They went, and raked up the coals of fire and brands, and covered them with ashes. When the morning came, they laid the body of the head-warrior on the ashes, built a great fire over it, and kept it burning two whole moons. But they were careful to burn no pine, nor the tree which bears poisonous flowers, nor the vine which yields no grapes, nor the shrub whose dew blisters the flesh. On the first day of the third moon, they let the fire go out, and, with the next sun, all the Shawanos, men, women, and children, even the aged whose knees trembled so much that they could not walk, came together at the embers. The priests and the head-chief brought the beautiful woman from the wigwam, and placed her beside the ashes. The Mequachake tribe, who were the priests of the nation, stood nearest; then the Kiskapocoke tribe, who were the greatest warriors. By and by there was a terrible puffing and blowing in the ashes, which flew towards the rising sun, and the great star, and the Mississippi, and the land of the Walkullas. At last, the priests and the warriors, who could see, began to clap their hands, and dance, crying out, Piqua, which, in the Shawanos language, means a man coming out of the ashes, or a man made of ashes. They told no lie. There he stood, a man tall and straight, looking like a Shawanos man, but he was handsomer than any of our warriors. The first thing he did, was to utter the war-whoop, and cry for paint, a club, a bow and arrow, and a hatchet. They were given him. But, looking around, he saw the white woman. He laid down all his weapons of war, walked up to her, and looked in her eyes. Then he came to the head-chief, and said, "I must have that woman to my wife." be "What are you?" asked the head-chief. "A man made of ashes," he answered. “Who made you?” "The Great Spirit. And now let me go, that I may take my bow and arrows, and kill my deer, and come back, and take the beautiful woman to be my wife." The chiefs said to Chenos; "Shall he have her? Does the Great Spirit give her to him." Chenos said; "Yes, for the woman loves him. The Great Spirit has willed that he shall have her, and from them shall arise a tribe, to be called, Piqua.” Brothers! I am a Piqua, descended from the man made of ashes. If I have told you a lie, blame not me, for I tell it but as I have heard it. Brothers, I have done. 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 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 Thick were the platted locks, and long, "Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold Take it-thou askest sums untold And say that I am freed. Take it, my wife, the long, long day And my young children leave their play, 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,- He struggled fiercely with his chain, B. AN AGED MOURNER. I SAW one, in the Western wilderness, Weeping beside a rough and moss-clad stone; Her days were many on the earth, and blest In the wild forest only,-and with me. Stern parents and false friends our youth oppressed, In vain; she proved her love,—I mine, as you now see. We dwelt in this lone forest sixty years; Yon cell our mansion; watched by Heaven the while, Hurling into the lake the rocky pile, Hoarest of peaks that catch the morning's smile. We set the beech plant on our bridal day, And saw it shade our river-fretted isle; Together we beheld the tree decay, Tremble beneath the blast, and blow in dust away. We saw the stream another channel gain, And we were happier in this lonely wild Than he who owns the dome whereon starved vassals toiled. She died at eighty years, two score and ten Thou seest yon heap of earth,-my weak arms bore J. AUTUMN. OH! there's a beauty in the dying year ! These ancient woods! how beautiful in death! There is a breeze amid the leaves! it swells, Far in the solemn wood-paths, like the peals The summer-birds have sought a sunnier shore ;- |