While bathing in moonlight the village was seen
With the church in the distance that stood on the green,
The soft, sleeping meadows lay brightly unrolled,
With their mantles of verdure and blossoms of gold,
And the earth in her beauty, forgetting to grieve,

Lay asleep in her bloom on the bosom of eve.

3. A light-hearted child, I had wandered away

From the spot where my footsteps had gamboled all day,
And free as a bird's, was the song of my soul,
As I heard the wild waters exultingly roll;
While lightening my heart as I sported along,
With bursts of low laughter and snatches of song,
I struck in the pathway half-worn o'er the sod
By the feet that went up to the worship of God.

4. As I traced its green windings, a murmur of prayer
With the hymn of the worshipers rose on the air,
And drawn by the links of its sweetness along,
I stood unobserved in the midst of the throng.
For awhile my young spirit still wandered about

With the birds, and the winds, that were singing without;
But, birds, waves, and zephyrs, were quickly forgot

In one angel-like being that brightened the spot.

5. In stature majestic, apart from the throng

He stood in his beauty, the theme of my song!
His cheek pale with fervor,-the blue orbs above
Lit up with the splendors of youth and of love,
Yet the heart-glowing rapture that beamed from those eyes,
Seemed saddened by sorrow and chastened by sighs,
As if the young heart in its bloom had grown cold,
With its loves unrequited, its sorrows untold..

6. Such language as his may I never recall,

But his theme was salvation salvation to all!

And the souls of a thousand in ecstacy hung

On the manna-like sweetness that dropped from his tongue. Not alone on the ear his wild eloquence stole,

Enforced by each gesture, it sunk to the soul,

Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod,
And brought to each bosom a message from God.

7. He spoke of the Savior

what pictures he drew!
The scenes of His sufferings rose clear on my view -
The cross- the rude cross where He suffered and died;
The gush of bright crimson that flowed from His side;
The cup of His sorrows the wormwood and gall;
The darkness that mantled the earth as a pall;
The garland of thorns and the demon-like crews
Who knelt as they scoffed Him, "Hail King of the Jews!"

8. He spoke, and it seemed that his statue-like form
Expanded and glowed as his spirit grew warm;
His tone so impassioned so melting his air,
As touched with compassion, he ended in prayer;
His hands clasped above him, his blue orbs upthrown,
Still pleading for sins that were never his own,
While that mouth where such sweetness ineffable clung,
Still spoke, though expression had died on his tongue!

9. O God! what emotions the speaker awoke

A mortal he seemed

- yet a deity spoke; A man- yet so far from humanity riven;

On earth—yet so closely connected with heaven;
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him there,
As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer,
With his eyes closed in rapture -
their transient eclipse
Made bright by the smiles that illumined his lips.

10. There's a charm in delivery, a magical art,

That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the heart.

'Tis the glance, the expression, the well chosen word,
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred;
The smile, the mute gesture, the soul-startling pause,
The eye's sweet expresssion, that melts while it awes
The lip's soft persuasion, its musical tone,

Oh such was the charm of that eloquent one!

11. The time is long past,—yet how clearly defined
That bay, church, and village, float on my mind;
I see amid azure the moon in her pride,
With the sweet little trembler that sat by her side:
I hear the blue waves, as she wanders along,
Leap up in their gladness and sing her a song,
And I tread in the pathway half-worn o'er the sod,
By the feet that went up to the worship of God.
12. The time is long past, yet what visions I see!
The past, the dim past, is the present to me.

I am standing once more 'mid the heart-stricken throng!
A vision floats up- 'tis the theme of my song-
All glorious and bright as a spirit of air,

The light like a halo encircling his hair,

As I catch the same accents of sweetness and love,
He whispers of Jesus, and points us above.

13. How sweet to my heart is the picture I've traced !
Its chain of bright fancies seemed almost effaced,
Till Memory, the fond one, that sits in the soul,
Took up the frail links, and collected the whole.
As the dew to the blossom, the bud to the bee,

As the scent to the rose, are those memories to me:
Round the chords of my heart they have tremblingly clung,
And the echo it gives, is the song I have sung.

LESSON XLIII.

TRAGIC FATE OF ELIZA.

DARWIN.

1. Now stood Eliza on the wood crowned height,
O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight;
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife,
Her dearer self, the partner of her life;
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued,
And viewed his banner, or believed she viewea.
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread,
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led;
And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm,
Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm;,
While round her brows bright beams of honor dart,
And love's warm eddies circle round her heart.
Near and more near the intrepid beauty pressed,-
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest,
Heard the exulting shout, "They run! they run!"
"Great God!" she cried, "he's safe! the battle's won

2. A ball now hisses through the airy tides,

(Some fury wings it, and some demon guides,) Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck, Wounds her fair ear and sinks into her neck; The red stream issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white vail, her ivory bosom stains. "Ah me!" she cried, and sinking on the ground, Kissed her dear babes regardless of the wound. 3. "Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn! Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my love's return! Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far! The angel, pity, shuns the walks of war!

Oh, spare ye war-hounds, spare their tender age,
On me, on me," she cried, " exhaust your rage!
Then with weak arms her weeping babes caressed,
And sighing, hid them in her blood-stained vest.

4. From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies,
Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes;
Eliza's name along the camp he calls,
Eliza! echoes through the canvas walls;

Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead,
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood,
Lo! dear Eliza, weltering in her blood!

5. Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds,
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds:
"Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand,
"Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand;

Alas! we both with cold and hunger quake

Why do you weep? - Mamma will soon awake."
"She'll wake no more!" the hopeless mourner cried,
Upturned his eyes, and clasped his hands and sighed;
Stretched on the ground awhile entranced he lay,
And pressed warm kisses on the lifeless clay;
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start,
And all the father kindled in his heart:

"Oh heavens!" he cried, "my first rash vow forgive!

These bind to earth, for these I pray to live!"
Round his chill babes he wrapped his crimson vest,.

And clasped them sobbing to his aching breast.