It is nothing now,

When heaven is opening on my sightless eyesWhen airs from Paradise refresh my brow That earth in darkness lies.

In a purer clime,

My being fills with rapture-waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit—strains sublime
Break over me unsought.

Give me now my lyre!

I feel the stirrings of a gift divine;
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire
Lit by no skill of mine.

Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie;
Heaven's first star alike ye see-
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

OLD TUBAL CAIN.

LD Tubal Cain was a man of might

OLD

In the days when the earth was young;

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear:
And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!
Hurrah for the hand that wields them well,
For he shall be king and lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire;

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his heart's desire.

And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,

And spoils of the forest-tree;

And they sang,

"Hurrah for Tubal Cain,

Who has given us strength anew!

Hurrah for the smith, and hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!"

But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done.

He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind-

That the land was fed with the blood they shed,
And their lust for carnage blind;
And he said, "Alas! that ever I made,
Or that skill of mine should plan,
The spear and sword for man, whose joy
Is to slay his fellow-man."

And for many a day old Tubal Cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low;
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright, courageous eye,

And he bared his strong arm for the work,
While the quick flames mounted high;

And he said, "Hurrah for my handiwork!"

And the fire-sparks lit the air;

"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made!" And he fashioned the first ploughshare!

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands;

Hung the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands;

And sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain !

Our staunch good friend is he;
And for the ploughshare and the plough

To him our prize shall be!

But when oppression lifts its hand,

Or a tyrant would be lord,

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We'll not forget the sword!"

HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS.

HE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds

TH

With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dyes; and leaves,

And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,
And everything that bendeth to the dew
And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up
Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.

All things are dark to sorrow; and the light
And loveliness and fragrant air were sad
To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth
Was pouring odors from its spicy pores,
And the young birds were singing as if life
Were a new thing to them; but music came
Upon her ear like discord, and she felt
That pang of the unreasonable heart,
That, bleeding amid things it loved so well,
Would have some sign of sadness as they pass.
She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed
Till the blood started; and the wandering veins
Of her transparent forehead were swelled out,
As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye
Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,
Which made its language legible, shot back
From her long lashes as it had been flame.

Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand
Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,
Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,
Sandalled for journeying. He had looked up
Into his mother's face, until he caught

The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling
Beneath his dimpled bosom, and his form
Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,
As if his light proportions would have swelled,
Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.

Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now
Upon his staff so wearily? His beard
Is low upon his breast, and high his brow,
So written with the converse of his God,
Beareth the swollen vein of agony.

His lip is quivering, and his wonted step

Of vigor is not there; and, though the morn
Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
Its freshness as if it were a pestilence.

He gave to her the water and the bread,
But spoke no word, and trusted not himself
To look upon her face, but laid his hand,
In silent blessing, on the fair-haired boy,
And left her to her lot of loneliness.

Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,
And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off,
Bend lightly to her leaning trust again?
Oh, no! by all her loveliness — by all
That makes life poetry and beauty, no!
Make her a slave; steal from her cheek the rose
By needless jealousies; let the last star
Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain;
Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all
That makes her cup a bitterness yet give
One evidence of love, and earth has not
An emblem of devotedness like hers.

But, oh! estrange her once it boots not how-
By wrong or silence - anything that tells
A change has come upon your tenderness-
And there is not a feeling out of heaven
Her pride o'ermastereth not.

She went her way with a strong step and slow -
Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed
As if it were a diamond, and her form
Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.
Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed
His hand till it was pained; for he had read
The dark look of his mother, and the seed
Of a stern nature had been breathed upon.

The morning passed, and Asia's sun rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.
The cattle of the hills were in the shade,
And the bright plumage of the Orient lay