JESUS APPEARS TO THE DISCIPLES.

THE evening of that day which saw the Lord
Rise from the chambers of the dead was come.
His faithful followers assembled sang

A hymn low-breathed, a hymn of sorrow blent
With hope-when in the midst sudden he stood.
The awe-struck circle backward shrink; he looks
Around with a benignant smile of love,

And says, 'Peace be unto you:' faith and joy
Spread o'er each face, amazed; as when the moon,
Pavilion'd in dark clouds, mildly comes forth,
Silvering a circlet in the fleecy rack.

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PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL OF THE AREOPAGUS.

LISTEN, that voice! upon the hill of Mars,
Rolling in bolder thunders than e'er peal'd
From lips that shook the Macedonian throne;
Behold his dauntless outstretch'd arm, his face
Illumed of heaven: he knoweth not the fear
Of man, of principalities, of powers.
The Stoic's moveless frown; the vacant stare
Of Epicurus' herd; the scowl and gnash malign
Of Superstition, stopping both her ears;
The Areopagite tribunal dread,

From whence the doom of Socrates was utter'd
This hostile throng dismays him not; he seems
As if no worldly object could inspire
A terror in his soul; as if the vision
Which, when he journey'd to Damascus, shone
From heaven, still swam before his eyes,
Out-dazzling all things earthly; as if the voice
That spake from out the effulgence ever rang
Within his ear, inspiring him with words,

U

;

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Burning, majestic, lofty, as his theme-
The resurrection, and the life to come.

PAUL ACCUSED BEFORE THE ROMAN GOVERNOR OF JUDEA.

THE judge ascended to the judgment-seat;
Amid a gleam of spears the apostle stood;
Dauntless, he forward came; and look'd around,
And raised his voice, at first, in accents low,
Yet clear; a whisper spread among the throng:
So when the thunder mutters, still the breeze
Is heard, at times, to sigh; but when the peal,
Tremendous, louder rolls, a silence dead
Succeeds each pause, moveless the aspen leaf.
Thus fix'd, and motionless, the listening band
Of soldiers forward lean'd, as from the man,
Inspired of God, truth's awful thunders roll'd.
No more he feels, upon his high-raised arm,
The ponderous chain, than does the playful child
The bracelet, form'd of many a flowery link.
Heedless of self, forgetful that his life
Is now to be defended by his words,
He only thinks of doing good to them
Who seek his life; and, while he reasons high
Of justice, temperance, and the life to come,
The judge shrinks trembling at the prisoner's voice.

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THE RURAL CALENDAR.

JANUARY.

LONG ere the snow-veil'd dawn, the bird of morn
Ilis wings quick claps, and sounds his cheering call:
The cottage hinds the glimmering lantern trim,

And to the barn wade, sinking, in the drift;

The alternate flails bounce from the loosen'd sheaf.
Pleasant these sounds! they sleep to slumber change;
Pleasant to him whom no laborious task

Whispers, Arise!—whom neither love of gain,
Nor love of power, nor hopes, nor fears, disturb.

4

Late daylight comes at last, and the strain'd eye 10 Shrinks from the dazzling brightness of the scene, One wide expanse of whiteness uniform.

As yet no wandering footstep has defaced

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The spotless plain, save where some wounded hare,
Wrench'd from the springe, has left a blood-stain'd track.
How smooth are all the fields! sunk every fence;
The furrow, here and there, heap'd to a ridge,
O'er which the sidelong plough-shaft scarcely peers.
Cold blows the north-wind o'er the dreary waste.
Oh
ye that shiver by your blazing fires,
Think of the inmates of yon hut, half-sunk
Beneath the drift: from it no smoke ascends;
The broken straw-fill'd pane excludes the light,
But ill excludes the blast: the redbreast there
For shelter seeks, but short, ah! very short
His stay; no crumbs, strewn careless on the floor,
Attract his sidelong glance; to warmer roofs
He flies; a welcome, soon a fearless guest,
He cheers the winter day with summer songs.
Short is the reign of day, tedious the night.
The city's distant lights arrest my view,
And magic fancy whirls me to the scene.
There vice and folly run their giddy rounds;
There eager crowds are hurrying to the sight
Cf feign'd distress, yet have not time to hear
The shivering orphan's prayer. The flaring lamps
Of gilded chariots, like the meteor eyes

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Of mighty giants, famed in legends old,
Illume the snowy street; the silent wheels
On heedless passenger steal unperceived,
Bearing the splendid fair to flutter round
Amid the flowery labyrinths of the dance.
But, hark! the merry catch good social souls
Sing on, and drown dull care in bumpers deep;
The bell, snow-muffled, warns not of the hour ;
For scarce the sentenced felon's watchful ear
Can catch the soften'd knell, by which he sums
The hours he has to live. Poor hopeless wretch!
His thoughts are horror, and his dreams despair;
And ever as he, on his strawy couch,

Turns heavily, his chains and fetters, grating,
Awake the inmates of some neighbouring cell,
Who bless their lot that debt is all their crime.

FEBRUARY.

THE treacherous fowler, in the drifted wreath,
The snare conceals, and strews the husky lure,
Tempting the famish'd fowls of heaven to light :
They light; the captive strives in vain to fly,
Scattering around, with fluttering wing, the snow.
Amid the untrod snows, oft let me roam
Far up the lonely glen, and mark its change;
The frozen rill's hoarse murmur scarce is heard;
The rocky cleft, the fairy bourne smooth'd up,
Repeat no more my solitary voice.

Now to the icy plain the city swarms.

In giddy circles, whirling variously,
The skater fleetly thrids the mazy throng,

While smaller wights the sliding pastime ply.
Unhappy he, of poverty the child!

Who, barefoot, standing, eyes his merry mates,

And, shivering, weeps, not for the biting cold,
But that he cannot join the slippery sport.

Trust not incautiously the smooth expanse ;
For oft a treacherous thaw, ere yet perceived,
Saps by degrees the solid-seeming mass:
At last the long piled mountain-snows dissolve,
Bursting the roaring river's brittle bonds;
The shatter'd fragments down the cataract shoot,
And, sinking in the boiling deep below,
At distance re-appear, then sweep along
Marking their height upon the half-sunk trees.

No more the ploughman hurls the sounding quoit; The loosen'd glebe demands the rusted share, And slow the toiling team plods o'er the field. But oft, ere half the winding task be done, Returning frost again usurps the year, Fixing the ploughshare in the unfinish'd fur; And still, at times, the flaky shower descends, Whitening the plain, save where the wheaten blade, Peering, uplifts its green and hardy head, As if just springing from a soil of snow.

While yet the night is long, and drear, and chill, Soon as the slanting sun has sunk from view,

The sounding anvil cheerily invites

The weary hind to leave his twinkling fire,
And bask himself before the furnace glare;

Where, bless'd with unbought mirth, the rustic ring,
Their faces tinted by the yellow blaze,

Beguile the hours, nor envy rooms of state.

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MARCH.

THE ravaged fields, waste, colourless, and bleak,
Retreating Winter leaves, with angry frown,