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Day after day he lay as if in sleep.

His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales
Circled with livid purple, covered him.

And then his nails grew black, and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the hues
Deepened beneath the hard, unmoistened 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
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swelled 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 bowed 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! depart, O child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God;
For He has smote thee with his chastening rod,
And to the desert wild,

From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague His people may be free.

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 in 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 hide;
Nor kneel thee down to dip

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

نشاه

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, O 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 unto him. Yea, he went 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 touched
The loathsome water to his fevered lips,
Praying that he might be so blessed-to die!
Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on 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 kingly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched 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 to his shoulders; and his curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon 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's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus's feet, and worshipped him.

Versification of the Beginning of the Last Book of the Martyrs.-ALEXANDER H. EVERETT.

SWEET muse, that on my venturous voyage smiled,
And kindly cheered the dangerous, doubtful way,
No more, with dreams of youth and hope beguiled,
I tempt thee from thy heavenly seats to stray.
Soon shall my lyre its feeble descant close,
And sad its parting strain-a funeral song;
Nor needs a Frenchman aid for themes like those;
Spontaneous rise the notes his lyre along,

And all he sings he feels, inured to grief and wrong.

Friend of my youth, indulge this parting lay,
And then for age thy service I forego.

I leave the dreams that charmed my earlier day,
And all the heaven that youthful poets know;
For youth is fled; and thou mayst not remain,
To 'sort with furrowed brow and silver hairs;
Yet sure to lose thee gives me mickle pain;
Thy hand alone the balm of life prepares,
The only zest for joy, the only cure for cares.

O, yes; perforce the parting tear will flow ;-
So old a friend, that loved me yet a child,
Teaching my step the ocean path to know,
And my young voice to sing the tempest mild.
I wooed thee oft in western wood afar,
Where stranger foot had never trod before,
By twilight dim, or light of evening star,
Listening remote to Niagara's roar;
And Nature's self, and thou, didst inspiration pour.

Guide and companion of my wandering way,
What various lands our voyage since hath seen,
From plains where Tiber's glorious waters play,
To distant Morven's misty summits green.
How loath to leave the spot we lingered near,
Athena's walls and grove of Academe!

How, pilgrim like, we saw, with hallowed fear,
Afar the Holy City's turrets gleam,

And prayed on Zion's mount, and drank of Jordan's stream!

Then fare thee well! but not with thee depart

The loftiness of soul that thou hast given;

Once to have known thee shall exalt my heart,

When thou, celestial guest, art fled to heaven.

Then what, though Time may wither Fancy's bloom,

And change her voice to dissonance uncouth?

Thy nobler gifts receive a nobler doom,

And live and flourish in eternal youth

The firm, unbending mind, the consciousness of truth.

Autumn.-ANONYMOUS.

SWEET Sabbath of the year,
While evening lights decay,

Thy parting steps methinks I hear
Steal from the world away.

Amid thy silent flowers

'Tis sad, but sweet, to dwell,

Where falling leaves and drooping flowers
Around me breathe farewell.

Along thy sunset skies

Their glories melt in shade,

And, like the things we fondly prize,
Seem lovelier as they fade,

A deep and crimson streak

Thy dying leaves disclose;

As, on Consumption's waning cheek,
'Mid ruin, blooms the rose.

Thy scene each vision brings
Of beauty in decay;

Of fair and early faded things,
Too exquisite to stay;—

Of joys that come no more;

Ŏf flowers whose bloom is fled;
Of farewells wept upon the shore;
Of friends estranged or dead;-

Of all that now may seem,
To Memory's tearful eye,
The vanished beauty of a dream,
O'er which we gaze and sigh.

The Treasure that waxeth not old-D. HUNTINGDON.

O, I HAVE loved, in youth's fair vernal morn,
To spread imagination's wildest wing,
The sober certainties of life to scorn,
And seek the visioned realms that poets sing-
Where Nature blushes in perennial spring,
Where streams of earthly joy exhaustless rise,
Where Youth and Beauty tread the choral ring

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