Born all too high, by wedlock raised
Still higher--to be cast thus low!
Would that mine eyes had never gazed
On aught of more ambitious show
Than the sweet flowerets of the fields !

- It is my royal state that yields This bitterness of woe.

OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN.

VI.

Yet how k-for I, if there be truth
In the world's voice, was passing fair ;
And beauty, for confiding youth,
Those shocks of passion can prepare
That kill the bloom before its time ;
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.

[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to con

tinue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work HEARNE'S JOURNEY from Hudson's Bay to the NORTHERN OCEAN. In the high northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northern lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem.]

VII.

1.

Unblest distinction ! showered on me
To bind a lingering life in chains :
All that could quit my grasp, or flee,
Is gone ;- but not the subtle stains
Fixed in the spirit ; for even here
Can I be proud that jealous fear
Of what I was remains.

Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!
In sleep I heard the northern gleams ;
The stars, they were among my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,

Another still ! and still another !
A little lamb, and then its mother!
It was a vein that never stopped
Like blood-drops from my heart they dropped.

The fields which with covetous spirit we sold, Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day, Would have brought us more good than a burthen

of gold, Could we but have been as contented as they.