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THE PILGRIM'S SONG.

The rainbow's loveliest hues combined, Were rais'd to meet the Gorgon glare Of his who mock'd awhile her pray'r.

VII.

Frail thing! and dost thou ask a life

That must with blackest crime be stain'd? And wouldst thou live th' unwedded wife Of one to outlaw'd butchery train'd? Should e'er a mother's love be thine,

Thine were the fruit of guilt and shameBorn on the scaffold to resign

Life, and to desecrate thy name!
Go, then, nor let thy craven fears
Prolong a life of guilt for years-
Go; and with her, now freed from care,
Whose name thy lips first lisp'd in pray'r,
Seek the cold slumber of the grave,
Ere guilt hath stain'd thee, in yon wave!

VIII.

Full many a moon hath wax'd and wan'd
Since love of life had first enchain'd
The maiden, once by sire ador'd,
In guilty love to pirate lord;
And oft did he for whom she err'd

Turn from his comrades loud appealWhich every day, nay, hour was heard, "The dead no secrets can reveal."

But, mov'd at length, he drugg'd the bowl,
To her the fatal draught was giv'n,
And, from its clay releas'd, the soul

Of Leila sped, perhaps (?), to heaven.

Thus guilty liv'd-thus early died, Unwept, unmourn'd, the Corsair's Bride!

Original.

T. OUTERBRIDGE.

WEEP NOT.

BY MISS M. DE FOREST.

"Sorrow not as those who have no hope," 1 Thes. iv, 13.

WEEP not, O weep not for the dying-
Weep not for the mold'ring dead,
If in Jesus' arms they're lying-
If his love is o'er them shed.
O'tis but a sweet releasing

From the earth-born, suffering clay:
Soon their songs shall be unceasing
In a land of living day.
Soon, array'd in garments glorious,
Earthly sorrows shall be o'er-

Over sin and death victorious,

They shall reign for evermore. See ye not those seraphs hast'ning

Upward to Jehovah's seat?

How their glit'ring crowns they're casting

At their blessed Savior's feet!

Hear ye not those echoes ringing
Through yon brilliant arch above?
Vol. I.-28

"Tis our sister spirits singing

Praises to Redeeming love. Hinder not thy friends, though dying— Bid them hasten to their rest; Why should ye be mourning-sighing? They will be for ever blest. Lo! they shout with exultation, Heaven is beaming on their face. Thanks to God for this salvation! Jesus gives them dying grace. Ho! ye surely would not call them

From the realms of blessedness, Yet to bear what might befall them In a sinful world like this?

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Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy;
One glimpse of his love turns them all into joy;
And the bitterest tears, if he smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, grew diamond and gem.

Let doubt, then, and danger, my progress oppose;
They only make heaven more sweet at the close;
Come joy, or come sorrow-whate'er may befall,
An hour with my God will make up for it all.

A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through an enemy's land;
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And I'll smooth it with hope, and cheer it with song.

ение

LIFE.

THIS life, what is it? say

A peevish April day;

A little sun, a little rain,

And then night sweeps along the plain,

And all things fade away.

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"I WILL not endure it-I am determined I will not. If I cannot have my own way, I will stay no longer. What is right is right; but if this is right I do not want to have any thing to do with such right. But still she is my mother-she has always been very kind to me, and I ought not to feel thus. I know it is wrong; but how can I help it? She has strictly forbidden me to associate with him, and now he has gone home, and I do not know that I shall ever see him again. And this is all through her. How can I endure it? I will go where I shall not be bound down by her whims. She shall know that I have rights which are not to be trampled upon."

energy and decision of character which peculiarly fitted her for the important duty now devolved upon her. But want of confidence in her own abilities led her to that Being who has said, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." Nor did she seek his aid in vain.

When arrived at a suitable age, Edgar was sent to the academy to pursue his studies. Here he became intimately acquainted with one of his class-mates—a youth of about his own age-from the west. Henry Thompson was the son of wealthy parents, who had emigrated from New England. They wished to see their son brought up in the same manner as they themselves had been; and to accomplish this, they resolved to send him to the "land of steady habits" to receive his education. But unfortunately for themselves and their son, they forgot that the best place for him was under the parental roof and guiding hand of Such thoughts passed rapidly through the excited a father. Under a mistaken feeling they supplied him mind of Edgar Williams on that sad night in which with money for the gratification of every desire, suphe resolved to quit for ever the paternal roof, and cast posing in this way to compensate the loss of the joys himself on life's tempestuous wave. They were the of home, and the pleasures of domestic intercourse. thoughts of a wayward youth, who, for the sake of en- With the seeds of human degeneracy sown in his joying undisturbed his own way, was willing to give | heart, and with such facilities for their development, it up the peace and comfort of home, and seek his happi- is not surprising that Henry Thompson gave early inness among strangers. dications of innate corruption. He however possessed noble traits of character, which blinded his friends to his faults. He was generous, high-minded, and fond of study; and possessed that ready wit which made him an agreeable companion and a welcome guest. It is not to be wondered at that Edgar became warmly attached to him, and desired to be much in his company. For this purpose he strongly and repeatedly solicited his mother to receive Henry into the family as a companion for himself. But the policy of such a course was doubtful, and his mother hesitated long, and finally gave her consent with reluctance. She knew that it was easier to instill bad principles than to eradicate them; and solicitude for her son made her anxious that he should have companions who would lead him in the path of rectitude.

Edgar's mother resided in one of those pleasant villages of New England which, situated on the shore of the broad Atlantic, are celebrated for their beautiful scenery, and the salubrity of the air which surrounds them. It was built upon a slightly undulating spot; and while high hills protected it behind and before, the ever restless waves of the Atlantic continually rushed along the cragged clefts of its rocky beach. Its inhabitants were industrious and intelligent; for this was one of those numerous and happy places in New England which are blessed with a large and flourishing academy. Many of its inhabitants had been drawn together from the desire of affording to their children that best of earthly blessings-a good education. And the spire of the sanctuary, rearing its lofty head by the side of that of the academy, pointed out this spot to the observing traveler as the residence of piety, virtue and intelligence.

The evil influence which Henry exerted over his companion was for a long time unperceived. Maternal love was vigilant to detect the first developments of In this village Edgar's father was born, lived, and wrong; but the mother cannot know the HEART of her died. He had been a merchant, who, by strict hones-son. She cannot see the evil which may be implanted ty and attention to business, had amassed considerable within its secret recesses. Nor can she perceive those property; but what was far better, by his consistent hidden influences which silently nourish and strengthpiety he had won the respect and affection of all who en it. knew him. But "arise ye and depart; for this is not your rest," was the inflexible mandate of Jehovah, as given by his holy prophet; and it has never been repealed. In the midst of his days and in the height of his usefulness was Edgar's father summoned to depart to his rest, leaving behind him a wife and three chil-trains of thought, or from some other cause, she soon dren to lament his loss. Edgar's mother now felt her responsibilities doubled. She possessed all that native

The style of this article might lead the unwarned reader to suspect that it is mere fiction; but we have received such explanations from the writer as convince us that this is not the

case.-EDS.

Mrs. Williams soon found that Henry's influence over her son was unlimited. She had fondly thought that he possessed sufficient native strength of mind and decision of character to think and act for himself. But whether it arose from similarity of dispositions and

ascertained that the feelings and desires of Henry were a very good index to those of Edgar. Maternal solicitude dreaded, as well it might, such a power, invading as it were the rights of domestic influence. A thous and schemes were suggested to her mind to obviate the difficulties which she foresaw might arise, and were

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only exchanged for others more plausible in appearance || and who has viewed with joy the bud just bursting if not in reality. She at length found that under the into bloom, she only can tell what the bitterness of that disguise of a friend she was nourishing a viper in the grief is which arises from affection slighted, and long bosom of her own family, whose envenomed sting had cherished hopes suddenly destroyed by disobedience already inflicted a deadly wound. A separation was and ingratitude. In vain she looks to the future for deemed absolutely necessary. But how to effect this consolation. There all is dark and gloomy. In the and attain the desired result was a subject of anxious past are buried the fondest hopes of her life; and in solicitude. While she was deliberating, time was the present unmingled bitterness and grief becloud her passing away. And while parental indulgence on sky. She seeks comfort from every side, but in vain, the one hand tempted to delay, maternal duty on until she seeks it from the throne of God. There she the other prompted to immediate action. At length may, and if sought aright, there she will find that peace the final step was taken. Henry T. was informed that which the world can neither give nor take away. he could be accommodated no longer. A letter which he received about the same time from his friends, determined him to return home. And a few days afterward he bade a final adieu to his friends, his instructors, and the village.

Edgar's grief and vexation at this event exceeded all bounds. The kindness of his mother and sisters, instead of softening, seemed only to exasperate him; and after a few days of unhappiness and gloom, he formed the desperate resolution already mentioned, with the determination rather of a maniac than of a youth in his sober senses; and urged on by the restless and now ungovernable spirit which had taken possession of his bosom, he left the home of his childhood to seek among strangers that happiness which he had spurned at his own fireside.

It would be impossible to attempt an adequate description of the grief which on that sad evening invested the hitherto happy family of Mrs. Williams. The table, with its snow-white cloth, was spread for the evening meal. But no one felt the least disposition to disturb the general stillness. The clock on the mantle pursued its monotonous course unheeded With this single exception all was silent as the grave. Thoughts too deep for utterance were rapidly passing through the mind of each one, while grief seemed to hold an undisputed sway over the whole.

There is something peculiarly touching in a mother's grief. When she bends in silence over the cold but beautiful form of her first-born-when her fond hopes of the future are all laid in the silent tomb, it often seems as if the strings which bound her to earth were suddenly sundered; and she has but one desire remaining-to lay her body by the side of the object of her affections, and to share with it the long, long sleep of death. But she may be comforted-she may be consoled by the thought that her babe, though taken from her embrace, is resting in the bosom of its Savior, and is now rejoicing

"High in salvation and the climes of bliss." She may even rejoice under the reflection that although it will never return to her, yet she may go to it, and be re-united to part no more.

But that mother who has been spared the bitterness of bereavement-whose offspring have claimed her waking and her sleeping moments-who has watched the earliest developments of their mental and moral faculties with all the anxiety which a parent can feel,

Such was the grief and such were the feelings of Mrs. Williams in the present circumstances. As she sat in silence with her daughters, she remembered Him who had ever been near to her, and had sustained her in every trial and in every difficulty. To him she committed herself and her children, feeling that he was able to keep that which was committed to him until the final consummation of all things.

was.

Cornelia, the youngest daughter, was the first to break the solemn silence of that sad evening. She saw, from her mother's countenance, the struggle that was going on within; and while her own feelings were excited to a very high degree, her affection for her parent led her to conceal them as much as possible. Although she had only reached the tender age of fifteen, yet she possessed the wisdom of a much more advanced period. Her chief happiness seemed to consist in loving her friends and exerting her every faculty for their comfort and pleasure. Of a naturally ardent temperament, her affections for her friends were of the strongest kind. And when she first ascertained that her brother had gone away, without so much as bidding his friends good-bye-when she felt that they had been separated without giving and receiving the parting caress, that seal of pure and constant affection, she thought she then knew what the bitterness of grief She would have hid her grief in the maternal bosom; but she quickly perceived from the sad countenance and weeping eye, that she knew not the depth of a mother's anguish. Fearing to increase it by a display of her own feelings, she endeavored to hide them in the deep recesses of her own soul. But in vain. Like the mountain torrent, whose downward course may be impeded for a time, but whose gathering waters, increasing in strength by every moment's delay, soon surmount every barrier, and rush onward with accelerated force and velocity, so her feelings, acquiring new strength from being pent up in her own bosom, were soon beyond her control; and bursting forth found no repose, until lost in the ocean of parental sympathy. Mother," she at length exclaimed, "my Sabbath school teacher told us last Sabbath that our blessed Savior knows and feels all our pleasures and all our pains. When we are happy he rejoices with us that he may increase our joy: and when we are distressed he sympathizes with us that he may alleviate our suffering. If he knows our feelings and sympathizes with us, surely he will assist us."

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"But, mother," said Mary, the eldest daughter, "he has told us that he will be inquired of to do these things for us. It is only by communion with him that we can realize his sympathy for us."

"True, my child," replied her mother, "our divine || hand of that father, who, upon a dying bed, gave him Savior does sympathize with us in every circumstance his parting blessing, bidding him be obedient and dutiof life. He has promised never to leave or forsake us ful to his mother. By the side of his mother sits his if we put all our trust and confidence in him." sister Cornelia, with a tear just bursting from her eye as she thinks of the absent one, while close by the window sits his eldest sister Mary, casting her soft blue eyes down the shady avenue, hoping, by the light of a full moon, to discern the prodigal returning. As the vividness of the scene increases, he hears in gentle whispers the long silent but familiar voice of his father, asking, "What doest thou here, my son?" And as no answer is returned, assuming a severer tone, it exclaims,

Such conversation had a most salutary influence in soothing their minds, and leading each to contemplate Him who has promised to be a friend in every time of need. The result may be readily anticipated-it led them to a throne of grace.

"Return, poor wanderer, quick return,
And seek thy injured parent's face."

Such were some of the pictures which an excited imagination presented to his distracted mind. In vain he turned away from them; for at each successive step new scenes arose to awake into action all the finer sensibilities of his heart.

O, if there is any thing which resembles man to the pure spirits of heaven, it is his submission to the Divine will, under circumstances of trial and affliction. If And as if to increase the effect, it adds, "Is this fulfilthere is one feature of religion more lovely than anoth-ling my last command, 'Care for thy mother, boy?'" er, that feature is exhibited in the forgiveness of injuries; and if there is one point in which female piety shines brighter and purer than another, it is when a mother seeks pardon for a disobedient and ungrateful child. Philosophers may produce their examples of nobleness of character, and poets may sing of the illustrious deeds of those who have lived but to benefit their race; but in such a scene the greatest nobleness of human nature becomes allied to the pure, and gentle, and peaceful spirit of heaven, and humanity becomes almost lost amid the bright companionship of kindred spirits of celestial birth.

Let us leave for a time this interesting circle, and pursue the wayward steps of him who was the cause of all this sorrow.

The body, wearied with physical and mental action, at length sunk to repose; but instead of resting the mind, it only imparted additional means by which to pursue the same course. At last the morn arose, beautiful and serene. Not a single cloud could be seen to || obstruct the beauty of the rising light. All nature seemed animated and happy. Edgar arose and walked forth to enjoy the scene. His mind afforded a fine contrast to the calmness and serenity which pervaded all nature. He was undecided as to the course he should As the curtains of the evening began to be spread pursue. Conflicting emotions kept up a continual wararound the blue canopy of the sky, inviting all anima- fare in his breast. Reason and the better feelings of ted being to sweet repose, Edgar Williams began to his heart bade him return. He longed once more for feel more than before, the baseness of the part he was those smiles which illumined the home of his childacting. His excitement of feeling had to some extent hood, and spread their mild and gentle lustre over the subsided; and time brought with it reflection. Sepa- scenes of his youthful days. The stream of filial afrated from all he held dear-alone-a stranger in the fection which had been so violently interrupted and midst of strangers, all combined to force upon him a turned aside from its proper course, re-sought its forreview of the part he had been acting. He earlymer channel. But a stronger passion now ruled withsought his pillow. But sleep, the bright messenger of in. Pride and the fear of ridicule bound him as with heaven, fled far from his couch. In imagination he iron fetters. To return would be to acknowledge was once more at his still dear home. His sisters met openly that he was wrong in the course he had adopthis return from the studies of the day with their accus- ed. However much his conscience might approve such tomed smile, and a fond mother's look of approbation a decision, yet an open avowal was more than he was shone upon him with all the calmness and peace of a willing to make. And above all, he dreaded being an sun-set sky. Conscious guilt made him turn from her object of sport for his gay companions. view as unworthy the affection of so kind a friend. His mind at length settled down upon something The scene changes. The benignant smile, the look of like a definite purpose. Nineteen summers had rolled affection is changed for that of sorrow-silent, but over his head-he had reached a sufficient age to think deep-which expressed but too plainly the deeper an- of doing something for himself-should he return, he guish of the soul. She is seated by the small round might live and die, as his father had done before him, table, which was usually spread after tea for books and in the place in which he was born. Some months prework. The large family Bible lies open before her vious he had become acquainted with a merchant from that book, hallowed by so many endearing recollections one of the large towns of the west, who had formerly and associations-that book which the father used been connected in business with his father, and who ofwhen he took his little boy upon his knee and instruct-fered him a situation in his establishment if he would go ed him about his Creator. On its sacred page was en- with him to the west. He now determined to accept rolled his name and the day of his birth, written by the the offer; and, as Euripides has very truly said, "the

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youthful mind does not love to grieve," so he attempted || was upon the whole successful. But the too ardent desire of becoming rich, soon led him into that whirl of business which generally ends in vexation and disappointment.

to bury all his griefs in the bright anticipations of the future. Although conscience uttered her stern voice against such a decision, yet he tried to bribe her with the promise of remitting part of his earnings to his friends at home.

In the spring of 1836 his business led him to a large and flourishing town in a neighboring state, where he expected to remain some months. Here he became

and among others that of Mr. James Wellington, a gentleman of considerable wealth and influence. Mr. W.'s family consisted of himself, wife, and an only daughter, Eugenia, a young lady of about 18. They had had several other children. But death had borne one and another from their embrace to the world of spirits, leaving only this one as a comfort for their de

He now lost no time in carrying his resolution into effect, but immediately started in pursuit of the phan-acquainted with many of the first families in the place, tom which he vainly endeavored to clasp to his breast. To a cultivated mind the works of nature afford an inexhaustible store-house of pleasure and instruction. The different aspects which she assumes, as seen from different points, afford an almost endless variety, which please, but never cloy. To Edgar, who had known but little of the world beyond his native place, so long a journey could not be otherwise than replete with in-clining years. From this fact it may easily be anticiterest. The new objects which continually presented themselves to his attention, filled his mind with delight. Now a majestic river, surmounted by lofty banks, presents itself to his admiring gaze-a delight-a consistent Christian. Her mother had been taught, ful plain, large and fertile farms, scattered villages, and occasionally mountain scenery, resembling that of his native hills, came in to diversify the landscape.

Almost before he was aware, and much before he desired it, he arrived at the place of his destination. He was kindly received by the former friend of his father, who redeemed his pledge of admitting him as a clerk in his store. Edgar's whole life had been spent among books, or the domestic employment of the family; and he knew but little of the duties before him. But that quickness of perception and diligence which had given him a high stand among his school-fellows in the academy, soon made him acquainted with the duties in which he was to be engaged.

A year passed rapidly and pleasantly by. Near its close he had written to his mother, informing her where he was and in what employed, and transmitting a check for $100. To this he received no answer. From what reason he knew not. But a guilty conscience told him he deserved to be cast off for ever from those whom he had forsaken. From this point a gloom seemed to settle upon his countenance. His spirits were depressed, and his whole deportment indicated that something rested heavily upon his mind. He endeavored to dissipate these gloomy feelings by going into the society of the gay and volatile, and sought ease from the reproaches of conscience amid the scenes of mirth. Here he was solicited to partake of the exhilerating cup, and drown the cares of life in its sparkling contents. But to this he had the deepest aversion. The example of the Rechabites of old had been deeply impressed upon his mind by his father, and had made an impression never to be eradicated. He had long since resolved not to touch it himself, and to discountenance its use among his friends.

The influence of the melancholy feelings which he cherished, perhaps more than any thing else, led him to abandon his situation as clerk, and engage in the speculating plans which at that time filled every aspirant after wealth. At first he acted with great caution and

pated that she was exceedingly dear to both. Every desire of her heart was gratified as soon as made known. But with all these temptations surrounding her she was

by her many afflictions, the vanity and transitoriness of all things below the sky; and with maternal fondness and constancy she endeavored to impress the same truths upon the tender mind of her daughter. Nor were her efforts unattended with success. She saw her daughter growing up in the fear of God, a dutiful and pious girl.

This family Edgar was very fond of visiting. In the society of the parents he took great pleasure; for they were persons of refinement and cultivation. But in that of Eugenia, he forgot himself and every thing save the being before him and his sister Cornelia. Although nearly three years had elapsed since his unnatural separation from his friends, during which time he had heard nothing from them, yet when he saw the fair form of Eugenia his thoughts would insensibly wander back to the hills of his native place, and gaze once more upon her who had been the almost constant companion of his earliest recollections.

In the family of Mr. W. he was respected and even beloved. His talents were highly appreciated, and his company always welcome. But it was not long before he perceived, or thought he perceived, a half pensive expression beginning to rest upon the fair brow of Eugenia. As the evening breeze sometimes disturbed the dark ringlets which shaded her temples, he could occasionally discover a paleness which caused a singular and inexpressible feeling of no pleasurable character to arise in his breast. One evening as they were sitting together alone, admiring the beauties of a fine sun-set, Edgar ventured to suggest a somewhat different subject for their mutual reflection. As he changed the subject of conversation, he perceived a slight trembling pass over the frame of his companion. He almost shuddered. He feared to go farther. He dared not stop there, and leave her in doubt as to his intentions. A long silence ensued. At length he resumed the conversation, and opened to her fully his views and feelings. As the subject was one which required reflection, he told her that his business would call him

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