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James Wallis Eastburn

TO PNEUMA.

TEMPESTS their furious course may sweep Swiftly o'er the troubled deepDarkness may lend her gloomy aid, And wrap the groaning world in shade; But man can show a darker hour, And bend beneath a stronger power; There is a tempest of the SOUL, A gloom where wilder billows roll! The howling wilderness may spread Its pathless deserts, parched and dread, Where not a blade of herbage blooms, Nor yields the breeze its soft perfumes; Where silence, death, and horror reign, Unchecked, across the wide domain ;— There is a desert of the MIND More hopeless, dreary, undefined!

There Sorrow, moody Discontent,

And gnawing Care, are wildly blent;
There Horror hangs her darkest clouds,
And the whole scene in gloom enshrouds;
A sickly ray is cast around,

Where naught but dreariness is found;
A feeling that may not be told—
Dark, rending, lonely, drear, and cold.

The wildest ills that darken life
Are rapture to the bosom's strife;

The tempest, in its blackest form,
Is beauty to the bosom's storm;
The ocean, lashed to fury loud,

Its high wave mingling with the cloud,
Is peaceful, sweet serenity

To Passion's dark and boundless sea.

There sleeps no calm, there smiles no rest,
When storms are warring in the breast;
There is no moment of repose

In bosoms lashed by hidden woes;
The scorpion-sting the fury rears,
And every trembling fibre tears;
The vulture preys with bloody beak
Upon the heart that can but break!

THE RESTORATION

OF

ISKAEL..

[OUNTAINS of Israel! rear on high

MOU

Your summits, crowned with verdure new.

And spread your branches to the sky,
Refulgent with celestial dew.
O'er Jordan's stream, of gentle flow,
And Judah's peaceful valleys, smile,
And far reflect the lovely glow

Where Ocean's waves incessant toil.

See where the scattered tribes return!

Their slavery is burst at length,

And purer flames to Jesus burn,

And Zion girds on her new strength

New cities bloom along the plain,
New temples to JEHOVAH rise,
The kindling voice of praise again

Pours its sweet anthems to the skies.

The fruitful fields again are blest,

And yellow harvests smile around; Sweet scenes of heavenly joy and rest, Where peace and innocence are found. The bloody sacrifice no more

Shall smoke upon the altars high,— But ardent hearts, from hill to shore, Send grateful incense to the sky!

The jubilee of man is near,

When earth, as heaven, shall own His reign;

He comes to wipe the mourner's tear,

And cleanse the heart from sin and pain.

Praise Him, ye tribes of Israel, praise

from woe:

The King that ransomed you Nations, the hymn of triumph raise, And bid the song of rapture flow!

Robert C. Sands.

WEEHAWKEN.

'VE o'er our path is stealing fast;

EVE

Yon quivering splendours are the last

The sun will fling, to tremble o'er

The waves that kiss the opposing shore;

His latest glories fringe the height
Behind us with their golden light.

'The mountain's mirrored outline fades
Amid the fast-extending shades;
Its shaggy bulk, in sterner pride,
Towers, as the gloom steals o'er the tide;
For the great stream a bulwark meet
That leaves its rock-encumbered feet.

River and mountain! though to song
Not yet, perchance, your names belong,
Those who have loved your evening hues
Will ask not the recording Muse
What antique tales she can relate,
Your banks and steeps to consecrate.

Yet, should the stranger ask what lore
Of by-gone days this winding shore,
Yon cliffs and fir-clad steeps could tell,
If vocal made by Fancy's spell,-
The varying legend might rehearse
Fit themes for high, romantic verse.

O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod,
Oft hath the stalworth warrior trod;
Or peered, with hunter's gaze, to mark
The progress of the glancing bark.
Spoils, strangely won on distant waves,
Have lurked in obstructed caves.

yon

When the great strife for Freedom rose,
Here scouted oft her friends and foes,
Alternate, through the changeful war,
And beacon-fires flashed bright and far;

And here, when Freedom's strife was won,
Fell, in sad feud, her favoured son ;—

Her son-the second of the band,
The Romans of the rescued land.
Where round yon capes the banks ascend,
Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend;
There, mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh,
There, tears shall dim the patriot's eye.
There last he stood. Before his sight
Flowed the fair river, free and bright;
The rising mart, and isles, and bay,
Before him in their glory lay-

Scenes of his love and of his fame-
The instant ere the death-shot came.

THE GREEN ISLE OF LOVERS.

THEY say that, afar in the land of the West,

Where the bright golden sun sinks in glory to rest,
Mid fens where the hunter ne'er ventured to tread,
A fair lake, unruffled and sparkling, is spread;
Where, lost in his course, the rapt Indian discovers,
In distance seen dimly, the green Isle of Lovers.

There verdure fades never; immortal in bloom,
Soft waves the magnolia its groves of perfume;
And low bends the branch with rich fruitage depressed,
All glowing like gems in the crowns of the East;
There the bright eye of Nature in mild glory hovers.
'Tis the land of the sunbeam-the green Isle of Lovers!

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