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still around the pirate's treasure. Jacob Little was never seen or heard of after. His scanty portion of goods and chattels disappeared with him, and Betsy always supposed that he left the country, in shame and sorrow. Anthony Slack maintained with his dying breath, that he saw him high up in the air, riding on the tail of a fiery dragon. Anthony himself died in three weeks, of the effects of that night's race. Betsy thought she could do nothing better than to intrust herself and farm to the care of Ebenezer Green. The kind hearted girl certainly lamented her uncle's death, as much as such a being could be lamented; but in a few months, the frolicksome lass could not forbear saying, “Well, Eben, since he was scared out of the world by a rocket, it is a sad pity he did not know it was of American manufacture. It would have been such a comfort to his republican soul!”


TRUE honor, though it be a different principle from religion, is not contrary to it. Religion embraces virtue, as it is enjoined by the law of God; honor, as it is graceful and ornamental to human nature.

The religious man fears, the man of honor scorns, to do an ill action. The latter considers vice as something that is beneath him ; the other as something that is offensive to the Divine Being ; the one, as what is unbecoming, the other, as what is forbidden.

It A LIA’s vales in verdure slept, While Spring her humid odors wept, With wreaths the breathing statue bound, The fallen dome with ivy crown'd, And bade old Tiber's yellow wave With fuller flow its margin lave. Low at the base of Alps sublime, Where the columbar cypress grows, And falling streams with tuneful chime To slumber lull the ear of time, His cell a hermit chose. Once at his peaceful door reclined, While lonely musings sooth'd his mind, Soft mists involved his favorite tree, In fainter murmurs humm'd the bee, And in bright tints gay Fancy drew A vision o'er his cheated view. A lovely form, in robes of light, Came gliding o'er his raptured sight, Fresh garlands 'mid her tresses glow’d, Around her steps strange beauty flow'd, Attendant birds pour'd forth their lays, And prank'd their plumage in her praise, The fawn came bounding o'er the earth, The tufted violets sprang to birth, The olive donn'd its vesture pale, And fragrance floated on the gale. Then, bold o'er Alpine cliffs she sped,


The snow-wreath vanish'd at her tread,
The singing rills went leaping down,
The forest caught its graceful crown,
And warblers cheer'd, with carols loud,
The cottage cradled on the cloud.
Still, by the hermit's anxious eye
Her form was traced ascending high,
Where the last tints of verdure die.
Even there, amid that dreary bound,
Some hardy, slumb'ring flowers she found,
Touch'd their chill lids, and kiss'd the tear
That dimm'd their eye of azure clear,
As leaning on their frosted bed,
Their petals to the storm they spread.
With graceful step, yet half afraid,
Toil'd onward the celestial maid,
And long and vainly strove with fate,
The imprison'd streams to liberate;
The blushing snows her wand confest,
Yet held the vassals to their breast,
And soften’d by her aspect sweet,
The ice threw diamonds at her feet.
Yet save the eagle-king, whose cry
Came hoarsely from the blacken'd sky,
Motion nor sound was ling’ring there,
Amid that realm of chill despair.
It seem'd throughout the drear domain
That Lise, too fiercely tried,
Contending with the blast in vain,
Had like the taper died.
She paused, - for towering bold and high,
A splendid fabric met her eye.
Of thick-ribb'd ice, in arches pure,
With battlement and embrasure,
And cluster'd columns, tall and white,
And frost-work tracery, dazzling bright,

And turrets frowning at the cloud, Gleam'd forth its architecture proud. Here, age on age, with painful thought, The troubled elements had wrought, To stretch the ramparts' massy line, With wreaths the pillar'd halls to twine, And 'neath the lash of tempests rude, Had of their bitter task pursued, Arranging Winter's glittering spoil, With slow and aggregated toil. The admiring fair, with wonder fraught, An entrance to the structure sought, But a grim form her course withstood, Whose frigid eye congeal’d her blood. Aged, yet strong at heart he seem’d, His reverend beard like silver suream’d, Of polish'd ice, the sparkling gem Adorn'd his kingly diadem, And closer, as he spoke, he prest His ermine mantle o'er his breast. “Say! who art thou, intruder bold, Who near this losty throne, Would with its monarch audience hold, Unbidden and alone 7 Why comest thou thus with footstep free, Unnamed, unheralded, to me?” Recoiling from his brilliant cell Whose breath in freezing tide, Congeal’d to sudden ice-drops fell, The undaunted maid replied: “I come, on Nature's mission kind, Oppression's victims to unbind, To bid the sceptred tyrant bow, And wake a smile on Misery's brow. The realm of bliss my care extends, Man, beast and insect are my friends,


Each nursling of the nested grove,
Each plant, and flower, and leaf I love.”
With kindling eye, and front of pride,
The scornful monarch stern replied:
“Nature and thou are wise to give
Wild Freedom's boon to all who live!
The madd’ning flame promiscuous hurl’d,
Would wrap in anarchy the world.
Go! haste the hour, when none shall view,
The million meekly serve the few,
O'erturn the thrones which, fix'd as fate,
By Time's strong oath are consecrate,
Then lift your wonder-working rod,
And Earth enfranchised, war with God!
Bold and puissant must ye be,
To rend this guarded dome from me!”
His hand he raised in gesture strong,
And angry blasts shriek'd wild and long,
Windictive Hail, with frozen eye,
Pour'd fourth his keen artillery,
And Snow unlock'd, with threatening mien,
A bleak and boundless magazine.
With blanching lip and bloodless cheek
The stricken stranger strove to speak.
Though from her brow the garland fell
Scentless and pale, yet, strange to tell,
Reviving courage warm'd her breast,
And firmer tones the might confest
That may with woman dwell.
“If from thy cold, unenvied state,
Thy palace proud as desolate,
Where fetters bind the free,
One glance thy kingly eye would deign
To mark the blessings of my reign,
Disarm'd thy rage might be.
The chainless rill, the new-born flower,

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