household word,-still honoured by its tears.

And wherefore is this homage ?—It is not

Twined with the fleeting splendour of thy crown: Nor that thou soughtest to illume thy lot

By feverish struggles for a frail renown.

We couple not thy name with field, or town Drenched with men's blood; nor with the peaceful pride Of pencil, pen, nor harp resounding wide.


No, there are souls that come — and such was thine !-

So clothed in greatness from the Almighty's hand, They breathe, and are immortal! All divine,

In starry brightness on the earth they stand,

Pure spirit-flames;—then back to their own land! Leaving to Time's succeeding tribes to greet The spot once touched and hallowed by their feet !



On the borders of Georgia and East Florida there is a vast swamp or marsh, called by the Indians Ouaquahenegow. Its circumference is supposed to exceed three hundred miles, but its limits being neither well known nor accurately defined, any statements that can be given respecting its size, are the result of conjecture rather than of observation. The country in its immediate neighbourhood is low, flat, and unhealthy, and had no European inhabitants at the time that the events about to be narrated took place. And though wild animals of all kinds abounded there in a remarkable degree, the Indian hunters never disturbed them except in cases of extreme necessity; for a certain superstitious belief connected with the marsh made them averse to approach it, particularly at night, lest some fearful accident or mysterious encounter should be the punishment of their temerity.

Among the fresh emigrants that came from England to people Georgia, was a young man named Derbond, of respectable parentage and good education, who might have followed some profession or line of business at home with reasonable hopes of success, had not his inclinations led him to seek his fortune abroad, in opposition to the wishes and advice of his relatives, He was bold, enterprising, and fond of adventure; but that romantic enthusiasm, and those lofty principles, which often belong to a character of the kind, did not enter into his nature, which, though far from being either vicious, unfeeling, or malignant, was still too irregular, wayward, and impetuous, to be depended upon in cases where self-denial was required, or sacrifices were to be made. He imagined that success, in anything that a man might undertake, was an undeniable proof of talent and virtue; and that failure was more humiliating and disgraceful than the employment of dishonest and unworthy means to attain the particular object in view.

Derbond entertained various wild and fantastic designs relative to the country in which he now proposed to settle, and regarded with contempt his fellow emigrants, whose ambition was confined to the acquisition of a few hundred acres of land, and the easy enjoyment of the necessaries of life. His objects were indeed ostensibly of a similar kind, but he had sufficient capital at command to place him in independence

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