JACOB'S WELL.* HERE, after JACOB parted from his brother, And talk'd with JESUS, wondering and afraid. And JACOB's race grew strong for many an hour, 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 Gon'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 away. THE VIOLET.+ WHEN April's warmth unlocks the clod, The violet pierces through the sod, Some plants, in gardens only found, Some scentless flowers stand straight and high, Let me, with all humility, Do more than I profess. Sweet flower, be thou a type to me 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. TO A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. LITTLE firstlings of the year! For lovely woman you were meant Or, peeping out mid golden curls, 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, Precious things, dear flowers, you say, Telling that the Being good These mute messages so sweet: That beauty may be rain'd from heaven, With freshest fragrance sunrise greeting: Therefore are ye, flowers, so fleeting. ELIZABETH F. ELLETT. [Born about 1810.] 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 suc ceeding 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. THE DELAWARE WATER-GAP. OUR 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 Years pass'd away: the gifted seer had lived Succour from Heaven, and mercy to implore. 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 low-roof'd hut, its sleeping inmates-all Through his new channel; verdure graced his banks; SUSQUEHANNA. SOFTLY the blended light of evening rests Far from the tumults and the throng of men, Nor are thy tones unanswer'd, where she builds Whether the breath of summer stir their depths, Or the hoarse moaning of November's blast Strip from their boughs their covering. All the air Is now instinct with life. The merry hum From the green mountain-side is faintly heard. And mouldering ruin tells of ages past- Is there a scene whose loveliness could fill Of a strange race, who trod perchance their sides, waves, When tones now silent mingled with their sound, Far beyond this vale, LAKE ONTARIO. 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 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! The gorgeous sun looks down, Bathing thee gladly in his noontide ray; And o'er thy headlands brown To break the calm so softly hallow'd here. Here, in her green domain, The stamp of Nature's sovereignty is found; 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! "T was 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. Of cold years, I would call the wanderers back! Thou art unchanged--as bright the sunbeams play- Hath time one hue of beauty snatch'd away. The blessed thing so late resigned to thee! Give back, O, smiling deep! The heart's fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth Life's April-innocence, and trustful truth! In thy lone murmurs, once again restore! With reckless sweep the streamlet flashes by! Or fleeting stream, my soul's insatiate prayer! Is on thy waters and thy woods for me! Its childhood with the music of thy waves! TO A WATERFALL. 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; Leaping from rock to rock, Unwearied your eternal course ye hold; Why choose this pathway rude, TO THE CONDOR. WONDROUS, majestic bird! whose mighty wing Chooses its place of rest. Proud nursling of the tempest! where repose 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, 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 Beyond the bolt-beyond the lightning's gleam, 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! THE ISLE OF REST. 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, 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, Spring forth the forest-flowers. The fountain flings aloft its showery spray, And when the dewy morning breaks, Through hill, and plain, and dell. The wild bird trills his song-and from the wood There, where the sun sets on the sea, To those sweet shades come down. And see, faint gleaming o'er the waters' foam, 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! With liquid snows hath swollen thy foaming tide! 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, Stunning the gazer with thy noisy wrath! Of all thy boasted glories is thine own. The smile of yonder sky Is brief, and change the fleeting seasons know: Soon to their death thy brawling waves shall flow. Shall pass the traveller with unmoisten'd feet. |