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Who on that form one glance can fling

Of proud disdain or cold neglect-
That form, creation's finishing,

The image of the Architect !

I speak not of her dark blue eye,

I care not for her curls of jet ; Her rosy cheek may redden high

For there are charms more lovely yet. To smooth the wrinkled brow of care,

To ease the burden of distress, To elevate the soul in prayer,

At once to aid, and please, and bless ; Beside the sickly couch to stay,

To watch the lingering, fleeting breath, And when the spirit fits away,

To seal the glassy eyes of death ;
To brighten still life's brightest hour,

To give each scene a richer zest,
Is woman's part-man boasts of power,

And all must yield at his behest.
He kneels, indeed; but how sincere

Can he before the altar bend,
Who looks not, save with scornful sneer,

On Heaven's best gift-man's truest friend ?-

I had a dream. Methought I saw

A pale emaciated form,
Whose frozen heart no tears could thaw,

No smile dissolve the wintry storm,
That long upon his haggard brow

Had hung, and still was hovering, Though soon to burst ; for even now

His lamp of life was flickering. His friends had left him, one by one,

As fall the leaves in Autumn's blast, And now,

of all he boasted, none Were found to mourn for him at lastNone, save the one he slighted-she

Yet stood beside him, watching close Each want and movement-just as free

Each want to succour-and compose The movements of his troubled soul.

It might not be that wildering gaze Bespoke him near life's dreaded goal

The goal of hapless, hopeless days ! His clay-cold hand she gently took,

One parting prayer to Heaven she sighed ;

He answered with a withering look,

Withdrew his hand, and blackening, died.

It was a dream; and yet it told

No more than the reality
of man's proud heart, obdurate, cold,

And woman's fond fidelity.
I've seen her weep at others' woe,

I've seen her dry the orphan's tear,
And when, beneath misfortune's blow,

The object that she held most dear,
Was sinking fast, to rise no more-

When summer friends their flight had sped,
And foes were sterner than before

When every earthly hope had fled,
And she was Aung alone, forgot,

Upon the earth's cold charity,
With few to mourn her wretched lot

Amid the world's hilarity-
I've seen her meekly bend in prayer,

A suppliant at her Father's throne;
She laid her wants, her sorrow's there,

And said, “ Thy will, not mine, be done !"



" the shattered wall
Black with the miner's blast, upop her height,
Yet shows of what she was when steel and ball
Rebounding idly on her strength did light:
A tower of victory! from whence the flight,
Of baffled foes was watched along the plain.
But peace destroyed what war could never blight;
And laid those proud roofs low to Summer's rain,

On which the iron shower for years had poured in vain." SCARCELY ten years have passed since the commotion of warfare raged along the northwestern frontier of the United States, and those peaceful inhabitants, separated by the broad stream, and interchanging mutual offices of friendship, hospitality, and kindness, were divided by the barrier of hostility, and met only as foes to seal their union in blood. Yet even now, time has obliterated the traces of desperate encounters, and the visitor of this classic ground, needs an admonition from the record of history to tell him, that every step he treads is on the graves of the slain ; that the fields where the harvest spreads its golden mantle and the green grass waves high, were the scenes of carnage : that from each silent embrasure of the ruined fortresses the battle gun poured out its iron hail: and that the fair tree, bending so gracefully in the summer wind, has been nourished by the purple current flowing from the hearts of the brave. The luxuriant verdure of Erie, of Chippewa, of Queenstown, and of Bridegwater, springs from clay once animated by living valor; and the reaper gathers up his sheaves of grain where death has rioted on a nobler harvest. The same careless forgetfulness that prompts the merry song of the laborer on those wide burial plains, has extended to our own countrymen.

The memory of the departed slumbers with the past; and we hold no solean appiversaries to brighten the recollection of their great actions. The names of the dead are seldom heard, except from those who mourned, when they fell, for the loss of some who were dear in the circles of domestic and social affection. The band of the survivors spared by the fight is fast diminishing. Perry died on a foreign shore: Decatur escaped the shot of the foe to expire by the band of a friend: the gallant Macdonough, who displayed our flag in triumph on the waters of Champlain, has yielded to the slow advances of wasting disease; and few will be left to feel the mortifying contrast between the honors so warmly given in the hours of recent success and the coldness of neglect. But the duty of gratitude,so reluctantly performed by this generation, may be safely trusted to posterity: they will appreciate the merits, and freshen the laurels of the men who so well served their country, and they will guard with equal veneration the memories of Perry and of Nelson, and keep with the same fidelity the fame of the brave of our infant republic and the names of the great of the proud monarchies of ancient days.

Around those spots which have been reddened with the blood of our countrymen, there is an attraction, which will often draw the traveller from his path. The fields where the finger of decay has wasted the traces of sanguinary encounter, are still full of interesting associations. His temperament must be cold indeed, wbo can tread where the youthful and the brave have fallen like the summer leaves. There is a silent eloquence in those spots, which stirs the deepest feelings of the soul. We shall incur no risk of exhausting the patience of the reader so far, that no stock will remain for our future draughts, if we carry him to one of the scenes of carnage, and briefly trace the dim recollections of its history,

The fortress of Erie, during the late war with England, was the theatre of gallant exploits, and the scene of brilliant victories. The movements of the contending armies in its neighborhood, were then watched with intense interest and keen anxiety. This post is situated on the northeastern shore of Lake Erie, in the province of Upper Canada, about twenty miles above the Falls, on a plain overlooking the magnificent expanse of waters. Here the Niagara rirer goes out, and its floods, confined in a narrow and rocky channel, rush'impetuously along. On the American shore is the flourishing and neat town of Buffalo, which, in the course of a contest, marked on both sides by most disgraceful and barbarous acts of wanton destruction, and in this quarter diversified by deplorable incidents of cruel outrage and individual suffering, was burnt by the British forces; but has now risen in renewed beauty from its ashes, and presents an animating picture of the effects of enterprise, industry, and consequent prosperity. On crossing from this village, we embark on the foaming stream for a passage, rendered fearful by the violence of the waves rolling down from the lake, and the whirling and eddying of the waters among the hidden rocks. So rapid is the current, that the boat usually ascends about three quarters of a mile, and notwithstanding the utmost exertions of the expert and athletic oarsmen, is frequently carried far below the point, opposite to the spot of its departure. A short distance downward, in the midst of the river, is Grand Island, smiling like another Eden, now well known as the chosen spot selected by the self constituted Governor of Israel, for the metropolis of his assumed empire, the asylum where the dispersed tribes of the Hebrews should gather under the shadow of his protection, and find an Ararat of refuge from the persecutions of the nations. A short walk, along the margin of the English territory, brings us to the military works, now dilapidated and ruinous. In the centre, stands a heavy wall of solid materials, thirty feet in height, pierced for artillery, still bearing the dint of cannon balls, fired during the long siege it sustained, and surrounded with numerous entrenchments. The principal gate way was through this piece of masonry, and was defended by a triangular mound, so situated as to compel the assailants to advance in a direct line with the range of the guns. On the East, a line of defences extended down to the lake, then turning northward and running parallel with its margin and with the ramparts of the fort, it went far onward. Northward was the front, where the fortifications were constructed with the greatest care. Two huge bastions projected towards the plain, and, with their connecting parapet were joined to the walls At their base was a deep ditch, and the remains of batteries and other parapets are thrown still further in advance. The plains be. yond, is skirted by an ancient forest, under whose thickets were planted the battering train of the British army. The lofty trees are pierced with large holes made by the passage of cannon bullets, and their shattered trunks and mutilated bodies, still bear the scars of the fight and the memorials of warfare.

mer owners.

Soon after the commencement of the war, in May, 1813, this post was abandoned by the British, and occupied by the Americans. Before the close of that year it fell again into the hands of its for

On the 3d of July, 1814, it was seized by Gen. Brown, and soon became the seat of destructive warfare. The series of bloody battles, distinguishing the campaign of that year, had enfeebled the army, and after the carnage at Bridgewater, where one thousand three hundred and eighty four gallant men were sent to repder up their last account, or, lingering under the torture of severe wounds, were disabled from the pursuit of their dreadful profession. Gen. Ripley, the officer in command, finding himself unable to keep the field again-t a superior force, retired to Fort Erie, then scarcely tenable. On the 3d of August, Gen. Drummond, with a force of five thousand meo, invested the post, and despairing of success by assault, commenced a regular siege. A cannonade was opened and constant skirmishes took place. The besieged labored incessantly to strengthen their position and increase their defences. Many days were passed without any deci. sive action, while the one party were slowly and cautiously making their approaches, and the other, patiently, but actively, preparing for the reception of their foes. Gen. Gaines in the mean time had arrived and taken the command of the fort. The armies lay within full view of each other. The British camp was placed on the margin of the woods, and its numerous tents whitened the plain. The morning of the 14th was bright and fair; the glittering of bayonets, the waving of the long line of plumes, and the gay dresses of the assailants mustered behind their entrenchments, could be seen from the fortress No extraordinary movement foretold the fearful events of the night that came on dark and heavily. But many a soldier who at evening had laid down to repose from his toils at midnight, when the trumpet sounded its signal note, started from his bed, to exchange the visions of slumber for the dreamless sleep of eternity. The British General had arranged his forces in three columns for a desperate attempt. About two o'clock in the morning the advance of the first division was discovered through the darkness, on the left of the garrison, where a line of brush hastily thrown up was the representative of earth and stone. They ap

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