As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear;-yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and, if he smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair, unshorn,
Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,

As if his heart was moved, and, stooping down,
He took a little water in his hand,

And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And, lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus's feet, and worshipped him.

Versification of the Beginning of the Last Book of the Martyrs.-ALEXANDER H. EVERETT.

SWEET muse, that on my venturous voyage smiled,
And kindly cheered the dangerous, doubtful way,
No more, with dreams of youth and hope beguiled,
I tempt thee from thy heavenly seats to stray.
Soon shall my lyre its feeble descant close,
And sad its parting strain-a funeral song;
Nor needs a Frenchman aid for themes like those;
Spontaneous rise the notes his lyre along,

And all he sings he feels, inured to grief and wrong.

Friend of my youth, indulge this parting lay,
And then for age thy service I forego."

I leave the dreams that charmed my earlier day,
And all the heaven that youthful poets know;
For youth is fled; and thou mayst not remain,
To 'sort with furrowed brow and silver hairs;
Yet sure to lose thee gives me mickle pain;
Thy hand alone the balm of life prepares,
The only zest for joy, the only cure for cares.

O, yes; perforce the parting tear will flow ;-
So old a friend, that loved me yet a child,
Teaching my step the ocean path to know,
And my young voice to sing the tempest mild.
I wooed thee oft in western wood afar,
Where stranger foot had never trod before,
By twilight dim, or light of evening star,
Listening remote to Niagara's roar;
And Nature's self, and thou, didst inspiration pour.

Guide and companion of my wandering way,
What various lands our voyage since hath seen,
From plains where Tiber's glorious waters play,
To distant Morven's misty summits green.
How loath to leave the spot we lingered near,
Athena's walls and grove of Academe!

How, pilgrim like, we saw, with hallowed fear,
Afar the Holy City's turrets gleam,

And prayed on Zion's mount, and drank of Jordan's stream!

Then fare thee well! but not with thee depart

The loftiness of soul that thou hast given;
Once to have known thee shall exalt my heart,
When thou, celestial guest, art fled to heaven.

Then what, though Time may wither Fancy's bloom,

And change her voice to dissonance uncouth?

Thy nobler gifts receive a nobler doom,

And live and flourish in eternal youth

The firm, unbending mind, the consciousness of truth.

Autumn.-ANONYMOUS.

SWEET Sabbath of the year,
While evening lights decay,

Thy parting steps methinks I hear
Steal from the world away.

Amid thy silent flowers

'Tis sad, but sweet, to dwell,

Where falling leaves and drooping flowers

Around me breathe farewell.

Along thy sunset skies

Their glories melt in shade,
And, like the things we fondly prize,
Seem lovelier as they fade,

A deep and crimson streak

Thy dying leaves disclose;

As, on Consumption's waning cheek,
'Mid ruin, blooms the rose.

Thy scene each vision brings
Of beauty in decay;
Of fair and early faded things,
Too exquisite to stay ;—

Of joys that come no more;

Öf flowers whose bloom is fled;
Of farewells wept upon the shore;
Of friends estranged or dead;—

Of all that now may seem,
To Memory's tearful eye,
The vanished beauty of a dream,

O'er which we gaze and sigh.

The Treasure that waxeth not old-D. HUNTINGDON.

O, I HAVE loved, in youth's fair vernal morn,
To spread imagination's wildest wing,
The sober certainties of life to scorn,
And seek the visioned realms that poets sing-
Where Nature blushes in perennial spring,
Where streams of earthly joy exhaustless rise,
Where Youth and Beauty tread the choral ring

And shout their raptures to the cloudless skies,
While every jovial hour on downy pinion flies.

But, ah! those fairy scenes at once have fled,
Since stern Experience waved her iron wand,
Broke the soft slumbers of my visioned head,
And bade me here of perfect bliss despond.
And oft have I the painful lesson conned,
When Disappointment mocked my wooing heart,
Still of its own delusion weakly fond,

And from forbidden pleasures loath to part,

Though shrinking oft beneath Correction's deepest smart.

And is there nought in mortal life, I cried,
Can soothe the sorrows of the laboring breast?
No kind recess, where baffled Hope may hide,
And weary Nature lull her woes to rest?

O grant me, pitying Heaven, this last request,—
Since I must every loftier wish resign,-

Be my few days with peace and friendship blessed;
Nor will I at my humble lot repine,

Though neither wealth, nor fame, nor luxury be mine.

O give me yet, in some recluse abode,
Encircled with a faithful few, to dwell,
Where power cannot oppress, nor care corrode,
Nor venomed tongues the tale of slander tell ;-
Or bear me to some solitary cell,
Beyond the reach of every human eye;
And let me bid a long and last farewell
To each alluring object 'neath the sky,

And there in peace await my hour, in peace to die.

Ah, vain desire!" a still small voice replied;
"No place, no circumstance can Peace impart :-
She scorns the mansion of unvanquished Pride,
Sweet inmate of a pure and humble heart;-
Take then thy station-act thy proper part:-
A Savior's mercy seek,-his will perform :
His word has balm for sin's envenomed smart,
His love, diffused, thy shuddering breast shall warm;
His power provide a shelter from the gathering storm."

O welcome hiding place! O refuge meet
For fainting pilgrims, on this desert way!

O kind Conductor of these wandering feet,
Through snares and darkness, to the realms of day!
Soon did the Sun of Righteousness display

His healing beams; each gloomy cloud dispel :
While on the parting mist, in colors gay,

Truth's cheering bow of precious promise fell,

And Mercy's silver voice soft whispered,-" All is well.”

Fragment of an Epistle written while recovering from severe
Illness.-RICHARD H. DANA.

No more, my friend,

A wearied ear I'll urge you lend
My tale of sickness. Aches I've borne
From closing day to breaking morn-
Long wintry nights and days of pain-
Sharp pain. 'Tis past; and I would fain
My languor cheer with grateful thought
On Him who to this frame has brought
Soothing and rest; who, when there rose,
Within my bosom's dull repose,

A troubled memory of wrong,

Done in health's day, when passions strong
Swayed me,-repentance spoke and peace,
Hope, and from dark remorse release.

Lonely, in thought, I travelled o'er
Days past and joys to come no more;
Sat watching the low beating fire,
And saw its flames shoot up, expire
Like cheerful thoughts that glance their light
Athwart the mind, and then 'tis night.

For ever night?-The Eternal One,
With sacred fire from forth his throne,
Has touched my heart. O, fail it not
When days of health shall be my lot.

Beside me, Patience, Suffering's child,
With gentle voice, and aspect mild,
Sat chanting to me song so holy,
A song to soothe my melancholy;