The United States Democratic Review

And every gift known 'neath the genial sky
Of spring came forth, until triumphantly
The breezes swept o'er earth's expansive breast
Which Nature's bounty had superbly drest
In gorgeous livery, whose every hue
With the progressing season deeper grew,
Till Spring had pass'd, and vernal sun and rain
Gave way once more to Summer's glorious train.

Summer, whose light burst from the vaulted sky O'er peaceful fields o'er ramparts strong and highWhose sun illum d the everlasting seas,

And shone above the varied destinies

Of nations! while, alike its balmy air

Swept o'er each scene of triumph and despair;
Whose sky unclouded shed a soften'd glow

Of faultless tint of azure hue below,

While 'neath its smiles earth's foliage once again
To rich exub'rance and perfection came,
And Nature woke !-all nature unto life,
And man and insect were together rife
With joy and gladness,-every bird and flow'r
Deck'd in the gaudy plumage of the hour,

Came forth, while o'er the earth's expansive sheen
Of em'rald glory grazing herds were seen,
And all beneath the arch of God partook
The smile of nature and its sunny look.

And, too, oh Summer! 'neath thy lengthen'd days
Affection sprang and ripen'd.-In the ways
Of love's congenial path, the rustic swain
By Nature taught excels the city dame,
Whose pent-up airs of affectation speak
A mind by nature or by culture weak;

Whose guide is fashion, and whose aim is show,
Which fully check all worthy passions' flow-
Chilling them at their fountain,-or else turn
Them into scenes of rural life, to learn
Nature's true greatness in the spirit school'd
To artless virtues, and where life is ruled
By modest wisdom, scorning pride which clothes
The outward body in a garb which glows
With gaudy colors, while the mind-our free
And only gift of immortality,

Goes plodding on unguided through the maze
Of nature's lab'rinths, seeking not the ways
Of those whose minds are as rich coffers fill'd
With rich and priceless jewels.

In the still gliding of those summer hours
Dame Wisdom flourish'd, and Ambition's pow'rs
Gather'd new strength, and doubly strove to gain
The goal of bliss mankind had sought in vain ;
In vain yet ever, and should time ensue,
For age on age, still will they all pursue
That fickle goddess, Happiness! whose shrine
Glows in the distance and in every clime-
Alike doth lure its eager seekers on
From step to step, and yet when poised upon
Hope's highest summit, it eludes their grasp,
As rainbow colors when the storm is past.

Aye vain the search, while reason guides the flow
Of human knowledge-and while thought doth know
A boundless limit which will pierce the clouds,
The Past or Future, which alike enshrouds,
And teaches man, each day, where'er they tread,
To view the ashes of the ancient dead;

And ponder while, perchance, beneath their feet,
Each crumbling atom once had glow'd and beat
With life and gladness, that alike in turn
We all must fill Death's never-sated urn,
And o'er our memory glides the fabled stream
Of Leth'n waters, leaving not a dream

Of those who lived—who flourished-pass'd away—
And ruled in cities where uncheck'd decay
Swept every record of their name--their race-
From off the earth, mankind's brief resting-place.

So nature passes with unruffled flow,
And smiles or frowns alike on all below.
So pass'd that summer with its light and shade,
So Autumn came, when earth was gaily made
To bask once more beneath the sunlight, drest
In myri'd colors, and whose dazzling breast
Shone forth unrival'd in rich grandeur spread,
Round every path which man had chanc'd to tread.

Oh, matchless Autumn! thou did'st kindly bring Unnumber'd blessings on thy airy wing; Then Earth her increase yielded once again, And fruit perfected, and her ripen'd grain Stood waving, ready for the reaper's stroke; And o'er each vale and hill full soon awoke Th' gath'ring songs of those who hap❜ly sped To reap the harvest Nature's hand had spread.

All, all went forth, of every age and clime, To view the Autumn in its glorious time, And revel 'neath the universal light

Shed by the day-god in his onward flight;

And in the stillness of that balmy hour,

Gay childhood's gladness and stern manhood's pow'r Form'd strongest contrast with the hoary sage,

Which love of Nature's ever-varied page

Had made companions-while eyes bright and dim,
Spoke of such thankful eloquence within,
As raiseth man, though briefly, far above
Earth and its longings, to that fount of love
Which basks in glory.-Thus, most swiftly pass'd
Those autumn-days of promise, and the last
Gay vintage season, ere man's echoing tread
Unmark'd should slumber with the kindred dead,
And all alike, in every clime, cast down
The regal sceptre or the laurel crown.

Lo! every breeze is hush'd, and silence reigns
In painful stillness e'er earth's broad domains,
While nature decks th' blue etherial sky
With deeper garb of more cerule'n dye;
Then in the presence of earth's breathless throng,
Lights up the heavens with brilliancy, along

The eastern sky, whose still expanding flame
One molten sea of living light became-
Clothing in grandeur awful and sublime,
Earth's passing glories in each varied clime.

Then wildly rose, and echoed far on high,
The piercing shriek-th' shrill impetuous cry
Of those who left, unguarded in the field,
The richest treasures of the harvest's yield-
Who rudely cast, beside the ripen'd ear,

Their toil-worn sickles-while the warrior's spear
Sank from the grasp of those who strove to gain
A brilliant heritage of deathless fame;

And man stood forth. void of all earthly pow'r,
To shield or save in that terrific hour.

High beat each heart and vainly yearn'd to greet
The holy Temple, or the lov'd retreat,
Where kindred spirits lighten every care,
And deathless love burns ever brightly there.
Then the poor exile, friendless and alone,
Pour'd forth a prayer, and in a thrilling moan
Breath'd of his home, his native land and seas-

Of glories wafted in the eastern breeze;

While Christians turn'd their ever thought on high,
And welcom'd death beneath that glaring sky,-

Though with the crash of elements it came,
And quickly cloth'd mankind with living flame.

'Twas Earth's last morn! loud-louder burst the shock
Of jarring elements-while mount and rock,
With mighty impulse to and fro were driv'n,
Then cast to earth in fragments wildly riv'n.

Earth, whose foundations rudely were uptorn,
And man-frail man-launch'd into that fair morn
Of fadeless grandeur;-then Earth sank to rest—
Dust-dust-upon th' sun's imperial breast,
Which once had bath'd with light our circling sphere,
From day to day-from year to passing year,
Until had cloth'd earth's brief allotted days,

Then claim'd its ashes as a meed of praise.

So comes the angel, when man's hopes are spread
Far o'er the future, and with noiseless tread
Sweeps forth unnoticed 'mid the busy throng,
Placing his signet here and there, along
Life's moving current, bearing far away,
In close embrace, alike the grave and gay.

Hence let us learn to cherish ever here
Stern Wisdom's teachings, ere the sable bier
Waits at the door, to bear us where may lave,
Full soon, oblivion darkly o'er the grave;

Hence learn to live with purpose pure and high,
And living learn with sages how to die.

Towanda, Penn.

THE GODDESS OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

A BOHEMIAN LEGEND.

"Love-from its awful throne of patient power
In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dead endurance-from the slippery steep,
Aud narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs,
And folds over the world its healing wings."

In the early ages of the world lived the Beautiful Goddess—the fairest upon earth-the divinity of love-called Venus, Cytherea. Aphrodite, Minna, or by whatever name it pleased the sons of men to call her. Wherever she went she was honored as the archetype of all the forms of grace and beauty. Temples were built to her; groves were consecrated to her images, and happy were those to whom her presence was manifested. Three celestial sisters, the Graces, attended her, and derived from her such radiance of loveliness that they were hailed whereever they moved-the benefactors of the human race.

The Beautiful was of heavenly origin, and immortal youth was her portion. Popular tradition represented her as having risen from the foam of the sea; for the pearly crest of the wave was an emblem of her airy lightness and purity.

But the time came when the belief in divinities of various orders gave place to a severer and sublimer creed. The Goddess of Love was no longer worshipped; her temples were thrown down; her statues vanished from the groves. She lived still-but life was nought to her without love. She withdrew into solitudes; no one followed her thither. Then, wounded by an infinite woe, she fled from the wilds, and plunged into the abyss of ocean.

The Goddess, Venus-or Minna, as the Germans called her-sank into the ocean's depths, but perished not. The wild waters, in them everlasting soothing, writhed and roared around her pale form; but her heart beat warmly as before. The nymphs of the sea, moved by her beauty, built her a palace of pearls; laid garlands at her feet, and named her their queen.

Many long years dwelt Minna below

[Prometheus Unbound.

in the sea, though at rare intervals she would ascend to the upper air. There, if a son of earth, captivated by her beauty, fixed his gaze upon her, she would turn away quickly and descend beneath the waves, while but vain wishes remained to him. Months thus grew into years, years into lustres and centuries; and still the Goddess, surrounded by her nymphs, lived in her palace of pearls-herself the brightest pearl, and queen of the sea.

At last came longings after the green earth. She was weary of the eternal murmur of ocean waters, and longed to slumber again in her bowers of roses. Were she to appear again among men, she thought, her faithful votaries would throng around her and name her their sovereign, and she would rule as before, with rose-wreathed sceptre, over the world.

Thus, on a lovely morning in spring she again walked the earth. The air was soft and balmy; nature bloomed with fresh beauty, and the Goddess thought the time had come for the reestablishment of her dominion.

Full of hope, she passed over plain and meadow. Men saw her, and gazed astonished at her beauty, but stayed not long to admire: for ambition, avarice and thirst of gain filled their hearts. Even the nobler among them dreaded her power and fled from her presence.

"Ah!" sighed Minna, "I see I feel too well-my power in this world is at an end. But few would acknowledge my sovereignty, and these must I win by coy, seductive arts, if I would build up the throne that is mine by eternal right! I will leave the earth forever!" So saying, the Goddess sprang into a fountain that bubbled up at hand, and its heated waters closed over her head.

This time no nymphs received her;

no pearly palace rose for her abode; no sweeping ocean sang its lullaby. In the burning fountain the Beautiful gradually turned to stone. Her heart yet beat, instinct with love, but her limbs were motionless; her form grew like a marble statue, pale and cold, though heavenly fair. She strove in vain to unclose her eyes or move her lips; the spirit was imprisoned hopelessly within the breast of stone.

Thus lay the heavenly one, buried beneath the earth, and none knew whither she had gone. A few in the world, initiated votaries, missed the glory of her presence, and sought her everywhere in vain. How long she slumbered in the fountain tradition does not declare. The Emperor Charles IV. first discovered the fountain; it was excavated, and soon after a convulsion of the earth not far from Carlsbad, with a fierce struggle of conflicting elements, lifted the petrified form to the surface of the ground.

The beautiful statue was borne to the castle of a wealthy prince, and placed in a gallery where there were innumerable other images of gods and goddesses. It was said to be a creation of ancient art.

It was sad for Minna to take her place among these cold dead figures.Though to all appearance as lifeless as the rest, the living, sentient heart yet throbbed in her bosom !

A mighty count of the Rhine visited the gallery of the prince, and was so enchanted with the statue that he obtained it as a gift from the owner. It was conveyed to his own noble castle, and placed in a small temple of exquisite workmanship, embowered with roses. Artists visited it as a masterpiece of sculpture and a monument of the Grecian age, and strove to make copies of its wonderful beauty. The count died, and his young son was removed to the distant dwelling of his uncle.

Years passed, and the young Count Oswald grew into a noble youth. In his first battle he won the golden spurs, and a name among the brave and renowned heroes of his father-land.

He might have chosen a bride among the noblest and fairest ladies of the country; but none of those he saw, however eminent in birth and loveliness, equalled the fair ideal of beauty and grace enshrined in his heart. Where

he had seen this heavenly image he knew not; but it haunted his dreams, and stood before him night and day.

After many wanderings, the count visited his ancestral castle. The old castellan had preserved the buildings and grounds in excellent order, and his home was pleasant to the heart of Oswald. Not many days after his return, while walking in the gardens, he perceived the little temple overgrown with rose-bushes, which had been the favorite sporting-place of his boyhood.He entered. Before him, in snowy marble, stood the image he had so long worshipped.

From this time he passed the greater part of every day in the temple, gazing on the divine statue, and often, at night, might be seen, torch in hand, moving stealthily and in silence towards the consecrated spot. Happy for many mouths was he in the contemplation. By degrees a passionate longing crept into his soul; he desired to breathe life into the marble breast. He had heard the story of Pygmalion, and, as day after day he yielded to the enchanting vision, it seemed at length not impossible to him. Every wish every thoughtevery aspiration tended to this alone. His reason, under the consuming ardor of this longing, had nearly forsaken him.

It was fortunate for him that war broke out again, and honor called Count Oswald to the field. Commending the beloved statue, from which he separated with bitter anguish, to the especial care of the castellan, he departed.

And Minna! She had seen Count Oswald; she had listened to his vows of love; her heart had beat for him, though still imprisoned in the cold and motionless stone. Till now, she had only inspired, but never felt, the passion of love. Sorrow weighed on her spirit; she repented her former flight from earth; she struggled to burst from her thraldom and return to a visible life;— for in her innocent delusion she deemed the noble figure of Oswald a piece of sculpture animated, and his soul of heavenly origin like her own.

A warrior in distant lands, Count Oswald won fame by his sword. His victories and the homage rendered him awakened in his breast the dormant spirit of ambition. The war was closed triumphantly; victory was celebrated

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The United States Democratic Review, Volume 19