FEMALE CHARACTERS OF SCRIPTURE.

A SERIES OF SONNETS.1

Your tents are desolate; your stately steps,
Of all their choral dances, have not left
One trace beside the fountains; your full cup
Of gladness and of trembling, each alike
Is broken: yet, amidst undying things,
The mind still keeps your loveliness, and still
All the fresh glories of the early world

Hang round you in the spirit's pictured halls,
Never to change!

I.

INVOCATION.

As the tired voyager on stormy seas

Invokes the coming of bright birds from shore, To waft him tidings with the gentler breeze,

Of dim sweet woods that hear no billows roar; So from the depth of days, when earth yet wore Her solemn beauty and primeval dew,

I call you, gracious Forms! Oh! come, restore Awhile that holy freshness, and renew

Life's morning dreams. Come with the voice, the lyre,

Daughters of Judah! with the timbrel rise!
Ye of the dark prophetic eastern eyes,

Imperial in their visionary fire;

Oh! steep my soul in that old glorious time,

When God's own whisper shook the cedars of your

clime!

'Suggested by the perusal of Mrs. Sandford's Woman.

II.

INVOCATION CONTINUED.

And come, ye faithful! round Messiah seen,
With a soft harmony of tears and light
Streaming through all your spiritual mien,
As in calm clouds of pearly stillness bright,
Showers weave with sunshine, and transpierce
their slight

Ethereal cradle.—From your heart subdued

All haughty dreams of power had wing'd their flight, And left high place for martyr fortitude,

True faith, long suffering love. Come to me, come!
And, as the seas beneath your master's tread
Fell into crystal smoothness, round him spread
Like the clear pavement of his heavenly home:
So in your presence, let the soul's great deep
Sink to the gentleness of infant sleep.

III.

THE SONG OF MIRIAM.

A song for Israel's God!-Spear, crest, and helm,
Lay by the billows of the old Red Sea,
When Miriam's voice, o'er that sepulchral realm
Sent on the blast a hymn of jubilee;

With her lit eye, and long hair floating free,
Queen-like she stood, and glorious was the strain,
E'en as instinct with the tempestuous glee
Of the dark waters, tossing o'er the slain.
A song for God's own victory!-O, thy lays,
Bright Poesy! were holy in their birth:-
How hath it died, thy seraph note of praise,
In the bewildering melodies of earth!
Return from troubling bitter founts-return,
Back to the life-springs of thy native urn!

IV.

RUTH.

The plume-like swaying of the auburn corn,
By soft winds to a dreamy motion fann'd,
Still brings me back thine image-Oh! forlorn,
Yet not forsaken, Ruth!—I see thee stand
Lone, 'midst the gladness of the harvest band—
Lone as a wood-bird on the ocean's foam,
Fall'n in its weariness. Thy father-land
Smiles far away! yet to the sense of home,
That finest, purest, which can recognize
Home in affection's glance, for ever true
Beats thy calm heart; and if thy gentle eyes
Gleam tremulous through tears, 'tis not to rue
Those words, immortal in their deep Love's tone,
Thy people and thy God shall be mine own!"

V.

THE VIGIL OF RIZPAH.

"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven; and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night."-2 Sam. xxi. 10.

Who watches on the mountain with the dead,
Alone before the awfulness of night?-
A seer awaiting the deep spirit's might?
A warrior guarding some dark pass of dread?
No, a lorn woman!-On her drooping head,
Once proudly graceful, heavy beats the rain;
She recks not-living for the unburied slain,
Only to scare the vulture from their bed.
So, night by night, her vigil hath she kept
With the pale stars, and with the dews hath wept ;-
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Oh! surely some bright Presence from above On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid ! E'en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade, Th' unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love!

VI.

THE REPLY OF THE SHUNAMITE WOMAN.

"And she answered, I dwell among mine own people.”—2 Kings, iv. 13. "I dwell among mine own,"-Oh! happy thou! Not for the sunny clusters of the vine, Nor for the olives on the mountain's brow;

Nor the flocks wandering by the flowery line
Of streams, that make the green land where they
shine

Laugh to the light of waters-not for these,
Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees,

Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thine—
Oh! not for these I call thee richly blest,
But for the meekness of thy woman's breast,
Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies;
And for thy holy household love, which clings
Unto all ancient and familiar things,
Weaving from each some link for home's dear charities.

VII.

THE ANNUNCIATION.

Lowliest of women, and most glorified!

In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone, A brightness round thee grew-and by thy side Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,

Solemn, yet breathing gladness. — From her throne A queen had risen with more imperial eye, A stately prophetess of victory

From her proud lyre had struck a tempest's tone, For such high tidings as to thee were brought,

Chosen of Heaven! that hour;- but thou, O thou! E'en as a flower with gracious rains o'erfraught,

Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow, And take to thy meek breast th' all holy word, And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.

VIII.

THE SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

Yet, as a sun-burst flushing mountain snow,
Fell the celestial touch of fire ere long
On the pale stillness of thy thoughtful brow,
And thy calm spirit lighten'd into song.
Unconsciously perchance, yet free and strong
Flow'd the majestic joy of tuneful words,

Which living harps the quires of Heaven among Might well have link'd with their divinest chords. Full many a strain, borne far on glory's blast, Shall leave, where once its haughty music pass'd, No more to memory than a reed's faint sigh; While thine, O childlike virgin! through all time Shall send its fervent breath o'er every clime, Being of God, and therefore not to die.

IX.

THE PENITENT ANOINTING CHRIST'S FEET.

There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,

That saw thee, woman! bright in this world's train,

Moving to pleasure's airy melodies,

Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.