Nought else I feel, or hear or see-
All bonds of earth I sever—
Thee, O GOD, and only Thee
I live for, now and ever.

Like him whose fetters dropp'd away
When light shone o'er his prison,
My spirit, touch'd by Mercy's ray,
Hath from her chains arisen.
And shall a soul Thou bidst be free,
Return to bondage?—never!

Thee, O GOD, and only Thee
I live for, now and ever.

Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!
From that time, when the moon upon Ajalon's vale,
Looking motionless down, saw the kings of the earth,
In the presence of GOD's mighty Champion, grow pale-
Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth!
Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!
Bring myrtle and palm-bring the boughs of each tree
That's worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free.
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone,

With a light not their own, through the Jordan's deep tide, Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride !
Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

LILIS.

THERE was a maid, of all who move
Like visions o'er this orb, most fit
To be a bright young angel's love,
Herself so bright, so exquisite !
The pride, too, of her step, as light

Along the unconscious earth she went,
Seem'd that of one, born with a right

To walk some heavenlier element,
And tread in places where her feet
A star at ev'ry step should meet.
'Twas not alone that loveliness

By which the wilder'd sense is caught-
Of lips, whose very breath could bless;
Of playful blushes, that seem'd nought
But luminous escapes of thought;

Of eyes that, when by anger stirr'd,
Were fire itself, but, at a word

Of tenderness, all soft became

As though they could, like the sun's bird,
Dissolve away in their own flame;

Of form, as pliant as the shoots

Of a young tree in vernal flower,
Yet round and glowing as the fruits,
That drop from it in summer's hour;
'Twas not alone this loveliness

That falls to loveliest women's share,
Though, even here, her form could spare

From its own beauty's rich excess

Enough to make ev'n them more fair

But 'twas the Mind, outshining clear

Through her whole frame-the soul, still near,

To light each charm, yet independent

Of what it lighted, as the sun

That shines on flowers would be resplendent
Were there no flowers to shine upon-
'Twas this, all this, in one combined-

The unnumber'd looks and arts that form
The glory of young woman-kind,

Taken, in their perfection, warm,
Ere time had chill'd a single charm,
And stamp'd with such a seal of Mind,
As gave to beauties, that might be
Too sensual else, too unrefined,

The impress of Divinity!

THE PRAYER OF LILIS.

IT was in dreams that first I stole
With gentle mastery o'er her mind-
In that rich twilight of the soul

When reason's beam, half hid behind
The clouds of sleep, obscurely gilds
Each shadowy shape the Fancy builds-
'Twas then, by that soft light, I brought
Vague glimmering visions to her view;-
Catches of radiance, lost when caught,
Bright labyrinths, that led to nought,

And vistas, with no pathway through ;Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone, Then closed, dissolved, and left no traceAll that, in short, could tempt Hope on, But give her wing no resting-place ; Myself the while, with brow as yet Pure as the young moon's coronet, Through every dream still in her sight,

Th' enchanter of each mocking, scene, Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, Who said, "Behold, yon world of light," Then sudden dropt a veil between!

At length, when I perceived each thought,
Waking or sleeping, fix'd on nought

But these illusive scenes, and me
The phantom, who thus came and went,
In half revealments only meant

To madden curiosity—

When by such various arts I found
Her fancy to its utmost wound,

One night 'twas in a holy spot,
Which she for prayer had chosen-a grot
Of purest marble, built below

Her garden beds, through which a glow
From lamps invisible then stole,

Brightly pervading all the place—

Like that mysterious light, the soul,

Itself unseen, sheds through the face.

There, at her altar, while she knelt,

And all that woman ever felt,

When God and man both claim'd her sighsEvery warm thought, that ever dwelt,

Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies, Too pure to fall, too gross to rise,

Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes-

Then, as the mystic light's soft ray
Grew softer still, as though its ray

Was breath'd from her, I heard her say :

"Oh idol of my dreams! whate'er
Thy nature be-human, divine,
Or but half heav'nly-still too fair,
Too heavenly to be ever mine!

"Wonderful Spirit, who dost make Slumber so lovely that it seems

No longer life to live awake,

Since heaven itself descends in dreams,

Why do I ever lose thee? why,

When on thy realms and thee I gaze, Still drops that veil, which I could die, Oh gladly, but one hour to raise?

Long ere such miracles as thou

And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst For light was in this soul, which now

Thy looks have into passion nursed.

“There's nothing bright above, below,

In sky-earth-ocean, that this breast Doth not intensely burn to know,

And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest!

By those ethereal wings, whose way Lies through an element so fraught With living Mind, that, as they play,

Their every movement is a thought!

"By that bright, wreathed hair, between Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind Of Paradise so late hath been,

And left its fragrant soul behind!

"By those impassion'd eyes, that melt Their light into the inmost heart! Like sunset in the waters, felt

As molten fire through every part-

"I do implore thee, oh most bright

And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er My waking, wondering eyes this night, This one blest night-I ask no more!

Exhausted, breathless, as she said
These burning words, her languid head
Upon the altar's steps she cast,
As if that brain-throb were its last-
Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she raised;
And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me-not as I had blazed

Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but soften'd down
Into more mortal grace;-my crown
Of flowers, too radiant for this world,

Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;
Or like autumnal clouds, that keep

Their lightnings sheath'd, rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left, but what beseem'd

Th' accessible, though glorious mate
Of mortal woman-whose eyes beam'd
Back upon hers, as passionate.