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Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel, that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries
Sudden and sharp, he darts to his retreat,
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree;
But oft, a moment after, re-appears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded.

Close of the Vision of Judgment.-HILLHOUSE.

As when, from some proud capital that crowns Imperial Ganges, the reviving breeze Sweeps the dank mist, or hoary river fog, Impervious, mantled o'er her highest towers, Bright on the eye rush Brahma's temples, capped With spiry tops, gay-trellised minarets, Pagods of gold, and mosques with burnished domes, Gilded, and glistening in the morning sun, So from the hill the cloudy curtains rolled, And, in the lingering lustre of the eve, Again the Savior and his seraphs shone, Emitted sudden in his rising, flashed Intenser light, as toward the right hand host Mild turning, with a look ineffable, The invitation hc proclaimed in accents Which on their ravished ears poured thrilling, like The silver sound of many trumpets heard Afar in sweetest jubilec; then, swift Stretching his dreadful sceptre to the left, That shot forth horrid lightnings, in a voice Clothed but in half its terrors, yet to them Seemed like the crush of Heaven, pronounced the door The sentence uttered, as with life instinct, The throne uprose majestically slow; Each angel spread his wings; in one dread swell Of triumph mingling as they mounted, trumpets, And harps, and golden lyres, and timbrels sweet, And many a strange and deep-toned instrument

Of heavenly minstrelsy unknown on earth,
And angels' voices, and the loud acclaim
Of all the ransomed, like a thunder-shout.
Far through the skies melodious echoes rolled,
And faint hosannas distant climes returned.

Down from the lessening multitude came faint And fainter still the trumpet's dying peal, All else in distance lost, when, to receive Their new inhabitants, the heavens unfolded. Up gazing, then, with streaming eyes, a glimpse The wicked caught of Paradise, where streaks Of splendor, golden gleamings, radiance shone, Like the deep glories of declining day, When, washed by evening showers, the huge-orbe / sun Breaks instantaneous o'er the illumined world. Seen far within, fair forms moved graceful by, Slow turning to the light their snowy wings. A deep-drawn, agonizing groan escaped The hapless outcasts, when upon the Lord The glowing portals closed. Undone, they stood Wistfully gazing on the cold gray heaven, As if to catch, alas! a hope not there. But shades began to gather, night approached, Murky and lowering; round with horror rolled On one another their despairing eyes, That glared with anguish; starless, hopeless gloos. Fell on their souls, never to know an end. Though in the far horizon lingered yet A lurid gleam; black clouds were mustering there ; Red flashes, followed by low, muttering sounds, Announced the fiery tempest doomed to hurl The fragments of the earth again to chaos. Wild gusts swept by, upon whose hollow wing Unearthly voices, yells, and ghastly peals Of demon laughter came.

Infernal shapes Flitted along the sulphurous wreaths, or plunged Their dark, impure abyss, as sea-foul dive Their watery element. O’erwhelmed with sights And sounds of horror, I awoke; and found For gathering storms, and signs of coming wo, 'The midnight moon gleaming upon my bed Serene and peaceful. Gladly I surveyed her

in brightness through the stars of heaven And blessed the respite ere the day of doom.

Walkir

As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be."

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

WHEN adverse winds and waves arise,
And in my heart despondence sighs,-
When life her throng of care reveals,
And weakness o'er my spirit steals,-
Grateful I hear the kind decree,
That “as my day, my strength shall be."
When, with sad footstep, memory roves
Mid smitten joys, and buried loves,-
When sleep my tearful pillow flies,
And dewy morning drinks my sighs,-
Still to thy promise, Lord, I fee,
That “ as my day, my strength shall be.”
One trial more must yet be past,
One pang,—the keenest, and the last;
And when, with brow convulsed and pale,
My feeble, quivering heart-strings fail,
Redeemer, grant my soul to see
That “ as her day, her strength shall be.”

The Pilgrims.-MRS. SIGOURNEY.

How slow yon tiny vessel ploughs the main !
Amid the heavy billows now she seems
A toiling atom,—then from wave to wave
Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed,-

,-or reels, Half wrecked, through gulfs pròfound.

-Moons wax and wane, But still that lonely traveller treads the deep.I see an ice-bound coast, toward which she steers With such a tardy movement, that it seems Stern Winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone, And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds.-They land !—They land!—not like the Genoese, With glittering sword and gaudy train, and eye Kindling with golden fancies.-Forth they come From their long prison,-hardy forms, that brave The world's unkindness,-men of hoary hair,

And virgins of firm heud and matrons grave,
Who hush the wailing infant with a glance.-
Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round,
Eternal forests, and unyielding earth,
And savage men, who through the thickets peer
With vengeful arrow.-What could lure their steps
To this drear desert?-Ask of him who left
His father's home to roam through Haran's wilds,
Distrusting not the Guide who called him forth,
Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed
Should be as Ocean's sands.

But yon lone bark
Hath spread her parting sail.-

They

crowd the strand,
Those few, lone pilgrims.-Can ye scan the wo
That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail link
Binding to man, and habitable earth,
Is severed ?-Can ye tell what pangs were there,
What keen regrets, what sickness of the heart,
What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth,
Their distant, dear ones ?--

Long, with straining eye,
They watch the lessening speck.--Heard ye no shriek
Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness
Sank down into their bosoms ?-No! they turn
Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray!-
Pray,-and the ills that haunt this transient life
Fade into air.-Up in each girded breast
There sprang a rooted and mysterious strcngth,
A loftiness,-to face a world in arms,-
To strip the pomp from sceptres,--and to lay
Upon the sacred altar the warm blood
Of slain affections, when they rise between
The soul and God.

And can ye deem it strange That from their planting such a branch should bloom As nations envy?-Would a germ, embalmed With prayer's pure tear-drops, strike no deeper root Than that which mad ambition's hand doth strew Upon the winds, to reap the winds again? Hid by its veil of waters from the hand Of grecdy Europe, thcir bold vine spread forth In giant strength.

Its early clusters, crushed In England's wine-presi gave the tyrant host

A draught of deadly wine. -0, ye who boast
In your free veins the blood of sires like these,
Lose not their lineaments.-Should Mammon clip
Too close around your heart,-or wealth beget
That bloated luxury which eats the core
From manly virtue,-or the tempting world
Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul,
Turn ye to Plymouth's beach,

and on that rock Kneel in their foot-prints, and renew the vow They breathed to God.

The Coral Grove.-PERCIVAL.

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl shells spangle the finty snow; From coral rocks the sea plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea: And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms, Has inade the top of the waves his own: And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;

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