'Tis a voice from out these stones, For the crownless queen it moans!

Time the portal long hath closed,
Sweeping o'er the walls his pinion;
And where erst proud ART reposed,
NATURE claims her old dominion,
Up the bolted bars she creeps,
And the Roman's boundary leaps !

Lo! through arch and creviced wall
Pour her green leaves without number;
Free to range each sheltered hall,

And o'er wrecks of hearthstones slumber;
While gnarled branches force a way,
Through the breasts of ruins gray.

Fearless with their crests of pride,
Roman rule nor power knowing,
Oaks and sycamores abide,
In the growth of ages growing-
While the birds and insects play,
Undisturbed, the summer day.

I could weep to see the earth
Conquer man, his rule despising,
If I saw not, from their birth
Worms against their Maker rising-

Since Heav'n's King they scorn to obey, Well may Nature spurn their sway !

Had Rome loved her heav'nly Lord,
He had been her strong salvation;
Since she hated him, the sword
Wrought its work of devastation:
Where her scattered ruins meet,
Nature weaves her winding-sheet.

She had quaffed the blood of those
Who were loved with love most tender;
From His place the Lord arose

As His people's great Defender;

Broke her strength, and bowed her head

To the regions of the dead.

Fear not then, ye little flock!

Shall He love, and fail to cherish?

As a reed he rends the rock,

Ere one loved disciple perish !
-Should it seek his people's curse,

He would crush his universe!

S. CHIARA. NAPLES.

THE DAY OF SAINT JANUARIUS.

HOW CANST THOU SAY, I AM NOT POLLUTED, I HAVE NOT GONE AFTER BAALIM ?-JER. II. 23.

"SEEST thou this, son of man?" Jehovah said,
Unfolding Zion's courts, himself the King;
One little moment spared her tow'ring head,
Already darkened by the Archangel's wing—
Ezekiel northward saw the abhorred thing,
That dared usurp Jehovah's hallowed seat;
Image of Jealousy, whose serpent-sting

Allured the people's souls with venom sweet,
Who bowed their faces down, submissive at its feet.

Is it a light thing Judah dare commit,

In the dark chambers of her own dark mind,

Champing my rule, as a wild ass its bit,

And rushing to fresh pastures food to find?

1 Ezekiel viii. 6.

'See how they bow to heathen gods, who bind
'Yokes on their necks, their fathers could not bear,

Fresh incense waving on the treacherous wind,

And sounds re-echoed of rebellious prayer!

Plead not for it!-'tis doomed-my judgments shall not

Unhappy Naples! if such doom awoke
The idol-worship of His house of old;
If loud the thunder of His fury broke,

And JEALOUS was the name that thunder rolled-
What are these gods tricked out in gems and gold,
Who toward His altar take their daring road?
While the fond people, to such service sold,

Uprear their gilded shrines with flowers bestrewed, Their bruised necks bowed low, beneath the unpitying load!

And who is he, that on the altar stands

To welcome these his compeers-his gold head
Set with a mitre, and his uplift hands
Outstretched to bless, all motionless and dead,
No will to guide—while living lustres shed
Glory, as on the demon of the hour?

To Him they bow, 'fore Him petitions spread,
To Him appeal, when angry tempests lower,
And the wild mountain flames in fury of its power!

1 Ezekiel viii. 18.

Say, who is this-and who are these, that throng
The holy place, bedecked with robes of state
Gorgeous, and flashing rays, as borne along

The lights stream o'er them-on their thrones elate,
Marking the multitudes their steps await;

Speechless they sit, while their pale features gleam,
As fixed by an unalterable fate,

In shades of ghastly glory; -on they stream,

Like flitting phantoms, in a rude and feverish dream.

The voice of prayer! What would they of their god, That they thus urge him with incessant cries? Will he not answer them by word or nod; Grant what they seek, or say if he denies? Not yet-nor yet-he waits ere he complies, And fills his ear with their importunate prayer, Pleased with their blandishments and flattering lies; Nor moves-while clamours load the fragrant airThe same unchanging gaze his ghastly eyeballs wear.

From their stern cast not yet his features swerve,
Nor cease their cries-then what the wished-for good?
O object worthy of the god they serve,

And those who serve him!-that his hardened blood,
Which he, for Christ's sake, shed upon the rood
Of martyrdom, ere many a rolling sun,

Now should stream forth afresh as erst it flowed!