"On, on, mighty Spirit! Unchecked in thy way; I smile on thine anger, And sport with thy spray; The soul that has wrestled With Life's darkest form, Shall baffle thy madness And pass in the storm." MISCELLANEOUS. THE PILGRIMS' FAST. The historical incident related in this poem is recorded in Cheever's "JOURNAL OF THE PILGRIMS." 'T was early morn, the low night-wind Had fled the sun's fierce ray, And sluggishly the leaden waves Rolled over Plymouth Bay. No mist was on the mountain-top, No dew-drop in the vale; The thirsting Summer flowers had died Ere chilled by Autumn's wail. The giant woods with yellow leaves The blighted turf had paved, And o'er the brown and arid fields No golden harvest waved; But calm and blue the cloudless sky Arched over earth and sea, As in their humble house of prayer, The Pilgrims bowed the knee. There gray-haired ministers of God In supplication bent, And artless words from childhood's lips Sought the Omnipotent. There woman's lip and cheek grew pale As on the broad day stole; And manhood's polished brow was damp With fervency of soul. The sultry noon-tide came and went With steady, fervid glare; "O God, our God, be merciful!" Was still the Pilgrims' prayer. They prayed as erst Elijah prayed Before the sons of Baal, When on the waiting sacrifice He called the fiery hail: They prayed as once the prophet prayed On Carmel's summit high, When the little cloud rose from the sea And blackened all the sky. And when around that spireless church The shades of evening fell, The customary song went up With clear and rapturous swell: And while each heart was thrilling with The chant of Faith sublime, The rude, brown rafters of the roof Rang with a joyous chime. The rain! the rain! the blessed rain! It watered field and height, And filled the fevered atmosphere, With vapor soft and white. Oh! when that Pilgrim band came forth And pressed the humid sod, Shone not each face as Moses' shone When "face to face" with God? PLEURS. The town of Pleurs, situated among the Alps and containing about two thousand five hundred inhabitants, was overwhelmed in 1618 by the falling of Mount Conto. The avalanche occurred in the night, and no trace of the village or any of its inhabitants could ever after be discovered. 'T was eve; and Mount Conto Reflected in night The sunbeams that fled With the monarch of light; As great souls and noble Reflect evermore The sunshine that gleams From Eternity's shore.