Where twilight loves to linger for a while;

And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,

And villager abroad at early toil.

Bu lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,
When all in mist the world below was lost:
What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast,
And see the enormous waste of vapor, tossed
In billows lengthening to the horizon round,

Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed,
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound.

In truth, he was a strange and wayward wight,
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene:
In darkness, and in storm, he took delight;
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen.
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul:

And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,
A sigh, a tear so sweet, he wished not to control.

66

O,

ye wild groves, O, where is now your bloom?"
(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought)
"Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought!
Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought
To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake?

Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought?
For now the storm howls mournful through the brake,
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.

"Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool,

And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty crowned ?

Ah! see, the unsightly slime, and sluggish pool
Have all the solitary vale embrowned;

Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound;
The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray;

And hark! the river, bursting every mound, Down the vale thunders, and, with wasteful sway, Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks away. "Yet such the destiny of all on earth;

So flourishes and fades majestic man.

Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,
And fostering gales a while the nursling fan.
O smile, ye heavens, serene; ye mildews wan,
Ye blighting whirlwinds spare his balmy prime,
Nor lessen of his life the little span.

Borne on the swift and silent wings of time,
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.

"And be it so. - Let those deplore their doom
Whose hopes still grovel in this dark sojourn;
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,

Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return?
Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed?

Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn,
And spring shall soon her vital influence shed,
Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.

"Shall I be left forgotten, in the dust,

When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive?
Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,

Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live?
Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive

With disappointment, penury, and pain?

No Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive,

:

And man's majestic beauty bloom again,

Bright through the eternal year of love's triumphant reign."

LESSON XVII.

Interesting Account of William Penn's Treaty with the American Indians, previous to his Settling in Pennsylvania. EDINBURGH REVIEW.

THE Country assigned to him by the royal charter was yet full of its original inhabitants; and the principles of William Penn did not allow him to look upon that gift, as a warrant to dispossess the first proprietors of the land. He had accordingly appointed his commissioners, the preceding year, to treat with them for the fair purchase of a part of their lands, and for their joint possession of the remainder; and the terms of the settlement being now nearly agreed upon, he proceeded, very soon after his arrival, to conclude the settlement, and solemnly to pledge his faith, and, to ratify and confirm the treaty in sight both of the Indians and planters.

For this purpose, a grand convocation of the tribes had been appointed near the spot where Philadelphia now stands; and it was agreed that he and the presiding sachems should meet and exchange faith, under the spreading branches of a prodigious elm-tree, that grew on the bank of the river. On the day appointed, accordingly, an innumerable multitude of the Indians assembled in that neighborhood; and were seen, with their dark visages and brandished arms, moving in vast swarms in the depth of the woods, which then overshaded the whole of that now cultivated region.

On the other hand, William Penn, with a moderate attendance of friends, advanced to meet them. He came of course unarmed, in his usual plain dress, without banners or mace, or guard, or carriages; and only distinguished from his companions by wearing a blue sash of silk net-work (which, it scenis, is still preserved by Mr. Kett of Seething-hall, near Norwich), and by having in his hand a roll of parchment, on which was engrossed the confirmation of the treaty of purchase

and amity. As soon as he drew near the spot where the sachems were assembled, the whole multitude of Indians threw down their weapons, and seated themselves on the ground in groups, each under his own chieftain; and the presiding chief intimated to William Penn, that the nations were ready to hear him.

Having been thus called upon, he began: "The Great Spirit," he said, "who made him and them, who ruleth the heaven and the earth, and who knew the innermost thoughts of man, knew that he and his friends had a hearty desire to live in peace and friendship with them, and to serve them to the utmost of their power. It was not their custom to use hostile weapons against their fellow-creatures, for which reason they had come unarmed. Their object was not to do injury, and thus provoke the Great Spirit, but to do good. They were then met on the broad pathway of good faith and good will, so that no advantage was to be taken on either side, but all was to be openness, brotherhood and love."

After these and other words, he unrolled the parchment, and, by means of the same interpreter, conveyed to them, article by article, the conditions of the purchase, and the words of the compact then made for their eternal union. Among other things, they were not to be molested in their lawful pursuits, even in the territory they had alienated, for it was to be common to them and the English. They were to have the same liberty to do all things therein, relating to the improvement of their grounds, and the providing of sustenance for their families, which the English had. If any disputes should arise between the two, they should be settled by twelve persons, half of whom should be English and half Indians.

He then paid them for the land, and made them many presents besides from the merchandise which had been spread before them. Having done this, he laid the roll of parchment on the ground, observing again that the ground should be

common to both people. He then added, that he would not do as the Marylanders did, that is, call them children or brothers only; for often parents were apt to whip their children too severely, and brothers sometimes would differ; neither would he compare the friendship between him and them to a chain, for the rain might sometimes rust it, or a tree might fall and break it; but he should consider them as the same flesh and blood with the Christians, and the same as if one man's body were to be divided into two parts. He then took up the parchment, and presented it to the sachem, who wore a horn in his chaplet, and desired him and the other sachems to preserve it carefully for three generations, that their children might know what had passed between them, just as if he himself had remained with them to repeat it.

The Indians, in return, made long and stately harangues, of which, however, no more seems to have been remembered, than that "they pledged themselves to live in love with William Penn and his children, as long as the sun and moon should endure." And thus ended this famous treaty; of which Voltaire has remarked, with so much truth and severity, "that it was the only one ever concluded between savages and Christians that was not ratified by an oath, and the only one that never was broken!"

Such, indeed, was the spirit in which the negotiation was entered into, and the corresponding settlement conducted, that, for the space of more than seventy years, and so long, indeed, as the Quakers retained the chief power in the government, the peace and amity which had been thus solemnly promised and concluded, never was violated; and a large and most striking, though solitary example was afforded, of the facility with which they, who are really sincere and friendly in their own views, may live in harmony even with those, who are supposed to be peculiarly fierce and faithless.

We cannot bring ourselves to wish that there were nothing