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HEBREW MELODIES.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.

THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The King of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which music hallowed while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven !
It softened men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own;

No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,

Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!

It told the triumphs of our King,

It wafted glory to our God;

It made our gladdened valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love

Still bid the bursting spirits soar

To sounds that seem as from above,

In dreams that day's broad light cannot remove.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.

SINCE Our Country, our God — Oh, my sire! Demand that thy Daughter expire;

Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now;

And the voice of my mourning is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow!

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And of this, oh, my Father! be sure
That the blood of thy child is as pure
As the blessing I beg ere it flow,
And the last thought that soothes me below.

Though the virgins of Salem lament,

Be the judge and the hero unbent!

I have won the great battle for thee,
And my Father and Country are free!

When this blood of thy giving hath gushed, When the voice that thou lovest is hushed,

Let my memory still be thy pride,

And forget not I smiled as I died!

18

THE WILD GAZELLE.

THE wild gazelle on Judah's hills
Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;

Its airy step and glorious eye

May glance in tameless transport by:

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witnessed there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone.

:

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scattered race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth,

It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;

And where our father's ashes be,

Our own may never lie:

Our temple hath not left a stone,

And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

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