So science whispered in thy charmed ear,
And radiant learning beckoned thee away.
The breeze was music to thee, and the clear
Beam of thy morning promised a bright day.
And they have wrecked thee!-But there is a shore
Where storms are hushed, where tempests never rage;
Where angry skies and blackening seas no more
With gusty strength their roaring warfare wage.
By thee its peaceful margent shall be trod-
Thy home is heaven, and thy Friend is God.
J have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and would not, by any means, be thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in all but this, were among the loveliest of their sex. In such, the blemish is more distinct and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures.
"MY GOD!" the beauty oft exclaimed,
With deep impassioned tone-
But not in humble prayer she named
The High and Holy One!
'Twas not upon the bended knee,
With soul upraised to heaven,
Pleading, with heartfelt agony,
That she might be forgiven.
'Twas not in heavenly strains to raise
To the great Source of good
Her daily offering of praise,
Her song of gratitude.
But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
And in the festive hall,
'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud,
She named the Lord of All.
She called upon that awful name,
When laughter loudest rang-
Or when the flush of triumph came-
Or disappointment's pang!
The idlest thing that flattery knew,
The most unmeaning jest,
From those sweet lips profanely drew
Names of the Holiest!
I thought-How sweet that voice would be,
Breathing this prayer to heaven-
"My God, I worship only thee;
O, be my sins forgiven!"
He knoweth our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust.DANA.
THOU, who didst form us with mysterious powers,
Didst give a conscious soul, and call it ours,
'Tis thou alone who know'st the strife within;
Thou'lt kindly judge, nor name each weakness sin.
Thou art not man, who only sees in part,
Yet deals unsparing with a brother's heart;
For thou look'st in upon the struggling throng
That war-the good with ill-the weak with strong.
And those thy hand hath wrought of finer frame,
When grief o'erthrows the mind, thou wilt not blame.
"It is enough!" thou'lt say, and pity show;
Thy pain shall turn to joy, thou child of wo!
Thy heart find rest-thy dark mind clear away,
And thou sit in the peace of heaven's calm day!"
Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love'
And doth death cancel the great bond that holds
Commingling spirits? Are thoughts that know no bounds,
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out
The Eternal Mind-the Father of all thought-
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb?—
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms
*We scarcely know where, in the English language, we could point out a finer extract than this,-of the same character. It has a softened grandeur worthy of the subject; especially in the noble paragraph commencing "O, listen, man!"-ED.
Of uncreated light have visited and lived?—
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne,
Which One, with gentle hand the vail of flesh
Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed
In glory?-throne, before which, even now,
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down,
Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed?-
Souls that Thee know by a mysterious sense,
Thou awful, unseen Presence-are they quenched,
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes
By that bright day which ends not; as the sun
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars?
And with our frames do perish all our loves?
Do those that took their root and put forth buds,
And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,
Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers?
Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give speech,
And make it send forth winning harmonies,-
That to the cheek do give its living glow,
And vision in the eye the soul intense
With that for which there is no utterance-
Are these the body's accidents ?-no more?-
To live in it, and when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame?
O, listen, man!
A voice within us speaks that startling word,
"Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls: according harps,
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality:
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.
O, listen, ye, our spirits; drink it in
From all the air! "Tis in the gentle moonlight;
"Tis floating 'midst day's setting glories; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears:
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.
The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
The mysterious Music of Ocean.-WALSH'S NATIONAL GAZETTE.
"And the people of this place say, that, at certain seasons, beautiful sounds are heard from the ocean."-Mavor's Voyages.
LONELY and wild it rose,
That strain of solemn music from the sea,
As though the bright air trembled to disclose
An ocean mystery.
Again a low, sweet tone,
Fainting in murmurs on the listening day,
Just bade the excited thought its presence own,
Then died away.
Once more the gush of sound,
Struggling and swelling from the heaving plain,
Thrilled a rich peal triumphantly around,
And fled again.
O boundless deep! we know
Thou hast strange wonders in thy gloom concealed,
Gems, flashing gems, from whose unearthly glow
Sunlight is sealed.
Showers her rich colors with unsparing hand,
Where coral trees their graceful branches fling
O'er golden sand.
But tell, O restless main!
Who are the dwellers in thy world beneath,
That thus the watery realm cannot contain
The joy they breathe?
Emblem of glorious might!
Are thy wild children like thyself arrayed,
Strong in immortal and unchecked delight,
Which cannot fade?
Or to mankind allied,
Toiling with wo, and passion's fiery sting,
Like their own home, where storms or peace preside, As the winds bring?
Alas for human thought!
How does it flee existence, worn and old,
To win companionship with beings wrought
Of finer mould!
'Tis vain the reckless waves
Join with loud revel the dim ages flown,
But keep each secret of their hidden caves
Dark and unknown.
IT is a sultry day; the sun has drank
The dew that lay upon the morning grass;
There is no rustling in the lofty elm
That canopies my dwelling, and its shade
Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint
And interrupted murmur of the bee,
Settling on the sick flowers, and then again
Instantly on the wing. The plants around
Feel the too potent fervors; the tall maize
Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops
Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.
But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,
With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,
As if the scorching heat and dazzling light
Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,
Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven,-
Their bases on the mountains-their white tops
Shining in the far ether,-fire the air
With a reflected radiance, and make turn
The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
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