Whose roof I left to wed a wretch like thee,-
Shall Noah die? and by thy bloody hand?
Hence will I fly and tell my injur'd sire
Thy fell intention!-tell him that thy mob
Disguis'd agrarianly, with forks, and knives,
With axes, and with bludgeons, are at hand
280. To take his artless, innoffensive life!—
And rob the nation of its lawful king!"
"Mirandah! madness has bedimm'd thine eye
To all the things that lately pleas'd thee well.—
I thought thou wast the partner of my soul,-
Participator in whate'er I plann'd.
When first I met thee in the grove where love
Stepp'd forth, and shot his arrows at our
griefs,

And bound up all our anguish in the folds
Of his own silken essence, thou didst vow

290. Destruction to the hand that would controul

The free-born spirit that to man was giv'n
E'en on his birth-day, when he first saw light!
What ails Mirandah?"

"What ails?" she answers, "Odin,-I'm not

mad!

I loathe thee! and a hundred swords unsheath'd
If nigh at hand, I'd hide them in thy heart!
Ah! hideous son of the first murd'rer Cain!—
What luckless moment brought me near thine
eye?

Mirandah, never, never on the face

300. Of him who vow'd to kill the righteous No❜h, Again can look! Away! hell's progeny!

Away! Away! begone!"

"Be still, foul dame! Since thou canst not
endure

The sight of him whom wedlock made thy
lord,"

Odin replies, "I have a room retir'd
Where thou mays't dwell, and pine away thy

life

In very anguish!-There the form of him
Thine injur'd sire, may haunt thee night by

night;

And Shem and Japhet stand at thy bedside,

310. Wringing their hands in wonder at thy doom!"'

Thus speaketh Odin: and he now descends
To subterranean cave where th'air is foul,
And into which no light e'er finds its way;-
Into this place he drags his beauteous wife,-
The fair Mirandah! and he leaves her there
Lock'd up a pris'ner until death shall come
On mercy's embassage, to set her free!
Ponder on this! O ponder once again!

And say was not the law a wholesome one 320. That set a barrier 'twixt the sons of God, And race of murd'ring Cain?

'Tis sin to join the ranks of wickedness!-
'Tis sin to marry 'mongst idolators!

323. 'Tis sin to marry 'mongst idolators.-Marriage is a holy, a very holy rite. It was instituted by God himself! and the first wedding of which we have received intelligence, was solemnized in the Garden of Eden! If, then, marriage is itself a holy ordinance, its design must have been the promotion of holiness personally and reciprocally in and between all whom it unites. It is highly expedient, then, if the sacred character of wedlock is to be maintained unsullied, that the married couple be not at

'Tis sin to stray one inch from truth's domain! Whoe'er does so when morning's blush is bright,

Shall weep unmeasur'd tears at th'evening hour!

Now croaks the raven thrice! and thrice the

dove

Utters a doleful,-very doleful note!

Fierce Odin hears it, and he turneth pale!

strife between themselves touching the one vast overwhelming matter of religious doctrine. It has been said, " a man may not marry his grandmother,"-it might have been added, "a Christian may not marry an idolator-a baptized person, who wears the cross upon his forehead, may not marry an infidel, who tramples that cross beneath his feet." "Be ye not," says St. Paul, “yoked together with unbelievers." Alas! alas! for those who sanctify, as it were, their basest carnalities at the very altar of holiness. How few such persons, did they reflect for an instant that the union between man and wife is typical of Christ and his church, -how few such persons, I say, did they reflect on this great truth, would dare to marry. Matrimony is in its very nature, as well as in its design and tendency, a religious ordinance, and should never be engaged in without the same preliminaries as are requisite to the due performance of any other sacred and devo. tional rite.

330. For though his boast is manliness and might, His ruling passion is a dastard fear!

He stands aghast unable yet to move :-
But when he sees a thousand forms attir'd
In humble clothing such as rustics wear,
His heart takes courage, and he staggers
forth,

Amongst the crowd, to hear the Patriarch read
His awful notice of th'approaching flood.
And as he journeys through the grove where

first

He found Mirandah, girl so fair, so lov'd, 340. The dove and raven follow cow'ring low, And, circumvolitant, they make his head

The centre of their flight! Ah, little dreams
The murd'rous Odin that these birds are

doom'd

To be the king's ambassadors o'er beds
Of stormy billows and vast oceans wild,
When he shall be but dust, and millions more
Lie floating on the surface of the surge!