The beautiful white lily pillows its bright hea

Within the dell,

Within the rocky clefts they love to hide; And hang adventurous on the steep hill-side Or rugged fell,

Where the young eagle waves his wings in yo

In the green sea

Of forest leaves, where nature wanton plays, They humbler bloom; though through the ve The tulip-tree

Its golden chalice oft triumphantly displays:

And, of pure white,

Embedded mid its glossy leaves on high,
There the superb magnolia lures the eye;
While, waving light,

The locust's airy tassels scent the ambient sk

But oh! ye bowers

Ye valleys where the spring perpetual reigns, And myriad blossoms o'er the purple plains

Exuberant showers

How fancy revels in your lovelier domains!

HEBREW MELODY.

279

All love the light;

Yet, in ethereal beauty, too, arrayed,

What flowers unnumbered spring within the shade,
Till comes a blight-

Comes unaware-and then incontinent they fade!

And thus they bloom,

And thus their lives ambrosial breathe away;
Thus flourish too the lovely and the gay:

And the same doom

Youth, beauty, flower, alike consigns to swift decay.

HEBREW MELODY.

BY PROSPER M. WETMORE.

"Judah mourneth, and the gates thereof languish; they are black unto the

ground; and the cry of Jerusalem is gone up."—JEREMIAH.

Он, Judah! thy dwellings are sad

Thy children are weeping around,

In sackcloth their bosoms are clad

As they look on the famishing ground:

Bb

For the frown of Jehovah hath come,

And his anger is red in the sky!

Thy tender ones throng at the brink,
But the waters are gone from the well;
They gaze on the rock, and then think

Of the gush of the stream from its cell-
How they came to its margin before,
And drank in their innocent mirth:
Away! it is sealed-and no more
Shall the fountain give freshness to eart

The hearts of the mighty are bowed,
And the lowly are haggard with care—
The voices of mothers are loud,

As they shriek the wild note of despair. Oh, Jerusalem! mourn through thy halls, And bend to the dust in thy shame; The doom that thy spirit appals,

Is famine-the sword-and the flame!

SEE how yon flaming herald treads
The ridged and rolling waves,
As crashing o'er their crested heads,
She bows her surly slaves!
With foam before and fire behind,

She rends the clinging sea,
That flies before the roaring wind,
Beneath her hissing lee.

Bb

282

THE STEAMBOAT.

The morning spray, like sea-born flowers,
With heaped and glistening bells

Falls round her fast, in ringing showers,

With every wave that swells;

And flaming o'er the midnight deep,

In lurid fringes thrown,

The living gems of ocean sweep

Along her flashing zone.

With clashing wheel, and lifting keel,

And smoking torch on high,

When winds are loud, and billows reel,

She thunders foaming by!

When seas are silent and serene,

With even beam she glides,

The sunshine glimmering through the green

That skirts her gleaming sides.

Now, like a wild nymph, far apart
She veils her shadowy form,
The beating of her restless heart
Still sounding through the storm;
Now answers, like a courtly dame,
The reddening surges o'er,
With flying scarf of spangled flame,
The Pharos of the shore.