Then to his conqueror he spake :

'My brother is a king;

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring,

And send me where my brother reigns, And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;

That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,

In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade

To shred his locks away;

And one by one, each heavy braid

Before the victor lay.

Thick were the platted locks, and long,

And closely hidden there

Shone many a wedge of gold among

The dark and crispèd hair.

"Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold Long kept for sorest need:

Take it-thou askest sums untold-
And say that I am freed.

Take it-my wife, the long, long day,

Weeps by the cocoa-tree,

And my young children leave their play, And ask in vain for me."

"I take thy gold, but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa-shade
Thy wife will wait thee long."
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken-crazed his brain:
At once his eye grew wild;
He struggled fiercely with his chain,

Whispered, and wept, and smiled;
Yet wore not long those fatal bands,
And once, at shut of day,

They drew him forth upon the sands,
The foul hyena's prey.

SPRING IN TOWN.

THE Country ever has a lagging Spring,
Waiting for May to call its violets forth,
And June its roses; showers and sunshine bring,
Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth;
To put their foliage out, the woods are slack,
And one by one the singing-birds come back.

Within the city's bounds the time of flowers

Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day,

Such as full often, for a few bright hours,

Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloomAnd lo! our borders glow with sudden bloom.

For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then
Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June,
That overhung with blossoms, through its glen,
Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon,

And they who search the untrodden wood for flowers
Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours.

For here are eyes that shame the violet,
Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies,
And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set,
The anemones by forest-mountains rise;
And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak
Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek.

And thick about those lovely temples lie

Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled,

Thrice happy man! whose trade it is to buy,

And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world;

Who curls of every glossy color keepest,

And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest.

And well thou mayst-for Italy's brown maids

Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed,

And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids,

Crop half, to buy a ribbon for the rest;

But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare,

And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair.

Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve,
To see her locks of an unlovely hue,
Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give

Such piles of curls as Nature never knew.
Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight

Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright.

Soft voices and light laughter wake the street,
Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye
Threads the long way, plumes wave, and twinkling feet
Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by.
The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space,
Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace.

No swimming Juno gait, of languor born,
Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace,-
Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn,-

A step that speaks the spirit of the place,
Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away
To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan Bay.

Ye that dash by in chariots! who will care

For steeds or footmen now? ye cannot show
Fair face, and dazzling dress, and graceful air,
And last edition of the shape! Ah, no,
These sights are for the earth and open sky,
And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by.

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;

The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den,

And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,

There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

THE DISINTERRED WARRIOR.

GATHER him to his grave again,

And solemnly and softly lay,
Beneath the verdure of the plain,

The warrior's scattered bones away.
Pay the deep reverence, taught of old,
The homage of man's heart to death;
Nor dare to trifle with the mould

Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath.

The soul hath quickened every part-
That remnant of a martial brow,
Those ribs that held the mighty heart,

That strong arm-strong no longer now.