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DIRGE OF ALARIC THE VISIGOTH.

And where I went the spot was cursed, Nor blade of grass again was seen Where Alaric and his hosts had been.

See how their haughty barriers fail
Beneath the terror of the Goth,
Their iron-breasted legions quail
Before my ruthless sabaoth,
And low the queen of empires kneels,
And grovels at my chariot-wheels.

Not for myself did I ascend

In judgment my triumphal car ;
'Twas God alone on high did send
The avenging Scythian to the war,
To shake abroad, with iron-hand,
The appointed scourge of his command.

With iron hand that scourge I reared

O'er guilty king and guilty realm;
Destruction was the ship I steered,

And vengeance sat upon the helm,
When, launched in fury on the flood,
I ploughed my way through seas of blood,
And, in the stream their hearts had spilt,
Washed out the long arrears of guilt.

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DIRCE OF ALARIC THE VISIGOTH.

Across the everlasting Alp

I poured the torrent of my powers,
And feeble Cæsars shrieked for help,

In vain, within their seven-hilled towers;
I quenched in blood the brightest gem
That glittered in their diadem,
And struck a darker, deeper die,
In the purple of their majesty,
And bade my northern banners shine
Upon the conquered Palatine.

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THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.

BY J. A. HILLHOUSE.

By this, the sun his westering car drove low:
Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud
Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold:
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
Turrets and towers, whose fronts, embattled, gleamed
With yellow light: smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected;

With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick
Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots
Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff,
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits
Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
The heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her crimson tint for ever drew.

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LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.

Round I gazed,

Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn,

Faded the glories of the dying day.

Mild twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud
The solitary star of evening shone.

While gazing wistful on that peerless light,
Thereafter to be seen no more, (as, oft

In dreams, strange images will mix,) sad thoughts
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing, I cried, Farewell,
Pale, beauteous planet, that displayst so soft,
Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam,
A long, a last farewell! Seasons have changed,
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away;
But thou, unaltered, beamst as silver fair
As on thy birthnight. Bright and watchful eyes,
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport. Natal star of love,
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray!
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison!

DEATH OF AN INFANT.

BY L. H. SIGOURNEY.

DEATH found strange beauty on that polished brow, And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose On cheek and lip;—he touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes There spake a wishful tenderness-a doubt

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Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence

Alone may wear. With ruthless haste, he bound
The silken fringes of those curtaining lids

For ever.

There had been a murmuring sound, With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile So fixed and holy from that cherub brow

Death gazed, and left it there;-He dared not steal The signet-ring of Heaven.

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