of an inhabitant was to be seen. We probed their cells as far as the ramrods of our rifles would reach, but in vain. Moving quietly to a little distance, we lay down upon the ground, and watched for a long time, silent and motionless. By and by, a cautious old burgher would slowly put forth the end of his nose, but instantly draw it in again. Another, at a greater distance, would emerge entirely; but, catching a glance of us, would throw a somerset and plunge back again into his hole. At length, some who resided on the opposite side of the village, taking courage from the continued stillness, would steal forth, and hurry off to a distant hole, the residence, possibly, of some family connection or gossiping friend, about whose safety they were solicitous, or with whom they wished to compare notes about the late occurrences. Others, still more bold, assembled in little knots in the streets and public places, as if to discuss the recent outrages offered to the commonwealth, and the atrocious murders of their fellow burghers.

6. We rose from the ground, and moved forward to take a nearer view of these public proceedings, when, yelp! yelp! yelp!-there was a shrill alarm passed from mouth to mouth the meeting suddenly dispersed: feet twinkled in the air in every direction, and, in an instant, all had vanished into the earth.

7. The dusk of the evening put an end to our observations, but the train of whimsical comparisons produced in my brain, by the moral attributes which I had heard given to these little, politic animals, still continued after my return to camp; and, late in the night, as I lay awake, after all the camp was asleep, and heard, in the stillness of the hour, a faint clamor of shrill voices from the distant village, I could not help picturing to myself the inhabitants gathered together in noisy assembly and windy debate, to devise plans for the public safety, and to vindicate the invaded rights and insulted dignity of the republic.

CXVII.-THANATOPSIS.

BRYANT.

[Thanatopsis is composed of the Greek words, thanatos meaning death, and opsis, a view. Together, therefore, they signify a view of death or "Reflections on Death."]

1. To him, who, in the love of nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his dark musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.

2.

3.

4.

When thoughts

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;
Go forth into the open sky, and list

To nature's teaching, while from all around,
Comes a still voice :-

"Yet a few days, and thee,

The all-beholding sun shall see no more

In all his course; nor yet, in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go

To mix forever with the elements,

To be a brother to th' insensible rock

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain

Turns with his share and treads upon.

The oak

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place

Shalt thou retire alone, nor could'st thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings,

5.

6.

The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulcher.

The hills,

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun: the vales,
Stretching in pensive quietness between :

The venerable woods: rivers that move

In majesty, and the complaining brooks

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,

Are but the solemn decorations all

Of the great tomb of man.

The golden sun,

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages.

All that tread

The globe, are but a handful, to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save its own dashings-yet-the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep: the dead reign there alone.

7. So shalt thou rest; and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living; and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou are gone; the solemn brood of care
Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,-

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them.

8. So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

First Voice.

CXVIII. THE CHURCH-YARD.

(Two Voices from the Grave.)

KARAMISIN.

How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!
With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier,
And the white bones all clattering together!

Second Voice. How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep!
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,
And flow'rets perfume it with ether.

First Voice.

There, riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed,
And snakes in the nettle-weeds hiss.

Second Voice. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb!
No tempests are there; but the nightingales come,
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.

First Voice.

The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave: 'Tis the vulture's abode: 'tis the wolf's dreary cave, Where they tear up the dead with their fangs. Second Voice. There, the cony, at evening, disports with his love, Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above

First Voice.

Repose on the bough that o'erhangs.

There, darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath,
And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death:

The trees are all barren and bare.

Second Voice. O! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,
And sweet, with the violet's wafted perfume,

First Voice.

With lilies and jessamine fair.

The pilgrim, who reaches this valley of tears,
Would fain hurry by; and, with trembling and fears,
He is launched on the wreck-covered river.

Second Voice. Here, the traveller, worn with life's pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,

And sweetly reposes forever.

CXIX.-JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER.

1. SHE stood before her father's gorgeous tent,
To listen for his coming. I have thought,
A brother's and a sister's love was much.
know a brother's is, for I have loved
A trusting sister; and I know how broke
The heart may be with its own tenderness.
But the affection of a delicate child

For a fond father, gushing as it does
With the sweet springs of life, and living on
Through all earth's changes,

Must be holier! The wind bore on

The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes
Rang sharply on the ear at intervals;

And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts,

Returning from the battle, poured from far,
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea.

2. Jephthah led his warriors on

WILLIS.

Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set,
And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise

Might quell a lion. He led on; but thoughts

Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins

Upon his forehead were distinctly seen;

And his proud lip was painfully compressed.
He trod less firmly; and his restless eye

Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill

He dared not meet, were there. His home was near,

And men were thronging, with that strange delight

They have in human passions, to observe

The struggle of his feelings with his pride.
He gazed intensely forward.