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Those sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom-
This silence is the silence of the tomb."

3. The sun went down amid an angry glare
Of flushing clouds, that crimson'd all the air;
The winds brake loose; the forest boughs were torn,
And dark aloof the eddying foliage borne;
Cattle to shelter scudded in affright;

The florid Evening vanish'd into night:
Then burst the hurricane upon the vale,
In peals of thunder, and thick-volley'd hail;
Prone rushing rains with torrents whelm'd the land;
Our cot amid a river seem'd to stand;

Around its base, the foamy-crested streams

Flash'd through the darkness to the lightning's gleams;
With monstrous throes an earthquake heaved the ground;
The rocks were rent, the mountains trembled round:
Never, since Nature into being came,

Had such mysterious motion shook her frame:
We thought, ingulf'd in floods, or wrapt in fire,
The world itself would perish with our sire.

4. Amid this war of elements, within

More dreadful grew the sacrifice of sin,
Whose victim on his bed of torture lay,
Breathing the slow remains of life away.
Erewhile, victorious faith sublimer rose
Beneath the pressure of collected woes;
But now his spirit waver'd, went and came,
Like the loose vapor of departing flame,
Till at the point, when comfort seem'd to die
Forever in his fix'd unclosing eye,

Bright through the smoldering ashes of the man,
The saint brake fōrth, and Adam thus began:-

5 "Oh, ye who shudder at this awful strife,

This wrestling agony of Death and Life,
Think not that He, on whom my soul is cast,
Will leave me thus forsaken to the last:
Nature's infirmity alone you see;

My chains are breaking, I shall soon be free.
Though firm in God the spirit holds her trust,
The flesh is frail, and trembles into dust.

Thou, of
my faith the Author and the End!
Mine carly, late, and everlasting Friend!
The joy, that once thy presence gave, restore,
Ere I am summon'd hence, and seen no more.
Down to the dust returns this earthly frame-
Receive my spirit, Lord! from whom it came;
Rebuke the Tempter, show thy power to save;
Oh, let thy glōry light me to the grave,

That these, who witness my departing breath,
May learn to triumph in the grasp of death."
6. He closed his eyelids with a tranquil smile,
And seem'd to rest in silent prayer awhile.
Around his couch with filial awe we kneel'd,
When suddenly a light from heaven reveal'd
A spirit, that stood within the unopen'd door:
The sword of God in his right hand he bore;
His countenance was lightning, and his vest
Like snow at sunrise on the mountain's crest;
Yet so benignly1 beautiful his form,
His presence still'd the fury of the storm;
At once the winds retire, the waters cease:
His look was love, his salutation "PEACE!"
7. Our mother first beheld him, sore amazed,

But terror grew to transport, while she gazed.
""Tis he, the Prince of Seraphim!" who drove
Our banish'd feet from Eden's happy grove.
Adam, my life, my spouse, awake!" she cried;
"Return to Paradise; behold thy Guide!
Oh, let me follow in this dear embrace!"
She sunk, and on his bosom hid her face.

8. Adam look'd up; his visage changed its hue,
Transform'd into an angel's at the view.

1 Be nign' ly, kindly; graciously.-2 Sêr' a phim, angels of the highest order.

1.

"I come!" he cried, with faith's full triumph fired,
And in a sigh of ecstasy' expired.

The light was vanish'd, and the vision fled:
We stood alone, the living with the dead:
The ruddy embers, glimmering round the room,
Display'd the corpse amid the solemn gloom;
But o'er the scene a holy calm reposed,

The gate of heaven had open'd there, and closed.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

176. THE CLOSING SCENE.

ITHIN this sober realm of leafless trees,

WH

The russet year inhaled the dreamy air,
Like some tann'd reaper in his hour of ease,

When all the fields are lying brown and bare.
2. The gray barns looking from their hazy hills
O'er the dim waters widening in the vales,
Sent down the air a greeting to the mills,
On the dull thunder of alternate3 flails.

3. All sights were mellow'd and all sounds subdued,
The hills scem'd further and the streams sang low;
As in a dream, the distant woodman hew'd
His winter log with many a muffled blow.

4. The embattled forests, erewhile arm'd in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood, like some sad beaten host of old,
Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue.

5. On slumberous wings the vulture tried his flight;
The dove scarce heard his sighing mate's complaint;
And like a star slow drowning in the light,

The village church-vane seem'd to pale and faint.

6. The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew

Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before—

1Ec' sta sy, literally, a being out of one's self; hence, rapture; overpowering emotion.- Růs' set, of a reddish-brown color.- Al tårn' ate, by turns; one after the other.

Silent till some replying wanderer blew

His alien' horn, and then was heard no more.

7. Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest,
Made garrulous trouble round the unfledged young;
And where the oriole hung her swaying nest

By every light wind like a censer swung:

8. Where sang the noisy masons of the eaves, The busy swallows circling ever near, Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes,

An early harvest and a plenteous year,

9. Where every bird which charm'd the vernal feast Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn, To warn the reapers of the rosy east,—

All now was songless, empty, and forlorn.

10. Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail,

And croak'd the crow through all the dreamy gloom;
Alone the pheasant, drumming3 in the vale,
Made echo to the distant cottage loom.

11. There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers;
The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night;
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers,
Sail'd slowly by-pass'd noiseless out of sight.

12. Amid all this, in this most cheerless air,

And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there
Firing the floor with his inverted' torch-

13. Amid all this, the center of the scene,

The white-hair'd matron, with monotonous tread,

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'Alien (ål' yen), foreign; distant; belonging to another country.— 'Går' ru lous, talkative; prating continually. Drům' ming, the pheasant is a bird similar to the partridge; and the latter bird, at certain seasons of the year, makes a drumming noise, which is heard at a great distance. In poetry, the partridge is frequently called a pheasant.— In vert' ed, turned upside down.

Plied her swift wheel, and with her joyless mien
Sat like a Fate, and watch'd the flying thread.

14. She had known sorrow, he had walk'd with her,
Oft supp'd, and broke with her the ashen crust;
And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir
Of his black mantle trailing in the dust.

15. While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom,
Her country summon'd, and she gave her all;
And twice war bow'd to her his sable plume,—
Regave the swords to rust upon her wall.

16. Regave the swords-but not the hand that drew,
And struck for liberty the dying blow;
Nor him who, to his sire and country true,
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe.

17. Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on,
Like the low murmur of a hive at noon;
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune.

18. At last the thread was snapp'd,-her head was bow'd;
Life droop'd the distaff through his hands serene,
And loving neighbors smooth'd her careful shroud,—
While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene.

T. BUCHANAN READ.

THE END.

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