Before ending this scrawl, I would correct an error into which you have fallen with regard to my signature. "Zarry Zyle" should be LARRY LYLE. THE LAST INDIAN. Once more, and yet once more, I give unto my harp a midnight-woven lay; --I heard the ebon waters roar, I heard the flood of ages pass away.--_Kirke White_. I. I slept beneath a tree one Summer eve, My couch a bed of blossom-beaded thyme, My roof the bough which spirit fingers weave, My slumber-song a brooklet's mellow chime: I dreamed--and far away thro' space and time, My liberated spirit joyfully Forth went--a pioneer well skilled to climb The cloudy crags and cliffs of mystery. I dreamed--I speak my dream; and canst thou read it me? II. On the jagg'd summit of a mountain range, More azure than the blue sky, sternly stood-- Like Sathanas of old--a wanderer strange, Drinking deep grief, as one who meets the flood Of bitterness in some parched solitude; Before him spread, in undulations vast, A Prairie sea, all isled with rock and wood; And young winds closed their wings above its breast, As faint bees close their wings when Summer days have passed. III. The Sun had come--a weary traveller-- Up o'er the hills of ether, for methought 'Twas many thousand years since Lucifer Fell from his glory, and, with trial fraught And leaden labor, Time had weakness brought To Sun and Moon. Men saw the Sun upcome, And marvelled at its lustre: Sages sought That lustre's source, and said "at point of doom Mysterious fires full oft the closing eye illume." IV. Methought a change came o'er the face of earth; Hill, plain, and hollow shook as with the throe Of mortal agony. The mountain girth Shrunk, heaved, then burst asunder. In mad flow The waters of great lakes foamed, battling through Far scattered crags; and mighty rocks, down hurled From mountain tops, laid bare the volcano-- The great volcano! and its flame unfurled, Streamed redly, wrathfully, above the reeling world. V. A voice went forth, far louder than the roar Of bounding rivers; and the summons broke The deep sleep of earth's dead. Each burial shore And tree-robed mound in groaning travail shook, And giant skeletons from death awoke. Barbarians seemed they, armed with spear and bow; And thro' their ribs as thro' the winter oak Winds whistled; while from bone lips evermo' Uptrembled hollowly, horn murmurs, faint and low. VI. And, from the charnel valleys of the South, A multitude, vast, vast beyond compare, Moved darkly onward. Song and shout uncouth, Betokened their wild joy; while on the air, Forgotten instruments breathed music rare-- Sweet unknown tunes, as soft as hymn of rills. The Mammoth and the Mastodon were there, All yoked;--and then I heard far-groaning wheels: The tomb had gaped--the dead tribes sought their early hills! VII.