POEMS.

Oн ye everlasting hills,
Он

By the feet of Angels trod,

When the summer dew distils,
On the green and fragrant sod.

Oh ye everlasting hills,

Who can chronicle your birth? Cisterns which the rain-cloud fills, Cisterns of the teeming earth.

Oh ye everlasting hills,

On you seem the stars to rest; When its horn yon planet fills, Splendid shows it on your crest.

B

Oh ye everlasting hills

Radiant with the morning light,
Still while night the valley fills,
With imperial colors bright.

Oh ye everlasting hills

With religion linked of old,
Homer's page your story fills
With his pen of magic told.

Oh ye everlasting hills,

Fondly back my fancy strays

Where great Jove the tumult stills,
Round him while the lightning plays.

Oh ye everlasting hills,

Beacons of the sea and land;

Many a one the landscape fills,
Bold, majestic, blue, and grand!

Oh ye everlasting hills,

Atlas, Alps, and Apennines,
Many a name my memory fills,
And with endless glory shines!

March, 1859.

ITALY.

The curse of Italy is in her kings,

Too many diadems her forehead bears, Not till the greater part away she flings, Will she escape the sorrows which she shares.

The Austrian rule her native spirit cramps,
And like an incubus upon her bears;
Worse than her marshes' pestilential damps,
The Bourbon race, Calabria's, Naples' heirs.

O Venice, where are now the mighty Ten,
Who ruled thy country with an iron rod;
Domestic tyrants were they, stern, but then,
Upon an independent soil they trod.

Thy marriage with the Adriatic wave
Hath ended, and a widow now thou art,
Not only desolate, alas, a slave,

Empty thy havens, once the world's wide mart.

And Lucca, Tuscany, and other names

I blush to name, where is your glory now? A petty tyrant duke your sceptre claims,

And wears your jewelled crown upon his brow.

And Rome, what art thou, shadow of a name,
Galvanised life is only in thy trunk,

There France and Austria play a skilful game

Even to the dregs affliction thou hast drunk.

Weld into one again these scattered states,
And build an empire worthy of the land,
All Europe for the consummation waits-
A consummation glorious and grand!
March, 1859.

NATURE A TYPE OF SOMETHING HIGHER.

Nature is a revelation, although wrapped in mystery,
And the Bible in relation standeth to it as a key;
If men's minds had not been darkened, by a wicked
perverse will,

Unto Nature they'd have hearkened, with its accents low and still.

Types of resurrection beauty, when the flowers at spring they saw,

And obedience as a duty, in its fealty to a law; Spring reviving, teeming, flushing, with its fair enamelled trees,

Rivers from their fountains rushing, onward to the distant seas.

Genial summer developing life another further stage, Into harvest meadows sloping, types of manhood and of age;

But a riddle and enigma, all was what they would not read,

Fixing an eternal stigma on their want of sense indeed.

March, 1859.

FREE SALVATION.

God from the people chooses few,
Your accusation this,

But still the fault remains with you

God's purposes you cannot know,

Salvation's terms are free,

Free as a river it doth flow

Alike to you and me.

If I its precious waters taste,
And you refuse the same,

O not with God the fault be placed,
Be yours the fault and shame.