Nath. How have I wronged him! deeming him more apt For intricate designs, and daring deeds, Than contemplation's solitary flights. Tam. Seer, his far-soaring thoughts ascend the stars, Nath. (fixing his eyes upon her.) What stores of love, and praise, and gratitude, Returning from its quest through earth and heaven, I were too happy. Nath. How!-expound thy words. Tam. Though he has trod the confines of the world, Knows all its wonders, and almost has pierced The secrets of eternity, his heart Is melancholy, lone, discordant, save When love attunes it into happiness. He hath not found, alas! the peace which dwells But with our fathers' God, Nath. And canst thou love One who loves not Jehovah ? Tam. O, ask not. Nath. (fervently.) My child, thou wouldst not wed an infidel? Tam. (in tears.) O no! O no! Nath. Why, then, this embassage? Why doth your sire Still urge the king? Why hast thou hearkened it? Tam. There was a time when I had hopes,-when truth Seemed dawning in his mind-and sometimes, still, Such heavenly glimpses shine, that my fond heart To number him with Israel. Nath. Beware! Or thou❜lt delude thy soul to ruin. Say, Tam. He promises observance. Nath. Two full years Hath he abode in Jewry Tam. Prophet, think How he was nurtured- in the faith of idols.- Abroad through nature's works, and yet must rise-- Tam. Familiar as thyself. Nath. I think thou said'st he had surveyed the world? Tam. From Ethiopia to the farthest East, Cities, and tribes, and nations. He can speak Of hundred-gated Thebes, towered Babylon, And mightier Nineveh, vast Palibothra, Serendib anchored by the gates of morning, Renowned Benares, where the sages teach The mystery of the soul, and that famed seat Where fleets and warriors from Elishah's Isles Besieged the Beauty, where great Memnon fell;— Of temples, groves, and superstitious caves Filled with strange symbols of the Deity; Of wondrous mountains, desert-circled seas, Isles of the ocean, lovely Paradises, Set, like unfading emeralds, in the deep. Nath. Tam. Yet manhood scarce confirms his cheek. His thirst of knowledge has achieved; the wish To gather from the wise eternal truth. Nath. Not found where he has sought it, and has led Thy wandering fancy. Tam. O, might I relate— But I bethink me, father, of a thing Like that you asked. Sometimes, when I'm alone, Just ere his coming, I have heard a sound, A strange, mysterious, melancholy sound, Like music in the air. Anon he enters. Nath. Ha! is this oft? Tam. 'Tis not unfrequent. When thou'rt alone? Tam. I have not heard it else. Nath. Tam. A sound like what? Like wild, sad music, father; More moving than the lute or viol touched By skilful fingers. Wailing in the air, It seems around me, and withdraws as when One looks and lingers for a last adieu. Nath. Just ere he enters? Tam. At his step it dies. Nath. Mark me.-Thou know'st 'tis held by righteous men, That Heaven intrusts us all to watching spirits. Some intimation of an unseen danger. Nath. Time may reveal: meanwhile, I warn thee, Trust not thyself alone with Hadad. Tam. Father, Nath. I lay not to his charge; I know, in sooth, I will avoid it. Nath. All is ominous: The oracles are mute, dreams warn no more, Resigned us for a season. Times like these [Exit Nath.] Tam. His awful accents freeze my blood.-Alas! How desolate, how dark my prospect lowers ' O Hadad, is it thus those sunny days, Mectly refined, and tempered, to receive How art thou changed! All tenderness you seemed, Extract from "The Airs of Palestine."-PIERPONT ON Arno's bosom, as he calmly flows, Of waveless water, rests her radiant head. How dark the mountain's shade! How still the scene 1 On dewy leaves, that overhang the deep, Nor dare to whisper through the boughs, nor stir Nor make the pale and breathless aspen quiver, Hark! 'tis a convent's bell:-its midnight chime : For music measures even the march of time:O'er bending trees, that fringe the distant shore, Gray turrets rise:-the eye can catch no more. The boatman, listening to the tolling bell, Suspends his oar;-a low and solemn swell, From the deep shade, that round the cloister lies, Rolls through the air, and on the water dies. What melting song wakes the cold ear of night? A funeral dirge, that pale nuns, robed in white, |