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Of traitors, fearless else, he caught the gleam
Of Brutus' steel. Daunted, yet on the pomp
Of towering seraphim, their wings, their crowns,
Their dazzling faces, and upon the Lord,
He fixed a steadfast look of anxious note,
Like that Pharsalia's hurtling squadrons drew
When all his fortunes hung upon the hour.

Near him, for wisdom famous through the East, Abraham rested on his staff; in guise

A Chaldee shepherd, simple in his raiment
As when at Mamre in his tent he sat,

The host of angels. Snow-white were his locks
And silvery beard that to his girdle rolled.
Fondly his meek eye dwelt upon his Lord,
Like one that, after long and troubled dreams,
A night of sorrows, dreary, wild, and sad,
Beholds, at last, the dawn of promised joys.

LAST SETTING OF THE SUN.

By this the sun his westering car drove low;
Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud
Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold:
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed
With yellow light: smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected;

With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick
Upon the Seraphs' wings the glowing spots
Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff,
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits
Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
The heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her crimson tint for ever drew.

But while at gaze, in solemn silence, men
And angels stood, and many a quaking heart

With expectation throbbed; about the throne
And glittering hill-top slowly wreathed the clouds,
Erewhile like curtains for adornment hung,
Involving Shiloh and the Seraphim

Beneath a snowy tent. The bands around
Eying the gonfalon that through the smoke
Tower'd into air, resembled hosts who watch
The king's pavilion where, ere battle hour,
A council sits. What their consult might be,
Those seven dread Spirits and their Lord, I mused,
I marvelled. Was it grace and peace? or death?
Was it of man? Did pity for the Lost

His gentle nature wring, who knew, who felt
How frail is this poor tenement of clay?
Arose there from the misty tabernacle
A cry like that upon Gethsemane ?

What passed in Jesus' bosom none may know,
But close the cloudy dome invested him;
And, weary with conjecture, round I gazed
Where in the purple west, no more to dawn,
Faded the glories of the dying day.
Mild-twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud
The solitary star of evening shone.

While gazing wistful on that peerless light
Thereafter to be seen no more (as oft

In dreams strange images will mix), sad thoughts
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing I cried, "Farewell,
Pale, beauteous planet, that displayest so soft,
Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam,
A long, a last farewell! Seasons have changed,
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away,
But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair
As on thy birthnight! Bright and watchful eyes,
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport! Natal star of love,
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray!
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,

Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison!
Pride of the West! beneath thy placid light
The tender tale shall never more be told,
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again:
Thou set'st for ever-lovely orb, farewell!"

SCENE FROM HADAD.

The terraced roof of ABSALOM's house by night; adorned with vases of flowers and fragrant shrubs; an awning over part of it. TAMAR and HADAD.

Tam. No, no, I well remember-proofs, you said, Unknown to Moses.

Had. Well, my love, thou know'st
I've been a traveller in various climes;
Trod Ethiopia's scorching sands, and scaled
The snow-clad mountains; trusted to the deep;
Traversed the fragrant islands of the sea,
And with the wise conversed of many nations.
Tam. I know thou hast.

Had. Of all mine eyes have seen,

The greatest, wisest, and most wonderful

Is that dread sage, the Ancient of the Mountain.
Tam. Who?

[locks

Had. None knows his lineage, age, or name: his
Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes
Beam with the wisdom of collected ages.
In green unbroken years he sees, 'tis said,
The generations pass, like autumn fruits,
Garner'd, consumed, and springing fresh to life,
Again to perish, while he views the sun,
The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,

And high communion with celestial powers.
Some say 'tis Shem, our father, some say Enoch,
And some Melchizedek.

Tam. I've heard a tale

Like this, but ne'er believed it.

Had. I have proved it.

Through perils dire, dangers most imminent,
Seven days and nights mid rocks and wildernesses,
And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice,
Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing,
Save the far-soaring vulture, comes, I dared
My desperate way, resolved to know or perish.
Tam. Rash, rash advent'rer!

Had. On the highest peak

Of stormy Caucasus there blooms a spot

On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers And verdure never die; and there he dwells.

Tam. But didst thou see him?

Had. Never did I view

Such awful majesty: his reverend locks
Hung like a silver mantle to his feet,

His raiment glistered saintly white, his brow
Rose like the gate of Paradise, his mouth
Was musical as its bright guardians' songs.
Tam. What did he tell thee?

From lips so hallowed?

Had. Whether he possess

Oh! what wisdom

[fell

The Tetragrammaton-the powerful name
Inscribed on Moses' rod, by which he wrought
Unheard-of wonders, which constrains the heavens
To shower down blessings, shakes the earth, and
The strongest spirits; or if God hath given [rules
A delegated power, I cannot tell.

But 'twas from him I learned their fate, their fall,
Who erewhile wore resplendent crowns in Heaven;
Now scattered through the earth, the air, the sea.
Them he compels to answer, and from them
Has drawn what Moses, nor no mortal ear,
Has ever heard.

Tam. But did he tell it thee?

Had. He told me much-more than I dare reveal; For with a dreadful oath he sealed my lips.

Tam. But canst thou tell me nothing? Why unSo much, if I must hear no more?

Had. You bade

[fold

Explain my words, almost reproached me, sweet, For what by accident escaped me.

Tam. Ah!

A little-something tell me―sure not all
Were words inhibited.

Had. Then promise never,

Never to utter of this conference
A breath to mortal.

Tam. Solemnly I vow.

Had. Even then, 'tis little I can say, compared With all the marvels he related.

Tam. Come,

I'm breathless. Tell me how they sinn'd, how fell. Had. Their head, their prince involved them in his ruin.

Tam. What black offence on his devoted head Drew endless punishment?

Had. The wish to be

Like the All-Perfect.

Tam. Arrogating that

Due only to his Maker! awful crime !

But what their doom? their place of punishment? Had. Above, about, beneath; earth, sea, and air; Their habitations various as their minds, Employments, and desires.

Tam. But are they round us, Hadad? not confined In penal chains and darkness?

Had. So he said,

And so your holy books infer. What saith

Your Prophet? what the Prince of Uz?

Tam, I shudder,

Lest some dark minister be near us now.

Had. You wrong them.

ligences,

They are bright intel

Robbed of some native splendour, and cast down,

'Tis true, from Heaven; but not deformed, and foul,

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