And he, whose hardened heart alike had borne The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound; The struggling spirit throbb'd in Miriam's breast. The dark transparence of her lucid eye, Pour'd on the winds of heaven her wild, sweet harmony. THE RISE OF SALEM. Yet still destruction sweeps the lonely plain, And who is He?. the vast, the awful form, Palestine. Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway, Who died, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!" THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! By the blessed birds of heaven! "Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow; 64 Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow: "One there lives, whose guardian eye Guides our humble destiny; One there lives, who, Lord of all, Keeps our feathers lest they fall: Pass we blithely then the time, Fearless of the snare and lime, Free from doubt and faithless sorrow: TO HIS WIFE. If thou wert by my side, my love, If thou, my love, wert by my side, How gayly would our pinnace glide I miss thee at the dawning gray, I miss thee when by Gunga's stream But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I spread my books, my pencil try, But when of morn and eve the star I feel, though thou art distant far, Then on then on! where duty leads, On broad Hindostan's sultry meads, That course nor Delhi's kingly gates For sweet the bliss us both awaits Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, But ne'er were hearts so light and gay As then shall meet in thee!' WHY STAND YE IDLE? The God of glory walks his round, "No longer stand ye idle here! "Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright, Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear, Waste not of hope the morning light! Ah, fools! why stand ye idle here? "Marriage is an institution calculated for a constant scene of as much delight as our being is capable of. Two persons who have chosen each other out of all the species, with design to be each other's mutual comfort and entertainment, have in that action bound themselves to be good-humored, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to each other's frailties and imperfections, to the end of their lives. The wiser of the two (and it always happens one of them is such) will, for her or his own sake, keep things from outrage with the utmost sanctity. When this union is thus preserved. (as I have often said,) the most indifferent circumstance administers delight. Their condition is an endless source of new gratifications. The married man can say, "If I am unacceptable to all the world beside, there is one whom I entirely love, that will receive me with joy and transport, and think herself obliged to double her kindness and caresses of me from the gloom with which she sees me overcast. I need not dissemble the sorrow of my heart to be agreeable there; that very sorrow quickens her affection."-STEFLE, Spectator, No. 490. "Oh, as the griefs ye would assuage And work your Maker's business here! "One hour remains, there is but one! Oh Thou, by all thy works adored, And grant us grace to please thee here! ON THE DEATH OF HIS BROTHER. Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking, But the mild rays of Paradise beam'd on thy waking, And the sound which thou heard'st was the Seraphim's song! Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee, EPIPHANY. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! The following stanzas were written as an addition to the above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the decease of the author: "Thou art gone to the grave! and whole nations bemoan thee, Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall enthrone thee, "Thou art gone to the grave! but thy work shall not perish- His strength shall sustain it, His comforts shall cherish, Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid! Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, Maker and Monarch, and Saviour of all! Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion, Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean, Vainly we offer each ample oblation; Vainly with gifts would his favor secure; Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid! ROBERT POLLOK, 1799-1827. IN 1827, the world was startled by the appearance of a new epic-a religious poem in blank verse, entitled, "The Course of Time," by Robert Pollok, a young clergyman of the Scottish Secession Church. Few works before ever became so rapidly and extensively popular. It was read with eagerness by all classes, and passed through numerous editions; and, by many, it was pronounced the finest poem that had appeared in our language since the Paradise Lost. Some even went so far as to claim for the author a genius and a power equal to Milton. This, of course, was extravagant. But, after the first excitement passed away, the literary world settled down in the well-matured conviction that the "Course of Time" is a poem of extraordinary power, and destined to live as long as the English language endures. Robert Pollok, the son of a farmer in Renfrewshire,2 Scotland, was born in the year 1799. While a mere boy he was remarkably thoughtful, and from a very early age displayed a taste for the beauties of nature, and a capacity for enjoying them by no means common. After going through the ordinary preparatory stu "The Course of Time' is a very extraordinary poem: vast in its conception-vast in its plan-vast in its materials-and vast, if very far from perfect, in its achievement. The wonderful thing is, indeed, that it is such as we find it, and not that its imperfections are numerous. It has nothing at all savoring of the little or conventional about it; for he passed at once from the merely elegant and graceful. With Young, Blair, and Cowper for his guides, his muse strove with unwearied wing to attain the high, severe, serene region of Milton; and he was at least successful in earnestness of purpose, in solemnity of tone, and in vigor and variety of illustration."-D. M. MOIR. 2 On the western coast of Scotland, due west from Edinburgh, |