"She lives!" and he knew 't was his Marion's sweet tone,
"She lives," exclaims Marion, "for Norman alone!" He saw her: the rose had fled far from her cheek, But Norman still lives! his Marion is found;
By the adamant chains of blithe Hymen they're bound.
EXIT FROM EGYPTIAN BONDAGE.
(Written in her thirteenth year.)
When Israel's sons, from cruel bondage freed,
Fled to the land by righteous Heaven decreed;
Insulting Pharaoh quick pursued their train,
E'en to the borders of the troubled main.
Affrighted Israel stood alone dismayed,
The foe behind, the sea before them laid;
Around, the hosts of bloody Pharaoh fold,
And wave o'er wave the raging Red Sea rolled.
But God, who saves his chosen ones from harm,
Stretched to their aid his all-protecting arm,
And lo! on either side the sea divides,
And Israel's army in its bosom hides.
Safe to the shore through watery walls they march,
And once more hail kind Heaven's aerial arch;
Far, far behind, the cruel foe is seen,
And the dark waters roll their march between.
The God of vengeance stretched his arm again,
And heaving, back recoiled the foaming main;
And impious Pharaoh 'neath the raging wave,
With all his army, finds a watery grave.
Rejoice, O Israel! God is on your side,
He is your champion, and your faithful guide;
By day, a cloud is to your footsteps given,
By night, a fiery column towers to heaven.
Then Israel's children marched by day and night,
Till Sinai's mountain rose upon their sight:
There righteous Heaven the flying army staid,
And Israel's sons the high command obeyed.
To Sinai's mount the trembling people came,
"T was wrapped in threat'ning clouds, in smoke, and
flame;
A silent awe pervaded all the van;
Not e'en a murmur through the army ran.
High Sinai shook! dread thunders rent the air!
And horrid lightnings round its summit glare!
'T was God's pavilion, and the black'ning clouds,
Dark hov'ring o'er, his dazzling glory shrouds.
To Heaven's dread court the intrepid leader came,
T' receive its mandate in the people's name;
Loud trumpets peal-the awful thunders roll,
Transfixing terrors in each guilty soul.
But lo! he comes, arrayed in shining light,
And round his forehead plays a halo bright:
Heaven's high commands with trembling were re-
ceived,
Heaven's high commands were heard, and were believed.
THE LAST FLOWER OF THE GARDEN.
(Written in her thirteenth year.)
The last flower of the garden was blooming alone, The last rays of the sun on its blushing leaves shone;
Still a glittering drop on its bosom reclined,
And a few half-blown buds 'midst its leaves were entwined.
Say, lonely one, say, why lingʼrest thou here?
And why on thy bosom reclines the bright tear?
'Tis the tear of a zephyr—for summer 't was shed,
And for all thy companions now withered and dead.
Why ling❜rest thou here, when around thee are strown
The flowers once so lovely, by Autumn blast blown?
Say, why, sweetest flow'ret, the last of thy race,
Why ling❜rest thou here the lone garden to grace?
As I spoke, a rough blast, sent by Winter's own hand,
Whistled by me, and bent its sweet head to the sand;
I hastened to raise it-the dew-drop had fled,
And the once lovely flower was withered and dead.
(Written in her thirteenth year.)
Fancy, sweet and truant sprite,
Steals on wings, as feathers light,
Draws a veil o'er Reason's eye,
And bids the guardian senses fly.
Soft she whispers to the mind,
Come, and trouble leave behind:
She banishes the fiend Despair,
And shuts the eyes of waking Care.
Then, o'er precipices dark,
Where never reached the wing of lark,
Fearing no harm, she dauntless flies,
Where rocks on rocks dread frowning rise.
When Autumn shakes his hoary head,
And scatters leaves at every tread;
Fancy stands with list'ning ear,
Nor starts, when shrieks affrighted Fear.
There's music in the rattling leaf,
But 't is not for the ear of Grief;
There's music in the wind's hoarse moan,
But 't is for Fancy's ear alone.
(Writtten in her thirteenth year.)
Why that blush on Ella's cheek,
What doth the flitting wand'rer seek?
Doth passion's black'ning tempest scowl,
To agitate my Ella's soul?
Return, sweet wand'rer, fear no harm;
The heart which Ella's breast doth warm,
Is virtue's calm, serene retreat;
And ne'er with passion's storm did beat.
Return, and calmly rest, till love
Shall thy sweet efficacy prove;
Then come, and thy loved place resume,
And fill that cheek with youthful bloom.
A blush of nature charms the heart
More than the brilliant tints of art;
They please awhile, and please no more—
We hate the things we loved before.
But no unfading tints were those,
Which to my Ella's cheek arose;
They please the raptured heart, and fly
Before they pall the gazing eye.
'T was not the blush of guilt or shame,
Which o'er my Ella's features came;
'T was she, who fed the poor distressed,
'T was she the indigent had blessed;
For her their prayers to heaven were raised,
On her the grateful people gazed;
'T was then the blush suffused her cheek,
Which told what words can never speak.
(Written in her fourteenth year.)
What heavenly music strikes my ravished ear,
So soft, so melancholy, and so clear?
And do the tuneful Nine then touch the lyre,
To fill each bosom with poetic fire?
Or does some angel strike the sounding strings,
Catching from echo the wild note he sings s?
But hark! another strain, how sweet, how wild!
Now rising high, now sinking low and mild.
And tell me now, ye spirits of the wind,
Oh, tell me where those artless notes to find!
So lofty now, so loud, so sweet, so clear,
That even angels might delighted hear!
But hark! those notes again majestic rise,
As though some spirit, banished from the skies,
Had hither fled to charm Æolus wild,
And teach him other music sweet and mild.
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