Niagara.-U. STATES REVIEW AND LITERARY Gazette. From the Spanish of Jose Maria Heredia. TREMENDOUS TORRENT! for an instant hush The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside I am not all unworthy of thy sight; For, from my very boyhood, have I loved,— At the fierce rushing of the hurricane, At the near bursting of the thunderbolt, I have been touched with joy; and, when the sea, Its dangers and the wrath of elements. But never yet the madness of the sea Hath moved me as thy grandeur moves me now. Grow broken 'midst the rocks; thy current, then, Of destiny. Ah! terribly they rage The hoarse and rapid whirlpools there! My brain Urge on, and overtake the waves before, They reach-they leap the barrier: the abyss A thousand rainbows arch them, and the woods A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and heaves Pauses with terror in the forest shades. God of all truth! in other lands I've seen Lying philosophers, blaspheming men, Questioners of thy mysteries, that draw M Their fellows deep into impiety; And therefore doth my spirit seek thy face Even here My heart doth open all itself to thee. In this immensity of loneliness, I feel thy hand upon me. To my ear The eternal thunder of the cataract brings Thy voice, and I am humbled as I hear. Dread torrent! that, with wonder and with fear, Dost overwhelm the soul of him that looks Upon thee, and dost bear it from itself, Whence hast thou thy beginning? Who supplies, What power hath ordered, that, when all thy weigh The Lord hath opened his omnipotent hand, Pass, like a noon-day dream,-the blossoming days, And he awakes to sorrow. * * * Hear, dread Niagara! my latest voice. * Yet a few years, and the cold earth shall close Thus feelingly. Would that this, my humble verse, Cheerfully passing to the appointed rest, Might raise my radiant forehead in the clouds To listen to the echoes of my fame. Absalom.-N. P. WILLIS. THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves, Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems, Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! For his estranged, misguided Absalom The proud, bright being, who had burst away In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherished him-for him he poured, In agony that would not be controlled, Strong supplication, and forgave him there, The pall was settled. He who slept beneath Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they swayed As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade And left him with his dead. The king stood still "Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die! "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet" my father" from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom! "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom! "And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, He covered up his face, and bowed himself Hymn of Nature.-W. O. B. PEABODY. GOD of the earth's extended plains! Where man might commune with the sky: The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, God of the dark and heavy deep! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands! Then the white sails are dashed like foam, God of the forest's solemn shade! |