PICTURE FIRST.

MIRIAM .

Fair Miriam's was an ancient manse
Upon the open plain:
It looked to ocean's dim expanse,
Saw miles of meadow pasture dance
Beside the breezy main.

A porch, with woodbines overgrown,
Faced eastward to the shore;
While Autumn's sun, through foliage brown,
'Twixt leaf and lattice flickered down
To tesselate the floor.

There walked fair Miriam; — as she stept
A rustle thrilled the air;
Rare, starry gems her tresses kept,

She came as comes the summer wind,
A gust of beauty to my heart;
Then swept away, but left behind
Emotions which shall not depart.

Unheralded she came and went,
Like music in the silent night;
Which, when the burthened air is spent,
Bequeaths to memory its delight;

Or, like the sudden April bow
That spans the violet-waking rain:
She bade those blessed flowers to grow
Which may not fall or fade again.

Far sweeter than all things most sweet,
And fairer than all things most fair,

Miss
As mild as April-falling Show'rs,
Not a single Look that low'rs;
Neat and elegant in Dress,

Many Charms I can't express;
As D IANA'S lovely Mein,
Thus a Sister Goddess seen;
How unequal are my Lays,
Ev'ry striking Grace to praise;
What a pow'rful Charm to bind,
Such a sweet, good-natur'd Mind!

I cannot walk in darkness long, —
My Light is by my side;
I cannot stumble or go wrong,
While following such a guide.

I see his presence in the night,
And, though my heart is awed,
I do not quail beneath the sight
Or nearness of my God.

He is my stay and my defence, —
How shall I fail or fall?
My Helper is Omnipotence,
My Ruler ruleth all!

The powers below and powers above
Are subject to his care:
I cannot wander from his love
Who loves me everywhere.

Is there no God in all the circling spheres,
No Love deep-throbbing through the endless years,
No Wisdom to construct the shining dome,
And for the weary soul no rest, no home?

Soul, struggle on! Within the darkest night
Still broods the majesty of deathless Right:
If to its promptings clear thou still art true,
The larger, sweeter lights will flash to view;

The stars will shine, and the blue pomp of day,
And to thine ear the Everlasting Yea
Will breathe its music and its lofty song;
And we shall know that Beauty still is strong;

Semper Avarus Eget.

I.

Cries Gripus, gloating on his Pelf,
O! what a noble Passion!
Since Love of Gain increases more,
The more we get Possession.

II.

Thus M**** N thinks; — such dirty Souls
Are never worth our heeding;
Then fare you well, we give you Joy
Of this your constant Breeding .

All within and all without me
Feel a melancholy thrill;
And the darkness hangs about me,
Oh, how still;
To my feet, the river glideth
Through the shadow, sullen, dark;
On the stream the white moon rideth,
Like a barque—
And the linden leans above me,
Till I think some things there be
In this dreary world that love me,
Even me!

Gentle buds are blooming near me,
Shedding sweetest breath around;
Countless voices rise, to cheer me,
From the ground;
And the lone bird comes—I hear it
In the tall and windy pine

O Thou in all thy might so far,
In all thy love so near,
Beyond the range of sun and star,
And yet beside us here, —

What heart can comprehend thy name,
Or, searching, find thee out,
Who art, within, a quickening Flame,
A Presence round about?

Yet though I know thee but in part,
I ask not, Lord, for more:
Enough for me to know thou art,
To love thee and adore.

O sweeter far than aught besides,
The tender mystery
That like a veil of shadow hides
The Light I may not see!

Oh! my poor Husband! cries the plaintive Wife,
Late the sole Joy and Comfort of my Life!
And art thou gone? Alas! the cruel Day,
Which snatch'd, by far my better Half away!
To me how irksome is this bustling Stage!
" Fie on't! O fie! " no longer I'll engage; —
Betsy, take Care you bury th' dear Soul
With high Respect; — my Sorrows to controul,
I'll post for Bath ; the sprightly Ball may prove,
A sovereign Balm to cure — (and whet her Love)
Well, down she comes, shines forth in lovely Weeds,
And plainly shows her Grief, from Heart proceeds .

Oh thou, the laureate of our western realms,
Singing at will beneath your Cambridge elms,
Charming that sacred mansion where the grand
Paternal Cincinnatus of our land
Dwells, a majestic shadow — more than king;
Who, staidly smiling, hearkens while you sing.
Wouldst thou but build in Rome, we should behold
O'er Nero's ruins rise the enduring house of gold.

But I, a Troubadour born out of time,
From shrine to shrine, pour out my idle rhyme,
Impelled still onward with a love intense,
Singing for love (the only recompense),