Peace.

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave,

And ask'd if Peace were there:

A hollow sound did seem to answer, "No!
Go, seek elsewhere."

I did, and going, did a rainbow note. "Surely," thought I,

"This is the lace of Peace's coat;

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I will search out the matter."

But, while I look'd, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower-

The Crown-Imperial: "Sure," said I,

"Peace at the root must dwell."

But, when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour
What show'd so well.

At length, I met a reverend, good old man;
Whom, when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began:

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There was a prince of old

In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
Of flock and fold.

He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes:

But, after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat,

Which many, wondering at, got some of those,
To plant and set.

'It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse
Through all the earth:

For they that taste it do rehearse,

That virtue lies therein,

A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth,
By flight from sin.

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Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,

And grows for you:

Make bread of it; and that repose

And peace, which every where

With so much earnestness you do pursue.

You'll find, is there.'

George Herbert.

The Cross in the Wilderness.

SILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief,
In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb;

His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with grief,
And his arms folded in majestic gloom,
And his bow lay unstrung beneath the mound,
Which sanctified the gorgeous waste around.

For a pale Cross above its greensward rose,
Telling the cedars and the pines, that there
Man's heart and hope had struggled with his woes,
And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer.
Now all was hush'd; and eve's last splendour shone
With a rich sadness, on the attesting stone.

There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild,

And he, too, paused in reverence by that grave,
Asking the tale of its memorial, piled

Between the forest and the lake's bright wave;
Till, as a wind might stir a wither'd oak,
On the deep dream of age, his accents broke:

And the grey chieftain, slowly rising, said-
I listen'd for the words, which years ago
Pass'd o'er these waters: though the voice is fled,
Which made them as a singing fountain's flow,
Yet, when I sit in their long-faded track,
Sometimes the forest's murmur gives them back.

"Ask'st thou of him, whose house is lone beneath?
I was an eagle in my youthful pride,

When o'er the seas he came with summer's breath
To dwell amidst us on the lake's green side.
Many the times of flowers have been since then;-
Many, but bringing nought like him again.

Not with the hunter's bow and spear he came,
O'er the blue hills to chase the flying roe;
Not the dark glory of the woods to tame,

Laying their cedars, like the corn-stalks, low; But to spread tidings of all holy things, Gladdening our souls as with the morning's wings.

"Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met,

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"

I and my brethren that from earth are gone, Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet

Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone? He told of One, the grave's dark bands who broke, And our hearts burn'd within us as he spoke!

He told of far and sunny lands, which lie

Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell: Bright must they be! for there are none that die, And none that weep, and none that say Farewell! He came to guide us thither;-but away

The happy call'd him, and he might not stay.

We saw him slowly fade-athirst, perchance,
For the fresh waters of that lovely clime;
Yet was there still a sunbeam in his glance,

And on his gleaming hair no touch of time:
Therefore we hoped-but now the lake looks dim,
For the green summer comes, and finds not him.

We gather'd round him in the dewy hour

Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree: From his clear voice at first the words of power Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swell'd, and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong.

'And then once more they trembled on his tongue, And his white eyelids flutter'd, and his head Fell back, and mists upon his forehead hungKnow'st thou not how we pass to join the dead? It is enough! he sank upon my breast,Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest! "We buried him where he was wont to pray,

By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide;
We rear'd this Cross in token where he lay,
For on the Cross, he said, his Lord had died'

Now hath he surely reach'd, o'er mount and wave, That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave! "But I am sad-I mourn the clear light taken

Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken,

And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast."

"Then spoke the wanderer forth, with kindling eye: Son of the wilderness! despair thou not,

Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by,
And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot:
Heaven darkly works, yet where the seed hath been,
There shall the fruitage, glowing, yet be seen.

"Hope on, hope ever!-by the sudden springing

Of green leaves, which the winter hid so long;
And by the bursts of free, triumphant singing,
After cold, silent months, the woods among;
And by the rending of the frozen chains,
Which bound the glorious rivers on their plains!

"Deem not the words of light, that here were spoken, But as a lively song, to leave no trace!

Yet shall the gloom, which wraps thy hills, be broken
And the full day-spring rise upon thy race!
And fading mists the better paths disclose,
And the wide desert blossom as the rose."

Mrs. Hemans.

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BLANK VERSE.

Satan to Beelzebub.

IF thou beest he-but oh, how fallen! how changed
From him, who, in the happy realms of light,
Clothed with transcendent brightness, did outshine
Myriads though bright!—if he, whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the glorious enterprise,
Join'd with me once, now misery hath join'd

In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest,

From what height fallen; so much the stronger proved
He with his thunder: and till then, who knew
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those,
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage

Can else inflict, do I repent, or change

Though changed in outward lustre that fix'd mind,
And high disdain from sense of injured merit,
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend;
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of spirits arm'd,

That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed,

In dubious battle on the plains of heaven,

And shook his throne! What though the field be lost?
All is not lost! the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge; immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield;
And what is else not to be overcome?-
That glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me! To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deify his power,
Who from the terror of this arm so late
Doubted his empire! that were low indeed!
That were an ignominy, and shame beneath
This downfall! since, by fate, the strength of gods
And this empyreal substance cannot fail;
Since, through experience of this great event,