The sun himself, with weary clouds oppress'd,
Shall in his silent, dark pavilion rest;
His golden urn shall, broke and useless, lie
Amidst the common ruins of the sky!
The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion,
And bathe their glitt'ring foreheads in the ocean.

But fixed, O God, for ever stands thy throne;
Jehovah reigns, a universe alone;

Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame,
Collected or diffus'd, is still the same.

He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence,
And fills all space with his unbounded presence.

But oh! our highest notes the theme debase,
And silence is our least injurious praise.
Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight control,
Revere him in the stillness of the soul;
With silent duty meekly bend before him,
And deep within your inmost hearts adore him.

"AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY
STRENGTH BE."

SIGOURNEY.

WHEN adverse winds and waves arise,
And in my heart despondence sighs,-
When life her throng of care reveals,
And weakness o'er my spirit steals,-~
Grateful I hear the kind decree,

l'hat "as my day, my strength shall be."

THERE were sounds of mirth and joyousness
Broke forth in the lighted hall,

And there was many a merry laugh,
And many a merry call;

And the glass was freely passed around,
And the nectar freely quaffed;
And many a heart felt light with glee
And the joy of the thrilling draught.

A voice arose in that place of mirth,
And a glass was flourished high;
"I drink to Life," said a son of earth,
"And I do not fear to die;

I have no fear-I have no fear-
Talk not of the vagrant Death;
For he is a grim old gentleman,

And he wars but with his breath.

Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to Life,

And we do not fear to die!"

Just then a rushing sound was heard,

As of spirits sweeping by;

And presently the latch flew up,

And the door flew open wide;

And a stranger strode within the hall,
With an air of martial pride.

He spoke: "I join in your revelry,

Bold sons of the Bacchan rite;

And I drink the toast you have drunk before,
The pledge of yon dauntless knight.
Fill high-fill high-we drink to Life,
And we scorn the reaper Death;
For he is a grim old gentleman,

And he wars but with his breath.

He's a noble soul, that champion knight,
And he bears a martial brow;

O, he'll pass the gates of Paradise,
To the regions of bliss below!"
This was too much for the Bacchan;
Fire flashed from his angry eye;

A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath--
"Intruder, thou shalt die!"

He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off,
And a phantom form stood there-

A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing,
With rotten and mildewed hair!

And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew
A blast of his withering breath;

And the Bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet,
And his conqueror was-Death.

TWILIGHT.

HALLECK.

THERE is an evening twilight of the heart,
When its wild passion-waves are lull'd to rest,
And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart,
As fades the day-beam in the rosy west.
'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret,

We gaze upon them as they melt away,
And fondly would we bid them linger yet.
But Hope is round us with her angel-lay.
Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour;
Dear are her whispers still, though lost their
earthly power.

In youth, the cheek was crimson'd with her glow;

Her smile was loveliest then; her matin-song Was heaven's own music, and the note of woe Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. Life's little world of bliss was newly born;

We knew not, cared not, it was born to die. Flush'd with the cool breeze and the dews of morn,

With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, And mock'd the passing clouds that dimm'd its blue, Like our own sorrows then-as fleeting and as few.

And manhood felt her sway too,--on the eye,

Half realized, her earthly dreams burst bright, Her promised bower of happiness seem'd nigh, Its days of joy, its vigils of delight;

And though at times might lour the thunder-storm, And the red lightnings threaten, still the air Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form, The rainbow of the heart was hovering there.