Who will receive, if thou dost turn away?
Who will adore, if thou shalt still refuse.
To bend thy stubborn knee? 'Tis writ above,
By angel fingers, with a pen of light,
Upon the mystic tablets, which contain

Th' eternal scheme fulfilled and unfulfilled,
Thou shalt believe, and shalt be blest forever!
Blest in the shadow of the Tuba tree-

Blest in the pearl-paved garden of Al Jannat-
Blest at the sweet and fragrant fount of Tasnim—
Blest in the midst of Allah and his angels!
Exalt thy heart in praise and gratitude!—
Confess! confess there is no God but One-
Mohammed is his Prophet!

ALADDIN'S PALACE

Aladdin's Palace, in a single night,
From base to summit rose ere morning light,
A pillared mass of porphyry and gold,
Gem sown on gem, and silk o'er silk unrolled;
So from the dust our young Republic springs,
Before the dazzled eyes of Eastern Kings,
Not like old Rome, slow spreading into state,
The century that freed, beholds us great,
Sees our broad empire belt the western world,
From main to main our starry flag unfurled;
Sees in each port where Albion's sea kings trail
Their purple plumes, Columbia's snowy sail.
Three deep the loaded deck our long wharves line,
Three deep on buoyant hoops fast flounces shine,
While thrice three-story brown stone proudly tells
The tale of Mammon's modern miracles,
Marking full fifty places in a square

Where the born beggar dies the Millionaire.

But yet remember, glorious as we are,
Aladdin's Genie left one window bare;
And we, perchance, upon a close review,
May find our Palace lights unfinished too-

Some slighted panel in the stately hall,

Some broidered hangings stinted on the wall,
Nay, e'en some jewels gone, that graced us when
All men were free here-even gentlemen.

Of all the slaves in social bondage nursed,
PATER-FAMILIAS stands supremely first:
Proud of his bondage, tickled with his chains,
The parent cringes while the stripling reigns.
Down with the Dotard! consecrate the Boy!
Since Age must suffer, let bright Youth enjoy.
Drink morning in!-old eyes were meant to wake:
Shake hands with ruin!-old hearts never break.
Welcome the worst-'tis but to close the door
And pack the outlaw to some College-Cure.
Alas! the tutor apes the parent fool,

The idle birch hangs rotting in the school.
Touch the young tyrant-like Olympian Jove
The avenging sire defends his injured love;
Clutches a cowhide, contemplates a suit,
Talks wildly of a martyr and a brute.

The worst disgrace his free-born son can know
Is not to merit, but receive a blow.

*

Your boy secure, what next? Go home and rear
That up-town palace?-Why, you're never there.
Down by the docks your home is o'er the desk
From morn till night, curled like an arabesque,
Spinning the rich cocoon for child and wife,
Though, like the worm, the tribute cost your life.
Crawl home at midnight, to the basement go,
Hug the lit fender, toast the slippered toe;
One well-earned moment rest the throbbing head,
Though all the ceiling own the waltz's tread.
Or dare the ballroom, you'll not spoil the feast,
'Tis the old story-Beauty and the Beast.

Better be dead than ope those honest eyes
To half your marble mansion's mysteries.

Press your lone pillow, scheme to-morrow's pelf, Your daughter, trust her, can protect herself: Dread neither foreign Count nor native Fool, Her heart was buried at a Boarding School.

From private morals pass to public taste;
One jewel missing, can the next be paste?
A race of readers, we can surely claim

A dozen writers with a world-wide name-
One drama that can hold the stage a season,
Two actors that confound not rant with reason-
A minstrel equal to an average air,

An artist that has brains as well as hair?

Alas! the river where the millions drink

Flows from a Helicon of tainted ink,

Lower and lower the darkening stream descends, Till, lost in filth, the sacred fountain ends.

Kings rule the East, the Merchant rules the West.
Save round his hearth, supreme his high behest.
For him the captive lightning rides the main,
For him rent mountains hide the creaming train,
For him the placer spreads its golden sands,
The steamer pants, the spicy sail expands;
For him the quarry splits the moaning hill,
For him Laborde imports her newest trill.
Submissive science smooths his lordly path,
States court his nod and Senates dread his wrath.
Erect, undaunted, eager, active, brisk,

A front for ruin, nerve for any risk;
Shy of the snare, impatient of the chance,
The world a chess-board 'neath his eagle glance,
Armed with a Ledger-presto pass-he carves
And spends ten fortunes where a genius starves.
No robber knight that ever drove a-field.
Bore braver heart beneath his dinted shield.
Atilt with fortune, if he win the prize,

The turnpike trembles, marble cleaves the skies.

O land of Lads, and Liberty, and Dollars!

A Nation first in schools and last in scholars!
Where few are ignorant, yet none excel,

Whose peasants read, whose statesmen scarcely spell;
Of what avail that science light the way,
When dwindling Senates totter to decay?"

Of what avail the boast of steam and cable,
If doomed to grovel 'neath the curse of Babel?
Low droops our Eagle's eye to find us still
Cowed 'neath his wing-by Albion's gray-goose quill.
Why boast of Britain foiled on Bunker crest,
Her pen still rules the Rebel of the West.

SAN SISTO

Three hundred years the world has looked at it
Unwearied-it at Heaven; and here it hangs
In Dresden, making it a Holy City.

It is an old acquaintance; you have met
Copies by thousands-Morghens here and there-
But all the sunlight withered. Prints, at best,
Are but the master's shadow-as you see.

I call that face the holiest revelation

God ever made to genius. How or why,

When, or for whom 'twas painted, wherefore ask?
Enough to know 'tis Raphael, and to feel
His Fornarina was not with him, when
Spurning the slow cartoon he flashed that face,
That Virgin Mother's half-transfigured face,

On canvas. Yes, they say, 'twas meant to head
Some virginal procession:-to that banner

Heaven's inmost gates might open, one would think.
But let the picture tell its story-take

Your stand in this far corner.

Falls the light
As you would have it? That Saint Barbara,
Observe her inclination and the finger

Of Sixtus: both are pointing-where? Now look
Below those grand boy-angels;-watch their eyes

Fastened-on whom?-What, not yet catch my meaning? . . Step closer-half a step-no nearer. Mark The Babe's fixed glance of calm equality. Observe that wondering, rapt, dilated gaze, The Mother's superhuman joy and fear, That hushed-that startled adoration! Watch Those circled cherubs swarming into light, Wreathing their splendid arch, their golden ring, Around the unveiled vision. Look above At the drawn curtain! Ah, we do not see God's self, but they do:-they are face to face . With the unveiled Omnipotent!

THE DEATH OF DE SOTO

From "De Soto."

ACT V.

SCENE VI. (Night. Ulah's grave, Mississippi. Enter De Soto, Tuscaluza, grappling.)

DE S. (holding him a moment.)

Behold her grave!—Chief, I could smite thee now,

As I have sworn-but take another chance,

And use it well. (Throwing him off.)

I will not touch my sword

We meet on equal footing, knife to knife.

Tus. Give me a moment's rest-thy lion grasp

Upon my throat has robbed me of my breath.

DE S.-Rest-breathe-and pray-for thou hast need

of all.

There liveth not the mortal whose right arm

Crossed mine in combat-and thou knowest, savage,
That I have sometimes fought. (Goes to the grave.)
At last in Heaven!-

Sweet saint, remember me.

Tus. (springing upon him).-Lie there with her!

DE S. (intercepting the blow).-False heart-false hand. 'Tis thus thou shouldst have struck! (Stabs. Tuscaluza falls.) Tus.-Exult not, Spaniard-thou shalt follow soon