One generous chief a bow supplied,
This gave a shaft, and that a skin;
The feathers in vermilion dyed
Himself did from a turkey win.

Thus dressed so gay, he took his
O'er barren hills alone, alone!
His guide a star, he wandered far,
His pillow every night a stone.

way

At last he came with foot so lame,
Where learned men talk heathen Greek,
And Hebrew lore is gabbled o'er

To please the Muses-twice a week.

A while he writ, a while he read,

A while he conned their grammar rules— (An Indian savage so well bred

Great credit promised to the schools.)

Some thought he would in law excel,
Some said in physic he would shine;
And one that knew him passing well,
Beheld in him a sound divine.

But those of more discerning eye,
Even then could other prospects show,

And saw him lay his Virgil by,

To wander with his dearer bow.

The tedious hours of study spent,

The heavy-moulded lecture done,

He to the woods a-hunting went

Through lonely wastes he walked, he ran.

No mystic wonders fired his mind,

He sought to gain no learned degree,

But only sense enough to find

The squirrel in the hollow tree.

The shady bank, the purling stream,
The woody wild his heart possessed,
The dewy lawn his morning dream
In fancy's gayest colors drest.
"And why," he cried, "did I forsake

My native wood for gloomy walls?
The silver stream, the limpid lake,
For musty books and college halls?

"A little could my wants supply

Can wealth and honor give me more? Or will the sylvan god deny

The humble treat he gave before?

"Let seraphs gain the bright abode,
And heaven's sublimest mansions see;

I only bow to Nature's god

The land of shades will do for me.

"These dreadful secrets of the sky Alarm my soul with chilling fear

Do planets in their orbits fly?

And is the earth indeed a sphere ?

"Let planets still their course pursue, And comets to the center run;

In him, my faithful friend, I view
The image of my God--the sun.

"Where Nature's ancient forests grow,
And mingled laurel never fades,
My heart is fixed, and I must go
To die among my native shades."

He spoke, and to the western springs
(His gown discharged, his money spent,
His blanket tied with yellow strings),
The shepherd of the forest went.

ST. GEORGE TUCKER

was born in Bermuda in 1752, and educated at William and Mary College. He held the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the American Army of the Revolution. His life was spent in Virginia, where he became a member of the General Court and Judge of the Court of Appeals. He also held the professorship of law in William and Mary College, and was appointed Judge of the U. S. District Court. He published a number of legal works, among others an edition of Blackstone. His death occurred in 1827. The following stanzas were favorites with John Adams.

DAYS OF MY YOUTII.

Days of my youth, ye have glided away :
Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray :
Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more:
Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er ;
Strength of my youth, all your vigor is gone :
Thoughts of my youth, your gay visions are flown.

Days of my youth, I wish not your recall:
Hairs of my youth, I'm content ye should fall :
Eyes of my youth, you much evil have seen :
Cheeks of my youth, bathed in tears have you been:
Thoughts of my youth, you have led me astray :
Strength of my youth, why lament your decay?

Days of my age, ye will shortly be past:
Pains of my age, yet awhile ye can last :
Joys of my age, in true wisdom delight:
Eyes of my age, be religion your light:
Thoughts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod :
Hopes of my age, be ye fixed on your God.

JOEL BARLOW

was born at Reading, Conn., in 1755. He was graduated at Yale College in 1778, and served through the Revolution as chaplain in the American Army. After the close of the war, he studied law at Hartford, editing meanwhile The American Mercury, and engaging in other literary occupations. In 1788 he sailed for Europe, and stayed abroad seventeen years, most of the time in France, where he assisted at the Revolution of '93 and made a fortune in speculations. He returned to America in 1805 and established himself in the neighborhood of Washington. In 1811 he was sent as Minister to France, and died in 1812 at a small village in Poland. His most ambitious work is the Columbiad, an American epic in ten books, published at Philadelphia in 1808. The Hasty Pudding was written in Savoy in 1793, and accompanied by an introductory epistle to Mrs. Washington.

THE HASTY PUDDING.

CANTO I.

Ye Alps audacious, through the heavens that rise, To cramp the day and hide me from the skies ;

Ye Gallic flags, that, o'er their heights unfurl'd,
Bear death to kings and freedom to the world,
I sing not you. A softer theme I choose,
A virgin theme, unconscious of the muse,
But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire
The purest frenzy of poetic fire.

Despise it not, ye bards to terror steel'd,
Who hurl your thunders round the epic field ;
Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing
Joys that the vineyard and the still-house bring;
Or on some distant fair your notes employ,
And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy.
I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel,
My morning incense, and my evening meal,-
The sweets of Hasty Pudding. Come, dear bowl,
Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul.
The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine,
Its substance mingled, married in with thine,
Shall cool and temper thy superior heat,
And save the pains of blowing while I eat.

Oh! could the smooth, the emblematic song Flow like thy genial juices o'er my tongue, Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime, And, as they roll in substance, roll in rhyme, No more thy awkward, unpoetic name Should shun the muse or prejudice thy fame; But, rising grateful to the accustom'd ear, All bards should catch it, and all realms revere ! Assist me first with pious toil to trace Through wrecks of time thy lineage and thy race; Declare what lovely squaw, in days of yore (Ere great Columbus sought thy native shore),