There's a gladness in the step of youth, and its bearing frank and high,

That the proudest despot of the earth would tremble to

defy;

We follow it as if it led to the very mountain's side, Where we chased the bold stag in its speed, and the eagle in its pride.

There's a gladness in the sleep of youth, and its calm unbroken rest,

With the dew of blessing on its head from the fountain in its breast;

There's nothing in our after years of weariness like this, Till when the heart is young again in its sabbath year of bliss.

Oh! we might weep to feel, though soon our earthly years be told,

The spirit of our hearts has filed before our hearts are

cold;

To feel the loos'ning of the limbs, and bowing of the

head.

Before the narrow couch we need to slumber on be

spread.

But there's a better strength within than strength of heart or limb,

A burning and a shining light, whose lustre grows not

dim;

And though, while creatures still of earth, our outward forms decay,

The spirit of our inner man grows stronger day by day.

FROM THE REVELATION.

CHAP. XVIII.

[EDWIN ATHERSTONE.]

THEN came from Heaven a mighty angel down ;-
The sky was kindled,-and the dusky earth
Grew bright as at the rising of the sun.

And with a strong voice mightily he cried-
'Great Babylon is fallen-is fallen-is fallen!
And is the hold of unclean spirits become ;-
The habitation of the things of hell!

All nations of her wickedness have drunk,
And been defiled.—Come, my people, forth
From out of her, that ye share not of her sins,
And that ye burn not with her plagues. For, lo
Her wickedness hath reached unto Heaven;-
God hath remember'd her iniquities.

Therefore, in one day shall her plagues be sent;
Famine-and death-and mourning:-and with fires
Shall she be burnt out utterly. And the kings
That have partaken of her wickedness,
Standing far off, shall look upon her smoke,
Bewailing, and lamenting her,—and cry,
"Great Babylon! alas! great Babylon!
Alas! that mighty city, Babylon!

For in one hour thy judgment is come down!" "The merchants of the earth shall

weep

and mourn,-

Standing far off for terror of her torment,-
And cry-"
-"Alas! alas! great Babylon!
Thou mighty city, in fine linen clothed,
Purple, and scarlet;-deck'd with gold and pearls,
And precious stones! for in one hour thy wealth
Is come to nought! what city was like thee,

Thou mighty city!" Then their heads

upon

Shall they cast dust, and weep, and wail, and cry-Alas, for that great city! whereby all

'That traded on the sea in ships, grew rich,

By reason of her costliness!-Alas!
For in one hour is she made desolate """
Then, wrathfully, a mighty angel grasped
A rock-and lifted it-and to the sea

Cast it far out.-The waters dash'd the clouds-
And the deep sea was bared.-And, as he threw,
Thus, with a terrible voice, cried he, and said,---
Even so with violence shall great Babylon

Be to the earth thrown down, and found no more!
The sound of harpers, and of trumpeters,

Of pipers, and of singers, shall no more

Be heard in thee at all. The craftsman's hand
Shall toil in thee no more :-the chariot-wheel,
The snorting steed, shall shake thy streets no more.--
Thy walls no more shall echo to the laugh

Of drunken revellers :-no more, no more,

Thy kings shall come from conquest of thy foes:-
The voice of bridegrooms and of brides shall be
Heard never more at all within thy gates.
In thee th' Arabian shall not pitch his tent,-
Nor shall the shepherd make in thee his fold;-
But wild beasts of the desert shall lie in thee;-
Thy houses shall be full of doleful things;—
Owls in thy temples,-serpents in thy halls,-
And dragons in thy pleasant palaces.
For by thy sorceries was the earth deceived,
And in thee was the blood of prophets found,
Of saints, and all that on the earth were slain!'

* This line, and the five that follow it, are from
the 13th chapter of Isaiah.

THE LIFE OF MAN.

[MRS. ANN GILBERT.]

ALONG the dim valley, aslant from the mountain,
How fair are the colours of even that float!
That sleep in the streamlet, that glance from the foun-

tain,

Or mark the low casement in hamlet remote; And sweet is the music the cool zephyr swelling, The lark's latest vesper, the sheep-bell afar, The bee's homeward hum to his bark covered dwelling, Or shepherd's lone song to the earliest star.

The whisper of brooks, over smooth pebbles creeping, The flock winding slowly along to the fold; The moon's yellow beam on the placid hill sleeping, Now splendid no longer with crimson and gold;Then throbs the young stranger to life, and to sorrow, Enjoyment's fine thrill to each feeling convey'd ; All hope, he bounds onward to welcome the morrow, And pluck its wild roses ere yet they can fade. But, plucked its wild roses,-to-morrow departed, And life's purple blossoms surmounted with snow, No longer the fine thrill of pleasure is darted,

Alert through the current, now check'd in its flow: Still glitters the sun-beam aslant from the fountain, On late dying breezes float harmonies sweet; With Nature's wild music the sky-lark is mounting, And bees homeward hum to their woodland retreat.

But man,

changing man, is forsaking his dwelling, eye, once enchanted, is weary and dim; No more the fond bosom with rapture is swelling,

The

And Nature breathes vainly redundant for him

Amid the gay scene, with infirmity bending,

His thin silver tresses to summer winds wave, And the flower that in years vanished long, he was

tending,

Prepares to expand her next bloom on his

grave.

The willow whence oft the lithe twig he would sever In life's idle morn, o'er his dwelling shall weep; The nightingale's song, that delighted him ever, Flow liquid, nor wake his unchangeable sleep; The sun's early beam, or in glory declining,

Around his green grave shall its brilliancy pour, And Time's busy children exult in its shining,

But this wither'd nerve plays responsive no more.

Brief story!--the tears of regret, fast descending,
Would blot from the landscape a vista so drear;
If this, child of hope, be thy bright vision's ending,
O, wherefore live on the ill-omen'd career?—
But no,-if one truth to the heart can be spoken
By feeling, by reason, by Oracle high,

"Tis this, that when Life's golden bowl shall be broken, Thy star, Immortality, breaks on the sky!

TO PATIENCE.

UNAW'D by threats, unmov'd by force,
My steady soul pursues her course,
Collected, calm, resign'd!

Say you, who search with curious eyes,
The source whence human actions rise,
Say whence this turn of mind.