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SELECTIONS IN POETRY.

I. THE CORAL GROVE.

DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue
That never are wet with the falling dew,
But in bright and changeful beauty shine,
Far down in the green and glassy brine.
The floor is of sand like the mountain's drift,
And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow;
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift

Their boughs where the tides and billows flow.

The water is calm and still below,

For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air;

There, with its waving blade of green,

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter.. There, with a light and easy motion,

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean

Are bending like corn on the upland lea.

And life, in rare and beautiful forms,

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, where the wrathful spirit of storms
Has made the top of the wave his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies,
And demons are waiting the wreck on the shore,
Then, far below, in the peaceful sea,

The purple mullet and gold-fish rove:

There the waters murmur tranquilly

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove.

J. G. PERCIVAL.

II. INFELICISSIME.

I STAND upon the hoary mountains of old Time,
God's stern and sleepless sentinels, that loom
In shadowy dimness, silent and sublime,

Through bending clouds of glory and of gloom.
I see around me shapes of rare device,
Domes, minarets, and towers

Of Nature's own contriving; and soft bowers
Of interwoven branches, vines, and flowers,
Through which trip lightly the impassioned Hours.
I hear the gushing melody of birds,
The dash of dancing waters, and the deep,
Low murmurs of the winds, that creep

Into my soul, like music without words;

I stand in Paradise!

And lo! two beings, young, and beautiful
Beyond the poet's most enraptured dream,
Glide through the mazes: resting now to cull
Sweet tinted flowers that fringe a silver stream,
Or clustering fruits that in the sunlight gleam;
And all the while their voices fill the air

With swelling anthems to the Great Supreme,
And all the while, in peace, they wander there,
God-loving and beloved, without or grief or care.

The charm is broken! from a distant hill,
I see the Serpent take his subtle way,
To where, all dreamless of the coming ill,
The doomed pair in happy converse stray;
And now,
with secret art, he holds his prey,
And now enfolds them like a tongue of flame;
With charméd words he leadeth them astray,
Till, all forgetful of the Master's claim,

They do the deed of sin, and hide themselves in shame.

I read, in holy verse,

Their everlasting curse!

"Thou shalt bring forth in pain,

And live in sorrow, and toil in vain,

And thistles reap, and thorns, instead of grain,

And down thy brow shall sweat-drops roll like rain."

That curse has had no death; we are brought forth in pain,

And all the pathway of our checkered years

Is strewn with ashes and remorseful tears,

Till, in the midst of grief, we yield our breath again.

Yes! the world is full of sorrow

And dismay;

Joy lives always in to-morrow!
Pain, to-day!

Sweet phantoms rise, to cheer our bleak existence,
And lure us onward with uplifted hands;
We follow, and they fade into the distance,
As fades the mirage upon desert sands.

What boots it, that the earth makes show of joy?
That roses bloom, and trees grow green in spring,
That the soft grass springs up without annoy,
That skies are blue, and birds forever sing?
There are more weeds than flowers,
More sad than sunny hours!

And though the leaves be musical,
They all must wither soon, and fall!
And though the green grass waves,
Down under it are graves!.

And, alas! they have no souls,

Those little birds, whose melody so rolls.

What boots it, that we ring the merry laugh,
Sing the song, and crack the jest?

That we seek love, deem kisses more than chaff,
Or hold pleasure worth the quest?

And what boots it, that some glide
Through the world with little care?

And what boots it, that the bride
Is so jubilant and fair?

The pleasures that we follow,

Like our laugh, is hollow, hollow

As a bell

That now rings us to a wedding, with a chime; And now buries us in sorrow for a time,

With a knell !

And the jest seldom slips,

But it strikes a tender chord!
And a kiss was on the lips

Of the wretch who sold his Lord!
Do you sing? - the sweetest songs
Tell of sorrows and of wrongs.

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UPON a rock that, high and sheer,
Rose from the mountain's breast

A weary hunter of the deer

Had sat him down to rest,

And bared, to the soft, summer air,
His hot red brow and sweaty hair.

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