A VISIT TO THE ILLINOIS. 435 



old persons being here very rapidly freed from long affections of rheu- 

 matism, paralysis, and other disorders incident to our damp and unex- 

 hilarating climate. The remarkable clearness of the atmosphere adds 

 much to the beauty of the scenery upon these wide extended prairies, 

 and nothing, even in the mixed landscapes of England, can compare 

 with the splendour and solemnity of the scene when the descending sun 

 mantles these vast meadows with a crimson light, and the belt of the 

 woods is darkening in the shades of evening. 



The presence of human society and the labours of a dense population 

 alone are wanting to render these regions a paradise the garden of the 

 western world. In the recollections of a chequered life there are few 

 scenes and times to which my memory reverts with more satisfaction 

 than the years which I have spent upon the magnificent prairies and in 

 the Italian climate of the Illinois. 



INTRODUCTORY STANZAS OF A POEM. 

 TO MRS. HEMANS. 



Lady of the Lyre ! whose magic song 



Hath ever been to me a treasured spell, 

 Powerful my waking cares to charm and quell 

 With its sweet melody, when night grew long ; 

 For thee my rhyme is woven canst thou deign 

 To stoop thine ear awhile to its rude wandering strain ? 



1 know thou lovest a song of ages gone, 



The lofty mountain and the leafy dell 

 Hath each for thee its legend and the swell 

 Of voices mingles with the night winds lone ; 

 Thou hast heard these, and with awakened fire 

 Hast breathed their echoes forth in music on thy lyre. 



And thou hast gathered of the bright and fair, 



And pure, and high making a store thine own 

 Of earth's most precious gems yet is thy throne 



So near that earth, that still thou lovest to share 



In all the kind affections which endear 



Heart to true heart, in trust unshaken and sincere. 



And not because I deem it offering meet, 



But that, perchance, my legend may beguile 

 One hour to lose its chain of thought and toil, ^,v 

 I lay it all imperfect at thy feet, 

 Pleased, as a careless infant, when he pours 

 On some indulgent lap his wealth of worthless flowers. 



H. F. 



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