Alphonse De Lamartine.

FROM "THE DEATH OF SOCRATES."

"KNOW'ST thou the way to that invisible shore?" Said Cebes: " Hath thine eye then scanned it o'er ? "Friends, to that world my steps are drawing near, More and more clearly I its music hear,

And to behold its scenes with open eye-"

"What, must we?" Phedon said.

and die!

"Be pure

There is, somewhere in the immense expanse,
To mortals inaccessible, perchance

Far overhead beyond the arching skies,
Perchance around us, here, on earth, it lies,
Another world, a heaven, an Elysium, where
Not streams of honey glide through amber fair,
Nor virtuous souls, by God alone renewed,
Drink nectar and partake ambrosial food,
But sainted shades, immortal spirits come

To take the crown of earthly martyrdom!
Neither dark Tempé, nor the laughing height
Of Menelus, when morning's rosy light

Plays round it, and her breath with perfumes rare
Fills all the fresh, intoxicating air,

The vales of Hemus, nor the rich hill-sides
Where, with sweet murmurings, Eurotas glides,
Nor yet that land, the poets' chosen shore,

Where the charmed traveller thinks of home no more,
Not all of these can match that blest abode

Where the soul's daylight is the look of God!
Where night can never come, nor night of death,
Where in love's atmosphere the soul draws breath!
Where bodies that ne'er die, or die to live,
For finer pleasures finer senses give!"

"What! bodies ev'n in heaven? side by side,
Death ranged with life?"-"Yes, bodies glorified
By the transfiguring soul, who, to compose
These heavenly vestments, through creation goes,
Culling the flower of the elements;

All that is present in the world of sense,
The tender rays of the transparent light,
The softest tints that blend in solar white,
The sweetest scents exhaled by evening flowers,
The murmured cadences at midnight hours,
Borne by the amorous zephyr through the trees,
Or o'er the bosom of the sighing seas,
The flame that shoots in jets of blue and gold,
Crystal of streams beneath a pure sky rolled,

The purple tinge Aurora gives her sails,
When first they flutter in the morning gales,
The rays of tremulous stars that, imaged, sleep
On the calm mirror of the silent deep,
All, blended, form beneath her plastic hand
A body pliant to the soul's command,

And she who, once bound down with many a chain,
'Gainst her revolted senses warred in vain,
To-day, triumphant o'er her indolence,
Majestically rules the world of sense,
Creates new senses, pleasures, endlessly,
And plays with space, time, life, creation-free!

* He seemed to slumber in a dream's embrace. The intrepid Cebes, gazing in his face, By every art of yearning friendship tries To summon back into his fading eyes

The soul fast parting with the feeble breath,

And questions him e'en on the brink of death:

66

Sleep'st thou? Is death a slumber? Speak!" he

Amidst the shades a pure and heavenly day!"

"Hear'st thou no groans

“ Nay ;

no lamentations?"

But stars of gold that, as in heaven they flame,
Murmur in circling choir a holy name!"

"What feelest thou?"

alis

“What the young Chrys

Feels, when she bursts her coil, in freedom's bliss!
And as the light of morning greets her eyes,

The breath of morning wafts her through the skies!" "And hast thou taught us truth?

reply!..."

The soul

"Believe this smile; the soul shall never die !

"What waitest thou, that thou from earth may'st

flee?"

"A breath, as waits the ship, impatient for the

"No; leave my soul alone, in peace to soar!'

Dr. Chatfield.

MUSINGS IN THE TEMPLE OF NATURE.

MAN can build nothing worthy of his Maker,-
From royal Solomon's stupendous fane,
Down to the humble chapel of the Quaker,

All, all are vain.

The wondrous world which He himself created
Is the fit temple of creation's Lord;
There may His worship best be celebrated,

And praises poured.

Its altar, earth; its roof, the sky untainted;

Sun, moon, and stars, are lamps that give it light;

And clouds, by the celestial Artist painted,

Its pictures bright.