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STANZAS.

I STOOD upon the shore

Of the dark and boundless sea, The waves, with fitful roar, Were lashing loudly free : Winds swept along the sky, Where not a cloud was seen, And the star of evening's eye Shot through the blue serene

I gazed on that wild tide,
With sorrow overcast;

I stood alone, and sighed—

My thoughts were of the past ;

The memory bright of youth
Upon my musings broke;
Touched by the wand of Truth,
Long slumbering thoughts awoke.

How oft-how oft-how oft

In moonlight and in shade, When the heart was young and soft, With Inez I had strayed

These yellow sands along,
When all was silent nigh,
Save the blackbird's vesper song,
Or plover's wailing cry.

Oh! my heart did bound and beat,
As I thought of what had been,
When, at eve, my youthful feet
Did traverse that wild scene!
How Earth was Eden then,
A realm of hope for me,
Bright as the young sun, when
His first rays kiss the sea.

Changed-darkly changed were all

My thoughts-my hopes-and earth ;

Joy slept beneath its pall,

Cares long had stifled mirth ;

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Love, with a meteor ray,

Had sunk within its west,

To leave me on life's way,

Chilled-cheerless-and deprest!

Before my mind, what views
Of beauty were unfurled!

Deep dyed in memory's hues,

How changed was all the world:

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A cloud had dimmed its light;
Its joys had filed away;
Around me there were blight-
Death-sorrow-and decay!

I listened to the wind,

I listened to the sea ;-
Peace seemed as left behind,
And all looked changed like me!
Then, turning from the wave
To the cloudless, starry sky,
I said " Beyond the grave
There are joys that cannot die !"

Δ.

PALMYRA.

BY J. H. WIFFEN, ESQ.

O SIGHT of glory-City of the Great!
Majestic Tadmor! What must thou have been
When first the Prince of Magians* did create
Thee in thy marble pomp! O more than queen,
Wonder of nations-the beloved of Time!

He spares thee, though the Arab, in his hate,
Hath burnt thy shrines and rent thy towers sublime!+
What wert thou then, when even thus desolate,
Thou mak'st us kneel unto thee? What wert thou→→→
Temple of temples, glorious ark of glory?—
The Sun which saw thee rise, the boast of story,
Writ his own splendid legend on thy brow,

And left thee thus for ages. Arch on arch
Interminable! Armies in their march

Through thee, but shrink to atoms! Round and round
Thy pillars point a worship, without sound;

And heaven is all thy cupola-a dome

Of stars, whose spheres may be the soul's bright home,

*Solomon; to whose talismans and the assistance of Genii the Arabs ascribe the erection of Palmyra.

+ Although there is no authority for ascribing the ruin of the Palmyrene Temple to the Arabs, it is extremely probable that such was the case, at the time when their zeal for Mahometanism led to the extinction of fire-worship among the Persians.

Not vainly was it fabled that the Spirits

Of the great Magian called thee from the abyss;
Where is the mortal who his ring inherits?
What other hand could raise a pile like this?
A fairy fable art thou-a romance,

Yet brilliant with the jewelry of Truth;

And it was here, with melody and dance,

Wit, wisdom, beauty, pressed the grape of youth, Till the soul reeled, and the heart gushed with wine, And paid its orisons at Passion's shrine!

Where stood the Palace-the Seraglio where?
Gaze near and nearer, thou wilt find them not;
Thy finger is the pointing of Despair,
Insulting the pale Genius of the spot.
He saw of yesterday a thousand fires
Lit with the blaze of odorous cinnamon,
A thousand priests with cymbals and with lyres
Hymning the praise of the eternal Sun,
Through echoing aisles unutterably splendid.
But now the altars quenched-the worship ended!
A giant mass of ruins without ruin-

Arch, column, portico, frieze, capital,

And sculptured peristyle, in fragments strewing
Each avenue, or tottering to their fall!
Yet still, as to the stars thy columns soar,
Heedless if man uproot thee or adore,

Proud revelation of the proud of yore!

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