Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
  Left upon the level water
  One long track and trail of splendor,
  Down whose streams, as down a river,
  Westward, westward Hiawatha
  Sailed into the fiery sunset,
  Sailed into the purple vapors,
  Sailed into the dusk of evening. 
    And the people from the margin
  Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
  Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
  High into that sea of splendor,
  Till it sank into the vapors
  Like the new moon slowly, slowly
  Sinking in the purple distance. 
    And they said, “Farewell for ever!”
  Said, “Farewell, O Hiawatha!”
  And the forests, dark and lonely,
  Moved through all their depth of darkness,
  Sighed, “Farewell, O Hiawatha!”
  And the waves upon the margin
  Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
  Sobbed, “Farewell, O Hiawatha!”
  And the heron, the Shu-shuh-gah,
  From her haunts among the fen-lands,
  Screamed, “Farewell, O Hiawatha!”
    Thus departed Hiawatha,
  Hiawatha the beloved,
  In the glory of the sunset,
  In the purple mists of evening,
  To the regions of the home-wind,
  Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin,
  To the islands of the Blessed,
  To the kingdom of Ponemah,
  To the land of the Hereafter!

* * * * *

=_William D. Gallagher, 1808-._= (Manual, p. 523.)

=_371._= THE LABORER.

  Stand up—­erect!  Thou hast the form,
    And likeness of thy God!—­who more? 
  A soul as dauntless mid the storm
  Of daily life, a heart as warm
    And pure, as breast e’er bore.

  What then?—­Thou art as true a Man
    As moves the human mass among;
  As much a part of the Great plan
  That with creation’s dawn began,
    As any of the throng.

  Who is thine enemy? the high
    In station, or in wealth the chief? 
  The great, who coldly pass thee by,
  With proud step and averted eye? 
    Nay! nurse not such belief.

* * * * *

  No:—­uncurbed passions—­low desires—­
    Absence of noble self-respect—­
  Death, in the breast’s consuming fires,
  To that high Nature which aspires
    For ever, till thus checked: 

* * * * *

  True, wealth thou hast not:  ’tis but dust! 
    Nor place; uncertain as the wind! 
  But that thou hast, which, with thy crust
  And water, may despise the lust
    Of both—­a noble mind.

  With this and passions under ban,
    True faith, and holy trust in God,
  Thou art the peer of any man. 
  Look up, then—­that thy little span
    Of life, may be well trod!

* * * * *

=_John G. Whittier, 1808-._= (Manual, pp. 490, 522.)

=_372._= WHAT THE VOICE SAID.

  Maddened by Earth’s wrong and evil,
    “Lord,” I cried in sudden ire,
  “From thy right hand, clothed with thunder,
    Shake the bolted fire!