Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 57, No. 351, January 1845. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ And now, see yonder, there he stands in his canoe again, just as if he had done nothing but the most natural thing in the world. Chouse us out of the deer, say ye; and who had a right to hinder him if he had? The beast was bred in his woods as well as ours; a fair field and no favour is our motto in old Kentuck. I tell you the Indian is a brave redskin, and the stag is his; but I'll buy it of him. Hallo, captain! a dozen bottles of rum into the boat! Howard, Richards, let me have half a dozen dollars, silver dollars, d'ye hear? I'll pay the Indian a visit on board his canoe, and thank him as he ought to be thanked."

      No sooner said than done. The captain, however unwilling to lose any more time, could not resist the impetuosity of the good-natured scatterbrain, who sprang, dripping wet as he was, into the boat, a bottle in each hand, and a friendly hurra upon his lips. The Indians at first seemed alarmed and doubtful as to his intentions; but the signs and words of peace and encouragement that were given, and shouted to them from all sides, and above all, the sight of the bottles, soon removed their fears. In another minute or two we saw Doughby in their canoe, shaking hands with them, and putting one of the bottles to his mouth. A little more, and I believe they would all, men, women, and children, have begun the war-dance in the canoe, so delighted were they with the magnificent present of the rum and dollars. As it was, they shook and mauled Doughby till he was fain to jump back into his boat, and escape as well as he could from their wild caresses and demonstrative gratitude.

      But we have been nearly twelve hours on the water, and the Alexandria is a noted fast steamer. Our course has lain for some time between banks covered with gigantic forests of live oak, cotton, bean, and cypress trees, with here and there a palmetto field, and on the north shore an occasional plantation, for the most part a mere log-hut, with a strip of tobacco, cotton, or Indian corn. We have seen numerous deer, who, on the appearance of our steamer, gallop back into the woods — swans, cranes, geese, and ducks, wild pigeons, turkeys, and alligators, are there by thousands. We now enter a broad part of the river, and are gliding along in front of a wide clearing, some half mile long, and surrounded by colossal evergreen oaks; a snug-looking house of greenish-white colour stands in the middle of the plantation, with orange gardens — that are to be — laid out and enclosed in front of it; one enormous live oak, that looks as if it had stood there since the flood, spreading its knotty limbs over the eastern side of the habitation. The windows on the balconies are open, the Venetian blinds drawn up, the sinking sun throws its mellow rays over the whole peaceful and pleasant scene. And see there! We are expected: a small variegated ball flies up to the top of the lightning conductor, and the banner of our Union flutters out, displaying its thirteen stripes and twenty-four stars, and the white American eagle, the thunder of Jupiter and the symbols of peace in his talons. At the same moment, Plato and Tully, two of my negroes, come rushing like demented creatures out of the house, one with a stick in his hand, the other bearing a pan of hot coals. They are closely pursued by Bangor, who seems disposed to dispute Tully's title to the embers. In the struggle the coals fly in every direction; of a surety, the dingy rascals will burn my house before my eyes. Now comes Philip, a fourth negro, and tries to snatch the stick from Plato's hand; but the latter is on his guard, and fetches his adversary a wipe over the pate, that snaps the stick — a tolerably thick one, by the way — in two. Both retreat a short distance, and lowering their heads like a couple of angry steers, run full tilt against each other, with force that would fracture any skulls except African ones. Once, twice, three times — at the third encounter, Plato the sage bites the dust before the hero of Macedon. Confound the fellows! My companions are laughing fit to split themselves, but I see nothing to laugh at. I shall have them in hospital for the next ten days. Tully, however, has picked up the pan and the embers, and is rushing towards a flag-staff near the shore, from which the Louisianian flag is waving. I see now what they are all at. They have brought down the Wasp and the Scorpion from on Menou's plantation, two four-pounders so named, which were taken last year on board a Porto Rico pirate, and which my father-in-law bought. Boum — boum — and at the sound the whole black population of the plantation comes flocking to the shore, capering and jumping like so many opera-dancers, only not quite so gracefully, and shouting out — "Massa come; hurra, massa come! Massa maum bring; hurra, massa!" and manifesting a joy that is probably rendered more lively by the hopes of an extra ration of rum and salt-fish. And now Monsieur Menou and his son hurry down to receive us; the steamer stops, the plank is thrown across, and amidst shaking of hands, and farewells, and good wishes, our party hurries on shore. Thank heaven! we are home, and settled at last.

      BORODINO. — AN ODE

Strophe

      Weep for the living! mourn no more

      Thy children slain on Moskwa's shore,

      Cut off from evil! want, and anguish,

      And care, for ever brooding and in vain;

      No more to be beguiled! no more to languish

      Under the yoke of labour and of pain!

      Their doom of future joy or woe

      For good or evil done below,

      The Judge of all the earth will order rightly!

      Flee winding error through the flowery way,

      To daily follow truth! to ponder nightly

      On time, and death, and judgment, nearer day by day!

      Bewail thy bane, deluded France,

      Vain-glory, overweening pride,

      And harrying earth with eagle glance,

      Ambition, frantic homicide!

      Lament, of all that armed throng

      How few may reach their native land!

      By war and tempest to be borne along,

      To strew, like leaves, the Scythian strand?

      Before Jehovah who can stand?

      His path in evil hour the dragon cross'd!

      He casteth forth his ice! at his command

      The deep is frozen! — all is lost!

      For who, great God, is able to abide thy frost?

Epode

      Elate of heart, and wild of eye,

      Crested horror hurtles by;

      Myriads, hurrying north and east,

      Gather round the funeral feast!

      From lands remote, beyond the Rhine,

      Running o'er with oil and wine,

      Wide-waving over hill and plain,

      Herbage green, and yellow grain;

      From Touraine's smooth irriguous strand,

      Garden of a fruitful land,

      To thy dominion, haughty Rhone,

      Leaping from thy craggy throne;

      From Alp and Apennine to where

      Gleam the Pyrenees in air;

      From pastoral vales and piny woods,

      Rocks and lakes and mountain-floods,

      The warriors come, in armed might

      Careering, careless of the right!

      Their leader he who sternly bade

      Freedom fall; and glory fade,

      The scourge of nations ripe for ruin,

      Planning oft their own undoing!

      But who in yonder swarming host

      Locust-like СКАЧАТЬ