From the Saturday American.
THE NEW WORLD.
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THE NEW WORLD.


S+ rrmpEaAKoE SONG.


Ib.v. h.., - her forests---the red man was there


hava bean 10 her caves where the wolf has his lair;
have scaled her high mountsins, their apex nave
While tbe wales of rich vsrdure were laughing be-


tween;


And there was no tempter-no poison found,
For water bright water was gushing around.
saw her again, and the forests lay low;
beheld the lone wgwam, unstrung was the bow;
sought for the footprints the buffalo made,
But the traces recent of ploughshare and spade;
And in the bright valley where beauty was found
Stood the engine of deaih--a dark demon, unbound.
looked for her altars the vot'ries were there,
But an oath the worship, curse the prayer
The land seemed to mourn, and the beautiful sky
Was dim as the fumes Of the stilEhouse rolled high.
o bosoms were joyous, and faces were bright
When water, pure water, was quafed with delight.
Our escutcheon is tarnished, our nation is dyed
With the streams of the wine press, pouton's dark


tide. e
Arise in your valor, ye strong ones. and save
The land from destructionthe drunkard vile gravel
On, on with your TOLL till our country is free
From the bacchanal song Of the mad debauchee!
Yes, muster your legiens, for just is the strife;
Ye war for your brethren, their honor and life
They sink TO perdition---unbind the deep spell
Break break the strong fetters forged darkly in hell
Let your watckword be /" freedom" and temperance


your goal;


Peal the trumpet Of hope to the sin stricken soul!
Pun down the red curtain /! the badge Of the grave
Free, free the inebriate, the rnm-selIer's slave;
For letters surround him of sin and of shame;
And dark is his bondage and vile is his name,
And infamy stamps deep curse on his brow
o! raise him from dark degradation's low slough.
AS reason and intellect slowly appear,
Breathe the language of hope in his dull, obtuse
Bring him out from his haunts Of pollution and strife
Woo him back to redemption, to freedom and life;
Then DER him rejoice, the arisen though slain:
-"Our brother is ransomed--a man is again"
To you be the glory, the bliss of the deed,
OF bringing him back, the redeemed and the freed.
O! if there be joy to the best, it is when
A lost one returns unto virtue again:
Then onward, and let your proud flag be unfurled
Till our country is free, and the world, yea, the


world ta H. A. r.