per of His voice who is revealed in the Bible as sitting above the water-floods forever? Go, once more, and stand with Coleridge, at sunrise, in the Alpine Valley of Chamouni; join with him in that magnificent invocation to the hoary mount, “sole sovereign of the vale," to rise, "and tell the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.” Who can stand amid scenes like these, with the Bible in his hand, and not feel that if there is moral sublimity to be found on earth, it is in the Book of God, it is in the thought of God? For what are all these outward, visible forms of grandeur but the expression and the utterance of that conception of Deity which the Bible has created in our minus, and which has now become the leading and largest thought of all civilized nations? A ROMANCE IN VERSE. When first I met Louisa Ann No obstacles were in the way. She did not hesitate-not she! She owned that we might married be. From my adored Louisa Ann. She did not all too early die, Nor-if it comes to that-did I; Unchecked the course of true love ran: I married my Louisa Ann. There the romance however ends. Dear reader, you and I are friends! You don't like my Louisa Ann? A CHARMING WOMAN.-JOHN G. SAXE. A charming woman, I've heard it said To find wherein the charm may be. And her form is quite as good as the best, Intelligent? Yes-in a certain way: Whenever the theme transcends her reach. But turn the topic on things to wear, Hats, basques, or bonnets-'twill make you stare Her laugh is hardly a thing to please; A muscular motion made to show What nature designed to lie beneath The finer mouth; but what can she do, If that is ruined to show the teeth? To her seat in church-a good half mile- La mode de Paris has got to show; Ah! what shall we say of one who walks And talks of authors she never reads? But all in vain I puzzle my head MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN.-ROBERT SOUTHEY, Who is yonder poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs: No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek; Through her rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, Poor Mary the maniac has been ; The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, As Mary, the maid of the inn. Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, She loved; and young Richard had settled the day, But Richard was idle and worthless, and they 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, ""Tis pleasant," cried one," seated by the fireside "6 A fine night for the abbey!" his comrade replied; "I myself, like a school-boy, would tremble to hear "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, 64 "That Mary would venture there now." Then wager, and lose!" with a sneer he replied; "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" "I shall win,-for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the elder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humor did Mary comply, The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, O'er the path so well known still proceeded the maid, Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid; All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she pass'd, Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear: The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head, She listened,-naught else could she hear. The wind ceased; her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, For she heard in the ruins distinctly the tread Of footsteps approaching her near. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold; It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled ;— She fell, and expected to die. Curse the hat!" he exclaimed. "Nay, come on till we hide The dead body," his comrade replies. She beholds them in safety pass on by her side, And fast through the abbey she flies. She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, She gazed in her terror around, Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, Unable to utter a sound. Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For-O God! what cold horror then thrilled through her heart When the name of her Richard she knew! Where the old abbey stands on the common hard by, His gibbet is now to be seen; His irons you still from the road may espy, The traveler beholds them, and thinks with a sigh TRUTH.-COWPER. The only amaranthine flower on earth |