He caught within his crimson bell
A droplet of its sparkling dew-
Joy to thee, Fay! thy task is done,

Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won→
Cheerly ply thy dripping oar,

And haste away to the elfin shore.

XXIII.

He turns, and, lo! on either side
The ripples on his path divide;

And the track o'er which his boat must pass
Is smooth as a sheet of polish'd glass.
Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave,
With snowy arms half-swelling out,
While on the gloss'd and gleamy wave

Their sea-green ringlets loosely float; They swim around with smile and song; They press the bark with pearly hand, And gently urge her course along,

Toward the beach of speckled sand; And, as he lightly leap'd to land, They bade adieu with nod and bow,

Then gayly kiss'd each little hand, And dropp'd in the crystal deep below.

XXIV.

A moment stay'd the fairy there;

He kiss'd the beach and breathed a prayer;
Then spread his wings of gilded blue,
And on to the elfin court he flew;
As ever ye saw a bubble rise,

And shine with a thousand changing dyes,
Till, lessening far, through ether driven,
It mingles with the hues of heaven;
As, at the glimpse of morning pale,
The lance-fly spreads his silken sail,

And gleams with blendings soft and bright,
Till lost in the shades of fading night;
So rose from earth the lovely Fay-
So vanish'd, far in heaven away!

He put his acorn helmet on;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down:
The corslet plate that guarded his breast

Was once the wild bee's golden vest;
His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wings of butterflies;

His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green;
And the quivering lance which he brandish'd bright,
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;

He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed,

And away like a glance of thought he flew,
To skim the heavens, and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.

XXVI.

The moth-fly, as he shot in air,
Crept under the leaf, and hid her there;
The katy-did forgot its lay,

The prowling gnat fled fast away,
The fell mosqueto check'd his drone
And folded his wings till the Fay was gone,
And the wily beetle dropp'd his head,
And fell on the ground as if he were dead;
They crouch'd them close in the darksome shade,
They quaked all o'er with awe and fear,

For they had felt the blue-bent blade,

And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; Many a time, on a summer's night,

When the sky was clear and the moon was

bright,

They had been roused from the haunted ground
By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound;
They had heard the tiny bugle-horn,
They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string,
When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn,
And the needle-shaft through air was borne,
Feather'd with down of the hum-bird's wing.
And now they deem'd the courier ouphe,

Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground; And they watch'd till they saw him mount the roof

That canopies the world around; Then glad they left their covert lair, And freak'd about in the midnight air.

XXVII.

Up to the vaulted firmament
His path the fire-fly courser bent,
And at every gallop on the wind,
He flung a glittering spark behind;
He flies like a feather in the blast
Till the first light cloud in heaven is past.

But the shapes of air have begun their work,

And a drizzly mist is round him cast,

He cannot see through the mantle murk, He shivers with cold, but he urges fast;

Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade, He lashes his steed and spurs amain, For shadowy hands have twitch'd the rein,

And flame-shot tongues around him play'd,
And near him many a fiendish eye
Glared with a fell malignity,

And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear,
Came screaming on his startled ear.

XXVIII.

His wings are wet around his breast,
The plume hangs dripping from his crest,
His eyes are blurr'd with the lightning's glare,
And his ears are stunn'd with the thunder's blare,
But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,
He thrust before and he struck behind,
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,
And gash'd their shadowy limbs of wind;
Howling the misty spectres flew,

They rend the air with frightful cries,
For he has gain'd the welkin blue,

And the land of clouds beneath him lies.

ΧΧΙΧ.

Up to the cope careering swift,
In breathless motion fast,
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,
Or the sea-roc rides the blast,
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,
The sphered moon is past,
The earth but seems a tiny, blot

On a sheet of azure cast.

O! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight,
To tread the starry plain of even,
To meet the thousand eyes of night,

And feel the cooling breath of heaven!
But the Elfin made no stop or stay
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way,
Then he check'd his courser's foot,

And watch'd for the glimpse of the planet-shoot.

Sudden along the snowy tide

That swell'd to meet their footsteps' fall,
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide,
Attired in sunset's crimson pall;
Around the Fay they weave the dance,
They skip before him on the plain,
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance,
And one upholds his bridle-rein;
With warblings wild they lead him on
To where, through clouds of amber seen,
Studded with stars, resplendent shone

The palace of the sylphid queen.
Its spiral columns, gleaming bright,
Were streamers of the northern light;
Its curtain's light and lovely flush
Was of the morning's rosy blush,
And the ceiling fair that rose aboon
The white and feathery fleece of noon.

XXXI.

But, O! how fair the shape that lay
Beneath a rainbow bending bright;

She seem'd to the entranced Fay

The loveliest of the forms of light; Her mantle was the purple roll'd

At twilight in the west afar;

"T was tied with threads of dawning gold,

And button'd with a sparkling star.

Her face was like the lily roon

That veils the vestal planet's hue;

Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon,

Set floating in the welkin blue.

Her hair is like the sunny beam,

And the diamond gems which round it gleam Are the pure drops of dewy even

That ne'er have left their native heaven.

XXXII.

She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite, And they leap'd with smiles, for well I ween Never before in the bowers of light

Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen. Long she look'd in his tiny face;

Long with his butterfly cloak she play'd;
She smooth'd his wings of azure lace,
And handled the tassel of his blade;

And as he told in accents low
The story of his love and wo,
She felt new pains in her bosom rise,
And the tear-drop started in her eyes.
And "O, sweet spirit of earth," she cried,
"Return no more to your woodland height,
But ever here with me abide

In the land of everlasting light!
Within the fleecy drift we'll lie,

We'll hang upon the rainbow's rim; And all the jewels of the sky

Around thy brow shall brightly beam! And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream That rolls its whitening foam aboon, And ride upon the lightning's gleam, And dance upon the orbed moon! We'll sit within the Pleiad ring,

We'll rest on Orion's starry belt, And I will bid my sylphs to sing

The song that makes the dew-mist melt; Their harps are of the umber shade,

That hides the blush of waking day, And every gleamy string is made

Of silvery moonshine's lengthen'd ray;
And thou shalt pillow on my breast,

While heavenly breathings float around,
And, with the sylphs of ether blest,
Forget the joys of fairy ground."

ΧΧΧΙΙΙ.

She was lovely and fair to see
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully;
But lovelier far, and still more fair,
The earthly form imprinted there;
Naught he saw in the heavens above
Was half so dear as his mortal love,
For he thought upon her looks so meek,
And he thought of the light flush on her cheek;
Never again might he bask and lie

On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye,
But in his dreams her form to see,
To clasp her in his revery,

To think upon his virgin bride,

Was worth all heaven, and earth beside.

XXXIV.

"Lady," he cried, "I have sworn to-night, On the word of a fairy-knight,

To do my sentence-task aright;
My honour scarce is free from stain,

I may not soil its snows again;
Betide me weal, betide me wo,

Its mandate must be answer'd now."
Her bosom heaved with many a sigh,
The tear was in her drooping eye;
But she led him to the palace gate,

And call'd the sylphs who hover'd there,
And bade them fly and bring him straight
Of clouds condensed a sable car.
With charm and spell she bless'd it there,
From all the fiends of upper air;
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud,
And tied his steed behind the cloud;
And press'd his hand as she bade him fly
Far to the verge of the northern sky,

N

For by its wane and wavering light There was a star would fall to-night.

XXXV.

Borne afar on the wings of the blast,
Northward away, he speeds him fast,
And his courser follows the cloudy wain
Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain.
The clouds roll backward as he flies,
Each flickering star behind him lies,
And he has reach'd the northern plain,
And back'd his fire-fly steed again,
Ready to follow in its flight
The streaming of the rocket-light.

XXXVI.

The star is yet in the vault of heaven,
But it rocks in the summer gale;
And now 'tis fitful and uneven,
And now 'tis deadly pale;

And now 'tis wrapp'd in sulphur-smoke,
And quench'd is its rayless beam,
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke

It bursts in flash and flame.

As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance
That the storm-spirit flings from high,
The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue,

As it fell from the sheeted sky.

As swift as the wind in its trail behind

The Elfin gallops along,

The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud,
But the sylphid charm is strong;
He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire,

While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze;
He watches each flake till its sparks expire,
And rides in the light of its rays.

But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed,
And caught a glimmering spark;
Then wheel'd around to the fairy ground,
And sped through the midnight dark.

Ouphe and Goblin! Imp and Sprite!
Elf of eve! and starry Fay!
Ye that love the moon's soft light,
Hither-hither wend your way;
Twine ye in a jocund ring,

Sing and trip it merrily,
Hand to hand, and wing to wing,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

Hail the wanderer again

With dance and song, and lute and lyre, Pure his wing and strong his chain,

And doubly bright his fairy fire.

Twine ye in an airy round,

Brush the dew and print the lea; Skip and gambol, hop and bound, Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

The beetle guards our holy ground,
He flies about the haunted place,

And if mortal there be found,

He hums in his ears and flaps his face;

The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay,
The owlet's eyes our lanterns be;
Thus we sing, and dance, and play,
Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

But, hark! from tower on tree-top high,
The sentry-elf his call has made:
A streak is in the eastern sky,

Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade!
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring,
The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing,
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,
The cock has crow'd, and the Fays are gone.

Gray o'er my head the yellow-vested willow

Ruffled its hoary top in the fresh breezes, Glancing in light, like spray on a green billow,

Or the fine frost work which young winter freezes; When first his power in infant pastime trying, Congeals sad autumn's tears on the dead branches lying.

From rocks around hung the loose ivy dangling,
And in the clefts sumach of liveliest green,
Bright ising-stars the little beech was spangling,
The gold-cup sorrel from his gauzy screen
Shone like a fairy crown, enchased and beaded,
Left on some morn, when light flash'd in their eyes
unheeded.

The humbird shook his sun-touch'd wings around,
The bluefinch caroll'd in the still retreat;
The antic squirrel caper'd on the ground

Where lichens made a carpet for his feet; Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkle Shot up in glimmering sparks his red fin's tiny twinkle.

There were dark cedars, with loose, mossy tresses, White-powder'd dog trees, and stiff hollies flaunting

Gaudy as rustics in their May-day dresses,

Blue pelloret from purple leaves upslanting A modest gaze, like eyes of a young maiden Shining beneath dropp'd lids the evening of her wedding.

The breeze fresh springing from the lips of morn, Kissing the leaves, and sighing so to lose 'em, The winding of the merry locust's horn,

The glad spring gushing from the rock's bare

bosom:

Sweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights, all sounds

excelling,

O! 'twas a ravishing spot, form'd for a poet's

dwelling.

And did I leave thy loveliness, to stand

Again in the dull world of earthly blindness? Pain'd with the pressure of unfriendly hands,

Sick of smooth looks, agued with icy kindness? Left I for this thy shades, where none intrude, To prison wandering thought and mar sweet solitude?

Yet I will look upon thy face again,

My own romantic Bronx, and it will be A face more pleasant than the face of men.

Thy waves are old companions, I shall see A well-remember'd form in each old tree, And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelsy.

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,

The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,

Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye shall brightly turn

To where thy sky-born glories burn; And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud

Heave in wild wreathes the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall;
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.

We have in America few women who devote their lives to literature, and produce artistic works. There are many who write "fugitive pieces," calculated to give no offence, rather than to excite admiration, or provoke criticism. Commonplace sentiments are smoothly versified; but the scrupulous nicety of the public in regard to decorum, or the modesty of authors, prevents the sincere, bold, and natural expression of strong emotion. Prudery and affectation are everywhere offensive; but in poetry they are unpardonable.

arts.

Mrs. BROOKS-better known as Maria del Oceidente-is not of this class. She is the poet of passion; her writings are distinguished by a fearlessness of thought and expression; she gives the heart its true voice. In an age which allows but little room for the development of character, and which would make men and women after conventional patterns, she has manifested individualism in her life, and originality in her works. She was born in Medford, near Boston, about the year 1795. Her maiden name was GowAN. She very early manifested a love for literature and the fine Before she was nine years old, it is said, she had committed to memory many passages by SHAKSPEARE, POPE, MILTON, and other great authors; and at twelve she was a proficient in painting and music. At the early age of fourteen, she was betrothed, and as soon as her education was finished, married, to Mr. BROOKS, a merchant of Boston. The first few years of her womanhood were passed in affluence; but by some disasters at sea the wealth of her husband was lost, and in the period which followed, poetry was resorted to for amusement and consolation. She wrote at nineteen a metrical romance, in seven cantos, but it was never published. In 1820, a small volume of her writings, entitled "Judith, Esther, and other Poems, by a Lover of the Fine Arts," appeared, after having been submitted to some of her friends, who were professors in Harvard University, by whom a favourable judgment of its merits was expressed. It contained many creditable passages, and was praised in some of the critical journals of this country and England. The following lines are descriptive of one of the characters:

With even step, în mourning garb array'd,

Fair JUDITH walk'd, and grandeur mark'd her air; Though humble dust, in pious sprinklings laid, Soil'd the dark tresses of her copious hair. The next stanza alludes to her son:

Softly supine his rosy limbs reposed,

His locks curl'd high, leaving the forehead bare ; And o'er his eyes the light lids gently closed, As they had fear'd to hide the brilliance there. The second poem in this volume was founded on the book of Esther. The following verses de

scribe the preparations of the heroine for appearing before the king.

"Take ye, my maids, this mournful garb away; Bring all my glowing gems and garments fair; A nation's fate impending hangs to-day

But on my beauty and your duteous care."

Prompt to obey, her ivory form they lave;

Some comb and braid her hair of wavy gold; Some softly wipe away the limpid wave

That o'er her dimply limbs in drops of fragrance roll'd.
Refresh'd and faultless from their hands she came,
Like form celestial clad in raiment bright;
O'er all her garb rich India's treasures flame,
In mingling beams of rainbow colour'd light.
Graceful she enter'd the forbidden court,

Her bosom throbbing with her purpose high;
Slow were her steps, and unassumed her port,
While hope just trembled in her azure eye.
Light on the marble fell her ermine tread,
And when the king reclined in musing mood,
Lifts at the gentle sound his stately head,
Low at his feet the sweet intruder stood.

Soon after the death of her husband, in 1821, Mrs. BROOKs became the possessor of some property in the island of Cuba; and since that time she has not resided permanently in this country.

"Zophiel, or the Bride of Seven, by Maria del Occidente," was published in London, in 1833. The first canto had been printed, with a few miscellaneous pieces, at Boston, in 1825, but the poem was not completed until 1831, when the last notes to it were written, in Paris. At the time of its publication, Mrs. BROOKS was the guest of RoBERT SOUTHEY, who corrected the proof-sheets as it passed through the press, and who, in «The Doctor,"* and other works, has alluded to it as one of the most remarkable productions of female genius. The germ of the story is in the sixth, seventh, and eighth chapters of the apocryphal book of TOBIT; but in endeavouring to give authority for the incidents of the poem, the author has not referred to the sacred writings. By the fathers of the Greek and Roman churches, it was supposed that demons or fallen angels, in an early age, had wandered about the earth, formed attachments to beautiful mortals, and caused themselves, at times, to be worshipped as divinities. ZOPHIEL, an outcast angel, is enamoured of EGLA, the apocryphal SARA; and while, in her bridal chamber, she is

*MARIA DEL OCCIDENTE-otherwise, we believe, Mrs. BROOKS-is styled in "The Doctor," &c. "the most impassioned and most imaginative of all poetesses." And without taking into account quædam ardentiora scattered here and there throughout her singular poem, there is undoubtedly ground for the first clause, and, with the more accurate substitution of "fanciful" for "imaginative" for the whole of the eulogy. It is altogether an extraor dinary performance.-London Quarterly Review.