Part 12

The joyous laugh came on the breeze, And, 'mid the bright o'erhanging trees, The mazy dance went round; And as in joyous ring they flew, The smiling nymphs the wild flowers threw That clustered on the ground.

Soft as a summer evening's sigh, From each o'erhanging balcony Low fervent whisperings fell; And many a heart upon that night On fancy's pinion sped its flight, Where holier beings dwell.

Each lovely form the eye might see, The dark-browed maid of Italy With love's own sparkling eyes; The fairy Swiss--all, all that night, Smiled in the moonbeam's silvery light, Fair as their native skies.

The moon went down, and o'er that glowing sea, With darkness, Silence spread abroad her wing, Nor dash of oars, nor harp's wild minstrelsy Came o'er the waters in that mighty ring. All nature slept--and, save the far-off moan Of ocean surges, Silence reigned alone.

BALLOONING.

By I. McLellan, Jr.

The clear sun of a fine September day, was glittering on roof and steeple, and the cheerful breeze of early autumn breathing its harp-like melody over woods and waters. A vast multitude stood around me, attentively watching the expanding folds of my balloon, as it swayed to and fro in the unsteady air. As I prepared to take my place in its car, I noticed an involuntary shudder run through the assemblage, and anxious glances pass from face to face. At length, the process of inflation was completed, the music sounded, the gun was discharged, the ropes were loosened, and the beautiful machine arose in the air, amid the resounding cheers of thousands. As it ascended, I cast a hasty look on the sea of upturned heads, and thought I read one general expression of anxiety, in the faces of the multitudinous throng, and my heart warmed with the consciousness, that many kind wishes and secret hopes were wafted with me on my heavenward flight. But very soon, mine eye ceased to distinguish features and forms, and the collected throng became blended in one confused mass, and the green common itself had dwindled into a mere garden-plat, and the magnificent old Elm in its centre to a stunted bush, waving on the hill-side.

Upward, upward! my flying car mounted and mounted, into the yet untraversed highways of the air, swifter than pinion-borne bird, or canvas-borne vessel, yet all without sound of revolving wheel, or clatter of thundering hoof or straining of bellying sail, or rustle of flapping wing. I felt that I was indeed alone, in the upper wastes of the liquid element, a solitary voyager of the sky, careering onward like the spectral "Ship of the Sea," with no murmur of bubbling billow under the prow, and no gush of whirling ripple beneath the keel. But how can my pen describe the sublimity of the scene above, below and around! At one moment, my car would plunge into silvery seas of vapor and rolling billows of mist, through which the dim-seen sun did but feebly glimmer, like the struggling flame of the torch cast in the dungeon's gloom. But soon that shadowy veil dissolved away, and again I would emerge into the blaze of the golden sun, and the effulgence of the blue heavens. How then did I covet the painter's art, to be able to imprint on the eternal canvas, those gorgeous clouds piled up around me, like hills and mountains, from whose sides hoary cataracts seemed to be falling, and foamy streams leaping into the vallies, that rested in lovely repose at their base. Never did the dull world below present on its diversified bosom, such grand or such enchanting objects, as those beautiful and evanescent creatures of the air, shining and shifting in the levelled sunbeams around. At times, my whole horizon would be bounded by those mountainous regions of cloud-land, cliff lifting over cliff, pinnacle above pinnacle, Alps above Alps. On their sides and tops, the reflected light painted all the hues of the rainbow, in commingled azure and crimson, purple and gold. In those stupendous masses of vapor, mine eye, with little aid of fancy, could trace out resemblances of wild and desolate forests, of sombre fir and yew, the lordly oak and the melancholy pine, whispering in the breeze. Anon, a green, happy valley, would smile out from some hollow of the hills, and the white church-spire would peep from the embosoming grove, and the rustic parsonage, the rural farm-house, and the village-inn, with its swinging sign, and the chestnut waiving its twinkling foliage at the door would appear. Anon, the shifting vapor would assume the shape of an old baronial fortress, green with the mosses of centuries, and overspread with the flexile creeper, the gadding vine, and the glossy ivy, and wearing many a dull-weather stain, imprinted by wintry gale and autumnal rain. On its grey towers would seem to float the broad standard, around which the knights and vassals had mustered so often, when the armies thundered beneath the leagured walls, or its brave folds were displayed in distant lands, on the tented fields of war.

Onward, onward! I looked forth, and saw that I was again wafted along the lower currents of air, and could easily distinguish the sights and sounds of earth. I passed over green pastures, where the brindled cattle and snowy sheep were feeding, and, under a spreading oak, that towered aloft like a verdant hill, reclined a young girl, watching her father's flocks, attended by a pet lamb, cropping the fair flowers at her feet. As I gazed, I thought of "the fair Una with her milk-white lamb," and of all the happiness of the shepherd's life, who, sitting upon the grassy hill-side beneath the sacred locust, and piping entrancing melodies in praise of his love, on the mellow oaten reed, is all unmindful of the cankering care and the poisonous hatred, that embitter human life. Great was the surprise that agitated that lonesome spot, as mine air-borne pageant fluttered over it, with its silken fold and colored streamer. The cattle cast upward their wondering eyes, and galloped away to the forests, and I could long hear the tinkling bell on the horn of the bull and heifer, sounding in the inner sanctuary of the wood, where, on a twisted root or a moss-covered stone, by the brink of the gushing brook, reclined that grey-beard recluse, Solitude, and his nun-like sister, Silence, revolving their lonely meditations.

Onward, still onward! Beneath me I beheld a solemn spot, where the linden, the ash, the sycamore, the cypress, the cedar, the beech, the church-yard yew and hemlock, were clustered together in one mournful company. I knew by the stone altars, by the sculptured urn, the graceful obelisk, the foam-white pyramid, the funereal cenotaph, the marble mausoleum, which glimmered amid the groves and bowers, that I looked upon a sanctuary, consecrated by the living to the repose of the dead. A sweet sabbath-like calm seemed to hover about the place, and even the very birds that were flitting from branch to branch, and the breeze that was sighing its hollow dirge along the wood-tops, appeared to know that the spot was holy. As I looked, I beheld a slow procession winding along this highway of the departed, and bearing a new tenant to the narrow house. Some sweet infant, perhaps, was there cut down in the dewy bloom of its innocence,--some beautiful bud of beauty severed from its stem, and torn away from its blossoming mates, in the garden of youth,--or, haply, some silver-haired sire, gathered like the shock of corn, fully ripe, into the vast granary of death.

As I passed from this interesting spot, I was attracted by a merry train of riders, whose loud and cheerful voices resounded along the road, seeming to mock the sacred silence of the place I had so lately left. As the gay array of youth and beauty dashed away from my sight, with foamy bridle and gory spur, I could not but be reminded of the close juxta-position on earth, of joy and sorrow, life and death.

Onward, onward! over winding streams, that glittered like twisting serpents on the green surface of the earth, over the broad bay, that rested in smooth and glassy repose in the arms of the far-extending shore, and over the dashing billows of the ocean, my route continued. Birds of the briny sea, whose strong wings had borne them safely and surely from the frosty atmosphere that sparkles around the pole, or the ice-cold waters of some far-away lagoon, now darted around me with discordant cry and affrighted pinion. In those hovering flocks I discerned the duck, the goose, the coot, the loon, the curlew, the green-winged teal, the dusky duck, the sooty tern, the yellow-winged gadwale, the golden eye, and the gaudy mallard, proudly vain of that lovely plumage, whose intense hues rival the glory of the breaking dawn, the autumnal sunset, or the intermingled dyes which tinge the stripes of the showery bow. On an iron-bound promontory, whose jutting crags waved an eternal strife with the rolling billows, I saw the thick-scattered cottages of wealth and taste, seeming no bigger than the nest, which the tropical bird constructs in the sands of the desert, while around, on the tumbling expanse of waters, were glancing a thousand receding and approaching sails, bearing the riches of the orient or the occident, from shore to shore.

Downward, downward! A thrill of horror shot through my veins, as I felt that the rough ocean breeze had shivered my silken vessel to shreds and tatters, and that I was falling with the speed of lightning, through the hollow abyss of the air, into the sea. The jaws of the fretting ocean, gnashing their white teeth in anger, seemed to gape open to devour me, and the black rocks uplifted their jagged spears, to impale my devoted body! But my time had not yet come. A gentle tap on the shoulder aroused me from the profound reverie in which I had been plunged, and I was very glad to recognize, in the visitor who had broken the spell, my good friend Durant, who called to invite me to attend his grand ascension, the following day.

ODE,

ON OCCASION OF JUDGE STORY'S EULOGY ON CHIEF JUSTICE MARSHALL AT THE ODEON.

By Grenville Mellen.

Again--the voice of God! How breaks it round! O'er consecrated sod, With locks unbound, Grief in her marble brow appears And bows amid her veil--in tears!

That mandate from on high-- The clarion call, That rung through earth and sky His rayless fall, In accents, "thou shalt die," again Proclaims man's dream of years--how vain!

We veil not in its grave Ambition's brow-- It is not o'er the brave We gather now! But one who reach'd man's loftier fate. _Good_ without fault--and nobly _great_.

A sceptre was his own, Drawn from the sky-- He fill'd a holier throne Than royalty: He sat with deathless Justice crown'd, While Truth, like sunlight, flash'd around!

His _life_ to all the earth Proud record bore, Man yet might spring to birth, With angel power! His _death_, that as the "grass," to-day Robes him in glory--and decay!

Oh! well, with spirit bow'd, Above his bier May a broad empire crowd, With prayer and tear! --His be its requiem--deep and far-- A nation's heart his sepulchre!

THE BOY'S MOUNTAIN SONG.

FROM THE GERMAN.

By I. McLellan, Jr.

I am the mountain boy! Forth o'er an hundred halls I gaze. Here morn his earliest light displays, Here linger his declining rays,-- I am the mountain boy!

Here is the mountain-source, Of the cold water-course-- And at sultry noon I dip, In its wave my glowing lip. I am the mountain boy!

When the awful lightnings glare, Flashes on the midnight air, On the rocking cliff I kneel, Answering back each thunder-peal. I am the mountain boy!

When the quickly-pealing bell, Calls to arms in every dell, In the mustered ranks I stand, Swinging wide my mountain-brand And sing my mountain-song!

THE UNCHANGEABLE JEW.

By John Neal.

'_Who_ views with equal eye as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall? Atoms and systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world?'

A great multitude were gathered together: on the right a huge fortress thundering to the sky--on the left a scaffold--a white fog--the open sea--and a mighty ship tumbling to the swell. The flat roofs and gorgeous balconies were covered with scarlet cloth, and thronged with women of all ages--their lips writhing and their eyes flashing. Underneath were a mute soldiery, with banners that moved not, and spears that glimmered not--a vast, rich and motionless pageant. Not a leaf stirred--not a finger was lifted--all eyes were fixed upon something afar off. The Grave alone had a voice, and the footstep of approaching Death grew audible, with the everlasting beat of the Ocean. The stagnant atmosphere burned with a lustreless, unchangeable and smouldering warmth. As the impatient and sluggish breathing of the Destroyer drew near, with a sound as of Earthquake and Pestilence laboring afar off, there appeared upon the outermost verge of the scaffold, near the fortress, a man of a simple and majestic presence, wearing no symbol of power, no badge of authority, before whom the multitude gave way with headlong precipitation, as though but to touch the hem of his garment were death itself, or something yet worse than death.

After communicating with those about him in a low whisper, too low to be understood by others almost within his reach, one of the soldiers lifted a spear, at the point of which fluttered a blood-red banner, tufted and fringed with snow-white feathers, and pointed in silence toward a large opening, which appeared to command a view of the whole interior. The stranger drew near, and grasping one of the bars with a powerful hand, lifted himself up, and after looking awhile, turned away with a sick impatient shudder, and wiped his eyes; and then lifting himself up again, he made a signal to somebody within, and straightway a large tent-like awning was quietly withdrawn, so as to reveal the interior of a court-yard, with cells opening into it--in the nearest of which sat a princely-looking middle-aged man, half-buried and apparently half asleep or lost in thought, in a large, heavy, old-fashioned chair, with a curiously carved table before him, on which there lay, side by side with writing materials, a lamp and a letter evidently unfinished, two or three illuminated manuscripts, a dagger and a map; a massive goblet richly chased, the rough gold tinged and sweltering with the hot blood of the southern grape, a variety of strange mathematical instruments--a copy of Zoroaster--and a Hebrew Bible, with clasps of the costliest workmanship, and a cover of black velvet frosted with seed pearls--a crushed and trampled coronet--and a lighted pipe, ornamented with precious stones, the shaft a twisted serpent and the bowl a burning carbuncle--a live coal--from the core of which, as out of the midst of a perpetual, unextinguishable fire, issued a delicate perfume, filling the whole neighborhood, as with the smoke of a censer; and leaving the eye to make out--by little and little--through the fragrant vapor, first a pair of embroidered Persian slippers, then a magnificent robe, flowered all over as with the sunshine of the sea, and weltering in the changeable light of the open window, then a prodigious quantity of lustrous black hair flowing down over the shoulders, from underneath a crimson velvet cap with a diamond buckle and clasp, and a tassel of spun gold, strung with sapphire, ruby, amethyst and pearl--and a pomp of black feathers overshadowing an ample forehead of surpassing power, and eyes of untroubled splendor; and then, after a long while, a heap of black shadow lying coiled up underneath the table, from the midst of which an occasional flash, as of a serpent's tongue, or an angry sparkle--as of a serpent's eye, would appear--and at last the whole proportions of a superb-looking personage, who had been trying, hour after hour, with a compressed lip and a thoughtful determined eye--to snap what appeared to be a handful of seed pearl, one by one, through the grated window before him, without touching the bars--hour after hour--and always in vain! The passage way was too narrow--the bars too near together.

Behold! murmured he at last, while the shadow of another--and yet another stranger, shot along the lighted floor, as he stole about the room a-tiptoe, and gathering up the pearls, if pearls they were, that lay in heaps underneath the window, and flinging aside the magnificent robe he wore, prepared himself anew and with more determination than ever, for the work he had evidently set his heart upon, if not his life, by measuring the elevation with a steadier eye, and poising every pearl with a more delicate touch, before he projected it toward the window. Behold! how the Ancient of Days delighteth in counteracting the purposes of Man?

The other started back and threw up his arms with a look of horror and amazement, and all who were about him began whispering together and shaking their heads.

At this moment the slow jarring vibration of a great bell was heard from the topmost tower--the cannon of the fortress thundered forth, and were answered, peal after peal, from the lighted mountains--a volume of white smoke rolled heavily toward the earth and covered the people--the sea-fog trembled--parted--and slowly drifted away in patches and fragments, through which the blue sky appeared, and the hot sunshine flashed with an arrowy brightness, while the mighty ship swung round with her broadside to the shore, and lighted matches were seen moving about hither and thither, like wandering meteors, through the damp hazy atmosphere; and instantly there went up a slow half-smothered wail from the multitude, with a weight and volume like the unutterable and growing earnestness of the Great Deep, when it begins to heave with a pre-appointed and irresistible change; and all eyes were upturned, and all arms outstretched with a troubled expression toward the stranger, who walked forward a few steps to the verge of the scaffold--and looking about him, on every side, called out with a loud voice,--Of such are the Gods of the Unconverted! and of such their followers!

The answering roar of the multitude reached the prisoner, who lifting his head and listening for a moment with a placid smile, asked what more they would have?--and whether they were not yet satisfied?--and then straightway began balancing another of the glittering seeds and eyeing the window--

Most pitiable! cried the other, covering his face with his hands, moving afar off, and appearing to be entirely overcome by what he saw.

And why _pitiable_, I pray thee! shouted the former, with a voice like a trumpet, lifting his calm forehead to the sky and gathering his magnificent robe about him as he spoke.

Art thou of a truth Adonijah the Jew--the unconverted Jew?

Of a truth am I--the unconverted, the _unconvertable_ Jew; and thou! art thou not he that was my brother according to the flesh--even Zorobabel, the _converted_ Jew and the preacher of a new faith?

Yea; of a new faith to such as thou; but a faith older than the Hebrew prophets to them that believe, Adonijah.

But why _pitiable_ I pray thee?

How are the mighty fallen! For three whole months have I journied afoot and alone, by night and by day, through the deep of the wilderness, and along by the sea-shore--afoot and alone, my brother!--after hearing of thy great overthrow--the wreck of thy vast possessions about me whithersoever I went--thy magnificent household scattered, thy princes banished from their high places, and wandering over all the earth and hiding themselves in the holes of the rocks--with no city of refuge in their path--even thy youngest and fairest a bondwoman, toiling for that which sustaineth not; and thy own fast-approaching death, a theme with every people and kindred and tongue--and not a theme of sorrow! And all this, O my brother and my prince! only that I might be near thee in thy unutterable bereavement and humiliation, only that I might look upon thee once more alive, and see thee unchangeable as ever, though stripped of power and trampled under the hoofs of the multitude--only that I might reason with thee, face to face, before a great people, who, after watching and worshipping thee for many years, have come up together as with one heart, to see thee--_thee!_ their idol and their benefactor--perish upon a scaffold, as only the fool or the scoffer perisheth!--to cry out upon thee as the unconquerable Jew, that having once abjured the faith of his fathers and gone back to it anew, cannot be reached but by the law, nor purified but with fire!

Say on.

Alas, my brother! Alas that it should fall upon me to afflict thy proud spirit with reproaches at a time like this! But there is no other hope. Awake, therefore! awake! and gird up thy loins like a man. I will demand of thee, saith the Lord of Hosts, and thou shalt answer me, even as my servant Job answered me of yore. Awake, therefore, and stand up, that I may reason with thee for the last time touching the faith of our mighty fathers, the consolations of philosophy, and the splendor and power of earthly Wisdom--of Death and Judgment--while thou art on thy way to the grave in the fulness of thy strength and majesty; and _not_ with the clangor of trumpets, the neigh of steeds, the flow of drapery, and the uproar of battle!--No!--not as the High Priest, or the champion of a lofty and venerable faith, standing up like a pillar of fire in a cloudy sky, and pointing to Jerusalem as to the great gathering place of buried nations, about to reappear, with all eyes fixed upon thee and all hearts heaving with exultation! To thy grave, my brother! and not as a martyr! but as a wretch abandoned of all the earth--a twofold apostate!--a rebel and a traitor! Hark! hearest thou not a faint stirring afar off, along the shore of that multitude--a living wilderness of threatening eyes and parched lips--and ah! another moan from that huge, heavy, disheartening bell, which never stops till the sacrifice of a fiery death is over, and the object of its boding prophecy gone to the world of spirits.

But the prisoner heeded not his adjuration--he never lifted his eyes, and the same quiet smile rested forever upon his countenance; and he still gathered up the pearls and continued aiming them at the window.

Awake, Adonijah! awake, I say! Thy pearls are counted to thee. Thy pulses are about to stand still forever--thy proud heart to stop forever! A moment, and the headsman will be here--already do I see him afar off, stealing with a noiseless movement along the skirts of the affrighted people, like smouldering fire through the blackness of a thunder-cloud. Awake, thou MAN of sorrow and acquainted with grief, awake that I may pray with thee!

With me!

Yea, my brother--even with thee.

And wherefore shouldst thou pray with me? and wherefore should I pray?

Wherefore! Have I not heard thee, purified by that old peculiar faith, charge even thy Creator, the Ancient of Days, the Lord God of Heaven and Earth, _Jehovah!_ with diverting thy pearls from their appointed path!