And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high,

Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not-ye have played
Among the palms of Mexico and vines

Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks
That from the fountains of Sonora glide
Into the calm Pacific-have ye fanned

A nobler or a lovelier scene than this?

The following stanzas form part of his poem, entitled, The

Battle-field:

Soon rested those who fought; but thou,

Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.
A wild, and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,

And blench not at thy chosen lot.

The timid good may stand aloof,

The sage may frown-yet faint thou not.

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,

The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.

Then follows the oft-cited, magnificent verse,—

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;
The eternal years of God are hers;

But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers!

The Hunter of the Prairies is another fine poem :

Ay, this is freedom!-these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.

"""What plant we with this apple tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard row, he pourt Its fragrance through our open doors. I world of blossoms for the bee, Filavers for the sick girl's selent room, For the glad infant sprigs of blooms We plant with the apple trees" William Cullen Bryant

Roslyn, L. J. Inly 120 18775=

The bounung elk, whose antlers tear
The branches, falls before my aim.
Mine are the river-fowl that scream

From the long stripe of waving sedge;
The bear, that marks my weapon's gleam,
Hides vainly in the forest's edge;
In vain the she-wolf stands at bay;
The brinded catamount, that lies
High in the boughs to watch his prey,
Even in the act of springing, dies.
With what free growth the elm and plane
Fling their huge arms across my way,
Gray, old, and cumbered with a train

Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray!

Another of Mr. Bryant's most admired productions is his Forest Hymn, commencing:

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned

To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,

And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed

The lofty vault, to gather and roll back

The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,

Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences

Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,

And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven