Western Literary Magazine.

THE MOAR-PUNKEE.

Original.

BY A LADY.

(See Engraving.)

THE Moar-punkee, or Flying-peacock, as the name signifies, was the royal barque of the princes of Oude. It was held in almost superstitious veneration from the fact, that one of its princes, then the last of their royal house, was saved from captivity by the speed of which it was capable.

An enemy had overcome them in battle, and their sovereign was to be taken, a captive, to a foreign land. His faithful subjects would take of him a last, sad farewell: they embarked in the royal barge, and sped like an arrow across the waters to the vessel, which was moored near an island.

The prince was on the deck when he heard their mournful wails, which the foe answered with shouts of derision. The bird-like barque shot almost under the ship's bows, and every mournful head was bowed, and every voice sent up a wail of anguish. The mocking crew were too much amused with the spectacle of grief, to mark the sudden rush of their captive to the side of the vessel, ere he had plunged beneath the waves.

The waters closed above him, his captors supposed that the deep had forever swallowed him in its dark embrace. But the eyes of those who loved him were watching his resurrection from the watery grave, and when he rose, battling the power of the waves with a

strong arm, they seized him and fled to the shore. The speed of their light barque distanced pursuit, and the prince was restored to his throne.

This success was attributed to the shadowing wings of Huma the bird who invariably blest with its protection, all who beheld its flight.

The scene here presented, is one branch of the Ganges, a part of Lucknow, the capital of Oude. The fortress-like palace was that of Sujah Dowla, the powerful ruler of Oude, vizier to the emperor. He was signally defeated at Corah, and threw himself upon the mercy and magnanimity of the English under Clive. Through the adroitness of this functionary, Sujah Dowla was again restored to his office, on condition of opposing some other Indian rulers, and of allowing the English to collect extensive revenues.

The scene is one of surpassing beauty; but, after all, it is orient life not golden and glowing, as some have painted it, who could see only the outward grace of nature, and the gilded trappings of royalty; but the many bend their heads low to serve the few-power, not humanity, is the object of all their homage. We feel that there is an abject spirit, too weak to prevail over nature, and wrest from her, her mightiest secrets. The elements yield scanty service to the weak demands of the enervated spirit.

Even their mythology bears trace of their weakness.

Vishnu, the spirit of good, is represented as so far overcome by the spirit of evil, that the cup of life was mingled by both, and presented to the unresisting lips of mortals.

And yet, it is curious to trace, even through the dark labyrinths of their temples, the faint inward image of a supreme power of good, that is yet to rise ascendant over all the powers of darkness. The succession of sunshine to storm, of day to night, of good to evil, are all made typical of the final coronation of Truth and Goodness upon the throne of the universe.

In traditions pertaining to religion, no land is more rich; in purity and simplicity of heart, no land more poor. They might well regard the peacock as their royal bird, for display without purpose, glittering gems applied to no human advancement, gorgeousness that

dazzles, but wins only the fancy, have for ages characterized the occupants of their throne. These reflections, while we gazed upon the rich orient scene, suggested the following

There are glorious sights in your orient clime,
Where ye bend, rowers, bend, to the plashing oar;
There are footprints deep of the tread of time,
Long ere he sought out our western shore.

Yet high in the heavenly state there rose,

Like a self-diffusing sun of light,

The spirit of God, in serene repose,

While his foes sank abashed to the depths of night.

But say, sinks this light in each brawny breast,
As ye bend, rowers, bend, to the plashing oar?

While your toil-worn sinews feel no rest,
Opens the soul to love's glance of power?

One of the names of Vishnu.

Come, come to our westering shores, and find
How man lays down his load of care;
For the triumphs high of the free-born mind,
Have harnessed the elements to his car.

Outstript is old Indra* in his flight,

By the arrowy speed of our circling oar,
And he lingers far in the shades of night,

While the lightning yields to the conqueror's power.

Proud bird of the Ganges' sacred stream,

How glad would we list thy matin song,

If thy fairy form, in its golden gleam,

Bore hearts unscathed by the touch of wrong.

If man, free man, rose up in pride,

No longer chained to the plashing oar,
Where the purple waves have oft been dyed
With the sacred fount of human gore.

HE that, like the wife of Cesar, is above suspicion, is alone the fittest person to undertake the noble and adventurous task of diverting the shafts of calumny from him who has been wounded without cause, has fallen without pity, and cannot stand without help. It is the possessor of unblemished character alone, who, on such an occasion, may dare to stand, like Moses, in the gap, and stop the plague of detraction, until Truth and Time, those slow but steady friends, shall come up, to vindicate the protected, and dignify the protector. A good character, therefore, is carefully to be maintained for the sake of others, if possible, more than ourselves; it is a coat of triple steel, giving security to the wearer, protection to the oppressed, and inspiring the oppressor with awe.

*The god of the elements.

Oh for one prayer like thine! one prayer to fill
My chastened heart with hope,

To bid the storm within my spirit still,

The "flower of faith to ope."-ANNE HOPE.

THE suppressed anxiety of the family and friends of Sir Arthur, had become too painful to bear the restraints of each other's presence, and they had, one by one, forgetful of all ceremony, retired to their own apartments, there to await, with trembling, the results of the efforts for the resuscitation of Alice. But the pure spirit was not to be recalled, either by the wails of anguish, or the appliances of skill.

The investigations of the able physician, led him to the conclusion, that from infancy there had been strong predisposition to a serious affection of the circulatory system, through diseased action of the heart. He had long apprehended it, and had prescribed such free exercise in the mountain air, and such care to guard against excitement, as might eventually lead to a more healthy action of the vital organs.

She had often remarked, that she believed, either that very great joy or grief would instantly deprive her of life, since every trifling excitement sent the blood coursing so wildly through her veins. The judicious care of Miss Hamilton had so disciplined her temper, and so guarded her life, that she had never before experienced an expression of serious displeasure from her father, nor had an object. of such deep personal interest ever been so pressed upon her consideration. It is probable, that the strong emotions of her nature, so