And harps that told Messiah's birth
Are hung on heaven's eternal throne.

Fled is the bright and shining throng
That swelled on earth the welcome strain,
And lost in air the choral song

That floated wild on David's plain :

For dark and sad is Bethlehem's fate;
Her valleys gush with human blood;
Despair sits mourning at her gate,

And Murder stalks in frantic mood.

At morn, the mother's heart was light,
Her infant bloomed upon her breast;
At eve, 'twas pale and withered quite,
And gone to its eternal rest.

Weep on, ye childless mothers, weep;
Your babes are hushed in one cold grave;
In Jordan's streams their spirits sleep,
Their blood is mingled with the wave.

Extract from a Poem delivered at the Departure of the
Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826.-N. P. WILLIS.

WE shall go forth together. There will come
Alike the day of trial unto all,

And the rude world will buffet us alike.
Temptation hath a music for all ears;
And mad ambition trumpeteth to all;
And the ungovernable thought within
Will be in every bosom eloquent ;-

But, when the silence and the calm come on,
And the high seal of character is set,
We shall not all be similar. The scale

Of being is a graduated thing;

And deeper than the vanities of power,
Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ
Gradation, in its hidden characters.

Charleston, South Carolina, and published in the Port-Folio of 1818. While under Mr. Dennie's care, the pages of this journal were enriched with many fine articles, both in poetry and prose.-ED.

The pathway to the grave may be the same,
And the proud man shall tread it, and the low,
With his bowed head, shall bear him company,
Decay will make no difference, and death,
With his cold hand, shall make no difference;
And there will be no precedence of power,
In waking at the coming trump of God;
But in the temper of the invisible mind,
The godlike and undying intellect,

There are distinctions that will live in heaven,
When time is a forgotten circumstance!
The elevated brow of kings will lose
The impress of regalia, and the slave
Will wear his immortality as free,
Beside the crystal waters; but the depth
Of glory in the attributes of God,
Will measure the capacities of mind;
And as the angels differ, will the ken
Of gifted spirits glorify him more.
It is life's mystery. The soul of man
Createth its own destiny of power;
And, as the trial is intenser here,
His being hath a nobler strength in heaven.

What is its earthly victory? Press on!
For it hath tempted angels. Yet press on!
For it shall make you mighty among men;
And from the eyrie of your eagle thought,
Ye shall look down on monarchs. O, press on!
For the high ones and powerful shall come
To do you reverence; and the beautiful
Will know the purer language of your brow,
And read it like a talisman of love!
Press on! for it is godlike to unloose
The spirit, and forget yourself in thought;
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky,
And, in the very fetters of your flesh,
Mating with the pure essences of heaven!
Press on! for in the grave there is no work,
And no device.'-Press on! while yet ye may!

So lives the soul of man. It is the thirst
Of his immortal nature; and he rends
The rock for secret fountains, and pursues
The path of the illimitable wind

For mysteries and this is human pride!
There is a gentler element, and man
May breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,
And drink its living waters till his heart
Is pure-and this is human happiness!
Its secret and its evidence are writ
In the broad book of nature. "Tis to have
Attentive and believing faculties;
To go abroad rejoicing in the joy
Of beautiful and well created things;
To love the voice of waters, and the sheen
Of silver fountains leaping to the sea;
To thrill with the rich melody of birds,
Living their life of music; to be glad

In the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;
To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,

And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;

To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence

Of God's deep wisdom in the natural world!

It is to linger on the magic face

Of human beauty,' and from light and shade
Alike to draw a lesson; 'tis to love
The cadences of voices that are tuned
By majesty and purity of thought;
To gaze on woman's beauty, as a star
Whose purity and distance make it fair;
And in the gush of music to be still,
And feel that it has purified the heart!
It is to love all virtue for itself,

All nature for its breathing evidence;

And, when the eye hath seen, and when the ear
Hath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,
It is to humble the imperfect mind,

And lean the broken spirit upon God!

Taus would I, at this parting hour, be true

To the great moral of a passing world.
Thus would I like a just departing child,
Who lingers on the threshold of his home--
Remember the best lesson of the lips

Whose accents shall be with us now, no more!
It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;

And I would press the lesson; that, when life
Hath half become a weariness, and hope
Thirsts for serener waters, Go abroad

Upon the paths of nature, and, when all
Its voices whisper, and its silent things
Are breathing the deep beauty of the world
Kneel at its simple altar, and the God
Who hath the living waters shall be there!

Such prospects oft my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray

Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.

To the River Arve.-TALISMAN.

Nor from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve, thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within its bosom, locks

Thy dark, unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.

Born where the thunder, and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest, swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves,
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,

With heaven's own beam and image shine.

Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees:
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not; thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.

Rush on; but were there one with me

That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty

Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.