In penal chains and darkness ?
Had.

So he said; And so your holy books infer. What saith Your Prophet? what the Prince of Uz? Tam.

I shudder,

Lest some dark Minister be near us now. Had. You wrong them. They are bright Intelligences,

Robbed of some native splendor, and cast down,

'Tis true, from Heaven; but not deformed, and foul,

Revengeful, malice-working Fiends, as fools

Suppose. They dwell, like Princes, in the clouds;

Sun their bright pinions in the middle sky;
Or arch their palaces beneath the hills,
With stones inestimable studded so,
That sun or stars were useless there.
Tam.
Good heavens !
Had. He bade me look on rugged Cau-

Profound of untried misery, when all
His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill
With life and beauty yonder infinite,

Their radiant journey run, forever set, Where, where, in what abyss shall I be groaning?

[Exit.

STANZAS

to die!

My life is like the summer rose,
That opens to the morning sky,
But, ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground
Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see —
But none shall weep a tear for me!

My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray: Its hold is frail - its date is brief,

Restless and soon to pass away! Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, The parent tree will mourn its shade, The winds bewail the leafless treeBut none shall breathe a sigh for me!

WINGED mimic of the woods! thon motley fool!

Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe ?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school,
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule!
For such thou art by day- but all night
long

Thou pourest a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,

As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song Like to the melancholy Jacques complain, Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley coat again.

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For thou, O Lord! hast power to save.
I know thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall;
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

When in the dead of night I lie
And gaze upon the trackless sky,
The star-bespangled heavenly scroll,
The boundless waters as they roll,-
I feel thy wondrous power to save
From perils of the stormy wave:
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I calmly rest and soundly sleep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.
In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

EMMA HART WILLARD

THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE

I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm,
That beat against my breast,

Rage on- thou may'st destroy this form,
And lay it low at rest;

But still the spirit that now brooks
Thy tempest, raging high,
Undaunted on its fury looks
With steadfast eye.

I said to Penury's meagre train,
Come on your threats I brave;
My last poor life-drop you may drain,
And crush me to the grave;

Yet still the spirit that endures
Shall mock your force the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours
With bitter smile.

I said to cold Neglect and Scorn,

Pass on- I heed you not;