To encounter such chaff. Do take that bird down, Have it stuffed again, Brown! With some sawdust and bark I could make an old hat Look more like an owl Than that horrid fowl Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather. Just then with a wink and a sly normal lurch I'm an owl; your another. Sir critic, good day!" LEGEND OF THE CANON Where the sunset's golden gleamings Of the distant, dreamy West, With his fawn-eyed Indian fair, Lover blithe as mountain rover, Maiden rich in flowing hair. - FIELD. But the sleep that knows no waking Chilled the gentle maiden's breast, And the Brave, all hopes forsaking Laid her in the hill to rest, Laid her where the eye may wander Billows grand, but locked in sleep. Then the Brave's bold eye was darkened, As the summits capped with snow; But the Great, Good Spirit sought him "Come," He said, "and see thy dearest See her in her spirit home; Toward the Southland 'tis the nearest We shall journey, hither come!" And they went, the spirit leading Neither hill nor valley heeding, On, straight onward, was their course; With the whirlwind's footsteps striding, Cut a thousand fathoms deep. Toward the drowsy southern shore, But the Spirit, good, all knowing, Should mar the spirit-hunter's chase. A thousand, thousand streams were poured; "Twas then adown its narrow bedway That first the Colorado roared. And still the diamond drops are speeding Within the cañon's depths are heard, At the bidding of His word. JEREMIAH MAHONEY. OUR COUNTRY Our country! 'tis a glorious land! With broad arms stretched from shore to shore; The proud Pacific chafes her strand, She hears the dark Atlantic roar; And, nurtured on her ample breast, How many a goodly prospect lies In Nature's wildest grandeur drest, Enameled with her loveliest dyes! Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold, Go sweeping onward, dark and deep, And, cradled 'midst her clustering hills, Where love the air with music fills, For plenty here her fulness pours There prowls no tyrant's hireling hand. |