Wonder and weep, they pour the song of sorrow,'

13

With their lov'd Lord, whose death shall shroud the

morrow.

Heavens! what a strain was that! those matchless

tones,

That ravish "Princedoms, Dominations, Thrones ;"
That, heard on high, had hush'd those peals of praise,
That seraphs swell, and harping angels raise,

Soft, as the wave from Siloa's fount that flows,
Through the drear silence of the mountain rose.
How sad the Saviour's song! how sweet! how holy !
The last he sung on earth :-how melancholy!
Along the valley sweep the expiring notes :
On Kedron's wave the melting musick floats:
From her blue arch, the lamp of evening flings
Her mellow lustre, as the Saviour sings :
The moon above, the wave beneath is still,
And light and musick mingle on the hill.

The glittering guard, whose viewless ranks invest The brook's green margin, and the mountain's crest, Catch that unearthly song, and soar away,

Leave this dark orb, for fields of endless day,

And round th' Eternal's throne, on buoyant pinions

play.

Ye glowing seraphs, that enchanted swim, In seas of rapture, as ye tune the hymn Ye bore from earth--O say, ye choral quires, Why in such haste to wake your golden lyres? Why, like a flattering, like a fleeting dream, Leave that lone mountain, and that silent stream? Say, could not then the "Man of Sorrows" claim Your shield of adamant, your sword of flame ?Hell forc'd a smile, at your retiring wing, And man was left-to crucify your King.

But must no other sweets perfume my wreath, Than Carmel's hill and Sharon's valley breathe? Are holy airs borne only through the skies, Where Sinai thunders, and where Horeb sighs? And move they only o'er Arabia's sea, Bethesda's pool, the lake of Galilee ? And does the hand that bids Judea bloom, Deny its blossoms to the desert's gloom? No:-turn thine eye, in visionary glance, To scenes beyond old Ocean's blue expanse, Where vast La Plata rolls his weight along, Through worlds unknown to science and to song, And, sweeping proudly o'er his boundless plain, Repels the foaming billows of the main.

Let Fancy lap thee in Paraguay's bowers,

And scatter round thee Nature's wildest flowers:
For Nature there, since first her opening eye
Hail'd the bright orb her Father hung on high,
Still, on her bosom wears the enamelled vest,
That bloom'd and budded on her infant breast;
Still, to the sportive breeze that round her blows,
Turns her warm cheek, her unshorn tresses throws;
With grateful hand her treasur'd balm bequeaths,
For every sigh the enamour'd rover breathes,
And even smiles to feel the flutterer sip
The virgin dew that cools her rosy lip.

There, through the clouds, stupendous mountains rise,
And lift their icy foreheads to the skies;
There, blooming valleys and secure retreats
Bathe all thy senses in voluptuous sweets:
Reclining there, beneath a bending tree,
Fraught with the fragrant labours of the bee,
Admire, with me, the birds of varied hue,
That hang, like flowers of orange and of blue,
Among the broad magnolia's cups of snow,
Quaffing the perfumes, from those cups that flow.

But, is all peace, beneath the mountain shade? Do Love and Mercy haunt that sunny glade,

And sweetly rest upon that lovely shore,

When light retires, and nature smiles no more? No-there, at midnight, the hoarse tiger growls: There, the gaunt wolf sits on his rock, and howls : And there, in painted pomp, the yelling Indian prowls.

Round the bold front of yon projecting cliff,
Shoots, on white wings, the missionary's skiff,
And, walking steadily along the tide,

Seems, like a phantom, o'er the wave to glide,
Unfolding to the breeze her light cymarr,
And bearing on her breast the Apostolick star.
That brilliant orb the bless'd Redeemer hurl'd,
From his pierc'd hand, ere he forsook the world.
Lanch'd by that hand, the sphere, divinely bright,
Has left, on eastern clouds, its path of light,
And, in a radiant curve, descends to bless
Parana's wave, Paraguay s wilderness.

See! it has check'd its lucid course, and now
Lights on the intrepid Jesuit's humble prow,14
Brightens his sail with its celestial glow,

And gilds the emerald wave, that rolls below.

Lo, at the stern, the priest of Jesus rears

His reverend front, plough'd by the share of years.
He takes his harp :-the spirits of the air
Breathe on his brow, and interweave his hair,

In silky flexure, with the sounding strings:
And hark!-the holy missionary sings.
'Tis the Gregorean chant with him unites,
On either hand, his quire of neophytes,
While the boat cleaves its liquid path along,
And waters, woods, and winds protract the song.

Those unknown strains the forest war-whoop hush:
Huntsmen and warriours from their cabins rush,
Heed not the foe, that yells defiance nigh,
See not the deer, that dashes wildly by,

Drop from their hand the bow and rattling quiver,
Crowd to the shore, and plunge into the river,
Breast the green waves, the enchanted bark that toss,
Leap o'er her sides, and kneel before the cross :

Hear yon poetick pilgrim of the west,

Chant Musick's praise, and to her power attest.15
Who now, in Florida's untrodden woods,

Bedecks, with vines of jessamine, her floods,