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They on the rolling deep securely hung,
And calmly rode the restless waves among,
Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
Far up the beach, the yeasty sea-foam roll'd;
Or from the shore upborne, to see on high
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly :
While the salt spray that clashing billows form
Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.

THE LEPER.

By N. P. WILLIS, the American poet.

"ROOм for the leper! room!"

And as he came,

The cry pass'd on "Room for the leper! room!"
Sunrise was slanting on the city gates
Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills
The early risen poor were coming in
Duly and cheerfully to their toil, and up

Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum
Of moving wheels and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells,
Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,
Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick
Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase
The death-like images of the dark away.

"Room for the leper!" And aside they stood,
Matron and child, and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on his way—and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper, with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying "Unclean! unclean!"

'Twas now the depth

Of the Judean summer, and the leaves,
Whose shadow lay so still upon the path

Had budded on the clear and flashing eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip
And sparkled in his glance: and in his mien
There was a gracious pride that every eye
Follow'd with benisons-and this was he.
With the soft air of summer there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor ought that stirs
The spirit to its bent, might drive away.
The blood beat not as wont within his veins:
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth
Fetter'd his limbs like palsy, and his port
With all his loftiness, seem'd struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed-a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear silver key;
And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light
And very air, were steep'd in sluggishness.
He strove with it awhile, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slacken'd within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrowy jeered like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep:

His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales,
Circled with livid purple, cover'd him.

And then his nails grew black, and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the hues
Deepen'd beneath the hard unmoisten'd scales,
And from their edges grew the rank white hair,
-And Helon was a leper!

Day was breaking
When at the altar of the temple stood

The holy priest of God. The incense lamp
Burn'd with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swell'd through the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail, and there alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,
Struggling with weakness, and bow'd down his head

Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off
His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still,
Waiting to hear his doom :-

Depart! and come not near

The busy mart, the crowded city, more:
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er,
And stay thou not to hear

Voices that call thee on the way: and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by.

Wet not thy burning lip

In streams that to a human dwelling glide, Nor rest thee where the covert fountains bide: Nor kneel thee down to dip

The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, By desert well, or river's grassy brink.

And pass not thou between

The weary traveller, and the cooling breeze,
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;

Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn or yellow grain.

And now depart! and when

Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him
Who from the tribes of men,

Selected thee to feel his chastening rod,
Depart, oh leper, and forget not God!

And he went forth alone: not one, of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of the heart

Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort to him. Yea, he went on his way,
Sick, and heart-broken, and alone to die;
For God hath cursed the leper!

It was noon,

And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touch'd
The loathsome water to his parched lips,
Praying that he might be so bless'd-to die!
Footsteps approach'd, and with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer to his lip,

Crying "Unclean! unclean!" and, in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name,
-"Helon !"-the voice was like the master tone
Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
"Helon, arise!" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.

Love and awe

Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore:
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear; yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and if he smiled,
A kindly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouch'd to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn:
His statue modell'd with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touch'd with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair, unshorn,
Fell on his shoulders; and his curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He look'd on Ĥelon earnestly awhile,

As if his heart was moved, and stooping down,
He took a little water in his hand,

And laid it on his brow, and said "Be clean!"

And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant stole.

His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipp'd him.

THE SUMMER'S FLIGHT.

By MARY ANN Browne.

WHERE trace we summer's flight?

O'er faded roses,

O'er the thinn'd leaves where the pale light reposes
Lifeless and cold;

In the swell'd waves, that with a wilder sally
Rush through the green recesses of the valley,
And by the keen wind whistling o'er the wold;
By the still'd music of the nightingale,

By the strange tone

Of breezes, sending over hill and dale
A low mysterious moan.

But here are lips whose roseate hue hath faded,
Tresses that erst in golden brightness shaded
The cheerful brow

Now early tinged with grey; and tears are swelling
Through droop'd eyelids, sadly, sadly telling
Of a young bosom sorely mark'd to woe-
Oh! can we here the summer's parting trace?
Why with its flowers and light

Took it the youth and gladness from that face?
Alas, for summer's flight!

Ah, 'tis not summer's flight hath dimm'd the glory
Of those clear eyes, and mingled tresses hoary
Like wither'd leaves;

Not for the summer flowers her sorrows waken,
A fairer blossom from her path is taken

Than all the spring-tide brings or summer weaves. Where are the eyes that were the stars of love

Where did their light depart?

What music went from every dale and grove

With that young sister's heart?

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