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“ Beware the pine-tree's wither'd branch !
Beware the awful avalanche!”
This was the peasant's last Good-night;
A voice replied, far up the height,

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Utter'd the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice.
That banner with the strange device,

There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,


The Fallen Angels gathered again to War. All these and more came flocking; but with looks Downcast and damp, yet such wherein appear'd Obscure some glimpse of joy, to have found their Chief Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost In loss itself : which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue : but he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised Their fainting courage, and dispellid their fears. Then straight commands, that at the warlike sound Of trumpets loud and clarions be uprear'd His mighty standard : that proud honour claim'd Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall; Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl'd The imperial ensign; which full high advanced, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed, Seraphic arms and trophies; all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds :

At which the universal host up sent A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All in a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air With orient colours waving : with them rose A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms Appear'd, and serried shields in thick array Of depth immeasurable : anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders ; such as raised To height of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle ; and instead of rage Deliberate valour breathed, firm and unmoved With dread of death to flight or foul retreat ; Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suage With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain, From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, Breathing united force with fixéd thought, Moved on in silence to soft pipes, that charm'd Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil: and now Advanced in view they stand ; a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise Of warriors old with order'd spear and shield; Awaiting what command their mighty chief Had to impose : he through the armed files Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse The whole battalion views; their order due, Their visages and stature as of gods ; Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hard'ning in his strength, Glories : for never, since created man, Met such embodied force, as named with these Could merit more than that small infantry Warr'd on by cranes ; though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with the heroic race were join'd That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mix'd with auxiliar gods; and what resounds In fable or romance of Uther's son Begirt with British and Armoric knights ; And all who since, baptized or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban, Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore,

When Charlemain with all his peerage fell
By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed
Their dread commander; he above the rest,
In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower: his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness ; nor appear'd
Less than arch-angel ruin'd, and th' excess
Of glory obscured; as when the sun new risen
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nation, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs. Darken'd so, yet shone
Above them all the Arch-Angel; but his face
Deep scars of thunder had entrench'd, and care
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride
Waiting revenge.


The Last Man.
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The Sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume

Its Immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of Time!
I saw the last of human mould
That shall Creation's death behold,

As Adam saw her prime!
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,

The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were

Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight, the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread ;
And ships were drifting with the dead

To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,

With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood

As if a storm pass'd by,
Saying, “ We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis Mercy bids thee go, For thou, ten thousand thousand years, Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

" What though beneath thee man put forth

His pomp, his pride, his skill;
And arts that made fire, flool, and earth,

The vassals of his will ;-
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day :

For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

“Go, let oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall

Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack

Of pain anew to writhe ;
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,
Or mown in battle by the sword

Like grass beneath the scythe.

“ Ev'n I am weary in yon skies

To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,

Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death-
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,
The majesty of darkness shall

Receive my partiug ghost.

" This spirit shall return to Him

That gave its heavenly spark ;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim

When thou thyself art dark !
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

By Him recall'd to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robb'd the grave of victory,

And took the sting from death! “ Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up

On Nature's awful waste,
To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste-
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race

On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality,

Or shake his trust in God!” CAMPBELL.

Wisdom. THERE in his bosom Sapience doth sit, The sovereign darling of the Deity, Clad like a queen in royal robes, most fit For so great power and peerless majesty; And all with gems and jewels gorgeously Adorn'd, that brighter than the stars appear, And make her native brightness seem more clear. And on her head a crown of purest gold Is set, in sign of highest sovereignty; And in her hand a sceptre she doth hold With which she rules the house of God on high, And manageth the ever-moving sky, And in the same these lower creatures all Subjected to her power imperial. Both heaven and earth obey unto her will, And all the creatures which they both contaiu : For of her fulness, which the world doth fill, They all partake, and do in state remain, As their great Maker did at first ordain; Through observation of her high behest, By which they first were made and still increase J.

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