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Of heavenly minstrelsy unknown on earth,
And angels' voices, and the loud acclaim
Of all the ransom'd, like a thunder-shout.
Far through the skies melodious echoes roll'd,
And faint hosannas distant climes return'd.

XXIII.

Down from the lessening multitude came faint
And fainter still the trumpet's dying peal,
All else in distance lost; when, to receive
Their new inhabitants, the heavens unfolded.
Up gazing, then, with streaming eyes, a glimpse
The wicked caught of Paradise, whence streaks
Of splendour, golden quivering radiance shone,
As when the showery evening sun takes leave,
Breaking a moment o'er the illumined world.
Seen far within, fair forms moved graceful by,
Slow-turning to the light their snowy wings.
A deep-drawn, agonizing groan escaped
The hapless outcasts, when upon the LORD
The glowing portals closed. Undone, they stood
Wistfully gazing on the cold, gray heaven,
As if to catch, alas! a hope not there.
But shades began to gather; night approach'd
Murky and lowering: round with horror roll'd
On one another, their despairing eyes
That glared with anguish: starless, hopeless gloom
Fell on their souls, never to know an end.
Though in the far horizon linger'd yet

A lurid gleam, black clouds were mustering there;
Red flashes, follow'd by low muttering sounds,
Announced the fiery tempest doom'd to hurl
The fragments of the earth again to chaos.
Wild gusts swept by, upon whose hollow wing
Unearthly voices, yells, and ghastly peals
Of demon laughter came. Infernal shapes
Flitted along the sulphurous wreaths, or plunged
Their dark, impure abyss, as sea-fowl dive
Their watery element.-O'erwhelmed with sights
And sounds appalling, I awoke; and found
For gathering storms, and signs of coming wo,
The midnight moon gleaming upon my bed
Serene and peaceful. Gladly I survey'd her
Walking in brightness through the stars of heaven,
And blessed the respite ere the day of doom.

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Hail'd by the pilgrims of the desert, bound
To Judah's mart with orient merchandise.
But not, for thou art fair and turret-crown'd,
Wet with the choicest dew of heaven, and bless'd
With golden fruits, and gales of frankincense,
Dwell I beneath thine ample curtains. Here,
Where saints and prophets teach, where the stern
law

Still speaks in thunder, where chief angels watch,
And where the glory hovers, here I war.

UNTOLD LOVE.*

THE soul, my lord, is fashion'd-like the lyre.
Strike one chord suddenly, and others vibrate.
Your name abruptly mention'd, casual words
Of comment on your deeds, praise from your
uncle,

News from the armies, talk of your return,
A word let fall touching your youthful passion,
Suffused her cheek, call'd to her drooping eye
A momentary lustre; made her pulse
Leap headlong, and her bosom palpitate.
I could not long be blind, for love defies
Concealment, making every glance and motion,
Silence, and speech a tell-tale-

These things, though trivial of themselves, begat
Suspicion. But long months elapsed,
Ere I knew all. She had, you know, a fever.
One night, when all were weary and at rest,
I, sitting by her couch, tired and o'erwatch'd,
Thinking she slept, suffer'd my lids to close.
Waked by a voice, I found her never, Signor,
While life endures, will that scene fade from me,-
A dying lamp wink'd in the hearth, that cast,
And snatched the shadows. Something stood be-
fore me

In white. My flesh began to creep. I thought
I saw a spirit. It was my lady risen,
And standing in her night-robe with clasp'd hands,
Like one in prayer. Her pallid face display'd
Something, methought, surpassing mortal beauty.
She presently turn'd round, and fix'd her large,
wild eyes,

Brimming with tears, upon me, fetched a sigh,
As from a riven heart, and cried: "He's dead!
But, hush!-weep not,-I've bargain'd for his
soul,-

That's safe in bliss!"-Demanding who was dead,
Scarce yet aware she raved, she answer'd quick,
Her Cosmo, her beloved; for that his ghost,
All pale and gory, thrice had pass'd her bed.
With that, her passion breaking loose, my lord,
She pour'd her lamentation forth in strains
Pathetical beyond the reach of reason.
"Gone, gone, gone to the grave, and never knew
I loved him!"-I'd no power to speak, or move.-
I sat stone still,-a horror fell upon me.
At last, her little strength ebb'd out, she sank,
And lay, as in death's arms, till morning.

From "Demetria."

SCENE FROM HADAD.

The terraced roof of ABSALOM's house by night; adorned with vases of flowers and fragrant shrubs; an awning over part of it. TAMAR and HADAD.

Tum. No, no, I well remember-proofs, you said, Unknown to MOSES.

Had. Well, my love, thou know'st
I've been a traveller in various climes;
Trod Ethiopia's scorching sands, and scaled

The snow-clad mountains; trusted to the deep;
Traversed the fragrant islands of the sea,
And with the wise conversed of many nations.
Tam. I know thou hast.

Had. Of all mine eyes have seen,
The greatest, wisest, and most wonderful

Is that dread sage, the Ancient of the Mountain.
Tam. Who!

Had. None knows his lineage, age, or name:

his locks

Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes
Beam with the wisdom of collected ages.
In green, unbroken years he sees, 'tis said,
The generations pass, like autumn fruits,
Garner'd, consumed, and springing fresh to life,
Again to perish, while he views the sun,
The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,

And high communion with celestial powers.

Some say 'tis SHEM, our father, some say ENOCH,
And some MELCHISEDEK.

Tam. I've heard a tale
Like this, but ne'er believed it.

Had. I have proved it.

Through perils dire, dangers most imminent,

Seven days and nights, mid rocks and wildernesses,
And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice,
Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing,
Save the far-soaring vulture comes, I dared
My desperate way, resolved to know or perish.
Tam. Rash, rash adventurer!

Had. On the highest peak

Of stormy Caucasus there blooms a spot

On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers
And verdure never die; and there he dwells.
Tam. But didst thou see him?
Had. Never did I view

Such awful majesty: his reverend locks
Hung like a silver mantle to his feet;
His raiment glistered saintly white, his brow
Rose like the gate of Paradise; his mouth
Was musical as its bright guardians' songs.
Tam. What did he tell thee? O! what wisdom
fell

From lips so hallow'd?

Had. Whether he possesses

The Tetragrammaton-the powerful name Inscribed on Moses' rod, by which he wrought Unheard-of wonders, which constrains the heavens To shower down blessings, shakes the earth, and

rules

The strongest spirits; or if God hath given A delegated power, I cannot tell.

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Vaults set with gems the purchase of a crown,
Blazing with lustre past the noontide beam,
Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking
The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth.
Tam. Unheard-of splendour!

Had. There they dwell, and muse,
And wander; beings beautiful, immortal,
Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky,
Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come,
And glow with light intense, imperishable.
Thus, in the sparry chambers of the sea
And air-pavilions, rainbow tabernacles,
They study nature's secrets, and enjoy
No poor dominion.

Tam. Are they beautiful,

And powerful far beyond the human race?

Had. Man's feeble heart cannot conceive it.
When

The sage described them, fiery eloquence
Flow'd from his lips; his bosom heaved, his eyes
Grew bright and mystical; moved by the theme,
Like one who feels a deity within.

Tam. Wondrous! What intercourse have they with men?

Had. Sometimes they deign to intermix with man, But oft with woman.

Tam. Ha! with woman?

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And MOSES, darkly.

Tam. How do they appear?

How manifest their love?

Had. Sometimes 't is spiritual, signified
By beatific dreams, or more distinct

And glorious apparition. They have stoop'd
To animate a human form, and love
Like mortals.

Tam. Frightful to be so beloved!

Who could endure the horrid thought! What makes
Thy cold hand tremble? or is 't mine
That feels so deathy?

Had. Dark imaginations haunt me
When I recall the dreadful interview.

Tam. O, tell them not: I would not hear them. Had. But why contemn a spirit's love? so high, So glorious, if he haply deign'd?

Tam. Forswear

My Maker! love a demon!

Had. No-O, no—

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Tam. I know that they were made to rule the night.

Had. Like palace lamps! Thou echoest well thy grandsire.

Woman! the stars are living, glorious,
Amazing, infinite!

Tam. Speak not so wildly.

I know them numberless, resplendent, set
As symbols of the countless, countless years
That make eternity.

Had. Eternity!

O! mighty, glorious, miserable thought!
Had ye endured like those great sufferers,
Like them, seen ages, myriad ages roll;
Could ye but look into the void abyss
With eyes experienced, unobscured by torments,
Then mightst thou name it, name it feelingly.
Tam. What ails thee, HADAD? Draw me not
so close.

Had. TAMAR! I need thy love-more than thy love

Tam. Thy cheek is wet with tears—Nay, let us "Tis late-I cannot, must not linger. [part[Breaks from him, and exit.

Had. Loved and abhorr'd! Still, still accursed! [He paces twice or thrice up and down, with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence.] O! where,

In the illimitable space, in what
Profound of untried misery, when all

His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill
With life and beauty yonder infinite,
Their radiant journey run, forever set,

Where, where, in what abyss shall I be groaning!

ARTHUR'S SOLILOQUY.*

[Exit.

HERE let me pause, and breathe a while, and wipe These servile drops from off my burning brow. Amidst these venerable trees, the air

Seems hallow'd by the breath of other times.-
Companions of my fathers! ye have mark’d
Their generations pass. Your giant arms
Shadow'd their youth, and proudly canopied
Their silver hairs, when, ripe in years and glory,
These walks they trod to meditate on heaven.
What warlike pageants have ye seen! what trains
Of captives, and what heaps of spoil! what pomp,
When the victorious chief, war's tempest o'er,
In Warkworth's bowers unbound his panoply!
What floods of splendour, bursts of jocund din,
Startled the slumbering tenants of these shades,
When night awoke the tumult of the feast,
The song of damsels, and the sweet-toned lyre!
Then, princely PERCY reigned amidst his halls,
Champion, and judge, and father of the north.
O, days of ancient grandeur! are ye gone?
Forever gone? Do these same scenes behold
His offspring here, the hireling of a foe?
O, that I knew my fate! that I could read
The destiny which Heaven has mark'd for me!

From "Percy's Masque."

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CHARLES SPRAGUE.

[Born, 1791.]

CHARLES SPRAGUE was born in Boston, on the twenty-sixth day of October, in 1791. His father, who still survives, was one of that celebrated band who, in 1773, resisted taxation by pouring the tea on board several British ships into the sea.

of the most vigorous and beautiful lyrics in the English language. The first poet of the world, the greatness of his genius, the vast variety of his scenes and characters, formed a subject well fitted for the flowing and stately measure chosen by our author, and the universal acquaintance with the writings of the immortal dramatist enables every one to judge of the merits of his composition. Though to some extent but a reproduction of the creations of SHAKSPEARE, it is such a reproduction as none but a man of genius could effect.

Mr. SPRAGUE was educated in the schools of his native city, which he left at an early period to acquire in a mercantile house a practical knowledge of trade. When he was about twenty-one years of age, he commenced the business of a merchant on his own account, and continued in it, I believe, until he was elected cashier of the Globe Bank, one of the first establishments of its kind in Massachusetts. This office he now holds, and he has from the time he accepted it discharged its duties in a faultless manner, notwithstanding the venerable opinion that a poet must be incapable of successfully transacting practical affairs. In this period he has found leisure to study the works of the greatest authors, and particularly those of the masters of English poetry, with which, proba-ings. "Curiosity" was published in Calcutta a few bly, very few contemporary writers are more familiar; and to write the admirable poems on which is based his own reputation.

The longest of Mr. SPRAGUE's poems is entitled "Curiosity." It was delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge, in August, 1829. It is in the heroic measure, and its diction is faultless. The subject was happily chosen, and admitted of a great variety of illustrations. The descriptions of the miser, the novel-reader, and the father led by curiosity to visit foreign lands, are among the finest passages in Mr. SPRAGUE'S Writ

years ago, as an original work by a British officer, with no other alterations than the omission of a few American names, and the insertion of others in their places, as ScoTT for COOPER, and CHALMERS for CHANNING; and in this form it was reprinted in London, where it was much praised in some of the critical gazettes.

The first productions of Mr. SPRAGUE which attracted much attention, were a series of brilliant prologues, the first of which was written for the Park Theatre, in New York, in 1821. Prize theatrical addresses are proverbially among the most worthless compositions in the poetic form. Their brevity and peculiar character prevents the develop-spirited passages, but it is not equal to "Curiosity"

ment in them of original conceptions and striking
ideas, and they are usually made up of common-
place thoughts and images, compounded with little
skill. Those by Mr. SPRAGUE are certainly among
the best of their kind, and some passages in them
are conceived in the true spirit of poetry. The
following lines are from the one recited at the
opening of a theatre in Philadelphia, in 1822.

"To grace the stage, the bard's careering mind
Reeks other worlds, and leaves his own behind;
He lures from air its bright, unprison'd forms,
Breaks through the tomb, and Death's dull region storms,
O'er ruin'd realms he pours creative day,
And slumbering kings his mighty voice obey.
From its damp shades the long-laid spirit walks,
And round the murderer's bed in vengeance stalks.
Poor, maniac Beauty brings her cypress wreath,-
Her smile a moonbeam on a blasted heath;
Round some cold grave she comes, sweet flowers to strew,
And, lost to Heaven, still to love is true.

Hate shuts his soul when dove-eyed Mercy pleads;
Power lifts his axe, and Truth's bold service bleeds;
Remorse drops anguish from his burning eyes,
Feels hell's eternal worm, and, shuddering, dies;
War's trophied minion, too, forsakes the dust,
Grasps his worn shield, and waves his sword of rust,
Springs to the slaughter at the trumpet's call,
Again to conquer, or again to fall."

The ode recited in the Boston theatre, at a pageant in honour of SHAKSPEARE, in 1823, is one

The poem delivered at the centennial celebration of the settlement of Boston, contains many

"The

or "The Shakspeare Ode." Its versification is
easy and various, but it is not so carefully finished
as most of Mr. SPRAGUE'S productions.
Winged Worshippers," "Lines on the Death of
M. S. C.," "The Family Meeting," "Art," and
several other short poems, evidence great skill in
the use of language, and show him to be a master
of the poetic art. They are all in good taste; they
are free from turgidness; and are pervaded by a
spirit of good sense, which is unfortunately want-
ing in much of the verse written in this age.

Mr. SPRAGUE has written, besides his poems, an essay on drunkenness, and an oration, pronounced at Boston on the fiftieth anniversary of the declaration of independence; and I believe he contributed some papers to the "New England Magazine," while it was edited by his friend J. T. BUCKINGHAM. The style of his prose is florid and much less carefully finished than that of his poetry.

He mixes but little in society, and, I have been told, was never thirty miles from his native city. His leisure hours are passed among his books; with the few "old friends, the tried, the true," who travelled with him up the steeps of manhood; or in the quiet of his own fireside. His poems show the strength of his domestic and social affections.

CURIOSITY.*

IT came from Heaven-its power archangels

knew,

When this fair globe first rounded to their view;
When the young sun reveal'd the glorious scene
Where oceans gather'd and where lands grew green;
When the dead dust in joyful myriads swarm'd,
And man, the clod, with GoD's own breath was
warm'd:

It reign'd in Eden-when that man first woke,
Its kindling influence from his eye-balls spoke;
No roving childhood, no exploring youth
Led him along, till wonder chill'd to truth;
Full-form'd at once, his subject world he trod,
And gazed upon the labours of his God;
On all, by turns, his charter'd glance was cast,
While each pleased best as each appear'd the last;
But when She came, in nature's blameless pride,
Bone of his bone, his heaven-anointed bride,
All meaner objects faded from his sight,
And sense turn'd giddy with the new delight;
Those charm'd his eye, but this entranced his soul,
Another self, queen-wonder of the whole!
Rapt at the view, in ecstasy he stood,
And, like his Maker, saw that all was good.

It reign'd in Eden-in that heavy hour
When the arch-tempter sought our mother's bower,
In thrilling charm her yielding heart assail'd,
And even o'er dread JEHOVAH's word prevail'd.
There the fair tree in fatal beauty grew,

And hung its mystic apples to her view:

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Eat," breathed the fiend, beneath his serpent guise, "Ye shall know all things; gather, and be wise!" Sweet on her ear the wily falsehood stole,

And roused the ruling passion of her soul.

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Ye shall become like GoD,"-transcendent fate! That God's command forgot, she pluck'd and ate; Ate, and her partner lured to share the crime, Whose wo, the legend saith, must live through time. For this they shrank before the Avenger's face, For this He drove them from the sacred place; For this came down the universal lot, To weep, to wander, die, and be forgot.

It came from Heaven-it reigned in Eden's shades

It roves on earth, and every walk invades:
Childhood and age alike its influence own;
It haunts the beggar's nook, the monarch's throne;
Hangs o'er the cradle, leans above the bier,
Gazed on old Babel's tower-and lingers here.

To all that's lofty, all that's low it turns,
With terror curdles and with rapture burns;
Now feels a seraph's throb, now, less than man's,
A reptile tortures and a planet scans;
Now idly joins in life's poor, passing jars,
Now shakes creation off, and soars beyond the stars.
"Tis CURIOSITY-who hath not felt
Its spirit, and before its altar knelt?
In the pleased infant see the power expand,
When first the coral fills his little hand;
Throned in its mother's lap, it dries each tear,
As her sweet legend falls upon his ear;

Delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University, in 1829.

Next it assails him in his top's strange hum,
Breathes in his whistle, echoes in his drum;
Each gilded toy, that doting love bestows,
He longs to break, and every spring expose.
Placed by your hearth, with what delight he pores
O'er the bright pages of his pictured stores;
How oft he steals upon your graver task,
Of this to tell you, and of that to ask;
And, when the waning hour to-bedward bids,
Though gentle sleep sit waiting on his lids,
How winningly he pleads to gain you o'er,
That he may read one little story more!

Nor yet alone to toys and tales confined,
It sits, dark brooding, o'er his embryo mind:
Take him between your knees, peruse his face,
While all you know, or think you know, you trace;
Tell him who spoke creation into birth,
Arch'd the broad heavens, and spread the rolling
earth;

Who formed a pathway for the obedient sun,
And bade the seasons in their circles run;
Who fill'd the air, the forest, and the flood,
And gave man all, for comfort, or for food;
Tell him they sprang at God's creating nod-
He stops you short with, "Father, who made Gon?"

Thus through life's stages may we mark the power
That masters man in every changing hour.
It tempts him from the blandishments of home,
Mountains to climb and frozen seas to roam;
By air-blown bubbles buoy'd, it bids him rise,
And hang, an atom in the vaulted skies;
Lured by its charm, he sits and learns to trace
The midnight wanderings of the orbs of space;
Boldly he knocks at wisdom's inmost gate,
With nature counsels, and communes with fate;
Below, above, o'er all he dares to rove,

In all finds GoD, and finds that God all love.

Turn to the world-its curious dwellers view, Like PAUL'S Athenians, seeking something new. Be it a bonfire's or a city's blaze,

The gibbet's victim, or the nation's gaze,
A female atheist, or a learned dog,
A monstrous pumpkin, or a mammoth hog,
A murder, or a muster, 'tis the same,
Life's follies, glories, griefs, all feed the flame.
Hark, where the martial trumpet fills the air,
How the roused multitude come round to stare;
Sport drops his ball, Toil throws his hammer by,
Thrift breaks a bargain off, to please his eye;
Up fly the windows, even fair mistress cook,
Though dinner burn, must run to take a look.
In the thronged court the ruling passions read,
Where STORY dooms, where WIRT and WEBSTER

plead;

Yet kindred minds alone their flights shall trace,
The herd press on to see a cut-throat's face.
Around the gallows' foot behold them draw,
When the lost villain answers to the law;
Soft souls, how anxious on his pangs to gloat,
When the vile cord shall tighten round his throat;
And, ah! each hard-bought stand to quit how
grieved,

As the sad rumour runs-" The man's reprieved!"
See to the church the pious myriads pour,
Squeeze through the aisles and jostle round the door,

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