THE WATER LILY.

FELICIA D. B. HEMANS.

H! beautiful thou art,

Thou sculpture-like and stately River-Queen! Crowning the depths, as with the light serene heart.

Of a pure

Bright lily of the wave!

Rising in fearless grace with every swell, Thou seem'st as if a spirit meekly brave

Dwelt in thy cell:

Lifting alike thy head

Of placid beauty, feminine yet free,

Whether with foam or pictured azure spread
The waters be.

What is like thee, fair flower,

The gentle and the firm? thus bearing up
To the blue sky that alabaster cup,

As to the shower?

Oh! Love is most like thee,

The love of woman; quivering to the blast Through every nerve, yet rooted deep and fast, 'MidstLife's dark sea.

And Faith-O, is not faith

Like thee, too, Lily, springing into light, Still buoyantly above the billows' might, Through the storm's breath?

Yes, link'd with such high thought, Flower, let thine image in my bosom lie! Till something there of its own purity And peace be wrought:

Something yet more divine

Than the clear, pearly, virgin lustre shed Forth from thy breast upon the river's bed, As from a shrine.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

LORD BYRON.

HE Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and

gold;

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on

the sea,

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Gal.

ilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breath'd in the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

A

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,

But through them there roll'd not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

ANGEL VISITS.

MRS. HEMANS.

RE ye forever to your skies departed?

Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more? Ye, whose bright wings a solemn splendor darted

Through Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yore?

Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye-our faded earth beholds you not!

Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wander'd from his Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,
Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the Patriarchs, under vine or oak,
'Midst noontide calm or hush of evening, spoke.

From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending,
Came the rich mysteries to the Sleeper's eye,
That saw your hosts ascending and descending

On those bright steps between the earth and sky;
Trembling he woke, and bow'd o'er glory's trace,
And worship'd, awe-struck, in that fearful place.