But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
And where she sank, up slowly came The Spectre-Horse from out the sea. And there he stands! His pale sides flame. He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
Lee waits him at the door.
They've met." I know thou com'st for me," Lee's spirit to the spectre said—
"I know that I must go with thee
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed!" Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral steed!
Lee cannot turn. There is a force In that fixed eye, which holds him fast. How still they stand!-that man and horse. -"Thine hour is almost past."
"O, spare me," cries the wretch," thou fearful one!"
My time is full-I must not go alone."
"I'm weak and faint. O, let me stay!"
"Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!" The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark! how the spectre breathes through this still night! See! from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
He's on the beach; but stops not there. He's on the sea!-Lee, quit the horse! Lee struggles hard.-'Tis mad despair!- 'Tis vain! The spirit-corse
Holds him by fearful spell;-he cannot leap. Within that horrid light he rides the deep.
It lights the sea around their track— The curling comb, and dark steel wave: There, yet, sits Lee the spectre's back- Gone! gone! and none to save!
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in. May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
The earth has washed away its stain. The sealed up sky is breaking forth, Mustering its glorious hosts again From the far south and north.
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.— O, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
God's first Temples. A Hymn.-BRYANT.
THE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them,-ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems,-in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest, solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless Power And inaccessible Majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised! Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn-thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear.
Hath reared these venerable columns; thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till at last they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride ;-no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show
The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here-thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees
In music;-thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place,
Comes, scarcely felt ;-the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here continual worship;-nature, here,
In the tranquillity that thou dost love,
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird
Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale
Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades,
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak- By whose immovable stem I stand, and seein Almost annihilated-not a prince,
In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he
Wears the green coronal, of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe.
My heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me-the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works, I read The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again,
How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses-ever gay and beautiful youth In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy Death-yea, seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.
There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks
Around them;-and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;-who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face, Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.
Scene from Hadad.-HILLHOUSE.
An apartment in ABSALOM's house. NATHAN and TAMAR.
Nathan. THOU'RT left to-day, (would thou wert ever left Of some that haunt thee!) therefore am I come
To give thee counsel.-Child of sainted Miriam,
Fear not to look upon me; thou wilt hear The gentle voice of love, not stern monition. Commune with me as with a tender parent, Who cares for all thy wishes, hopes, and fears, Though prizing thy immortal gem above The transitory.
Tamar. Have I not thus, ever?
Nath. But I would probe the tenderest of thy heart, Touch its disease, and give it strength again,
And yet inflict no pain.
Tam. What means my lord?
Nath. I know thee pure, and guileless as the dove;
The easier prey; and thou art fair, to tempt The spoiler-nay, be not alarmed, but speak Openly to me. I would ask thee, princess, If not displeasing, somewhat of the stranger, The Syrian, who aspires to David's line. Tam. (averting her eyes.)
If I can answer
Nath. Maiden, need I ask,
I fear I need not,-is he dear to thee?
'Tis well. But tell me, hast thou ever noted, Amidst his many shining qualities,
Aught strange or singular?-unlike to others?—
That caused thy wonder?-even to thyself,
Moved thee to say, How! Wherefore's this?
Nath. Nothing that marked him from the rest of men?—
Hereafter you shall know why thus I question.
Tam. 0 yes, unlike he seems in many things;
In knowledge, eloquence, high thoughts.
Nath. Proud thoughts
Thou mean'st.
Tam. I'm but a young and simple maid; But, father, he, of all my ears have judged, Is master of the loftiest, richest mind.
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