EUPHAS. Hers is a face thou never wilt behold. On her PISO. I will. on her shall fall my worst revenge; And I will know what foul and magic arts It is just here, in the midst of his angry purposes, that the beautiful form of Miriam glides in. And by his excited feelings, bearing, as she did, the lovely features of one whom he had formerly loved, she might easily have been mistaken for a shadow, sent from the "dim realms" of the dead, " to look him into peace." "Beautiful shadow! in this hour of wrath What dost thou here? In life thou wert too meek, And since I saw thee last, my days have been shadow bright! In vain that look! That sweet, sad look! My lot is cast in blood! Oh, say not so! MIRIAM. PISO. The voice that won me first! Oh, what a tide of recollections rush Upon my drowning soul! my own wild love - MIRIAM. Oh, man of guilt and woe! Thine own dark phantasies are busy now, PISO. How! Art thou not she? I know that face! I never yet beheld Why dost thou wear that semblance, if thou art The wailing ghosts of those whose blood doth clog MIRIAM. Thou art a wretched man! and I do feel Off! off! Look up, thou conscience-struck! PISO. She touched me with her damp, cold hand! But 't was a hand of flesh and blood!-Away! Come thou not near me till I study thee. MIRIAM. Why are thine eyes so fix'd and wild? thy lips Thou dar'st not look upon I know not why. But I must speak to thee. 'Mid thy remorse, And the unwonted terrors of thy soul, I must be heard - for God hath sent me here. PISO. Who who hath sent thee here? MIRIAM. The Christian's God, The God thou knowest not. ( PISO. Thou art of earth! I see the rose-tint on thy pallid cheek, Which was not there at first; it kindles fast! MIRIAM. He hath given me strength, And led me safely through the broad lone streets, Through the long colonnades, where stood aloft Bending their sightless eyes on me! by cool founts, And He hath brought me here before thy face; With a strange, nameless fear. PISO. Girl! name it not. I deem'd I look'd on one, whose bright young face In my youth's prime! I knew the dust, A shadow fell Upon the soul that never yet knew fear. Those who have read Talfourd's tragedy must remember that striking scene, the first interview between Ion and king Adrastus. After urging upon the tyrant various motives, and finding that neither regard to his own safety, nor generous sympathy with the sufferings of his people touched him, Ion carries him back to childhood, and endeavors to strike upon some chord, among his earliest recollections, which should vibrate in unison with the wailing mothers and children of Argos. In vain. "His youth was blasted." But there was yet one vein to be explored in his soul. "ION. If thou hast ever loved ADRASTUS. Beware! beware! ION. Thou hast! I see thou hast! Thou art not marble, Think upon the time ADRASTUS. That tone! that tone! Whence came it? from thy lips? It cannot be - Roll on! roll on! Stranger, thou dost enforce me ION. As a child. ADRASTUS. Again! that voice again! - thou hast seen me moved, Which some light breeze, enamor'd of the sound, Hath wafted through the woods, till thy young voice pp. 28, 29. N. Y. Ed. It is a pleasing task to trace such coincidences as these, where, as in the present case, there is no room for a suspicion of plagiarism. They only prove that the instincts of genius often lead different writers into the same paths of thought, and produce unwittingly a resemblance too close to have been aimed at. We shall use the critic's privilege a moment longer, and then close. In her Preface, our author says, speaking of herself, that "the lapse of years has already cooled her imagination, and taught her that exertions, whose tendency might be more practical and useful, would now interest her feelings more deeply." We are sure that we are not to understand this as if it were designed to countenance the common mistake of narrowing the meaning of the words, practical and useful, so far as to exclude the labors of the Imagination, and the results of high art. And we would fain hope that there is no settled purpose of retiring from a field on which so much honor can be won. Society cannot willingly permit those, who are able to present good thoughts and pure sentiments in the fascinating shapes of poetry, to relinquish their peculiar province for other departments of labor, for which the thousand are abundantly qualified. As well might the old Prophet have thrown off his mantle, and dropped his scroll, in order to follow the plough, or handle the hammer. Bos ART. VII. 1. The Duties of Hard Times. A Sermon preached to the First Church, on Sunday Morning, April 28, 1837. By its Minister, N. L. FROTHINGHAM. BOSton: Munroe & Francis. 1837. 2. Views of Duty adapted to the Times. A Sermon preached at Portsmouth, N. H., May 14, 1837. By ANDREW P. PEABODY, Pastor of the South Church and Parish. Portsmouth: J. W. Foster, and J. F. Shores & Son. 1837. 3. The Temptations of the Times. A Discourse delivered in the Congregational Church in Purchase Street, on Sunday Morning, May 7, 1837. By GEORGE RIPLEY, Pastor of that Church. Boston: Hilliard, Gray, & Co. 1837. 4. The Hard Times. A Discourse delivered in the Second Unitarian Church, and also in the First Parish Church, Portland, Sunday, January 1, 1837. By JASON WHITMAN. Portland: Arthur Shirley. 1837. WE are glad that these discourses have been published, and regret only that many other excellent ones upon the same topic, of which we have heard, have not also been given to the public. The clergy, in our cities and large towns, have very generally, we believe, taken occasion to preach upon the times, to present to their parishioners and fellow citizens thoughts, suggested by the existing commercial embarrassment, |