HERE, after JACOB parted from his brother,
His daughters linger'd round this well, new-made;
Here, seventeen centuries after, came another,
And talk'd with JESUS, wondering and afraid.
Here, other centuries past, the emperor's mother
Shelter'd its waters with a temple's shade.
Here, mid the fallen fragments, as of old,
The girl her pitcher dips within its waters cold.
And JACOB's race grew strong for many an hour,
Then torn beneath the Roman eagle lay;
The Roman's vast and earth-controlling power
Has crumbled like these shafts and stones away;
But still the waters, fed by dew and shower,
Come up, as ever, to the light of day,
And still the maid bends downward with her urn,
Well pleased to see its glass her lovely face return.
And those few words of truth, first utter'd here, Have sunk into the human soul and heart; A spiritual faith dawns bright and clear,
Dark creeds and ancient mysteries depart; The hour for God's true worshippers draws near; Then mourn not o'er the wrecks of earthly art: Kingdoms may fall, and human works decay, Nature moves on unchanged-Truths never pass
WHEN April's warmth unlocks the clod,
Soften'd by gentle showers,
The violet pierces through the sod,
And blossoms, first of flowers;
So may I give my heart to GoD
In childhood's early hours.
Some plants, in gardens only found,
Are raised with pains and care:
GoD scatters violets all around,
They blossom everywhere;
Thus may my love to all abound,
And all my fragrance share.
Some scentless flowers stand straight and high,
With pride and haughtiness:
But violets perfume land and sky,
Although they promise less.
Let me, with all humility,
Do more than I profess.
Sweet flower, be thou a type to me
Of blameless joy and mirth,
Of widely-scatter'd sympathy,
Embracing all Gon's earth-
Of early-blooming piety,
And unpretending worth.
Suggested by a sketch of Jacob's Well, and Mount Gerizim.
Written for a little girl to speak on May-day, in the character of the Violet.
LITTLE firstlings of the year!
Have you come my room to cheer?
You are dry and parch'd, I think;
Stand within this glass and drink;
Stand beside me on the table,
'Mong my books-if I am able,
I will find a vacant space
For your bashfulness and grace;
Learned tasks and serious duty
Shall be lighten'd by your beauty.
Pure affection's sweetest token,
Choicest hint of love unspoken,
Friendship in your help rejoices,
Uttering her mysterious voices.
You are gifts the poor may offer-
Wealth can find no better proffer:
For you tell of tastes refined,
Thoughtful heart and spirit kind.
Gift of gold or jewel-dresses
Ostentatious thought confesses;
Simplest mind this boon may give,
Modesty herself receive.
For lovely woman you were meant
The just and natural ornament,
Sleeping on her bosom fair,
Hiding in her raven hair,
Or, peeping out mid golden curls,
You outshine barbaric pearls;
Yet you lead no thought astray,
Feed not pride nor vain display,
Nor disturb her sisters' rest,
Waking envy in their breast.
Let the rich, with heart elate,
Pile their board with costly plate;
Richer ornaments are ours,
We will dress our homes with flowers;
Yet no terror need we feel
Lest the thief break through to steal.
Ye are playthings for the child,
Gifts of love for maiden mild,
Comfort for the aged eye,
For the poor, cheap luxury.
Though your life is but a day,
Precious things, dear flowers, you say,
Telling that the Being good
Who supplies our daily food,
Deems it needful to supply
Daily food for heart and eye.
So, though your life is but a day,
We grieve not at your swift decay;
He, who smiles in your bright faces,
Sends us more to take your places;
"Tis for this ye fade so soon,
That He may renew the boon;
That kindness often may repeat
These mute messages so sweet:
That Love to plainer speech may get,
Conning oft his alphabet;
That beauty may be rain'd from heaven,
New with every morn and even,
With freshest fragrance sunrise greeting: Therefore are ye, flowers, so fleeting.
THE maiden name of Mrs. ELLETT was LUMMIS. She was born at Sodus, a small town on the margin of the lake Ontario, where her father was for many years a respectable physician. When about seventeen years of age, she was married to Doctor WILLIAM H. ELLETT, then Professor of Chymistry in Columbia College, in the city of New York, and now one of the professors in the college at Columbia, in South Carolina. Within a few years after her marriage she made herself familiar with the languages and literature of Germany, Italy, and France; and she has since published many admirable translations from SCHILLER, ALFIERI, LAMARTINE, and others; and a number of judicious and interesting papers in the
"American Quarterly Review," and other periodicals, on foreign authors and their works, and the condition and prospects of foreign literature.
She began to write for the magazines in 1833, and in the following year appeared her translation of "Euphemia of Messina," by SILVIO PELLICO. In the spring of 1835, her tragedy, entitled "Teresa Contarina," was successfully performed at the Park Theatre, in New York; and in the succeeding autumn she published at Philadelphia her Poems, Translated and Original." Since that time she has written much and well for various literary miscellanies, and has published "Joanna of Sicily," and two or three other works, which have been deservedly popular.
Oun western land can boast no lovelier spot.
The hills which in their ancient grandeur stand,
Piled to the frowning clouds, the bulwarks seem
Of this wild scene, resolved that none but Heaven
Shall look upon its beauty. Round their breast
A curtain'd fringe depends, of golden mist,
Touch'd by the slanting sunbeams; while below
The silent river, with majestic sweep,
Pursues his shadow'd way,-his glassy face
Unbroken, save when stoops the lone wild swan
To float in pride, or dip his ruffled wing.
Talk ye of solitude?—It is not here.
Nor silence.-Low, deep murmurs are abroad.
Those towering hills hold converse with the sky
That smiles upon their summits;-and the wind
Which stirs their wooded sides, whispers of life,
And bears the burden sweet from leaf to leaf,
Bidding the stately forest-boughs look bright,
And nod to greet his coming!-And the brook,
That with its silvery gleam comes leaping down
From the hill-side, has, too, a tale to tell;
The wild bird's music mingles with its chime ;-
And gay young flowers, that blossom in its path,
Send forth their perfume as an added gift.
The river utters, too, a solemn voice,
And tells of deeds long past, in ages gone,
When not a sound was heard along his shores,
Save the wild tread of savage feet, or shriek
Of some expiring captive, and no bark
E'er cleft his gloomy waters. Now, his waves
Are vocal often with the hunter's song;-
Now visit, in their glad and onward course,
The abodes of happy men-gardens and fields-
And cultured plains-still bearing, as they pass,
Fertility renew'd and fresh delights.
The time has been,-so Indian legends say,When here the mighty Delaware pour'd not
His ancient waters through, but turn'd aside
Through yonder dell, and wash'd those shaded vales.
Then, too, these riven cliffs were one smooth hill,
Which smiled in the warm sunbeams, and display'd
The wealth of summer on its graceful slope.
Thither the hunter-chieftains oft repair'd
To light their council-fires; while its dim height,
Forever veiled in mist, no mortal dared,
"Tis said, to scale; save one white-hair'd old man,
Who there held commune with the Indian's GOD,
And thence brought down to men his high com-
mands.
Years pass'd away: the gifted seer had lived
Beyond life's natural term, and bent no more
His weary limbs to seek the mountain's summit.
New tribes had fill'd the land, of fiercer mien,
Who strove against each other. Blood and death
Fill'd those green shades, where all before was peace,
And the stern warrior scalp'd his dying captive
E'en on the precincts of that holy spot [mourn'd
Where the Great Spirit had been. Some few, who
The unnatural slaughter, urged the aged priest
Again to seek the consecrated height,
Succour from Heaven, and mercy to implore.
They watch'd him from afar. He labour'd slowly
High up the steep ascent, and vanish'd soon
Behind the folded clouds, which cluster'd dark
As the last hues of sunset pass'd away.
The night fell heavily; and soon were heard
Low tones of thunder from the mountain-top,
Muttering, and echoed from the distant hills
In deep and solemn peal; while lurid flashes
Of lightning rent anon the gathering gloom.
Then, wilder and more loud, a fearful crash
Burst on the startled ear; the earth, convulsed,
Groan'd from its solid centre; forests shook
For leagues around; and, by the sudden gleam
Which flung a fitful radiance on the spot,
A sight of dread was seen. The mount was rent
From top to base; and where so late had smiled Green boughs and blossoms, yawn'd a frightful chasm,
Fill'd with unnatural darkness. From afar
The distant roar of waters then was heard;
They came, with gathering sweep, o'erwhelming all
That check'd their headlong course; the rich
maize-field,
The low-roof'd hut, its sleeping inmates-all
Were swept in speedy, undistinguish'd ruin
Morn look'd upon the desolated scene
Of the Great Spirit's anger, and beheld
Strange waters passing through the cloven rocks;
And men look'd on in silence and in fear,
And far removed their dwellings from the spot,
Where now no more the hunter chased his prey,
Or the war-whoop was heard. Thus years went on:
Each trace of desolation vanish'd fast;
Those bare and blacken'd cliffs were overspread
With fresh, green foliage, and the swelling earth
Yielded her stores of flowers to deck their sides.
The river pass'd majestically on
Through his new channel; verdure graced his banks;
The wild bird murmur'd sweetly as before
In its beloved woods; and naught remain'd,
Save the wild tales which chieftains told,
To mark the change celestial vengeance wrought.
SOFTLY the blended light of evening rests
Upon thee, lovely stream! Thy gentle tide,
Picturing the gorgeous beauty of the sky,
Onward, unbroken by the ruffling wind,
Majestically flows. O! by thy side,
Far from the tumults and the throng of men,
And the vain cares that vex poor human life,
"T were happiness to dwell, alone with thee,
And the wide, solemn grandeur of the scene.
From thy green shores, the mountains that enclose
In their vast sweep the beauties of the plain,
Slowly receding, toward the skies ascend,
Enrobed with clustering woods, o'er which the smile
Of Autumn in his loveliness hath pass'd,
Touching their foliage with his brilliant hues,
And flinging o'er the lowliest leaf and shrub
His golden livery. On the distant heights
Soft clouds, earth-based, repose, and stretch afar
Their burnish'd summits in the clear, blue heaven,
Flooded with splendour, that the dazzled eye
Turns drooping from the sight.-Nature is here
Like a throned sovereign, and thy voice doth tell,
In music never silent, of her power.
Nor are thy tones unanswer'd, where she builds
Such monuments of regal sway. These wide,
Untrodden forests eloquently speak,
Whether the breath of summer stir their depths, Or the hoarse moaning of November's blast Strip from their boughs their covering.
Is now instinct with life. The merry hum
Of the returning bee, and the blithe song
Of fluttering bird, mocking the solitude,
Swell upward; and the play of dashing streams
From the green mountain-side is faintly heard.
The wild swan swims the waters' azure breast
With graceful sweep, or, startled, soars away,
Cleaving with mounting wing the clear, bright air.
O! in the boasted lands beyond the deep,
Where Beauty hath a birthright-where each
mound
And mouldering ruin tells of ages past—
And every breeze, as with a spirit's tone,
Doth waft the voices of Oblivion back,
Waking the soul to lofty memories,
Is there a scene whose loveliness could fill
The heart with peace more pure? Nor yet art thou,
Proud stream! without thy records-graven deep
On yon eternal hills, which shall endure
Long as their summits breast the wintry storm,
Or smile in the warm sunshine. They have been
The chroniclers of centuries gone by:
Of a strange race, who trod perchance their sides,
Ere these gray woods had sprouted from the earth
Which now they shade. Here onward swept thy
When tones now silent mingled with their sound,
And the wide shore was vocal with the song
Of hunter chief, or lover's gentle strain.
Those pass'd away-forgotten as they pass'd;
But holier recollections dwell with thee:
Here hath immortal Freedom built her proud
And solemn monuments. The mighty dust
Of heroes in her cause of glory fallen,
Hath mingled with the soil, and hallow'd it.
Thy waters in their brilliant path have seen
The desperate strife that won a rescued world-
The deeds of men who live in grateful hearts,
And hymn'd their requiem.
Far beyond this vale,
That sends to heaven its incense of lone flowers,
Gay village spires ascend-and the glad voice
Of industry is heard. So in the lapse
Of future years these ancient woods shall bow
Beneath the levelling axe-and man's abodes
Displace their sylvan honours. They will pass
In turn away; yet, heedless of all change,
Surviving all, thou still wilt murmur on,
Lessoning the fleeting race that look on thee
To mark the wrecks of time, and read their doom.
DEEP thoughts o'ershade my spirit while I gaze Upon the blue depths of thy mighty breast; Thy glassy face is bright with sunset rays,
And thy far-stretching waters are at rest, Save the small wave that on thy margin plays, Lifting to summer airs its flashing crest; While the fleet hues across thy surface driven, Mingle afar in the embrace of heaven. Thy smile is glorious when the morning's spring Gives half its glowing beauty to the deep; When the dusk swallow dips his drooping wing, And the gay winds that o'er thy bosom sweep Tribute from dewy woods and violets bring,
Thy restless billows in their gifts to steep. Thou'rt beautiful when evening moonbeams shine, And the soft hour of night and stars is thine.
Thou hast thy tempests, too; the lightning's home
Is near thee, though unseen; thy peaceful shore,
When storms have lash'd these waters into foam,
Echoes full oft the pealing thunder's roar.
Thou hast dark trophies: the unhonour'd tomb
Of those now sought and wept on earth no more: Full many a goodly form, the loved and brave, Lies whelm'd and still beneath thy sullen wave. The world was young with thee: this swelling flood As proudly swell'd, as purely met the sky, When sound of life roused not the ancient wood, Save the wild eagle's scream, or panther's cry. Here on this verdant bank the savage stood,
And shook his dart and battle-axe on high, While hues of slaughter tinged thy billows blue, As deeper and more close the conflict grew. Here, too, at early morn, the hunter's song
Was heard from wooded isle and grassy glade; And here, at eve, these cluster'd bowers among, The low, sweet carol of the Indian maid, Chiding the slumbering breeze and shadows long, That kept her lingering lover from the shade, While, scarcely seen, thy willing waters o'er, Sped the light bark that bore him to the shore. Those scenes are past. The spirit of changing years Has breathed on all around, save thee alone. More faintly the receding woodland hears
Thy voice, once full and joyous as its own. Nations have gone from earth, nor trace appears To tell their tale-forgotten or unknown. Yet here, unchanged, untamed, thy waters lie, Azure, and clear, and boundless as the sky.
SODUS BAY.
I BLESS thee-native shore!
Thy woodlands gay, and waters sparkling clear! 'Tis like a dream once more
The music of thy thousand waves to hear!
As, murmuring up the sand,
With kisses bright they lave the sloping land.
The gorgeous sun looks down,
Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray;
And o'er thy headlands brown
With loving light the tints of evening play.
Thy whispering breezes fear
To break the calm so softly hallow'd here.
Here, in her green domain,
The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found;
With scarce disputed reign
She dwells in all the solitude around.
And here she loves to wear
The regal garb that suits a queen so fair.
Full oft my heart hath yearn'd
For thy sweet shades and vales of sunny rest!
Even as the swan return'd,
Stoops to repose upon thine azure breast,
I greet each welcome spot
Forsaken long-but ne'er, ah, ne'er forgot!
"Twas here that memory grew- [left;
"T was here that childhood's hopes and cares were Its early freshness, too
Ere droops the soul, of her best joys bereft.
Where are they?-o'er the track
Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back!
They must be with thee still!
Thou art unchanged--as bright the sunbeams play-
From not a tree or hill
Hath time one hue of beauty snatch'd away.
Unchanged alike should be
The blessed thing so late resigned to thee!
Give back, O, smiling deep!
The heart's fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth
That in thy bosom sleep-
Life's April-innocence, and trustful truth!
The tones that breathed of yore
In thy lone murmurs, once again restore!
Where have they vanish'd all?—
Only the heedless winds in answer sigh-
Still rushing at thy call,
With reckless sweep the streamlet flashes by!
And idle as the air,
Or fleeting stream, my soul's insatiate prayer!
Home of sweet thoughts-farewell!
Where'er through changeful life my lot may be.
A deep and hallow'd spell
Is on thy waters and thy woods for me!
Though vainly fancy craves
Its childhood with the music of thy waves!
WILD is your airy sweep,
Billows that foam from yonder mountain-sideDashing with whiten'd crests and thundering tide To seek the distant deep!
Now to the verge ye climb,
Now rush to plunge with emulous haste below;
Sounding your stormy chorus as ye go-
A never-ending chime!
Leaping from rock to rock,
Unwearied your eternal course ye hold;
The rainbow tints your eddying waves unfold,
The hues of sunset mock!
Why choose this pathway rude,
These cliffs by gray and ancient woods o'ergrown?
Why pour your music to the echoes lone
Of this wild solitude?
The mead in green array, With silent beauty wooes your loved embrace; Would lead you through soft banks, with devious Along a gentler way. [grace,
There, as ye onward roam,
Fresh leaves would bend to greet your waters bright: Why scorn the charms that vainly court your sight, Amid these wilds to foam?
Alas! our fate is one
Both ruled by wayward fancy!—All in vain
I question both! My thoughts still spurn the chainYe-heedless-thunder on !
WONDROUS, majestic bird! whose mighty wing Dwells not with puny warblers of the spring;Nor on earth's silent breast
Powerful to soar in strength and pride on high, And sweep the azure bosom of the sky
Chooses its place of rest.
Proud nursling of the tempest! where repose
Thy pinions at the daylight's fading close?
In what far clime of night
Dost thou in silence, breathless and aloneWhile round thee swells of life no kindred tone
Suspend thy tireless flight?
The mountain's frozen peak is lone and bare,
No foot of man hath ever rested there;-
Yet 'tis thy sport to soar
Far o'er its frowning summit-and the plain
Would seek to win thy downward wing in vain,
Or the green sea-beat shore.
The limits of thy course no daring eye
Has mark'd; thy glorious path of light on high Is trackless and unknown;
The gorgeous sun thy quenchless gaze may share; Sole tenant of his boundless realm of air,
Thou art, with him, alone.
Imperial wanderer! the storms that shake
Earth's towers, and bid her rooted mountains quake,
Are never felt by thee!-
Beyond the bolt-beyond the lightning's gleam,
Basking forever in the unclouded beam-
Thy home-immensity!
And thus the soul, with upward flight like thine, May track the realms where Heaven's own glories
And scorn the tempter's power; [shine, Yet meaner cares oppress its drooping wings; Still to earth's joys the sky-born wanderer clingsThose pageants of an hour!
Some of the islands where the fancied paradise of the Indians was situated, were believed to be in Lake Superior.
THAT blessed isle lies far away
"Tis many a weary league from land, Where billows in their golden play Dash on its sparkling sand.
No tempest's wrath, or stormy waters' roar,
Disturb the echoes of that peaceful shore.
There the light breezes lie at rest,
Soft pillow'd on the glassy deep; Pale cliffs look on the waters' breast, And watch their silent sleep:
There the wild swan, with plumed and glossy wing, Sits lone and still beside the bubbling spring,
And far within, in murmurs heard,
Comes, with the wind's low whispers there,
The music of the mounting bird,
Skimming the clear, bright air.
The sportive brook, with free and silvery tide,
Comes wildly dancing from the green hill-side.
The sun there sheds his noontide beam
On oak-crown'd hill and leafy bowers;
And gayly by the shaded stream
Spring forth the forest-flowers.
The fountain flings aloft its showery spray,
With rainbows deck'd, that mock the hues of day.
And when the dewy morning breaks,
A thousand tones of rapture swell;
A thrill of life and motion wakes
Through hill, and plain, and dell.
The wild bird trills his song-and from the wood
The red deer bounds to drink beside the flood.
There, where the sun sets on the sea,
And gilds the forest's waving crown,
Strains of immortal harmony
To those sweet shades come down.
Bright and mysterious forms that green shore throng,
And pour in evening's ear their charmed song.
E'en on this cold and cheerless shore,
While all is dark and quiet near,
The huntsman, when his toils are o'er,
That melody may hear,
And see, faint gleaming o'er the waters' foam,
The glories of that isle, his future home.
THE VANITY OF THE VULGAR GREAT.
STAY, thou ambitious rill,
Ignoble offering of some fount impure!
Beneath the rugged hill,
Gloomy with shade, thou hadst thy birth obscure;
With faint steps issuing slow,
In scanty waves among the rocks to flow.
Fling not abroad thy spray,
Nor fiercely lash the green turf at thy side!
What though indulgent May
With liquid snows hath swollen thy foaming tide!
August will follow soon,
To still thy boastings with his scorching noon.
Lo! calmly through the vale
The Po, the king of rivers, sweeps along;
Yet many a mighty sail
Bears on his breast-proud vessels, swift and strong; Nor from the meadow's side
'Neath summer's sun recedes his lessen'd tide.
Thou, threatening all around,
Dost foam and roar along thy troubled path;
In grandeur newly found,
Stunning the gazer with thy noisy wrath!
Yet, foolish stream! not one
Of all thy boasted glories is thine own.
The smile of yonder sky
Is brief, and change the fleeting seasons know:
On barren sands and dry,
Soon to their death thy brawling waves shall flow.
O'er thee, in summer's heat,
Shall pass the traveller with unmoisten'd feet.
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