And, as between the waning moon

And Brocken's height their forms are seen,
While midnight's melancholy noon

Extends its thoughtful reign serene,
Their rustling folds are heard above,
The branches groan in every tree;
Till on the lake these spectres move,
And sing this song of the Hexen Zee:

SONG.

Our boat is strong, its oars are good,
Of charnel bones its ribs are made;
From coffins old we carved the wood
Beneath the gloomy cypress shade;
An ignis-fatuus lights the prow,-

It is a felon's blood-shot e'e,

And it shineth forth from his skeleton brow
To light our way o'er the Hexen Zee.

There's a scream of dreaming birds afar,

And a hollow blast in the old Hartz wood: Our course was marked by the evening star, By the wakeful eagle's glance pursued; The tree-toad moaned on the mossy limb

And plunged in the pool 'neath the dark yew-tree, But what care we for the likes of him,

While we sing and sail on the Hexen Zee?

We have come over forest, and glen, and moor,
We have ivy leaves from the castle wall;
We roved by the huts of the sleeping poor,
And we heard their faithful watch-dogs call;
Over cities and hamlets in haste we swept-
Over gardens and turrets-o'er hill and lea;
Our race now pauseth, our pledge we have kept,
And together we sail on the Hexen Zee.

There's a vapor of gray, and a crimson hue,
In the wake of our bark as we haste along;

The sails are clothed in a flame of blue,

And our voices are hoarse with this elfin song:
The finny tribes, as they cross our wake,
A-floating in lifeless throngs we see;

To Hecate an offering thus we make,

Who is fond of fish from the Hexen Zee.

Look to the east! there the dawn is red,

Through the cedar branches it 'gins to glow;

Our song must be ended-our spell is dead,
Away to our cloudy homes we go:

The charm is finished; the distant chime
Of bells are echoing one-two-three;
We will mount the blast-and depart in time,
Afar from the haunted Hexen Zee.

Elizabeth Clementine Kinney.

BORN in New York, N. Y., 1810.

And have these children all

One Father, each who owns ?
How partial blessings fall
Upon his little ones!

Why, outcast boy,

Must thou mock joy,

While these pour out its natural tones?

Ah! why indeed? Be hushed,
Short-sighted soul, and wait,

To learn why worms are crushed
While birds sing at heaven's gate;
Why pools infect,

While lakes reflect

The pure sky, and bear Fortune's freight.

DESIRES.

MORE faith, dear Lord, more faith!

Take all these doubts away;

Oh! let the simple words "He saith "
Confirm my faith each day.

More hope, dear Lord, more hope!
To conquer timid fear-

To cheer life's path, as on I grope,
Till Heaven's own light appear.

More love, dear Lord, more love!
Such as on earth was Thine-
All graces and all gifts above,
Unselfish love be mine.

Drmsby Macknight Mitchel.

BORN in Union Co., Ky., 1810. DIED at Beaufort, S. C., 1862.

THE LESSON OF THE SOLID EARTH.

[The Astronomy of the Bible. 1868.]

IF supreme intelligence have superintended the organization of the

universe, then will the evidences of this august power be stamped on every part and portion of the celestial organisms. Even here on earth,

within the range of the dominion governed by the intelligence of the human mind, how infallibly do we pass from the effect to the cause, from the thing fashioned to the framer, from the design to the higher intelligence which planned and executed the design.

Who has ever stood within the portals of the lofty St. Peter's, that majestic temple of the living God, and gazed upon its vast proportions, its mighty columns, its interminable arches, its viewless dome, rising grand, majestic, and overwhelming; who, I say, has gazed upon those wonders of art, without reverting to the godlike mind that conceived this stupendous fabric, and fashioned its vast proportions in beauty and strength? Mind is there radiant in every form, pervading every curve of beauty, beaming from every shape of strength and perpetuity. If in this earthly structure, this beautiful atom on the broad bosom of our mother earth, we discern that which bespeaks the immortality of mind, what doth the solid earth itself declare-radiant with power and beauty, teeming with life, and not life's images, verdant with beauty, diversified with every variety of grandeur, rolling ever on its firm axle, irradiated with a flood of splendor and alternately canopied with jewelled glories, sweeping onward freighted with its nine hundred millions of intelligent beings, its myriads of sentient creatures, circling forever in its appointed path? Springtime and harvest, summer and winter do never fail. There is bread for the eater, and seed for the sower. Poise yourself in empty space and behold this revolving world, with its rocks and mountains, its forests and oceans, its life and energy sweeping by you, swiftly revolving, and swiftly flying, growing, swelling, expanding, as it approaches, till as it flashes by you, the imagination is overwhelmed with the amazing grandeur!

Is there here no evidence of mind? whose hand fashioned this stupendous globe, and filled its mighty cavities with the heaving deep? who painted with glowing tints its limitless expanse; warmed, and vivified, and fructified its teeming bosom; filled its surface with life and energy, with hope, and love, and happiness; launched it flaming through the abyss of space, firm fixed in its appointed course as though linked by chains of adamant, never, never to be moved? The swelling mind answers, "It is God, it is God alone!"

But this is mere external examination. Let us penetrate still deeper into the arcana of this wonderful exhibition, and mark the admirable adaptation of all its parts. Living, sentient intelligence seems to be the grand aim of the mighty architect;-the sustentation of man, the monarch of creation. For him the earth teems with fruit and flower, with the rich harvest and the golden grain. For him the fresh fountains leap from the solid rock, and the cattle feed on a thousand hills. To lull him to repose the solid earth turns away from the too brilliant sun, and the