"Gitche Manito, 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,
"MINNEHAHA! MINNEHAHA!"

All day long roved Hiawatha
In that melancholy forest,

Through the shadow of whose thickets,
In the pleasant days of Summer,

Of that ne'er forgotten Summer,

He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs;.

When the birds sang in the thickets,

And the streamlets laugh'd and glisten'd,
And the air was full of fragrance,

And the lovely Laughing Water

Said with voice that did not tremble,

"I will follow you, my husband!"

In the wigwam with Nokomis,

With those gloomy guests, that watch'd her, With the Famine and the Fever,

She was lying, the Beloved,

She the dying Minnehaha.

"Hark!" she said, "I hear a rushing,
Hear a roaring and a rushing,
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha
Calling to me from a distance!"
"No, my child!" said old Nokomis,
""Tis the night wind in the pine-trees!"
"Look !" she said; "I see my father
Standing lonely at his doorway,
Beckoning to me from his wigwam
In the land of the Dacotahs!"
"No, my child!" said old Nokomis,

""Tis the smoke that waves and beckons ?"

"Ah!" she said, "the eyes of Pauguk

Glare upon me in the darkness,

I can feel his icy fingers

Clasping mine amid the darkness!
Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"

And the desolate Hiawatha.

Far away amid the forest,

Miles away among the mountains,
Heard that sudden cry of anguish,
Heard the voice of Minnehaha
Calling to him in the darkness,
"HIAWATHA! HIAWATHA!"

Over snow-fields waste and pathless,
Under snow-encumber'd branches,
Homeward hurried Hiawatha,
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing:
"Wahonowin! Wahonowin!

Would that I had perish'd for you,
Would that I were dead as you are!
Wahonowin! Walionowin!"

And he rush'd into the wigwam,
Saw the old Nokomis slowly
Rocking to and fro and moaning,
Saw his lovely Minnehaha
Lying dead and cold before him,
And his bursting heart within him
Utter'd such a cry of anguish,

That the forest moan'd and shudder'd,

That the very stars in heaven

Shook and trembled with his anguish.

Then he sat down still and speechless,
On the bed of Minnehaha,
At the feet of Laughing Water,
At those willing feet, that never
More would lightly run to meet him,
Never more would lightly follow.
With both hands his face he cover'd,
Seven long days and nights he sat there,
As if in a swoon he sat there,
Speechless, motionless, unconscious
Of the daylight or the darkness.

Then they buried Minnehaha;
In the snow a grave they made her,
In the forest deep and darksome,
Underneath the moaning hemlocks;
Clothed her in her richest garments;
Wrapp'd her in her robes of ermine,
Cover'd her with snow, like ermine:
Thus they buried Minnehaha.
And at night a fire was lighted,
On her grave four times was kindled,
For her soul upon its journey
To the Islands of the Blessed.
From his doorway Hiawatha
Saw it burning in the forest,

Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks;
From his sleepless bed uprising,
From the bed of Minnehaha,

Stood and watch'd it at the doorway,
That it might not be extinguish'd,
Might not leave her in the darkness.

"Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha!
Farewell, O my Laughing Water!
All my heart is buried with you,
All my thoughts go onward with you!
Come not back again to labor,
Come not back again to suffer,
Where the Famine and the Fever
Wear the heart and waste the body.
Soon my task will be completed,
Soon your footsteps I shall follow
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!"

SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.-By Bayard Taylor.

AN old and crippled veteran to the War Department came,
He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame-
The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose,
And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.

"Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried,
"The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side?
Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane?
'Tis true, I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again."

"Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: "My brave old soldier, no! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old,

and gray,

And we have need of younger arms and fresher Liood to-day."

"But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say are traitors now: They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue,

And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true.

"I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun,
To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them, one by one.
Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try;
I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry!”

"God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief,-"God bless your loyal heart!

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!"

"But, General!"—still persisting, the weeping veteran cried,
'I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide;
And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can [;
So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!

"If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command
Put me upon the rampart with the flag-staff in my hand:
No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly,
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die!

"I'm ready, General; so you let a post to me be given,
Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from
Heaven,

And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne,→ 'There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!' "And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly,When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face, My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!"

If

THE GHOST.

'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law,

A short, round-favored, merry

Old soldier of the Revolutionary

War,

Was wedded to

A most abominable shrew.

The temper, sir, of Shakspeare's Catharine

Could no more be compared with hers,

Than mine

With Lucifer's.

Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh
Face, like a cranberry marsh,

All spread

With spots of white and red;

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw,

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw.
The appellation of this lovely dame
Was Nancy; don't forget the name.

Her brother David was a tall,
Good-looking chap, and that was all;

One of your great, big nothings, as we say
Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes
And cracking them on other folks.

Well, David undertook one night to play
The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who,
He knew,

Would be returning from a journey through
A grove of forest wood

That stood

Below

The house some distance,-half a mile, or so.

With a long taper Cap of white paper, Just made to cover

A wig, nearly as large over

As a corn-basket, and a sheet

With both ends made to meet

Across his breast,

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed,)

He took

His station near

A huge oak-tree,

Whence he could overlook

The road and see

Whatever might appear.

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel

Had left the table

David was nearly tired of waiting;
His patience was abating;

At length, he heard the careless tones
Of his kinsman's voice,

And then the noise

Of wagon-wheels among the stones.

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring

With all his might, and pouring

Out, in great confusion,

Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution."

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton; And jovially he went on,