But darkness so intensely wrought,

T was blindness in themselves they thought.
Anon, aloof, with sudden rays,

Issued so fierce, so broad a blaze,
That darkness started into light,
And every eye, restored to sight,
Gazed on the glittering crest of snows,
Whence the bright conflagration rose,
Whose flames condensed at once aspire,
-A pillar of celestial fire,
Alone amidst infernal shade,
In glorious majesty display'd:
Beneath, from rifted caverns, broke
Volumes of suffocating smoke,
That roll'd in surges, like a flood,
By the red radiance turn'd to blood.
Morn look'd aghast upon the scene,
Nor could a sunbeam pierce between
The panoply of vapors, spread
Above, around the mountain's head.

In distant fields, with drought consumed,
Joy swell'd all hearts, all eyes illumed,
When from that peak, through lowering skies,
Thick curling clouds were seen to rise,
And hang o'er all the darken'd plain,
The presage of descending rain.
The exulting cattle bound along,
The tuneless birds attempt a song,
The swain, amidst his sterile lands,
With outstretch'd arms of rapture stands.
But, fraught with plague and curses, came
The insidious progeny of flame :
Ah! then,-for fertilizing showers,

The pledge of herbage, fruits, and flowers,-
Words cannot paint, how every eye
(Blood-shot and dim with agony),
Was glazed, as by a palsying spell,
When light sulphureous ashes fell,
Dazzling, and eddying to and fro,
Like wildering sleet or feathery snow:
Strewn with grey pumice Nature lies,
At every motion quick to rise,
Tainting with livid fumes the air;
-Then hope lies down in prone despair,
And man and beast, with misery dumb,
Sullenly brood on woes to come.

The mountain now, like living earth, Pregnant with some stupendous birth, Heaved, in the anguish of its throes, Sheer from its crest the incumbent snows; And where of old they chill'd the sky, Beneath the sun's meridian eye, Or, purpling in the golden west, Appear'd his evening throne of rest. There, black and bottomless and wide, A cauldron rent from side to side, Simmer'd and hiss'd with huge turmoil; Earth's disembowell'd minerals boil, And thence in molten torrents rush:

-Water and fire, like sisters, gush From the same source; the double stream Meets, battles, and explodes in steam; Then fire prevails; and broad and deep Red lava roars from steep to steep;

While rocks unseated, woods upriven,
Are headlong down the current driven;
Columnar flames are rapt aloof,
In whirlwind forms, to heaven's high roof,
And there, amidst transcendent gloom,
Image the wrath beyond the tomb.

The mountaineers, in wild affright,
Too late for safety, urge their flight;
Women, made childless in the fray,
Women, made mothers yesterday,
The sick, the aged, and the blind;
-None but the dead are left behind.
Painful their journey, toilsome, slow,
Beneath their feet quick embers glow,
And hurtle round in dreadful hail;
Their limbs, their hearts, their senses fail,
While many a victim, by the way
Buried alive in ashes lay,

Or perish'd by the lightning's stroke,
Before the slower thunder broke.
A few the open field explore:

The throng seek refuge on the shore,
Between two burning rivers hemm'd,
Whose rage nor mounds nor hollow, stemm'd;
Driven like a herd of deer, they reach
The lonely, dark, and silent beach,
Where, calm as innocence in sleep,
Expanded lies the unconscious deep.
Awhile the fugitives respire,
And watch those cataracts of fire,
(That bar escape on either hand),
Rush on the ocean from the strand;
Back from the onset rolls the tide,
But instant clouds the conflict hide;
The lavas plunge to gulfs unknown,
And, as they plunge, relapse to stone.

Meanwhile the mad volcano grew
Tenfold more terrible to view;
And thunders, such as shall be hurl'd
At the death-sentence of the world;
And lightnings, such as shall consume
Creation, and creation's tomb,
Nor leave, amidst the eternal void,
One trembling atom undestroy'd;
Such thunders crash'd, such lightnings glared:
-Another fate those outcasts shared,
When, with one desolating sweep,

An earthquake seem'd to ingulf the deep,
Then threw it back, and from its bed
Hung a whole ocean overhead;
The victims shriek'd beneath the wave,
And in a moment found one grave;
Down to the abyss the flood return'd:
Alone, unseen, the mountain burn'd.

Once quick and conscious;-now no more

On land or ocean seen!

Were all earth's breathing forms to pass
Before me in Agrippa's glass,'
Many as fair as Thou might be,
But oh! not one,-not one like Thee.

Thou art no Child of Fancy;-Thou
The very look dost wear
That gave enchantment to a brow
Wreathed with luxuriant hair;
Lips of the morn embathed in dew,
And eyes of evening's starry blue;
Of all who e'er enjoy'd the sun,
Thou art the image of but One.

And who was she, in virgin prime,
And May of womanhood,
Whose roses here, unpluck'd by Time,
In shadowy tints have stood;
While many a winter's withering blast
Hath o'er the dark cold chamber pass'd,
In which her once resplendent form
Slumber'd to dust beneath the storm?

Of gentle blood;-upon her birth

Consenting planets smiled,
And she had seen those days of mirth
That frolic round the child:

To bridal bloom her strength had sprung,
Behold her beautiful and young!
Lives there a record, which hath told
That she was wedded, widow'd, old?

How long her date, 't were vain to guess:
The pencil's cunning art
Can but a single glance express,

One motion of the heart;

A smile, a blush,-a transient grace
Of air, and attitude, and face;
One passion's changing color mix;
One moment's flight for ages fix.

Her joys and griefs, alike in vain,

Would fancy here recall;
Her throbs of ecstacy or pain

Lull'd in oblivion all;

With her, methinks, life's little hour
Pass'd like the fragrance of a flower,
That leaves upon the vernal wind
Sweetness we ne'er again may find.
Where dwelt she?-Ask yon aged tree,
Whose boughs embower the lawn,
Whether the birds' wild minstrelsy

A woke her here at dawn;
Whether beneath its youthful shade,
At noon, in infancy she play'd:

-If from the oak no answer come,
Of her all oracles are dumb.

The Dead are like the stars by day;
Withdrawn from mortal eye,
But not extinct, they hold their way
In glory through the sky:

1 Henry Cornelius Agrippa, of Nettesheim, counsellor to Charles V. Emperor of Germany,-the author of Occult Philosophy, and other profound works,-is said to have shown to the Earl of Surrey the image of his mistress Geraldine, in a magical mirror.

Spirits, from bondage thus set free,
Vanish amidst immensity,
Where human thought, like human sight,
Fails to pursue their trackless flight.

Somewhere within created space,
Could I explore that round,
In bliss, or woe, there is a place
Where she might still be found;
And oh! unless those eyes deceive,
I may, I must, I will believe

That she, whose charms so meekly glow,

Is what she only seem'd below:

An angel in that glorious realm
Where God himself is King:
-But awe and fear, that overwhelm
Presumption, check my wing;
Nor dare imagination look
Upon the symbols of that book,
Wherein eternity enrolls

The judgments on departed souls.

Of her of whom these pictured lines
A faint resemblance form;
-Fair as the second rainbow shines
Aloof amid the storm;

Of Her, this "shadow of a shade,"
Like its original must fade,

And She, forgotten when unseen,
Shall be as if she ne'er had been.

Ah! then, perchance, this dreaming strain,
Of all that e'er I sung,
A lorn memorial may remain,

When silent lies my tongue;
When shot the meteor of my fame,
Lost the vain echo of my name,
This leaf, this fallen leaf, may be
The only trace of her and me.

With One who lived of old, my song
In lowly cadence rose;
To One who is unborn, belong
The accents of its close:
Ages to come, with courteous ear,
Some youth my warning voice may hear;
And voices from the dead should be
The warnings of eternity.

When these weak lines thy presence greet, Reader! if I am blest,

Again, as spirits, may we meet

In glory and in rest:
If not, and I have lost my way,
Here part we-go not Thou astray:
No tomb, no verse my story tell!
Once, and for ever, Fare Thee well.

THE LITTLE CLOUD,

SEEN IN A COUNTRY EXCURSION, JUNE 30, 1818.

THE summer sun was in the west,
Yet far above his evening rest;
A thousand clouds in air display'd
Their floating isles of light and shade,-

The sky, like ocean's channels, seen
In long meandering streaks between.

Cultured and waste, the landscape lay;
Woods, mountains, valleys stretch'd away,
And throng'd the immense horizon round,
With heaven's eternal girdle bound:
From inland towns, eclipsed with smoke,
Steeples in lonely grandeur broke;
Hamlets, and cottages, and streams
By glimpses caught the casual gleams,
Or blazed in lustre broad and strong,
Beyond the picturing powers of song:
O'er all the eye enchanted ranged,
While colors, forms, proportions changed,
Or sank in distance undefined,
Still as our devious course inclined;
-And oft we paused, and look'd behind.

One little cloud, and only one, Seem'd the pure offspring of the sun, Flung from his orb to show us here What clouds adorn his hemisphere; Unmoved, unchanging, in the gale That bore the rest o'er hill and dale, Whose shadowy shapes, with lights around, Like living motions, swept the ground. This little cloud, and this alone, Long in the highest ether shone; Gay as a warrior's banner spread Its sunward margin ruby-red, Green, purple, gold, and every hue That glitters in the morning dew, Or glows along the rainbow's form, -The apparition of the storm. Deep in its bosom, diamond-bright, Behind a fleece of pearly white, It seem'd a secret glory dwelt,

Whose presence, while unseen, was felt: Like Beauty's eye, in slumber hid Beneath a half-transparent lid,

From whence a sound, a touch, a breath, Might startle it, as life from death.

Looks, words, emotions of surprise
Welcomed the stranger to our eyes:
Was it the phoenix, that from earth
In flames of incense sprang to birth?
Had ocean from his lap let fly
His loveliest halcyon through the sky?
No-while we gazed, the pageant grew
A nobler object to our view;

We deem'd, if heaven with earth would hold
Communion, as in days of old,
Such, on his journey down the sphere,
Benignant Raphael might appear,
In splendid mystery conceal'd,
Yet by his rich disguise reveal'd:
-That buoyant vapor, in mid-air,
An angel in its folds might bear,
Who, through the curtain of his shrine,
Betray'd his lineaments divine.
The wild, the warm illusion stole,
Like inspiration, o'er the soul,

Till thought was rapture, language hung
Silent but trembling on the tongue;

And fancy almost hoped to hail
The seraph rushing through his veil,
Or hear an awful voice proclaim
The embassy on which he came.

But ah! no minister of grace
Show'd from the firmament his face,
Nor, borne aloof on balanced wings,
Reveal'd unutterable things.

The sun went down :-the vision pass'd;
The cloud was but a cloud at last;
Yet when its brilliancy decay'd,
The eye still linger'd on the shade,
And watching, till no longer seen,
Loved it for what it once had been.

That cloud was beautiful,-was one
Among a thousand round the sun :
The thousand shared the common lot;
They came, they went,-they were forgot;
This fairy form alone impress'd

Its perfect image in my breast,
And shines as richly blazon'd there
As in its element of air.

The day on which that cloud appear'd,
Exhilarating scenes endear'd:

The sunshine on the hills, the floods;

The breeze, the twilight of the woods;
Nature in every change of green,

Heaven in unnumber'd aspects seen:

Health, spirits, exercise, release

From noise and smoke; twelve hours of peace;

No fears to haunt, no cares to vex;

Friends, young and old, of either sex;

Converse familiar, sportive, kind,

Where heart meets heart, mind quickens mind,

And words and thoughts are all at play,

Like children on a holiday;

-Till themes celestial rapt the soul

In adoration o'er the pole,

Where stars are darkness in His sight,
Who reigns invisible in light,
High above all created things,

The Lord of Lords, the King of Kings;
Faith, which could thus on wing sublime
Outsoar the bounded flight of time;
Hope full of immortality,

And God in all the eye could see;
-These, these endear'd that day to me,
And made it, in a thousand ways.
A day among a thousand days,

That share with clouds the common lot;
They come,-they go,-they are forgot:
This, like that plaything of the sun,
-The little, lonely, lovely one,
This lives within me ;--this shall be
A part of my eternity.

Amidst the cares, the toils, the strife,
The weariness and waste of life,
That day shall memory oft restore,
And in a moment live it o'er,
When, with a lightning-flash of thought,
Morn, noon, and eve at once are brought
(As through the vision of a trance),
All in the compass of a glance.

Oh! should I reach a world above, And sometimes think of those I love, Of things on earth too dearly prized, (Nor yet by saints in heaven despised), Though Spirits made perfect may lament Life's holier hours as half misspent, Methinks I could not turn away The fond remembrance of that day, The bright idea of that cloud, (Survivor of a countless crowd) Without a pause, perhaps a sigh,To think such loveliness should die, And clouds and days of storm and gloom Scowl on Man's passage to the tomb. -Not so:-I feel I have a heart Blessings to share, improve, impart, In blithe, severe, or pensive mood, At home, abroad, in solitude, Whatever clouds are on the wing, Whatever day the seasons bring.

That is true happiness below, Which conscience cannot turn to woe; And though such happiness depends Neither on clouds, nor days, nor friends, When friends, and days, and clouds unite, And kindred chords are tuned aright, The harmonies of heaven and earth, Through eye, ear, intellect, give birth To joys too exquisite to last, -And yet more exquisite when past! When the soul summons by a spell The ghosts of pleasure round her cell, In saintlier forms than erst they wore, And smiles benigner than before; Each loved, lamented scene renews With warmer touches, tenderer hues; Recalls kind words for ever flown, But echoing in a soften'd tone; Wakes, with new pulses in the breast, Feelings forgotten or at rest; -The thought how fugitive and fair, How dear and precious such things were! That thought, with gladness more refined, Deep and transporting thrills the mind, Than all those pleasures of an hour, When most the soul confess'd their power.

Bliss in possession will not last; Remember'd joys are never past; At once the fountain, stream, and sea, They were, they are, they yet shall be.

ABDALLAH AND SABAT.

Who journey'd through the various east to find
New forms of man, in feature, habit, mind;
Where Tartar hordes through nature's pastures run,
A race of Centaurs,-horse and rider one;
Where the soft Persian maid the breath inhales
Of love-sick roses, woo'd by nightingales;
Where India's grim array of Idols seem
The rabble-phantoms of a maniac's dream:
-Himself the flowery path of trespass trod,
Which the false prophet deck'd to lure from God.
But He, who changed, into the faith of Paul,
The slaughter-breathing enmity of Saul,
Vouchsafed to meet Abdallah by the way:
No miracle of light eclipsed the day;
No vision from the eternal world, nor sound
Of awe and wonder smote him to the ground;
All mild and calm, with power till then unknown,
The gospel-glory through his darkness shone;
A still small whisper, only heard within,
Convinced the trembling penitent of sin;
And Jesus, whom the Infidel abhorr'd,
The Convert now invoked, and call'd him Lord.
Escaping from the lewd Impostor's snare,
As flits a bird released through boundless air,
And soaring up the pure blue ether sings:
-So rose his Spirit on exulting wings.
But love, joy, peace, the Christian's bliss below,
Are deeply mingled in a cup of woe,
Which none can pass-he, counting all things loss
For his Redeemer, gladly bore the cross;
Soon call'd, with life, to lay that burthen down,
In the first fight he won the Martyr's crown.

Abdallah's friend was Sabat;-one of those Whom love estranged transforms to bitterest foes; From persecution to that friend he fled, But Sabat pour'd reproaches on his head, Spurn'd like a leprous plague the prostrate youth, And hated him as falsehood hates the truth; Yet first with sophistry and menace tried To turn him from "the faithful word" aside; All failing, old esteem to rancor turn'd, With Mahomet's own reckless rage he burn'd. A thousand hideous thoughts, like fiends, possess'd The Pandemonium of the Bigot's breast, Whose fires, enkindled from the infernal lake, Abdallah's veins, unsluiced, alone could slake.

The victim, dragg'd to slaughter by his friend, Witness'd a good confession to the end. Bochara pour'd her people forth, to gaze Upon the direst scene the world displays, The blood of innocence by treason spilt, The reeking triumph of deep-branded guilt: -Bochara pour'd her people forth, to eye The loveliest spectacle beneath the sky,

by Thomas Foster Barham, Esq.

FROM West-Arabia to Bochara came

A noble youth; Abdallah was his name;

-The resurrection of the soul in death.

Renounce the Nazarene!" the headsman cries. And flash'd the unstain'd falchion in his eyes: "No!-be his name by heaven and earth adored!" He said, and gave his right-hand to the sword:

of Sabat's dreadful fate.