JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. SINCE Our country, our God-O my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now!

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There can not be pain in the blow!

And of this, O my father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that sooths me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent!
I have won the great battle for thee
And my father and country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed,
When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,
Let my memory still be thy pride,
And forget not I smiled as I died.

O! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
O! SNATCHED away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:

And oft by yon blue gushing stream,

Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread:

Fond wretch! as if her steps disturbed the dead.

Away! we know that tears are vain,

That death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner ween the less?
And thou-who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

MY SOUL IS DARK.

My soul is dark.-O quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again;

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

"Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first;
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep

Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis dooined to know the worst, And break at once or yield to song.

BONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
WARRIORS and chiefs' should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path:
Bury your steels in the bosom of Gath!

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death which awaits us to-day.

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I SAW thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew;

I saw thee smile the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine,

It could not match the living ress

That filled that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow die,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.

SAUL.

THOU whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel raise thy buried head!

King behold the phantom seer."
Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud:
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was withered and his veins were dry,
His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare:
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like caverned winds, the hollow accents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
"Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O king? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, but for a day;
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow:
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart, thy hand shall guide;
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul."

"ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.”
FAME, wisdom, love, and power, were mine,
And health and youth possessed me;
My goblets blushed from every vine,
And lovely forms caressed me ;

I sunned my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendor.

I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;
And not a trapping decked my power

That galled not while it glittered.

The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
O who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,
Nor music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

THY days are done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's strains record

The triumphs of her chosen son,
The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!

Though thou art fallen, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdained to sink beneath :
Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath:

Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices poured!

To weep would do thy glory wrong;
Thou shalt not be deplored.

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY.

WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?

It can not die, it can not stay,

But leaves its darkened dust behind.
Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey?

Eternal, boundless, undecayed,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies displayed,
Shall it survey, shall it recall :
Each fainter trace that memory holds,
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.

Before creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit trace its rising track,
And where the future mars or makes,
Its glance dilate o'er all to be,

While sun is quenched or system breaks,
Fixed in its own eternity.

Above, or love, hope, hate, or fear,
It lives all passionless and pure;
An age shall fleet like earthly year;
Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall Ay;

A nameless and eternal thing
Forgetting what it was to die.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. THE king was on his throne, The satraps thronged the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divineJehovah's vessels hold

The godless heathen's wine!

In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man ;—
A solitary hand

Along the letters ran,

And traced Lem. like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook,
And hade no more rejoice;
All bloodless waxed his look,

And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear,
Which mar our royal mirth."
Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill:
And the unknown letters stood,
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw-but knew no more.

A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that nightThe morrow proved it true. "Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom passed away, He in the balance weighed, Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state, His canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gate!

The Persian on his throne."

WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU
DEEMST IT TO BE.

WERE my bosom as false as thou deemst it to be,
I need not have wandered from far Galilee;

It was but abjuring my creed to efface

The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race.

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee!
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free!
If the exile on earth is an outcast on high,
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die.

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow,
As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know;
In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine
The land and the life which for him I resign.

HEROD'S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE.

O MARIAMNE! now for thee

The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding: Revenge is lost in agony,

And wild remorse to rage succeeding.

O, Mariamne! where art thou?

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:

Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now,
Though Heaven were to my prayer unbeeding.

And is she dead?—and did they dare
Obey my phrensy's jealous raving?
My wrath but doomed my own despair:

The sword that smote her's o'er me waving.
But thou art cold, my murdered love!
And this dark heart is vainly craving

For her who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.

She's gone, who shared my diadem!

She sunk, with her my joys entombing;
I swept that flower from Judah's stem
Whose leaves for me alone were blooming,
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell,
This bosom's desolation dooming;
And I have earned those tortures well,

Which unconsumed are still consu'ning!

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.

SUN of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Whose tearful beams glows tremulously far,
That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
How like art thou to joy remembered well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
W...ct shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
A night-beam sorrow watcheth to behold,
Distinct, but distant-clear-but, O how cold!

THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS.
FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,
I beheld thee, O Sion! when rendered to Rome:
'Twas thy sun went down, and the flames of thy fall
Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall.
I looked for thy temple, I looked for my home,
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come :
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane,

And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain.
On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed;
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine.
And now on that mountain I stood on that day,
But I marked not the twilight beam melting away;
O, would that the lightning had glared in its stead,
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head!
But the gods of the pagan shall never profane
The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign:
And scattered and scorned as the people may be,
Our worship, O Father! is only for thee.

THE LAMENT BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON.
WE sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, O her desolate daughters!

Were scattered all weeping away.

While sadly we gazed on the river

Which rolled on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, O never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be withered for ever,
Ere it string our high harp for the foe!
On the willow that harp is suspended-

O Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended,
But left me that token of thee;
And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended.
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal,
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword;
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

FROM JOB.

A SPIRIT passed before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveiled--
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine-
And there it stood-all formless--but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
'Than he who deems even seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to wisdom's wasted light."

THE PRAYER OF NATURE.
FATHER of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hearest thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?
Father of light, on thee I call!

Thou seest my soul is dark within;
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.
No shrine I seek to sects unknown;
Oh point to me the path of truth!
Thy dread omnipotence I own;

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.
Let bigots rear a gloomy fane,

Let superstition hail the pile,
Let priests, to spread their sable reign,
With tales of mystic rites beguile.
Shall man confine his Maker's sway

To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?
Thy temple is the face of day;

Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne.
Shall man condemn his race to hell
Unless they bend in pompous form;
Tell us that all, for one who fell,

Must perish in the mingling storm?
Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
Yet doom his brother to expire,
Whose soul a different hope supplies,
Or doctrines less severe inspire?
Shall these, by creeds they can't expound,
Prepare a fancied bliss or wo?
Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground,
Their great Creator's purpose know?
Shall those, who live for self alone,

Whose years float on in daily crime-
Shall they by Faith for guilt atone,
And live beyond the bounds of time?
Father! no prophet's laws I seek-

Thy laws in Nature's works appear :-
I own myself corrupt and weak,

Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear! Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of ether's space; Who calmst the elemental war,

Whose hand from pole to pole I trace; Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me thy wide defence. To thee, my God, to thee I call, Whatever weal or wo betide, By thy command I rise or fall, In thy protection I confide. If, when this dust to dust restored, My soul shall float on airy wing, How shall thy glorious name adored Inspire her feeble voice to sing! But, if this fleeting spirit share

With clay the grave's eternal bed, While life yet throbs I raise my prayer, Though doomed no more to quit the dead. To thee I breathe my humble strain,

Grateful for all thy mercies past, And hope, my God, to thee again This erring life may fly at last.

GOD.

O THOU eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! there is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Mighty One!

Whom none can comprehend and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with thyself alone:

Embracing all-supporting-ruling o'er-
Being whom we call GOD-and know no more!

In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure ou. the ocean deep-may count
The sands or the sun's rays-but, God! for thee
There is no weight nor measure :-none can mount
Up to thy mysteries; reason's brightest spark,

Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark:
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence;-Lord, on thee
Eternity had its foundation: all

Sprung forth from thee: of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin: all life-all beauty thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create:
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate.

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround;
Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze,

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee; And as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise.

A million torches lighted by thy hand

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own thy power, accomplish thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-
A glorious company of golden streams-
Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright-

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But thou to these art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in thee is lost;
What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee?

And what am I, then? Heaver's unnumbered host,

Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance weighed

Against thy greatness-is a cipher brought Against infinity! What am I, then ?-Naught! Naught! But the effluence of thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too; Yes! in my spirit doth thy Spirit shine,

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Naught!-but I live, and on hope's pinions fiy
Eager toward thy presence; for in thee

I live, and breathe, and dwell: aspiring high,
Even to the throne of thy divinity.

I am, O God, and surely thou must be !
Thou art directing, guiding all.-Thou art!
Direct my understanding then to thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Thongh but an atom 'mid immensity
Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realms where angels have their birth Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit-deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave! a worm, a god!
Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived! unknown? this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy?
For from itself alone it could not be !

Creator, yes! thy wisdom and thy word
Created me, thou source of life and good!
Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing

Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source-to thee-its Author there.

O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest!

Though worthless our conceptions a.l of thee, Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breasts, And waft its homage to thy Deity. God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; Thus seek thy presence-Being wise and good! 'Midst thy vast works, admire, obey, adore! And when the tongue is eloquent no more, The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. Translated from DERZHAVIN (a Russian gentleman, born 1763), by DR. BOWRING

HYMN OF PRAISE.

From the lovely, who loved her too well;

SING to the Lord! let harp, and lute, and voice,
Up to the expanding gates of heaven rejoice,

While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne; Sing to the Lord! their blood-stained course is run, And every head its diadem hath won,

Rich as the purple of the coming morn: Sing the triumphant champions of their God,

From the heart that had grown to her own; From the sorrow which late o'er her young spirit fell, Like a dream of the night she hath flown; And the earth hath received to its bosom its trustAshes to ashes, and dust unto dust.

The spring, in its loveliness dressed,

Will return with its music-winged hours,

Sing to the Lord! for her in beauty's prime
Snatched from the wintry earth's ungenial clime,
In the eternal spring of Paradise to bloom;
For her the world displayed its brightest treasure,
And the air panted with the songs of pleasure;

Before earth's throne she chose the lowly tomb,
The vale of tears with willing footsteps trod,
Bearing her cross with Thee, incarnate Son of God!
Sing to the Lord! it is not shed in vain,

The blood of martyrs! from its freshening rain

High springs the church, like some fount-shadowing palm;

The nations crowd beneath its branching shade,
Of its green leaves are kingly diadems made,

And wrapt within its deep embosoming calm

Earth sinks to slumber like the breezeless deep,

The buds shall burst out in flowers; And the flowers her grave-sod above,

Though the sleeper beneath recks it not,
Shall thickly be strown by the hand of Love,
To cover with beauty the spot-
Meet emblems are they of the pure one and bright,
Who faded and fell with so early a blight.

Ay, the spring will return-but the blossom
That bloomed in our presence the sweetest,

By the spoiler is borne from the cherishing bosom,
The loveliest of all and the fleetest!
The music of stream and of bird,

Shall come back when the winter is o'er;
But the voice that was dearest to us shall be heard
In our desolate chambers no more!

The sunlight of May on the waters shall quiver

Sing to the Lord! No more the angels fly
Far in the bosom of the stainless sky

The sound of fierce licentious sacrifice.
From shrined alcove, and stately pedestal,
The marble gods in cumbrous ruin fall,

Headless in dust the awe of nations lies; Jove's thunder crumbles in his mouldering hand, And mute as sepulchres the hymnless temples stand. Sing to the Lord! From damp prophetic cave No more the loose-haired sybils burst and rave, Nor the pale augurs watch the wandering bird: No more on hill or in the murky wood, 'Mid frantic shout and dissonant music rude,

In human tones are wailing victims heard; Nor fathers by the reeking altar-stone

As the bird to its sheltering nest,

When the storm on the hills is abroad,

So her spirit hath flown from this world of unrest
To repose on the bosom of God!
Where the sorrows of earth never more

May fling o'er its brightness a stain;
Where, in rapture and love, it shall ever adore,

With a gladness unmingled with pain;

And its thirst shall be slaked by the waters which spring Like a river of light, from the throne of the KING!

There is weeping on earth for the lost!

There is bowing in grief to the ground!
But rejoicing and praise 'mid the sanctified host,
For a spirit in paradise found!

groan.

Sing to the Lord! No more the dead are laid
In cold despair beneath the cypress shade,

To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn:
There, eager still to burst death's brazen bands,
The angel of the resurrection stands;

While, on its own immortal pinions borne, Following the breaker of the imprisoning tomb,

Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom.

Sing to the Lord! The desert rocks break out,
And the thronged cities, in one gladdening shout,
The farthest shores by pilgrim step explored;
Spread all your wings, ye winds, and waft around,
Even to the starry cope's pale waning bound,
Earth's universal homage to the Lord;
Lift up thy head, imperial Capital,

Proud on thy height to see the bannered cross unroll.

Sing to the Lord! when time itself shall cease,
A-d finai ruin's desolating peace

Enwrap this wide and restless world of man ;
When the Judge rides upon the enthroning wind,

And o'er all generations of mankind

Eternal justice waves its winnowing fan;

To vast infinity's remotest space,

While ages run their everlasting race,
Shall all the beatific hosts prolong,

Wide as the glory of the Lamb, the Lamb's triumphant song!

MILMAN.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL.

SHE hath gone in the spring-time of life,
Ere her sky had been dimmed by a cloud,

While her heart with the rapture of love was yet rife,
And the hopes of her youth were unbowed-

Yet a star is newborn in the sky,

And a soul hath gone home to the land of its birth,

Where are pleasures and fulness of joy!

And a new harp is strung, and a new song is given To the breezes that float o'er the gardens of heaven!

WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH.