Who drank so deep of sorrow and of joy,
The man of Uz. For Poesy doth dwell
With pastoral musing, and the pure response
Of birds and brooks. And he, who feeleth that
Eolian thrill within him, hath no need

Of Fame's shrill trump, and shrinketh from the gong
Of the great, pompous world.

Spake not the voice Of Midian's gushing waters to thine ear, Prelusive of the honours and the toils

Decreed for thee? Came there no darken'd dream
Of desert wanderings?-of a manna-fed

And murmuring host ?-of thine own burden'd lot
Bearing alone, the cumbrance and the strife
Of mutinous spirits, when the wrath of Heaven
Burn'd fierce among them, and avenging Earth
Opening her mouth, prepar'd their living tomb?

Ah! linger still, amid the quiet groves,
And to green pastures fed by sparkling rills,
Lead on, with gentle crook, thy docile sheep
While yet thou may'st. With holy Nature make
Close fellowship, and list the still, small voice
Of Inspiration, stealing o'er thy soul

In lonely thought :-so shall it gather strength
To do the bidding of Omnipotence,

And walk on Sinai, face to face, with God.

HARTFORD, JUNE 1846.

THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED.

"FAREWELL !"

BY ANN S. STEPHENS.

CHAPTER I.

"The lovers lingered by the shore,
Yet neither dared to break the spell:

To part-perhaps to meet no more!
What lip could utter first 'farewell?" "

Ah! when was that little word uttered to a loving heart, without causing a thrill of pain. How many pulses has it checked in their hurried beat. How many eyes has it deluged with tears-How often has it quenched the last hope of a clinging soul! that little word "farewell?”

Never since the language was created, did those seven mournfully arranged letters fall upon a heart that trembled more painfully with a dread of their coming, than on the night our story commences.

The young girl who heard it stood pale and still in the moonlight, her downcast eyes full of tears-and a tremor now and then stirring her lips, while the full breath came sobbing through.

"Not yet," she pleaded, "Oh surely not yet, the moon is but just risen-you shall not say farewell till its full light is upon the water!"

"Heaven knows I would delay the parting till the last moment Ellen," was the reply, "but we start for Portland

at daylight; it is now ten o'clock, and I have some miles to ride!"

"I know! I know!" cried the young girl eagerly, "but a few minutes, only a few minutes longer; remember how long it will be before we stand here again!"

"I know this-and feel it too, more deeply than you may suppose Ellen-but remember when we do meet it will be forever-successful or not, I shall claim my wife within one week of my return."

"I shall be ready," was the low and sweet toned reply. "God keep you till then."

The tears were checked in her hazle eyes and the moonlight fell upon her beautiful face; it was eloquent with holy tenderness, the heart of that pure young creature was so full of the grief of a parting hour, that her very limbs began to tremble, and she clung to the arm of her promised husband in silence, though a thousand fond and regretful words made her bosom heave and her lip tremble.

"I will walk home with you, at least to the gate," said young Franklin, to whom the protracted parting had become exceedingly painful. "Lean more on me Ellen, all this effects you so much more than I anticipated, try to call up a little more strength, or I shall never find courage to start."

"I am strong now," said Ellen in a low voice, lifting her eyes with a look of troubled affection to the manly face bent over her with such solicitude.

"Let us sit down for five minutes, and then I will not attempt to keep you longer. I know that it is very foolish," she added as Franklin placed himself on a fragment of rock by her side, "but my heart grows faint as the minutes go on. What if you should die at the south?"

"The chances of death are in every place!" replied Franklin.

"Or what," continued the young girl bending her mourn

ful eyes on the waters that sparkled beneath their feet, "what if you forget to love me there ?"

"That is impossible, Ellen, you are already the better part of myself," replied the youth with fervour, "I should as soon forget the pulses of my own heart!"

"I believe it," replied Ellen in a voice that was still sad in its tones, though she struggled to speak cheerfully. "Yet it is strange that I cannot conquer this painful foreboding. It seems as if some great evil were to follow this southern tour."

"No evil save death shall be allowed to reach you dearest," was the affectionate reply; but the moment of separation was close at hand, and they both sat in the moonlight silent and with their hands interlinked: it seemed as if a word would hasten the dreaded moment.

"Come I must go," exclaimed Franklin at last starting to his feet; Ellen looked up, arose with a depressed air, and placed her hand upon his arm. "You will go with me through the orchard," she said in a voice choked by a sudden rush of tears.

"Yes! Yes!" was the low reply, and they walked on together. At another time the young pair would not have left the beautiful banks of that lake without some manifestations of regret at parting with a scene so replete with loveliness; but now it was only thought of as associated with the history of two hearts, that had been united almost as naturally as the wild roses entangled upon its banks. Every spot was rife with the memory of some gentle word, some new sensation. They had played at hide and seek among the alder bushes a thousand times, when school children together; they had made dandelion curls, and larkspur chains on the fall of green sward that sloped down from the orchard to the water edge, while in their sweet childhood, as innocent and happy as the birds that filled the orchard with music, and now on the very spot where their childish intimacy had ripened into love imperceptibly, as

the blossom changes to fruit-they were about to part. It might be for months. It might be forever. Was it strange then that soul-absorbed and full of grief, they should shrink from looking back upon the beautiful water scene that, as the birth-place of their loves, had become familiar and dear as paradise was to our first parents?

Still the lake robed in its night beauty was an object to win the admiration of any being not wholly pre-occupied by painful thoughts. It lay among the picturesque and deeply verdant hills of Maine, like a lost crystal around which a wilderness of verdure had tangled itself. A veil of silvery mist shot through and through with moonbeams hung over it, and all around its edges black alders, dogwood trees, and the wild cherry were chained together with ivy, clematis, and other creeping vines, mostly in flower, and so matted and woven together, that the lake seemed wreathed with one enormous garland. Here and there a grassy slope cut through the blossoming thickets, and dropped greenly to the waters, while a clump of trees stood upon a little promontory opposite the orchard with a host of lusty vines clinging around them, and casting a graceful shadow half across the water.

Still, as I have said, all this world of beauty failed to win a single look from the young couple that had just turned from it, in the heavy-heartedness of a last adieu. They walked on through the orchard very slowly, and feeling that every footstep drew them nearer to the parting moment. The orchard was bending under a cloud of rosy blossoms, and the air that swept through was heavy with fragrance; but all this fell upon Ellen's heart like a mockery: the balm floating on the wind, made her faint with regret; if every thing around had not been so beautiful she might have suffered less; but every object was connected with her lover, and as the links that bound her to him were torn apart, they seemed to sweep the bloom from every thing associated with his memory. A sloping