And yet the vilest, meanest thing,
Is too sublime, too deep, for thee;
And all thy vain imagining,

Lost in the smallest speck we see.
It must be so; for He, even He
Who worlds created, formed the worm;
He pours the dew who filled the sea;
Breathes from the flower who rules the storm;
Him we may worship-not conceive;
See not, and hear not-but adore:
Bow in the dust-obey-believe-
Utter His name-and know no more.

BLESSING OF SLEEP.

Shakespere.

SLEEP! gentle sleep!

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody? Oh! thou dull god, why liest thou with the

In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch;
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude, imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them

With deaf'ning clamors in the slippery clouds,
That with the hurly death itself awakes?
Canst thou, oh, partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-1
a-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? then happy low, lie down,
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown!

PALESTINE.
Anon.

FAMED land of the olive, the fig tree, and vine, Loved home of the patriarch, fair Palestine! We mourn for thy greatness, departed how soon,

Which erst 'mid the nations upbore thee. Since the blast of the dreadful and deadly

simoon

Hath swept with its pestilence o'er thee,

And hath left thee a wilderness dreary and still, For the wandering Arab to roam at his will.

Thy cities which tower'd 'mid the landscape to view,

Once crowded and many, are lonesome and few;
Desolation and ruin hath passed in their march
O'er the scene of thy primitive glory—
And broken the column and shattered the arch,
And destroyed each memorial of story;
Thy cisterns are useless, thy fountains are dry,
And the graves of thy princes are bared to the
sky.

Can this be the land for which nations of old
Unsparingly lavished their blood and their

gold,

Which fired with ambition the children of fame,

The chivalrous, dauntless Crusaders ?

The land where the terror-crowned Saladin

came

Το cope with his country's invaders?

Yes, this is the land for which Europe's red

cross

Contended so long and so vainly, alas!

But 'tis not the warrior's blood crimson sign That hallows the land of the fig tree and vine; Nor the deeds of great Richard and Godfrey, howe'er,

The wild charms of romance are flung o'er them.

No! a greater than Richard or Godfrey was there,

And hallowed the country before them;

'Twas He, who, unmindful of shame or disgrace, Trod the winepress alone for earth's reprobate

race.

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

Byron.

THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then,
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave

men;

A thousand hearts beat happily, and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spoke again,

And all went merry as a marriage-bell:

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

Did ye not hear it? no; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure

meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But hark! the heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening
roar!

Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amid the festival,

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear: And when they smiled because he deemed it

near,

His heart more truly knew that peal too well, Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone can quell!

He rushed into the field, and foremost fighting fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?