"The Water! the Water!

My heart yet burns to think
How cool thy fountain sparkled forth,
For parched lip to drink.
The Water! the Water!

Of mine own native glen;

The gladsome tongue I oft have heard,
But ne'er shall hear again;

Though fancy fills my ear for aye
With sounds that live so far away!

"The Water! the Water!

The mild and glassy wave,
Upon whose broomy banks I've longed
To find my silent grave.

The Water! the Water!

Oh bless'd to me thou art;
Thus sounding in life's solitude,
The music of my heart,

And filling it, despite of sadness,

With dreamings of departed gladness.

"The Water! the Water!

The mournful pensive tone,

That whispered to my heart how soon
This weary life was done.

The Water! the Water!

That rolled so bright and free,
And bade me mark how beautiful
Was its soul's purity;

And how it glanced to heaven its wave,

As wandering on it sought its grave."

"THE JOYS OF THE WILDERNESS.

"I have a wish, and it is this, that in some uncouth glen,
It were my lot to find a spot unknown by selfish men;
Where I might be securely free, like Eremite of old,

From Worldly guile, from Woman's wile, and Friendships brief and cold;
And where I might, with stern delight, enjoy the varied form

Of Nature's mood, in every rude burst of the thundering storm.

"Then would my life, lacking fierce strife, glide on in dreamy gladness,
Nor would I know the cark and woe which come of this world's madness;
While in a row, like some poor show, its pageantries would pass,
Without a sigh, before mine eye, as shadows o'er a glass:
Nonentity these shadows be-and yet, good Lord! how brave
That knavish rout doth strut and flout, then shrink into the grave!
"The Wilderness breathes gentleness;-these waters bubbling free,
The gallant breeze that stirs the trees, form Heaven's own melody;
The far-stretched sky, with its bright eye, pours forth a tide of love
On every thing that here doth spring, on all that glows above.
But live with man-his dark heart scan-its paltry selfishness
Will show to thee, why men like me, love the lone Wilderness!"

"CERTAIN PLEASANT VERSES TO THE LADY OF MY HEART. "The murmur of the merry brook,

As gushingly and free

It wimples with its sun-bright look,
Far down yon sheltered lea,
Humming to every drowsy flower
A low quaint lullaby,

Speaks to my spirit, at this hour,
"Of Love and thee.

"The music of the gay green wood,
When every leaf and tree

Is coaxed by winds of gentlest mood,
To utter harmony;

And the small birds that answer make
To the wind's fitful glee,

In me most blissful visions wake,
Of Love and thee.

"The rose perks up its blushing cheek,
So soon as it can see

Along the eastern hills, one streak
Of the Sun's majesty:

Laden with dewy gems, it gleams
A precious freight to me,

For each pure drop thereon me seems
A type of thee.

"And when abroad in summer morn,
I hear the blythe bold bee
Winding aloft his tiny horn,
(An errant knight perdy,)
That winged hunter of rare sweets
O'er many a far country,
To me a lay of love repeats,
Its subject-thee.

"And when, in midnight hour, I note
The stars so pensively,

In their mild beauty, onward float
Through heaven's own silent sea:
My heart is in their voyaging
To realms where spirits be,
But its mate, in such wandering,
Is ever thee!

"But oh, the murmur of the brook,

The music of the tree;

The rose with its sweet shamefast look,

The booming of the bee;

The course of each bright voyager

In heaven's unmeasured sea,

Would not one heart-pulse of me stir,
Loved I not thee!"

"Tim the Tacket-a lyrical ballad, supposed to be written by W. W.," is a failure; for the lines do not seem in the least like Wordsworth's. The "Witches' Joys" can only please those who have a morbid appetite for the horrible. They are fully atoned for, however, by

"THEY COME! THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS.

They come! the merry summer months of Beauty, Song, and Flowers;
They come the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers.
Up, up, my heart! and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside,
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide;

Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,

Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.

"The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful to the hand,
And, like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze is sweet and bland;
The daisy and the buttercup are nodding courteously,

It stirs their blood, with kindest love, to bless and welcome thee:
And mark how with thine own thin locks-they now are silvery grey-
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whispering "Be gay!"

"There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of yon sky,

But hath its own winged mariners to give it melody:
Thou see'st their glittering fans outspread all gleaming like red gold,
And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their merry course they hold.
God bless them all, these little ones, who far above this earth,
Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a nobler mirth.
"But soft! mine ear upcaught a sound, from yonder wood it came;
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe his own glad name;-
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that apart from all his kind,
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft western wind;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! he sings again-his notes are void of art,
But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts of the heart!
"Good Lord! it is a gracious boon for thought-crazed wight like me,
To smell again these summer flowers beneath this summer tree!
To suck once more in every breath their little souls away,

And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright summer day,
When, rushing forth like untamed colt, the reckless truant boy,
Wandered through green woods all day long, a mighty heart of joy!
"I'm sadder now, I have had cause; but oh! I'm proud to think
That each pure joy-fount loved of yore, I yet delight to drink;-
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the calm unclouded sky,
Still mingle music with my dreams, as in the days gone by.
When summer's loveliness and light fall round me dark and cold,
I'll dear indeed life's heaviest curse-a heart that hath waxed old!"

The latter part of the volume is occupied by a short collection of songs-all, with one or two exceptions, beautiful. We wish that our limits would allow us to quote more from this charming volume than the two specimens with which we must conclude.

"THE KNIGHT'S SONG.

"Endearing! endearing!

Why so endearing

Are those dark lustrous eyes,

Through their silk fringes peering?

They love me! they love me!

Deeply, sincerely;

And more than aught else on earth,
I love them dearly.

"Endearing! endearing!

Why so endearing
Glows the glad sunny smile

On thy soft cheek appearing?

It brightens it brightens !
As I am nearing;

And 'tis thus that thy fond smile
Is ever endearing.

"Endearing! endearing!

Why so endearing

Is that lute-breathing voice

Which my rapt soul is hearing?

'Tis singing, 'tis singing

Thy deep love for me,

And my faithful heart echoes
Devotion to thee.

"Endearing! endearing!

Why so endearing,
At each Passage of Arms

Is the herald's bold cheering?

"The grass is wet with shining dews,
Their silver bells hang on each tree,
While opening flower and bursting bud
Breathe incense forth unceasingly;
The mavis pipes in green wood shaw,
The throstle glads the spreading thorn,
And cheerily the blythsome lark
Salutes the rosy face of morn.
'Tis early prime;

And hark! hark! hark!

His merry chime

Chirrups the lark:

Chirrup! chirrup! he heralds in

The jolly sun with matin hymn.

"Come, come, my love! and May-dews shake

In pailfuls from each drooping bough,

They'll give fresh lustre to the bloom

That breaks upon thy young cheek now.

O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood,

Aurora's smiles are streaming free;

With earth it seems brave holiday,

In heaven it looks high jubilee.
And it is right,

For mark, love, mark!
How bathed in light
Chirrups the lark:

Chirrup! chirrup! he upward flies,
Like holy thoughts to cloudless skies.

66 They lack all heart who cannot feel

The voice of heaven within them thrill,
In summer morn, when mounting high
This merry minstrel sings his fill.

Now let us seek yon bosky dell

Where brightest wild-flowers choose to be, And where its clear stream murmurs on, Meet type of our love's purity:

No witness there,

And o'er us,

High in the air

hark!

Chirrups the lark:

Chirrup chirrup! away soars he,

Bearing to heaven my vows to thee!"

24

The Rocky Mountains; or, Scenes, Incidents, and Adventures in the Far West. Digested from the Journal of Captain B. L. E. Bonneville, U. S. A.; and illustrated from various other sources. By Washington Irving. 2 Vols. Philadelphia; Carey, Lea and Blanchard.

THESE Volumes, which may be considered a kind of sequel to " Astoria," complete the picture of the great mountain wilderness of the West begun in the latter work, and possess equal interest and raciness. They record not merely the doings of Captain Bonneville in his adventurous expedition, but may be considered a history of a new race of "Alligators," genuine descendants of the old Salt River stock-the Free Trappers of the Rocky Mountains; whose wild freaks and daring achievements, their sufferings and perils, among regions— “rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven "--the most extraordinary on earth, and among savage races varied with every characteristic of which savage life is capable, are set forth to the life. "To me," says Mr. Flint in his preface to Pattie's Narrative, and we write approval to the sentiment, "there is a kind of moral sublimity in the contemplation of the adventures and daring of such men. They read a lesson to skrinking and effeminate spirits, the men of soft hands and fashionable life, whose frames the winds of heaven are not allowed to visit too roughly. They tend to re-inspire something of that simplicity of manners, manly hardihood, and Spartan energy and force of character, which formed so conspicuous a part of the nature of the settlers of the Western wilderness."

Our first extract illustrates the generosity of the Chief of the Nez Perces, a very venerable, patriarchal, and kind-hearted old fellow.

THE GIFT HORSE.

Captain Bonneville slept in the lodge of the venerable patriarch, who had evidently conceived a most disinterested affection for him, as was shown on the following morning. The travellers, invigorated by a good supper, and fresh from the bath of repose,' were about to resume their journey, when this affectionate old chief took the captain aside, to let him know how much he loved him. As a proof of his regard, he had determined to give him a fine horse; which would go further than words, and put his good-will beyond all question. So saying, he made a signal, and forthwith a beautiful young horse, of a brown color, was led, prancing and snorting, to the place. Captain Bonneville was suitably affected by this mark of friendship; but his experience in what is proverbially called Indian giving,' made him aware that a parting pledge was necessary on his own part to prove that this friendship was reciprocated. He accordingly placed a handsome rifle in the hands of the venerable chief, whose benevolent heart was evidently touched and gratified by this outward and visible sign of amity.

"The worthy captain having now, as he thought, balanced this little account of friendship, was about to shift his saddle to this noble gift-horse, when the affectionate patriarch plucked him by the sleeve, and introduced to him a whimpering, whining, leathern-skinned old. squaw, that might have passed for an Egyp tian mummy without drying. This,' said he,' is my wife; she is a good wife -I love her very much. She loves the horse-she loves him a great deal-she will cry very much at losing him. I do not know how I shall comfort her, and that makes my heart very sore.'

* Published in Cincinnati, in 1833, and edited by Mr. Flint, but not in a manner to advance either the interests of the author, (a trader to Santa Fe, and afterwards a trapper of six years' standing in New California,) or, we conceive, the reputation of the editor. The work might have been made extremely interesting and successful, had not Mr. F., in his anxiety to preserve "its keeping the charm of its simplicity," &c., suffered it to go before the world with all its defects and blunders uncorrected.