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"And HE, the trident-wielder, still shall see
The adoring billows kneel around his feet,
While at his call the winds in ministry
Before their altar of the tempest meet:
Or, leaning gently o'er the Paphian isles,
Cheer'd by the music of some Triton's horn,
Lift up the shadowy curtains of the night
To their hid window-tops above,

And bathe thy drowsy eyelids with the light,
Voluptuous queen of love!

And thou, ah, thou!

Born of the white sea-foam

That dreams a-troubled still around thy home,-
Awaking from thy slumbers, thou shalt press
Thy passionate lips on his resplendent brow
In some sweet, lone recess,

Where waters murmur and the dim leaves bow:
And young ENDYMION

At midnight's pallid noon

Shall still be charmed from his dewy sleep

By the foolish, lovesick Moon,

Who thrills to find him in some lovely vale
Before her silver lamp may fail:

And PAN shall play his pleasant reed

Down in the hush'd arcades,

And fauns shall prank the sward amid
Thessalia's sunny shades.

"Nor absent SHE whose eyes of azure throw Truth's sunburst on the world below:

Still shall she calmly watch the choral years

Circling fast the beamy spheres

That tremble as she marches through their plains,

While momently rolls out a sullen sound

From Error's hoary mountains tumbling round,—

Heard by the Titan, who from his high rock,

Filled with immortal pains

That his immortal spirit still can mock,
Exultant sees,-despite the oppressor's ire,

The frost, the heat, the vulture, and the storm,—

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Earth's ancient vales rejoicing in his fire,

The homes, the loves of men,-those beings wrought
To many a beauteous form

In the grand quiet of his own great thought:
And over all, bright, beautiful, serene,
And changeless in thy prime,

Thou, PSYCHE! glory-cinctured, shalt be seen,
Whispering for ever that one word sublime,
Down through the peopled gallery of Time,—
Eternity !'-in whose dread cycles stand

Men and their deities, alike, on common land."

Like far-off stars that glimmer in a cloud, Deathless, O Gods! shall ye illume the past; To you the poet-voice will cry aloud,

Faithful among the faithless, to the last― "Ye must not die!"

Long as the dim robes of the ages trail

O'er Delphi's steep or Tempe's flowery vale—
Ye shall not die!

Though time and storm your calm old temples rend,
And, rightly, men to our "ONE ONLY" bend,-
Ye were the things in which the ancient mind
Its darkling sense of Deity enshrined.
To Sinai still Olympus reverent calls,
And Ida leans to hear Mount Zion's voice:
Gods of the past! your shapes are in our halls;
Upon our clime your mighty presence falls,
And Christian hearts with Grecian souls rejoice.

EL AMIN-THE FAITHFUL.

WHO is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride,

But a great free son of Nature, lion-soul'd and eagle-eyed:

Who is this before whose presence idols tumble to the sod?

While he cries out-" Allah Akbar! and there is no god but God!"

Wandering in the solemn desert, he has wonder'd like a child Not as yet too proud to wonder, at the sun and star and wild. "O, thou Moon! who made thy brightness? Stars! who hung ye there on high?

Answer! so my soul may worship: I must worship, or I die." Then there fell the brooding silence that precedes the thunder's roll;

And the old Arabian Whirlwind called another Arab soul. Who is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride,

But a great free son of Nature, lion-soul'd and eagle-eyed:

He has stood and seen Mount Hara to the Awful Presence

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He has heard from cloud and lightning-"Know there is no god but God!"

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this man 66 Faithful, when

an impostor?"-He was call'd The

A boy he wander'd o'er the deserts, by the wild-eyed Arab

men.

He was always call'd The Faithful. Truth he knew was Allah's breath;

But the Lie went darkly gnashing through the corridors of Death.

"He was fierce!"-Yes! fierce at falsehood,-fierce at hideous bits of wood

That the Koreish taught the people made the sun and solitude.

But his heart was also gentle; and affection's graceful palm,

Waving in his tropic spirit, to the weary brought a balm.

"Precepts?"-Have on each compassion! Lead the stranger to your door!

In your dealings keep up justice! Give a tenth unto the poor!

"Yet, ambitious!"-Yes! ambitious-while he heard the calm and sweet Aidenn-voices sing-to trample conquer'd Hell beneath his feet.

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"Islam?"—Yes! submit to heaven!" Prophet? -To the East thou art!

What are prophets but the trumpets blown by God to stir the heart?

And the great Heart of the Desert stirr❜d unto that solemn strain

Rolling from the trump at Hara over Error's troubled main. And a hundred dusky millions honor still El Amin's rod, Daily chaunting-“Allah Akbar! know there is no god but God!"

Call him then no more Impostor! Mecca is the Choral Gate

Where, till Zion's noon shall take them, nations in the morning wait.

WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.

Born at Salem, Mass: 1819—

PRAXITELES AND PHRYNE.

A THOUSAND silent years ago,
The twilight, faint and pale,
Was drawing o'er the sunset glow
Its soft and shadowy veil;

When from his work the Sculptor stay'd

His hand, and, turn'd to one

Who stood beside him, half in shade,

Said, with a sigh-""Tis done!

"Thus much is saved from chance and change,

That waits for me and thee;

Thus much-how little! from the range

Of Death and Destiny.

"Phryne! thy human lips shall pale,
Thy rounded limbs decay,-

Nor love nor prayers can aught avail
To bid thy beauty stay;

"But there thy smile for centuries
On marble lips shall live,—

For Art can grant what love denies,
And fix the fugitive.

"Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade The youth of this cold bust;

When this quick brain and hand that made, And thou and I are dust!

"When all our hopes and fears are dead,
And both our hearts are cold,
And love is like a tune that's play'd,
And life a tale that's told,-

"This senseless stone, so coldly fair,
That love nor life can warm,
The same enchanting look shall wear,
The same enchanting form.

"Its peace no sorrow shall destroy;
Its beauty age shall spare

The bitterness of vanish'd joy,
The wearing waste of care.

"And there upon that silent face
Shall unborn ages see
Perennial youth, perennial grace,
And seal'd serenity.

"And strangers, when we sleep in peace, Shall say, not quite unmoved—

So smiled upon Praxiteles

The Phryne whom he loved."

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