Hagar in the Wilderness.-N. P. WILLIS. THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. All things are dark to sorrow; and the light, To see a mirth in any thing it loves. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes He gave to her the water and the bread, Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn, And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, Bend lightly to her tendencies again? O no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no! Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek But, oh! estrange her once, it boots not how, She went her way with a strong step and slow; Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed, As it had been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. As I have said, her spirit, and the seed The morning past, and Asia's sun rode up |