And thou wilt feel its sting; while I, alas,
Who took thee from thy dying mother's breast,
Her last sad gift, and nurs'd thy feeble frame;
Who watch'd thy gentle slumbers, and on whom
Thy first smile fell like dawning light from heaven,
When with the ray of young intelligence

It broke its infant chaos; I who saw

Thy little feet, and heard thy shout of joy,
When with a tottering step thou gain'dst my arms;
I, who perceiv'd thy rich and active mind
Ope to high culture; and to whom indeed.
No longer child, thou hast become a friend,
Shall see thee chain'd for aye, (nay, I must speak,)
To one, who, caught by sensual, low desires,
Knows not the precious value of the pearl
Which melts within his coarse and turbid grasp.

ISADORE.

Father, 't is not that any girlish pride, Low principle, or tendency to wrong Enthrals me, that I cling to Julian thus:

I

--

gave my heart to virtuous love — but if,
In any space of time thy will demands,
I find him aught that virtue shall condemn,
I pledge myself to cast him from my heart.

As lightly as the vessel flings the spray

That gathers on its prow. - Think'st thou thy child,
Whom thou hast train'd with strong and upward hopes,
And clothed with faith as armor, and inspired

With trust that that high spark thou call'st her soul
Shall rise and mingle with th' eternal flame,
Will stoop to be the victim of unblest

Desires? No, hear me, Heaven! and father, hear;

If it be true, (and O my God, if prayers

And groans, and tears, issuing in troubled strife
From out a bursting heart, are heard above,

It will not be,) if it indeed be true,

That Julian seeks the reveller's haunt, I vow

To thee, who, having fram'd the mind, dost claim Its homage, that these lips shall proudly spurn

His cherish'd name.

Spurn, did I say? Ah no;

For the close tendrils of a faithful love

Will cling around me still, but I will loose,

Gently and firmly from my fetter'd soul,

Their twining hold; yes, father though I die.

Scene 2d-the Garden Mound - Sunset.

ISADORE.

'Tis done, and I am free so is the oak

O'er which the storm with lightning wrath hath sped

And left a ghastly pile—so is the wave,

The cold and midnight wave, that tosses on
Beneath a stormy sky so is the star

When clouds are drifting round its lonely path,
And other stars are gone! O, father, father,
- they will not sear

Take me to your kind arms

Nor scorch me with the drunkard's burning touch, Nor shall I hear thy unpolluted lips

Pour forth the babblings of a reeling brain.

[Throws herself into her father's arms.

FATHER.

Heroic child! thine was a high resolve,
And followed up in nobleness of soul!

I knew thou wouldst not compromise with sin,
Nor give soft names to foul intemperance.

Thy father's arms are round thee, and he knows

Thy deep, deep woe. Alas, poor stricken flower,
Thou wert not made for this unkindly storm!
Thy cheek is pale, beloved, pale with grief;
Distended on thy marble brow and lids
(Too sad for tears) arise the struggling veins,
And thou dost start as if some fearful task
Oppress'd thee still.

Almighty! thou who know'st

The anguish'd throes with which the youthful hand
Cuts its own hopes, look down upon my child,
Comfort and bless her in this bitter hour!
My prayer is heard; she rests, and to her lips
A smile, almost serene, has wing'd its way.

ISADORE [in a low tone.]

Father, I've dream'd; and as my half-form'd thoughts Came bruis'd and bleeding through my riven mind, I seem'd to grope, where in the far gray depths With waving robes, above a dark abyss,

I saw a shadowy form. It beckon'd me,
And eagerly I strove to reach its side,

Until I saw ·

Temptation' on its brow

Inscribed. Then pray'd a voice, "Lead me not there!"

From my own heart it came distinct and calm.

Again I look'd, and there in golden hues,
While floated off the form in murky clouds,

Blazed the word Duty, and once more the voice

Stirr'd in my soften'd soul, "Those whom he loves He chastens."

CHARLESTON, S. C. 1835.

JOSHUA'S COURTSHIP.

A NEW ENGLAND BALLAD.

STOUT Jeshua was a farmer's son,

And a pondering he sat

One night, when the faggots crackling burn'd, And purr'd the tabby cat.

Joshua was a well-grown youth,

As one might plainly see

By the sleeves that vainly tried to reach

His hands upon his knee.

His splay-feet stood all parrot-toed

In cow-hide shoes array'd,

And his hair seem'd cut across his brow

By rule and plummet laid.

And what was Joshua pondering on,
With his widely staring eyes,
And his nostrils opening sensibly
To ease his frequent sighs?