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With monstrous throes an earthquake heaved the ground,
The rocks were rent, the mountains trembled round;
Never since Nature into being came,
Had such mysterious motion shook her frame;
We thought, ingulfed in floods, or wrapt in fire,
The world itself would perish with our Sire.

Amidst this war of elements, within
More dreadful grew the sacrifice of sin,
Whose victim on his bed of torture lay,
Breathing the slow remains of life away.
Erewhile, victorious faith sublimer rose
Beneath the pressure of collected woes :
But now his spirit wavered, went and came,
Like the loose vapour of departing flame,
Till at the point, when comfort seemed to die
For ever in his fixed unclosing eye,
Bright through the smouldering ashes of the man,
The saint brake forth, and Adam thus began:

"_'Oye, that shudder at this awful strife,
This wrestling agony of Death and Life,
Think not that He, on whom my soul is cast,
Will leave me thus forsaken to the last ;
Nature's infirmity alone you see ;
My chains are breaking, I shall soon be free;
Though firm in God the Spirit holds her trust,
The flesh is frail, and trembles into dust.
Horror and anguish seize me ;-'t is the hour
Of darkness, and I mourn beneath its power ;
The Tempter plies me with his direst art,
I feel the Serpent coiling round my

heart ;
He stirs the wound he once inflicted there,
Instils the deadening poison of despair,
Belies the truth of God's delaying grace,
And bids me curse my Maker to his face.
-. I will not curse Him, though his grace delay;
I will not cease to trust Him, though he slay;

Full on his promised mercy I rely,
For God hath spoken,-God, who cannot lie.
-Thou, of my faith the Author and the End !
Mine early, late, and everlasting Friend !
The joy, that once thy presence gave, restore
Ere I am summonned hence, and seen no more :
Down to the dust returns this earthly frame,
Receive my Spirit, Lord! from whom it came;
Rebuke the Tempter, show thy power to save,
O let thy glory light me to the grave,
That these, who witness my departing breath,
May learn to triumph in the grasp of Death.'

“ He closed his eyelids with a tranquil smile, And seemed to rest in silent prayer awhile: Around his couch with filial awe we kneeled, When suddenly a light from heaven revealed A Spirit, that stood within the unopened door ;The sword of God in his right hand he bore; His countenance was lightning, and his vest Like snow at sunrise on the mountain's crest; Yet so benignly beautiful his form, His presence stilled the fury of the storm ; At once the winds retire, the waters cease ; His look was love, his salutation, Peace !

“Our Mother first beheld him, sore amazed, But terror grew to transport, while she gazed :

-- 'Tis He, the Prince of Seraphim, who drove Our banished feet from Eden's happy grove; Adam, my Life, my Spouse, awake !' she cried ; * Return to Paradise; behold thy Guide! O let me follow in this dear embrace !" She sunk, and on his bosom hid her face. Adam looked up; his visage changed its hue, Transformed into an Angel's at the view : “ I come !' he cried, with faith's full triumph fired, And in a sigh of ecstasy expired.

The light was vanished, and the vision fled ;
We stood alone, the living with the dead ;
The ruddy embers, glimmering round the room,
Displayed the corpse amidst the solemn gloom;
But o'er the scene a holy calm reposed,
The gate of heaven had opened there, and closed.

“ Eve's faithful arm still clasped her lifeless Spouse ;
Gently I shook it, from her trance to rouse ;
She gave no answer ; motionless and cold,
It fell like clay from my relaxing hold;
Alarmed, I lifted up the locks of grey
That hid her cheek; her soul had passed away :
A beauteous corse she graced her partner's side,
Love bound their lives, and Death could not divide.

Trembling astonishment of grief we felt,
Till Nature's sympathies began to melt;
We wept in stillness through the long dark night;
-Ando how welcome was the morning light!"

WHERE the roving rill meandered

Down the green retiring vale,
Poor, forlorn Alcæus wandered,

Pale with thought, serenely pale:
Timeless sorrow o'er his face

Breathed a melancholy grace,
And fixed on every feature there
The mournful resignation of despair.
O'er his arm, his lyre neglected,

Once his dear companion, hung,
And, in spirit deep dejected,

Thus the pensive poet sung;
While at midnight's solemn noon,

Sweetly shone the cloudless moon,
And all the stars, around his head,
Benignly bright, their mildest influence shed.

• Lyre ! O Lyre! my chosen treasure,

Solace of my bleeding heart; Lyre! O Lyre ! my only pleasure,

We must now for ever part;
For in vain thy poet sings,

Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings;
The Muse's wretched sons are born
To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.
“ That which ALEXANDER sighed for,

That which CÆSAR's soul possessed,
That which heroes, kings, have died form

Glory !-animates my breast :
Hark! the charging trumpet's throats

Pour their death-defying notes ; * To arms !' they call : to arms I fly, Like Wolfe to conquer, and like Wolfe to die. “Soft!- the blood of murdered legions

Summons vengeance from the skies ; Flaming towns and ravaged regions,

All in awful judgment rise.--
O then, innocently brave,

I will wrestle with the wave;
Lo ! Commerce spreads the daring sail,
And yokes her naval chariots to the gale.
“Blow, ye breezes !-gently blowing,

Waft me to that happy shore,
Where, from fountains ever flowing,

Indian realms their treasures pour ;
Thence returning, poor in health,
Rich in honesty and wealth,
O'er thee, my dear paternal soil,
I'll strew the golden harvest of my toil.
“ Then shall Misery's sons and daughters

In their lowly dwellings sing :
Bounteous as the Nile's dark waters,
Undiscovered as the spring,

I will scatter o'er the land

Blessings with a secret hand ;
For such angelic tasks designed,
I give the lyre and sorrow to the wind.”
On an oak, whose branches hoary

Sighed to every passing breeze,
Sighed and told the simple story

Of the patriarch of trees ; High in air his harp he hung,

Now no more to rapture strung;
Then warm in hope, no longer pale,
He blushed adieu, and rambled down the dale.
Lightly touched by fairy fingers,

Hark !—the Lyre enchants the wind;
Fond Alcxus listens, lingers,

- Lingering, listening, looks behind. Now the music mounts on high,

Sweetly swelling through the sky;
To every tone, with tender heat,
His heart-strings vibrate, and his pulses beat.
Now the strains to silence stealing,

Soft in ecstasies expire ;
Oh! with what romantic feeling

Poor Alcķos grasps the Lyre.
Lo! his furious hand he fings

In a tempest o'er the strings; He strikes the chords so quick, so loud, ’T is Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud. “ Lyre ! O Lyre ! my chosen treasure,

Solace of my bleeding heart;
Lyre! O Lyre ! my only pleasure,

We will never, never part.
Glory, Commerce, now in vain

Tempt me to the field, the main ;
The Muse's sons are blest, though born
To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

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