Tam. Who?

Had. None knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks

Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes
Beam with the wisdom of collected ages.
In green, unbroken years, he sees, 't is said,
The generations pass, like autumn fruits,
Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to
life,

Again to perish, while he views the sun,
The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,
And high communion with celestial powers.
Some say 't is Shem, our father, some say
Enoch,

And some Melchizedek.

Had. Above, about, beneath; earth, sea, and air;

Their habitations various as their minds, Employments, and desires.

Tam. But are they round us, Hadad? - not confined

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.
Had. He bade me look on rugged Cau-

casus,

Good heavens !

Crag piled on crag beyond the utmost ken Naked, and wild, as if creation's ruins Were heaped in one immeasurable chain Of barren mountains, beaten by the storms Of everlasting winter. But within

Are glorious palaces, and domes of light,
Irradiate halls, and crystal colonnades,
Blazing with lustre past the noontide beam,
Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking
The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth.
Tam. Unheard of wonders!

Had. There they dwell, and muse, And wander; Beings beautiful, immortal, Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky; Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come,

And glow with light intense, imperishable.
So in the sparry chambers of the Sea
And Air-Pavilions, upper Tabernacles,
They study Nature's secrets, and enjoy
No poor dominion.

Tam.
Are they beautiful,
And powerful far beyond the human race?
Had. Man's feeble heart cannot conceive

Had. Like palace lamps! Thou echoest well thy grandsire ! – Woman! The stars are living, glorious, Amazing, infinite!—

Tam.

Speak not so wildly. I know them numberless, resplendent, set As symbols of the countless, countless years That make eternity.

Had. Thou speak'st the word O, had ye proved-like those Great Sufferers,

Shot, once for all, the gulf, — felt myriad

ages

Only the prelude, - could ye scan the void
With eyes as searching as its torments,
Then then-mightst thou pronounce it
feelingly!

Tam. What ails thee, Hadad? - Draw me not so close.

Had. Tamar! I need thy love - more than thy love

Tam. Thy cheek is wet with tears
Nay, let us part—

'Tis late. I cannot, must not linger.

[Breaks from him, and exit. Had. Loved and abhorred ! - Still, still accursed!

[He paces, twice or thrice, up and down with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence. O! where, In the illimitable space, in what

Why murmur at the common lot? We part! I speak not of the pain, But when shall I each lovely spot And each loved face behold again?

may

It must be months, - it
be years,
It may - but no!-I will not fill
Fond hearts with gloom, fond eyes with

tears,

"Curious to shape uncertain ill.”

Though humble,- few and far, —yet,

still

Those hearts and eyes are ever dear;

Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear!

All I have seen, and all I see,

Only endears them more and more; Friends cool, hopes fade, and hours flee, Affection lives when all is o'er ! Farewell, my more than native shore! I do not seek or hope to find,

Roam where I will, what I deplore To leave with them and thee behind!

TO THE MOCKING-BIRD WINGED mimic of the woods! thou 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.