the child I loved so well. 
    Funeral train passed by my window,—­
        Banished were all thoughts of mirth;
    And I asked of one who lingered,
        “Who hath passed to heaven from earth?”
    In his eye a tear-drop glistened,
        As he, turning, to me said,
    “Heaven now holds another angel,—­
        Little Angelina’s dead!”
    I could scarce believe the tidings,
        Till I stood above her grave,
    And beheld those flaxen ringlets,
        That so late did buoyant wave,
    Lie beside a face whose features
        Still in death did sweetly smile
    And methought angelic beauty
        Lingered on her cheeks the while. 
    At the pensive hour of twilight,
        Oft do angel-footsteps tread
    Near her grave, and flowers in beauty
        Blossom o’er the early dead;
    And a simple marble tablet
        Thence doth unassuming rise,
    And these simple words are on it,—­
        “Here our Angelina lies.” 
    Oft at night, when others slumber,
        One bends o’er that holy spot;
    And the tear-drops fall unnumbered
        O’er her sad yet happy lot. 
    Friends, though oft they mourn her absence,
        Do in meek submission bow;
    For a voice from heaven is whispering,
        “Angelina’s happy now.”

FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND.

Written for Kah-GE-GA-GAI-BOWH, a representative from the Northwest
Tribes of American Indians to the Peace Convention in Frankfort-on-the-
Maine, Germany; and recited by him on board the British steamship
Niagara, at the hour of sailing from Boston, July 10th, 1850.

    The day is brightening which we long have sought;
        I see its early light and hail its dawn;
    The gentle voice of Peace my ear hath caught,
        And from my forest-home I greet the morn. 
    Here, now, I meet you with a brother’s hand-
        Bid you farewell-then speed me on my way
    To join the white men in a foreign land,
        And from the dawn bring on the bright noon-day. 
    Noon-day of Peace!  O, glorious jubilee,
    When all mankind are one, from sea to sea. 
    Farewell, my native land, rock, hill, and plain! 
        River and lake, and forest-home, adieu! 
    Months shall depart ere I shall tread again
        Amid your scenes, and be once more with you. 
    I leave thee now; but wheresoe’er I go,
        Whatever scenes of grandeur meet my eyes,
    My heart can but one native country know,
        And that the fairest land beneath the skies. 
    America! farewell, thou art that gem,
    Brightest and fairest in earth’s diadem. 
    Land where my fathers chased the fleeting deer;
        Land whence the smoke of council-fires arose;
    Land whose own warriors never knew a fear;
        Land where the mighty Mississippi flows;