which forms the third canto of the poem, I have quoted. A drop of the elixir is obtained, and lost on the return of the spirits to the upper air, in a tempest raised by LUCIFER. Finally, HELON, who weds EGLA, puts ZOPHIEL to flight, and in the deserts of Ethiopia, the fallen angel is visited by RAPHAEL, who gives him hopes of restoration to his original rank in Heaven.

Since the appearance of "Zophiel," Mrs. BROOKS has published but little. It is understood, however, that she has written an epic poem, of which CoLUMBUS is the hero, that will soon be given to the world. Her appreciation of the sublime in sentiment, and the noble and daring in action, qualify her well to delineate the character of the great discoverer. She recently resided several years in the vicinity of the Military Academy at West

Point, where one of her sons, now an officer in the United States army, was educated; but she has since returned to the island of Cuba.

Mrs. BROOKS is the only American poet of her sex whose mind is thoroughly educated. She is familiar with the literature of Greece, Rome, and the oriental nations, and with the languages and letters of southern Europe. Learning, brilliant imagination, and masculine boldness of thought and diction, are characteristics of her works. In some of her descriptions she is, perha ps, too minute; and at times, by her efforts to condense, she becomes obscure. The stanza of "Zophiel" will probably never be very popular; and though the poem may, to use the language of Mr. SOUTHEY, have a permanent place in the literature of our language, it will never be generally admired.

PALACE OF GNOMES.*

"T is now the hour of mirth, the hour of love,
The hour of melancholy: night, as vain
Of her full beauty, seems to pause above,
That all may look upon her ere it wane.
The heavenly angel watch'd his subject star,

O'er all that's good and fair benignly smiling; The sighs of wounded love he hears, from far, Weeps that he cannot heal, and wafts a hope beguiling.

The nether earth looks beauteous as a gem;

High o'er her groves in floods of moonlight laving, The towering palin displays his silver stem, The while his plumy leaves scarce in the breeze are waving.

The nightingale among his roses sleeps ;

The soft-eyed doe in thicket deep is sleeping; The dark-green myrrh her tears of fragrance weeps, And every odorous spike in limpid dew is steeping. Proud, prickly cerea, now thy blossom 'scapes

Its cell; brief cup of light; and seems to say, "I am not for gross mortals: blood of grapesAnd sleep for them. Come, spirits, while ye may !" A silent stream winds darkly through the shade, And slowly gains the Tigris, where 't is lost; By a forgotten prince, of old, 't was made,

And in its course full many a fragment cross'd Of marble, fairly carved; and by its side

Her golden dust the flaunting lotos threw O'er her white sisters, throned upon the tide, And queen of every flower that loves perpetual

dew.

Gold-sprinkling lotos, theme of many a song,
By slender Indian warbled to his fair!
Still tastes the stream thy rosy kiss, though long
Has been but dust the hand that placed thee

there.

The little temple where its relics rest

Long since has fallen; its broken columns lie Beneath the lucid wave, and give its breast A whiten'd glimmer as 't is stealing by.

The third canto of Zophiel.

Here, cerea, too, thy clasping mazes twine
The only pillar time has left erect;
Thy serpent arms embrace it, as 't were thine,
And roughly mock the beam it should reflect.
An ancient prince, in happy madness blest,
Was wont to wander to this spot, and deem'd
A water-nymph came to him, and caress'd,
And loved him well; haply he only dream'd;
But on the spot a little dome arose,

And flowers were set, that still in wildness bloom; And the cold ashes that were him, repose,

It is a place so strangely wild and sweet,
Carefully shrined in this lone ivory tomb.

That spirits love to come; and now, upon
A moonlight fragment, ZOPHIEL chose his seat,
In converse with the soft PHRAERION;
Who on the moss beside him lies reclining,
O'erstrewn with leaves, from full-blown roses
shaken,

By nightingales, that on their branches twining,
The live-long night to love and music waken.
PHRAERION, gentle sprite! nor force nor fire
He had to wake in others doubt or fear:
He'd hear a tale of bliss, and not aspire
To taste himself: 't was meet for his compeer.
No soul-creative in this being born,

Its restless, daring, fond aspirings hid:
Within the vortex of rebellion drawn,

He join'd the shining ranks as others did. Success but little had advanced; defeat

He thought so little, scarce to him were worse; And, as he held in heaven inferior seat,

Less was his bliss, and lighter was his curse.
He form'd no plans for happiness: content
To curl the tendril, fold the bud; his pain
So light, he scarcely felt his banishment.

ZOPHIEL, perchance, had held him in disdain; But, form'd for friendship, from his o'erfraught soul "T was such relief his burning thoughts to pour In other ears, that oft the strong control

Of pride he felt them burst, and could restrain

no more.

ZOPHIEL was soft, but yet all flame; by turns Love, grief, remorse, shame, pity, jealousy,

Each boundless in his breast, impels or burns:

His joy was bliss, his pain was agony. And mild PHRAERION was of heaven, and there Nothing imperfect in its kind can be: There every form is fresh, soft, bright, and fair, Yet differing each, with that variety, Not least of miracles, which here we trace:

And wonder and admire the cause that form'd So like, and yet so different, every face,

Though of the self-same clay, by the same process warm'd.

"Order is heaven's first law." But that obey'd, The planets fix'd, the Eternal mind at leisure, A vast profusion spread o'er all it made,

As if in endless change were found eternal pleasure.

Harmless PHRAERION, form'd to dwell on high,
Retain'd the looks that had been his above;
And his harmonious lip, and sweet, blue eye,
Soothed the fallen seraph's heart, and changed
his scorn to love;

Who, when he saw him in some garden pleasant,
Happy, because too little thought had he
To place in contrast past delight with present,
Had given his soul of fire for that inanity.
But, O in him the Eternal had infused

The restless soul that doth itself devour,
Unless it can create; and fallen, misused,

But forms the vast design to mourn the feeble power.

In plenitude of love, the Power benign

Nearer itself some beings fain would lift; To share its joys, assist its vast design

With high intelligence; O, dangerous gift! Superior passion, knowledge, force, and fire, The glorious creatures took; but each the slave Of his own strength, soon burn'd with wild desire, And basely turn'd it 'gainst the hand that gave.

But ZOPHIEL, fallen sufferer, now no more Thought of the past; the aspiring voice was mute, That urged him on to meet his doom before,

And all dissolved to love each varied attribute. "Come, my PARAERION, give me an embrace," He said. "I hope a respite of repose, Like that respiring from thy sunny face;

Even the peace thy guileless bosom knows. Rememberest thou that cave of Tigris, where

We went with fruits and flowers, and meteor light, And the fair creature, on the damp rock, there Shivering and trembling so? Ah! well she might!

False were my words, infernal my intent,

Then, as I knelt before her feet, and sued; Yet still she blooms, uninjured, innocent, Though now, for seven long months, by ZOPHIEL watch'd and woo'd.

Gentle PHRAERION, 't is for her I crave

Assistance: what I could have blighted then, "T is now my only care to guard and save; Companion, then, my airy flight again. Conduct me to those hoards of sweets and dews, Treasured in haunts to all but thee unknown, For favourite sprites: teach me their power and use, And whatsoe'er thou wilt of ZOPHIEL, be it done!

Throughout fair Ecbatane the deeds I've wrought
Have cast such dread, that, of all SARDIUS' train,
I doubt if there be one, from tent or court,
Who'll try what 't is to thwart a spirit's love
again.

My EGLA, left in her acacia grove,

Has learnt to lay aside that piteous fear That sorrow'd thee; and I but live to prove A love for her as harmless as sincere. Inspirer of the arts of Greece, I charm

Her ears with songs she never heard before; And many an hour of thoughtfulness disarm With stories cull'd from that vague, wondrous lore,

But seldom told to mortals:-arts on gems
Inscribed that still exist; but hidden so

From fear of those who told that diadems
Have pass'd from brows that vainly ached to
know:

Nor glimpse had mortal, save that those fair things
Loved, ages past, like her I now adore,
Caught from their angels some low whisperings,
Then told of them to such as dared not tell them

more;

But toil'd in lonely nooks, far from the eye

Of shuddering, longing men; then, buried deep, Till distant ages bade their secrets lie,

In hopes that time might tell what their dread oaths must keep.

EGLA looks on me doubtful, but amused;

Admires, but, trembling, dares not bid me stay; Yet, hour by hour, her timid heart, more used,

Grows to my sight and words; and when a day I leave her, for my needful cares, at leisure, To muse upon and feel her lonely state; At my returning, though restrain'd her pleasure, There needs no spirit's eye to see she does not hate.

Oft have I look'd in mortal hearts, to know

How love, by slow advances, knows to twine Each fibre with his wreaths; then overthrow

At once each stern resolve. The maiden's mine! Yet I have never press'd her ermine hand,

Nor touch'd the living coral of her lip; Though, listening to its tones, so sweet, so bland, I've thought-O, impious thought!-who form'd

might sip!

Most impious thought! Soul, I would rein thee in,

E'en as the quick-eyed Parthian quells his steeds; But thou wilt start, and rise, and plunge in sin, Till gratitude weeps out, and wounded reason bleeds!

Soul, what a mystery thou art! not one

Admires, or loves, or worships virtue more Than I; but passion hurls me on, till torn

By keen remorse, I cool, to curse me and deplore. But to my theme. Now, in the stilly night, I hover o'er her fragrant couch, and sprinkle Sweet dews about her, as she slumbers light, Dews sought, with toil, beneath the pale star's twinkle,

From plants of secret virtue. All for lust

Too high and pure my bliss; her gentle breath I hear, inhale, then weep; (for, O, she must: That form is mortal, and must sleep in death.)

And oft, when nature pants, and the thick air,
Charged with foul particles, weighs sluggish o'er,
I breathe them all; that deep disgust I bear,
To leave a fluid pure and sane for her.
How dear is this employ! how innocent!

My soul's wild elements forbear their strife;
While, on these harmless cares, pleased and intent,
I hope to save her beauty and her life,
For many a rapturous year. But mortal ne'er
Shall hold her to his heart; to me confined,
Her soul must glow; nor ever shall she bear

That mortal fruit for which her form's design'd. No grosser blood, commingling with her own,

Shall ever make her mother. O, that mild, Sad glance I love-that lip-that melting tone, Shall ne'er be given to any mortal's child. But only for her spirit shall she live:

Unsoil'd by earth, fresh, chaste, and innocent! And all a spirit dares or can I'll give;

And sure I thus can make her far more blest, Framed as she is, than mortal love could do;

For more than mortal's to this creature given, She's spirit more than half; her beauty's hue Is of the sky, and speaks my native heaven. But the night wanes; while all is bright above," He said, and round PHRAERION, nearer drawn, One beauteous arm he flung, "first to my love; We'll see her safe; then to our task till dawn."

"Tis often thus with spirits: when retired

Afar from haunts of men; so they delight To move in their own beauteous forms attired; Though like thin shades, or air, they mock dull mortals' sight.

Well pleased, PHRAERION answer'd that embrace; All balmy he with thousand breathing sweets, From thousand dewy flowers. "But, to what place," He said, "will ZOPHIEL go? who danger greets As if 't were peace. The palace of the gnome,*

TAHATHYAM, for our purpose most were meet; But then, the wave, so cold and fierce, the gloom, The whirlpools, rocks, that guard that deep retreat. Yet, there are fountains, which no sunny ray

E'er danced upon, and drops come there at last, Which, for whole ages, filtering all the way, Through all the veins of earth, in winding maze

have past.

These take from mortal beauty every stain,
And smooth the unseemly lines of age and pain,
With every wondrous efficacy rife;
Nay, once a spirit whisper'd of a draught,
Of which a drop, by any mortal quaff'd,
Would save, for terms of years, his feeble,
flickering life."

"A spirit told thee it would save from death

The being who should taste that drop. Is't so? O! dear PHRAERION, for another breath

We have not time! come, follow me! we'll go And take one look, then guide me to the track Of the gnome's palace; there is not a blast

* In respect to the birth of TAHATHYAM and his court, I have followed the opinion of TERTULLIAN and others. The beings, however, which are described in the text, can only be called gnomes, from their residence in the earth, and their knowledge of mineralogy and gems.

To stir the sea-flower! we will go and back Ere morn,-nay, come!--the night is wasting fast."

"My friend, O, ZOPHIEL! only once I went, Then, though bold ANTREON bore me, such the pain,

I came back to the air so rack'd and spent,

That for a whole sweet moon I had no joy again. What sayst thou, back at morn ?—the night, a day, And half the night that follows it, alas! Were time too little for that fearful way;

66

And then such depths, such caverns we must pass"

Nothing, beloved PHRAERION, I know how To brave such risks; and first the path will break, As oft I've done in water depths; and thou Needst only follow through the way I make."

The soft flower-spirit shudder'd, look'd on high, And from his bolder brother would have fled; But then the anger kindling in that eye

He could not bear. So to fair EGLA's bed Follow'd and look'd; then shuddering all with dread, To wondrous realms, unknown to men, he led; Continuing long in sunset course his flight,

Until for flowery Sicily he bent;

Then, where Italia smiled upon the night, Between their nearest shores chose midway his descent.*

The sea was calm, and the reflected moon

Still trembled on its surface; not a breath Curl'd the broad mirror. Night had pass'd her noon; How soft the air! how cold the depths beneath! The spirits hover o'er that surface smooth, ZOPHIEL'S white arm around PHRAERION'S twined,

In fond caress, his tender cares to soothe,

While either's nearer wing the other's cross'd behind.

Well pleased, PHRAERION half forgot his dread,
And first, with foot as white as lotos leaf,
The sleepy surface of the waves essayed;
But then his smile of love gave place to drops

of grief.

How could be for that fluid, dense and chill,

Change the sweet floods of air they floated on? E'en at the touch his shrinking fibres thrill;

But ardent ZoOPHIEL, panting, hurries on; And (catching his mild brother's tears, with lip

That whisper'd courage 'twixt each glowing kiss,) Persuades to plunge: limbs, wings, and locks they dip;

Whate'er the other's pains, the lover felt but bliss. Quickly he draws PHRAERION on, his toil

Even lighter than he hoped: some power benign Seems to restrain the surges, while they boil Mid crags and caverns, as of his design Respectful. That black, bitter element, As if obedient to his wish, gave way; So, comforting PHRAERION, on he went, And a high, craggy arch they reach at dawn of

[day,

*Not far from the scene of Vulcan's labours; yet the regions sought by these spirits must have been very much deeper.

Upon the upper world; and forced them through That arch, the thick, cold floods, with such a roar, That the bold sprite receded; and would view

The cave before he ventured to explore. Then, fearful lest his frighted guide might part And not be miss'd, amid such strife and din, He strain'd him closer to his burning heart,

And, trusting to his strength, rush'd fiercely in. On, on, for many a weary mile they fare;

Till thinner grew the floods, long, dark, and dense, From nearness to earth's core; and now, a glare Of grateful light relieved their piercing sense; As when, above, the sun his genial streams

Of warmth and light darts mingling with the

waves,

Whole fathoms down; while, amorous of his beams,

Each scaly monstrous thing leaps from its slimy And now, PHRAERION, with a tender cry, [caves. Far sweeter than the land-bird's note, afar Heard through the azure arches of the sky,

By the long-baffled, storm-worn mariner:

Hold, ZOPHIEL! rest thee now: our task is done, TAHATHYAM's realms alone can give this light! O! though 't is not the life-awakening sun,

How sweet to see it break upon such fearful night!"

Clear grew the wave, and thin; a substance white,

The wide-expanding cavern floors and flanks; Could one have look'd from high how fair the sight! Like these, the dolphin, on Bahaman banks, Cleaves the warm fluid, in his rainbow tints,

While even his shadow on the sands below

Is seen; as through the wave he glides, and glints, Where lies the polish'd shell, and branching

corals grow.

No massive gate impedes; the wave, in vain,
Might strive against the air to break or fall;
And, at the portal of that strange domain,

A clear, bright curtain seem'd, or crystal wall. The spirits pass its bounds, but would not far

Tread its slant pavement, like unbidden guest; The while, on either side, a bower of spar

Gave invitation for a moment's rest.
And, deep in either bower, a little throne
Look'd so fantastic, it were hard to know

If busy nature fashion'd it alone,

Or found some curious artist here below. Soon spoke РHRAERION: "Come, TAHATHYAM,

come,

Thou know'st me well! I saw thee once to love; And bring a guest to view thy sparkling dome Who comes full fraught with tidings from above." Those gentle tones, angelically clear,

Past from his lips, in mazy depths retreating, (As if that bower had been the cavern's ear,) Full many a stadia far; and kept repeating, As through the perforated rock they pass,

Echo to echo guiding them; their tone (As just from the sweet spirit's lip) at last TAHATHYAM heard; where, on a glittering throne He solitary sat. "Twas many a year

Ere such delightful, grateful sound had blest His pleasured sense; and with a starting tear, Half joy, half grief, he rose to greet his guest.

First sending through the rock an answering strain
To give both spirits welcome, where they wait,
And bid them haste; for he might strive in vain
Half-mortal as he was, to reach that gate
For many a day. But in the bower they hear
His bidding; and, from cumbrous matter free,
Arose; and to his princely home came near
With such spiritual strange velocity,
They met him, just as by his palace door
The gnome appear'd, with all his band, elate
In the display of his resplendent store,

To such as knew his father's high estate.
His sire, a seraph, framed to dwell above,

Had lightly left his pure and blissful home To taste the blandishments of mortal love; And from that lowly union sprang the gnome, TAHATHYAM, first of his compeers, and best, He look'd like heaven, fair semi-earthly thing! The rest were born of many a maid carest After his birth, and chose him for their king. He sat upon a car, (and the large pearl

Once cradled in it glimmer'd, now, without) Bound midway on two serpents' backs, that curl In silent swiftness as he glides about. A shell, 't was first in liquid amber wet;

Then ere the fragrant cement harden'd round, All o'er with large and precious stones 'twas set By skilful TSAVAVEN,* or made or found. The reins seem'd pliant crystal (but their strength Had match'd his earthly mother's silken band;)† And, fleck'd with rubies, flow'd in ample length, Like sparkles o'er TAHATHYAM's beauteous hand. The reptiles, in their fearful beauty, drew

As if from love, like steeds of Araby; Like blood of lady's lip their scarlet hue; Their scales so bright and sleek, 't was pleasure but to see.

With open mouths, as proud to show the bit, They raise their heads, and arch their necks

(with eye

As bright as if with meteor fire 't were lit;) And dart their barbed tongues, 'twixt fangs of ivory.

These, when the quick-advancing sprites they saw Furl their swift wings, and tread with angel grace The smooth fair pavement, check'd their speed in

awe,

And glided far aside as if to give them space. TAHATHYAM, lighted with a pleasing pride,

And in like guise, to meet the strangers bent His courteous steps; the while on either side

Fierce AISHALAT and PSHAAMAYIM went. Bright RAMAOUR follow'd on, in order meet;

Then NAHALCOUL and ZOTZARAVEN, best Beloved, save ROUAMASAK of perfume sweet; Then TALHAZAK and MARMORAK; the rest A crowd of various use and properties,

Arranged to meet their monarch's wishes, vie In seemly show to please the stranger's eyes, And show what could be wrought without or soil or sky.

*TSAVAVEN signifies tint-gem.

It has been said that an art once existed of composing a substance which, together with a perfect pliancy, had the colour and transparency of glass or crystal.

And ZOPHIEL, though a spirit, ne'er had seen
The like before; and, for he had to ask

A boon, almost as dear as heaven, his mien
Was softness all; but 't was a painful task
To his impatience thus the time to wait

Due to such welcome: all his soul possest With thoughts of her he'd left in lonely state, Unguarded, how he burnt to proffer his request! The fond PHRAERION look'd on him, and knew How much it pain'd him here below to stay; So towards the princely gnome he gently drew To tell what purpose brought them down from day;

And said, "O! king, this humble offering take;

How hard the task to bring I need not tell; Receive the poor, poor gift, for friendship's sake!" TARATHYAM took a yellow asphodel,

A deep-blue lotus, and a full moss-rose,

And then spoke out, "My TALHALAK, come hither, [glows; Look at these flowers, cropt where the sun-beam Crust them with diamond, never let them wither!"

Then, soon, PHRAERION: "Monarch, if 't is truth, Thou hast (and that 't is false sweet powers forfend!)

A draught whose power perpetuates life and youth, Wilt thou bestow one drop upon my friend?” Then ZOPHIEL could no more withhold, but knelt And said, "O! sovereign! happier far than I! Born as thou wert, and in earth's entrails pent, Though once I shared thy father's bliss on high. One only draught! and if its power I prove,

By thy sweet mother, to an angel dear, Whate'er thou wilt, of all the world above, Down to these nether realms I'll bring thee every year.

Thy tributary slave, I'll scorn the pain,

Though storms and rocks my feeling substance TAHATHYAM, let me not implore in vain, [tear! Give me the draught, and save me from despair!"

TAHATHYAM paused; as if the bold request

He liked not to refuse, nor wish'd to grant; Then, (after much revolving in his breast,)

"What of this cup can an immortal want? My angel sire, for many a year, endured

The vilest toils, deep hidden in the ground,
To mix this drink; nor was 't at last procured
Till all he fear'd had happ'd: Death's sleep pro-
found

Seized my fair mother. I had shared her doom:
Mortal, like her he held than heaven more dear;
But, by his chymic arts, he robb'd the tomb
And fixed my solitary being here;
As if to hide from the Life-giver's eye,

Of his presumptuous task, untried before
The prized success, bidding the secret lie

For ever here; I never saw him more, When this was done. Yet what avails to live, From age to age, thus hidden 'neath the wave? Nor life nor being have I power to give,

And here, alas! are no more lives to save! For my loved father's sight in vain I pine! Where is the bright CEPHRONIEL? Spirit, tell

But how he fares, and what thou ask'st is thine!" Fair hope from ZOPHIEL's look that moment fell. The anxious gnome observed; and soon bethought How far his exile limited his will;

And half divining why he so besought

Gift, worthless, save to man, continued still His speech:- Thou askest much: should I impart, Spirit, to thee, what my great father fain Would hide from Heaven? and what with all his art Even the second power desires in vain? All long but cannot touch: a sword of flame Guards the life-fruit once seen. Yet, spirit, know There is a service,-do what I shall name,

And let the danger threaten,-I'll bestow. But first partake our humble banquet, spread Within these rude walls, and repose awhile;"He said, and to the sparry portal led

And usher'd his fair guest with hospitable smile.

High towered the palace and its massive pile,
Made dubious as if of nature or of art,
So wild and so uncouth; yet, all the while,
Shaped to strange grace in every varying part.
And groves adorn'd it, green in hue, and bright,
As icicles about a laurel-tree;

And danced about their twigs a wonderous light;
Whence came that light so far beneath the sea?
ZOPHIEL looked up to know, and to his view

The vault scarce seem'd less vast than that of No rocky roof was seen; a tender blue [day; Appear'd, as of the sky, and clouds about it play : And, in the midst, an orb looked as 't were meant To shame the sun, it mimick'd him so well. But ah! no quickening, grateful warmth it sent; Cold as the rock beneath, the paly radiance fell. Within, from thousand lamps the lustre strays,

Reflected back from gems about the wall; And from twelve dolphin shapes a fountain plays, Just in the centre of a spacious hall; But whether in the sunbeam form'd to sport, These shapes once lived in supleness and pride, And then, to decorate this wonderous court, Were stolen from the waves and petrified; Or, moulded by some imitative gnome,

And scaled all o'er with gems, they were but stone, Casting their showers and rainbows 'neath the dome, To man or angel's eye might not be known. No snowy fleece in these sad realms was found, Nor silken ball by maiden loved so well; But ranged in lightest garniture around,

In seemly folds, a shining tapestry fell. And fibres of asbestos, bleached in fire, [fleck'd, And all with pearls and sparkling gems o'erOf that strange court composed the rich attire, And such the cold, fair form of sad TAHATHYAM deck'd.

Of marble white the table they surround,

And reddest coral deck'd each curious couch, Which softly yielding to their forms was found, And of a surface smooth and wooing to the touch. Of sunny gold and silver, like the moon,

Here was no lack; but if the veins of earth, Torn open by man's weaker race, so soon Supplied the alluring hoard, or here had birth