ry night,
Pencil out thy fleecy light,
That my footprints still my lead
To the blush-let Miscodeed,[109]
Or the flower to passion true
Yielding free its carmine hue:
Spirit of the morning dawn,
Waft thy fleecy columns on,
Snowy white, or tender blue,
Such as brave men love to view.
Spirit of the greenwood plume,
Shed around thy leaf perfume,
Such as springs from buds of gold
Which thy tiny hands unfold.
Spirits, hither quick repair,
Hear a maiden's evening prayer.

[109] Claytonia Virginica.

RESPONSE.

Maiden, think me not a tree,
But thine own dear lover free,
Tall and youthful in my bloom
With the bright green nodding plume.
Thou art leaning on my breast,
Lean forever there, and rest!
Fly from man, that bloody race,
Pards, assassins, bold and base;
Quit their dim, and false parade
For the quiet lonely shade.
Leave the windy birchen cot
For my own light happy lot;
O'er thee I my veil will fling,
Light as beetle's silken wing;
I will breathe perfume of flowers,
O'er thy happy evening hours;
I will in my shell canoe
Waft thee o'er the waters blue;
I will deck thy mantle fold,
With the sun's last rays of gold.
Come, and on the mountain free
Rove a fairy bright with me.

SONG OF THE OPECHEE, THE ROBIN.

The Chippewas relate that the robin originated from a youth who was
subjected to too severe a task of fasting.

In the boundless woods there are berries of red,
And fruits of a beautiful blue,
Where, by nature's own hand, the sweet singers are fed,
And to nature they ever are true.

We go not with arrow and bow to the field,
Like men of the fierce ruddy race,
To take away lives which they never can give,
And revel the lords of the chase.

If danger approaches, with instant alarm
We fly to our own leafy woods,
And there, with an innocent carol and charm,
We sing to our dear little broods.

At morning we sally in quest of the grain
Kind nature in plenty supplies,
We skip o'er the beautiful wide-stretching plain,
And sport in the vault of the skies.

At evening we perch in some neighboring tree
To carol our evening adieu,
And feel, although man assert he is free,
We only have liberty true.

We sing out our praises to God and to man,
We live as heaven taught us to live,
And I would not change back to mortality's plan
For all that the mortal can give.

Here ceased the sweet singer; then pluming his breast,
He winged the blue firmament free,