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The East was soon one flood of glory. Far along from north to south, and rising nearly a third of the way to the zenith, a broad sheet of sapphire and gold hung down, and pinned as it seemed by a single star to the blue wall of heaven; and, flashing all over its ample folds, were floating clouds of exceeding beauty, some of them mere spots, dark in the center, and fringed with tassels of silver and chrysophrase, others more ample in their spreading draperies, and painted with all the colors of the rain-bow, while the bright and divergent shafts of light, streaming up from the yet unrisen sun, gave the scene such an imposing grandeur as I till then had never witnessed.

It will hardly be believed that man is cruel in these regions-yet he is more blood thirsty. The very blessings of the place have made him a devil-shut up his heart to mercy, torn from it every human sympathy, and steeped him to the lips in crime and murder.

The wind shifting two or three points, the Captain found it necessary to run in for the island. We had scarcely passed Cape Maize, when a light built felucca darted out from the shore, and bore down upon us. A pirate boat with a dozen men in her, is no pleasant companion at any time-but a craft like that, with thrice that number probably, was much less to be desired. That this was a pirate, we could not doubt, from the mode of his appearance,and that she was full of men, we could now see by the light of the sun just breaking over the waters. Though some six or eight miles from us, by the help of his glass the Captain discovered she had no heavy arms aboard, and as we had four smart carronades, we could not utterly despair. Every passenger was ordered on deck, the females sent below-Mary excepted, whom I could not tear from my side, though I besought her with all the passion of an almost maddened heart-and the hatches fastened down. Pistols and cutlasses were given to each, the decks cleared, braces laid to the guns, and every thing prepared for action.

For myself I had no fear-a sort of daring joy took possession of me, and I felt as if I could have fought my way through a thousand. But Mary, she was the weight upon me. She would not leave me; and I had to bear the consciousness, that one, dear to me as my life, was as likely to perish by the first shot, as the most reckless and swearing villain of us all. Yet there was something in her eye as little like fear, as the passion I felt in my own bosom-a power was there, a high, and, I may say, a proud resolve to live or die with me, which made me think of Semiramis when she battled for Assyria.

We had the wind, and that was our advantage; and it was our Captain's purpose, either to run the pirate down (for he was not half our bulk though trebling us in men) or cripple him at a distance, and trust to chance and a good vessel to escape. He was coming up on our right, battling with the wind, and of course had

to tack often-this was in our favor also. We were gliding lightly under our jib and square sails, and these giving us no trouble, we could strike him as we chose. The pirate either did not suspect our intent, or he thought it too bold for us, for his course lay right athwart our own, and he manifested no disposition to change it.

He was now perhaps within three miles of us, and the Captain thinking our shot might reach him, the lee ports were opened, and a gun double shotted thrust out. The pirate tacked at the moment, as not liking it; but his vessel not having the requisite speed, she did not pay off well, and, balancing a moment with his masts in a line with us, he gave us the fairest chance to rake him. The gun at the moment was fired, and as the smoke swept off, we saw the splinters dance up from the pirate's tafferel, as the shot bolted through it, and pitched into the very midst of the crew.

'D-n him!' growled our Captain- give him another such, and we'll send them all to the devil!'

The other gun was run out and fired, and sure enough, the pirate had enough of it. The felucca's foremast went over board like lightning.

Now we will meet the villains at their own game! Here matedrag those two starboard guns over here! Some of you take these and reload, while we ply him again-he shall go to the bottom if I have to go with him-come, bustle!'

Alas, why did we not take the moment and escape. I should have had a brighter story to—but let me proceed.

The pirate had cleared his ship of the fallen mast—and, having turned about, with his remaining one he was trying to escape.

Ah, ha, my fine fellow-d-n ye! but I'll teach ye how they do these things in old Maine, eh! there, take that!' and off went another gun.

The Captain was a splendid gunner, and in less than fifteen minutes, the pirate lay unmanageable; as fair a mark as one would wish of a holy-day, and into which with a most murderous certainty, we pitched our shot one after another, till the cannon were so heated we could scarcely handle them. All this time the pirate was as little formidable as a cock-boat. Not a piece in him above a musket, he lay there like a beast caught in the toils, and could not return a blow.

Our Captain was like a maniac. It seemed little less than downright murder, to continue the work; but his temper was up, and I doubt whether, even if the flag had been down, which, strange to say, was yet flying, whether he would have desisted. The pirate now got out his long boat, and tried to tow his vessel ashore-I saw one of our shot strike it, and tear it and the poor wretches all to pieces. He had now nothing to do but lay still and bear it, and this he did, until he was evidently sinking.

This put new life into our Captain-he ceased firing and ordered every sail set. The wind came on stiff at the moment, and, with the speed of ten knot, we bore directly for the wreck. With her tiller held by the Captain's own hand, the Swan went over the waves like a bird, the waters roaring at her bows, and behind her a long track of foam.

Stand ready all!' shouted the Captain. 'Down-down every man! look out for the shock!!'

At that moment we struck the pirate right amid ship-the wreck parted with a shock of thunder. A wild howl rose horribly to heaven, and the sea went over them forever.

As the pirate vessel parted, a single shot was given us, and Mary lay weltering in blood upon my bosom.

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Reader, these things happened years ago. I have been alone since then-I can say no more.

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ON POETRY.

LET US retire from the busy scenes of life, and enter yon temple dedicated to Poetry and the Muses, and excluding from our minds the world and its anxieties, we will, for a few moments, devote ourselves to reflection on the birth and wanderings of Poesy.

Poetry is the language of the heart-the impulses of Nature, attired in such a dress as to awaken a corresponding chord of sympathy in every bosom susceptible of emotion. Hence, 'tis Nature's voice, and whilst mankind existed in their pristine simplicity-ere the corruptions engendered by civilization and vice had turned each heart to adamant, poetry reigned supreme in every breast. In Paradise, where all nature bloomed and smiled far sweeter than the rose, we may believe the language of our first parents was uttered in the spirit of poetry-not the poetry of art, fettered and bound down by certain rules of rhyme and rhythm-but that true poesy which consists in the spontaneous outburstings of the heart when it beholds all creation glowing with loveliness and eloquently proclaiming the goodness of the Creator-when it sees the midnight heavens with its thousand worlds-the noon-day splendor of the sun-the hoary mountains tipped with eternal frost-the violet wasting "its fragrance on the desert air." These are the founts whence poesy flows-and this is the poetry of nature. Here then, amid the bowers of Paradise, did she dwell with man, till guilt exiled him from happiness, and drove him a wanderer over the earth. The snows of many winters, the dews of many summers had descended upon earthwhen lo! wandering now by the Castalian fount, and now traversing the vale of Tempe and the tops of Parnassus-Poetry is beheld once more resuming her sceptre of peace and love over a people whom nature created exclusively her favorites. Greece! hallowed land of song-endeared by a thousand fond associations to the hearts of all-land of heroes, philosophers, and poets-amid thy favored haunts did poetry reside, and on thy children lavished her favors with unsparing hand-alas! how changed art thou, "quantum mutata ab illa"-thy sacred places have become polluted by the foot of the profane-thy temples desecrated-thy cities in ruins-and even the shattered wrecks spared by Time's destructive hand are pillaged daily by those who boast of civilization and refinementTempe is but a name-Castalia a by-word; alas! "thy glory has departed from thee." After the subjugation of Greece by Rome, and the "vanquished became teachers of the conquerors,' poetry accompanied the romantic Greek and dwelt amid the seven hills of the Eternal City, whence through the verses of Horace, Virgil, and many other votaries of her temple she proclaimed to the world her

residence among men. The vallies of Mantua-the plains of Cremona-the hills of Rome, resounded with the merry laugh of the Muses, and the Graces tripped with lightsome step amid the groves of the Tiber. In process of time, Rome, the mistress of the world, crumbled to dust-the forum, whose porches once resounded with the eloquence of her statesmen and philosophers, became deserted and ruined the capitol was no more-Poetry cast "a longing, lingering look" and fled. Time flies apace, and soon the triumph of war resounds throughout Europe, calling to arms each valiant knight, bidding him rescue from the infidel the sepulchre of Christ, and in the tilt and tournay to defend from all reproach his lady fair. Nought save the clarion's blast is now heard-the clang of steel-the rattling of armor; courage alone is virtue-valor the pass-word to renown, and even to heaven. Among these marshaled hosts, on whose brows war had stamped her impress, the spirit of poetry is revived by the troubadours, who sing the glorious achievements of the "lion-hearted"-the valor of Philip and Godfrey-the victories of the champions of Christendom-the defeat of the followers of the Prophetand now the praise of woman is re-echoed in each feudal castle-in each courtly hall. Wandering wherever chance directs, they enter every door and are at home in every mansion; on them did poetry shed her brighest laurels. Among the children of the east-amid the spicy groves of Araby, and in the luxurious court of Al Raschid, she breathed forth in the voluptuous and tender amatories of Hafiz, the true spirit and romance of love. But mark yon "sea-girt isle," whose navies triumphant ride the sea, whose banners float proudly in the air as victory hovers above, and herself the noble patron of literature and the arts-here has many a votive offering arisen, and from many a heart has burst forth the inspiration of Poesy. Behold a Chaucer, who erected the first temple to the idol of his soul-a Spenser, who beheld the midnight gambols of the Fairies-a Milton, who penetrated the dark abyss of space, and traversed heaven and earth and hades-a Shakspeare, whose renown shall be coextensive with the universe-a Byron, whose genius will never be surpassed, and whose fervent mind burned with the true spirit of Poesy-a Moore, whose writings are sweeter than the honey of Hymettus. But lo! a star in the west, daily increasing in lustre and splendor, upon which the nations of the world gaze in astonishment and admiration-'tis the Genius of America, whither already Poetry has winged her way; and e'en now a Percival, a Halleck, a Bryant, and a Willis, are bright luminaries in her temple, whilst around revolves many a bright star, shedding its genial influence. Let us never permit the fanes of Poesy to be neglected-let us cherish her spirit wherever found-let the fire of inspiration, like the vestal flame, never languish, and the Eden of America will be the abiding place of Poesy. "Tis true, there are no ruined castles, no timehonored relics of the past, to recall fond associations of past ages;

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