Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, grasp Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career ;- 3. THE LAST MAN. All wordly shapes shall melt in gloom, I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep I saw the last of human mould, The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, Some had expired in fight, the brands In plague and famine some! Earth's cities had no sound nor tread; Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun, 'Tis Mercy bids thee go. For thou ten thousand thousand years That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill, And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Its piteous pageants bring not back, My lips that speak thy dirge of death- This spirit shall return to Him That gave its heavenly spark; Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste- Or shake his trust in God!" CCXCVI. HON. W. HERBERT, 1778-1847. A NORTHERN SPRING. Yestreen the mountain's rugged brow That wakes the spring of northern land! The heathcock claps his wings and crows. CCXCVII. T. MOORE, 1779–1852. 1. INTRODUCTION TO LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 'Twas when the world was in its prime, When the fresh stars had just begun |