Amid the flame I'll sound His praise, She slays the body; but the soul, THE BAY OF NAPLES. HE SITTETH UPON THE WATER-FLOOD.-PSALM XXIX. 10. IN our frail bark we lie; And, as we watch the waste of waters drear, How sweet the thought, 'mid dread of danger nigh, Though dark the night, nor moon Nor stars look out, the restless eye to cheer; Though sullen be the roar Of Ocean's swell, loud booming on the ear, And He is near! Though no spice-bearing trees Steal on the sense, and spring the memory's tear, While thoughts of past delights the affections seize,These nightly winds breathe sweet as evening breeze, For He is near ! Though helpless in our need, The sport of the rude storm our bark appear, Then let the unconscious wave Roll onward with the winds,-we need not fear! He bows the darksome sky, And bids the noisy flood his mandate hear; Thus, through the boiling sea, He landward bears secure His children dear, 1 Hab. iii. 10. VILLA REALE. AT THE BASE OF THE STATUE OF MINERVA, THEY THAT MAKE A GRAVEN IMAGE ARE ALL OF THEM VANITY, AND THEIR DELECTABLE THINGS SHALL NOT PROFIT.-ISAIAH XLIV. 9. STERN statue of an elder time ! When Wisdom flourished in her prime, Without one Christian grace ! Here at thy foot I rest awhile ; I may not bow me at thy shrine, If I am dust-thou art but stone, And while man raised thee on thy throne, Thy brows, which laurels long have worn, Are clouded now, as though in scorn, Since offering I have none; Yet care I nothing for thy frown, Nor grudge the service of thy shade; Than stand a queen confessed- Now give the weary rest. Here men have raised a sylvan bower, Where spreading tree, and glowing flower, Perfume the stilly air Poets would style thee yet divine, And haste to offer at thy shrine, The sentimental prayer. But I, in sooth, have nought to pay; I have a higher claim To this small plot of wooded ground, |