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men in America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanctify humanity. I solemnly call upon your Lordships, and upon every order of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure, the indelible stigma of the Public Abhorrence. More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our religion, to do away this iniquity; let them perform a lustration, to purify the country from this deep and deadly sin.


SEE where she steals along the moon-lit green-
The melancholy stillness of the scene

In her wan looks personified; the flower,
So young and tender, crush'd by vernal shower
And withering in the season of its birth,
Compared with her is typical of mirth;—
Poor hopeless wreck, by fate's rude billows toss'd,
Her guiding spirit gone-her rudder lost!
Oh! ne'er the maniac's misery deride,
For Rosaline was once the village pride;
The envied of a few, the scorn'd of none,
The gay admired of all, the loved of one—

Of one, though free, polite-though valiant, mild-
A man in virtue, in deceit a child!

By equal beauty, equal virtue fed,

The flame was soon reciprocally shed;

And short the hours appear'd which o'er them pass'd,-
Great was their joy in each!-too great to last!

Early one summer morning, Rosaline

Tripp'd lightly and alone athwart the green,
And o'er the hill, and down the sloping lawn,

A friend to visit. But, though bright the dawn,
And smiling fair, the day was overcast,

And huge, unwieldy clouds collected fast,

Throwing a veil of darkness o'er the earth
They seem'd to frown upon; and laughing mirth
Was hush'd within men's bosoms, who, in dread
Of the impending lightning overhead,

Stole to their homes, from which, with fearful eyes,
They ever and anon survey'd the skies,
Watching the moment when each sullen cloud,
Should ope its ponderous jaws and cry aloud!
Now, to return that evening, Rosaline
At first intended; but, oh! ne'er was seen
So fierce a tempest!-loud the thunder roar'd,
The loosening rain to earth in columns pour'd,
Swelling old rivers, giving others birth,
With little dancing fountains covering earth,
And sparkling in the lightning's vivid glare,
Which flamed, by fits, the all-surrounding air;
And she, afraid her homeward steps to bend,
Resolved that night to tarry with her friend.
Upon her pillow slumber lay in wait

To seal her eyes, but had she known the fate

Of him she loved, how would that night have pass'd!—
Fond youth! he, reckless of the raging blast,
Had sallied forth to meet the angel form,
Which he had fancied trembling in the storm;
But while he hurried on through wind and rain,
Fearing, yet hopeful! looking round in vain
For the fair object of his search, a dart
Of fiercest lightning struck him to the heart,
And groanless he expired! on his pale brow
And pallid cheek, unfelt the storm beat now!

On the first glimmer of the morning's light
Fair Rosaline arose:-with the dark night
The storm had pass'd away, and left behind
No trace, save that the streamlets, unconfined,
O'erflow'd their banks:-she bade her friend adieu,

Who soon receded from her parting view,
And lightly skipp'd the sunny fields along,
Nor paused to hear the linnet's early song;
Full of the buoyancy of youth, and bold—
For oh! she long'd her lover to behold!-
Too soon she did! she saw his lifeless clay,
Cold even as the earth on which he lay;

She saw the placid languor of the cheek,

That used to smile whene'er she deign'd to speak;
She saw those eyes now wrapp'd in utter night,
Which, on whate'er they look'd, once beam'd delight;
She mark'd those lips, now motionless in death,
Unfann'd but by the morning's balmy breath,
Which once were sacred to her kiss alone,
And mingled oft in whispers with her own;
The damps of death bedew'd his marble brow,
Her dreams of bliss were all evanish'd now,
And in the ocean of her mind's despair,
She lost the brightest gem that sparkled there!
Behold her now! how pitiful her mien!
Poor, poor, remains of something that has been!
Thus, night by night, to this lone spot she hies,
And only breaks the silence with her sighs.


HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course-so long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O Chamouny!
The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, dread mountain form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the sky, and black: transpicuous, deep,
An ebon mass! Methinks thou piercest it

As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It seems thy own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.

O dread and silent form! I gazed upon thee,

Till thou, still present to my bodily eye,
Didst vanish from my thought.

I worshipp'd the Invisible alone.

Entranced in prayer,

Yet thou, meantime, wast working on my soul,
E'en like some deep enchanting melody,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it.
But I awake, and with a busier mind,

And active will self-conscious, offer now
Not, as before, involuntary prayer

And passive adoration!—

Hand and voice,

Awake, awake! and thou, my heart, awake!
Awake, ye rocks! Ye forest pines, awake!
Green fields, and icy cliffs! All join my hymn!
And thou, O silent mountain, sole and bare,
Oh, blacker than the darkness, all the night,
And visited, all night, by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink-
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! Wake, oh wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee father of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad,
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death?
From darkness let you loose, and icy dens,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks
For ever shatter'd, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,

Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam?

And who commanded, and the silence came-
"Here shall the billows stiffen, and have rest?"
Ye ice-falls! ye that from yon dizzy heights
Adown enormous ravines steeply slope,
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with lovely flowers
Of living blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God!-God! the torrents, like a shout of nations
Utter! The ice-plain bursts, and answers, God!
God, sing the meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
And pine-groves, with their soft and soul-like sound;
The silent snow-mass, loosening, thunders God!
Ye dreadless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats, bounding by the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-blast!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element,
Utter forth, God! and fill the hills with praise!

And thou, O silent form, alone and bare,
Whom, as I lift again my head bow'd low
In adoration, I again behold,

And to thy summit upward from thy base
Sweep slowly with dim eyes suffused by tears,
Awake, thou mountain-form! rise, like a cloud-
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven-
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,

Earth, with her thousand voices, calls on God!

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