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Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save.
Unseen hands of-spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel-flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!"

In the last stanza the voice falls from the loud and rapid movements of excitement to the slow and conversational pitch. In the two last lines it descends to the very slow and grave tones, while on the word "spirits" it falls to a whisper, and the word "flaps" is rendered in a tremulous half-whisper. A full rhetorical pause is necessary before both of these words to give them proper effect.

"NO." BY ELIZA COOK.

Would you learn—the bravest thing-
That man-can ever do?
Would you be an uncrown'd king,
Absolute-and true?

Would you seek to emulate
All we learn in story

Of the moral,-just,—and great,
Rich-in real glory?

Would you lose much bitter care
In your lot below?

Bravely speak out-when-and where-
'Tis right to utter-“No.”

Learn to speak this little word—

In its proper place ;

Let no timid doubt be heard,

Clothed with skeptic grace;

Let thy lips without disguise-
Boldly pour it out,

Though a thousand-dulcet lies

Keep hovering about.

For be sure-our hearts-would lose

Future years-of woe

If our courage-could refuse

The present hour-with-"No."

When temptation's form-would lead
To some pleasant wrong;—

When she tunes her hollow reed-
To the syren's song ;-

When she offers bribe-and smile,
And our conscience feels

There is naught-but shining guile

In the gifts she deals;

Then, oh! then let courage rise
To its strongest flow;

Show that ye are brave—as wise,

And firmly answer-"No."

Hearts-that are too often given
Like street merchandise;-

Hearts-that-like bought slaves—are driven—
In fair freedom's guise ;—
Yet that poison soul-and mind
With perjury's foul stains;
Yet who let the cold world bind-
In joyless marriage chains;
Be true-unto yourselves—and God,
Let rank-and fortune go;
If love-light not the altar spot,-
Let feeling answer-"No."
Men-with goodly spirits blest,
Willing to do right,

Yet who stand—with wavering breast
Beneath Persuasion's might,

When companions seek-to taunt
Judgment-into sin;

When the loud laugh-fain would daunt
Your better voice-within;

Oh! be sure-ye'll never meet
More insidious foe;

But strike the coward-to your feet
By Reason's watchword-"No."
Ah, how many thorns-we wreathe
To twine our brows around,
By not knowing-when-to breathe
This important sound!

Many a breast-has rued the day
When it reckoned less-
Of fruits-upon the moral-"Nay"
Than flowers-upon the-"Yes."
Many a sad-repentant thought-
Turns-to "long ago,"

When a luckless fate was wrought
By want of saying-"No."
Few-have learned to speak this word

When it should be spoken;

Resolution-is deferred,

Vows to virtue-broken:

More of courage is required

This one word-to say

Than to stand-where shots are fired

In the battle fray.

Use it fitly-and ye'll see

Many a lot below

May be schooled—and nobly ruled

By power-to utter-"No."

THE RED HUNTERS, OR PRAIRIE ON FIRE. M. V. FULLER.
Out of the woods-at midnight

The swift-red hunters—came;
The prairie-was their hunting-ground,
The bison-was their game:

Their spears were of glist'ning silver,
Their crests were of blue and gold;
Driven-by the panting winds of heav'n,—
Their shining chariots-rolled.-
Over that level hunting-ground,

Oh, what a strife-was there!

What a shouting!—what a threat ning cry !—
What a murmur-on the air!

Their garments-over the glowing wheels
Streamed-backward,-red and fair;

They flaunted their purple banners
In the face-of each pale star.
Under their tread-the autumn flowers
By myriads-withering lay:

(Poor things!-th't from those golden wheels
Could nowhere-shrink away!)

Close, and crashing together,

The envious chariots--rolled;

While anon, before his fellows,-
Leaped out-some hunter bold.

Their-hot breath,-thick and lowering,
Above-their wild eyes-hung,

And around-their frowning foreheads,
Like wreaths of night-shade, hung.

"The bisons! ho, the bisons!"

They cried-and answered back(Poor herds of frightened creatures

With such hunters-on their track!)

With a weary,-lumbering swiftness
They sought-the river's side,-

Driven by those hunters-from their sleep
Into its chilling tide.

Some face-their foe-with anguish,

Dilating their brute eyes ;

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The spears of silver strike them low,-
And dead-each suppliant lies.
Now by the brightening river-
The red hunters-stand-at bay;
Vain-their appalling splendor-
The river shields their prey!
Into the waves with baffled rage
They leap-in death's despite;-
Their golden wheels roll-roaring in,

And leave the withered night.

The echo is a re-percussion or reflected sound, and is sometimes repeated several times, always growing fainter in each reverberation.

When giving imitations of this in recitations, it is simply necessary, after speaking the word to be echoed, to pause long enough for the supposed sound to return from a distance; then utter it in a softer tone of voice, making it softer and less distinct in each repetition.

"Gitche Man'ito, the mighty!'
Cried he with his face uplifted
In that bitter hour of anguish,
'Give your children food, O father!
Give us food, or we must perish!
Give me food for Minnehaha,
For my dying MINNEHAHA!'
Through the far-resounding forest,
Through the forest vast and vacant
Rang that cry of desolation;
But there came no other answer

Than the echo of his crying,

Than the echo of the woodlands,

[Echo.] Minnehaha!—Minnehaha!”

BUGLE SONG. TENNYSON.

The splendor falls on castle-walls,
And snowy summits old in story;

The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying:

[Echo.] Blow, bugle, blow.

[Echo-]

Blow, bugle, blow; answer, echoes, dying,-dying, dying.

dying,

dying,

dying.

Oh, hark! Oh, hear! how thin—and clear,

And thinner,-clearer, farther going!

Oh! sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elf-land-faintly blowing!

Blow; let us hear the purple glens replying:

BLOW, bugle;-answer, echoes, dying,—dying, dying.

O love-they die-in yon rich sky,
They faint-on field, on hill, on river;
Our echoes-roll-from soul—to soul,
And grow-forever-and FOREVER.

Blow, bugle,--blow; set the wild echoes flying,

[Echo as above.]

And answer,-echoes, answer, dying,-dying,-dying.

ECHO SONG.

Echo in the hollow' glen,

Wake ye from your stilly sleep;
Let us hear your voice again,

Clear and deep. (Echo.] Clear and deep.

Warble for us, Echo, pray! [Echo.] Warble for us, Echo, pray!

Tell-tale spirit, listen! [Echo.] Listen!

Now our morning song repeat; [Echo.] Now our morning song repeat.
Answer now, Echo, pray! [Echo.] O pray!

THE LONG EXPECTED: TRUE LOVE NEVER LOST. MASSEY.

Oh! many and many a day-before we met
I knew some spirit-walked the world alone,
Awaiting the Beloved-from afar;

And I was the anointed-chosen one

Of all the world—to crown—her queenly brows—
With the imperial crown-of human love,—
And light its glory-in her happy eyes.

I saw not-(with mine eyes-so full of tears,)
But heard-Faith's low-sweet singing-in the night,
And,-(groping-through the darkness,) touched-God's hand.
I knew my sunshine-somewhere-warmed the world,
Though I―trode-darkling-in a perilous way;
And I should reach it-in His own-good time,
Who sendeth sun,—and dew,-and love-for all:
My heart-might toil on-blindly, but,-(like earth,)-
It kept sure footing-through the thickest gloom.
Earth,-(with her thousand voices,) talked of thee;-
Sweet winds,—and whispering leaves, and piping birds;
The trickling sun-light and the flashing dews;
Eve's crimson air—and light of twinkling gold;
Spring's kindled greenery, and her breath of balm;
The happy hum—and stir—of summer woods,
And the light dropping-of the silver rain.

Thine eyes-oped with their rainy lights-and laughters,
In April's tearful heaven-of tender blue,
With all the changeful beauty-melting through them,
And dawn-and sunset-ended-in thy face.
And standing,- -as in God's own presence-chamber,
When silence-lay like sleep-upon the world,
And it seemed rich-to die-alone-with night,
Like Moses-'neath the kisses-of God's lips,
The stars-have trembled thro' the holy hush,
And smiled down tenderly,-and said to me-
The love-hid for me-in a budding breast,
Like incense-folded in a young flower's heart.
Strong-as a sea-swell-came the wave of wings,-
Strange trouble-trembled thro' my inner depths,

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