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Of science, knowleOec, 5fedR"e9s' '"4

 forth, They talk of gravity, attraction, weight They name thIs star that sbIheth la the

 North, And then themselves above all nature rate in power. capacity, and mental worth And after all, what Know they but the

 names or all these tbirgs which pride so loud

 prooiaims. What do we know !! NhF, no'Aing-it is in one brief word--notfiig- dc not Even ourselYes-we have not even read One secret of oui minds-thc constant or life and tbought--tho change which

 makes the dead ont of the liying--and the stern but slow Shunlcss decay--the smell, the taste, the

 sight, We neitder understand nor can explain

 aright. The ohange-direoted earth rebukes cur

 pride, Showing her fragments of hundred na-

 tions, Gold monuments, themselves that ao de-

 ride Our vain preteDsions, and the adulation Me pay to notlingness. Ay, these abide, These mounds upon the prairie ulduia-

 tions, Speaking of nations, kings, and war and But ,oe know not the language ofthe story. And what and whence the people who

 erected These monuments, we know not, though 1t

 seems, That antiquarian pens have been directed To this, among their muitifarious themes; Rnt, without daaa, 'twas to be expected That all their theories would be but So, notwithstanding much research and

 trouble, The antiquarian sickle reaped bat stuhblc. So mused Ayanta--or go might, or could, Or should have muscd--the while he stood

 upon Ire summit of a mound, and saw the food Of the Miami rolling in the sun It's placid qaietness--and there he stood, fill evening, with her shadows long and

 dun, Looked from the east--and on the occident Ihe setting sun his broad, red shoulder

 leant There was 10 blaze abroad upon the sky, Like that which sun set in New England pours Over the cIouds--thc sun, like some deep

 eye,

 Gazing through many hearts, sent through

 inc towers And orags of cloud which here and there

 did lie,

 His golden fre--not like tie gljtterlng showers Of brilIiance in Italian skies, but one l Calm lake of IigAt--he sunk, and all was

 done.

 And then slow thoughts of home went

 coldly through His mind, already predisposed to sadness For although time has not given one hue Of morbid grief or melancholy madness, Yet calm evening, strange scene and

 new,

 The sudden hush of day $ all busy gladness Will make one feel little melancholy, And think upon his losses and his folly. The stars come leaping out into theil And then the luckless wight at once is

 driven, l To think upon the one or two loved faces On which he gazed by turns, and on the Or ere his heart grew old--perchance he Fill sadder themes of thought to him are 1 given

 The lost, the dead, the wept, for such a 1 power Hath evening, at her melancholy hour. How many an exile hath so gazetl. until The visible world was indistinctly seei-- Until his mind turned on itself it's still And piercing gaze, and saw each treasur-

 cd scene, Each haunting eye, and felt again each

 thrill,

 The mild vibration of what once had been. Within itself--as on quiet lake Brlghtt images appear and rippl&s quake. Sad thoughts sad thoughts Too sad. I

 fear me much, iop'easc the reader--yet know not why. some themes there are that ali men's feel

 ings touoh, Making with every heart a harmony And this, of home, may we'll be holden

 such,

 And though slow and troubled melody. II weii may ind response in every heart 1'ttie as may be the weak poets art. Hut 10 the sntiect of our lawless rhyme And 10 his trayeis--over rivers broad. Stern, grand. and dark, great, sea.llxe

 streams, sublime by their own natnre--haYing not the eand nd glow of prond antiquity and time, ' 0r towers or castles, ruins of past fraud 70 claim attestion and enthrall the sonl--- but moving sternly onward to their goal--