heir corn, their caches.

A little way down the river is the site of an ancient Indian village,
with its regularly arranged mounds. As usual, they had chosen with the
finest taste. When we went there, it was one of those soft, shadowy
afternoons when Nature seems ready to weep, not from grief, but from
an overfull heart. Two prattling, lovely little girls, and an African
boy, with glittering eye and ready grin, made our party gay; but
all were still as we entered the little inlet and trod those flowery
paths. They may blacken Indian life as they will, talk of its dirt,
its brutality, I will ever believe that the men who chose that
dwelling-place were able to feel emotions of noble happiness as they
returned to it, and so were the women that received them. Neither were
the children sad or dull, who lived so familiarly with the deer
and the birds, and swam that clear wave in the shadow of the Seven
Sisters. The whole scene suggested to me a Greek splendor, a Greek
sweetness, and I can believe that an Indian brave, accustomed to
ramble in such paths, and be bathed by such sunbeams, might be
mistaken for Apollo, as Apollo was for him by West. Two of the boldest
bluffs are called the Deer's Walk, (not because deer do _not_ walk
there,) and the Eagle's Nest. The latter I visited one glorious
morning; it was that of the fourth of July, and certainly I think I
had never felt so happy that I was born in America. Woe to all country
folks that never saw this spot, never swept an enraptured gaze over
the prospect that stretched beneath. I do believe Rome and Florence
are suburbs compared to this capital of Nature's art.

The bluff was decked with great bunches of a scarlet variety of the
milkweed, like cut coral, and all starred with a mysterious-looking
dark flower, whose cup rose lonely on a tall stem. This had, for
two or three days, disputed the ground with the lupine and phlox. My
companions disliked, I liked it.

Here I thought of, or rather saw, what the Greek expresses under the
form of Jove's darling, Ganymede, and the following stanzas took form.

GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE.

SUGGESTED BY A WORK OF THORWALDSEN'S.

Composed on the height called the Eagle's Nest, Oregon, Rock River,
July 4th, 1843.

Upon the rocky mountain stood the boy,
A goblet of pure water in his hand;
His face and form spoke him one made for joy,
A willing servant to sweet love's com