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If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, | Thou wilt hear nothing till the JudgmentThe nature of thy private life unfold :
morning, A heart has throbbed beneath thy leathern When the great trump shall thrill'thee breast,
with its warning. And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled;
Why should this worthless tegument enHave children climbed those knees, and
dure, kissed that face?
If its undying guest be lost for ever? What was thy name and station, age and oh, let us keep the soul embalmed and race?
In living virtue; that, when both must Statue of flesh! Immortal of the dead !
sever, Imperishable type of evanescence ! Although corruption may our frame conPosthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow
The immortal spirit in the skies may And standest undecayed within our pre
bloom! sence !
THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. 'Twas morn-the rising splendour rolled Take back the answer to your band ;On marble towers and roofs of gold; Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand ; Hall, court, and gallery below,
Go, vilest of the living vile, Were crowded with a living flow;
To build the never-ending pile, Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there,
Till, darkest of the nameless dead, The bearers of the bow and spear ;
The vulture on their flesh is fed.
What better asks the howling slave
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears. There came a man-the human tide
' King! thou and thine are doomed !Shrank backward from his stately stride :
Behold!” His cheek with storm and time was tanned; The prophet spoke—the thunder rolled ! A shepherd's staff was in his hand.
Along the pathway of the sun A shudder of instinctive fear
Sailed vapoury mountains, wild and dun. Told the dark king what step was near : 'Yet there is time,” the prophet said: On through the host the stranger came- He raised his staff—the storm was stayed. It parted round his form like flame. “King ! be the word of freedom given :
What art thou, man, to war with Heaven?” He stooped not at the footstool stone, He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne; There came no word—the thunder broke ! Erect he stood amid the ring,
Like a huge city's final smoke, His only words--“Be just, О king !" Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame, On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high, Through court and hall the vapours A fire was in his sullen eye;
came. Yet on the chief of Israel
Loose as the stubble in the field, No arrow of his thousands fell :
Wide flew the men of spear and shield ; All mute and moveless as the grave Scattered like foam along the wave, Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave;
Or, in the chains of terror bound, Thou'rt come,” at length the monarch Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering spoke ;
ground. Haughty and high the words outbroke: "Speak, king !-the wrath is but begun : “ Is Israel weary of its lair,
Still dumb?—then, Heaven, thy will be The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare?
Echoed from Earth a hollow roar,
A thousand ships were on the wave-
The riches of Earth's richest zone,
And, lo ! that first fierce triumph o'er,
Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore; Still swelled the plague--the flame grew Still onward, onward, dark and wide, pale ;
Engulfs the land the furious tide! Burst from the clouds the charge of hail ; Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king, With arrowy keenness, iron weight, Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting; Down poured the ministers of fate; Humbled before the prophet's knee, Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed, He groaned, “Be injured Israel free !" Covered with death the boundless field.
To heaven the sage upraised his wand ; Still swelled the plague—uprose the blast, Back rolled the deluge from the land ; The avenger, fit to be the last;
Back to its caverns sank the gale; On ocean, river, forest, vale,
Fled from the noon the vapours pale ; Thundered at once the mighty gale. Broad burned again the joyous sun : Before the whirlwind flew the tree,
The hour of wrath and death was Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea;
PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA.
'Mid blazing helms, and bucklers rough On earth's last margin throng the weeping with gold,
train; Saw ye how swift the scythèd chariots Their cloudy guide moves on :- And rolled?
must we swim the main ?" Lo, these are they whom, lords of Afric's 'Mid the light spray their snorting camels fates,
stood, Old Thebes hath poured through all her Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood. hundred gates,
He comes--their leader comes! The man Mother of armies ! How the emeralds
of God glowed,
O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod, Where, flushed with
vengeance, And onward treads. The circling waves Pharaoh rode!
In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy Why swell these shouts that rend the de
feet; sert's gloom?
And the chased surges, inly roaring, Whom come ye forth to combat ?--war
show riors, whom?
The hard wet sand and coral hills below. These flocks and herds - this faint and weary train,
With limbs that falter, and with hearts Red from the scourge, and recent from the
that swell, chain?
Down, down they pass—a steep and slipGod of the poor, the poor and friendless
pery dell; save!
Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurled, Giver and Lord of freedom, help the The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world; slave!
And flowers that blush beneath the ocean North, south, and west, the sandy whirl
green, winds fly,
And caves, the sea-calves' low-roofed haunt, The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry.
Down, safely down the narrow pass they | And strange and sad the whispering breezes tread;
bore The beetling waters storm above their The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.
head; While far behind retires the sinking day, Oh! welcome came the morn, where Aud fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.
In trustless wonder by the avenging flood ! Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn, to Or dark to them or cheerless came the
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below! Still in their van, along that dreadful road, The mangled limbs of men—the broken Blazed broad and fierce the brandished
car torch of God.
A few sad relics of a nation's war;Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave Alas, how few! Then, soft as Elim's well, On the long mirror of the rosy wave; The precious tears of new-born freedom fell. While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply, And he, whose hardened heart alike had Warm every cheek, and dance in every
The house of bondage and the oppressor's To them alone_for Misraim's wizard train
scorn, Invoke for light their monster-gods in The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams vain;
subdued, Clouds heaped on clouds their struggling In faltering accents sobbed his gratitude, sight confine,
Till, kindling into warmer zeal, around And tenfold darkness broods above their The virgin timbrel waked its silver line.
sound; Yet on they fare, by reckless vengeance And in fierce joy, no more by doubt supled,
pressed, And range unconscious through the ocean's The struggling spirit throbbed in Miriam's bed;
breast. Till, midway now, that strange and fiery She, with bare arms, and fixing on the form
sky Showed His dread visage lightening through The dark transparence of her lucid eye, the storm;
Poured on the winds of heaven her wild With withering splendour blasted all their sweet harmony. might,
Where now," she sang, the tall Egyptian And brake their chariot wheels, and marred spear? their coursers' flight.
On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot, 'Fly, Misraim, fiy!” The ravenous floods
where they see;
Above their ranks the whelming waters And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity!
spread! "Fly, Misraim, fly!” From Edom's coral Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumstrand
phèd !” Again the prophet stretched his dreadful And every pause between, as Miriam wand.
Sang, With one wild crash the thundering waters From tribe to tribe the martial thunder sweep,
rang, And all is waves—a dark and lonely deep! And loud and far their stormy chorus Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs spreadpassed,
“Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumAs mortal wailing swelled the nightly blast;
SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark | Praise to the Conqueror! praise to the sea!
Lord! Jehovah has triumphed—His people are His word was our arrow, his breath was free!
our sword! Sing for the pride of the tyrant is broken: Who shall return to tell Egypt the story His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid Of those she sent forth in the hour of and brave,
her pride? How vain was their boasting!—the Lord For the Lord hath looked out from his hath but spoken,
pillar of glory, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in And all her brave thousands are dashed the wave!
in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
sea! Jehovah has triumphed--His people are Jehovah has triumphed-His people are free!
THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.
'Tis an old story now, that Battle of the Nile; but a brave story can never die of age.
The Bay is wide, but dangerous from shoals: the line of deep blue water, and the old castle of Aboukir, map out the position of the French fleet on the 1st of August, 1798. Having landed Buonaparte and his army, Brueys, the French Admiral, lay moored in the form of a crescent close along the shore. His vastly superior force, and the strength of his position (protected towards the northward by dangerous shoals, and towards the westward by the castle and batteries), made him consider that position impregnable; and, on the strength of this conviction, he wrote to Paris that Nelson had purposely avoided him. Was he undeceived, when Hood, in the Zealous, made signal that the enemy was in sight, and a cheer of triumph burst from every ship in the British fleet? —that fleet which had been sweeping the seas with bursting sails for six long weeks in search of its formidable foe, and now bore down
upon him with fearless exultation. The soundings of that dangerous bay were unknown to Nelson; but he knew that where there was room for a French ship to swing, there must be room for an Englishman to anchor at either side of him, and the closer the better.
As his proud and fearless fleet came on, he hailed Hood, to ask whether the action should commence that night; then receiving the answer he longed for, the signal for “ close battle” flew from his mast-head.
The delay thus caused to the Zealous gave Foley the lead. He showed the example of leading inside the enemy's lines, and anchored by the stern alongside the second ship; thus leaving to Hood the first. The latter, putting his own generous construction on an accident, exclaimed, “Thank God, he has nobly left to his old friend still to lead the van!” Slowly and majestically, as the evening fell, the remainder of the fleet came on beneath a cloud of sails, receiving the fire of the castle and the batteries in portentous silence, only broken by the crash of spars, or the boatswain's whistle; each ship furling her sails calmly, as a sea-bird might fold its wings, and gliding tranquilly onward till she found her destined foe. Then the anchor dropped astern, and the fire burst from her blood-stained decks with a vigour that showed how sternly it had been repressed till then. The leading ships passed between the enemy and the shore; but when the admiral came up, he led the remainder of the fleet along the seaward side; thus doubling on the Frenchman's line, and placing it in a defile of fire. The sun went down soon after Nelson anchored; and his rearward ships were only guided through the darkness and the dangers of that formidable bay by the Frenchman's fire flashing fierce welcome, as each enemy arrived and went hovering along the lines. He coolly scrutinized how he might draw most of that fire upon himself. The Bellerophon, with reckless gallantry, fastened on the gigantic Orient, by whose terrible artillery she was soon crushed, and scorched into a wreck. Then she drifted helplessly to leeward. But she had already done her work—the Orient was already on fire, and through the terrible roar of battle a whisper went for a moment that paralyzed every eager heart and hand. During that dread pause the fight was suspended; the very wounded ceased to groan: yet the burning ship still continued to fire broadsides from her flaming decks; her gallant crew alone unawed by their approaching fate, and shouting their own death-song. At length