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Ye bind the o withJ. secret Zone,
The ocean is seal’d, and the surge a stone;
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring,
Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king;
The turf looks green where the breakers roll'd;
O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold;
The sea-snatch'd isle is the home of men,
And the mountains exult where the wave hath been.

But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark
The wrecking reef for the gallant bark?
There are snares enough on the tented field,
"Mid the blossom'd sweets that the valleys yield;
There are serpents to coil, ere the flowers are up;
There's a poison drop in man's purest cup;
There are foes that watch for his cradle breath,
And why need ye sow the floods with death

With mouldering bones the deeps are white,
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright;--
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold,
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold,
And the gods of ocean have frown'd to see
The mariner's bed in their halls of glee;—
Hath earth no graves, that ye thus must spread
The boundless sea for the thronging dead?

Ye .. build—but ye enter not in,
Like the tribes whom the desert devour'd in their sin;
From the land of promise ye fade and die,
Ere its yerdure gleams forth on your weary eye;—
As the kings of the cloud-crown'd o
Their noteless bones in oblivion hid,
Ye slumber unmark'd 'mid the desolate main,
While the wonder and pride of your works remain.

MRS. SIGoURNEY.

THE CHILD OF EARTH.

FAINTER her slow step falls from day to day,
Death's hand is heavy on her dark’ning brow;
Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say,
“I am content to die—but, oh! not now !—
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe—
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing—
Not while the bright flowers round my footsteps
wreathe.
Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping brow—
I am content to die—but, oh! not now !’

The spring hath ripen'd into summer-time;
The season's viewless boundary is past;
The glorious sun hath reach'd his burning prime :
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the last !
“Let me not perish while o'er land and sea,
With silent steps, the Lord of light moves on;
For while the murmur of the mountain-bee
Greets my dull ear with music in its tone:
Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow—
I am content to die!—but oh! not now !’

Summer is gone : and autumn's soberer hues
Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn;–
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,
Shouts the halloo! and winds his eager horn.
“Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze
the broad meadows and the quiet stream,
To watch in silence while the evening rays
Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam!
Cooler the breezes play around my brow-
I am content to die—but, oh! not now!'

The bleak wind whistles: snow-showers far and near iris without echo to the whitening ground;

Autumn hath pass'd away, and, cold and drear,
Winter stalks on with often mantle bound:

Yet still that prayer ascends. “O! laughingly
My little brothers round the warm hearth clowd,
Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high,
And the roof rings with voices light and lood;
Spare me awhile! raise up my drooping brow
I am content to die—but, oh! not now !"

The spring is come again—the joyful spring !
Again #. banks with clust'ring flowers are ; p 1.
The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing:—
The child of earth is number'd with the dead!
“Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,
Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane;
The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break,
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again!
Death's silent shadow veils thy darken'd brow—
Why didst thou linger ?—thou art happier now !"

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WHAT were they?—you ask: you shall presently see;
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea;
O no;-for such properties wondrous had they,
That * feelings, and thoughts they could
weign,
Together with articles, small or immense,
From mountains or planets to atoms of sense;
Naught was there so bulky but there it could lay,
And naught so ethereal but there it would stay;
And naught so reluctant but in it must go:-
All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire,
Which retain’d all the wit that had ever been there;
As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,
Qontaining the prayer of the penitent thief;
en the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell,
As to bound like a ball on the roof of his celi.

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Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
With a garment that Dorcas had made—for a weight;
And though clad in armour from sandals to crown,
The hc o rose up, and the garment went down.

A long row of alms-houses, amply endow’d

By a well-esteem'd Pharisee, busy and proud,

Now loaded one scale, while the other was prest

By those mites the poor widow dropp'd into the chest;

É. flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,

And do down, the farthing's worth came with a
Ounce.

By further experiments (no matter how)
#. found that ten chariots weigh’d less than one
plough. -
A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale,
Though balanced by only a tempenny nail.
A lord and a lady went up at full sail,
When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale.
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,-
Ten counsellors' wigs full of powder and curl-
All heap'd in one balance, and swinging from thence,
Weigh’d less than some atoms of candour and

sense ;A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt, Than one good potato just wash’d from the dirt — Yet not mountains of silver and gold would suffice, One pearl to outweigh—'t was ‘the pearl of great price'

At last the whole world was bowl'd in at the grate
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight:-
When the former sprung up with so strong a rebuff,
That it made a vast rent, and escaped at the roof-
While the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell,
That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.
Miss J. TAYLOR.

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ERE, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,

Have put their glory on.

The mountains that enfold In their wide sweep the colour'd landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,

That guard the enchanted ground.

I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, Where the gay company of trees look down

On the green fields below.

My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown

Along the winding way.

And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile.—

The sweetest of the year.

Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;
So grateful, when the noon of summer made

The valleys sick with heat

Let in through all the trees Come the . rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-colour'd foliage, in the breeze, inkles, like beams of light.

The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen,

And glimmerings of the sun.

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