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herself, and does not hesitate, when thereto constrained, to leave her father, and trust for protection to that respect which was awakened alike by her high birth and high character among the whole Indian race. It is certainly a remarkable combination which we see in her, of gentleness and sweetness with strength of mind, decision, and firm consistency of purpose, and would be so in any female, reared under the most favorable influences.
The lot of Pocahontas may be considered a happy one, notwithstanding the pang which her affectionate nature must have felt, in being called so early to part from her husband and child. It was her good fortune to be the instrument, in the hand of Providence, for bringing about a league of peace and amity between her own nation and the English - a consummation most agreeable to her taste and feelings. The many favors, which she bestowed upon the colonists, were by them gratefully acknowledged, and obtained for her a rich harvest of attentions in England. Her name and deeds have not been suffered to pass out of the minds of men, nor are they discerned only by the glimmering light of tradition. Captain Smith has repaid the vast debt of gratitude which he owed her, by the immortality which his eloquent and feeling pen has given her. Who has not heard the beautiful story of her heroism? and who, that has heard it, has not felt his heart throb quick with generous admiration? She has become one of the darlings of history, and her name is as familiar as a household word to the numerous and powerful descendants of the “ feeble folk” whom she protected and befriended.
Her own blood flows in the veins of many honorable families, who trace back with pride their descent from this daughter of a despised people. She has been a powerful, though silent, advocate in behalf of the race to which she belonged. Her deeds have covered a multitude of their sins, When disgusted with numerous recitals of their cruelty and treachery, and about to pass an unfavorable judgment in our minds upon the Indian character, at the thought of Pocahontas our rigor relents.” With a softened heart, we are ready to admit that there must have been fine elements in a people, from among whom such a being could spring.
Plea for the Red Man. CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Yet for the Red Man dare to plead;
He turned to nature for a creed;
We seek our God in prayer ;
And the Great Spirit worshipped there.
Note to Teachers. — The above table is designed to exercise the voice upon the vowel elements. The class should occasionally utter them in concert, thus : à, å, å, å; é, é; &c. The words are placed opposite the letters merely to denote their sounds. This is a useful exercise, and should be often repeated.
The elementary sound of a vowel may be ascertained, by pronouncing a word containing it in a slow, drawling manner. Notice the sound of the vowel as it issues from the mouth, and then utter it by itself with great suddenness and force.
Freedom, the self-same freedom we adore,
He saw the cloud, ordained to grow,
Beneath th' invader's evil eye;
At midnight hour he woke to gaze
Upon his happy cabin's blaze,
He saw, and, maddening at the sight,
And was this savage ? Say,
Ye ancient few,
Who struggled through
From mound to mound
The word went round-
Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh
Of soul-sick suffering here?
Your pangs, as from yon mountain spot,*
That knelled upon your ear ?
As round your knees your children's children hang, of them, the gallant ones, ye loved so well, Who to the conflict for their country sprang !
In pride, in all the pride of woe,
Who for their birthplace bled ;
From whom th' invaders fled.
And ye, this holy place who throng,
The annual theme to hear, And bid th' exulting song
Sound their great names from year to year ;
Ye, who the sleeping rocks would raise
Nor leave a battle-blade undrawn,
One brother-line to spare,
And dared as ye would dare?
Alas for them! their day is o'er ;
* Bunker Hill.
No more for them the wild deer bounds;
Their pleasant springs are dry;
Their children go — to die.
O, doubly lost! Oblivion's shadows close
To tell of them who cannot die;
Nor lofty pile, nor glowing page,
Or give him with the past a rank;
His very name must be a blank.
Cold, with the beast he slew, he sleeps ;
O’er him no filial spirit weeps ; No crowds throng round, no anthem-notes ascend, To bless his coming and embalm his end; E'en that he lived, is for his conqueror's tongue; By foes alone his death-song must be sung;