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Throws o'er thy morn a ray of fire

From the pure fountains of the skyThat ray which glows and brightens still

Unchanged_eternal, and divineWhere seraphs own its holy thrill,

And bow before its gleaming shrine.

Thou desolate and dying year,

Prophetic of our final fall ! Thy buds are gone,thy leaves are sere,

Thy beauties shrouded in the pall ; And all the garniture that shed

A brilliancy upon thy prime, Hath, like a morning vision, fled

To the expanded grave of Time.

Time! Time ! In thy triumphal flight

How all life's phantoms fleet away !The smile of Hope—and young Delight

Fame's meteor beam_and Fancy's ray ;
They fade and on thy heaving tide,

Rolling its stormy waves afar,
Are borne the wrecks of human pride,

The broken wrecks of Fortune's war.

There, in disorder dark and wild,

Are seen the fabrics once so high, Which mortal vanity had piled

As emblems of Eternity ! And deemed the stately domes, whose forms

Frowned in their majesty sublime, Would stand unshaken by the storms

That gathered round the brow of Time.

Thou desolate and dying year!

Earth's brightest pleasures fade like thine ; Like evening shadows disappear,

And leave the spirit to repine.

The stream of life, that used to pour

Its fresh and sparkling waters on-
While Fate stood watching on the shore

And numbered all the moments gone

Where hath the morning splendour flown

Which danced upon that crystal stream ?
Where are the joys to childhood known,

When life is an enchanted dream ?
Enveloped in the starless night

Which destiny hath overspread
Enrolled upon that trackless flight,

Where the dark wing of Time had sped.

Oh! thus hath life its even tide

Of sorrow, loneliness, and grief;
And thus, divested of its pride,

It withers like the yellow leaf!
Oh! such is life's autumnal bower,

When plundered of its summer bloom !
And such is life's autumnal hour,

Which heralds man unto the tomb.
New York Advertiser.

THE LAST DAY.

BY WILLIAM BECKFORD, ESQ.

HARK ! Heard ye not that deep, appalling sound ?
Tremble ! for lo! the vexed affrighted ground
Heaves strong in dread convulsion,-streams of fire
Burst from the 'vengeful sky

1-a voice of ire
Proclaims, ‘Ye guilty wait your final doom :
No more the silent refuge of the tomb
Shall screen your crimes, your frailties.' Conscience reigns,
Earth needs no other sceptre ;—what remains
Beyond her fated limits, dare not tell ;

Eternal Justice ! Judgment ! Heaven! Hell ! Britton's Fonthill Abbey.

D2

THE HALL OF EBLIS.*

BY BARRY CORNWALL.

THEY took their way (Vathek and his young bride,
The sweet Nouronihar) through summer fields
Of flowers—by sparkling rivers—fountains that
Splashed o'er the turf_by palm and tamarisk trees
And where the dark pines talked to solitudes ;
And oft beguiled the way with amorous songs,
Kisses and looks voluptuous; and they quaffed
At mid-day iced waters which had grown
Cool in the valley of Roenabad :-One thing
Did intervene to mar those quiet hours ;-
Which was ambition.

But these days passed by: And then they journeyed among perilous sands, Which the hot blast of the desert swept at times To figures columnar; these subsiding, left Open to view the wide horizon, where Lifting their heads, like mountains, to the skies, 'Rose the dark towers of Istakar.—The moon Hid her pale face eclipsed, and sore afraid Lest that the baleful atmosphere might shroud Her light for ever; and interlunar stars Shrank and grew dim, as when the morning shews His grey eye in the East.–Forward they passed 'Midst crumbling walls, and shaking minarets, Where even the ivy grew not, and at last Stood ’neath the mighty palace of those kings Who ruled before the flood. It seemed as built For all eternity; and its pillars threw On the black platform, long, large lines of shadow, That lay upon the marble, like to things Substantial–Countless and sky-touching towers ( Whose architecture was unknown amidst The records of the earth') stood there, like that

* Vide Beckford's History of the Caliph Vathek.

Vast pile our ancestry once dared to raise
In old Chaldea, whence they met the wrath
Of God, and nature's own sweet language filed
The lips of men for ever.—Silence reigned ;
And glimmering darkness in the middle air
Brooded, but shifting aye her shadowy wings,
Let horror creep between, and doubtful light;
And chill, sepulchral airs, that had no sound,
Touched the pale cheek of young Nouronihar:
And Vathek felt his heart grow cold, and stayed
His breath to listen, and he grasped hard
Her trembling hand for mere companionship.

The stars now shone anew ; and right against
The palace, carved curiously, were seen
Leopards and winged hyppogriffs, and shapes
Unknown but to the bottoms of the deep,
And there, by all sea-monsters that we fear,
Dreaded, and left alone; above these forms
Were traced mysterious characters, that did yield
A welcome to the pair. Scarce had they read
When from amongst the ruins came a sound
Like anguish, and the yawning ground gave out
Blue subterranean fires, that shewed a door
Whose barred labyrinths led to Hell. There stood
The dwarfed Indian, grinning like a fiend :
• Welcome!' he cried, “Both welcome! Ye are come
To see the Prince of morning! Ye deserve
To see, and ye shall see him.' Then he touched
The charmed lock, 'round which, invisibly,
A hundred watchful demons wheeled, and kept
Sacred the homes of starry Eblis._ Wide
It opened with a horrid sound, and shut
(When Vathek and his bride had entered there)
'Midst laughs, and shrieks exulting, like the noise
Of mountainous thunder, or the withering voice
Of him who from Vesuvius calls abroad
In madness, and casts out his blazing foam
Like rivers toward the sea.

At last they saw The Hall of Eblis : vaulted 'twas and high So none might mark the roofs ! The pillars that Stood like supporting giants, verged away In long innumerable avenues, but Met at a point bright as the sun, when he Looks flaming on the sands of Palestine. Each column bore a different character, And by the lambent flames that played about Like snakes, and pointed their ethereal spires Towards the stupendous capitals (which seemed Wrought in the finer times of Greece, when men Struck armed Pallas from a senseless stone To life, and shaped those matchless Deities, Venus, and stern Apollo, and the rest) Strange letters might be seen their import known To none but the immortals.--The sad pair Traversed a scene of luxury and woe; They trod on gold and flowers, while from the ground Voluptuous odours steamed, whose breath was sweet As hers whom story fabled once the queen Of beauty; there saffron, and citron boughs, Cedar, and sweet perfuming sandal woods Were burning ; and distilled and fragrant waters Sparkled in crystal ;—but around them stalked Figures like men—all silent--with despair On every face, and each did press his hand Against his heart, and shunned his fellow wretch.

Upon a globe of fire sat Eblis. He
Was prince of all the spirits that rebelled
'Gainst God and met perdition. He was young
Still; and, but that some pride burned in his eye,
You might have pitied him. His flowing hair,
Streaming like sunbeams, told he must have been
An angel once, and fair, and beautiful;
Nay, in his fallen station, he retained
A relic of his old nobility :
And though he fell, you would have said he fell

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