There is extant a beautiful tradition relative to the visit of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon, when she "proved him with hard questions," in order to ascertain the greatness of his wisdom and the acuteness of his ingenuity. She ordered before him two vases of elegant flowers—one natural, the other artificial, but of workmanship and colors so exquisitely beautiful, that to detect in them any unlikeness or inferiority to the genuine ones, seemed beyond the power of the human eye. They were placed in a lattice which opened on a parterre of the royal palace, the appropriated residence of swarms of bees, which were engaged in gathering their delicious food. The King ordered the lattice to be opened, and the gathering and nestling of the bees among the honied petals of the natural blossoms, developed at once the eye-defying secret and the ingenuity of the monarch.
| The wily Queen at the lattice placed Twin vases, rich and rare, Each with a cluster of blossoms graced, Beautiful, bright and fair. Roses, the glory of Sharon's vale— Lilies of thousand hues, Such as are rock'd by Judean gales And nursed by her crystal dews, Mingled in beauty their tints of light;— "Which," said the royal dame, "Are the fresh-born buds of the day and night? And which from the artist came?" The Tyrian dyes and the Tyrian skill, Glow'd in the art-made flowers,— Those that were nursed by the gurgling rill Or petted in Flora's bowers, No grace of fashion or shade could show With the beauteous things to vie; Alas! for him who the truth must know Alone by his own keen eye. But the lattice ope'd on a soft parterre That blushed to the sun's warm kiss, And Bees at their nectar banquet there Revelled in summer bliss. "Open the lattice," the Monarch cried— Sweet in the melting ray The humid blossoms the Bees descried, And pilfered the sweets away. Trembled in pride on their wiry stems The flowers that the artist made, But show'd not a cup where the honied gems Or soft farina laid. Fragrance was not! oh! the blighted heart, Lured in a fatal hour, By the dazzling glow of deceptive art, Like a Bee to the scentless flower,— How it turns in the blight of its grief away From the figure that looks so fair, But in Love's own blessed, unclouded ray, Is soulless and senseless there! |
ELIZA.
Maine.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
A TALE OF THE WEST.
FOUNDED ON FACT.
The course of true love never did run smooth.—Shakspeare.
The incidents which I am about to relate, suggest some very natural reflections. He who now migrates to the mighty west, in pursuit of wealth or fame, encounters none of those innumerable hidden and open dangers which thronged the way of those who turned their faces thitherward half a century ago; he feels not, nor need he possess, the adventurous spirit, the intrepidity, and the astonishing resoluteness and daring of those brave and hardy pioneers. They ascended the lofty Alleghany, and looked off upon the ancient and almost unbroken forest, extending far beyond the Mississippi, and covering the vast valley which lay between them and the Rocky Mountains; while only here and there a small settlement, composed of a few families collected together for mutual convenience, and defence against their common enemy, disturbed its solitary reign. So soon as they entered upon it, they met with a foe the most wary and subtle, the most sleepless and untiring in his hostility, the most vigilant to seize every opportunity to satiate his bloodthirsty disposition, inflicting the most cruel and merciless tortures, and murdering indiscriminately every age and sex; the bold and dauntless husband, who met him hand to hand in murderous conflict, the helpless imploring wife, and the innocent babe sleeping upon her bosom, ruthlessly torn from her dying grasp, fell alike beneath the deadly blow of the savage, as he smiled with a fiendish satisfaction over his bloody deed. And is there no cause to mitigate our anger when contemplating such scenes? Is there no excuse for the wild, uncivilized Indian, though pursuing with a hatred the most vindictive his enemy, yet displaying towards his friend a noble and disinterested conduct which puts to blush the enlightened white man? Yes! They had discovered the designs of the whites; oppressed with a thousand wrongs, driven from their homes and the tombs of their ancestors, to which they are more fondly attached than any other people,—"hunted down like the partridge upon the mountain," they had formed a deadly hostility, an undying revenge against those, whom, when few and defenceless, they had received with open arms, and by whom they were now, viper like, stung to the heart; and they had stationed themselves upon the verge, and lurked throughout what they believed to be their own possession, their own inheritance,—determined to dispute every foot of it with those who were encroaching upon them, and pursuing with a steady purpose their extermination.
Slowly would the emigrant plod his weary and fearful way, for months, before he could reach the place of his location, his thoughts frequently recurring to the peaceful and quiet abode he had left, for a home in the wilderness filled with multiplied hazards. Here a small hut was erected to shelter his family, while he labored from morn till night, with his rifle by his side to protect him from his insatiate enemies, bent upon the destruction of all who invaded their territory. Almost every day, reports of aggravated murders perpetrated by the Indians reached his ears, filling his family with alarm and terror lest they should become the next victims; and himself liable at every moment to be hurried off from them upon an expedition to drive back the enemy, and check for a while their invasion of the settlements. No one ever felt secure; and never did they retire to rest without taking all necessary precaution to repel an attack, and barring securely every entrance into the house. And even in the more dense settlements, should they collect together for the purpose of divine worship, it was necessary that every one should meet well armed, lest even there they might be attacked by their relentless and implacable enemy.