By Cherith's hidden stream recluse,
The faithful prophet lay;
He drank the running brook,
The ravens brought the due supply.
Firm in the path of faith
Through life Elijah trod.
Nor through the narrow portals of the grave
He past to realms of bliss;
For ravish'd in the car of flames,
He fled the gate of death;
Thus mortal rapt to immortality.
High from his lofty throne
The impious tyrant cries,
"Fall down, ye men of earth,
Revere the image of your King and God."
Faith stood firm.
"Heap the fierce furnace high,”
(The angry despot cries)
"Fan the red flames till the hot furnace pales, Sickening itself with heat."
The fire flames fierce!
Amid the pallid flames
The faithful friends are hurl'd!
But blasted fall the slaves,
The slaves of tyranny:
God stretch'd the robe of preservation forth,
And mantled o'er his sons.
Amid the lions hurl'd,
In conscious faith serene the prophet lay.
Nor Daniel knew to fear,
Nor did his pale limbs quiver with affright;
He dar'd for God to die,
And Heaven, for ever good, preserv'd the seer:
The gaunt beasts, famine-fall'n,
Creep at his feet, and suppliant lick his hand.
Sons of my age, look back;
Call up the shadowy scenes
Of ages now no more:
For never, since yon font of light
First shed the new-born stream,
For never, since the breath of life
Breath'd through the realms of
Has virtue trusted in her God in vain.
Amid the storm serene she goes,
Nor heeds black malice' sharpest shafts,
Nor envy's venom'd tooth;
The warring winds roar round her head,
Nor knows the constant maid to fear,
But lifts her looks to God.
Not 'til the sun, for ever quench'd,
In darkness cease to shine;
'Til nature feel no more the breath
Of life pervade her frame:
"Til time himself expir'd
Sink in eternity,
Shall faith be firm in vain.
Now then, indeed, be men, Grasp firm the shield of faith, Lift high the sword of hope, Nor fear yon haughty tyrant's impious vaunts; To-day elate he stalks,
Lifts his tiared brows,
Self-deemed a more than man:
To-morrow, fall'n in dust,
Food for the worm corrupt,
Sunk to primeval nothing, low he lies.
And, sometimes, when your lips repeat the deeds
Your forefathers achiev'd,
Of me the meanest think, not wholly mean:
Let Mattathias' name
Full-fill your souls with fire,
Recal that hour to view
When this indignant hand
Drench'd deep my dagger in apostate blood.
Even at the altar's foot,
The tyrant chief I stabb'd,
I hurl'd the altar down.
Nor then, in sacred sloth subdued,
Upon the sabbath fell we unreveng'd.
We serv'd our God in fight,
We sacrific'd his foes,
We pray'd amid the war.
Then through these limbs burnt high
Indignant valour's flame;
Then glow'd the lamp of life,
Now pale and wavering as the dews of death,
Slow quench its fading light.
God of my fathers, thou hast seen my life
Worn in defence of thee;
Thou hast beheld me firm in danger's face,
Maintain thy holy cause,
Amid embattled hosts
Defend thy mystic rites.
Now to the unknown world,
Unchill'd by fear, I sink;
And whilst my chilly limbs grow fairt,
Whilst death's dull mists bedim my eye,
Hope lifts my soul to thee.
THE lily cheek, the " purple light of love,"
The liquid lustre of the melting eye-
Mary! of these the poet sung, for these
Did woman triumph. With no angry frown
View this degrading conquest! At that age
No Maid of Arc had snatched from coward man
The avenging sword of freedom; woman-kind
Recorded then no Roland's martyrdom;
No Corde's angel and avenging arm
Had sanctified again the murderer's name,
As erst when Cæsar perished: yet some strains
May even adorn this theme, befitting me
To offer, nor unworthy thy regard.
The subject from the third and fourth chapters of the Book of Esdras.
GLAD as the weary traveller, tempest-tost,
To reach secure at length his native coast,
Who wandering long o'er distant lands has sped,
The night-blast wildly howling round his head,
Known all the woes of want, and felt the storm
Of the bleak winter parch his shivering form;
The journey o'er, and every peril past,
Beholds his little cottage-home at last;
And as he sees afar the smoke curl slow,
Feels his full eyes with transport overflow;
So from the scene where death and anguish reign,
And vice and folly drench with blood the plain,
Joyful I turn, to sing how woman's praise
Availed again Jerusalem to raise,
Called forth the sanction of the despot's nod,
And freed the nation best beloved of God.
Darius gives the feast: to Persia's court,
Awed by his will, the obedient throng resort:
Attending satraps swell the prince's pride,
And vanquish'd monarchs grace their conqueror's side.
No more the warrior wears the garb of war,
Girds on the sword, or mounts the scythed car;
No more Judæa's sons dejected go,
And hang the head, and heave the sigh of wo.
From Persia's rugged hills descend the train,
From where Orontes foams along the plain,
From where Choaspes rolls his royal waves,
And India sends her sons, submissive slaves.
Thy daughters, Babylon, to grace the feast
Weave the loose robe, and paint the flowery vest;
With roseate wreaths they braid the glossy hair,
They tinge the cheek which nature formed so fair,
Learn the soft step, the soul-subduing glance,
Melt in the song, and swim adown the dance.
Exalted on the monarch's golden throne,
In royal state the fair Apame shone;
Her form of majesty, her eyes of fire,
Chill with respect, or kindle with desire.
The admiring multitude her charms adore,
And own her worthy of the crown she wore.
Now on his couch reclined Darius lay,
Tired with the toilsome pleasures of the day;
Without Judæa's watchful sons await,
To guard the sleeping pageant of the state.
Three youths were these of Judah's royal race,
Three youths whom nature dowered with every grace,
To each the form of symmetry she gave,
And haughty genius cursed each favourite slave;
These filled the cup, around the monarch kept,
Served as he spake, and guarded whilst he slept.
Yet oft for Salem's hallowed towers laid low The sigh would heave, the unbidden tear would flow;
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