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I've seen thee in thy glory stand while all around was hush'd,

And seraph wisdom from thy lips, in tones of music gush'd;

For thou with willing hand didst lay at joyous morning's hour,

Down at the feet of Him who gave, thy beauty and thy power,

Thou for the helpless sous of woe didst plead with words of flame,

And boldly strike the rocky heart, in thy Redeemer's name.

And lo! that withering race who fade as dew 'neath Summer's ray,

Who like the rootless weed are toss'd from their own earth away,

Who trusted to a nation's vow, but found that faith was vain,

And to their fathers' sepulchres return no more again,

They need thy blended eloquence of lip and eye and brow,

They need the righteous as a shield,-why art thou absent now?

Long shall thine image freshly dwell beside their

ancient streams,

Or mid their wanderings far and wide shall gild

their alien dreams,

For Heaven to their sequester'd haunts thine early steps did guide,

And the Cherokee hath blest thy prayer, his cabin-hearth beside,

The Osage orphan meekly breath'd her sorrows to thine ear, And the lofty warrior knelt him down with strange, repentant tear.

see a consecrated throng of youthful watchmen rise,

Still girding on for Zion's sake, their heavenwrought panoplies ;

These in their solitudes obscure thy generous ardor sought,

And gathering with a tireless hand up to the temple brought!

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NO. 1.

These, when the altar of their God they serve with hallow'd zeal,

Shall wear thy memory on their heart, an everlasting seal.

I hear a voice of wailing, from the islands of the


Salvation's distant heralds mourn on the heatben shores for thee,

Thy constant love like Gilead's balm refresh'd their weary mind,

And with the holy EVARTS' name, thine own was strongly twin'd;

But thou from their astonish'd gaze hast like a vision fled,

Just wrapt his mantle round thy breast, then join'd him with the dead.

Farewell! we yield thee to the grave with many

a bitter tear,

Though 'twas not meet a soul like thine should longer tarry here;

Fond clustering hopes have sunk with thee that earth can ne'er restore;

Love casts a garland on thy turf that may not bros.

som more;

But thou art where the dream of Hope doth in fruition fade,

And love immortal and refined, glow on without a shade. L. H. S.

Hartford, February 12th, 1832.

From the New York Observer.


Messrs Editors,-In compliance with your request, I herewith send you so much of the account of my visit to the Isle of Wight, as relates chiefly to the "Tracts" written by the Rev. Legh Richmond, the scenes of which are laid in that enchanting spot. It is but a part of a letter, hastily written to my family, I ought to add, that I had not read the "Dairyman's Daughter" for a number of years before writing the letter, nor had I at that time seen the interesting description of a tour to the Isle of Wight, by the Rev.

Dr. Milnor.

Yours truly. Park Place, Feb. 9, 1832.



On the fourth of July, (1831,) we left Bath and proceeded on our way to Southampton---distance about sixty iniles. passed through a highly cultivated and delightful country, but not through many populous towns. Salisbury, the capital of the county of Wiltshire, contains about ten thousand inhabitants. It is midway between Bath and Southampton, situated upon a dead level, laid out with much regularity, and

My travelling companions were Mrs. S*****, of New York, the Rev. Mr. Green of Boston, and Professor Hovey, of Amherst College.

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