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Who could endure the horrld thought!—What makes
Had. Dark imaginations haunt me
Tam. O, tell them not--I would not hear them.
Had. But why contemn a Spirit's love? so high,
Had. No—0, no—
Tam. Why dost thou speak so sadly now —and lo!
[He appears lost in thought.}
Tell me, ascrib’st thou influence to the stars 2
Hud. (starting) The stars : What know'st thou of the
Tam. I know that they were made to rule the night. Had. Like palace lamps! thou echoest well thy grandsire. Woman! the stars are living, glorious, Amazing, infinite Tam. Speak not so wildly.— I know them numberless, resplendent, set As symbols of the countless, countless years That make eternity. Had. Eternity!— Oh! mighty, glorious, miserable thought!— Had ye endured like those great sufferers, Like them, seen ages, myriad ages roll; Could ye but look into the void abyss With eyes experienced, unobscured by torments, Then mightst thou name it, name it feelingly. Tam. What ails thee, Hadad?–Draw me not so close. Had. Tamar! I need thy love—more than thy love— Tam. Thy cheek is wet with tears—Nay, let us part— "Tis late—I cannot, must not linger.— [Breaks from him, and exit.] Had. Iloved and abhorred —Still, still accursed 1– [He paces, twice or thrice, up and down, with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence.l
Hadad's Description of the City of David.—HILLHousm.
*TIs so;-the hoary harper sings aright;
WHEN evening spreads her shades around,
When not a murmur, not a sound,
*The remains and a biographical sketch of this remarkable girl were
published last year by Mr. Samuel F. B. Morse. An interesting review
of the volume appeared soon after in the London Quarterly : we are not aware that it has been noticed in any periodical in this country. Southey has rendered himself distinguished for his attention to youthful genius. Except the cases of Chatterton and Henry Kirke White, he thinks there is no instance on record of “so early, so ardent, and so fatal a pursuit of intellectual advancement,” as is exhibited in the history of this young lady. “In these poems, there is enough of originality, enough of aspiration, enough of conscious energy, enough of growing power, to warrant any expectations, however sanguine, which the patron, and the friends and parents of the deceased, could have formed; nor can any person rise É. the perusal of such a volume without feeling the vanity of human
When the broad orb of heaven is bright,
When Nature, softened by her light,
Then, when our thoughts are raised above
O, sister, sing the song I love,
The song which thrills my bosom's core, And, hovering, trembles half afraid,
O, sister, sing the song once more Which ne’er for mortal ear was masle.
*Twere almost sacrilege to sing
Notes borne by angels’ purest wing,
When, sleeping in my grass-grown bed,
Wilt thou not kneel beside my head,
“She was peculiarly sensitive to music. There was one song (it was Moore’s Farewell to his Harp) to which she took a special fancy; she wished to hear it only at twilight; thus, with that same perilous love of excitement which made her place the windharp in the window when she was composing, seeking to increase the effect which the song produced upon a nervous system, already diseasedly susceptible; for it is said, that, whenever she heard this song, she became cold, pale, and almost fainting; yet it was her favorite of all songs, and gave occasion to these verses, addressed, in her fifteenth year, to her sister.
“To young readers it might be useful to observe, that these verses, in one place, approach the verge of meaning, but are on the wrong side of the line: to none can it be necessary to say, that they breathe the deep feeling of a mind essentially poetical.” The piece here referred to, is that extracted above. Ed.
Hagar in the Wilderness.-N. P. WILLIs.
THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.
All things are dark to sorrow; and the light, And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, And the young birds were caroling as life Were a new thing to them; but, oh! it came Upon her heart like discord, and she felt How cruelly it tries a broken heart, To see a mirth in any thing it loves. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood left them; and the wandering veins Of her transparent forehead were swelled out, As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, Which made its language legible, shot back From her long lashes, as it had been flame. Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet, Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up Into his mother's face until he caught The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, As if his light proportions would have swelled, Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.
Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now
Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
He gave to her the water and the bread,
Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,
She, went her way with a .# step and slow;
The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode up