Away, away from such as these! Free as the wild bird on the wing, I see my own, my loved green trees, I hear our black-haired maidens sing; I fly from such a world as this, To rove, to love, to live in bliss! MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS. BY WILLIAM DUER. Fair orb! so peacefully sublime, In silence rolling high, Know'st thou of passion, or of crime, Or earthly vanity? In that bright world can lust abide, Or murder bare his arm? With thee are wars, and kings, and pride, And the loud trump's alarm? What beings, by what motives led, Inhale thy morning breeze? Doth man upon thy mountains tread, Or float upon thy seas? Say, whence are they? and what their fate? Whom whirls around thy ball? Their present and their future state, Their hopes and fears recall? Canst thou of a Redeemer tell, Or a Betrayer's kiss? Their's is a Heaven or a Hell? Eternal woe or bliss? Can infidelity exist, And gaze upon that sky? Here would I bid the Atheist God's finger to deny. What horrid sounds! what horrid sights! What wretched blood is spilt! While thou, and all the eternal lights, Shine conscious on the guilt? Thou hear'st red Murder's victims cry; Thou mark'st Lust's stealthy pace; And Avarice hide his heap and sigh; And Rapine's reckless face. In thy pale light the Suicide, By some deep lonely lake, Or from the headlong torrent's side Doth the vain world forsake. And often, ere thy course is run, Thy cold, uncertain light Gleams where the culprit's skeleton Swings to the winds of night. A light cloud hangs upon thy brow, (What foul deed would it hide?) 'Tis gone: thine orb, unshaded now, Looks down on human pride. And now the midnight hour invites Th' accursed witch's vow, While to her thrice accursed rites Sole witness rollest thou! Lo! underneath yon falling tower The tottering beldame seeks Herbs, of some hidden evil power, While muttered charms she speaks. Or where some noisome cavern yawns, Where vipers get their food, Or where the Nile's huge offspring spawns Her pestilential brood: There--while the bubbling cauldron sings Beneath their eldritch glance-- As wild their fiendish laughter rings, The haggard sisters dance. Can sin endure thy majesty, Nor thy pure presence fly? 'Tis like the sad severity Of a fond father's eye. There, where no mortal eye can see, No mortal voice can tell, Wisdom hath marked thy path to be Th' Almighty's sentinel. LINES WRITTEN ON THE COVER OF A PRAYER BOOK. BY THOMAS SLIDELL. There is a tree, whose boughs are clad With foliage that never dies; Whose fruits perennially thrive, And whose tall top salutes the skies.