■^■.;. 
 
THE LEPEK: 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY MRS. REBEKAH HYNEMAN. 
 
 ■'Pif^ 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PUBLISHED BY A. HART, Late CAREY & HART, 
 
 NO. 126 CHESTNUT STKEET. 
 
 1853. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and 
 fifty-three, by Kebeeah Htneman, in the Clerk's office of the District Court 
 of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, 
 
 Mirror and Keystone Puess, 
 63 Dock Street, Fkiladelphia. 
 
 € 
 
 % 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " It is a good lesson/' says Hawthorne, " though it 
 may be a hard one, for a person who has dreamed of 
 literary fame, and of making for himself a rank among 
 the world^s dignitaries by such means, to step out of 
 the narrow circle in which his claims are recognised, 
 and to find how utterly devoid of significance beyond 
 that circle, is all that he achieves and all that he aims 
 at." I am now stepping out of that charmed circle, 
 and tremble lest the above truth may be too rudely 
 enforced. In presenting my unassuming little volume 
 to the public, I feel more than the usual share of 
 timidity attendant upon such ventures, for I come be- 
 fore them unknown and unnamed. To my co-religion- 
 ists I offer no apology — the very sincere love I bear for 
 the faith of my adoption, will be to them a sufficient 
 apology for my indifiierent poetry, and, I trust, cause 
 them to overlook much that might otherwise be con- 
 demned. But to those whose path is not as mine, and 
 who may not be disposed to judge with equal leniency, 
 I have no excuse to ofier, but screen myself behind the 
 
 shield of insignificanc. 
 
 iii 
 
IV PREEACE. 
 
 It may be as well to state here, that the "Leper'' 
 was written, and prepared for the press, before I read 
 Willis' beautiful poem bearing the same name. Had I 
 read that before the composition of my own, I would 
 have shrunk from entering into competition with one 
 whose genius so far overshadows mine ; but as that is 
 the only point of resemblance, it would scarcely be 
 worth while to make an alteration ; in all other re- 
 spects, the candid reader will acquit me of plagiarism. 
 
 As I commenced my few prefatory remarks with a 
 
 quotation, let me close them in the words of the gifted 
 
 Shelley : — " If the attempt of an author be ineffectual, 
 
 let the punishment of an unaccomplished purpose have 
 
 been sufficient ; let none trouble themselves to heap the 
 
 dust of oblivion upon his efforts ; the pile they raise 
 
 will betray his grave, which might otherwise have been 
 
 unknown." 
 
 PhiladblphiAj May, 1853. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 THE LEPER, 
 PREFACE TO ZARAj 
 INTRODUCTION, - 
 ZARA, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 . 9 
 43 
 
 ■ 46 
 49 
 
 LIVIA, - - -- - - -71 
 
 THE MUSES, ----- 75 
 
 FEMALE SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS FIRST SERIES, - 79 
 
 * 
 
 SARAH, ------ 80 
 
 REBEKAH, - - - - - - 81 
 
 LEAH AND RACHEL, - - - - 82 
 
 MIRIAMj - - - - - - 85 
 
 RUTH AND NAOMI, ----- 87 
 
 ESTHER, - - - - - - 91 
 
 SECOND SERIES INTRODUCTION, - - - 94 
 
 JOCHABED, - - - - - - 95 
 
 DEBORAH, - - - - - - 97 
 
 HULDAH, - - - - - - 98 
 
 HANNAH, -----. 100 
 
 JUDITH, ------ 102 
 
 MOTHER OF THE SEVEN MARTYRS, - - 105 
 
 HEBREW MELODIES — THE OLIVE BRANCH, - - 109 
 THE CHOSEN, - - - - -110 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE SUN OF ISRAEL, - - " " - 112 
 
 THE LAMENT OF JUDAH, - - - - 113 
 
 PRAYER OF SOLOMON; - - - - -114 
 
 JEHOSHAPHAT, - - - - - 117 
 
 JERUSALEM, - ■- - - - - 120 
 
 HOLY LAND, - - - - - 123 
 
 HAGAR, - - - - - - 125 
 
 CEDARS OF LEBANON, - _ - - 128 
 
 HYMN, __.--- 130 
 
 humility, ----- 132 
 
 a fragment, ------ 134 
 
 a tribute to grace aguilar, - - - 135 
 
 lines on lamartine^ - - - - 137 
 
 night song, ----- 139 
 
 Israel's future, ----- 140 
 
 Israel's trust, - - - - - 142 
 
 pentecost, ------ 144 
 
 day of atonement, - - - - 146 
 
 obituary stanzas, ---..- 147 
 
 song of maccabeus, - - - - 148 
 
 like some lone bird, - - - _ 149 
 
 the lord is nigh, - - - - 150 
 
 on the death of a child, - - - - 151 
 
 the suppliant, - - - - - 152 
 
 SAMUEL, - - - - - -153 
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH, - - - - 155 
 
 PRAYER, ------ 157 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAGE- 
 
 '; " 
 
 CHANGELESS AFFECTION, - - - - 158 
 
 SYMBOLS, = - - -- -161 
 
 TO L^^''^ " " " • " ^ "" 
 
 TO T,^^^ " ■• " " " " It)'* 
 
 TO ALICE, - - - - - " 1^^ 
 
 THE ANSWER, - - " " - 166 
 
 THE DYING SISTER, _ - - - 167 
 
 OH ! THOUj WHOSE WAYS, - - " - 168 
 
 THE BARK OF LIFE, - - - " 169 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STREAM, - - - - 171 
 
 TO s^*^^ - ~ " - " t-iii 
 DISAPPOINTMENT, ----- 174 
 
 MY BIRTH-DAY, ----- 175 
 
 ON AN INFANT, - - " " - 176 
 
 THE DIGNITY OF WOMAN, - - " 1'''7 
 THE sybil's HARP, ----- 179 
 
 TO g^^^^^— — — — — \.(i/Z 
 
 TO OUR MOTHER IN HEAVEN, - - - - 183 
 
 MASONRYj - - - . - - 185 
 
 i dreamed of thee, - - " " 186 
 
 ode to charity, - - - " - 188 
 women's rights, ----- 189 
 
 lines on " home." - - - - 191 
 
 THE UNFORGOTTEN, - - - - - 192 
 
 THE SEASONS, 
 NOW LET ME DIE, 
 SONG, 
 
 193 
 194 
 195 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 MOUNTAINS, ------ 197 
 
 GOD IS GREAT, ----- 199 
 
 NEW YEARj - - - - - - 196 
 
 address to the soul, - - - - 200 
 
 belshazzar's feAst, - - - - 202 
 
 the hopes of life, - - - - 204 
 
 the blind, ------ 205 
 
 A child's PRAYER, - - - - 206 
 
 MASONRY, - - - - - - - 207 
 
 TOB****=^- - - - - 208 
 
 DESPONDENCY. . - - _ _ 210 
 
THE LEPER. 
 
 " And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothes shall be rent, and his 
 head hare ; and he shall put a covering upon his upper lips , and shall cry 
 ' Unclean, unclean.' " — Leviticus xiii., v. 45. 
 
 A LONELY traveler wends his way 
 
 O'er Sharon's sweet and flowery plain, 
 And while the sunbeams lingering play, 
 He breathes some half-forgotten lay, 
 
 And dreams of childhood's joys again. 
 Sweet household forms come thronging fast, 
 Like faded pictures of the past, 
 Retinted by the artist's skill, 
 He deems that in each swelling hill. 
 In every shaded dark ravine, 
 He traces some familiar scene. 
 The flowering oleanders shed 
 A grateful fragrance o'er his head. 
 And the wild plane and almond tree 
 Grive their sweet blossoms to the bee ; 
 And wheresoe'er his footsteps prest, 
 
 A thousand flowers of gorgeous hue, (1) 
 
10 THE LEPER. 
 
 The brightest and the loveliest, 
 
 Add their gay colors to the view. 
 He climbs those lofty mountain peaks 
 
 That guard Judea's fertile land, 
 And sees in every spot he seeks 
 
 The same unerring, mighty, hand. 
 Whether he views the lonely vale, 
 
 Still hallowed by the honored name 
 Of him* whose melancholy wail 
 
 Deplores his prostrate country's shame ; 
 Or, if he seeks those regions wild 
 
 And desolate, where God has spoken, 
 That through long ages undefiled. 
 
 Their solemn silence keep unbroken ; (2) 
 Or that lone spot, revered of yore. 
 
 Mysterious Bethel ! where the tread (3) 
 Of holy angels o'er the floor 
 
 Of heaven, watched the wanderer's bed ; 
 Whatever point or path he trod 
 Bore witness to the hand of God. 
 
 The lingering sun had not yet sought 
 The curtained chambers of the West — 
 
 The drooping flowret had not caught 
 One glittering dew-drop in its vest, 
 
 When the loud thunder's pealing sound 
 
 Awoke a thousand echoes round. 
 
 His dream has changed ! the driving rain 
 Pours like a flood o'er mount and plain, 
 
 * Jeremiah. 
 
THE LEPER. 11 
 
 And welcome now the meanest shed 
 That ever sheltered wanderer's head. 
 So sudden was the storm's wild power — 
 
 So ruthlessly and fierce it beat — 
 That instantly earth, shrub and flower, 
 
 Were flooded 'neath the traveler's feet. 
 The lightning's glare, the thunder's crash, 
 
 And giant tree, and sapling frail. 
 Writhing beneath the tempest's lash. 
 
 Add terrors to the furious gale. 
 
 But see ! a little pathway gleams, 
 
 To cheer him in his loneliness ; 
 A path oft trodden, too, it seems, 
 
 As if in this strange wilderness 
 Some human being set apart 
 
 This lonely spot to wander in. 
 And ease the swelling of a heart 
 
 Too sorely pressed with care or sin ; 
 For none who cling to this world's bliss, 
 Would choose a spot so wild as this. 
 
 The labyrinthine rocks display (4) 
 
 A wild, fantastic, devious way ; 
 
 Gloomy and bare, where once the vine. 
 
 With purple clusters, sought to twine, 
 
 In fair and graceful drapery 
 
 Around the fruitful olive tree ; 
 
 Even yet, where sheltering valleys lie, 
 
 The olive and the laurel vie. 
 
 To cheer the gloom that seems to brood, 
 
 Over this desert wild and rude. 
 
12 THE LEPER. 
 
 But memories of the past still cling 
 Where war has swept her ruthless wing, 
 And shadow forth on each lone spot^ 
 Deeds that can never he forgot, 
 When all Judea's sacred land 
 Was humbled by a tyrant's hand, 
 And now lay bleeding and alone, 
 Vassal to Rome's triumphant throne. 
 Her mighty, throbbing, heart is crushed. 
 Her proud, triumphal songs are hushed. 
 And over mount, and vale, and plain, 
 Silence, and grief, and misery reign. 
 
 The traveler speeds as best he may. 
 Along that wild, bewildering way, 
 And as he turned an angle, where 
 
 Thick branches had shut out the view, 
 A human form sprung from a lair 
 
 Of matted leaves, and bounding through 
 The tangled wildwood, fled apace, 
 
 As if far more than tempest's wrath. 
 He feared the sight of human face 
 
 That crossed his lonely desert path. 
 And as he speeds, his feeble breath 
 
 Carries unto the traveler's ear, 
 Those fearful words of blight and death, 
 
 That tell a plague-struck leper near. 
 
 Pursuing that mysterious form. 
 The traveler half forgets the storm, 
 But hastens on his path, until 
 He gains the summit of a hill, 
 
THE LEPER. 13 
 
 From whence, descending, he perceives 
 
 A lonely, quiet, fragrant glen. 
 Half hidden by a bower of leaves. 
 
 While flowers all unknown till then, 
 Shewed like a sea of crimson dye. 
 With gold-speck'd islands to the eye. (5) ■ 
 
 It was a wild, yet lovely spot ! 
 
 A gentle streamlet flowed between 
 Two verdant hills, and a rude hut 
 
 Lay sheltered by a leafy screen 
 Of vine and tree, so interlaced. 
 
 Their mingling bough and tendril gave 
 New beauties to the scene they graced. 
 
 And every little mimic wave 
 That rippled o'er its pebbly bed. 
 
 Seemed like a gladsome child of earth, 
 
 Laughing and singing from its birth. 
 And bringing joy where'er it sped ; 
 
 Until far down that narrow vale, 
 Where tangled wood and mosses dank, 
 
 And the wild lotus, lone and pale, 
 Were all that graced its shady bank — 
 Its murmurs ceased, and sad and slow 
 It mingled with the pool below. 
 
 Can the wild storm be passed and gone ? 
 Like a fierce whirlwind it came on. 
 And now the slanting sunbeams shone 
 On dripping bough and blooming flower. 
 Still bending with its sudden power. 
 1* 
 
14 THE LEPER. 
 
 In that sweet valley, where the storm 
 
 Was changed into a summer breeze, 
 Again he saw the leper's form 
 
 Beneath the bending olive trees, 
 Stopping to bind a broken bough. 
 
 Or in their shadow stooping low, 
 To raise a broken iris up, 
 
 Or tend a fragile lily's cup ; 
 Each storm-bent flower craves his care — 
 Each bud and leaflet sweet and fair. 
 
 But when he heard the tread of man 
 
 Approaching that deserted spot. 
 With haste from his loved task he ran, 
 
 To reach his wood-embowered hut ; 
 And raising thence his plaintive cry, 
 
 Forev/arned the unguarded one to fly. 
 But vain the warning; he was one 
 
 Well skilled in lore of wisest leech ; 
 He had journey 'd far beneath the sun. 
 
 And had learned all that man could teach. 
 Nor feared he aught of misery, 
 Though foul and loathsome it might be. 
 
 '' Thou fearest me not ! I thank thee for that tone. 
 
 So soothing to my utter wretchedness ; 
 For many a long and weary year, not one 
 
 Kind human voice has cheered my loneliness. 
 Sometimes, but rarely, a lone form will cross 
 
 The barren mountain chain that binds me in. 
 But when he hears my melancholy voice. 
 
 Aye, even before my feeble words begin. 
 
THE LEPER. 15 
 
 He flies me, as some noisome pestilence ', 
 
 No word of greeting falls upon my sense — 
 
 No sound of that bright, busy world, from whence 
 
 They scourged me forth ; nought but the memory 
 
 Of sweet and bitter thoughts that will not die ! 
 
 Thoughts that come crowding, till my wearied brain, 
 
 Like a most intricate and tangled skein, 
 
 Can scarce remove the pleasures from the pain. 
 
 Thou askest to hear my tale ; alas ! 'tis filled 
 
 With such deep misery 't will seem unreal. 
 And I, most gentle stranger, am unskilled 
 
 In all the soothing flow of words that steal 
 Upon the hearer's soul ; yet I will tell 
 All that my heart remembers but too well. 
 
16 THE LEPER. 
 
 THE LEPER'S STORY. 
 
 I sprang from the princely Maccabees, (6) 
 They who, when Judea, gasping, lay 
 
 The sport of Antioch's tyrannies, 
 
 Showed their faint brethren the first ray 
 
 That led through freedom to their God, 
 
 Though dark and steep the path they trod. 
 
 I sprung from that high, kingly race, 
 Proud of my pure Asmonean blood. 
 Proud of the height on which I stood — 
 
 The power of my exalted place ; 
 
 And proud that my unblemished name 
 
 Had never known a tinge of shame. 
 
 I was the last^ save one fair flower 
 That grew and blossomed by my side, 
 Like me in all things but my pride — 
 
 My quenchless thirst of fame and power. 
 
 And she was dear — oh ! dearer far 
 
 Than aught that bears an earthly name ; 
 
 Like the sweet light of some bright star. 
 Was that most pure and holy flame. 
 
 I treasured her far, far above 
 
 All objects of an earthly love, 
 
 And through my bright, but brief career, 
 
 My every feeling was for her. 
 
 I said that we two were alone 
 
 Of all our line ; but there was one 
 
 Who also claimed our lineage, 
 
 Whose name has graced our history's page, 
 
THE LEPER. 
 
 And whose higli, daring, deeds are known 
 Wherever Judah's star has shone. 
 I loved him well ; but he was wild, 
 
 In anger, like the tameless Pard, 
 Wayward and wilful as a child, 
 
 Nor recked he of the world's regard. 
 Never was Phasael known to bend 
 To human being, foe or friend; 
 But, though vindictive, he was brave ; 
 He would have stormed a tower to save 
 One whom he loved, or leveled low 
 That bristling tower to reach a foe. 
 
 His wild ambition mated mine — 
 
 Yet, when he sought my sister's hand, 
 Though he was highest of our band, 
 And we were last of our proud line, 
 I feared to trust my gentle dove 
 To his untamed, capricious love. 
 He urged it not ; but from that hour 
 
 He who in battle-field had stood 
 Close by my side and shared my power, 
 
 And was the nearest of my blood, 
 Became at once my fellest foe 3 
 And I have ample cause to know 
 How deep and deadly was the blow. 
 
 Thou seest a goodly country, spread 
 
 With hill, and vale, and flowery plain — ■ 
 
 For less than these mankind have bled, 
 Nor deemed the sacrifice in vain 3 
 
18 THE LEPER. 
 
 But look abroad o'er all that space, 
 Even from the lonely wilderness, 
 
 Till Tyre and Sidon claim their place, 
 Each spot recalls Grod^s holiness — 
 
 Each scene recalls some joy or woe, 
 
 Until our final overthrow. 
 
 On EhaVs Mount, whose summits pierce (7) 
 
 Almost into the cloudless sky, 
 In angry accents, loud and fierce, 
 
 Was read the curse ] while, from on high, 
 Gerizitn sent an answering tone 
 To that bleak mount of barren stone ; 
 And all the wildly solemn glen. 
 With sounds it never heard till then; 
 Gave answer to their deep amen ! 
 
 On Shiloh's plain Grod's holy ark (8) 
 
 Gave strength and courage to our race, 
 Till storms arose and tempests dark 
 
 Destroyed each consecrated place j 
 And ApJiek's bloody battle-field (9) 
 First taught our hardy sires to yield. 
 JVeho, that silent, mystic spot, (10) 
 
 Where he, their glorious leader died, 
 Although his name is unforgot. 
 
 The rallying point of Israel's pride ; 
 Yet is his burial place unknown. 
 Unmarked by tree, or shrub, or stone. 
 
 Each dreary spot, now lonely and decaying, 
 Teems with the memories of our warlike race, 
 
THE LEPER. 19 
 
 And scenes where now the Roman hordes are straying, 
 Making a desert of our dwelling-place, 
 
 Are linked with thoughts that this once sacred sod, 
 Was the pure dwelling of the living God ; 
 
 How crushed, how fallen, it boots not now to tell. 
 
 Each spot recalls the fatal truth too well. 
 
 Masada, thy ensanguined hue, (11) 
 
 Tells of the bravery of thy sons ; 
 Oh ! match it, ye who scorn the Jew, 
 
 Who deem no noble current runs 
 Within his veins ; compare with this 
 
 Your proudest deeds of high renown. 
 They sink beside this sacrifice. 
 
 Masada ! when thy sun went down 
 It left a glorious ray of light, 
 
 That should have led Judea on 
 To brave the terrors of her night, 
 
 Until her holy cause was won. 
 
 Jotapato and Gerizim, (12) 
 
 Tarichia, Jappha, Gramala, (13) 
 Each like a blasted, stricken limb, 
 
 Was severed from the trunk away, 
 Severed, and bleeding silently 
 Beneath a tyrant's cruelty. 
 
 Jerusale7n J thy oft-told tale (14) 
 
 Of cruel wrong and treachery, 
 Still haunts each lonely, silent vale ; 
 
 While dreanis of glory yet to be, 
 
20 THE LEPER. 
 
 Proud days of triumpli yet to come, 
 Still chain the sufferer near his home. 
 
 Glory ! when thy brave sons awaken 
 
 From their long sleep of grief and shame, 
 
 With hope undimmed and faith unshaken, 
 To add new lustre to thy name — 
 
 Though fallen and vanquished, still to thee 
 
 The sorrowing heart turns pleadingly. 
 
 Oh ! mournful mother, who hast wept 
 So long o'er thy bright joys departed, 
 
 What lonely vigils have been kept 
 By thee, forlorn and broken-hearted ; 
 
 With scarce a ray of hope to bless 
 
 Thy bosom's aching loneliness. 
 
 Bowed down beneath a weight of shame, 
 Dishonored, stricken, and opprest. 
 
 The power of thy once queenly name 
 Became a by-word and a jest. 
 
 Dishonored ! thou, Jerusalem ! 
 
 How can a Hebrew speak that word ? 
 Though fallen is thy diadem. 
 
 Though in thy sacred halls is heard 
 No longer the consoling prayer 
 Which raised our hearts above despair. 
 Though we, thy once-loved children wait 
 
 Like aliens, where once we reigned. 
 Nor dare approach thy hallowed gate. 
 
 By Roman cruelty profaned ) (15) 
 
THE LEPER. 21 
 
 Oh ! still a. sacred thing thou art, 
 Cherished above all earthly power — 
 
 Dearer to every ftiithful heart, 
 
 Even in thy most degraded hour, 
 
 Than aught to which the fancy clings, 
 
 In all our earthly wanderings. 
 
 'Tjs known how Adrian's power dispelled. 
 
 For a brief space, our fiery zeal, 
 But for each living drop that well'd 
 
 From wounds impressed by Roman steel, 
 Fierce, burning, thoughts of vengeance rose 
 
 Confused, bewildering, undefined, 
 Against our hated, ruthless foes, 
 
 Whose force and treachery, both combined 
 To wring the heart already wrung. 
 
 To crush a falFn and helpless foe. 
 And we, almost to madness stung 
 
 By many a dark and savage blow, 
 Prepared for vengeance fell and deep ; 
 Could courage die, or manhood sleep. 
 While such foul deeds offended heaven ? 
 Daily some tender tie was riven — 
 Some helpless victim forc'd to be 
 The sport of Boman cruelty ! 
 
 All the deep, deadly wrongs which we had borne, 
 G-athered around our hearts and rankled there, 
 
 And soon fresh insults came with added scorn, 
 And we were doomed a heavier yoke to bear. 
 
 We were forbid to worship Israel's Grod — 
 To lift our humble voices to His throne, 
 
22 THE LEPER. 
 
 And pray for strength beneath the chastening rod ! 
 
 We, his once chosen ones, his loved, his own, 
 Who, weak and wayward as we ofttimes were, 
 
 Still taught our children all that He had done, 
 When Israel's sons were his peculiar care ; 
 And fondly hoped to lead them up to Him, 
 Before a shadow of Rome's gods could dim 
 The pure and holy faith that He had given 
 To lead his weak and erring ones to heaven. 
 And now, must our night close without a star 
 
 To guide us on our dark and dreary path ; 
 Would heaven vouchsafe no mercy from afar. 
 
 To stem the torrent of our conqueror's wrath ? 
 
 Barcliocab arose ! and a sound went forth (17) 
 From East and from West, from South and from 
 
 North, 
 From the sea to the desert a cry arose, 
 Of vengeance and death to our treacherous foes. 
 We had borne their insults and tyranny long. 
 But now ! blood for blood, and fierce wrong for wrong ; 
 No longer we raised the once spirited cry 
 That had led our brave fathers to victory ; 
 Who shrank not from scarpian, balista, or sword. 
 When that war-cry arose, ' ' For the house of the 
 ^ Lord.'^(18) 
 
 That glorious house was razed to earth, 
 
 'Mid Roman mockery. 
 Yet Judea led her thousands forth, 
 
 To conquer or to die. 
 
THE LEPER. 23 
 
 Again we dreamed of conquest near, 
 
 And fields of glory won- — 
 Again would Judah's war-cry cheer 
 
 Her swaying myriads on. 
 Yes, we would see the glorious day 
 
 Yv^hen humbled Rome should sue — 
 Should bend beneath the iron sway 
 
 Of the insulted Jew. 
 
 But ere Barchocab's power had gained its height, 
 
 Ere the eventful day arose, which shed 
 Its first bright ray of hope to gild our night, 
 
 A cloud had gathered o'er my fated head. 
 Phasael, in hate to me, had joined with those 
 "Whom he well knew to be my fellest foes. 
 Wild, lawless, men had thronged on every side. 
 
 And joined to aid us in our desperate cause — ■ 
 Alas ! too soon was the commingling tide 
 
 Borne on beyond the reach of human laws. 
 Cyrene and Egypt poured a countless horde 
 
 To swell our ranks ; the Gentile and the Jew — 
 Those joined us for the license which the sword 
 
 Grives to the many o'er the helpless few. 
 And these poor, helpless outcasts, these to win. 
 
 By their best hearts' blood drenching mount and plain, 
 A name, a home, a resting-place within 
 
 The sacred precincts of their holy fane. 
 
 I ledj as I was wont, the brave and tried, 
 They who had oft shared perils by my side, 
 Faithful companions on the battle field, 
 The foremost in the fight, the last to yield. 
 
24 THE LEPER. 
 
 Oh ! had each bosom borne as brave a heart, 
 Had each one dared as bold and fearless part 
 As those I led, Rome would not triumph now, 
 Nor wear her glories with unblushing brow. 
 But I disowned the self-styled prophet's claim, 
 And failed to yield my homage to his name. 
 This, Phasael urged, " was traitorous to Grod's laws, 
 
 Wresting the mighty power by Heaven sent 
 To aid this holy and most righteous cause, 
 
 From Cosiba, its lawful instrument." (19) 
 
 Amongst them I had many foes ; 
 
 Even Akiba, the wise and good, (20) 
 Strove by wrong measures to oppose 
 
 All who the prophet's claim withstood ; 
 Though wise and prudent, even he 
 
 Denounced my conduct publicly. 
 I saw in all Phasael' s hatred now, 
 He had designed my total overthrow, 
 And showed by every act of his fierce will, 
 The deep design to crush me lower still. 
 He even dared to urge the Shammata, (21) 
 That heaviest doom in our most rigorous law — 
 
 And if his own dark, wicked will had power, 
 He would have sent me, with that awful curse. 
 Forth from the world to solitude far worse 
 
 Than even this ; that curse which in death's hour 
 Close bars the worlds of everlasting bliss. 
 And gives the wretch no gleam of hope in this, 
 
 I heeded not his idle boasts 
 
 That he could tame my towering pride ; 
 
THE LEPER. 25 
 
 With my brave soldiers by my side, 
 I would have dared proud Adrian's hosts — 
 But a dull illness seized my frame, 
 Labored and thick my breathing came, 
 And my strained eye-balls seemed on flame ; 
 A sense of some o'ershadowing ill — 
 
 A dim, foreboding feeling crept 
 Across my heart with sudden chill ; 
 
 It seemed my very spirit slept, 
 So mute, so checked and powerless 
 
 Was every feeling of my soul — 
 So calm, so cold and passionless 
 
 The waves of being seemed to roll, 
 Until the tide ebbed back again 
 
 With a redoubled sense of pain. 
 
 How can my feeble tongue essay 
 
 To tell thee all that then befel ? 
 1 was a leper ! from that day 
 
 Unfitted with my kind to dwell ; 
 Henceforth an outcast from my race, 
 The wilderness my dwelling-place, 
 No voice to soothe, no eye to bless, 
 With word or look, my loneliness. 
 
 "Leper pass forth V until my dying day 
 Those words will sound in horror on my ear ! 
 " Leper pass forth !'' and like affrighted deer 
 
 The gathering crowd fled hurriedly away. 
 
 They ! whom my voice had led in battle hour j 
 
 They ! who had sought me in my day of pride, 
 
 2* 
 
26 THE LEPER. 
 
 Shrunk back and fled in terror from my side. 
 
 And // oh, never in my pride and power 
 Had I passed by them with as haughty brow, 
 And firm, unyielding front, as I passed now ; 
 
 For I was of a proud and princely line, 
 And ill could brook to be that thing of dread. 
 
 From whom all shrunk as from the poisonous vine, 
 That rains its death-showers on the wanderer's head. 
 
 I could not bend my haughty soul to earth, 
 And meekly bear my weight of misery ; 
 
 'Twas madness to my brain to be cast forth. 
 And my heart torn from all things dear to me. 
 They doomed me to a living death; the foes 
 
 Who now would triumph in my overthrow. 
 Would glut their vengeance in my coming woes, 
 
 And glory that disease had sped the blow. 
 All this I knew, and yet I strove to quell 
 
 The bitter workings of my wrathful mood, 
 Until I reached a lonely, leafy dell. 
 
 Then plunging in its gloomy solitude. 
 Turned, like a hunted beast at bay, on all 
 Who, fiend-like, dared to triumph o'er my fall. 
 
 Stranger ! there are dark moments, when 
 The heart could burst its narrow bound, 
 And, flinging back the scorn of men. 
 Repay in like the deep-felt wound, 
 Or break in the attempt. My prayer. 
 When I was hurried to despair — 
 When God had laid his hand on me, 
 Was fraught with bitter agony. 
 
THE LEPER. 27 
 
 I shudder now when I recall 
 
 The words my foul lips uttered there — 
 So wild, so impious, breathing all 
 
 My bitter hatred of mankind, 
 As if their power had wrought my fall, 
 
 And clouded my benighted mind. 
 And when I heard the trumpet-sound 
 
 Far over rock, and wood, and dell, 
 I cast me, helpless, on the ground, 
 
 And struggled fearfally to quell 
 
 The thoughts that made my breast a hell. 
 In vain ! reflection only gave, 
 
 In all around, above, beneath, 
 
 A horrible and lingering death. 
 With none to pity, none to save. 
 
 I had seen battles : I had stood where foe 
 
 Meets foe in reckless, unrelenting hate ; 
 It was not fear of death that swayed me now, 
 
 But a foreboding of my awful fate — 
 Doomed to drag on my weary, lifeless life, 
 
 Unknown, unloved ; to know my princely name 
 Would never more be called in battle strife, 
 
 To turn the scale of victory ; yet the same 
 Undaunted spirit spoke within my breast, 
 
 In the dim, leafy, quiet of the wood, 
 Where the cool, murmuring streamlet lulled to rest, 
 
 And all things breathed a tone of solitude. 
 Aye, still the same, as when the clashing steel 
 
 Rung its wild music on my youthful ear ; 
 Yes, still unchanged — -the same warm heart to feel, 
 
 And the wild, tameless, soul that mocked at fear. 
 
28 THE LEPER. 
 
 And yet, oh, God ! chained by a foul disease, 
 
 And tortured by the memories of the pa,st; 
 Alike to me was the mild summer breeze, 
 
 Or the loud wailing of the wintry blast. 
 No human sound could reach mine ear, no tone 
 
 To tell me that my name was unforgot — 
 That I was still remembered, though alone ! 
 
 Alas ! no footstep ever sought the spot ; 
 And if a pitying eye were turned on me, 
 
 I dared not meet its welcome ray of light, 
 But with veiled lip that told my agony, 
 
 Banish the cheering vision from my sight. 
 
 I sought the deepest, darkest glen, 
 
 And turned me from a human form — 
 From aught that bore the shape of men j 
 
 And if at times a feeling warm 
 Arose within my wretched breast, 
 'Twas but a single moment's rest. 
 Dark thoughts, wild, fearful and profane, 
 
 Came crowding — a most hideous mass — 
 O'er my bewildered, stricken brain ; 
 
 I saw strange shapes, that seemed to pass 
 In horrid mockery of my madness, 
 
 Laughing my wretchedness to scorn — 
 My misery their theme of gladness ; 
 
 And if at times a sound was borne 
 By the sweet wind, methought it came 
 
 Coupled with my dishonored name, 
 Although perchance, 'twas but the lay 
 
 Of some rude shepherd of the dell, 
 
THE LEPER. 29 
 
 Beguiling tlius his homeward way, 
 Or some lone loiterer at a well. 
 Or the shrill Tahlehl— still to me (22) 
 It bore the sound of mockery. 
 
 Even when this frantic mood was past, 
 For such Yf ild torture could not last ; 
 Even then, how fruitlessly I strove 
 To wrench my heart from human love — 
 A sweet, soft voice would come between 
 
 Each burst of feeling unsubdued. 
 An angel form be ofttimes seen. 
 
 And change my fiercest, wildest mood. 
 Yes ! I have fancied, when at even 
 
 Day's glories struggled to depart, 
 I saw between me and yon heaven, 
 
 A form, that to my tortured heart. 
 Was dearer than a monarch's throne — 
 My loved ! my Miriam ! my own ! 
 ^Twas but a fever'd dream, and then 
 All my wild frenzy come again. 
 Oh ! fearful strife of soul and sense. 
 Battling with Omnipotence. 
 
 Thus wandered I for many an hour. 
 
 Through blooming field and lofty wood, 
 Within my heart that sinful power 
 
 Perverting all things bright and good ; 
 Till once — 't was on a Sabbath eve — 
 
 With throbbing brow I turned to gaze 
 Upon a scene whose joys will leave 
 
 Their impress on my darkest days : 
 
80 THE LEPER. 
 
 I saw from far our liolj men^ 
 
 With that pale, mystic skein, whose thread (23) 
 Warns all to cease from labor, when 
 
 Its hue assumes a deeper shade ; 
 While others, with calm, holy mien, 
 
 Measured their Sabbath journey o'er, 
 And all within that hallowed scene 
 
 Recalled the memories of yore ; 
 When I, like them, could welcome in 
 
 The holy Sabbath. Labor plied 
 His lusty arm, and mirth and din 
 
 Awoke the air, till eventide 
 
 Spread its grey mantle far and wide ; 
 Then, as the shades of night increased, 
 
 A silence fell on dale and hill, 
 The sounds Of mirth and labor ceased. 
 
 The fire was quenched, the forge was still ; 
 Then, in that dim, mysterious hour, 
 Memory resumed her wonted power, 
 I bowed my head and breathed to heaven 
 An humble prayer to be forgiven. 
 I formed this rude, secluded hut 
 Here in the bosom of the wood. 
 
 And learned in this lone, quiet spot. 
 In silence and in solitude. 
 
 To bear the misery of my lot. 
 
 With trembling steps I sought each flower that bloom'd 
 In wild luxuriance in this lonely place, 
 
 And, by my culture, their fair hues assumed 
 A warmer coloring and a richer grace. 
 
THE LEPER. 31 
 
 The Hemasagara showed its buds of gold, (24) 
 Which, when the breeze awoke their beauties, roll'd 
 Their glittering crests in mimic majesty, 
 Like sunlight glancing on the rippling sea. 
 The graceful Lotus, elsewhere cold and pale, 
 Gleamed blood-red in this solitary vale ; (25) 
 Here the pale Cistus glanced with golden eye, 
 
 The ruby-colored Arum reared its head. 
 And the Turquoise as blue as summer sky, 
 
 Around my lonely path a perfume shed. 
 Here, too, I found the Rose of Jericho, 
 
 The water-lily clad in heavenly blue, 
 And its pale sister in a robe of snow. 
 
 Sweet blushing buds of every shape and hue. 
 Violets that breathe a spell with their sweet breath, 
 
 And Tulips in their rich array of pride, 
 All blossomed in this lonely vale of death ; 
 
 Hideous companionship ! here, side by side, 
 Were fell disease and Nature's sweetest store, 
 So sweet the heart could scarcely ask for more — 
 
 Yet each one showed me, by its swift decay, 
 How frail are all things of a mortal birth. 
 
 They bloom and blossom for a little day, 
 Then sink forgotten to their parent earth. 
 
 Time glided on, and, as the waves of ocean, 
 After a troubled conflict, sink to rest, 
 
 Leaving no traces of the fierce commotion, 
 So had a calm succeeded in my breast. 
 
 Time glided on ; when, on a dewy eve — 
 Oh ! well and faithfully my heart recalls 
 
32 THE LEPER. 
 
 That one bright thread in the dark web I weave, 
 
 The only spot on which the sunlight falls. 
 Upon that glowing summer eve^ methought 
 
 The flowers did yield a sweeter fragrance up, 
 And the declining sunbeam, as it caught 
 
 The glowing beauty of each odorous cup, 
 Lingered, as loth to leave a scene so fair — 
 
 And as I listened to the murmuring bees 
 That bore their sweets along the summer air. 
 
 Or ^mid the amra or acacia trees, 
 Hymned to the God of Life their evening prayer — 
 
 A sound, like a faint footfall, caught my ear, 
 And fearful lest some stranger might intrude, 
 
 Some heedless step might venture all too near 
 The lonely leper in his solitude — 
 I strove to warn them hence, when a sweet sound, 
 A silver voice, shed joy and music round. 
 
 " Jechiel !" it cried, and o'er my throbbing brain 
 
 Thoughts of my former madness came again ; 
 
 " Jechiel ! Jechiel V those trembling accents came 
 
 Like summer dew upon a fading flower — 
 That voice, oh, Grod ! throughout my sinking frame. 
 
 Aye, thro' my heart, and brain, and soul, its power 
 Came, breathing life. '' Brother and friend, I come 
 To share thy lonely, isolated home — 
 A leper like thyself, cast out like thee. 
 From all earth's joys, to death and misery." 
 
 She came, a blighted and plague-stricken thing, 
 But dearer to my heart than aught that earth, 
 
THE LEPER. 33 
 
 In its most lavish moods, has given birth, 
 Of bright and beautiful to which we cling. 
 To me, the light of that dear sister's smile 
 
 Was like a green spot in the wilderness, 
 Or to the weary seaman, some bright isle 
 
 Springing amid the ocean's loneliness, 
 When his storm-shattered vessel ill can brave 
 The rude, tempestuous wrath of the wild wave. 
 
 I mourned that she was cast aside, 
 
 Like a storm-bent and withered flower — ■ 
 She, who had been a source of pride 
 
 And pleasure in life's sunny hour ; 
 I grieved for this, but oh ! I drew 
 
 So much of heartfelt happiness 
 From her sweet presence, that I grew 
 Jealous of every look or tone. 
 That seemed to mourn for pleasures gone. 
 
 Then blame me not for selfishness. 
 Thou, who hast always lived 'mong men. 
 
 Around whose path no tempests lower, 
 Whose love has been returned again — 
 
 Thou can'st not fathom the full power 
 Of that pure, deep, untiring love, 
 
 So unlike aught on this vile earth, 
 And far more meet for souls above, 
 
 Than for a child of mortal tirth. 
 
 Oh ! there was not one earthly stain 
 In that deep love 3 I would have given 
 
34 THE LEPER. 
 
 My body to the fiercest pain, 
 
 To make this earth for her a heaven, 
 Or free her from the cold world's scorn ; 
 
 And, like the scape-goat, doomed to bear 
 The sins of others, would have borne. 
 
 Have freely borne, her every care, 
 Her every sorrow, so that she 
 
 No earthly pain or grief might share, 
 Nor dream of blight and misery. 
 
 It seemed to me that she had brought 
 
 Back to my heart some long lost link 
 Of the mysterious chain of thought — 
 
 For I had long since ceased to think 
 Of worldly joys; she brought again 
 
 My feelings to their earthly tonej 
 
 I felt that I was not alone. 
 Though banished from the homes of men, 
 I still was bound by human ties, 
 I still had human sympathies. 
 
 I learned from her that all our pride — 
 
 City, and town, and tower, fell 
 From the pretended prophet's side 3 
 
 Bitlier alone remained to tell (26) 
 Whether his heavenly claim was just. 
 Or sink his memory in the dust. 
 Either ! my failing eyes must see 
 
 The issue of that fearful day. 
 And note the fall or victory, 
 The happiness or misery, 
 
 Of those who joined the fray. 
 
THE LEPER. 35 
 
 O'er hill and vale we jonrneyed long, 
 Until we reached Bethoran's side, 
 And the broad landscape spreading wide, 
 Where Judah's lion, borne in pride, 
 
 Had been the theme of Judah's song ; 
 
 But now it met onr tearful gaze, 
 
 The withered wreck of former days. 
 
 Alas ! for Israel's humbled pride, 
 The glory of her ancient name — 
 
 Her fame was lost, her power defied, 
 
 The very night-winds breathed her shame — 
 
 A stranger hand was tearing now 
 
 The last fair jewel from her brow. 
 
 'Twas midnight ! From Bethoran's hill 
 
 "We saw their watch-fire gleaming far ; 
 The murmurs of the breeze were still, 
 
 And the night waned without a star ; 
 Naught but that pale and glimmering light 
 That streamed thus faintly on the night, 
 As if the heavens had darkened o'er. 
 
 Prophetic of our coming doom. 
 When that pale light should gleam no more. 
 
 And Israel's lamp be quenched in gloom. 
 
 We oft had tried the Eoman power — ■ 
 God grant it in the coming hour. 
 And give to that devoted band 
 The freedom of their native land ! 
 Oh ! for a Joshua's power to keep 
 That stronghold from the coming foe. 
 
36 THE LEPER. 
 
 We watched it from the mountain steep, 
 
 From midnight hour till morning's glow ; 
 We watched it — oh ! what words can prove 
 
 How my soul longed to see the day, 
 As if my voice could once more move 
 
 My myriads forward to the fray. 
 With swelling heart and straining eye, 
 
 Panting with terror, I beheld 
 Bome rushing on to victory, 
 
 And Judah's dream of hope dispell' d I 
 
 Ask me not now to tell again 
 
 The horrors of that fearful war, 
 _ When hill and valley, town and plain. 
 
 For years their blood-stained raiment wore. (27) 
 Mine eyes beheld Judea's hapless sons 
 
 Barter'd like beasts, to glut their victor's pride ; (28) 
 Talk not to me of mercy ; while there runs 
 
 One drop of Jewish blood, may 't, like a tide, 
 Increase in strength, to pay with tenfold power 
 The bitter memory of that cruel hour. 
 
 But I must haste, or the now rising sun 
 
 Will warn thee hence before my tale is done. 
 
 Three years had pass'd since slie j&rst sought my hut. 
 
 Shedding a light like that of Paradise, 
 Around this lonely, melancholy spot, 
 
 And gladdening life with those love-beaming eyes. 
 If I had worshipped her pure innocence 
 
 When the bright world was a gay dream before me, 
 
THE LEPER. 37 
 
 Oil ! think for one brief moment, how intense 
 
 Was my love now, with death's dark shadow o'er me. 
 Together oft we wandered side loj side, 
 At early dawn or dewy eventide, 
 To breathe the fragrance of the balmy air, 
 And offer to our Grod our daily prayer ; 
 Together always, for it seemed to me 
 She was a part of my vitality. 
 
 Her very footfall had a soothing spell — 
 
 Her every look and tone sunk in my soul ; 
 How often, when the evening shadows fell. 
 
 Have we sat here and watched the bright clouds roll 
 To grace the sun's departing majesty. 
 Imagining strange figures in the sky. 
 Peopling it with our fancies, till the gray 
 Dim twilight came and swept our dreams away. 
 
 And then as each bright, glittering star arose. 
 We would recall some legend of our youth. 
 
 Or mourn our crushed and ruined country's woes. 
 And pray that Grod would send the light of truth 
 
 To gild her loneliness. And once I drew 
 From those dear lips a melancholy tale 
 Of grief and suffering. Over hill and vale 
 
 The summer moon a veil of silver threw. 
 
 When she, like that lone, solitary flower, (29) 
 
 Which hides its sweets from the bright eye of day, 
 
 And sheds its perfume 'neath the moon's pale ray, 
 Revealed her soul in that calm, holy hour, 
 
 3* 
 
] THE LEPER. 
 
 And breathed her tale upon my listening ear ; 
 And as I heard^ and shuddering wept, to hear, 
 I curs' d the maddened folly that could hring 
 On that dear head such grief and sorrowing. 
 
 She loved ! Oh ! must the fatal words be said ? 
 She loved — and whom ? Phasael I that one of all 
 Who triumphed most over my fearful fall ! 
 Yet, when I listened to that tearful story, 
 
 Told me with all her woman^s truthfulness, 
 I marvelled how my idle dream of glory 
 
 Had shut my heart to tenderness like this ; 
 And I shed bitter tears to think that I 
 Had wrought on one I loved such heartfelt misery. 
 
 She died ! I cannot tell thee how or when ; 
 ^Twould rack with torture my poor, failing brain — 
 Thou, too, the last sweet solace given. 
 
 Wilt leave this lone, deserted spot. 
 And when on life's dark ocean driven, 
 
 Say, will my story be forgot ? 
 Wilt thou, when in thine own loved clime. 
 
 With all that heaven has sent to cheer thee, 
 Recall this solemn hour of time. 
 
 With a foul leper seated near thee ? 
 Aye, thou may'st tell how Judea's hills 
 
 Enclose within their rocky bound, 
 One in whose breast a country's ills 
 
 Have left a more than mortal wound. 
 But one who would not, tho' he be 
 
 A leper, loathsome to the sense, 
 
THE LEPER. 39 
 
 A thing of blight and misery^ 
 
 Yet would not^ if lie could^ fly hence 
 To fairer lands; and be again 
 All he has ever been 'mong men. 
 No ! dear the thought to know my dust 
 Shall rest on ground where they, the just 
 And righteous of our race have died. 
 Whose names are still Judea's pride. 
 
 Thou say'st thy skill has power to save 
 The plague-struck sufferer from the grave — 
 Not for the wealth the world can give 
 Would I accept that boon and live ! 
 Why should I live ? there breathes not one 
 
 Would welcome me to life again ; 
 Her earthly pilgrimage is done, 
 
 She, the last link of the strong chain 
 That bound my spirit unto earth , 
 And they from whom I claimed my birth, 
 All, all are gone who once were dear. 
 
 And I am left to struggle on. 
 With not a human voice to cheer 
 
 Life's desert with a kindly tone. 
 
 Why should I live ? my country's hopes are gone — 
 Vanished the draught of glory which she tasted ; 
 
 The once proud splendor of her sun is down. 
 And all her treasures on the desert wasted. 
 
 Shall I again her fertile gladness see ? 
 
 Shall Ophir's gold or Lebanon's proud tree, 
 
 Bring back her former glory unto me ? 
 
40 THE LEPER. 
 
 No ! cold and desolate for ages yet 
 
 Our loved and consecrated land must lie — 
 
 For ages shall the dews of heaven wet 
 
 The dreary waste with tear-drops from the sky. 
 
 And yet it is a glorious thing to be 
 
 So near the scenes made holy by our Grod — 
 To tread again the paths our fathers trod, 
 
 And dream of freedom, Israel, for thee ! 
 
 Years passed. Once more the traveler sought the glen ; 
 
 It bloomed a wilderness of tangled flowers ; 
 The little brook still sung and smiled, as when 
 
 He listened to the leper's tale. For hours 
 He sat that eve beneath the fragrant vine. 
 
 But sat alone ! that fiery heart was stilled ; 
 The wild ambition of his haughty line 
 
 Had sunk to sleep. And tho' his voice had thrilFd 
 His gallant warriors on the battle-field, 
 
 'Twas silent now. Unburied he had lain, 
 
 Until his bones, bleached by the wind and rain, 
 Lay whitening there, a ghastly heap, concealed 
 In part by the wild flowers that bloomed above 
 The humble grave of her, his early love. 
 There was no human sight nor sound, 
 A solemn stillness reigned around, 
 Unbroken by a human tone. 
 In that sweet valley dark and lone. 
 How mournfully each silent spot 
 
 Recalls the memory of a God — 
 
 But who can press Judea's sod. 
 And deem its chosen race forgot ? 
 
THE LEPER, ' 4l 
 
 The solemn Hstorj of the past 
 
 Speaks feelingly into the heart } 
 And though their skj be oyercastj 
 
 Yet shall the memory ne'er depart^ 
 Of promises that still can bless 
 ^Mid slavery and wretchedness. * 
 
 The heart expands to yiew those scenes, (30) 
 
 Made bright by memories of yore , 
 And tho' the storm-cloud intervenes. 
 
 Yet will we prize those glories more, 
 When the dark mystic veil is rent away, 
 
 And Judah wakens from her dream of shame — 
 From her deep night of grief, to brightest day, 
 
 Once more the proud possessor of a name 1 
 
PREFACE TO ZARA. 
 
 The following extract, upon which the poem of Zara 
 is based, is from the pen of E. L. Miteord, Esq., author 
 of an appeal in behalf of the Jewish nation. I have 
 presumed upon a poet's privilege, and have, for various 
 reasons, transferred the scene of the catastrophe from 
 Fez to Constantinople. 
 
 ^' I will narrate a case," says Mr. Mitford, " which 
 took place at Tangier, and with which I was, therefore, 
 well acquainted. The individual sufferer was an inter- 
 esting Jewess, of respectable family, residing at Tan- 
 gier ; and much is it to be regretted that our Consul- 
 General had not influence — or, if he did posesss any, 
 that he did not exert it — to avert the horrid catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 " This young creature was summoned before the Cadi, 
 by two Moors, who deposed to her having pronounced 
 their confession of faith. This, however, she utterly 
 denied, but in vain ; and the Cadi had no alternative, 
 even had he possessed the inclination, but to decree her 
 conformity to Islamism, on pain of death. I was never 
 able to obtain correct information as to whether the 
 witnesses were actuated by sinister motives, or whether 
 the poor girl really did repeat the fatal words in jest. 
 There is, doubtless, much friendly intercourse between 
 
44 PREFACE. 
 
 the Jews and the better-disposed Moors, in which gos- 
 sip and jesting are sometimes carried beyond the verge 
 of safety, considering the relative position of the par- 
 ties. Again, in a scriptural language like the Arabic, 
 in which the name of Grod so constantly occurs, there 
 are many ejaculations repeatedly uttered by the Jews 
 which approach very near to this formula, and might, 
 therefore, be mistaken for it. Be this as it may, the 
 aJGfair was of too serious a nature to be passed over 
 lightly by the Jewish community, who at least deserve 
 the credit of uniting for mutual protection, and, conse- 
 quently, every exertion was made, but unsuccessfully, 
 by influence and money, to crush it in the bud. It 
 had, however, become too public not to reach the ears 
 of Malai Abderahman, to whose decision it was, there- 
 fore, referred, and the parties repaired to Fez for that 
 purpose. 
 
 ^' Whatever might have influenced her accusers, there 
 could be no doubt of the motive of the Sultan in en- 
 forcing the decree, which was, to obtain another play- 
 thing for his harem; in fact, so well known was his 
 character in that respect, that, from the moment of her 
 being ordered to his presence, no one expected any 
 other result — for few possibly imagined, nor did the 
 Sultan himself, that she would have courage to brave 
 the alternative, rather than abandon the faith of her 
 fathers. Such, however, was the case. She was first 
 sent to the Serail, where every means were employed 
 to shake her constancy ; threats, blandishments, and 
 the most brilliant promises, were tried by turns, and 
 were equally unsuccessful. Even her relations were 
 
PREFACE. 45 
 
 allowed to see her, to endeavor by their persuasions to 
 divert her from her resolution ; but, with a firmness 
 which, against such assaults, could have been the effect 
 only of the deepest conviction, this young and noble 
 creature held fast her integrity, and calmly chose a hor- 
 rible, though honorable death, to the enjoyment of an 
 ignominious existence of shame and infamy. 
 
 "The Jews came forward with ofi'ers of immense 
 sums of money to save her, but her fate was irrevocably 
 decided, and the only mercy the baffled tyrant could 
 afford his young and innocent victim, was to allow of 
 her being decapitated, instead of being burnt alive. I 
 had an account of the closing scene from an eye-witness, 
 who was one of the guards at the execution — and 
 although, as a body, there is nowhere a more dissolute 
 set of irregular soldiery than the Morocco Moors, yet 
 he confessed to me that many of his vice-hardened 
 companions could not restrain their tears, and that he 
 himself could not look with dry eyes on a sight of such 
 cold-blooded atrocity. 
 
 " This beautiful young creature was led out to where 
 a pile ready for firing had been raised for her last couch, 
 her long, dark hair flowing dishevelled over her shoul- 
 ders, she looked around in vain for a heart and hand 
 that could succor, though so many eyes pitied her ; for 
 the last time she was offered — with the executioner and 
 the pyre in all their terror before her — her life, on con- 
 dition of being false to her God : she only asked for a 
 few minutes for prayer, after which her throat was cut 
 by the executioner, according to the barbarous custom 
 of the country, and her body consumed on the fire." 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Oh, harp of Judah, thou beloved so long, 
 
 A feeble hand essays thy notes again, 
 And thou returnest in answer to the song, 
 
 Fraught with deep sadness, a low, wailing strain j 
 
 A mournful murmur swells, as if in pain, 
 Along thy chords. Oh ! melancholy lyre, 
 
 Let not those notes reverberate in vain. 
 But let the mournful strain, ere it expire. 
 Pervade my trembling soul with its etherial fire. 
 
 Oh, harp ! how has thy lofty spirit slept. 
 
 Thou, whose proud strings once thrilFd 'neath kingly 
 hands. 
 That told of IsraeFs sorrows when she wept. 
 
 Her triumphs when she burst her conquerors' bands ; 
 
 Then swelled the choral notes to distant lands. 
 And songs of triumph borne upon the air. 
 
 Proclaimed to all that He, whose love withstands 
 The many sins to which frail man is heir. 
 Had stooped in mercy down to hear the captive's prayer. 
 
 But now, no powerful hand essays thy string. 
 No loudly swelling note responds in pride ; 
 Weak and uncertain is the lay I sing, 
 46 
 
INTRODUCTION. 47 
 
 And faint and mournfully hast thou replied — 
 An humble meed we bring to her who died 
 For the pure faith she loved j but the sad lay, 
 
 Rude though its numbers be, let none deride ; 
 Fain would an unskilled hand point out the way, 
 To lead their steps aright, who from fair wisdom stray. 
 
Z A R A. 
 
 " Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 
 When first we practice to deceive." — Scott. 
 
 'Tis midniglit in Stamboul ! the radiant light 
 Of the soft moon gilds minaret and tower, 
 
 And the deep stillness of the silent night 
 Is fraught with poetry. In such an hour, 
 Can fierce and angry passions wield their power ? 
 
 Can wayward thoughts or sinful wishes feed 
 The human heart ? Alas, the simplest flower 
 
 Might teach to erring man, whatever Ms creed, 
 
 A lesson fraught with truth that all who list may read. 
 
 'Tis midnight ! yet from many a lattice gleams 
 
 A flood of golden light, and all is gay 
 Within Namouna's bower ] bright, sparkling beams, 
 
 And sounds of merry laughter, and the play 
 
 Of fragrant fountains, whose soft, cooling spray, 
 Falls like a gentle shower of summer rain, 
 
 Scattering its sweets around, and in the ray 
 Of brightly beaming lamps, flashes again 
 In rainbow brightness o'er that fair and joyous train. 
 
 4* 49 
 
50 , ZABA, 
 
 There is one form amid the festal throng, » ■ 
 
 Whose step is lightest in the mazy dance, 
 
 And whose rich voice is sweetest in the song, 
 Whose eye, out-sparkling all in its wild glance, 
 Seemeth to know the witchery to entrance, 
 
 And make all hearts her own, as by a spell — 
 While innocence and purity enhance 
 
 Charms that might win a hermit from his cell, 
 Or teach a Santon sage 'mong infidels to dwell. 
 
 Mahmoud had seen that peerless Hebrew maid. 
 
 Fairest of all where all were passing fair, 
 Had seen her, and had worshipped, but afraid 
 
 To harm one ringlet of her raven hair, 
 
 Or even in his wildest moments dare 
 To breathe his passion — sought by ivoman's wile 
 
 To lure her on to join the revel there ; 
 Thinking, if fraud or treachery could beguile 
 Her soul from its pure faith, the rest were easy spoil. 
 
 And well Namouna knew each crafty wile. 
 To soothe the unwary conscience into sleep. 
 
 With tender accent and with winning smile, 
 And even tears, for she could also weep 
 If needs must be — and her soft spells could keep 
 The senses prisoner, and with poison steep 
 
 The unguarded mind ; nor could their thoughts discern 
 
 How deep within her heart dark, vengeful feelings burn. 
 
 She had enticed her there in bitter hate. 
 
 But veiled her feelings beneath friendship's guise. 
 
ZARA. 51 
 
 Displayed the royal trappings of her state, 
 
 And watched the effect in the unfeigned surprise 
 That lighted up those dark and liquid eyes, 
 
 When first the regal splendor met their view ; 
 It seemed like a faint dream of paradise 
 
 To Zara, gazing on a scene so new, 
 
 She deems it all a dream too gorgeous to be true. 
 
 Ropes of rare orient pearl festoon the folds 
 Of mist-like drapery of pale, amber dye ; 
 
 A vast shell-fashioned golden basin holds 
 
 The silver flood, that, rushing toward the sky, (1) 
 Rains back in glittering diamond drops, while high, 
 
 Rearing their polished heads to that proud dome, 
 Pillars of porphyry and jasper vie. 
 
 With western sunlight on the ocean's foam. 
 
 That brings the sea-tost mariner bright dreams of home. 
 
 Through the quaint lattice-bars the moonlight falls 
 
 On flashing gems of rarest beauty, wove 
 In shape of every flower whose hue recalls 
 
 Thoughts of the fresh pure earth, and early love ; 
 
 While in each cloud-like, canopied alcove, 
 Hang lamps like the faint inside of a shell, 
 
 Rose-tinted and gold-veined, whose every move 
 Sends forth a sound like a far distant bell, 
 Heard on a dewy eve in some lone, woody dell. 
 
 The fairy luxury of bower and hall. 
 
 The Musnud thickly gemmed, the inlaid floor, 
 And the rich treasures of the pictured wall, 
 
52 ZARA. 
 
 The glittering gold and azure belt that bore 
 
 The Koran's holy text, and circled o'er 
 That gorgeous spot, like heaven's vault of light — 
 
 All formed a scene whose likeness ne'er before 
 In any shape or guise had met her sight, 
 And proved to her young mind a source of deep delight. 
 
 Where'er she moves, they, with cold, jealous eyes, 
 
 Graze on her fatal gift of beauty, rare 
 Even in that clime, where, as for Paradise 
 
 Are culled earth's loveliest of bright and fair. 
 
 And when the Muezzin calls to midnight prayer, 
 Namouna urges her to join the rest, 
 
 With all her suasive words and seeming care, 
 As tho' a mother made that mild request — 
 Strange feelings stirred within that young and artless 
 breast. 
 
 '^ Thy faith is like our own," Namouna said ; 
 
 *' There is no God but Grod — that prayer is thine, 
 And it is ours ; thy mother, when she prayed, 
 
 Taught thy young voice to hymn that sacred line. 
 
 And as she taught, let now the task be mine ; 
 While others seek the Frank's bewildering creed, 
 
 Let it be mine to watch the fragile vine 
 She tended with such care, lest some foul deed 
 Sap the young root and leave the tender plant to bleed.' 
 
 Lightly to others' words she laughing gave 
 
 A quick response ; but when Namouna spoke. 
 With that sweet voice so tremulous and grave, 
 
ZARA. 63 
 
 She turned attentively — and thoughts awoke 
 Of that fair clime^ where, 'neath oppression's yoke, 
 Her sainted mother died. And the bright sod, 
 
 Earth's bosom, blushed with the fierce deeds that 
 broke, 
 Lawless' and wild, beneath a bigot's rod ; 
 Her voice responds to theirs, "There is no God but 
 God." (2) 
 
 " Mahomet is his prophet !" It is well. 
 
 The prayer is done, and now she joins the lay. 
 In which her voice steals o'er them, like the spell 
 
 The Bulbul leaves at the decline of day 
 
 Around his favorite rose, who, when the gray. 
 Dim twilight comes, raises her drooping form. 
 
 Unmindful how the sunbeams pale away — 
 While, pantingly, she listens for that warm 
 And gushing melody, that soothes her like a charm. 
 
 Already has the wily tempter's art — 
 
 Ah ! fondly trusting and too simple maid — 
 
 Woven its spells around thy childlike heart ; 
 Thou seest not the secret snare they laid — 
 Thou'rt like a fluttering bird, who in the shade 
 
 Of leafy forest sings, while the death aim 
 Is level' d at its heart; thou hast repaid 
 
 In thy sweet notes, what e'en would savage tame. 
 
 Or quell the darkest deed that human heart could frame. 
 
 Within the precincts of that gay hareem. 
 
 Were other forms than met fair Zara's eye, 
 And though all bright and innocent did seem. 
 
54 ZARA. 
 
 Their harmless mirth and childlike revelry, 
 For other eyes and ears were watching high, 
 Eager to catch one stray, unguarded word, 
 That might betray her soul in her reply. 
 Ah ! little dreamed that fair and guileless bird. 
 When those few words she spoke, that other ears had 
 heard. 
 
 The night is well nigh spent, and one by one 
 
 The lovely revellers retire to rest. 
 And she is left in her gay bower alone. 
 
 The ringing laugh, scarce ended, which the jest. 
 
 Mirth-born, provoked. And now the glittering vest 
 Of sable-tinted night pales in the gray 
 
 First tinge of early dawn — the slumbering West 
 Still wears night's livery, but the faint marked ray 
 Tells in the glowing East the coming hour of day. 
 
 Morn breaks at length, and from her fairy bower 
 
 She watched the last star's lingering ray depart ; 
 Why in the calm, gray twilight of that hour. 
 
 Creeps such a sudden chill across her heart? 
 
 She who so late had borne the blithest part 
 Among that laughing group, sits silent there. 
 
 Dreaming, she scarce knows what. Why does she 
 start. 
 As the dull Muezzin's morning call to prayer 
 Comes with its solemn tone on the soft balmy air ? 
 
 Namouna sought her side, but even her low. 
 Sweet, pleasing voice, fell strangely on her ear ; 
 
ZARA. 55 
 
 It seemed as if a sense of coming woe 
 
 Crept to her heart, and chained its pulse with fear, 
 So strangely 7iow do last night's scenes appear, 
 
 So fraught with some unfathomed mystery. 
 
 What means Namouna ? " Thou art mistress here !" 
 
 '^ Rejoice/^ she said at length, '^ that thou art free 
 
 From that dark, erring creed, which so long fettered 
 thee V' 
 
 " My creed ? Thou ravest ! Has my soul flung back 
 That glorious faith, taught by a mother's tongue. 
 
 And lisped in earliest childhood ? The bright track 
 Left by the powerful day-god, when he sprung 
 From out the lap of night, or midway hung 
 
 In his career, was not more pure and bright 
 
 Than that dear faith. Namouna, thou hast wrung 
 
 My heart with deepest anguish and affright. 
 
 Nor can I yet believe my ears have heard aright.^' 
 
 " Peace, peace !" Namouna cried, " thou ravest ! thou 
 Wert better dead than let thy false lips speak 
 
 Those impious words ; thou darest not break thy vow — 
 Mahmoud has heard thee. Hence, and let him wreak 
 His vengeance on her head who thus would break 
 
 Her faith with heaven.^' The Sultan ! ha, that name 
 Unravels all the mystery ; they would seek 
 
 That foul device to urge her on to shame ; 
 
 Where could she turn for help when his dread summons 
 came? 
 
 Pure as a snow-flake in its midway flight, 
 Ere earthly touch or earthly stain defile 
 
66 ZARA. 
 
 Its fleecy whiteness, fair as is the light 
 
 Of some lone star, whose trembling beams beguile 
 The dreamy poet — she whose lightest smile 
 
 Shed happiness around her— what is she ? 
 
 The storm-tost wanderer wrecked on some lone isle, 
 
 Who fain must trust his ill-made bark to sea — 
 
 Were emblem meet for her in her lone misery. 
 
 They bear her to a fair and glittering bower, 
 
 Whose gorgeous splendor palls upon the sight. 
 And strive with all the arts of wealth and power, 
 
 To lure her from the narrow path of right. 
 
 And then her trial came, when day and night 
 Her soul was racked with question and reply ; 
 
 But, though bewilder'd and perplexed with fright. 
 Still true to her pure faith, they vainly try 
 To win her from the track by force or subtlety. 
 
 In his seraglio, moody and apart. 
 
 Young Mahmoud sat j no stranger's eye could trace 
 The bitter struggle of his writhing heart. 
 
 In the cold lineaments of that pale face. 
 
 Yet his heart weeps, and strives in vain to efface 
 That fragile suppliant from his throbbing brain ! 
 
 It will not be I the maddening pulse keeps pace 
 With the wild whirlwind; fool ! how more than vain 
 Were thy imagined joys, based on another's pain. 
 
 In vain his favorite tries each graceful wile. 
 
 In vain his beauteous slaves of fair Cashmere, 
 Strive as of yore to win their master's smile — 
 
ZARA. 57 
 
 All souads fall cold on his msensate ear, 
 He heeds not mirth nor music — a vague fear, 
 A shuddering sense of some impending ill, 
 A sound, a whisper, that he will not hear. 
 Presses upon his brain against his will. 
 And struggle as he may, the vision haunts him still ! 
 
 He signs them to depart ; they know his mood. 
 
 It brooks not idle question nor reply. 
 " Bear hence our mandate — be it understood 
 
 We seek our prisoner ; and thou, Zerli, 
 
 Place thou those gew-gaws such as woman^s eye 
 Delights to look on, that she needs must see 
 
 Our care hath left no fitting toy awry ; 
 And if she still disdain my gifts and me — 
 Ah, Allah ! no, that thought is hopeless misery.'^ 
 
 A lulling fountain's gently soothing sound, 
 
 Steals with its murmuring tones o'er her sad soul, 
 
 And in the coming twilight that around 
 Deepens the shadows, dreamy visions stole. 
 Sweet thoughts come crowding on without control— 
 
 She treads again her native valleys free. 
 
 With those she loves, and fancy steeps the whole 
 
 In her elysian dye, till memory 
 
 Revels in the bright past of love and liberty. 
 
 " Zara V she starts ! that voice dispells the dream 
 Which for a moment brought back other days. 
 
 " Houri ! to-night thy matchless beauties seem 
 Even lovelier than when last they met my gaze ; 
 
 5 
 
58 ZARA. 
 
 Thou heed^st not ! know a monarch seldom prays 
 For mortal boon ; thou hast presumed to spurn 
 
 My proffered love ; the heart that thus repays 
 With coldness my love's coin, can also turn 
 To deadly venomed hate the fires with which I burn. 
 
 "Now listen : hitherto my love hath kept 
 
 My lips from uttering all I have to tell, 
 But now, let the stern truth that only slept, 
 
 Be waken'd, and thy childish dream dispel. 
 
 But look not on me thus ! I love so well, 
 That my heart seems scarce strong enough to bear 
 
 Thy thrilling, searching glance, that, like a spell. 
 Fetters it down to earth. Beware ! beware ! 
 Tempt not my lips to speak what thou wilt dread to hear/' 
 
 Suddenly, as by magic, while he spoke, 
 
 A thousand starry lamps flash o'er the scene, 
 
 Soft, mellowed, and subdued, their radiance broke, 
 And in their amber-colored light are seen 
 Bands of dusk, silent slaves, who glide between 
 
 Those rows of gleaming pillars ; now they meet, 
 And kneeling, offer her as to a queen, 
 
 Kich robes and sparkling gems, and incense sweet, 
 
 All bring their richest gifts their hareem queen to greet. 
 
 But, amid flashing gems and music's tone, 
 
 Which now swells gently through that fair arcade, 
 
 Another moves with stealthy steps alone — 
 
 The headsman ! loathed wretch ! his glittering blade 
 An instant gleams before the affrighted maid. 
 
ZARA. 59 
 
 Then vanishes like all that fair array — 
 
 Even like the ripples some fair child has made 
 Upon a lake's calm bosom^ while at play ; 
 iSo gleams awhile that pageantry, so fades away. 
 
 " Zara I" the monarch murmured, " oft my tongue 
 Essayed to speak the words that give thee o'er 
 
 To misery, but thy pure soul so clung 
 
 To that bright vision, which can never more 
 Grreet thy young life, that pitying, I forebore 
 
 To break the spell that solaced thy sad heart ; 
 
 Oh ! must I yield thee to that headsman^ s 'power ? 
 
 Wilt thou, so young and lovely as thou art, 
 
 Leave all that lures to life, and recklessly depart ? 
 
 " Thou mays' t reject the love I offer thee. 
 
 Thou mays't spurn back a mighty monarch's prayer. 
 
 But in thine hour of fearful agony. 
 
 Thou wilt in vain recall the tender care 
 
 That would have shielded thee from harm. Beware ! 
 
 Heed how thou lay the axe unto the stem — 
 I swear to thee, by Allah ! every hair 
 
 Of thy dear head more precious is than gem. 
 
 Though rarest of its kind, in Stamboul's diadem." 
 
 ^' Oh ! give me back," she cried, " the thoughts that 
 blest 
 
 Those happy days, ere thy dark treachery came ; 
 Thou hast tortured — give my fainting spirit rest, 
 
 Nor seek to lead my innocence to shame. 
 
 Oh ! by the love thou pleadest — by the flame 
 
60 ZARA. 
 
 Which fain would lead my soul to misery, 
 I do conjure thee, tarnish not thy name 
 For a poor vassal — set thy prisoner free, 
 And every prayer she breathes shall blessings ask for 
 thee." 
 
 " Dreamer, I tell thee it is vain ! the power 
 That giveth life or death, lies not in me; (3) 
 
 Thy sente7ice is decided ! in one hour 
 From the next sunrise must thy spirit free, 
 Float on through depths of vast eternity. 
 
 Whither ? thou tremblest ; oh, be mine the prize — 
 Let the deep, yearning love I bear for thee, 
 
 Win back a soul too young for Paradise, 
 
 Nor let cold bigots boast such costly sacrifice." 
 
 " An hour from sunrise !" she exclaimed. " Oh, God ! 
 
 Must my young life pass thus from the bright earth, 
 And all the pleasant paths my feet have trod — 
 
 My hours of innocent and guileless mirth. 
 
 Fade like a dream away ? And thy lone hearth 
 Deserted ; Father, will it never be 
 
 Again lovers shrine ? Oh ! thou, who from her birth 
 Hast guided thy child's steps to Heaven with thee. 
 How wilt thou bear this weight of crushing misery ?" 
 
 She stood entranced in her heart-rending woe — 
 The flood-gates of her stricken soul were dried ! 
 
 Ah ! only they who feel such grief, can know 
 How the heart shrinks from all the world beside. 
 And feels but its own woe. In vain she tried 
 
ZARA. 61 
 
 To rally her scared senses ; ne'er till now 
 
 Had she relinquished hope j but even that died. 
 Yet, in her sorrows deepest tortures, when 
 He strove to win her back, her soul flashed forth again. 
 
 ^' I spurn," she cried, " thy hatred and thy love — 
 I trample on these gew-gaws of thy state. 
 
 By which my soul's pure mission thou would'st prove. 
 Monarch, I spurn and I defy thee ! great 
 As is thy power, and fearful as thy hate. 
 
 It harms me not ; my pure thoughts soar as free 
 As the light, viewless winds, nor would I mate, 
 
 Trampled and death-doomed as I am, with thee, 
 
 Slave as thou art to thy vile sensual fantasy." 
 
 " Beware V he cried, thou spurn'st the hand that fain 
 Would wreathe a diadem around thy head ) 
 
 Oh ! heed me, and be wise ', this is the vain, 
 Wild outbreak of thy spirit; now, be led 
 By reason's light, and heed what I have said— 
 
 I swear to make thee partner of my throne, 
 If thou renounce thy fatal creed, and tread 
 
 In the right path to heaven. Oh ! be mine own, 
 
 Nor leave my struggling soul thus tortured and alone. 
 
 '^ Without thee life is vain ; vain is the pride, 
 The pomp and splendor of my kingly crown, 
 
 But with thee, beauteous being, by my side, * 
 How would my soul deride the smile or frown 
 Of fickle fortune. Here my heart lays down 
 
 5* 
 
62 ZARA. 
 
 Its wealth of earnest love, and at thy feet 
 
 Offers such homage as a queen might own; 
 Thou, so obscure, unknown, nations shall greet. 
 And tongues of far-off climes my Zara's name repeat." 
 
 " Yes," she exclaimed, ^' and they shall hold the breath. 
 
 When it comes coupled with thine own, and know 
 That thy false lips could doom unto her death, 
 
 One who had never wrought thee bale or woe ; 
 
 And this deep, blood-dyed deed of guilt shall show, 
 Even as a beacon, warning others clear 
 
 Of the foul, fatal rocks that lurk below 
 A kingly aspect. Yes ! the world shall hear 
 The fate of one poor maid, whose course thy hand did 
 steer." 
 
 The wildest prayers that human tongue could frame, 
 The deepest soul-felt pleadings of despair. 
 
 The quivering lips and the dark eye of flame. 
 And trembling form that kneels before her there. 
 Move her no more than the faint breath of air. 
 
 That through the casement flings its fragrance now. 
 And stirs the tresses of her raven hair. 
 
 Which, cold and damp, cling to her pallid brow — 
 
 Her thoughts are not on earth, nor heeds she earthly vow. 
 
 Dawn, in its loveliest hue, when the free earth 
 Bounds into gladness, like a parent, kept 
 
 From the beloved sight of those whose birth 
 Was her sole joy : a mother who has wept 
 That they were severed when their spirits leapt 
 
ZARA. 63 
 
 To meet each other ; even so does she, 
 
 Our mother earth, weep through the night which swept 
 Her loved ones from her sight, and in her glee 
 Hail the first dawn of light with song and revelry. 
 
 A gallant bark, like a fair, graceful swan, 
 
 Skims proudly o'er the light, snow-crested wave 
 
 Of the fair Bosphorus, and ere the dawn 
 Kisses the eyelids of the East, her brave 
 And gallant crew, impatient of their grave 
 
 And silent chief, turn with a wistful gaze 
 
 To that loved shore which the bright waters lave ; 
 
 They bless the fragrant breeze that round them plays. 
 
 And brings back thoughts of love, and home, and happy 
 days. 
 
 Sunrise ! broad over minaret and mosque, 
 
 Flashes the golden beam ! the palm that bends 
 Its graceful form beside the gay kiosk, 
 
 Grlitters like diamonds as the light ascends ; 
 
 And every humble rivulet that wends 
 Its quiet, noiseless way, dimples with light, 
 
 And blesses in its murmurs Him who sends 
 Such gladness upon earth ; the mountain height, 
 Rock, tree and river, all in one glad hymn unite. 
 
 Now the light boat draws near the wished-for land ; 
 Away regret and fear ! friends meet again. 
 
 Eye beams on eye, hand grasps the welcome hand. 
 Cast to the winds remembrance of past pain. 
 The very air breathes forth a joyous strain ; 
 
64 ZARA. 
 
 Hearts^ throbbing fast with coming ecstacy, 
 
 Turn from the heaving billows of the main, 
 To meet, perchance, a gloomier destiny 
 Than the rude, swelling winds of the tempestuous sea. 
 
 These may be borne, the storm may pass away, 
 The haughty wave may ripple at the bow. 
 
 The gloomy sky, surcharged with sulphurous ray. 
 May beam to-morrow with its wonted glow. 
 But who that stakes his happiness below. 
 
 And finds it wrecked, can turn to life again 
 With heart as light, and with as calm a brow. 
 
 In the dark downfall of his hopes, as when 
 
 He first essayed to mount above his fellow men. 
 
 An aged, bending form, whose steps ne'er stay 
 For one brief moment, while the busy throng 
 
 Leap to the shore, now wends his lonely way 
 
 To that loved home, from which, though absent long. 
 His thoughts ne'er wandered — nay, the very song 
 
 Breathed by the oarsmen rude, seems like a spell, 
 A voice from home, and wakens feelings strong 
 
 And powerful within his bosom's cell, 
 
 As he returns to scenes beloved so long and well. 
 
 Reanimated by such thoughts, he speeds 
 To that loved spot where all his wishes lie ] 
 
 He speeds with anxious, trembling steps, nor heeds 
 The motley crowd, who pass each other by 
 With hurried step, as if some revelry. 
 
ZARA. 65 
 
 Some passing pageant, claimed their special care ; 
 
 He heeds them not, but dreams of pleasures nigh. 
 What sound was that upon the summer air ! 
 Was it his daughter's name ! why was it uttered there ? 
 
 It sounds again more near ! his senses reel t 
 
 Dare foul-mouthed slaves breathe that beloved name ? 
 He questions them, and many in their zeal 
 
 Betray the horrid truth ! The torrent came ; 
 
 It moved — it spread — even like the glowing flame, 
 Swayed by the midnight wind — the rushing tide 
 
 Swept past, nor heeded that pale, trembling frame ; 
 They come — their numbers swell on every side — 
 " As a vile wretch should die, she dies to-day V they 
 cried. 
 
 On, on ! he too is borne amid the rest. 
 
 Nor strives to turn ; a fascination lies 
 In all around him, and within his breast 
 
 His heart lies like a corpse ; but now those eyes 
 
 Meet his ! and as the soaring eagle flies 
 To meet the sun, he bursts the living mass — 
 
 He clasps her to his heart — his treasured prize ! 
 His own ! Alas, as frost-work on a glass 
 Melts in the morning's sun, his dreams of pleasure pass. 
 
 Who comes on bounding steed of sable hue. 
 Urging with fiery haste amid the throng ? 
 
 Back, back ! beware in time, ye servile crew, 
 'Tis Mahmoud ! fast and heedlessly along 
 The crowded path he bounds, as if the wrong 
 
66 ZARA. 
 
 His love had wrought on one, was darker shewn 
 
 Than cruelty to others. Fierce among 
 The assembled crowd he spurs, nor plaintive moan, 
 Nor pleading prayer for pity, moves that heart of stone. 
 
 He seeks her, but his voice is faint and low. 
 
 Quelled and subdued by fear, and his strong frame 
 
 Shakes like a reed. ^^ Fond maniac, I forego 
 The love I sued for ; live ! nor let my name 
 Be dimmed for future ages." His breath came 
 
 Panting and fast ; terror was in his eye. 
 
 And his pale, bloodless cheek attests the same. 
 
 " Speak thou !" he cried, in his wild agony, 
 
 " Old man, whose erring creed has brought her here to 
 die! 
 
 " Speak to her — bid her again live for love. 
 
 Not mine ! that fantasy is forever fled ; 
 Let her but live ! perchance thy words may move.'' 
 
 " Forbear, forbear !" with trembling voice she said, 
 
 ^^ Oh ! thou, upon whose snow-enwreathed head 
 This fearful weight will fall so heavily, 
 
 Could'st thou behold thy daughter's soul misled. 
 Her life one endless chain of misery, 
 Removed from her dear faith, my Father, and from 
 thee ? 
 
 " Oh, Grod of Abraham, be my refuge now. 
 Thou to whose holy laws my soul hath clung 
 
 Unstained and undefiled, receive me, Thou, 
 Eternal and Omnipotent." They wrung 
 
ZARA, 67 
 
 All hearts, those words, and fixed attention hung 
 Upon her voice ; so young, so fair, to die. 
 
 Dark, bearded, callous men, held up their young, 
 That they might gaze on her, and marvel why 
 So fair a thing was formed for man's cold butchery. 
 
 A moment's silence o'er that fearful spot, 
 A moment, and each breath is held in awe, 
 
 In that brief space each petty feud forgot ; 
 The multitude, obeying Nature's law, 
 Shrink from a sight that softest tears might draw 
 
 From sternest eyes, and teach men to forgive. 
 And, as a drowning wretch clings to a straw. 
 
 So through her heart and brain wild feelings strive. 
 
 And gather from that pause a hope that she may live. 
 
 " Ye shall not slay her j she is all mine own, 
 
 The treasured relic of the buried past ; 
 Ye cannot leave me, aged and alone. 
 
 To battle with my griefs. Oh ! ye who cast 
 
 This agony o'er one whose life speeds fast 
 To the abyss of death, a broken reed, 
 
 Tremble, and turn in time, lest the fierce blast 
 Of a wronged father's curse to heaven shall speed. 
 And call down G-od's own vengeance on this ruthless 
 deed." 
 
 " Gold ! aye, a monarch's ransom shall be his, 
 Who frees her from this foul and unjust doom." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! if gold could bribe us, long ere this 
 Thy tribe had spared us all this day of gloom^ 
 
68 ZARA. 
 
 But fate, oh, Allah ! how shall man presume 
 To counteract the just decrees of fate ? 
 
 Commander of the Faithful, Thou to whom 
 We bow in reverence, Thy servants wait 
 Thy signal to dispatch her soul to Eblis' gate." 
 
 *' Spare her a moment — one brief moment pause ; 
 
 She yet may turn, and in this trying hour 
 May see the wisdom of our prophet's laws. 
 
 Zara, wilt thou not heed me V Fiend, thy power 
 
 Availeth naught, for that fair, fragile flower, 
 Crushed by thy hand, uprises calm and strong ; 
 
 Her pale lips move in prayer — hush, pause — they 
 cower. 
 Those abject slaves — for, o'er the assembled throng 
 Roll the clear liquid words of Israel's Shemong. (4) 
 
 Thus died she ! Oh, in pity draw the veil, 
 And shut the hideous picture from the sight. 
 
 Let never mortal hear so sad a tale 
 
 As that which quenched forever the young light. 
 Whose being was a household's joy. Let night 
 
 Exclude forever from the face of day 
 
 The fatal hour that thus in hope's despite. 
 
 Forever blotted out that youthful ray, 
 
 And led through terror dark a parent's mind astray. 
 
 Never, from that vile, fatal hour, uprose 
 
 His sinking mind from its dull weight of care. 
 
 But ever as the morning sun uprose 
 
 To light the gladsome earth, did he repair 
 
ZARA. 69 
 
 To that fell spot, and there in deepest prayer 
 Plead for his Zara, deeming some fair tree 
 
 The object of his earnest, wild despair ; 
 And as the rustling wind stirred its light canopy, 
 Dream't 'twas his daughter's hand that beckon'd from 
 the sky. 
 
LIVIA, 
 
 A FRAaMENT. 
 
 Day dawns in Palmyra ! it checkers o'er 
 The porphyry column and polished floor 
 
 Of a stately palace ; and in that light, 
 Sculptured and fair, a figure stands, 
 
 Like the first, faint, glimmering star of night. 
 Is it a statue, so pale and fair. 
 With snowy brow and wavy hair ? 
 
 Her eye is upraised, and her beautiful hands 
 Meet on her bosom, as if to quell 
 Some thought, that the sculptor imprisoned there ; 
 Sterne dream that he cherished, yet feared to tell. 
 It is no statue I 't is breathing and warm, 
 But Praxitiles might have worshipped that form ; 
 The fleecy veil which shaded her brow 
 Has fallen at her feet, like a wreath of snow, 
 And the delicate tint of her drapery seems 
 Like the fairy colors we catch in our dreams. 
 Pearly and mist-like, it floated there, 
 Like impalpable clouds on that summer air. 
 
 71 
 
72 LIVIA. 
 
 She seems a spirit sent from heaven ^ 
 
 To tread the sinful haunts of men. 
 For some offence, and now, forgiven, 
 
 She turns to her own heaven again, 
 And longs for power to wing her way. 
 
 Once more to those bright realms of day. 
 With floating robe and upraised eye. 
 
 And those fair hands that vainly prest 
 
 To still the throbbing of her breast, 
 She seems more meet for yon bright sky — 
 More like a thing of heavenly birth, 
 Than a frail, erring child of earth. 
 Yet is she frail, oh ! far more frail 
 Than ye who read this simple tale ; 
 The weight of guilt is on her brow. 
 That seems so pure and stainless now — 
 And in her heart ! oh, ask me not 
 
 Why such unhallowed taint of sin 
 Should desecrate that holy spot, 
 
 And kindle those wild fires within ! 
 
 But the sound of approaching steps is heard. 
 And the boughs of the Terebinth tree are stirred. 
 As if by the weight of a summer bird. 
 Lightly swaying amid its leaves ; 
 And her eye grows bright, and her bosom heaves ! 
 'Tis his signal ! he comes — a moment more. 
 And a shadow falls on that marble floor. 
 But who is this ? No mailed knight, 
 No warrior bold in glittering steel, 
 
LIVIA. 73 
 
 No lover-chief now greets her sight, 
 
 But a form that causes her brain to reel ; 
 With matted beard and glaring eye, 
 
 And tatter'd robe, whose hideous stains 
 Tell of a bloody victory ! 
 Perchance a struggle to be free ; 
 
 For the marks of cruel chains 
 Have gangrened in these fleshless arms. 
 
 And vestiges of the scourge are there 
 
 On his shoulders bleeding and bare. 
 Which scarcely human life-blood warms. 
 
 What makes he here at this lonely hour ? 
 
 Why gazes he thus on that pallid maid. 
 
 Whose bloodless cheek and lips betrayed 
 
 Her spirit^ s fearful agony. 
 
 At the rude spectre thus set free ? 
 
 ^^ Livia ! even in my loathsome cell 
 
 Came the voice of him thou lovest so well. 
 
 And, while he beheld that horrible place. 
 
 He breathed the tale of thy deep disgrace. 
 
 He said thou had'st bartered thy country's fame. 
 
 And tarnished Zenobia's glorious name. 
 
 And that he, thy false lover, would aid thy flight 
 
 From the scene of thy guilt ere the coming night. 
 
 He said it to taunt me ; he thought my chains 
 
 Had sunk in my spirit and fettered me there ; 
 And he deemed that the blood in my aged veins 
 
 Was too slugglish and weak, such a deed to dare 
 As I have dared, to meet with thee. 
 Child of disgrace and infamy. 
 
 6* 
 
74 LIVIA. 
 
 " And Antiochus has met tlie doom 
 
 A recreant slave deserves to meet ; 
 Far down in that narrow cell of gloom — 
 
 Its moulding walls for a winding sheet — 
 
 The traitor lies. Can his rest be sweet ? 
 That cell's narrow hound is wider far 
 Than the graves of the mighty who fall in war, 
 But theirs is a calm and peaceful sleep, 
 And the forms of the loving, the true and fair, 
 Gather around their graves to weep. 
 But who shall mourn for a traitor, dead ? * 
 
 Let him sleep in his dark, unhallowed bed. 
 Where many a foul and noisome thing 
 
 Shall creep round his faithless brain and heart ; 
 Here the foulest and vilest shall gather and cling. 
 And for each dark thought there shall be a sting ; 
 
 And thou, who hast aided'' — Well may'st thou start. 
 Old man, for thy first fell, fatal word, 
 Had pierced her faithless heart like a sword ; 
 She was mighty to do a deed of wrong, 
 But wavering and weak where the good are strong. 
 
THE 
 
 CLIO. 
 
 Thou, that with careful eye and brow severe, 
 Notest the virtues and the faults of men, 
 
 Not thine the record of the sigh and tear. 
 
 The lover's perfidy, the maiden's fear. 
 
 The midnight ghost that haunts the quiet glen- 
 
 Not these thy theme, but deeds of high renown, 
 Fierce battles fought, defeat and victory, 
 
 The assassin's poniard and the monarch's crown. 
 The roughest billows on life's surging sea — 
 These are the themes most pleasing unto thee. 
 
 ERATO. 
 
 List ! there are whispers floating nigh, 
 
 And lovers' vows are blended ; 
 " Luscious lip of vermiel dye. 
 Brow of snow, and melting eye '^ — 
 These the burden of thy sigh. 
 
 Until the lay is ended. 
 These are thine, Erato, thine, 
 Thou most capricious of the mystic nine. 
 
 75 
 
76 THE MUSES. 
 
 POLYHIMNIA. 
 
 Thy rounded periods fall with a sweet tone, 
 Like softest music, and the enraptured sense 
 Drinks in thy numbers, mighty eloquence. 
 Thou, with a power exclusively thine own, 
 Scarest the guilty wretch upon his throne, 
 Making him shrink with dread of thought of thee ; 
 Thou settest the chained and pining captive free, 
 Loosening his bonds, and with a trumpet voice 
 Biddest the despot cower, the slave rejoice; 
 Or, with low accents pleadest love's sweet tale, 
 Far from the haunts of men, in some lone, quiet vale. 
 
 TERPSICHORE. 
 
 To the light fantastic measure. 
 
 In the gay and brilliant hall, 
 Seekers of the phantom, pleasure, 
 
 Hasten quickly at thy call. 
 But neither mirth, nor dance nor song, 
 Can detain the siren long ; 
 Hasten, seize her while ye may, 
 Pleasure lingers but a day ! 
 Then let her votaries bend the knee 
 At thy fair shrine, Terpsichore. 
 
 MELPOMENE. 
 
 The cord, the dagger, and the poisonous bowl, 
 
 These to thee, Melpomene, belong : 
 The murderer's treacherous and designing soul, 
 
 And the unhappy victim's cruel wrong ; 
 
THE MUSES, 77 
 
 Dark deeds of guilt, of black revenge and hate, 
 The wretch despairing 'neath a tyrant's power, 
 
 Passion's unholy reign and sinful state, 
 Dark retribution's sure and awful hour ; 
 
 Fierce, writhing heart, and mad, delirious brain — 
 
 These are all thine, a foul and fearful train. 
 
 THALIA. 
 
 Turn we to a brighter theme, 
 
 Where light mirth, with laughing chorus. 
 Spreads her evanescent beam. 
 
 While gay shadows flit before us. 
 Shadows fleeting, frail and fair. 
 
 As are earthly shadows ever. 
 
 Vanished once, returning never, 
 Ofttimes leaving grief and care ; 
 Like the butterfly of spring, 
 
 If too close the toy we clasp. 
 The bloom is brushed from off its wing, 
 
 It fades and withers in our grasp — 
 Then let moderation sway 
 The pleasures of life's fleeting day. 
 
 CALLIOPE. 
 
 Heroes have died — thou bid'st them live again, 
 In the sweet measure of thy liquid verse, 
 And while thy lays their martial deeds rehearse, 
 
 We feel they have not lived and loved in vain. 
 
 Thou sing'st of those who fought of yore. 
 And Hector, Mentor, Menelaus, 
 
78 THE MUSES. 
 
 Fight their fiercest combats o'er. 
 
 While rage and grief alternate sway us ; 
 Lights and shadows fitfully 
 Mingle in thy melody. 
 
 EUTEKPE. 
 
 When stormy feelings fret the soul, 
 
 And hope seems hidden from the view ; 
 When sorrow's wildest billows roll, 
 
 And love is false and friends untrue — 
 Then, maid divine, thy power is felt, 
 
 Its soothing influence heals our wound. 
 And all our fierce emotions melt, 
 
 In answer to the liquid sound. 
 
 URANIA. 
 
 Thine eyes devoutly raised to heaven, 
 
 Thou heed'st not human hopes and fears, 
 Earthly thrones and kingdoms riven. 
 
 In the lapse of circling years. 
 Still thy gaze is fixed on high. 
 
 And in every earnest look 
 
 Thou read'st a page in Grod's own book. 
 In that wonder-beaming sky ; 
 But like a burnt and wither' d scroll 
 
 Will those glittering heavens be, 
 When the Eternal's voice shall roll 
 
 The veil from our mortality. 
 
FEMALE 
 
 SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 
 
 NO. I.— FIRST SERIES 
 
 Come with tlie voice, tlie lyre, 
 
 Daughters of Judah, with the timbrel rise ; 
 Ye of the dark, prophetic, eastern eyes. 
 
 Imperial in their visionary fire ; 
 Oh ! steep my soul in that old glorious time, 
 When Grod's own whispers shook the cedars of yoiu* clime. 
 
 Hemans. 
 
 Ye come, ye come ! I see a spirit band 
 Through the dim, shadowy twilight of the past, 
 Slowly advancing. Nearer, nearer yet, 
 Etherial spirits, that my soul may catch 
 A glimpse of that bright loveliness o'er which 
 A charm of heaven lingers — oh ! how unlike 
 The beauty of this earth. Now swifter move 
 Those glittering pinions, and one radiant form 
 Is bending queen-like o'er her sister shades. 
 Hark ! how their voices swell ; the golden clouds 
 Hang motionless ; light silvery masses roll, 
 And half envelope the bright, beauteous forms 
 
 79 
 
80 FEMALE 
 
 Of the fair choristers. Sweet vision, stay ! 
 Let not the o'erwearied mind, too sorely tried, 
 Be fettered down again to earth's dull tasks, 
 But lose itself thus in sweet dreams of heaven. 
 
 SAEAH. 
 
 Boom for that queenly one ! 
 
 Boom for the peerless gem — 
 Place on her form the regal robe, 
 
 On her brow the diadem. 
 
 And hail her as the queen 
 
 Of a high and noble race ; 
 Proud mother of a princely line, 
 
 Badiant in every grace. 
 
 She comes, a husband's pride. 
 
 Protected by his arms; 
 And haughty kings and princes bend 
 
 In homage to her charms. 
 
 From her our race hath sprung — 
 
 She has given us a dower 
 More dear than gems or robes of price. 
 
 Or the pomp of earthly power. 
 
 Then blest, forever blest ! 
 
 Be she, who thus hath given 
 Unto her weary, earth-born sons, 
 
 A heritaare in heaven. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 81 
 
 NO. II. 
 
 Like roseate clouds that, at the day's decline, 
 Gather in gorgeous beauty ^round the sun, 
 And pageant his departure, they appear. 
 Bright and etherial, floating thro' the mist 
 That, like a veil, is spread ^twixt earth and heaven. 
 If thus, oh ! fountain of eternal light. 
 The soul finds pleasure holding sweet commune 
 With the faint shadows of thy blest abode, 
 How will thy glories burst upon the view. 
 When the freed spirit wakens from its dream, 
 And earth, so long the grave of huried hopes, 
 Keleases us forever ! 
 
 KEBEKAH. 
 
 Lift from her virgin brow the veil \ 
 
 Young Hebrew, unto thee is sent 
 A ministering angel, whose bright form 
 
 Brings peace and joy within thy tent. 
 
 And thou, fair daughter of the East, 
 Whose stately step and flashing eye — 
 
 Whose graceful form and noble mein. 
 Proclaim thy birth and lineage high ; 
 
 When thy dark eyes were heaven-ward raised, 
 Did fires prophetic light thy soul, 
 
 7 
 
82 EEMALE 
 
 And point to tliee the weary path^ 
 Thy children tread to win their goal ? 
 
 Or did bright visions cheer thy soul. 
 And spread a beaming halo o'er them, 
 
 When gentile kings should own their sway,* 
 And haughty nations bow before them. 
 
 Thy faith, thy love, thy modest worth, 
 Need no recording tablet now; 
 
 No stone on which to grave thy name. 
 Nor earthly wreath to bind thy brow. 
 
 Deep in each earnest Jewish heart 
 
 Are shrined those memories of the past. 
 
 Memories that time can ne'er efface. 
 Nor sorrow's blighting wing o'ercast. 
 
 NO. III. 
 
 LEAH AND RACHEL. 
 
 Morn breaks ! and now each lofty mountain top 
 Unveils its beauties. And the heavy mist 
 That all night long hung o'er them like a shroud, 
 Slowly and silently is gathered up. 
 
 * '' And the gentiles sliall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness 
 of thy rising." — Isaiah. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 83 
 
 Fold after fold the snowy, vapory mass 
 AscendSj and leaves tlie fresh, pure, smiling earth 
 Awaiting, like a bride, to greet her lord 
 In bloom and beauty. 
 
 See ! where glides a form 
 Between the water's edge and yonder group 
 Of graceful willows ', beauty hath she none, 
 And yet, methinks that sorrowing face might win 
 A gleam of pity from a savage breast. 
 'Tis she ! the first of womankind whose love 
 Was unrequited. 
 
 Thou lovest, and vainly ; dark and fearful power ; 
 That thus can sway weak woman's earthly lot — 
 Toy of a moment, born to be forgot-^ — 
 She lavishes her wealth of love — her dower — 
 On one who marks with cold and careless eyes, 
 The deep outpouring of the young heart's sacrifice. 
 
 Thou sad, pale trembler, who with tearful eye 
 Dost mark thy lord's approach, and vainly yearn 
 For one kind greeting — one poor, cold return 
 Of all the love thou ofFerest — one reply 
 To the deep throbbing of thy faithful heart ! 
 Sad dove, that sitt'st with folding wings apart, 
 Brooding o'er miseries in mercy given, 
 To teach thy soul, and lead it back to heaven. 
 
 Thou glidest from the busy haunts of men, 
 In the still dawn, and quiet dewy eve, 
 
84 FEMALE 
 
 And ^Deatli the vine's cool, graceful foliage, when 
 
 The midnight moon looks down, and waters heave, 
 And leap beneath her light, thy voice in prayer 
 Steals on the silence of the midnight air — 
 And a faint whispering hope around thee breathes. 
 And from the faded flowers that memory wreathes. 
 Thou may'st perchance gather one bud to bless 
 Thy sorrowing heart, and cheer thy loneliness. 
 
 Not such thy fate, thou fair and happy bride ! 
 Away, away, at early eventide. 
 Thou flee'st swift to meet thy loved one's voice, 
 Sound that can make thy woman's heart rejoice, 
 And send a glowing thrill of love and pride 
 
 Throughout thy frame. Oh ! happy in thy love ! 
 Happy to know that earth holds nought beside 
 
 So dear to either; the bright sky above, 
 The fair earth spread before ye like a shrine — 
 
 A universal temple, where the soul 
 May offer up its sacrifice divine, 
 
 Of prayer free, gushing from the heart without 
 control. 
 
 Yet thine was woman's lot, thine her deep grief, 
 And thine her gleams of sunshine light and brief — 
 Her transient tears and smiles ; alas ! her all 
 Of light and evanescent power. Recall 
 The past, turn o'er the ancient, sacred page. 
 And trace the fate of all from youth to age, 
 ^T is still the same — a few brief years of pain. 
 And dust returns to dust — earth claims again 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 85 
 
 Her kindred earth. Then let the path we've trod, 
 Whether in tears or smiles^ still upward lead to Grod. 
 
 NO. IV 
 
 Retire, ye waves ! roll back your crested heads- 
 Presume not to approach the royal host, 
 That presses onward to your bosom now, 
 In glittering pomp and panoply of war. 
 See how they tower, those lordly, swelling waves, 
 And form a pathway walled on either side — 
 Rides the king safely now ? 
 
 The billows roll. 
 But not in sport, nor as when tempests lash 
 Their angry heads, but with a sullen sound, 
 Murmuringly and low — moaning, as if in pain. 
 They heave and rise, then slowly sink again. 
 Impatient for the word to set them free. 
 
 But what has he, that kingly one, to fear ? 
 Have they not passed in safety o'er the path — 
 They, his hereditary bondsmen ! 
 And shall he, a monarch, a crowned king. 
 With all his glittering host of armed men, 
 Yield to base coward fear ? Perish the thought ! 
 
 7* 
 
86 FEMALE 
 
 He comes to conquer — hear ye not that shout ? 
 It tells of victory already won. 
 But see ! the strange commotion in that mass ; 
 They turn, they flee ! Oh ! gods of Egypt, help ! 
 Vain prayer ! wild shrieks burst on th^ affrighted ear, 
 And the mad billows triumph o'er the sound. 
 Whose voice thus echoes o'er the raging waste ? 
 Who calls for help in that wild surging sea? 
 Mighty and dreaded Pharaoh, is it thou ? 
 Thou I why the very waves laugh thee to scorn ; 
 And of thy train, the meanest follower 
 Claims brotherhood with Egypt's haughty king, 
 And boasts as lordly sepulture. Sad sight — 
 Chariot, and horse, and rider, each alike 
 Engulphed in one vast grave. 
 
 Now on the air. 
 And borne across those waters, comes the sound 
 Of woman's voice ; exultingly it swells ; 
 Earth hears it, and rejoices, and the sea 
 Flows with a softer murmur to the sound. 
 
 MIRIAM'S SONG. 
 
 "A song, a song of praise to Israel's G-od, 
 
 Whose strong right arm hath triumphed o'er our foes ; 
 
 Who can now point to where proud Pharaoh trod ? 
 Above his head the circling waters close — 
 
 Let earth, and sea, and air, Repeat again 
 
 The loud hosannahs of our joyful strain. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 87 
 
 '^ Oh ! raise our glorious song of praise on high, 
 
 Our hallelujahs to the Grod of hosts; 
 Praise Him whose arm had brought deliv'rance nigh, 
 
 Whose will has triumphed o'er man's sinful boasts. 
 The steed and rider hath he overthrown — 
 Shout ye his name — the Lord our God is one I" 
 
 Ages have passed, have circling rolled away, 
 
 Since fond lips breathed aloud that joyful prayer. 
 
 Yet fancy sweeps across the busy brain. 
 
 Recalling shapes and voices mingling there. 
 
 Oh, woman ! weak and powerless, yet unto thee is given 
 
 The task to prune the budding branch, and bid it bloom 
 for heaven. 
 
 NO. V. 
 
 KUTH AND NAOMI 
 
 ' ' What do I gaze on ? Nothing ! Look again : 
 Two forms are slowly shadow 'd on my sight — 
 Two insulated phantoms of the brain." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Through the long lapse of ages, and the dim 
 And indistinct, and faintly pencil'd past. 
 What forms approach me ? surely not of earth — 
 And yet they seem earth-born ; but, oh ! how fair ! 
 A heavenly halo rests on that young head. 
 
5 FEMALE 
 
 And in those dove-like eyes there beams a fire 
 Unknown to earth — so passionless, so pure ! 
 And that low voice comes on the whispering wind; 
 Like some sweet melody we've heard in dreams. 
 
 " Nay, urge me not, my mother, nor entreat 
 Thy daughter to return from following thee ; 
 For whither thou do'st wend thy weary steps, 
 There will I follow ; where thou liest thy head, 
 Shall mine repose ; thy people shall be mine, 
 And He, the God whom thou so truly lovest, 
 Shall be my only Grod. Where thou diest, 
 1, too, will die, and there will I be buried. 
 
 " I cannot leave thee, mother ! in my heart 
 There springs a well of such deep tenderness, 
 A fountain gushing with such earnest love — 
 Earnest, untiring love for thee, as springs 
 Only from God. Then urge me not to go. 
 Oh ! mother, I will watch by thee, as thou 
 Did'st watch in his weak infancy and youth. 
 Him, the departed ; and when faint and sad 
 Thou pausest by the way, my voice shall bring 
 Back to thy heart the memories of the past; 
 And I will sing the lays my Mahlon loved. 
 And sooth thee unto slumber." 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 89 
 
 RUTH'S SONG. 
 
 ^^ Let slumber fall lightly 
 
 On eyelids opprest, *^ 
 
 And evening beam brightly 
 With visions of rest. 
 
 II. 
 
 ''The weary day cometh 
 With toil and with sorrow, 
 
 But hope nightly beameth, 
 With joy for the morrow. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Then, slumber, fall lightly 
 
 On eye-lids opprest, 
 And evening beam brightly 
 
 With visions of rest. 
 t 
 
 IV. 
 
 " The pale stars above us 
 
 Shed around their pure light, 
 
 Like eyes that still love us, 
 
 Keeping watch through the night. 
 
90 FEMALE 
 
 '^ Fair angels are keeping 
 
 Their vigils above, 
 E'en while we are sleeping 
 
 We share in their love. 
 
 VI. 
 
 '' Then let slumber fall lighfcly 
 
 On eye-lids opprest, 
 And evening beam brightly 
 
 With visions of rest '' 
 
 Love never yet 
 Shone with such pure unselfishness, as when 
 It prompted that frail gentle one to leave 
 Her childhood's home, her fondly cherished friends, 
 And follow that lone mourner. Who can trace 
 Thy fate, fair daughter of the Moabites, 
 And fail to think of her who held a place — 
 A mother's sacred place — in thy young heart ? 
 And thou had'st thy reward, even here on earth ; 
 When Bethlehem-Judah's gates received ye both 
 Wearied and sad, and travel-soiled and faint, 
 Ye passed from penury and hopeless grief 
 To an immortal name. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 91 
 
 NO. YI. 
 
 ESTIIEK. 
 
 " The matter of wMch dreams are made, 
 Not more endowed with actual Hfe 
 Than this phantasmal portraiture 
 Of wandering human thought." 
 
 Shelly. 
 
 " Lo, midway along my wild, lone course, 
 A swift- winged spirit detains my flight." 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Ye are passing away, passing away, 
 
 Like the midnight dream of a fevered brain, 
 
 That fadeth with reason's returning sway — 
 And the weary slumberer striveth in vain 
 Again to recall. 
 
 Ye are passing away ! ye fade like the wreath 
 Of a summer cloud that pageants the sun, 
 
 When he speeds to his setting, and sinks beneath 
 The burnished wave, when his race is run, 
 And dark shadows fall. 
 
 Oh ! leave me not thus, while my spirit clings 
 To the hallow' d memories of the past, 
 
 And every trace of its history flings 
 A shadow of beauty that, fleeing fast, 
 Returns not again. 
 
92 FEMALE 
 
 Must ye fade from my sight, ye forms of air, 
 Will the glorious vision forever depart ? 
 
 Yet one gentle spirit seems lingering there, 
 As if loath to add to a human heart 
 A shadow of pain. 
 
 The vision hath changed ! a palace appears, 
 
 Its proud front dazzling and bright in the sun ; 
 
 Who are they that come with wild gestures and tears ? 
 What evil hath chanced them, what deed has been done. 
 That paleth the cheek, 
 
 And causeth the stern, proud man to bow. 
 
 While the damps of death pass over his frame. 
 
 And his heart thrills with anguish ? Shield them now, 
 Oh, Father ! they call on thy holy name, 
 Thy mercy they seek. 
 
 ^' We are the last of a long cherished race — 
 
 Redeemer of Israel hear our cry ! 
 Oh ! Thou in high heaven. Thy dwelling-place, 
 
 Pass not the prayer of affliction by — 
 Hear us, oh, God. 
 
 " If our steps have strayed in the paths of shame. 
 Yet now, when the floods of affliction roll. 
 
 We come to thee, Father ! we call on thy name ! 
 The billows dash wild o'er the desolate soul — 
 Save us, oh, Grod V 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 93 
 
 Crushed, humbled, trodden down unto the earth, 
 Have ye no help — is no deliverer nigh ? 
 
 Hath Israel no champion to stand forth, 
 And shield her in her hour of agony 
 And bitter woe ? 
 
 Like moon-rise breaking upon deepest night. 
 Like ocean calmed amid its wildest storm, 
 
 Hath fallen the balm of peace ; what arm of might 
 Wrought their deliverance — what warrior form 
 Claims homage now ? 
 
 No slaughter marks the path the conqueror trod. 
 No blood-stained trophies prove the victor's power ; 
 
 Woman's meek prayer breathed fervently to God, 
 Has burst the bonds in dark affliction's hour, 
 Of those who mourn. 
 
 Now fades the vision ; and the clouds of night 
 Roll back before the coming orb of day ; 
 
 And all those fair etherial forms of light 
 Melt into air, and fading pass away. 
 Ne'er to return. 
 
94 FEMALB 
 
 SECOND SERIES. — NO. I. 
 
 My soul has wooed you back, etherial forms ! 
 
 It sought you in the stillness of the night, 
 
 When the world slept, and the pale stars looked down, 
 
 In all their quiet beauty. Then my thoughts 
 
 Held commune with the spirits of the past, 
 
 And yearned to be among you. Ye have come 
 
 In answer to my solitary call. 
 
 And fancy now exults, to meet again 
 
 The sweet companions of her loneliness. 
 
 Ye return, ye return, to my sight once more. 
 
 Sweet visions come thronging o'er heartland brain, 
 
 Ye gladdened my heart when its joys seemed o'er, 
 And freed my mind from a galling chain. 
 
 Ye return, ye return ! and my bosom bounds 
 To welcome ye back, bright forms of air ; 
 
 Oh ! once more lighten life's weary rounds, 
 And ease my heart of its weight of care. 
 
 The captive enfranchised when hope seemed past, 
 
 Hails not the first dawn of his liberty, 
 (Tho' the bounding pulse of his heart throb fast,) 
 
 With half the delight I now welcome ye. 
 
 The cold world came between us, and veiled my sight, 
 And the glorious vision seemed passing away. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 95 
 
 But ye come once again, fair forms of light, 
 Ye come, and my spirit exults in her lay. 
 
 JOCHEBED. 
 
 " My son, my pearl, my jewel without price, 
 Oh ! how my yearning heart will bleed for thee ; 
 
 My lamb, selected for the sacrifice. 
 
 Ah ! whither shall thy sorrowing mother flee ? 
 
 "Who will assuage my grief when thou art gone ? 
 
 Who bid the craving of my bosom cease ? 
 And mourning still for thee, my precious son, 
 
 Where shall I turn to find the balm of peace ? 
 
 " Oh, thou I my husband, stifle not my grief; 
 
 Thou addest torture to my wild despair ; 
 Thou can'st not give my aching heart relief — 
 
 The load is heavier than my heart can bear. 
 
 " My boy, my treasure, must I part from thee — 
 Can my soul dream of thee as one departed ? 
 
 Oh ! nought can quell my bitter agony. 
 
 When thou art gone, and I am broken-hearted. 
 
 " Ye are cruel, thus to tear him from my heart ; 
 
 I tell ye, half my love is still unsaid — 
 Oh ! let me once, before he must depart, 
 
 Pillow upon my breast his precious head. 
 
96 FEMALE 
 
 " So let him lie^ and as that gladsome smile 
 
 Lingers upon his lip, can I forbear 
 To press it with mine own, and thus beguile 
 
 The bitter workings of my fond despair ? 
 
 " Away ! my arms shall bear him to his rest." 
 
 And now with trembling steps she threads her way, 
 
 And places him within his chilly nest, 
 And watches lest the rustling sedges play 
 
 Too roughly with her rude and fragile ark, 
 That, like a stone, unseemly to the view. 
 
 Contains within a glittering, living spark, 
 A treasure on those watelB calm and blue. 
 
 Fond, mourning mother, it is heaven's decree ; 
 
 In yielding him, thou givest a nation joy — 
 Quell, then, the torrent of thine agony, 
 
 And yield to God's own hand thy cherished boy. 
 
 Yet 'twas a struggle bitter to thy heart. 
 Thus passing on thy lonely pilgrimage ; 
 
 Nor can thy grief, all humble as thou art, 
 Pass unreguarded on our history's page. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 97 
 
 NO. II 
 
 DEBORAH. 
 
 The sound of the trumpet swells loud on the gale, 
 And a glittering host spreads o'er mountain and vale, 
 Like the leaves of the forest they cumber the ground, 
 And death and destruction are scattered around. 
 
 They come in the flush of their pride-swollen power ; 
 Wo, wo ! to the vanquished in victory's hour. 
 When the groans of the dying, the shriek of despair. 
 And the shout of the conqueror blend on the air : 
 
 When the sword shall be fleshed in the innocent breast, 
 And the delicate nursling be torn from its rest — 
 And manhood shall see, without power to aid. 
 The dishonor and bondage of matron and maid. 
 
 They come ! the earth quivers beneath the firm tread 
 Of proud Sisera's hosts, and, ere day-dawn has sped, 
 Impatient of conquest, they rush to the fight 
 That will bring to them victory and spoil, ere the night. 
 
 What hath woman to do amid havoc and blood. 
 Whose ensanguined tide tinges Kishon's pale flood ? 
 From her own quiet dwelling why comes she afar, 
 To mingle with men 'mid the horrors of war ? 
 
 8* 
 
98 FEMALE 
 
 Can'st tliou conquer, Oh, Israel ! grief-stricken and lone ? 
 Can a powerless woman restore thee thine own ? 
 ^^ Up, Barak ! arouse thee, thy foeman is near, 
 And the shouts of his army burst loud on the ear." 
 
 But vainly they strive, by the spear and the sword, 
 To conquer a multitude strong in the Lord ; 
 For the spear and the sword shall be blunted and dim, 
 G-ainst a nation whose trust and whose hope are in Him. 
 
 Their haughty invaders are vanquished and slain, 
 The pride of King Jabin lies stretched on the plain. 
 And never on mountain, in valley or glen. 
 Shall their hosts spread destruction and carnage again. 
 
 And thou, gentle woman, so meek in thy might. 
 God-fearing and loving, thou aidest the fight, 
 And thy song, as we trace it, recalls thee as when 
 Thy presence gave hope to the fortunes of men. 
 
 NO. III. 
 
 HULDAH, THE PEOPHETESS 
 
 There are sounds of complaint in a lordly hall ; 
 
 What grieveth the spirit of Judah^s king ? 
 Hath a mystical finger portrayed on the wall 
 His prophetic doom, or his kingdom's fall, 
 
 Or whence does that sorrow spring ? 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 99 
 
 Have liis cities been wasted by sword and by flame, 
 
 Are his treasures engulph'd by the sea — 
 Does his heart lie crushed by a weight of shame, 
 That stains his kingdom and sullies his name. 
 And causes his misery ? 
 
 Oh ! a heavier doom than these has spread 
 
 A shadow o'er heart and brain — 
 A weightier grief has bowed his head ; 
 And though few and low were the words he said, 
 
 They betoken'd his inward pain. 
 
 " Go ask/' he said, '^of the good and wise. 
 
 If this doom may pass away — 
 If holy prayer, and the sacrifice 
 Of our penitent hearts, may yet arise, 
 
 To avert the evil day." 
 
 And whom shall they seek in that trying hour ? 
 
 What ancient and deep-learned seer. 
 Whose prophetic words have a magical power 
 To point the right path when dark tempests lower, 
 
 And the strong man sinks with fear ? 
 
 Oh ! how can a woman's voice foretell 
 
 The heavy doom they dread to know ? 
 Or, how can she pierce through the mystic veil 
 Of the shadowy future, and breathe a spell 
 
 Like that which her lips breathe now ? 
 
 " Ye ask me what answer the Lord hath given ? 
 Thus say to him who sent you here : 
 
100 FEMALE 
 
 For the deep transgressions of those who have striven 
 To call down the judgment and vengeance of heaven, 
 Both they and theirs shall from hence be driven, 
 And their spirits shall quail with fear. 
 
 " A terror and blight in field and on flood. 
 
 Shall descend into all who have fled from me — 
 
 Who have bowed themselves to a god of wood, 
 
 And polluted their hands with innocent blood ; 
 
 Let the reptiles crawl where their palace hast stood, 
 And their names be a mockery. 
 
 " Gro bear ye hence to an erring race, 
 
 The answer Grod in his wrath hath sent. 
 And say to the hardened and shameless of face. 
 That henceforth the wide world has no resting-place 
 To screen them from terror and deep disgrace. 
 Until all His anger is spent.'^ 
 
 NO. IV. 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 A PICTURE rises from the buried past, 
 
 A mother and her boy stand limned there. 
 
 In act to part. Not for a little space, 
 
 Not for a childish holiday, nor yet 
 
 In the death-struggle ; sicknesss has not paled 
 
 The roseate blush upon that blooming cheek. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 101 
 
 Nor dimmed the gladness of that clear, bright eye ; 
 And his sweet ringing laugh comes gushingly, 
 As from a heart untainted yet by care. 
 And she, that fair young mother, with low voice, 
 And with a struggle to force back her tears. 
 Thus breathes her sad farewell : 
 
 ^^ Again I return to my desolate dwelling, 
 No child's gentle accents will fall on my ear. 
 
 But memory will point to the deep fount of pleasure 
 My lonely heart treasures in holiness here. ■ 
 
 " Thou wert asked of my God, and to Him I resign thee, 
 
 A sacrifice worthy, a gift undefiled ; 
 He heard my low prayer, and sent thee to cheer me, 
 
 Bright hope of my bosom, my innocent child. 
 
 ^' Oh ! would not that bosom be more than ungrateful. 
 If its own selfish promptings would plead for thee 
 now — 
 
 If the joy of thy presence could make me unmindful 
 Of all my soul pledged in that grief-stricken vow ! 
 
 '' Go stainless and pure ; may the Being thou servest. 
 The God of thy fathers, watch over thee still ; 
 
 From childhood till age, may all heavenly blessings 
 Float o'er thee like sunlight, and shield thee from ill. 
 
 '^ Go, ere the cold world casts a shadow to darken 
 Thy glorious pathway, or dim thy career — 
 
102 FEMALE 
 
 Ere thy young heart repent o'er a sin-blighted hour, 
 Or thy cheek feels the shame of a penitent tear. 
 
 " I return to my home, but thy image goes with me, 
 And though the lip writhe, and the throbbing heart 
 swell, 
 
 I may not embitter thy young spirit's gladness, 
 Nor dim by a tear-drop thy mournful farewell !" 
 
 NO. V. 
 
 JUDITH. 
 
 Midnight in the Assyrian camp ! No sound 
 Mingles with the light zephyr, whose faint breath 
 Fans the dull sleeper's cheek, and lifts the tress 
 Of raven hair on many a sunburnt brow, 
 Or revels in light playfulness around 
 The gorgeous canopy of Plolofernes. 
 'Tis silence all. A murmuring rivulet. 
 Whose ripples scarce disturb the wakeful ear 
 Of the tired sentinel, goes whispering by, 
 And whisperingly is answered by the bough 
 Of palm and cedar on the mountain side. 
 The moon hath waned, and in its stead the pale 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 103 
 
 And melancholy stars are out upon 
 The midnight sky of Judea. 
 
 Lift we now 
 The veil of yonder tent : what see we there ? 
 Hush ! for a sound might wake the slumberer, 
 Who soon must know a deeper, darker sleep. 
 There, on his couch, gleaming with gold, and bright 
 With glittering jewels, the proud conqueror lies. 
 Deep sleep is on him. Pause and gaze upon 
 A nation's dreaded scourge ! The embroidered robe 
 Clings to a form of strength and majesty. 
 And the broad, massive brow, and deep-set eye, 
 And the compression of the closed lips. 
 Are all indicative of firm resolve. 
 He is alone : no ! by the flickering beam 
 Of yonder lump of fretted gold, we see 
 Another form. 
 
 A woman ! a fair, lovely flower, 
 
 With eye of fire and lip of pride. 
 
 Why stands she by the hero's side, 
 Thus, at the midnight hour ? 
 The glossy tendrils of her hair, 
 
 Enwreathed with many a costly gem, 
 
 Meet for a monarch's diadem — 
 Float o'er her bosom fair. 
 And veil — nay, grace the lovely form 
 
 That trembles like a timid dove ; 
 
 Trembles, but not with thoughts of love. 
 Ah, no ! that bare white arm, 
 
104 FEMALE 
 
 That plucks the falchion from its place, 
 And waves it glittering o'er her head, 
 
 Attests 'tis for no love embrace 
 Her steps are hither led. 
 
 Hark ! heard ye not a sudden sound ? 
 The drowsy sentry paused to hear, 
 But the sweet brooklet, murmuring near, 
 Is all that meets his startled ear. 
 
 In the dim silence round. 
 
 Andf ete the dull gray dawn of day 
 Breaks from the chambers of the east, 
 
 The Hebrew matron takes her way 
 
 Among her native hills to pray ; 
 And 'tis their lord's behest 
 
 That she, unquestioned, pass to where 
 
 Her feelings pour themselves in prayer. 
 
 She leaves that scene of blood behind. 
 
 And speeds through many a lonely dell ; 
 But the fearful workings of her mind. 
 
 Oh ! who shall dare to tell ? 
 She leaves that scene, but not alone — 
 
 A severed, ghastly, gory head. 
 Whose glances lately met her own. 
 
 Bears witness from the dead. 
 How fearfully her woman's soul 
 Had mocked at Nature's soft control — 
 
 How well her mission sped ! 
 Oh ! not by woman's gentle hand 
 
 Should blood be shed or victory won ; 
 
SCEIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 105 
 
 Yet, for her Grod, her love, her landj 
 What hath not woman done ? 
 
 NO. VI 
 
 HANxYAH, THE MOTHER OF THE SEVEN 
 MAETYRS. 
 
 Earth has proud records of her favored sons ; 
 There is no land but teems with the great deeds 
 Of the high, daring chieftain, or the wise 
 And patient scholar, or the statesman, bold 
 And energetic in his country's cause ; 
 Or him who, with discrimination nice, can see 
 Some rules for mechanism in the slight 
 Attenuated fibres of a gossamer — 
 Each adds his quota, and each gains a name. 
 
 But thou, oh, helpless woman ! what hast thou? 
 AVhat offering can'st thou add unto the store, 
 Or whereby can'st thou hope to gain a name 
 That shall be handed to posterity ? 
 Thou can'st but suffer, and with patient heart 
 Bear meekly, and with humble faith, thy load. 
 But thou, stern warrior on the battle plain. 
 Or patriot doomed to bleed ] ye whom the world 
 Holds up as models to mankind, ye sink 
 In utter nothingness before the name 
 
106 FEMALE 
 
 Of her who seven times died in those she loved — 
 Yea, seven times did that mother's yearning heart 
 Bear the sharp pangs of death, in witnessing 
 The mortal agony of those for whom 
 She would have perilled life and limb to save. 
 High-hearted mother ! honored be the name 
 Of her who stifled Nature for her God, 
 And led her sons to heaven. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Now do I know that ye are passing hence, 
 
 For the world's darkened shadows flit before me. 
 
 And the bright tissue of magnificence. 
 
 The halo of heaven's light that ye cast o'er me. 
 Is fading fast. 
 
 Sweet forms ! I have not woo'd ye back in vain ; 
 
 Full well have ye repaid my soul's deep sadness. 
 Turning to happiness my hours of pain, 
 
 And tinging even sorrow's cup with gladness, 
 Tho' light and brief. 
 
 The world can never know what sweet communion 
 Our spirits held together, oh, departed ! 
 
 Nor can it dream the pain which our disunion 
 Brings to the heart of one too often thwarted 
 In life's lone track. 
 
SCRIPTURAL CHARACTERS. 107 
 
 Fair dream, thou hast beguiled full many an hour; 
 
 Thou wert no idle, no fantastic vision, 
 Startling the soul with fancy's sunlit power, 
 
 And steeping the ^rapt senses in elysian 
 Scenes of delight. 
 
 Ye once were real, ye forms that melt away, 
 
 Once bore on earth your woman's share of anguish — 
 
 Lived, loved and suffered thro' life's little day, 
 
 And though on earth your forms no longer languish, 
 Yet still ye live. 
 
 Ye live in truthful chronicles of yore, 
 
 Where history points with her unerring finger ; 
 
 But unto me never, oh ! never more 
 
 Will ye return, or for one moment linger, 
 As ye were wont ! 
 
 And as the snow-wreath melts beneath the sun, 
 Leaving no traces of its fleecy whiteness, 
 
 So do ye warn me that my task is done, 
 
 For ye dissolve, and of your radiant brightness 
 Leave not a ray. 
 
 Ye are gone ! and now no longer to my touch 
 
 Will the faint, quivering harp-strings yield a measure ; 
 
 Yet truth-fraught is the lesson — such, oh ! such, 
 Mortal, are all our hopes of earthly pleasure. 
 Fleeting and frail ! > 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 THE OLIVE BRANCH. 
 
 " Go forth to the mount, bring the olive branch home, 
 
 And rejoice, for the day of our freedom is come." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Oh ! sad one of Zion, thou desolate-hearted, 
 Thy tears of repentance have pleaded at last ; 
 
 Thou who hast mourned o'er thy glory departed, 
 Kejoice ! for the hour of thy thraldom is past. 
 
 Thou hast sinned, thou hast suffered, thy mourning is 
 o'er. 
 
 The glorious hour of freedom's at hand; 
 And the songs of thy triumph shall echo once more 
 
 O'er the wastes of thy stricken and desolate land. 
 
 Long, long did'st thou mourn, while the crescent and 
 cross 
 Eclipsed the pure splendor of Judah's proud star ; 
 Alone, like a heaven-blighted tree, did'st thou toss 
 Thy dead, leafless branches, for help from afar. 
 
 9* 
 
110 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 But rise now, tliou sad one, tliou desolate-hearted — ' 
 Thy tears of repentance have pleaded at last j 
 
 Oh ! thou who hast mourned o'er thy splendor departed, 
 Rejoice that the hour of thy thraldom is past ! 
 
 THE CHOSEN. 
 
 " This people have I formed for myself " 
 
 Isaiah. 
 
 Go FORTH erect and fearless, with G-od's impress on thy 
 brow, 
 The promise of His changeless love within thy trust- 
 ing heart ; 
 Proud nations shall revere thy might, and crowned 
 heads shall bow. 
 And acknowledge thy supremacy, all kingly as thou 
 art ! 
 
 Till/ royalty is God's own gift — no pageant of a day. 
 No momentary splendor, to beguile a dreaming hour j 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. Ill 
 
 Thy dawn is fast approachiDgj and each faint and feeble 
 ray 
 That now glimmers thro' the darkness, leads thee on 
 again to power. 
 
 Tho' the oppressor's hand be on thee, yet fearlessly 
 pass on — 
 Tho' temptations may surround thee, and bewildering 
 meteors shine — 
 A strong right arm is guiding thee, until the goal is won ; 
 Oh ! who would not brave perils for a heritage like 
 thine? 
 
 And tho' thou draiu'st in agony, the cup of grief and 
 shame, 
 While dark tempests low'r around thee, and poison'd 
 shafts are hurl'd — 
 The time will come, forsaken one, when thy insulted 
 name 
 Will be held a badge of honor by the mightiest in 
 the world. 
 
 The time is not far distant when thy light will shine 
 once more, 
 As in thy days of freedom, when thy proudest deeds 
 were done ; 
 And thy splendor shall return to thee far brighter than 
 of yore — 
 Press thou but nobly to thy task, and fearlessly 
 pass on. 
 
112 HEBREW MELODIES. 
 
 THE SUN OF ISEAEL. 
 
 Written on seeing the sun suddenly break forth, and illumine the book of 
 the Law. as it was being carried to the Ark, 
 
 "Was it thus, stricken remnant, the glory of God 
 Burst forth on thy fathers, and showered its light 
 
 Across the rough path that those weary ones trod, 
 A cloud-pillar by day, a flame-witness by night ? 
 
 As it guided the sire, it now gleams o'er the son, 
 As it shone in the wilderness lonely and drear. 
 
 So it bursts to assure thee, oh ! desolate one, 
 That in sorrow and exile His presence is here. 
 
 Then say not the day of thy triumph has fled, 
 Say not that the star of thy glory has set — 
 
 While the same holy blessings still rest on thy head. 
 And the same '^ fire from heaven" illumines thee yet. 
 
 LAMENT OF JUDAH. 
 
 Sounds of joy, that once in each loved dwelling 
 Of Judah's blooming land, awoke the heart, 
 
 No longer now upon the air are swelling, 
 
 But tears instead from Judah's children start. 
 
HEBREW MELODIES. 113 
 
 Ah! wiienee this anguish? why this gloom and sorrow? 
 
 Have her deep sins precluded hope of peace ? 
 Will not her sun arise upon the morrow. 
 
 And the loud wailing of her children cease ? 
 
 Her sins were many ; are they not forgiven ? 
 
 She hath bewailed them long with bitter tears ; 
 Arise ! shine forth, thou glorious light of heaven, 
 
 Heceive thy loved one and dispel her fears. 
 
 Then sounds of joy that once in each loved dwelling 
 Of Judah's blooming land, awoke the heart, 
 
 Again shall sound, her joy, her gladness telling, 
 And Heaven shall bid her agony depart. 
 
AT THE CONSECRATION OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 A GORGEOUS structure ! ricli with fretted gold 
 And radiant with gems. A white-robed choir, 
 Sackbut and psaltery, and the sounding harp, 
 Waft their sweet melody unto high heaven. 
 A mighty monarch bows his head in prayer — 
 What boon has he to ask of pitying heaven ? 
 Seeks he for riches, or for pomp and power, 
 Or asks he vengeance on unconquered foes ? 
 Peace, peace ! he breathes a lowly prayer to heaven, 
 Even for others' sins as for his own, 
 Asking forgiveness. 
 
 " Father ! when man, forgetting thy decree. 
 
 Shall wrong his brother, and by fraud or wile 
 Pervert the holy faith that leads to Thee, 
 
 And turn his heart to sinfulness and guile ; 
 Yet when they both are brought before Tby face. 
 
 And purer feelings in each bosom strive. 
 Hear Thou and judge in heaven. Thy dwelling-place. 
 
 And when Thou hearest, have mercy and forgive. 
 114 
 
PRAYER OF SOLOMON. » 115 
 
 " When Thy frail children, for their many sins, 
 
 Shall smart beneath the oppressor's iron rod, 
 And when the tortured conscience first begins 
 
 To waken to the anger of their God — 
 Then, when they come to Thee, that sinful race, 
 
 And pray that Thou the heavy load remove, 
 Hear Thou in heaven. Thy holy dwelling-place. 
 
 And when Thou hearest, forgive, oh I God of Love. 
 
 " And when the heavens are shut, and the parched land 
 
 Must bear the burden of their sinful way. 
 And Thou shalt teach them with Thy mighty hand. 
 
 And bend their stubborn hearts to own Thy sway — 
 When they, repentant, turn toward this place, 
 
 Let not Thine ear be deaf unto their voice. 
 But hear Thou from Thy heavenly throne of grace, 
 
 Hear, and forgive the children of Thy choice. 
 
 " And when the stranger, for Thy great name's sake, 
 
 Turneth toward this house, oh ! mighty King, 
 Whatever supplication he may make, 
 
 Whatever sin or sorrow he may bring. 
 Yet, when he bendeth here to ask Thy grace. 
 
 And prayeth Israel's God to heal his grief. 
 Hear Thou in heaven. Thy holy dwelling-place, 
 
 And when thou hearest, forgive, and grant relief. 
 
 '' If any sin, (and what man sinneth not ?) 
 
 And Thou art wroth and angered with their shame, 
 And the sad captive's lone and bitter lot 
 ""Be theirs, until they call upon thy name — 
 
116 PRAYER OF SOLOMON. 
 
 Yet, when they come sin-stricken to this place, 
 And pray to Thee in supplicating tone, 
 
 Hear Thou in heaven, Thy holy throne of grace — 
 Forgive, and have compassion on Thine own.'' 
 
 No gorgeous temple, rich with fretted gold. 
 
 And bright with Jlashing gems, now meets our eye ; 
 No holy prophet-king, like him of old. 
 
 Now offers up our sacrifice on high ; 
 Yet, when we come with prayer to seek Thy face. 
 
 Each with sin's burning plague-spot in his breast, 
 Hear Thou, oh, Grod ! in heaven. Thy dwelling-place, 
 
 And when Thou hearest, forgive, and grant us rest. 
 
VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT. 
 
 '• They pay their gold for leave to slied 
 
 Tears o'er the generations iied." — Montgomery. 
 
 " The valley of Jehoshaphat has, in all ages, served as the burying- place 
 to Jerusalem ; you meet there monuments of the most distant time, and of 
 the present century. The Jews still come there to die, from the corners 
 of the earth. A stranger sells to them, for almost its -weight of gold, the 
 land which contains the bones of their fathers."— Chateaubriand. 
 
 Oh ! wearily and sadly a mournful train comes forth, 
 From tlie bright hills of the sunny south, the fierce 
 
 blasts of the North — 
 From east and west they gather when the hour of death 
 
 draws nigh, 
 To seek a grave in that far-off land, to rest beneath its 
 
 sky. 
 
 Hath the wide earth no resting-place, where the weary 
 
 may repose, 
 No spot on which to lay the head, when life's evening 
 
 shadows close ? 
 That thus they press with weary step, and panting, 
 
 laboring breath. 
 Thro' scenes where the strongest heart might quail, to 
 
 seek that place of death. 
 10 
 
118 THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT. 
 
 Oh ! many a fairer spot than this^ hath the broad-bosom' d 
 
 earth, 
 Many a bright vine-trellis'd home, where rarest flowers 
 
 have birth, 
 And they have gladly left them all, fair land and sunny 
 
 To roam thro' wilds and wastes unknown, to their 
 father-land to die! 
 
 For this they braved the midnight storm, that raved in 
 
 its mighty wrath, 
 For this they dared the perilous pass of the mountain's ' 
 
 lonely path — 
 They breathed the noisome dews of night, they sunk 
 
 'neath the noon-day sun, 
 And they prayed for strength to bear them on till their 
 
 pilgrimage was done. 
 
 And as the storm-toss'd mariner hails the freshness of 
 
 the land. 
 When, with quivering mast and shivered sail he ncars 
 
 the welcome strand — 
 So hope reanimates once more each weary pilgrim's 
 
 breast, 
 As he turns from the stormy waves of life, to that calm 
 
 place of rest. 
 
 At dawn, at eve, at midnight deep, in that lonely, 
 
 solemn place. 
 Warm and fervent prayers arise for the remnant of 
 
 Israel's race ; 
 
THE VALLEY OF JEHOSHAPHAT. 119 
 
 They pray that God, who led their sires from the fierce 
 
 oppressor's sway, 
 Will be to them a fire .by nighty a pillar of cloud by 
 
 day. 
 
 Fit place for the sorrowing heart to rest, so desolate and 
 
 lone. 
 Its mournful history shadowed forth, its glories dimni'd 
 
 and gone, 
 The low wind sighing through those trees, sacred to 
 
 every heart;* 
 Who would not brave the ills they dared, thus like 
 
 them to depart ? 
 
 Now mournfully and slowly, bear ye forth the blessed 
 dead ; 
 
 Their task is done, their race is run, the sainted spirits' 
 fled; 
 
 Lay them where the stream of grief pours its melan- 
 choly waves, "j* 
 
 And the solemn night-winds murmur o'er the pilgrims' 
 lowly graves. 
 
 * Solomon is said to have planted that valley. 
 
 ■j- The torrent calltd after-grief, which traversed it. 
 
^-, 
 
 AT THE DESTRUCTION OF THE TEMPLE. 
 
 "The roads to Jerusalem -were not trod, during ages of prosperity, by 
 those who hastened up to the house of God, to offer there devotion and 
 sacrifice ; the mad and frantic orgies of heathen wor.^hip had enchained the 
 multitude." — Occident. 
 
 Awake ! oh^ Israel ! awake and fear ; 
 
 Let prayer, and fast, and penitence, now prove 
 To your offended Maker, that ye hear, 
 
 That ye still bear the memory of his love — 
 Although for ages ye have shunned the road, 
 The path which leads to his divine abode. 
 
 Warnings were sent in vain ; the heavens gave signs 
 That were unheeded by a sleeping race ; 
 
 Ye marked them not, but sought at heathen shrines, 
 In wild and fearful orgies, for a place 
 
 (Oh ! vain and sinful ones) where ye might stand 
 
 Safe from the power of his avenging hand. 
 
 Awake, awake ! think not to stay his wrath ; 
 It bursts upon you, and your strength is gone. 
 120 
 
JERUSALEM. 121 
 
 Ah ! wbo shall stem the torrent ? o'er your path 
 
 It sweeps, and ye are desolate and lone j 
 Your homes forsaken, and in grief and shame 
 Ye gather now/ and call upon His name. 
 
 Could nought arouse ye from your slothful sleep, 
 When you indulged in deadly sin and crime, 
 
 O'er which your children, yet unborn, shall weep ? 
 Scattered, dispersed, aliens in every clime, 
 
 Their hearts shall turn in bitterness and tears. 
 
 Back to the mem'ry of those vanished years. 
 
 Mourn, mourn, oh, Israel ! for your house of prayer, 
 
 Your sanctuary, lies in ruins now I 
 'Mid sounds of agony that rend the air. 
 
 There comes a whisper faint, and each doth bow 
 His head in fear and shame, while o'er his soul 
 The bitter waters of repentance roll. 
 
 That voice, which whispers us of misspent time, 
 Of altars raised, and idols made of clay — 
 
 Of youth neglected, manhood's wasted prime. 
 And all earth's fleeting pleasures of a day ; 
 
 'Tis faint and low, yet every one must start. 
 
 To feel that whisper stealing to his heart. 
 
 Oh, hour of grace ! pass it not idly by. 
 
 But let its influence dispel our fears. 
 And know that Israel's Grod will hear our cry — 
 
 He will requite his stricken children's tears : 
 
 10* 
 
122 JERUSALEM. 
 
 And think not, oli ! ye doubting and faint-hearted, 
 That Israel's hope of pardon is departed. 
 
 Hath He not sworn by His right hand, to save 
 And to protect His children, for whose sake 
 
 The waters were divided, while a grave 
 
 They proved to their pursuers ; and to slake 
 
 Their burning thirst, the fountain from the rock 
 
 Crushed forth in gladness for His fainting flock ? 
 
 Is His arm shortened, that He cannot save. 
 Or will He not redeem His promise given ? 
 
 Oh ! hear and answer ; for thy children brave 
 The stormy path of faith that leads to heaven ; 
 
 Protect and guide them — may their suiferings prove 
 
 A passport to Thy pardon and Thy love. 
 
PILGRIMAGE 
 
 TO THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 " Thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, 
 But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons, 
 Whose hearts, like the young of the desert- bird's nest, 
 Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Up, student, arouse ! leave thj classical page, 
 And join in our holy pilgrimage, 
 We will journey o'er valley and mountain, trod 
 By those who hold commune with Israel's Grod. 
 Askest thou what path we will choose for our race, 
 To that coveted home, our hearts' resting place ? 
 Oh ! wherever we tread toward that hallowed spot, 
 Are the relics of incidents unforgot. 
 
 Shall we pass through the valley of Hebron, whose dust 
 Was once heaped o'er the graves of the faithful and 
 
 just? 
 The trio, whose names have a halo as bright 
 As the crescented moon on a midsummer night. 
 Shall we pass by the shore of the dull Dead Sea, - 
 Whose sluggish waves roll without power to flee, 
 
 123 
 
124 PILGRIMAGE TO THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 And still sleep; tliougli they heave like a spirit in pain, 
 O'er the guilt-stricken cities, the scourge of the plain. 
 Or turn we to Nebo, whose consecrate sod 
 Was the burial place of the meek one of God ? 
 Thus, wherever we tread toward that hallowed spot, 
 Are the relics of incidents unforgot. 
 
 On thy mountains, oh, Grilboa ! our glory was slain, 
 And we tread o'er thy desolate passes with pain ; 
 And we weep to recall thee, oh ! Israel, our pride, 
 When thy trusted and faithful had fall'n at thy side — 
 And back through the vista of years we can trace 
 All thy sorrow and shame in that desolate place. 
 
 But turn we from all that brings sorrow and pain, 
 And hail thee triumphant and glorious again. 
 As when by the shore of the Red Sea, whose wave 
 Sung the requiem wild of the tyrant and slave ; 
 Again may the song of thy triumph float free. 
 As it rose from the shore of that old Red Sea. 
 
 Then pause not, dear student, nor turn to thy page 
 To seek for a guide to our pilgrimage, 
 For wherever we tread toward that holy spot. 
 Are the relics of incidents unfaro;ot. 
 
HAGAR. 
 
 Morn showers its light upon the laughing earth ! 
 The breath of summer steals upon the sense ; 
 The dewy grass, and the sweet-scented vine, 
 That wreathes its tendrils round the Patriarch's tent, 
 Breathe of the freshness of the early dawn. 
 Scene of transcendant loveliness ! the tops 
 Of yonder mist-encircled mountains pierce 
 The very clouds, and mingle earth with heaven. 
 Hark ! on the stillness of the fragrant air 
 A voice comes pleadingly — a woman's voice ! 
 Alas, what spot on earth but daily hears 
 Her wailing cry for help. 
 
 *' Send me not forth,'' it said. 
 That mournful voice, ^' I cannot leave thee now, 
 While the sweet breeze of morning fans my brow, 
 
 Its rays fall on my head. 
 
 '' Oh ! rather let it be 
 When the dark storm clouds of the deepest night 
 Shut out this scene of beauty from my sight — 
 
 Then let me part from thee ! 
 
 ^^ I tell thee I have known 
 Such heartfelt happiness in this dear spot, 
 
 125 
 
126 ' IIAGAR. 
 
 That wlien I go where thou, alas I art not, 
 My very life is gone. 
 
 " Thou sayest, oh ! mockery, 
 That for the precious son thy Grod has given, 
 I must submit to the decrees of heaven. 
 
 And part from thee. 
 
 ^' But can thy wisdom prove. 
 When first the maddening pulses of my heart 
 Beat to thine own, that aught of heaven had part 
 
 In my wild love ? 
 
 " No ! for thy sake alone 
 Did I first learn to bow unto thy God, 
 And the strange paths of faith which tliou hast trod 
 
 I made mine own. 
 
 ''Thou wert, alas ! thou art 
 The only heaven my 'wildered gaze can see. 
 The only object of idolatry 
 
 To my lone heart. 
 
 ''And yet thou send'st me forth, 
 Like a poor, worthless slave, whose task is done, 
 I am cast forth — I, and thy first born son. 
 
 On the wide earth. 
 
 " Oh ! send me not away, 
 On ray lone journey in the light of morn. 
 
HAGAR. 127 
 
 Lot not the cold world laugh my grief to scorn, 
 In the bright day. 
 
 "At midnight let me part, 
 When darkness gathers, and no mortal eye 
 Can see the depths of grief and agony 
 
 In my poor heart." 
 
Oh ! thou thrice-honored eastern land ! ye fair and 
 graceful trees, 
 
 Whose branches woo the morning sun, and gentle even- 
 ing breeze, 
 
 How hath the spoiler triumphed o'er that consecrated 
 sod, 
 
 Since ye were deemed fit ornaments to grace the House 
 of God. 
 
 Do ye still flourish as of yore, in those long vanished 
 
 days. 
 When the tongues of many nations joined in gratitude 
 
 and praise ; 
 Alas for thee, bright Eastern land, thy melody has 
 
 gone, 
 And they are left, those graceful trees, all desolate and 
 
 lone. 
 
 That gorgeous Temple has lain waste far long-remem- 
 bered years. 
 
 And not a vestige of its pomp and holiness appears ; 
 
 For strangers hold that holy spot, where once the 
 mighty trod. 
 
 And a host went up to glorify the ever-living God. 
 128 
 
THE CEDAIIS OF LEBANON. 129 
 
 No prophet-king approaches now, to breathe the fervent 
 
 prayer; 
 No quaint device^ no costly gem, nor molten gold is 
 
 there ; 
 No holy choir with tuneful voice ; no priests nor levites 
 
 stand, 
 To offer up the sacrifice in that once happy land. 
 
 But thou alone, time-honored tree, remainest firm and 
 fair, 
 
 Tho' the mighty multitudes have gone, that once assem- 
 bled there ; 
 
 And while we gaze upon thy tall and moss-encircled 
 stem, 
 
 AYe recall the glorious deeds which God made manifest 
 to them. 
 
 All now is dark, is desolate, and it may not be that we 
 Shall ever rest beneath the shade of Lebanon's proud 
 
 tree; 
 Yet turn we to thy pictured form, and trace the records 
 
 o'er. 
 Of those whose lives were passed near thee, in those 
 
 bright days of yore. 
 
 11 
 
In the dim twilight of the leafy woods. 
 Where the light zephyr stirs the canopies, 
 And sways the foliage of dark forest trees ; 
 
 On the wild waste of waters, when the floods 
 Lift up their voices, and in grief or glee, 
 Still touch the heart with Nature's minstrelsy — 
 
 There, even there, let the soul turn to Thee, 
 And thank Thee for the beauties of this earth, 
 For all the glorious things to which Thou gavest 
 birth. 
 
 O'er the wild desert's sandy solitude, 
 
 Where the sirocco breathes its withering flame. 
 And the lone traveler treads with wearied frame, 
 
 Thou bringest his heart to Thee, giver of good ; 
 There the oasis springs, leafy and green. 
 Like a sweet fairy isle, in slumber seen : 
 
 Griaddening his heart when every hope was past. 
 
 And every death-fraught moment seemed his last. 
 
 Thou boldest the mighty thunder in Thy hand, 
 And the frail leaflet of earth's meanest flower ; 
 The writhing waves own and obey Thy power. 
 
 And check their fury at thy dread command. 
 130 
 
HYMN TO THE DEITY. 131 
 
 Oh ! turn our hearts to such deep pietj, 
 
 As all inanimate creation bears ; 
 
 Let that instruct us in our daily prayers, 
 And teach us how to raise our thoughts to Thee. 
 
 In forest, desert, ocean, everywhere. 
 
 Turn Thou the heart to Thee, oh, G-od ! in prayer. 
 
OR, THE STAR AND PLOWER. 
 
 A BRIGHT star sent a pale and quiyering ray 
 Deep in the bosom of a flowery dell, 
 And every sleepless eye was turned to greet 
 The heavenly visitant. But there was one 
 On which that ray best loved to linger, 
 One, whose averted head and fragile form. 
 Seemed half to shun and half to woo its gaze. 
 Wherefore at twilight came that glittering star. 
 To seek the humble flower ? Her frail form shook, 
 Her mild eye filled with tears, (pearly dew-drops,) 
 And, in the liquid language of her race, 
 Gushed forth her song. 
 
 "Ah ! wherefore, being of a brighter world, 
 
 Leavest thou thy heavenly home, on earth to rove ; 
 
 Fair as thou art, amid the glittering throng. 
 
 That pave heaven's pathway to the courts above ? 
 
 "1 have no charms to lure thee from thy home ; 
 
 Then wherefore comest thou in mockery nigh, 
 Noting the life of one whose humble lot 
 
 Was but to bloom for a brief hour, and die. 
 132 
 
HUMILITY. 133 
 
 '' The beauteous rose, the garden's boasted pride, 
 Bends her fair head in blushing grace before thee. 
 
 And the pale, stately lily, sister queen. 
 
 Sheds all her store of dewy fragrance o'er thee. 
 
 '' While I, the scorn of all the gay parterre, 
 Whose blushing beauties are arrayed to greet 
 
 Thy welcome advent, how shall /presume 
 To raise my glance, thy holy light to meet ?" 
 
 And as she ceased, that glittering star, whose ray 
 Was sent to cheer her, answered thus her song : 
 
 ''When the strong oak lies crusb'd by the force of the 
 
 blast. 
 And each forest-tree bends as the storm rushes past, 
 And man shrinks with dread, when a mightier power 
 Hurls death and destruction o'er stronghold and tower : 
 
 ^' When the hand of the spoiler bears hence in his pride, 
 The delicate blossoms that bloomed at thy side. 
 And leaves their disconsolate stems to deplore 
 The loss of those treasures that charm thee no more : 
 
 " Then thou, gentle trembler, secure on thy stem, 
 Shalt escape the destruction that's destined for them ; 
 And thy sweet-scented petals shed perfume around. 
 When the king of the forest lies low on the ground. 
 
 " I am sent to watch over and shield thee from harm — 
 From the rapine of man and the blight of the storm, 
 
 11* 
 
134 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 That mortals may learn, in the pride of their power, 
 A lesson of truth from the heart of a flower." 
 
 Visions come floating o'er my soul, 
 
 Voices are in mine ear, 
 And dreams bring back the forms of loved 
 
 Departed ones more near. 
 
 Oh, mother ! had thy wayward child 
 
 Heeded thy precepts, given 
 To warn her of the shoals of life, 
 - And point her path to heaven. 
 
 She would have passed in safety then. 
 
 O'er life's tempestuous sea. 
 And every wave she strove against, 
 
 Would bring her nearer thee. 
 
 But now, when winds and waves arise, 
 Where shall the trembler fly ? 
 
 Sin-stricken, weary of the world. 
 And yet unfit to die. 
 
A TRIBUTE 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE LAMENTED GRACE AGUILAR. 
 
 When the sad, moaning wind of midniglit sighing, 
 Falls on the ear with a low, wailing tone, 
 
 And finds an echo in the heart replying 
 To its wild music's melancholy moan, 
 Then will we think of thee. 
 
 When the pale leaves of autumn's woods are falling, 
 Telling that such is man's frail, brief career. 
 
 Our hearts will fancy thy sweet voice is calling 
 From those sad relics of the dying year. 
 And tears will fall for thee. 
 
 And when the first faint blossoms of the spring 
 Shall rouse our spirits by their beauteous bloom. 
 
 Each little leaflet's secret whispering 
 
 Will bear a message from the solemn tomb. 
 Bidding us think of thee. 
 
 Thy spirit loved to hold communion sweet 
 
 With bud, and falling leaf, and midnight wind, 
 
 185 
 
136 A TRIBUTE. 
 
 And each henceforth our chastened hearts shall greet, 
 As a loved token of thy gifted mind — 
 Thus will we think of thee. 
 
 Broken forever is the golden howl 
 
 From which thy spirit drank its draught of life ; 
 The silver chord is loosened from thy soul, 
 
 And thou art free from earthly care and strife — 
 From sin and misery. 
 
 We cannot mourn for thee as one whose lot 
 Was but to bloom for a brief hour below. 
 
 Then sink into the grave and be forgot ; 
 The cold, unthinking world can never know 
 How much we grieve for thee. 
 
 Thou wert a stranger unto us ; thy name 
 Alone was wafted o'er the Atlantic wave ; 
 
 But true hearts mourned thy loss, when tidings came 
 That thou wert in the cold and silent grave — 
 Ay, true hearts mourned for thee. 
 
 Rest, gentle minstrel ! other hands may wreathe 
 
 A fairer garland on some future day. 
 But true and fervent are the thoughts that breathe 
 
 Within our hearts, and prompt this simple lay, 
 That tells our grief for thee. 
 
LINES 
 
 ON READING '^ LAMARTINE's PILGRIMAGE TO THE 
 HOLY LAND.'' 
 
 Jerusalem, Jerusalem ! a stranger's hand may trace 
 Each hallowed relic of the past, each unforgotten place ', 
 A careless, heedless footstep press thy consecrated sod, 
 And an alien's lip breathe orisons unto an alien's God. 
 
 Shorn of the glittering honors that once begirt thy 
 
 brow, 
 All desolate and lonely, as the sad heart sees thee now, 
 With scarce a vestige of the past to cheer the exile's 
 
 heart. 
 Thy mournful history pleads for thee, all ruined as 
 
 thou art. 
 
 Yes, treasured city of the soul, w^hich stranger hands 
 
 despoil. 
 Myriads of yearning bosoms pant to greet thy sacred 
 
 soil; 
 And dear unto thy sorrowing sons, long stricken and 
 
 opprest. 
 Were the humblest weed thou bringest forth from thy 
 
 cold pulseless breast. 
 
 137 
 
138 LINES. 
 
 We recall thee in thy beauty, in thy plenitude of 
 
 power, 
 In all thy ancient majesty, with kingdoms for a dower ; 
 With the diadem of nations encircled on thy brow, 
 And we turn in bitterness of soul to all thou seemest now. 
 
 We mourn for thee, Jerusalem ! thou of the widowed 
 
 heart. 
 Thou who hast seen thy glorious hopes like a vain 
 
 dream depart — 
 Even as a wife forsaken hast thou drained the cup of 
 
 shame. 
 And the stranger passing by thy gate, hath mocked to 
 
 hear thy name. 
 
 Yea, they taunt thee in thy suffering, forsaken and for- 
 lorn. 
 
 They point unto the galling yoke for ages thou hast 
 borne. 
 
 And they tell thee, weary-laden one, in thy lone 
 misery. 
 
 That no redeemer will arise to set the captive free. 
 
 Awake, awake ! put forth thy strength, oh, Zion ! as of 
 
 yore; 
 Gird on thy glorious majesty, and wake to life once 
 
 more. 
 Arouse, arouse ! ye sluggish ones — oh T prove before 
 
 your God, 
 That ye are worthy to pursue the path your fathers 
 
 trod. 
 
NIGHT SONG. 139 
 
 And He who led your sires forth from dark captivity^ 
 Will return once more in holiness to set His chosen 
 
 free; 
 Then Jerusalem^ Jerusalem ! no stranger shall deface 
 The sacred relics of the past, in thy time-honored place. 
 
 NIGHT SONG. 
 
 E.EST thee, thou wearied one, the sad earth bringeth 
 Its care and sorrow with the coming day. 
 
 But night its mantle o'er the weary flingeth, 
 And balmy slumber sheds its magic ray. 
 
 Kest thee, toil-worn and weary as thou art — 
 Heaven sends a blessing down in quiet sleep, 
 
 It sheds a soothing influence o'er the heart, 
 'Though we may wake at morn again to weep. 
 
 Oh, sleep — the gentle night winds breathe of rest. 
 And the pale stars shine on us from above, 
 
 Earth folds her weary children to her breast — 
 Oh ! Father, shield them with a parent's loye, 
 And grant them rest. 
 
ISRAEL'S FUTURE. 
 
 " The Jews, the legitimate masters of Judea, are as slaves and strangers 
 in their own land ; yet still awaiting, under this most cruel and despotic 
 government, a king who is to work their deliverance. And while the Per- 
 sians, the Greeks, and the Eomans, have disappeared from the face of the 
 earth, this small people, whose origin is much more ancient than that of 
 these mighty nations, still survive amidst the ruins of their country, with 
 no alternation of manner, and no mixture of foreign blood. — Sckiptural 
 
 GrBOGRAPHT. 
 
 Ay^ turn your anxious, ardent gaze, 
 
 Ye hapless ones, to that lone spot, 
 Where, heaven-inspired, your prophets dwelt; 
 
 Still be their memories unforgot — 
 Still cherish ye the holy deeds 
 
 That Grod performed for Israel then ; 
 And, uncontaminated, bear 
 
 The faith your fathers cherished, when 
 Pollution rank and conquering foes, 
 
 Sought to defile their holy trust. 
 And failed. Oh ! ye who bear their name. 
 
 Sons of the faithful and the just, 
 Let not your strength of soul depart ; 
 Yours be the firm and dauntless heart 
 
 That spurns control of earthly bands, 
 
 UO 
 
Israel's future. 141 
 
 That asks no aid from liaughty foes, 
 
 But stroDg in God's own promise stands. 
 Poor remnant ! by thy mighty woes, 
 
 By all the memories of the past, 
 Oh ! fail thou not in thy dark hour — 
 
 Thy fiery ordeal cannot last ; 
 And when the fierce and bigot power 
 
 That chains thee thus, shall palsied die. 
 And thou, enfranchised, heaven-redeemed, 
 
 Shalt see, like meteors of the sky — 
 Those false and erring lights that beamed. 
 To lure thee from thy onward race. 
 Pass from the earth and leave no trace. 
 No vestige of their dwelling-place : 
 While thou, oh, glorious and beloved ! 
 
 Awakening from thy dreary night, 
 Shalt see thy children, long removed. 
 
 Hastening to greet, to glad thy sight. 
 And that most pure and holy shrine, 
 
 O'er which thy prostrate sons now mourn, 
 Again in radiance all divine. 
 
 Shall hail the fugitive's return — 
 Again the Eternal's blessing rest upon that ruined 
 
 spot, 
 Be thou but true, oh, Israel ! be firm and falter not. 
 
 12 
 
ISRAEL'S TRUST. 
 
 "Behold, see, we beseech thee, we are all thy people." — Isaiah. 
 
 Yes, we are Thine ! The lightning's flash, 
 The thunder's reverb'ration loud, 
 
 The mystic trumpet's solemn tone, 
 Proclaim it to th' assembled crowd. 
 
 Thine ! — the retreating waves, which made 
 A pathway through the troubled flood — 
 
 The fire from heaven — the pillar-cloud — 
 Attest how firm Thy word hath stood. 
 
 Thine, wholly Thine, through every change, 
 Through scorn, and agony, and shame I 
 
 Though aliens in every land, 
 Our heritage is still the same. 
 
 Borne down beneath insulting foes, 
 Defamed, dishonored, and oppressed, 
 
 Our country fallen and desolate. 
 Our name a by-word and a jest — 
 142 
 
ISRAEL S TRUST. 
 
 Still are we Thine — as wholly Thine 
 As when Judea's trumpets' tone 
 
 Breathed proud defiance to her foes, 
 And nations knelt before her throne. 
 
 We are Thine own ; we cling to Thee 
 As clings the tendril to the vine ; 
 
 Oh ! ^mid the world's bewildering maze, 
 Still keep us Thine, for ever Thine ! 
 
;t. 
 
 How were tliey giveiij those pure and holy laws, 
 That thus for centuries have swayed mankind, 
 And bound them unto wisdom ? Pid they come 
 In the soft twilight of a summer hour, 
 Or in the hushed and melancholy night, 
 Without attesting witnesses to prove 
 Their heavenly origin ? when man could frame 
 Such words as suited his ambitious mind, 
 To bind the herd obedient to his will. 
 
 How were they given ? See, on yon sacred mount. 
 How the sharp lightning flashes I its forked tongue 
 Leaps like a fiery serpent ; now it twines 
 Its sinuous form around each rugged peak. 
 And now it spreads a liquid plain of fire. 
 Hark ! how that viewless trumpet on the air. 
 Louder and louder swells, ^till on that vast 
 And multitudinous plain there falls an awe, 
 As if the Archangel's mighty voice they heard. 
 Summoning them unto their last account ! 
 The strong rock quivers, and the stately trees 
 Bend with the weight of the fierce tempest's wrath. 
 144 
 
PENTECOST. 145 
 
 Liglitning and storm ; oh. ! ye were glorious. 
 And suited well the words ye heralded — 
 The rock on which Israel hath built her tower 
 Of firm, enduring strength. Though other creeds 
 Have raised their altars where your own have stood, 
 And triumphed o'er the fallen Israelite, 
 Yet unto you, oh ! eldest born, were given 
 Those heaven-attested words j guard ye them well, 
 That, like a rich and priceless heritage. 
 Ye, dying, may bequeath unto your sons. 
 Unstained, undimmed, and pure as when at first 
 They emanated from your God. 
 
 12''' 
 
THE DAY OF ATONEMENT. 
 
 Oh ! Thou Eternal and Omnipotent ! 
 
 How shall Thy erring children come to Thee, 
 And ask for peace ? Although the head be bent, 
 
 Even as a bulrush, ^tis but mockery, 
 If the dark, sin-struck heart still cling to earth, 
 
 Still make its idol of the world's frail clay, 
 And the pure, glorious soul forget its birth, 
 
 Before the glittering bauble of a day ; 
 
 Or, if a spark of hatred linger still 
 Against a brother, sinful though he be. 
 Oh ! Thou in heaven, how shall we come to Thee ? 
 Vain are the words that spring with empty sound, 
 While the insensate heart betrays no wound. 
 
 And we are slaves unto our stubborn will. 
 
 But if— oh ! Thou Eternal God of love— 
 If we perchance find favor in Thy sight, 
 Gruide us, oh. Holy one ! from this, our night. 
 
 And grant remission from Thy courts above. 
 
 Low in the dust we mourn the fatal sin 
 
 That hath beguiled our souls from the true path- 
 Oh ! deal not on our heads Thy fearful wrath ; 
 
 Forgive the past, and grant us strength to win 
 146 
 
OBITUARY STANZAS. 147 
 
 The glorious prize of immortality — 
 
 The bliss to dwell forever more with Thee. 
 
 We are Thy children ! let our praj^er arise 
 
 Like the sweet incense of a sacrifice, 
 
 And fronT this day henceforward let us be 
 
 Bound by love's holiest tie, our Grod, to Thee. 
 
 OBITUARY STANZAS. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Oh ! some celestial form of light 
 
 God in His mercy sent to thee, 
 To soothe thy parting pangs that night, 
 
 And whisper pardon full and free. 
 
 Some holy spirit sent from heaven. 
 
 Too glorious for our mortal eye, 
 Hovered, ^till life's last cord was riven, 
 
 Then bore th' enfranchised soul on high. 
 
 Thy pallid lips proclaimed the power 
 
 Of the pure ritual of thy faith. 
 Like the crushed perfume of a flower. 
 
 That yields its sweetness most in death. 
 
SONG 
 
 OF JUDAS MACCABEUS; BEFORE THE BATTLE OF 
 MASPHA. 
 
 On, warriors and chiefs ! every step we have trod, 
 Though blood-stained with carnage and heaped with 
 the slain, 
 
 Bears witness we fight for the glory of Grod, 
 
 Whose aid we have asked, nor entreated in vain. 
 
 Attest it, ye armies, whose glittering array 
 
 At noonday outshone in his splendor the sun — 
 
 Attest it, ye proud girded warriors who lay 
 Unhonored and cold when the battle was done. 
 
 They came to subdue us, oh, God of the just ! 
 
 Thy arm was our shield. Thy protection our power; 
 Still aid and defend us, oh ! Thou whom we trust, 
 
 May our help come from Thee in adversity's hour. 
 
 When we cease to remember the martyrs, whose blood 
 They have poured out like water, may we be forgot ; 
 When we cease to lament the fierce pangs they with- 
 stood, 
 May our strength be derided, our memory a blot. 
 148 
 
SONG. 149 
 
 Then on ! can we waver, when heaven's pure light 
 Smiles approvingly down on the path we have trod? 
 
 On, on ! be it victory or death, ere the night 
 
 We have conquered or died for the glory of Grod. 
 
 LIKE SOME LONE BIRD. 
 
 Like some lone bird whose wailing note 
 Tells of its grief o'er wood and plain ; 
 
 Whose melancholy warblings float 
 
 O'er scenes of sorrow, care and pain — 
 
 ' Even such am I. 
 
 Or, like a flower all crushed and pale, 
 Torn by the wind, its bed upriven, 
 
 Its leaflets scattered to the gale, 
 Careering wild by tempests driven, 
 Even such am I. 
 
 No mate to list that bird's sad lay, 
 
 No hand to raise that drooping flower ; 
 
 The song must float unheard away, 
 
 The bud still bear the whirlwind's power. 
 And helpless lie ! 
 
THE LORD IS NIGH. 
 
 When the storm-sliattered vessel is tost by the gale, 
 And each billow speeds on, bearing havoc and death, 
 
 'Till the courage grows weak and the strength waxes 
 frail, 
 With the wild sky above, and the wild waves beneath. 
 
 When the young heart is crushed 'mid its early delights, 
 And the soul is bowed down with a weight of despair, 
 
 And we turn from a treacherous world, that requites 
 Our warmest heart-treasures with anguish and care : 
 
 When the one whom we cherished turns coldly away. 
 And we weep o'er the dream that has cheated our 
 youth. 
 
 And mourn that no longer one love-beaming ray 
 Will return to illumine our pathway with truth : 
 
 Then ! then in our anguish we fly unto Thee, 
 
 When the false world is fading like dreams of the 
 night. 
 And the idols to whom we have bended the knee. 
 Have fallen to earth, and are hid from our sight. 
 150 
 
ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 151 
 
 And Thou I oh ! Thou hearest the suppliant's voice, 
 Whether tossed on the ocean, or wrecked upon earth ; 
 
 And Thy mercy can cause the sad heart to rejoice, 
 Though surrounded by perils and storms from its 
 birth. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD, 
 
 Thy life's brief day has passed and gone ; 
 
 Never shall winter, stern and dread, 
 Nor fervid heat of summer sun, 
 
 Disturb thy lonely, quiet bed. 
 
 Freed from all the ills of life. 
 
 No heavy sins to be forgiven, 
 Rest thee from thy mortal strife, 
 
 Frail child of earth, high heir of heaven. 
 
" Du Heilige, rufe dein Kind zuruck. 
 Ich babe genossen das irdische Gluck, 
 Ich liabe gelebt und geliebet." 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 I^ WEARY of this world's dull track — 
 
 I am a laggard in the race, 
 And languidly my soul turns back, 
 
 To seek its final resting-place. 
 
 Oh ! when that soul so crushed and riven, 
 Comes tremblingly before Thy throne, 
 
 And humbly pleads to be forgiven, 
 Hear ! and have mercy on Thine own. 
 
 Man may spurn back his brother man. 
 May reprobate the path he trod. 
 
 The wild, uncertain course he ran — 
 But, oh I not Thou, our Father — God ! 
 
 r 
 
 The storm-cloud gathers dark and wild, 
 My path is lost amid the gloom — 
 
 Have mercy on thy suppliant child. 
 Oh ! take the weary wanderer home. 
 152 
 
SAMUEL 
 
 AT THE TEMPLE. 
 
 A SOLEMN sound of music 
 
 Swells on the summer air, 
 And a mighty host assemble 
 
 In Israel's house of praj^er. 
 
 There are stern and dark-browed warriors, 
 
 Fierce wrestlers in life's race, 
 And holy priest and stripling, 
 
 In that consecrated place. 
 
 Like a being of a far-off world. 
 
 Beyond our mortal ken. 
 One stands amid that stranger throug 
 
 Of swarthy bearded men. 
 
 Rich music floats around him, 
 
 And incense fills the air, 
 And he hears their mingled voices 
 
 Unite in holy prayer. 
 
 Tears come raining down in torrents, 
 
 As he listens to their strain, 
 And his thoughts fly back like winged doves, 
 
 To his mountain home again. 
 13 
 
154 SAMUEL AT THE TEMPLE. 
 
 The daily sacrifice is done, 
 The multitude depart, 
 
 And none heed the bitter anguish 
 Of that lonely little heart. 
 
 *^ My mother, oh, my mother V 
 "Was the only prayer he said. 
 
 When his teacher called a blessing 
 On his fair and sinless head. 
 
 *' My mother, oh, my mother !" 
 That gorgeous structure sent 
 
 A strangely solemn answer 
 To that lonely child's lament. 
 
 Who can tell the bitter wrestling 
 Of that spirit undefiled, 
 
 Or paint the earthward longing 
 Of that heaven-devoted child. 
 
 We only know that blessings 
 Lingered on the path he trod — 
 
 We only know the sacrifice 
 W^as pleasing unto God. 
 
THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Hush ! 'tis a holy scene, for Death is near ; 
 
 And as his terrors meet the mourner's eye^ 
 There swells a sad and solemn chaunt to heaven, 
 
 Bearing in prayer the parting soul on high. 
 
 At death's approach their voices blend in prayer, 
 And he, the dying one, now joins the strain ; 
 
 Though his pale, quivering lips give forth no sound, 
 He strives to speak those holy words again. 
 
 Oh ! solemn ritual of Gocfs cJiosen ones ! 
 
 Oh ! sweet and soothing, balm, to those whose breath 
 Is fleeing fast away from earth's bright things. 
 
 And journeying swiftly to the shores of death ! 
 
 Through scorn, and insult, and oppression's wrongs, 
 God's holy words have cheered him on his way; 
 
 And now in death's dark hour their power is felt — 
 They smooth his path to realms of endless day. 
 
 Shemang Yisrael,* the Hebrew's prayer of faith — 
 Then hear, oh, Israel ! your Grod is one ; 
 
 *Hear, oh ! Israel, &c. — Dkut., chap, vi., ver. 4. 
 
 155 
 
156 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Bow down your heads and glorify His name, 
 Proclaim His unity from sire to son. 
 
 Tlie soul hath flown ! With prayer upon his lips 
 He meekly bowed to meet the chastening rod ; 
 
 And now, his earthly errors all forgiven, 
 He sleeps upon the bosom of his God. 
 
When the first rays of morning shine, 
 And wake the world to bliss or care, 
 
 Let our first waking thoughts be Thine — 
 Oh ! hear our humble matin prayer. 
 
 When day's bright glories fade away, 
 And night assumes her silent reign, 
 
 Fountain of Life, again we pay 
 The homage of our grateful strain. 
 
 And when the darkest pall of night 
 Shrouds all things like the silent tomb, 
 
 We pray that Thou, oh ! God of Light, 
 Wilt guide us safely through the gloom. 
 
 Protect us by Thy mighty hand, 
 Restore our souls again to bliss. 
 
 Prepare us for that better land. 
 
 And aid our wavering steps in this. 
 
 L3* 
 
CHANGELESS AFFECTION. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 A FAIRY lay sleeping within a sbell, 
 
 Cast ashore by the restless sea ; 
 But her sleep was disturbed, for a tiny bell, 
 Like that which the hyacinth rings as a knell 
 On the death of a flower she loveth well, 
 
 Came sounding quite mournfully. 
 
 She raised her head from its curious bed, 
 
 And she peered in the dim starlight. 
 But nought could she see of the living or dead ; 
 Yet that mystical bell had plainly said, 
 That something human (a fairy's dread !) 
 
 Was hovering near her that night. 
 
 She looked on the ocean and in the air, 
 
 And she turned her glance upon earth, 
 Oh ! well might she tremble, for, standing quite near, 
 And gazing upon the blue water so clear. 
 Was a couple whom none but a fairy might fear — 
 Two lovers of mortal birth. 
 158 
 
CHANGELESS AFFECTION. 159 
 
 ^' Oh !" cried the maiden, as, weeping and pale, 
 
 She clung to the youth by her side : 
 " I will tremble and shrink when the furious gale 
 Brings destruction to many a gallant sail, 
 And I'll pray whenever I hear the wild tale 
 
 The winds tell me at eventide. 
 
 "And forever and ever my love shall be 
 
 Like yon pure and silvery star, 
 That now lightens the slumbering and treacherous sea, 
 And beams far above in its purity ; 
 And my heart shall ever be true to thee, 
 
 Wherever thou roamest afar." 
 
 And the lover replied : " Keep thou thy faith 
 
 As firmly as I will keep mine. 
 There is nothing yon glittering star beneath 
 That can make me change, but the tyrant death ; 
 And the name I breathe with my last breath. 
 
 Oh, dearest ! shall only be thine." 
 
 The youth and the maiden parted that night. 
 
 And the fairy forsook her shell ; 
 '• I will dwell," said she, " in that bosom so white, 
 I will shield the maiden from terror and fright, 
 When she wakes to weep in the dismal night. 
 
 For one whom she loveth so well." 
 
 A year and a day had scarce passed away. 
 
 Ere the fairy returned to the sea. 
 For the maiden who plighted her troth that day. 
 
160 CHANGELESS AEFECTION. 
 
 And vowed by that star in its tremulous ray, 
 Hath wedded another, and flown far away — 
 Oh ! fickle and false Eulalie ! 
 
 And the fairy, deep-grieving, left her home, 
 
 And she called on wronged Egbert's name ; 
 She sought him afar on the wild sea foam, 
 Through many a far foreign land did she roam. 
 To prepare him before the dark tidings could come, 
 Of his sorrow and Eulalie's shame. 
 
 And what found the fairy ? Truth must be told : 
 
 Far off in a sweet sunny isle, 
 She found that true lover, so faithful and bold, 
 Who had sworn that his bosom could never grew cold, 
 Had bartered his honor and freedom for gold. 
 
 And the light of a lady's smile. 
 
 " And this," said the fairy, " is human love," 
 
 As she sunk in the deep blue sea ; 
 " This, this is the faith that their vows would prove." 
 She looked, and their ^^ witness star" glimmered above, 
 And the billows repeat, as they restlessly move, 
 
 '' False Egbert and false Eulalie." 
 
SYMBOLS. 
 
 INFANCY. 
 
 A little purling rill, 
 
 Half hidden from the view, 
 By moss and wild flowers sheltered well, 
 
 And nurtured by the dew. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 A laughing, limpid stream, 
 
 That dimples in the sun, 
 Kejoicing in his golden beam, 
 
 And gaily hurrying on. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 A torrent, leaping wildly o'er 
 
 Mountain and rocky height, 
 Impatient of restraining power, 
 
 Exulting in its might. 
 
 MANHOOD. 
 
 A river, baring its broad breast, 
 Freighted with precious store. 
 
 And hurrying onward with the rest, 
 To the sombre ocean's roar. 
 
 161 
 
162 SYMBOLS. 
 
 And, ob ! thou wide and trackless sea, 
 Whose solemn waves roll on, 
 
 Meet emblem of eternity, 
 
 When man's short race is run. 
 
 Kiver, and stream, and mountain rill, 
 
 And leaping waterfall, 
 Flow toward thee, unresisting still. 
 
 And thou engulphest all. 
 
 Full many a gem, oh ! ocean dark, 
 Lies hidden in thy caves — 
 
 Full many a richly freighted bark 
 Has sunk beneath thy waves. 
 
 So death has hidden jewels rare 
 Within his cold embrace ; 
 
 The wise, the cherished, hasten there, 
 And earth knows not their place. 
 
TO L 
 
 * * * 
 
 What can I wish for thee ? May all life's pleasures, 
 Its joys and sunniest hours, be ever thine; 
 
 And all the sweetest tendrils of affection 
 
 Close 'round thy heart with every fibre twine ; 
 
 Making this life for thee one scene of gladness, 
 . And realizing all we hope for thee ; 
 No tinge of sorrow, no alloy of sadness, 
 Disturb thy peace or mar thy harmony. 
 
 Thy gentle care, thy kindly precepts, given 
 
 To guard the weak, and lead the wanderer right, 
 
 Rise like accepted sacrifice to heaven. 
 
 And pave thy path with beams of purest light. 
 
 So may old age come on, and when thou 'rt weary, 
 And, like a child, turnest toward thy home, 
 
 M'ay all the bright and gladsome things thou leavest, 
 Be but a foretaste of the joys to come. 
 
 163 
 
TO THE SAME. 
 
 May all earth's fairest gifts be thine, 
 
 And every swift revolving year 
 Bring health, and peace, and happy thoughts 
 
 To thee, and all thou holdest dear. 
 
 If cares arise, or sorrows come, 
 
 May bright-eyed pleasure chase thy tears, 
 And love's pure pinion be a charm 
 
 To shield from ill thy future years. 
 
 No grief, no loss, no pang of shame. 
 To bow thy head or crush thy heart, 
 
 But may our fervent prayers to heaven 
 Protect, and prove how dear thou art. 
 
 164 
 
TO ALICE. 
 
 Pet bird, we miss thee, we pine for thee now, 
 
 x\lthough many a carol is heard 
 From the sweet little warblers that perch on our houghj 
 
 Yet we pine for our own merry bird. 
 
 Come home to ns, darling — our sunbeam — our light ; 
 
 What prettier name can my pen 
 Bring forward to tempt thee to alter thy flight, 
 
 And return to thy home once again. 
 
 Bring all that thou lovest, there's room in the nest ; 
 
 And tho' spring may delay sun and shower. 
 There's a warm little corner for those we love best, 
 
 Over which the rude wind has no power. 
 
 Oh ! return, for we miss thee ; we've waited so long, 
 
 And so anxiously looked for the day 
 When our hearts should respond to thy musical song. 
 
 And still our lov'd truant's away. 
 
 I could pardon thee, rover, if Nature had spread 
 
 Her beauties, thy heart to engage ; 
 If her green rustling branches waved over thy head, 
 
 And her flowers were strewed o'er thy cage. 
 
 14 
 
166 ' TO ALICE. 
 
 Do not linger in town, where no blossom or leaf 
 
 Grives promise of beautiful May, 
 But return, for our bosoms are laden with grief. 
 
 While our own precious birdie 's away. 
 
 THE ANSWER: 
 
 BY MRS. A. R. 
 
 Your pet bird has missed you for many a day, 
 In the bowser where her cage has been hung, 
 
 And sorrowful now is the once merry lay 
 Your favorite birdie has sung. 
 
 But it needed not all the pet names you call 
 
 So sweetly, to tempt me away, 
 For my heart has been with you, through sunshine 
 
 and all. 
 And I have not been waiting for May. 
 
 For, though Nature had spread all her beauties for me, 
 
 I'd not linger to worship them now — 
 Though her blossoms were swelling on every tree, 
 
 And bright flowers were decking her brow. 
 
 I am pluming my wings and preparing my voice. 
 
 And already am steering my flight. 
 And if I can bring comfort, I bid you rejoice, 
 
 For perhaps I'll be with you ere night. 
 
THE DYING SISTER. 
 
 I AM dying, dearest sister, 
 
 The death-damp is on my brow, 
 
 "Which thy dear hand is pressing; 
 Yes, I am dying now. 
 
 I feel it in the quivering 
 
 Of each faint and feeble breath, 
 
 And my fast receding senses 
 Assure me this is death. 
 
 Oh I I have prayed at midnight. 
 
 That my hour might soon draw nigh ; 
 
 And at dawn and early twilight, 
 I have prayed that I might die. 
 
 For the world is harsh and cruel, 
 And my happiness has fled ; 
 
 Temptation has beset me. 
 
 And I've wished that I was dead. 
 
 Now press your hand upon my brow, 
 Let me hear that long-loved tone, 
 
 And tell me that you'll love me 
 In the grave, when I am gone. 
 
 167 
 
168 OH, TIIOU ! WHOSE WAYS. 
 
 Say that you'll think upon me 
 In the evening's fading light, 
 
 That you'll miss me when you gather 
 Round the festal board at night. 
 
 That I will not be forgotten, 
 Though I am with the dead ; 
 
 That you'll think of me and love me, 
 In my cold and narrow bed. 
 
 OH, THOU! WHOSE WAYS. 
 
 Oh ! Thou, whose ways are not as ours. 
 
 How weak and impotent are we ! 
 Unfit to brave the storm which lowers 
 
 Around us on life's fitful sea. 
 
 How vainly we Thy will withstand ; 
 
 How blind our strife to overcome 
 With human strength, the mighty hand 
 
 That fain would lead the wanderer home. 
 
 Condemn us not, oh ! Holy One ! 
 Thoug]i weak and sinful we may be ; 
 
THE BARK OF LIFE. 169 
 
 Still guard and guide our footsteps on, 
 ^Till we are nearer heaven and Thee. 
 
 Like him who, in the darksome night, 
 
 Can see the kindly stars, which day 
 Concealed beneath its garish light. 
 
 Now beaming forth to guide his way : 
 
 So we, by pleasure's dazzling rays. 
 
 Fail to perceive those beacons, given 
 To guide us through life's devious ways. 
 
 And lead our wandering steps to heaven. 
 
 Until misfortune, like the night, 
 
 Shuts all earth's glories from our view — 
 
 Then, then to our enraptured sight, 
 
 Those gleams of heaven come shining through. 
 
 THE BARK OF LIFE. 
 
 Now borne along with outstretched sail, 
 A bark flies swift before the wind ; 
 
 Unmindful of the threatening gale, 
 It speeds, and leaves its mates behind : 
 
 How lightly o'er the sea it glides, 
 
 And sports alike with winds and tides. 
 14* 
 
170 THE BARK OF LIFE. 
 
 Poor, fated bark ! thy hopes were vain, 
 For soon, alas ! the tempests fly 
 
 Athwart the cold, deceptive main ; 
 A maddening sea — a lowering sky — 
 
 The straining mast — the shivered sail — 
 
 Attest full well the oft-told tale. 
 
 Morn saw thee sparkling in the sun — 
 
 Ere noon the sky was overcast ; 
 Before thy little course is run. 
 
 The promise morning gave is past : 
 The howling demon of the storm 
 Will crush thee with its mighty arm. 
 
 Thou art righted ! trim thy sails once more, 
 And speed thee o'er the troubled waste ; 
 
 There still are glimpses of the shore, 
 And a calm haven ; thither haste. 
 
 The sun breaks through the storm-clouds dark. 
 
 And gleams upon thee, trembling bark. 
 
 Once more the canvass woos the gale. 
 Again she speeds triumphant on. 
 
 Again the wind-inviting sail 
 
 Spreads flauntingly to greet the sun j 
 
 The danger past, she fears no more. 
 
 But stretches for the distant shore. 
 
 Alas ! too soon she nears the land, 
 
 For the wild storm comes thundering back. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. 171 
 
 And bears her to the fatal strand, 
 
 Then leaves her a dismantled wreck : 
 The buoyant hopes of morning gone, 
 She drifts upon the tide alone. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. 
 
 Its source is hidden ^mid the leaves — 
 The russet leaves that autumn shed, 
 
 When the storm-demon waved his winoj 
 Above its shallow, rocky bed. 
 
 It cower'd as that awful voice 
 
 Went raging through the moaning wood — 
 It checked awhile its dimpling course, 
 
 And trembled in its solitude. 
 
 And yearly as that storm returns, 
 
 Does the sweet, laughing, limpid stream 
 
 Tremble to hear that demon-voice. 
 Dispel its golden summer dream. 
 
 But now it ripples o'er its bed. 
 
 Laughing through all the pleasant hours. 
 
172 TO s . 
 
 It hears the wild bird's sweetest song, 
 It bears the scent of blushing flowers. 
 
 Like modest worth it flows unseen, 
 Nor asks a brighter, happier doom, 
 
 Than thus to sing its hymn of praise, 
 And wander thro' the forest's gloom. 
 
 Sweet stream, though rocks and trees may hide 
 Thy beauties from the prying eye — 
 
 Tho' few have seen thy waters glide, 
 Or listened to thy melody — 
 
 Yet onward in thy humble race. 
 And one day this, thy scanty store, 
 
 Shall fertilize the distant vale, 
 
 And mingle with the ocean's roar. 
 
 TO S 
 
 Can it be true that another year 
 
 Has already past ? 
 Has it flown by in earnest, and left us here, 
 
 While it fleeted so fast ? 
 
 Has it left no traces, that vanished year. 
 No marks of its flight ? 
 
TO s . 173 
 
 Life's clouds we know will grow dark and drear, 
 As we draw toward night. 
 
 The sun cannot shine with a noontide blaze, 
 
 As it sinks to rest; 
 Nor can we hope that our latter days, 
 
 Like the past will be blest. 
 
 Hope sits no longer, they say, at the prow, 
 
 When our youth is gone — 
 When, with bending form and snow-wreathed brow, 
 
 We come tottering on. 
 
 All this may be very lucid and clear. 
 
 May be true and right. 
 But I know we heed not the circling year, 
 
 In its swift-winged flight. 
 
 For Time, as he speeds with thief-like tread. 
 
 And plays his part. 
 Though he roughen the temper and whiten the head, 
 
 Cannot alter the heart. 
 
 And while those whom Grod gave us encircle us round. 
 
 We will dare Fate's worst. 
 And hope that our later days may be found 
 
 As bright as the first. 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 <' One dark minute sweeps away 
 What took whole years to cherish." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Let it depart ; 't was but a dream, 
 Like those which, cheated me of yore ; 
 
 Like them, it served to gild life's stream, 
 But faded ere I reached the shore. 
 
 Oh ! said I, that it was like them ! 
 
 No, it was something holier far; 
 Night holds not in her diadem 
 
 Of glittering gems, a brighter star. 
 
 It was a ray that lured me on, 
 
 'Till all that made life dear has pass'd ; 
 My dreams have faded one by one, 
 
 This was the brightest, and the last. 
 
 Well, let it pass, that flattering dream. 
 It cannot cheat my heart again ; 
 
 My star emits no cheering beam — 
 My grief and sorrow still remain. 
 
 174 
 
MY BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 " My birth-day ! what a different sound 
 Had those few words in earlier years ;" 
 
 Now every twelvemonth's circling round, 
 I chronicle with bitter tears. 
 
 Then pleasures clustered round my way, 
 And bright-eyed hope stood ever nigh, 
 
 To hail the long expected day 
 That told a year had glided by. 
 
 Kesolve me this, ye men of lore : 
 Why is it that in childhood's hours. 
 
 The wheels of Time lag evermore. 
 
 Although his car is wreathed with flowers. 
 
 And when the storms of after-life 
 
 Beat wildly o'er the wanderer's head — ■ 
 
 When every step brings care and strife, 
 He seems to move with swifter tread ? 
 
 I only know the useless past. 
 
 Like a vain dream has flitted on — 
 
 I only know Time flies too fast. 
 Now that my work is but begun. 
 
 175 
 
ON AN INFANT. 
 
 A DEW-DROP, exhaled ere a shadow of earth 
 Diminished its lustre or sullied the gem ; 
 
 A flower, transferred from the place of its birth, 
 To its own kindred blossoms, to flourish with them. 
 
 Sleep, sleep little nursling, the snow-flakes will fall. 
 And the rude winds of winter will rave o'er thy bed, 
 
 But thou'lt heed them no more than the summer bird's 
 call 
 To its mate, on the bough that waves over thy head. 
 
 The storm-king may ride on the snow-crested billow. 
 He may raze the proud tower of strength in his 
 wrath. 
 
 But thy sleep shall be sweet on thy cold, lonely pillow, 
 Tho' the wailing of nations attend on his path. 
 
 Here earth's sweetest treasures around thee shall bloom, 
 And afl'ection its holiest vigils will keep ; 
 
 Bright flowers shall scatter their sweetest perfume, 
 And angels watch over thy visionless sleep. 
 
 176 
 
THE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM SCHILLER. 
 
 Honor to woman ' she twines and weaves 
 Heavenly roses with earthly leaves, 
 
 Brings blessings and peace as her own sweet dower, 
 And ever, beneath fair modesty's veil, 
 Nurses holy fire, before which pale 
 
 The meteor flashings of passion's power. 
 
 Battling with stern reason's truth, 
 
 Man his strength forever tries, 
 Plunges with the fire of youth 
 
 In the ocean of surmise ; 
 Eagerly he grasps the wind. 
 
 Strives to clutch the distant star j 
 Restless, with no ties to bind, 
 
 His unreal pictures fade afar. 
 
 But ever, with magical force and skill, 
 Woman proves the might of her empire still, 
 
 And fails not to win the fugitive back ; 
 The wanderer returns at once, at her call. 
 And ever remains beneath modesty's thrall, 
 
 While she guides him with silken thread on the track. 
 
 15 
 
178 THE DIGNITY OF WOMAN. 
 
 Inimical to mortal peace, 
 
 Is the powerful mind of man, 
 Nor will that troubled warfare cease, 
 
 While he lives his little span. 
 Restless — ever on the wing — 
 
 What he makes he mars again ; 
 Thoughts arise and wishes spring, 
 
 Like Hydra heads lopped off in vain. 
 
 But satisfied with lowlier fame, 
 Content to own an humble name, 
 
 Woman plucks the present flower; 
 Bnt freer in her daily toil. 
 Richer than he with golden spoil. 
 
 And Ambition's short-lived power. 
 
 Strong, and proud, and self-reliant, 
 
 Man's cold breast is still unmoved — 
 Firm, and dauntless, and defiant, 
 
 Seeks not he to be beloved ; 
 Knows not the exchange of soul, 
 
 Melts not at another's woe. 
 Self starts first to win the goal, 
 
 And aid a rival's overthrow. 
 
 But, as by the gentlest zephyr blown. 
 Rings the seolian harp's wild tone. 
 
 So woman's feeling soul replies ; 
 A pictured misery scares her rest. 
 Soft pity ever warms her breast. 
 
 And pearls of heaven bedew her eyes. 
 
THE sybil's hahp. 179 
 
 Man, still thirsting for dominion, 
 
 Strives by force to conquer right, 
 Heedless of the world's opinion, 
 
 Insolent in strength and might — • 
 He challenges with haughty soul, 
 
 Passions fearful, dark and wild, 
 Mocks at pity's soft control, 
 
 Scorns to be by love beguiled. 
 
 But ever, with the gentlest and mildest tone, 
 Woman secures him, a slave to her throne, 
 
 Extinguishes discord and moderates strife, 
 Teaches the strength which can overcome hate, 
 Brings peace to his bosom, when tortured by fate, 
 
 And binds with affection the tendrils of life. 
 
 THE SYBIL'S HARP. 
 
 A HARP, SO the wild legend runs, 
 Grifted with potent magic power 
 
 To read the hearts of those who sung 
 Tiieir tale of love in passion's hour, 
 
 Was by an aged Sybil given 
 To Ninathoma's gentle child. 
 
180 THE sybil's HABP. 
 
 That she might know if they who sought 
 
 Her maiden hearty were undefiled. '^ 
 
 If they were worthy, a bright fire 
 
 Would burn before them while they sung ; 
 But if a traitor touched the lyre, 
 
 Or falsehood faltered from the tongue, 
 That flame would thrice leap up, and then 
 
 Sink into gloom and void again. 
 
 But the fair, gentle maid to whom 
 
 This far-famed magic harp was given, 
 Had yielded her young heart to one 
 
 Whom she believed was sent from heaven : 
 For how could guile or treachery lie 
 Within that clear and melting eye — 
 Or, how could falsehood have a part 
 In that devoted, faithful heart ! 
 
 He wildly seized the trembling strings, 
 
 And, as the shrinking maid retired. 
 He swept the chords with hurried hand. 
 
 And sung like one by heaven inspired. 
 But, oh ! the harp had lost its tone ; 
 
 Or, why did such sad notes reply. 
 As he, with burning language, told 
 
 Of lover's faith and passion's sigh ! 
 
 The trembling notes swelled on the ear, 
 Like the low, fitful winter's wind. 
 
 And seemed to bear a tale of death 
 TInto the listener's tortured mind. 
 
THE sybil's harp. 181 
 
 He sang of hope, and fitfully 
 
 The chords prolong the soothing measure; 
 He sang of fame and love of power, 
 
 Of golden dreams and varied pleasure — 
 To each and all the harp replied ; 
 
 But when he tried of love to sing, 
 The softly soothing measure died 
 
 In murmurs on the quivering string. 
 
 Passion was swelling in his heart, 
 
 And, maddened by the harp's dull tone, 
 He strove to force the trembling chords 
 
 Into a measure not their own. 
 But, as his hand with hurried touch, 
 
 Swept wildly o'er the wayward lyre, 
 He saw the Sybil's fitful flame 
 
 Shoot upward thrice, and then expire ! 
 She gazed on him for whom her soul 
 
 Its deepest, holiest passions woke, 
 Then, turning to the Sybil's gift, 
 
 She bent above it, and her full heart broke ! 
 
 15* 
 
TO S — . 
 
 ON THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF HIS BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 My hand is on the sacred book that dates thy birth, 
 And my heart is with those cherished ones we've lost 
 
 on earth ; 
 What joy and grief alternately, what hopes and fears, 
 Lie coiled within that little phrase of "fifty years/' 
 
 It seems a long, long, weary time to tread this earth, 
 To find how cold and heartless, and how little worth. 
 Are all the false and fleeting joys that lure our stay ; 
 Even while their clasp is closest twined they fade away. 
 
 But while earth's joys can charm the heart, may they 
 
 be thine, 
 And every blessing heaven can send, around thee twine ; 
 In wife, in children, and in friend, may'st thou be blest, 
 And when thy mortal cares shall end, sweet be thy rest. 
 
 Scorn not the simple lines that come to greet this day, 
 Nor deem the mood that prompted them an idle play : 
 A deep and fervent love for thee lives in my heart. 
 And this rude measure ill can tell how dear thou art. 
 
 182 
 
TO OUR MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 183 
 
 And when old age has bleached the head and howed the 
 
 form, 
 Still may these kindly feelings live as fresh and warm ; 
 And the strong ties which bind us here in bonds of love, 
 Live on through endless ages yet in realms above. 
 
 TO OUR MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 
 
 " Life has passed 
 With me but roughly, since I heard thee last." 
 
 COWPER, 
 
 So LONG, dear mother, since those eyes upon thy 
 
 children smiled, 
 Long years since thou art lost to me, thy fond, but 
 
 wayward child 3 
 Oh ! we have trod the world's rough path, and mingled 
 
 among men, 
 But a weary, weary pilgrimage has our pathway proved 
 
 since then. 
 
 And bitterly and coldly has the cruel world repaid 
 The wealth .of love, which, in our youth, we on its 
 altars laid, 
 
/ 
 184 TO OUR MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Until the bruised and wounded heart, dear mother, 
 
 long'd to share 
 Thy quiet home of heavenly rest, released from earthly 
 
 care. 
 
 Oh, thou ! whose bosom pillow'd oft this lonely, aching 
 
 head, 
 I have longed to lay me down with thee, among the 
 
 quiet dead ; 
 
 Yes, ere the first warm flush of youth had faded from 
 
 , my heart, 
 I yearned to hear the summons that would call me to 
 depart. 
 
 We think of thee, dear mother; tinie has not eased 
 
 the pain 
 We felt when thou wert taken hence ; tho' we know 
 
 our grief is vain, 
 Yet we mourn for thee, departed one, thy children 
 
 mourn for thee, 
 And we bless thee for the precepts thou hast taught us 
 
 at thy knee. 
 
 The grave has closed upon thy form, yet thy spirit 
 
 hovers near. 
 When o'er life's waste our barks are driven, uncertain 
 
 where to steer; 
 Then the prayers taught us by thy lips, in helpless 
 
 infancy, 
 Come like a soothing spell, to guide our spirits back to 
 
 thee. 
 
MASONRY. 185 
 
 And when our parting hour shall come, oh ! be thy 
 presence nigh, 
 
 To guide thy erring children home, to bliss beyond 
 the sky ; 
 
 Be thou the messenger of peace, proclaim our sins for- 
 given. 
 
 And restore the wrong, repentant soul, back to its God 
 in heaven. 
 
 MASONRY. 
 
 They rail at thee, time-honored craft, 
 Who never felt thy gentle power, 
 
 When fell misfortune speeds her shaft, 
 In grief and misery's hour. 
 
 They rail at thee, who never knew 
 How virtue elevates the mind. 
 
 When man, to God's own mission true, 
 Brings comfort to mankind. 
 
 When the poor, weary-laden one 
 Blesses the hand that brings relief, 
 
 While thou hast sped rejoicing on. 
 To heal another's grief. 
 
186 I DREAMED OF THEE. 
 
 In mirth and gladness all are friends ; 
 
 But^ oh ! when dark misfortune lowers, 
 ^Tis only the true spirit lends 
 
 Its soul-ennobling powers. 
 
 To raise the stricken wretch from earth, 
 To sooth and heal his keenest woes, 
 
 And while he pours his sorrows forth, 
 Bring comfort and repose. 
 
 This is the true Masonic part. 
 Fraternal band, to you is given 
 
 The task to raise the erring heart, 
 And lead it back to heaven. 
 
 I DREAMED OF THEE. 
 
 I DREAMED, departed friend, of thee : 
 Methought my soul had ta'en its flight. 
 
 And, freed from all the toils of earth. 
 Had sought the realms of endless light. 
 
 Thou, loved and lost, wert by my side ; 
 
 And, oh ! the bliss of that brief minute- 
 Brief, for it faded long ere we 
 
 Could realise the rapture in it. 
 
I DREAMED OF THEE. 187 
 
 Blest^ sweet comnmniorij soaring tlms, 
 
 With arms enwreathed, we sought that shore, 
 
 Where fain our weary souls would rest, 
 And thou and I would part no more. 
 
 For our frail bark was tempest-tost, 
 
 And long with wind and wave had striven 
 
 To reach that haven of our hopes, 
 
 To which our earnest thoughts were given. 
 
 Oft, as we sped o'er life's dull sea, 
 
 Full many a proud and stately sail 
 Beheld with scorn our fragile boat. 
 
 Striving to win against the gale. 
 
 Now that sweet haven 's reached at last ; 
 
 Our weary, joyless wandering's o'er. 
 And all of life — its bitter scorn — 
 
 Its cruel mockery — felt no more. 
 
 Oh ! why did earth recall me then ? 
 
 Too soon that glorious vision faded ; 
 And I awoke from that sweet dream, 
 
 To bear my lot alone — unaided. 
 
ODE TO CHARITY. 
 
 Heaven-born maid, sweet Charity ! 
 Thou with mildly beaming eye, 
 
 And pitying heart of softest mould ; 
 Thou who hearest the orphan's prayer, 
 The widow's wild and deep despair. 
 
 And softenest bosoms dark and cold. 
 
 Descend, sweet maid, to nether earth. 
 Descend and prove thy holy birth. 
 
 By soothing dark misfortune's hour — 
 Teach man to aid his brother man, 
 And while he lives his little span. 
 
 Oh ! let him feel thy sacred power. 
 
 Let Masonry, with generous heart. 
 Its soothing influence impart — 
 
 To heal an erring brother's woe ; 
 To lead the weak and wandering soul 
 Back to its final heavenly goal. 
 
 And smooth his dreary path below. 
 
 May suffering never plead in vain. 
 Nor bigot's rod, nor tyrant's chain, 
 
 188 
 
woman's rights. > 189 
 
 Usurp the place to thee assigned ; 
 But firmly in each Mason's breast 
 May Charity and Mercy rest, 
 
 And prove a blessing to mankind. 
 
 Twin-born with Faith and Love, descend, 
 The widow's hope, the orphan's friend, 
 
 Here let thy banner be unfurled j 
 Angel, sent from heaven above, 
 Child divine of light and love, 
 
 Descend, and aid a sinful world. 
 
 WOMAN'S RIGHTS. 
 
 It is her right, to bind with warmest ties. 
 
 The lordly spirit of aspiring man. 
 Making his home an earthly paradise. 
 
 Rich in all joys allotted to life's span ; 
 Twining around each fibre of his heart. 
 
 With all the gentle influence of love's might, 
 Seeking no joy wherein he has no part — 
 
 This is undoubtedly — a women's right ! 
 
 It is her right to teach the infant mind. 
 Training it ever upward in its course, 
 16 
 
190 woman's rights. 
 
 To root out evil passions that would bind 
 The upward current of his reason's force ; 
 
 To lead the erring spirit gently back, 
 
 When it has sunk in gloom of deepest night ; 
 
 To point the shining path of virtue's track. 
 
 And urge him forward. This is woman's right. 
 
 It is her right to soothe the couch of pain ; 
 
 There her pure mission upon earth to prove, 
 To calm with gentle care the frenzied brain, 
 
 And keep her vigil there of holiest love ; 
 To watch untiring by the lonely bed. 
 
 Through the bright day, and in the solemn night, 
 'Till health ensues, or the loved form is laid 
 
 To rest forever. This is woman's right. 
 
 She is a flower that blossoms best, unseen, 
 
 Sheltered within the precincts of her home ; 
 There, should no dark'ning storm-cloud intervene, 
 
 TherC; the loud-strife of worldlings never come. 
 Let her not scorn to act a woman's part, 
 
 Nor strive to cope with manhood in its might, 
 But lay this maxim closely to her heart — 
 
 That that which God ordains is surely right. 
 
LINES 
 
 ON RECEIVING A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE OF "HOME. 
 
 A PICTURED scene, as bright and fair 
 
 As it was in days of yore, 
 When I stood with calm and' sinless heart 
 Within that cottage door. 
 
 I gaze upon the mimic scene, 
 
 And lament the fearful past, 
 That has spread such gloom upon my soul, 
 
 Since I pressed that threshold last. 
 
 The vines still cluster 'round the porch. 
 
 And the fragrant linden tree 
 Seems still to wave its blossom'd bough. 
 
 To tempt the wandering bee. 
 
 The sunshine flickers on the grass. 
 
 Between those branches fair; 
 The luscious fruit hangs temptingly, 
 
 And flowers still scent the air. 
 
 Is all as perfect as of old, 
 
 In that well-remembered place ? 
 
 191 
 
192 ?'IIE UNFORGOTTEN. 
 
 Miss we no voice of gentle tone, 
 No dear familiar face ? 
 
 Oh, memory ! treasure-house of thought, 
 
 Open thy portals wide, 
 Kestore the loved and cherished ones, 
 
 Who perished by our side. 
 
 Bid them return, and give that scene 
 The charms it owned of yore — 
 
 They cannot ! oh, be still my heart, 
 This is our " krome" no more. 
 
 THE UNFORGOTTEN. 
 
 Far, far away, in a distant land, 
 Beneath the light of another sky, 
 
 Thy grave unadorned by a kindred hand — 
 Thy death unwept by a kindred eye. 
 
 Thou art laid to rest ! and the rank grass waves 
 In wild luxuriance o'er thy bed — 
 
 That lonely bed among stranger graves. 
 The lowly though unforgotten dead. 
 
THE SEASONS. 193 
 
 Those graves may be watered by tears of love, 
 May be decked with fair and blooming flowers, 
 
 And many a scene where the mourners rove. 
 May serve to solace their saddest hours. 
 
 For there, too, have wandered the loved ones fled, 
 And there some link of the mighty chain 
 
 That bound the heart of the living and dead, 
 May recall those happier hours again. 
 
 But where, on this cold, bleak earth, art thou laid ? 
 
 What spot on its bosom, oh ! tempest-tost. 
 Can we point to, and say that there has been made 
 
 The grave of the erring friend we have lost ? 
 
 We never shall know it ! Time rolls on. 
 And death may sever our household band. 
 
 But we never shall know where that desolate one 
 Met his lone death-hour, in a strange land. 
 
 THE SEASONS. 
 
 Such is life — its spring of gladness. 
 Its summer bearing golden fruit. 
 
 Its autumn tinged with gloom and sadness. 
 Its winter desolate and mute. 
 
 Mute ? ah, no ! its mournful wailing 
 Tells of hopes and pleasures fled ; 
 16* 
 
194. ^ NOW LET ME DIE. 
 
 Hopes that now are unavailiDg, 
 Pleasures numbered with the dead. 
 
 Wo to us, if in the morning 
 Of our early summer hour, 
 
 We give no heed to Nature's warning, 
 Sent in every blushing flower. 
 
 We, like them, shall fade and perish. 
 Droop and wither in our bloom. 
 
 And the hopes which most we cherish. 
 Sink forgotten in the tomb. 
 
 Things that spring in joy and gladness, 
 Man, and bud, and blushing flower. 
 
 Each alike in gloom and sadness. 
 Closes life's last waking hour. 
 
 NOW LET ME DIE. 
 
 Now let me die ! 
 The bloom of earth has passed away. 
 Its pleasures pall, its flowers decay — 
 The hopes that lured with dazzling ray, 
 
 Low, withered lie. 
 
 Bury me deep, 
 That no foot profane disturb my rest ; 
 
SONG. 195 
 
 But place no stone above my breast — 
 Too heavily llfe^ burden prest, 
 And banislied sleep. 
 
 Ask me not why 
 I long for my deep, lonely grave ; 
 Ask me not why, I only crave 
 A release from life, the boon it gave 
 
 "Was misery. 
 
 Oh ! placid sleep, 
 I sink at length in thy embrace ; 
 My task is done — a weary race 
 Was mine on earth ; let my resting-place 
 
 Be lone and deep. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Too LATE, too late, those burning words, 
 Those eyes so eloquently pleading, 
 
 Have failed, alas ! to move a heart, 
 
 Whose earliest " flowers of love lie bleeding." 
 
 Yes, cold and silent as a ghost. 
 
 That haunts its scenes of former pleasure, 
 Love sits beside his ruined ark. 
 
 Still guarding a long-vanished treasure. 
 
196 NEW YEAR. 
 
 Faded forever from my heart 
 
 Is every hope of earthly gladness ; 
 
 It dare not dream of bliss to come, 
 And memory of the past is madness. 
 
 Then cease to urge those burning words, 
 Kecall those vows so fraught with feeling, 
 
 Nor seek to raise from woman's heart 
 The veil her long-lost hopes concealing. 
 
 NEW YEAR. 
 
 Another year, another year. 
 
 Has glided by with noiseless wing, 
 
 In blessing and in misery. 
 In joyfulness and sorrowing. 
 
 We've joyed that a new flower has sprung 
 To life, beneath Time's silent tread ; 
 
 And we have mingled bitter tears 
 Of fruitless sorrow o'er the dead. 
 
 And so, 'mid human hopes and fears, 
 'Mid peaceful calm or stormy strife, 
 
 Another link is added to 
 
 The heavy chain of actual life. 
 
MOUNTAINS. 
 
 -"Tome, 
 
 High mountains are a feeling, but the hum 
 
 Of human cities, torture." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 There are wonders on the ocean, when its mighty heart 
 is stirred, 
 And the raging waves, snow-crested, leap like lions 
 from their lair ; 
 There are wonders and dark horrors, when the thunder- 
 tone is heard, 
 And human shrieks for mercy, mingle wildly on the 
 air. 
 
 Or, when its playful billows roll, in undulating swell, 
 Chasing on with pleasant murmurs, like a well- 
 remembered voice, 
 When the rosy tinted waves leap up, to bid the sun 
 farewell, 
 And the gentle wind comes laughingly, and makes 
 the heart rejoice. 
 
 197 
 
198 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 But, oil ! ye glorious mountains^ je are dearer far 
 
 to me^ 
 With your sloping sides green-wooded, and your proud 
 
 and lofty height ; 
 Ye are mighty and majestic, as the wide and trackless 
 
 sea, 
 But, unlike the faithless ocean, ye are harmless in your 
 
 might. 
 
 Ye hear upon your bosoms, though ye pierce the very 
 
 skies. 
 The humblest little flow'ret that ere blossoms in the 
 
 vale ; 
 And from your cloud-capped majesty, the simple bird 
 
 replies 
 To her mate's sweet note of music, borne upon the 
 
 summer's gale. 
 
 There the little streamlet winds its way, unnoticed and 
 alone, 
 
 And squirrels gambol fearlessly, among the tangled 
 wood, 
 
 The melancholy night bird comes, when the bright day 
 is gone, 
 
 And a hundred humble sounds arise, to cheer the soli- 
 tude. 
 
 Yes, ye are ever glorious, whether at dawn of day, 
 Or when the sunlight lingers, or the pale moon 
 showers her light, 
 
GOD IS GREAT. 199 
 
 Beneath the darkening storm-cloud, or the evening 
 
 star's faint raj ; 
 At all seasons, in all changes, ye are glorious in my 
 
 sight. 
 
 GOD IS GREAT! 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Earth with her stores, and boundless heaven, 
 Alike are fashioned by His hand, 
 
 And where reason's light is given, 
 None the mighty truth withstand : 
 
 Man, all Grod's wondrous works allow, 
 
 He is great — how small art thou ! 
 
 See'st thou not yon lordly sun. 
 
 Rising in his towering might. 
 When day's glories, just begun. 
 
 Dissipate the gloom of night. 
 Hark ! He speaks unto thee now — 
 '^ God is great — how small art thou !" 
 
 And when the moon with silver beam, 
 Mounts the heavens so calm and clear, 
 
200 AN ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 
 
 Its trembling, liquid glances, seem 
 To whisper thus unto thy ear — 
 '^ Mortal, veil thy haughty brow, 
 God is great — how small art thou \" 
 
 And when the first faint stars arise — 
 Those glittering messengers of love, 
 
 That, like the light of kindred eyes, 
 Seem watching o'er us from above. 
 
 Then own, " above, beneath the sky, 
 
 God is great — how small am 1 1" 
 
 AN ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 
 
 Awake ! thou hast slumbered long. 
 
 Now arm thee for the fight ; 
 Be thy faith firm, thy courage strong, 
 To brave a world of oppression and wrong. 
 
 Where might o'ercometh right. 
 
 Arouse ! thou hast dreamed a dream j 
 
 Now waken, to prove how vain 
 Was the flow of thy young life's stream. 
 So unruffled and pure, that too bright a beam 
 
 Could tinge its breast with pain. 
 
AN ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 201 
 
 Up; up ! thou hast work to brave; 
 
 A task must yet be done, 
 Ere sinks the moon in yonder wave, 
 Or the slumbering streamlet, or turbulent wave, 
 
 Is tinged by morning's sun. 
 
 Thou must con a bitter task. 
 
 For thou hast yet to know 
 Why some in fortune's sunbeams bask, 
 Yet refuse the aid a brother may ask, 
 
 To shield his life from wo. 
 
 Thou must bind thee to the wheel 
 
 Of the worldling's car of pride ; 
 There teach the sinking heart to feel 
 The weight of despair and the scourge of steel. 
 
 That a heartless world deride. 
 
 Go forth when thy task is done, 
 
 Gro kiss the chastening rod. 
 And when thy weary race is run, 
 Thou' It know that each earth-wound that goaded thee on, 
 
 Hath brought thee nearer to God. 
 
 17 
 
BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 
 
 ^' Fill high your cups, and pledge me now, 
 
 I drink to ' a life like this / 
 Let it pass round, let red wine flow, 
 
 And augment our transient bliss. 
 
 *' I have golden bowls that once were filled 
 
 By priests of Judah's line ; 
 Their God will bless the wine that's spilled 
 
 By this royal hand of mine. 
 
 *' Ho, slaves ! here, place them on the board. 
 
 Within this ruddy light ; 
 Let none gainsay my kingly word — 
 
 I will be God to night. 
 
 " They tell me I offended heaven. 
 Those dastard, grey-beard priests ; 
 
 That these sacred cups were never given 
 To grace a mortal's feasts. 
 
 Ha ! how it thrills ! I slake my thirst 
 
 Like a god ! Am I not one ? 
 Note ye it well — I am the first 
 
 By whom such a deed was done !" 
 202 
 
BELSHAZZAR^S FEAST. 203 
 
 But what is this, most potent king ? 
 
 Why sitt'st thou silent now ? 
 'Tis but a hand — a trifling thing, 
 
 To blanch that regal brow. 
 
 Thou art a god — now act like one ; 
 
 Put forth thy god-like power, 
 And bid the phantom hand begone, 
 
 That mars thy festive hour. 
 
 Thou can'st not j thy sad doom is sealed ! 
 
 Now hear the hidden spell 
 Which that mysterious hand revealed. 
 
 And note its meaning well. 
 
 Thy mighty kingdom is laid waste, 
 
 Thy power is ebbing low, 
 And Modes and Persians hither haste, 
 
 To aid thy overthrow. 
 
 Alas ! how oft in bower and hall 
 We see that phantom hand ; 
 
 But the words it writeth on the wall, 
 How few can understand ! 
 
THE HOPES OF LIFE. 
 
 In youtli our hopes come thronging fast, 
 But frail as summer's frailest flower, 
 They change with every passing hour, 
 
 'Till youth is past. 
 
 In manhood they are golden-dyed, 
 And take a shape more plain to view, 
 But as the others died, they too 
 
 Pass with the tide. 
 
 How is it when stern age comes on ? 
 Does that bewildering, busy train 
 Keturn to tell us then, how vain 
 
 Is all they've done ? 
 
 They come no more, but in their stead 
 The phantoms of the hopes that died, 
 Companions of our day of pride. 
 
 Steal with slow tread. 
 
 And as they pass, all pale and grey, 
 Before our sight, that phantom throng, 
 They weave a mournful farewell song, 
 
 And pale away ! 
 204 
 
THE BLIND. 205 
 
 " Mortal, have we lured thee hither ? 
 
 Chide us not, we shorten'd pain, 
 Gilded flowers too soon to wither, 
 
 Calm'd thy wild, distemper'd brain. 
 Better thus than dark despair. 
 
 Which o'ershadowed thy short life ; 
 Kankling grief, corroding care. 
 
 The injured heart's unequal strife. 
 All have passed. We, too, must fade. 
 
 But, ere we vanish, lift thine eyes. 
 And from the wreck that time has made, 
 
 Let a nobler structure rise.'^ 
 
 THE BLIND. 
 
 TO A FRIEND STRICKEN WITH BLINDNESS. 
 
 Through life's unequal, boisterous sea. 
 When towering waves were swelling high, 
 
 Around thee nought but misery — 
 No human aid or succor nigh. 
 
 Whose hand was stretched to aid thy bark. 
 When those wild billows towered o'er thee ? 
 
 Whose voice dispell'd the storm-cloud dark, 
 And showed a beaming path before thee ? 
 
206 THE BLIND. 
 
 Even HiSj whose tender mercies spread 
 This pleasant earth and smiling heaven, 
 
 His hand was laid upon thy head, 
 Until by suffering thou art forgiven. 
 
 We dally with our happiness, 
 
 Unmindful of a higher goal. 
 Contented with earth's littleness. 
 
 And fleeting pleasures as they roll — 
 
 Till wrung by sorrow, care or pain. 
 Our dormant powers find release, 
 
 And, spurning earth's enthralling chain, 
 Mount heavenward to seek for peace. 
 
 That which the worldly deem thy loss. 
 By that Almighty hand was given. 
 
 To cleanse thy soul from earthly dross, 
 And lead thy spirit up to heaven. 
 
 A CHILD'S PRAYER. 
 
 Merciful Father, wond'rous in Thy might, 
 Deign to give heed unto my simple prayer. 
 
 Not yet encompass'd by the soul's dark night — 
 Not yet a prey to anguish and despair. 
 
 But by the world's contagion undefiled, 
 
 I lift my heart to Thee, Thine own, Thy child. 
 
MASONRY. 207 
 
 Hear me, and aid, oli ! Thou omnipotent ! 
 
 At morning's earliest dawn I bend the knee ; 
 And when the bright and garish day is spent, 
 
 And night approaches, then I come to Thee, 
 And lift my feeble voice in earnest prayer. 
 That Thou wilt make a simple child Thy care. 
 
 Let the faint incense of the hymn I raise 
 Be wafted up by angels to Thy throne ; 
 
 Incline Thine ear to hear my humble praise, 
 
 And keep me Thine, oh ! Father, all Thine own. 
 
 Grod, I entreat thee, pure and undefiled 
 
 From the world's sinfulness, preserve Thy child. 
 
 MASONRY. 
 
 When that proud structure, which in after years 
 Filled Judea with awe, first rose to view, 
 Then the mysterious signs of brotherhood. 
 Now spread o'er the wide earth, were known and felt, 
 And in the sacred language which G-od 
 Grave his pure laws on Sinai, came those words 
 So mystic in their import. Sign and tone 
 Fraught with deep meaning, and from that time forth. 
 Until the present day, have Faith and Hope, 
 With their sweet sister. Charity, sped on, 
 Blessing and blest. Faith, with her steadfast eye, 
 
208 THE GRANTED PRAYER. 
 
 Unmoved by the world's vanities, and buoyant Hope, 
 
 Upheld amid despair ; and Charity, 
 
 Whose gentle influence falls on all alike — 
 
 She, by that mystic tie of brotherhood, 
 
 Closely unites within a holy bond 
 
 The families of earth. 
 
 When fell disease, 
 Sorrow, and grief, assail earth's weary ones. 
 She comes, and, like a messenger from heaven, 
 Pours the sweet balm of peace upon the heart, 
 Binds its deep wounds, and dries the widow's tear, 
 And quiets the lone orphan's bitter moan. 
 Ye, who so nobly aid the holy work — 
 Ye, whose bright deeds are registered on high, 
 Excelsior be your motto — onward still — 
 And upward be your course ; and tho' perchance 
 The goodly seed may fall on barren ground. 
 Still onward, for the flowers may bloom in heaven. 
 
 TO B 
 
 
 We are growing old, we are growing old ! 
 
 Are our thoughts more sombre, our hearts more cold, 
 
 Than when we essayed to run life's race, 
 
 And bounded in hope from our starting place ? 
 
 Yes, our thoughts have grown sadder, our hearts more 
 
 chill, 
 And our feet are a-weary of mounting life's hill; 
 
TO B * * * * *. 209 
 
 We are weary and faint^ yet we journey on, 
 As we ever must journey till life is done. 
 
 We are growing old, we are growing old, 
 And our being resembles a tale twice told ; 
 Yet we will not despair, though dark it may be, 
 But cling to the bright spots of memory. 
 
 Time has oft mocked us, and altered our course 
 From worse unto better, from better to worse ; 
 And so with its waves we must rise and fall, 
 For we bear but the common lot of all. 
 
 We are growing old, we are growing old ! 
 
 And though we possess not the world's sordid gold, 
 
 We have garnered rich treasures that cling round the 
 
 heart. 
 When the world's hollow pleasures and friendships 
 
 depart. 
 
 And though Time, has mocked us, and cheated our will. 
 There is hope, dearest brother, in store for us still ; 
 And many a page may yet be unrolled. 
 That shall gladden our hearts, iJid' we re growing old. 
 
 18 
 
DESPONDENCY. 
 
 Without a wish — a hope — an aim, 
 
 How wearily life passes by ; 
 Day follows each preceding day, 
 
 In dull and drear monotony. 
 
 No love to cheer the sinking heart, 
 No gleam of sunshine, to dispel 
 
 The clouds that gather thick and dark. 
 O'er scenes remembered but too well. 
 
 Oh ! what a weary round of time — 
 What anguish lies within its scope. 
 
 As days, and months, and tedious years, 
 KoU on without a ray of hope. 
 
 Come then, thou calm. and peaceful grave. 
 Release me from this galling chain ; 
 
 Each added day upbraids my soul 
 With having lived so long in vain. 
 
 210 
 
NOTES. 
 
 NOTES TO THE LEPER 
 
 Note 1, Page 9. 
 " A thousand fl 010 ers of gorgeous hue.'^ 
 " The eje of the traveler is delighted with a profusion of roses, white 
 and red — the narcissus, the white and orange lily, the carnation, and a 
 highly fragrant species of everlasting flower."— Russell. 
 
 Note 2 — Page 10. 
 
 " Their solemn silence keep unbroken.^^ 
 
 " Q-od himself has spoken in these regions, dried up rivers, and rent the 
 rocks. The desert still appears mute with terror; and you would imagine 
 that it has never presumed to interrupt the silence since it heard that 
 awful voice." — Chateaubriand. 
 
 Note 3— Page 10. 
 
 " Mysterious Bethel.^^ 
 
 Bethel, where Jacob enjoyed his vision of heavenly things, and had his 
 stony couch made easy, by the beautiful picture of ministering angels 
 ascending and descending from the presence of the Eternal. 
 
 Note 4 — Page 11. 
 
 " The labyrinthine rocks display 
 
 Their ivild, fantastic forms on highP 
 " A scene of marked solitude and desolation surrounds the steps of the 
 traveler. He finds himself amid a labyrinth of mountains, of a conical 
 figure, all nearly alike, and connected with each other at their base. A 
 naked rock presents strata, or beds, resembling the seats of a Roman 
 amphitheatre, or the walls which support the vineyards in the valleys of 
 Savoy. Every recess is filled with dwarf-oaks, bos, and rose- laurels.— 
 
 211 
 
212 NOTES. 
 
 Frsm the bottom of the ravines olive trees rear their heads, sometimes 
 forming continuous woods on the sides of the hills." — Holt Land. 
 
 Note 5— Page 13. 
 " A sea of crimson dye, 
 And gold-spech^d islands.'' 
 
 " The earth was covered with a luxurious growth of crimson flowers, so 
 thickly matted together, that, to the eye, the ground at times seemed 
 covered with crimson snow. Here and there, among this sea of scarlet 
 bloom, were patches of yellow daisy, looking hke golden islands in this 
 incarnadined and floral ocean." — ^Lynch's Expedition to the Dead Sea. 
 
 Note 6 — Page 16. 
 " I sprung from, the princely Maccabees.'' 
 
 A name, of which the derivation is uncertain. Some assert that it is 
 formed from the concluding letters of a sentence in the eleventh verse of 
 the fifteenth chapter of Exodus — " Mi Camo Ka Boulin Jehovah," signify- 
 ing — Who is like unto thee among the Grods, 0, Jehovah. Some, that it 
 was the banner of the tribe of Dan, which contained the three last letters 
 of the names of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob ; others, that it was the per- 
 sonal appellation of Judas, from a word signifying a hammer. — Milman. 
 
 Note 7— Page 18. 
 " Ebol and Geriziin." 
 
 ''And Moses charged the people the same day, saying: — These shall 
 stand upon Mount Gerizim to bless the people, when ye are come over Jor- 
 dan, Simeon, and Levi, and Judah, and Issacher, and Joseph, and Benja- 
 min ; and these shall stand upon Mount Ebol, to curse ; Reuben, Gad, and 
 Asher, and Zebulan, Dan, and Naphtali. — Deuteronomy, xxvii. 
 
 ""Never did human imagination conceive a scene so imposing, so solemn, 
 so likely to impress the whole people with deep and enduring awe, as the 
 final ratification of their polity, as commanded by the dying law-giver. 
 Here all Israel was to be assembled — six tribes on the one height, six on 
 the other. In the open day, and in a theatre, as it were, created by the 
 God of Nature for the express purpose, after a sacrifice offered on an altar 
 of stones, the people of Israel testified their free and deliberate acceptance 
 of that constitution, which their God had enacted. They accepted it with 
 its inseperable conditions, maledictions the most awful, which they impre- 
 cated on their own heads, in case they should apostatise from its statutes — 
 blessings equally ample and perpetual, if they should adhere to its holy and 
 salutary provisions. — Milman. 
 
 Note 8— Page 18. 
 " On Shiloh's plain." 
 
 " And the whole congregation of the children of Israel assembled together 
 
NOTES. 213 
 
 at Shiloh, and set up the tabernacle of the congregation there. And tha 
 whole land was subdued before them." — Joshua xviii. 
 
 Note 9— Page 18. 
 
 Where the ark of God was taken, and the Israelites defeated by the 
 Philistines. — 1 Samuel, chap. iv. 
 
 Note 10— Page 18, 
 " JVe&o." The burial place of Moses. 
 
 "And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth- 
 peor ; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day." — Deut. xxxiv. 
 
 Note 11 — Page 19. 
 " Masada:'' 
 
 " There was that peculiar purple hue of its weather-worn rock, a tint so 
 like that of coagulated blood, that it forced the mind back upon its early 
 history, and summoned images of the fearful immolation of Eleazer and 
 the nine hundred and sixty-seven Sicarii, the blood of whose self- slaughter 
 seemed to have tinged the indestructible cliff forever." — Lynch. 
 
 For the " fearful immolation " here mentioned, see Milman's history of 
 the Jews, vol. 3, p. 71, and a parallel case in the massacre of the Jews of 
 York— Ibid, p. 273. 
 
 Note 12— Page 19. 
 " Jotapata.^^ 
 «' Besieged by Vespasian, and conquered, after an obstinate resistance of 
 forty-seven days, during which time forty thousand men were slain. — See 
 josephus. 
 
 Note 13— Page 19. 
 " Gerizim, Tarichen, Japha, and Gam.ala.'" — Ibid. 
 
 Note 14 — Page 19. 
 '• Jerusale^n." 
 
 The destruction of Jerusalem by Titus, and the civil conflicts which added 
 to its horrors, are too well known to need any comment. Milman says : — 
 "It has probably witnessed a far greater portion of human misery than any 
 other spot upon the earth." 
 
 Note 15 — Page 20. 
 '^ Nor dare ap2oroach thy hallowed gate, 
 By Roman cruelty profaned. ^^ 
 
 "An edict was issued, prohibiting any Jew from entering the now city, on 
 pain of death, or even approaching its environs, so as to contemplate, even 
 at a distance, its sacred height. More effectually to keep them away, 
 
214 NOTES. 
 
 Hadrian caused the image of a swine to be placed over the gate leading to 
 Bethlehem. — History op the Jews. 
 
 Note 16— Page 21. 
 " We were forbid to worship IsraeVs Cfod.^^ 
 
 " They were now sounding the lowest depths of misery. They were for- 
 bidden, under penalties sternly enacted and rigidly enforced, to initiate 
 their children into the chosen family of Grod. Their race was in danger of 
 becoming extinct." — Ibid. 
 
 Note 17— Page 22. 
 ^^Barcochab arose.^' 
 
 "The period of the first appearance of the pretended Messiah, is by no 
 means certain; even his real name is unknown; he is designated only by 
 his title, Barcochab. the son of the star, which his disappointed country- 
 men, in their bitterness, changed to Barcosba, the son of a lie. — Ibid. 
 
 Note 18— Page 22. 
 " The House of the Lord.^^ 
 
 " The temple of the Lord," the ancient gathering- cry of the 
 
 Jews. 
 
 Note 19— Page 24. 
 " Co;zi&a," or Barcochab. 
 
 Note 20— Page 24, 
 
 ''Akiba.^> 
 
 Akiba, with his vast learning and profound piety, fell into the errors of 
 the more ignorant, by believing in the pretensions of the so-called Messiah. 
 " He threw himself," says the historian, " at once into the party of the 
 heaven- inspired insurgent. 'Behold,' said he, in an assembly of the lis- 
 tening people, ' the star that is come out of Jacob ; the days of the redemp- 
 tion are at hand.' ' Akiba,' said the more cautious Rabbi Johanan, 'the 
 grass will spring from thy jaw-bone, and yet the son of David will not have 
 
 come." ' 
 
 Note 21— Page 24. 
 
 " The Shaintnata .^ ^ 
 "For more henious offences, and against contumacious delinquents, the 
 terrific Cherem, or still more fatal Shammata, the excommunication, was 
 proclaimed. No power could cancel the irrevocable Shammota. The delin- 
 quent was excommunicated, anathematised, accursed — by the book of the 
 law, by the ninety-three precepts, by the malediction of Joshua, by that of 
 Elisha against the children who mocked him, and so on, through all the 
 terrific threatenings of the ancient law and history. He was accursed by 
 heaven and earth, by the seraphim, and by the heavenly orbs. ' Let 
 
NOTES. 215 
 
 nothing good come out of him ; let his end be sudden ; let all creatures 
 become his enemy; let the whirlwind crush him; the fever, and every 
 other malady, and the edge of the sword, smite him ; let his death be unfor- 
 seen, and drive him into utter darkness.' " — OkigeN. 
 
 Note 22— Page 29. 
 ''The shrill Talehl." 
 
 A noise made by a combined motion of the tongue, throat and hand, 
 vibrated rapidly over the mouth. Layard describes the sound as peculiarly 
 shrill and deafening. 
 
 Note 22— Page 30. 
 
 ''With that pale, mystic slcein.^^ 
 
 "When the sun set, the Sabbath was to commence. The undulating 
 horizon rendered it diflScult to ascertain the precise moment of his fall. 
 Then might be perceived the zealots, proud of their Talmudical lore, hold- 
 ing a skein of white silk in their hands, and announcing the approach of 
 the Sabbath, by their observation of its shifting tints. While the skein 
 was yet golden, the forge of the armourer still sounded, the fire of the 
 cook still blazed, still the cavalry led their steeds to the river, and still the 
 busy footmen braced up their tents, and hammered at their pallisades. The 
 skein became blue, a dim, dull, sepulchral leaden, tinge fell over its purity. 
 Horns sounded from all quarters, the sun had set, the Sabbath had com- 
 menced. A deep, a sudden, an all-pervading stillness dropped over that 
 mighty host."— D'Israbli, 
 
 Note 24— Page 31. 
 " The Hemasagara, or sea of gold, with floAvers of the brightest gold 
 color." — Sir W. Jones. 
 
 Note 25— Page 32. 
 
 Mrs. Grraham mentions the red lotus of the east as the most beautiful of 
 
 the Nymphseas. 
 
 Note 26— Page 34. 
 
 '• Bither,'" where Barcochab was slain; the metropolis and citadel of 
 
 the insurgents. 
 
 Note 27— Page 36. 
 
 " For years their blood-stained raiment wore.''^ 
 " During this war the enormous number of five hundred and eighty thou- 
 sand feU by the sword, not including those who perished by famine, disease, 
 and fire. The whole of Judea was a desert ; wolves and hyenas went howl- 
 ing along the streets of the desolate cities." — Dig Cassius. 
 
 Note 28— Page 36. 
 " Bartered like beasts to glut their conqueror's pride.'''' 
 <■'• There was a great fair held under a celebrated Terebrinth, which tradi- 
 tion had consecrated as the very tree under which Abraham had pitched his 
 
216 NOTES. ■ 
 
 tent. Thither his miserable children were brought" in droves, and sold as 
 cheap as horses. — Ibid. 
 
 Note 29— Page 37. 
 '■'■That pale melancholy flower.''^ 
 " The sorrowful nyctanthes, which spreads its rich odor after sunset." 
 
 Moore. 
 Note 30— Page 41. *• . , 
 
 " The heart expands to view those scenes 
 Made bright by memories of yore.''^ 
 '' When you travel in Judea, the heart is at first filled with profound gra- 
 titude. But, when passing from solitude to solitude, boundless space opens 
 before you, this feeling wears off by degrees, and you experience a secret 
 awe, which, so far from depressing the soul, imparts life and elevates the 
 genius. Extraordinary appearances everywhere proclaim a land teeming 
 with miracles. Every name commemorates a mystery, every grotto an- 
 nounces a prediction, every hill re-echoes the accents of a prophet." — 
 Chateaubriand. 
 
 NOTES TO ZARA. 
 
 Note 1 — Page 51. 
 " The silver flood. ''^ 
 " In a lofty pavillion of the garden, one of those basins or fountains so 
 delightful in a sultry climate, was replenished, not with water, but with the 
 purest quicksilver." — Gibbon. 
 
 Note 2— Pace 53. 
 " There is no God but God.''^ 
 Nothing more is required to make a Jew or Christian a Mohommedan by 
 their law, than the deposition of two witnesses to the simple circumstance 
 of their having pronounced the words — " There is no Grod but God, and 
 Mahomet is the prophet of God." Against this testimony their protesta- 
 tions are vain, and the penalty of recantation is burning at the stake. 
 
 Note 3— Page 60. 
 " The power that giveth life or death.'''' 
 It is well known that the will of the Sultan, which is absolute in almost 
 all other cases, is powerless in this. 
 
 Note 4— Page 68. 
 Shemon Yisrael. ^c 
 Hear, oh I Israel 1 — Deut. vi., 4, 10. 
 
 3i}-77-9