EXTRACT FROM PROMETHEUS.

BY JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

thoughts are boundless though our frames are frail, r souls immortal, though our limbs decay; gh darkened in this poor life by a veil suffering, dying matter, we shall play truth's eternal sunbeams; on the way eaven's high capitol our car shall roll; e temple of the power whom all obey, is the mark we tend to, for the soul

ake no lower flight, and seek no meaner goal.

it-though the flesh is weak, I feel

⇒ spirit has its energies untamed

184

PROMETHEUS.

By all its fatal wanderings; time may heal

The wounds which it has suffered; folly claimed

Too large a portion of its youth; ashamed

Of those low pleasures, it would leap and fly,
And soar on wings of lightning, like the famed
Elijah, when the chariot rushing by

Bore him with steeds of fire triumphant to the sky.

We are as barks afloat upon the sea

Helmless and oarless, when the light has fled,
The spirit, whose strong influence can free
The drowsy soul, that slumbers in the dead,
Cold night of mortal darkness; from the bed
Of sloth he rouses at her sacred call,

And kindling in the blaze around him shed,
Rends with strong effort sin's debasing thrall,
And gives to God, his strength, his heart, his mind, his all.

Our home is not on earth; although we sleep,
And sink in seeming death awhile, yet then
The awakening voice speaks loudly, and we leap
To life, and energy, and light, again;
We cannot slumber always in the den
Of sense and selfishness; the day will break,
Ere we for ever leave the haunts of men ;
Even at the parting hour the soul will wake,

Nor like a senseless brute its unknown journey take.

his soul, the thundering voice that rings, e dark, damning moment, crimes of years, screaming like a vulture in his ears,

le by one his thoughts and deeds of shame; wild the fury of his soul careers!

rt eye flashes with intensest flame,

e the torture's rack the wrestling of his frame.

186

PROMETHEUS.

Our souls have wings; their flight is like the rush
Of whirlwinds, and they upward point their way,
Like him who bears the thunder, when the flush
Of his keen eye feeds on the dazzling ray:
He claps his pinions in the blaze of day,
And gaining on the loftiest arch his throne,

Darts his quick vision on his fated prey,

And, gathering all his vigour, he is gone,
And in an instant grasps his victim as his own.

We soar as proudly, and as quickly fall,

This moment in the empyrean, then we sink,

And wrapping in the joys of sense our all,

The stream that flows from Heaven we cannot drink,
But we will lie along the flowery brink

Of pleasure's tempting current, till the wave
Is bitter and its banks bare, then we think

Of what we might have been, and, idly brave,

We take a short weak flight, and drop into the grave.

SONG.

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.

WHEN other friends are round thee,
And other hearts are thine;

When other bays have crowned thee,
More fresh and green than mine.
Then think how sad and lonely
This wretched heart will be;
Which, while it beats-beats only,
Beloved one! for thee.

Yet do not think I doubt thee;
I know thy truth remains,
I would not live without thee

For all the world contains.
Thou art the star that guides me
Along life's troubled sea,

And whatever fate betides me,

This heart still turns to thee.