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GOOSEBERRY - PIE.

A PINDARIC ODE.

Gooseberry-Pie is best.

Full of the theme O Muse begin the song ! What tho' the sunbeams of the West Mature within the Turtle's breast

Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue?

What tho' the Deer bound sportively along O'er springy turf, the Park's elastic vest?

Give them their honours dueBut Gooseberry Pie is best.

Behind his oxen slow

The patient Ploughman plods.

And as the Sower followed by the clods Earth's genial womb received the swelling seed. The rains descend, the grains they grow ; Saw ye the vegetable ocean

Roll its green billows to the April gale ? The ripening gold with multitudinous motion

Sway o'er the summer vale ?

It flows thro' Alder banks along

Beneath the copse that hides the hill z
The gentle stream you cannot see,
You only hear its melody,

The stream that turns the Mill.
Pass on, a little way pass on,
And
you

shall catch its gleam anon ;
And hark! the loud and agonizing groant
That makes its anguish known,
Where tortur'd by the Tyrant Lord of Meal
The Brook is broken on the Wheel !

Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale !
On the white bosom of the sail

Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie! !
Ye waves of ocean spare the bark !

Ye tempests of the sky!
From distant realms she comes to bring
The
sugar

for
my

Pie.
For this on Gambia's arid side

The Vulture's feet are scaled with blood,
And Beelzebub beholds with pride,

His darling planter brood.

First in the spring thy leaves were seen,

Thou beauteous bush, so early green !
Soon ceas'd thy blossoms little life of love.

O safer than the Alcides-conquer'd tree
That grew the pride of that Hesperian grove amo

No Dragon does there need for thee
With quintessential sting to work alarms,

And guard thy fruit so fine,

Thou vegetable Porcupine !
And didst thou scratch thy tender arins,

O Jane! that I should dine !

The flour, the sugar, and the fruit,
Commingled well, how well they suit,

And they were well bestow'd.
O Jane, with truth I praise your Pie,
And will not you in just reply

Praise my Pindaric Ode?

THEODERIT, The HURON'S ADDRESS to the DEAD..

Brother, thou wert strong in youth !
Brother, thou wert brave in war!

Unhappy man was he
For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's edge;

Unhappy man was he
On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight;

And he who from thy hand
Received the calumet,
Blest Heaven, and slept in peace.

When the Evil Spirits seized thee,
Brother, we were sad at heart :

We bade the Jongler come

And bring his magic aid ;
We circled thee in mystic dance,

With songs and shouts and cries,

To free thee from their power.
Brother, but in vain we strove,
The number of thy days was full..

Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat,

The bear-skin from thy shoulder hangs,
Thy feet are sandald, ready for the way.
Those are the unfatiguable feet

That traversed the forest track,
Those are the lips that late

Thundered the yell of war ;
And that is the strong right arm:
That never was lifted in vain.

Those lips are silent now,
The limbs that were active are stiff,

Loose hangs the strong right arm!

And where is That which in thy voice

The language of friendship spake?
That gave the strength of thine arm?

That fill'd thy limbs with life?
It was not Thou, for Thou art here,

Thou art amongst us still,
But the Life and the Feeling are gone..

The Iroquois will learn

That thou hast ceas'd from war, "Twill be a joy like victory, For thou wert the scourge of their race.

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