On the morn of the eighth, on a huge sable stone
Then Ellen, all reeking, he laid;

With a rock for his muller, he crushed every bone,
But, though ground to jelly, still, still did she groan;
For life had forsook not the maid.

Now reaching his palette, with masterly care
Each tint on its surface he spread;

The blue of her eyes, and the brown of her hair,
And the pearl and the white of her forehead so fair,
And her lips' and her checks' rosy red.

Then, stamping his foot, did the monster exclaim,
"Now I brave, cruel fairy, thy scorn!"
When, lo! from a chasm wide-yawning there came
A light tiny chariot of rose-colored flame,

By a team of ten glow-worms upborne.

Enthroned in the midst on an emerald bright,
Fair Geraldine sat without peer;

Her robe was a gleam of the first blush of light,
And her mantle the fleece of a noon-cloud white,
And a beam of the moon was her spear.

In an accent that stole on the still charmed air
Like the first gentle language of Eve,
Thus spake from her chariot the fairy so fair:
"I come at thy call, but, O Paint-King, beware,
Beware if again you deceive."

""Tis true," said the monster, " thou queen of my heart, Thy portrait I oft have essayed;

Yet ne'er to the canvas could I with my art
The least of thy wonderful beauties impart ;
And my failure with scorn you repaid.

"Now I swear by the light of the Comet-King's tail,”And he towered with pride as he spoke,

"If again with these magical colors I fail, The crater of Etna shall hence be my jail,

And my food shall be sulphur and smoke.

"But if I succeed, then, O fair Geraldine,
Thy promise with justice I claim,
And thou, queen of fairies, shalt ever be mine,

The bride of my bed; and thy portrait divine
Shall fill all the earth with my fame."

He spake; when, behold, the fair Geraldine's form
On the canvas enchantingly glowed;

His touches, they flew like the leaves in a storm;
And the pure pearly white, and the carnation warm,
Contending in harmony, flowed.

And now did the portrait a twin-sister seem
To the figure of Geraldine fair:

With the same sweet expression did faithfully teem
Each muscle, each feature; in short, not a gleam
Was lost of her beautiful hair.

'Twas the fairy herself! but, alas, her blue eyes
Still a pupil did ruefully lack;

And who shall describe the terrific surprise
That seized the Paint-King when, behold, he descries
Not a speck of his palette of black!

"I am lost!" said the fiend, and he shook like a leaf; When, casting his eyes to the ground,

He saw the lost pupils of Ellen with grief
In the jaws of a mouse, and the sly little thief
Whisk away from his sight with a bound.

"I am lost!" said the fiend, and he fell like a stone; Then, rising, the fairy, in ire,

With a touch of her finger, she loosened her zone,
(While the limbs on the wall gave a terrible groan,)
And she swelled to a column of fire.

Her spear now a thunder-bolt flashed in the air,
And sulphur the vault filled around;
She smote the grim monster: and now, by the hair
High-lifting, she hurled him, in speechless despair,
Down the depths of the chasm profound.

Then over the picture thrice waving her spear,
"Come forth!" said the good Geraldine;
When, behold, from the canvas descending, appear
Fair Ellen, in person more lovely than e'er,
With grace more than ever divine !

The murdered Traveller.-Bryant.

WHEN Spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again,

The murdered traveller's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung
Her tassels in the sky;

And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded, careless, by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead,
And, fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,

With watching many an anxious day
Grew sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,

When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed, and hard beset;

Nor how, when, round the frosty pole,
The northern dawn was red,

The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,

They dressed the hasty bier,

And marked his grave with nameless stones,

Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;

And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.

So long they looked-but never spied
His welcome step again,

Nor knew the fearful death he died

Far down that narrow glen.

On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.-F. G. HALLECK.

GREEN be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!

None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell, when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep,
And long, where thou art lying,
Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth.

And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thy hand in mine,
Who shared thy joy and sorrow,
Whose weal and wo were thine,-

It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow;
But I've in vain essayed it,
And feel I cannot now.

While memory bids me weep thee,

Nor thoughts nor words are free,

The grief is fixed too deeply

That mourns a man like thee.

To H--CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.

SWEET child, that wasted form,
That pale and mournful brow,
O'er which thy long, dark tresses
In shadowy beauty flow-
That eye, whence soul is darting
With such strange brilliancy,
Tell us thou art departing-

This world is not for thee.

The dying Raven.-RICHARD H. DANA COME to these lonely woods to die alone? It seems not many days since thou wast heard, From out the mists of spring, with thy shrill note, Calling unto thy mates and their clear answers The earth was brown, then; and the infant leaves