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THE VALLEY OF THE SEASONS.

342

From the London Imperial Magazine. THE VALLEY OF THE SEASONS.

"These as they change, almighty Father, these Are but the varied God."

"FOLLOW me," said the sage, "and I will lead thee to the valley of the seasons." I obeyed my conductor, and he brought me to an eminence, from whence looking down, I beheld a vale beautiful as Thessalian Tempe. "Let us descend the hill,” said the old man, “and sit down by yonder fountain; from thence we shall perceive the seasons and their attendants; listen attentively to their songs, and I will explain to you the duties of each spirit, as it passes by." We descended to the fountain, and sitting down on the turfy bank, beheld four beautiful females, each of whom was surrounded by many attendants. The principal figures glided after each other in a wreathed dance, and the sylphic crowd wove their mazy path among them. "The four chief spirits which thou seest," said my interpreter, "are the genii of the seasons; and the others are their messengers, which are sent forth, each at the appointed hour, to minister the blessings of the Highest to all the kingdoms of the earth. Behold," continued he, "the one which advances towards us; she has a chaplet of wild flowers on her ivory brow, her countenance is beautiful as the blush of opening morn, and her white garments float chastely on the balmy gale. It is Spring; she soars over the mountains, shedding her dews, and flies through the valleys, dropping her flowers; she scatters beautiful foliage on the forests, and clothes the hills with verdure. She approaches; you will hear her sing."

SPRING.

Here in my garden, I fly, I fly,

Gathering blossoms and early flowers;
The first pale primrose I can espy,

And the jasmine that peeps from the shady bowers,
I gather them both, and fly and fly,

Where nectarean dew distills,
Then on the clouds of heaven I lie,
To water the valleys and little hills.

Over the earth I fly, I fly,
Smiling upon the furrowed land,

The seeds burst open wherever they lie,
And nature looks happy on every hand.
Unto the folds I fly, I fly,

To bring forth the young of the laden dams,
And the green fields echo as I pass by,

With the bleatings of sheep and the playful lambs. The genius of the spring went by, and another spirit approached us, wearing a coronet of pearls: she held an urn in her two hands, and her rainbow-colored wings were wet with dew. “This,” said my guide, "is the genius of the showers; she is the favorite companion of Spring, and follows closely after her, sprinkling the earth at intervals with water from her silver urn."

THE GENIUS OF THE SHOWERS.

Nightly I go to the coral cell,

Where the spirits of the waters dwell.

And oft as I visit their ocean cave,

They fill me this urn from their own blue wave;

Drops such as these there are none-there are none
Save in that fountain stream alone.

O they are beautiful as they distill,

On the happy vale and the quiet hill.
At break of day my dew-drops shine
On the rose, and lily, and eglantine.

The peasant goes forth to his work, and beholds
All that the hand of Spring unfolds.
He joins the lark in his morning hymn,
And prays to that God who hath succor'd him;
When evening comes, he renews his vow
Of thanks, when he sees the color'd bow,
That arches and melts while I gladden the plain
With precious drops of the early rain.

"The spirit which now advances," said my companion, "is the genius of the soft winds. She wears a crown of seven stars. With a plume of the ostrich she rules the gales of spring. At her command they waft the seeds of plants and flowers across the earth, and scatter them in desert places, so that the waste ground is glad and flourishes."

THE GENIUS OF THE SOFT WINDS.

Swiftly over the vale below

My fleecy gondola glideth;
And mounteth above the rocky brow,
Where the proud eagle abideth.
Ariel, as I sweep along,

His fairy horn is blowing,

A white cloud is my gonfalon,
Over the valleys flowing.

Where the sun is nigh to the west,

And the linnet is hastening home,
And the crow wings her way to her airy nest,
To some favor'd spot of the earth I come.

By a silver river sitting,

Hark to the music that rolleth along,
From the skiff with white sails flitting,
'Tis the boatman singing his evening song.

From the lonely watch-tower,

And the castle's turreted height,

There comes, on the breeze of the midnight hour, The watchman's voice-All's well-Good night. When this spirit had passed, many others glided before us, on whom my conductor made no observation. Of these, one held a green blade of corn, a second carried a variety of beautiful blossoms, and a third had a wreath of wild flowers on her head, and a pastoral crook in her hand. Then appeared a beautiful form, having her golden locks gathered into a silken net, and a band of roses bound on her brow. Her laughing blue eyes, her glowing cheek, the swelling of her pure bosom, which the faint lawn vailed but did not conceal, exhibited a vision of female loveliness not to be described. She reclined on a cloud of odors, and held in her hand a wand of gold. "This," said the sage, "is the genius of summer. She goes forth to mature the fruits of the earth, that the promises of Spring may be answered by the gifts of Autumn.”

SUMMER.

I come from the Lybian plain;
The king of beasts fled before me:
I wav'd my wand o'er the lion,
And he retired.

I have been where the serpents are;

I looked on them, and they shrunk
Back into the brakes and thickets:
The great serpents!

I fly o'er the sandy desert;
The camel sinks under his load:

THE VALLEY OF THE SEASONS.

The pilgrim faints ere he can reach

The water springs.

I visit the temperate climes:

The peasants cast aside their coats;
And smiling girls help them to turn
The new-mown hay.

The shepherd drives his bleating flock
To the sheepfold, and the shearer

Clips the cumbrous fleece from their backs
With sounding shears.

The youths and maidens leave the fields,
And rest beneath a spreading tree,

They dance under its shady boughs
In the twilight.

The old man bade me look on the right hand. I obeyed, and beheld a dark cloud, which opened and discovered a female figure sitting in a pearly car; she had on her head a coronet of the water-lily, and held an ivory sceptre, having the lotus flower on the top. "Behold," exclaimed the sage, "the genius of the water streams, the most benevolent of spirits. She brings the little rivulets from a thousand hills, and they flow among the valleys. The traveler drinketh of her brook on the way, and lifteth up his head. Her fountains are filled with pure water; some of which are hidden in the chaste recesses of the grove, and there the shepherdess bathes in unrobed innocence. All nature is refreshed by the cooling streams which distill copiously from the clefted rock, at the touch of her sceptre."

THE GENIUS OF THE WATER STREAMS.
Come away from the sultry beam

To the grot and the cooling water stream;
While the orb of the sun rolls on

Up heaven's steep to the point of noon-
When the listless shepherd at length is laid,
And the panting flocks lie down in the shade.
When the hills are scorched and the verdant meads
And the flowers of the valley hang their heads,
Then come away from the sultry beam
To the grot and the cooling water stream.

Fainting traveler, turn thee aside

From the trackless desert that opens wide;
Give the reign to thy camel, and he will bring
Thee wearied and faint to the water spring.
Then in the shade of the palm-tree lie,
That vails the sun and the scorching sky;
And wait till the dawn of early day,

Before thou resume thy desolate way;

Then haste o'er the sands, that the march may be done
Before the heat of the day comes on.

"Lycidas, the Arcadian," said the old man, "fed his flock at the foot of Orexis. He was humble and happy, kind-hearted and beloved. But in an evil hour ambitious love took possession of his heart, and rendered him a prey to melancholy and discontent. Listen, while I repeat the traditional history which is told of him, and learn to adapt your desires to your circumstances, and to wish for nothing which your situation in life renders unattainable."

LYCIDAS, (AN ECLOGUE.)

Where high Orexis lifts its awful brow,
Begirt with clouds which hide the vale below,
Whose giant shadow, as the sun descends,
With stealthy pace o'er all the land extends,
The Arcadian sat; what time Apollo strung
His mighty bow, and shining quiver slung,

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Long he had lived unknowing and unknown, Contented, though obscure; and happy, though alone, He had no thought of beauty, wealth, or fame,

A simple rustic boy, and Lycidas his name.

But lately, as the bleating flock he led
At even to the neighboring fountain's head,
Lo, a bright virgin by the water stood;

He knelt and hail'd the genius of the flood.
No goddess she, though one of heavenly race;
A crimson hue suffus'd her lovely face.
Oppress'd with shame, her eyes to earth were cast,
She caught her spotless robe, and fled in haste.
Her name Narcissa, Arcas' royal maid,
She at this hour had sought the cooling shade.

But in the moment she had left the flood,
To Lycidas, confest, the maiden stood.

Often he wanders to that hallow'd stream,
And stands entranc'd in love's delirious dream;
Or sitting at Orexis' foot, complains
Of pastoral life; but pipe or rural strains
Delight no more. Within his untaught breast
He finds a strange, but not unpleasing guest:

But dares not hope that such elysian joy
Is in reserve for him-a shepherd boy.

A lofty spirit was now approaching us, and the rushing of his wings was like the noise of a cataract. His eyes were piercing as the lightnings, and his gaze could not be endured; yet I perceived that his countenance varied: at this moment it was benevolent, and in the next it threatened destruction. At first it appeared to me that his right hand was flaming, but, on his nearer approach, I perceived that he held in it an avenging sword. In his left hand he carried an olive branch. His wings were distended for flight, but his feet rested on the thunder cloud. I hastily inquired of my guide the name of the mighty spirit before us. "It is the genius of the thunder-storm," said he; "he is the terror of the sons of men, when power is given him from above to smite with the sword of almighty vengeance. Then the palaces of kings, and the cottages of poor men, fall together; the high places are thrown down, and the beautiful city is made a heap of stones. Then the mighty ones of the earth tremble, and perceive that there is a God on the earth. But so great is the divine mercy, that not often will it permit this spirit to go forth a destroyer. Even while he launches the shaft of the rapid lightnings, and calls to the muttering thunders, which then re-echo through the caverns of the earth, and roll along the vault of heaven;-even then he is bid to shake the olive over the land; and, so far from injuring mankind, to give them a blessing in the storm. He purifies our atmosphere with the lightning, and destroys the pestilential and unwholesome vapors, whose pestiferous breath would else blight the fruits of the earth, and scatter disease on man and beast."

THE GENIUS OF THE THUNDER STORM.

He who sitteth above the water-flood,

Earth his footstool, the outstreched heavens his tent,

344

THE VALLEY OF THE SEASONS.

Who hath remained on his throne a king
For ever and ever.

He hath clothed mine arm with mighty power,
Th' Eternal, high and lifted up, above
The sons of men hath prepar'd the thunder
And the rapid lightnings.
He filleth his store-house with the hail-stones;
The Lord of hosts mustereth the battle:
The avenging sword, the shield, and the spear,
He giveth unto me.

He commandeth the storm, and I depart;
The black clouds rise above the lofty hills,
And stretch over the vale which lies beneath,
And the rain descendeth.

The ocean rocketh from its lowest bed;
The lightnings enter into the dark cave;
The earth is removed from her foundations,
At the voice of the thunders.

The roarings of wild beasts fill the forest:
They who dwell in cities look on each other;
The mariner is afraid at the storm,

And seeketh the haven.

The voice of the Lord calms the elements,
The thunders and lightnings and the rain cease;
The clouds break and depart, and the earth smiles,
For the tempest is past.

And yet their heavenly Father doth bestow Sufficient for their use; he fills their hands From his own garners: thus his blessings flow For all mankind, the mighty and the low. Theirs is the happiness without alloy, The grateful duties of the harvest done, Who shout loud carol, and their songs of joy, Returning from the field, what time the moon Shines beautiful; the generous master leads Where the full board his numerous guests employ, The laugh and joke go round, and pleasure spreads, Till thankful, they arise, and seek their quiet beds. The next spirit who approached us was crowned with cypress, and held in her hand an oaken branch, whose withered leaves fell, and strewed her path as she swept along. "This," said the old man, "is the genius of the falling leaves. Her countenance, and her employment, are mournful alike. She casts a melancholy and desolate glance on the forests and the green vales, and the beauties of nature fade beneath her awful gaze. Let mankind attend to the lesson which her duties inculcate, and remember that nothing earthly endureth for ever. Neither should they forget, that she only wraps the fields in transient gloom: Spring will return to scatter her blossoms and flowers on the desolate earth. The dreariness of autumn, and the ravages of winter, will be repaired by the sweet influence of the

THE GENIUS OF THE FALLING LEAVES.
Hast thou not heard the autumn blast,
Sweep moaningly along,

Like a sad spirit that hath pass'd,
Unblest by the funeral song?

A spirit of benevolent aspect now appeared. Her brow was bound with a wreath of vine leaves, and the juice of the grape stained her temples. She had invernal sun." one hand a sickle, and in the other a few wheat ears. She was attended by two beautiful spirits, one of whom bore the cornucopia, from which the most rich and luxuriant fruits were continually falling; the other spirit carried no emblems of her office, but her countenance wore a look of angelic loveliness. "Behold," said the sage, "the genius of the autumn, and adore the beneficent Being who hath commanded her to render the fruits of the earth in their season. All these whom. thou seest are but the servants of the Highest; it is theirs to execute the behests only of one far mightier than they are. Therefore, whilst thou admirest and reverencest these beautiful ministers, remember that they are only ministers of Him who ordaineth both the early and the latter rain, and changeth the times and the seasons. Plenty attends upon autumn, and pours on every hand the blessings of Omnipotence; she points to the folds full of sheep, and to the waving valleys, which stand so thick with corn, that they both laugh and sing. Happiness also is in her train; that chaste happiness, whose smile beameth on the heart when the hungry soul is filled, and the drink of the thirsty faileth

not."

AUTUMN.

'Tis sweet when the fruits of the earth are rife,

To see pre-eminent o'er blessings given,

And foremost in a grateful holy strife,
The yellow harvest bow its head to heaven:
The reaper resting in the heat of noon,
Beneath some friendly shade, nor until even
Holds her cool urn i' th' air, and day be gone,
Renews his labor by the friendly moon.

'Tis sweet to see the poor ones pick the grain,
The crumbs which fall from their rich masters' hands,
Sharers in common with the feathered train,
They gather not in barns, nor crop the lands;

Hast thou not seen, as the cold wind blew,
The star-beam of the night,
Fitfully shining in heaven's deep blue,
Through her curtain of clouds of fleecy white?
And where lay the pride of the forest tree,
And the lowly shrub that grew around?
The blast which blew so drearily
Had scatter'd their beauty on the ground.
You could not take up one fallen leaf,
And seek to find the parent bough,
Without an impression of strong belief
That all as they lay were equal now.
Before my chill and piercing breath
The tree and shrub alike must wither,
And the autumn of life, and the blast of death,
Will lay the sons of men together.

And who shall take of the mold'ring clay,
And say of it, this was a king?
For when the spirit hath gone away,
The body is nought but a perishing thing.

The trees, which seem so withered and dead,
A spirit of life retain,

And in the spring they will lift the head,

And blossom forth again.

And the soul who hath pass'd to her transient rest,

In hope and in peace with the Giver,

Shall arise at the last to the fields of the blest,
And flourish for ever and ever.

A spirit, severe in countenance, succeeded to the last. Her form was hid in the numerous folds of her dark robe. Extending her bloodless arm, she held towards us a withered branch covered with the hoar frost.

WILBUR FISK.

"This is Winter," said my guide, "a spirit whose influence is still more withering than that of the last. Observe how languidly the stream flows at her approach; the flowers droop upon their stalks, and the music of the feathered songsters is hushed."

WINTER.

I come not to deform the year,
Nor wasting ruin spread,

Nor cast the freezing snow-storm drear
Upon th' unshelter'd head

Unbid of Him who rules alone

Above, beneath the sky,

The first, the last, the eternal one,
Mightier far than I.

He bids me touch the streams that flow,
And bind in icy chains;

At his command I shed the snow,
Which covers all the plains;

And loose the stormy winds that beat
Upon the humble shed,

Where, in his cheerless, rude retreat,
The wanderer makes his bed.

Ye desolate, who shrink beneath
The cold and wintry blast,

Ye feel the bitterness of death,

But soon it will be past.

There is a land of joy and peace,

'Tis where the seraphim sing;

For there the winter's storm gives place
To an eternal spring.

"They are gone," said I, in a tone of sorrow: "there is the valley, but its inhabitants are fled." "They are gone," answered the old man; "but let not the lesson they have taught us depart with them. All things are in his hand whose praise they seek;' not a leaf falls to the ground unseen of the Creator. Remember this in the hour of repining and discontent; be grateful for the good bestowed, and be patient under the evil inflicted; and learn to perceive, in every occurrence of human life, the directing influence of the God of the seasons.”

1440

Original.

THOMAS ROSE.

WILBUR FISK.

345

But presently we get to read the man, and we find him indued with a refinement of the softest natureand beyond that the refinement of grace, controlling, and guiding, and guarding his actions and his words. And now that we are initiated into the character, do we surely find him what he really is, and we are thoroughly convicted of our misapprehension.

Still the narrative shows us that his greatness was built upon his activity, his zeal, his benevolence of deed, and of performance. Not accounting words, although he gave many of these, seasonable to others, not sparing of self, for more than their comparative value. His disinterestedness constituted, as in all characters it must, the measure of his greatness. True it is that he acted his mission; for with a frail tenement he possessed an indomitable vigor of soul; and this, as far as his life extended, he gave to and expended in the Church.

In reading, I am again and again, and ever charmed with the eloquence of St. Paul. I have even to pause and admonish myself, that although eloquence was, beyond all doubt, eminently his, yet the great difference betwixt him and his coadjutors-the matter in which he outran and excelled them all-was, beyond this, not that "he had not two coats;" that he "ate and drank where he could, or fasted at need;" that he admonished, consoled, and prayed with the poor, the sick, the miserable, and the wicked; not "that he was determined to know nothing, save Jesus Christ and his righteousness," but it was that he gave himself—not spiritually alone-not his heart and voice-but that he exerted his entire being in the service of God-that he, by the aid of the Spirit, commuted his energy into its living type of successive being! And even such was Wilbur Fisk; and so-appropriating the contributions of other men's dollars to the purpose-did he. He endowed the school and the college-also a gratuitous class of thirty-with his own spiritual existence; for he founded, he planted, and watered these seminaries-which labor of love and of life, surviving Christians, whilst they mourn him, shall foster and sustain-not forgetting his relict, nor, that, amidst all his labors, almost the sole provision that is made for her, was that, on his deathbed, and near to his last, he agrees to the proposal, that his papers, being collected, may, in the form of a Biography, afford to her the means of subsistence, and "so B. be it."

*

MR. HAMLINE,-The book loaned I have read to edification; yet do I think it requires some special consideration, which will occur in the course of reading the biography, before we become impressed with the superiority of the character. (You know that I have never seen the individual, having lived remote from him.) Not do I mean in regard to his having a superior degree of piety-of superinduced grace, to his asking and his seeking; for the most desultory reader will accord him that; but I mean that you have to look amidst his acts and performances, I may say achievements, before you get the full idea how important he was. I refer to the plainness of his language; (this little notice of self, perhaps originates in greatness;) whilst there is no touch of vulgarity, in word, or phrase, yet is there a sort of commonness, just like what many others might have used, which at first gives the reader a sort of disappointment, as emanating from a high and For sale at the Methodist Book Concern, Cincinnati, and distinguished source.

TRUTH and reason, in this mixed state of good and evil, are not invariably triumphant over falsehood and error; but even when laboring under a temporary defeat, the two former bear within them one stamp of superiority which plainly indicates that Omnipotence is on their side; for their worthy conquerors for such a victory, universally retire abashed, enlightened, self-reproved, and exclaiming with Pyrrhus, a few more such victories and we are undone.

The "Life of Wilbur Fisk," published at New York, 1842. doubtless, also, at other places.

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excursion, or is abroad among her friends. Households have been broken up by such conjugal imprudences.

A woman should never marry a man for conveniIt is base in the extreme. She may do it with

THE duties of the wife may be reduced to three gen-ence. eral classes; viz., affection, reverence, and faithfulness. out personal contamination in the view of the world, 1. The wife is to give the husband her affections. but not in the sight of God. If urged by parental The duties of the married pair are reciprocal. The cupidity or ambition to such a covert prostitution, her Bible commands the husband to love the wife. Surely, perpetration of the crime may be partly excused; but then, the wife is bound to love her husband. "Let even then it cannot be justified. Under such a vile every one of you in particular so love his wife as him- influence she shall be pitied, and the execrations which self." Why the precept is not addressed to the wife as light upon her shall be softened; but let them fall in well as to the husband we cannot say. It would be unmitigated severity upon the parents who decoyed rather gallant than otherwise to assume that the inspired and betrayed the unresisting victim. penman deemed woman's affections incapable of alienation; yet it is true that her domestic attachments are exceedingly ardent and enduring.

The parties to the marriage covenant "are no more twain, but one flesh." Their union is the most sacred and binding amongst mortals. It is used to set forth the union between Christ and his Church. It binds the husband to love his wife "even as Christ loved the Church;" and in turn it obliges the wife to love her husband as the sanctified Church loves the Savior. So far as earthly objects are concerned, the bridal, like the marital affections, should be supreme. They should be stronger than the filial or the maternal.

The wife's affections should be more ardent than the daughter's. This is Scriptural: "For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife." Why? Because "they two shall be one flesh;" that is, the bonds of wedlock shall be stronger than those which nature has created between the child and the parent. This applies equally to the man and the woman; and in accordance with the principle, the woman leaves father and mother to go any where-into distant climes, if circumstances demand it-to dwell with her husband. Conjugal love conquers all earthly loves, and tears its devotee from the most endeared scenes. One affection only can conquer it in turn-that is the love of Jesus. The husband can say to his wife, "She who loves father or mother, or brother or sister, or child, more than me, is not worthy of me;" but Christ only can say, she that loveth husband more than me, is not worthy of me. And from this we infer that she is blame-worthy who, having a husband and a home, spends a great portion of her time with her friends. I know a young wife and matron who leaves her husband in solitude, and, with her little children, spends about one month in three amidst a large circle of her connections. Had she seriously applied herself to understand her duty, or even to secure her own interests, she would pursue another course. What can she expect? May not her husband conclude that she married him for convenience-not because love moved her to the union? He sees that she gives him merely so much of her time as would render her a burden to her relatives. To help out his conclusion, she appears melancholy in his society, and is cheerful only when she is starting on an

If any reader is in this condition, married to one who does not possess her heart, as far as any creature may possess it, let her seclude herself from the world, and especially from the companionship of those who are attractive, and apply herself to the Father of all mercies, that he will be pleased to control her affections, and incline them towards those objects which duty as well as interest obliges her to love. Had Calista done this, she would have saved herself a world of sorrow. Racinus paid his addresses to her in her bright and heedless girlhood. After a long and intimate acquaintance they were "engaged." They loved each other well. But Lucinda, with fewer charms, (except of family and fortune,) came between them. Racinus did not forget Calista, or his promises; but ambition supplanted love. He pursued and won Lucinda. Calista spent her youth in binding up her wounds; and after years of mortifying sadness, she at length gave her hand to Lester. He was worthy, but did not possess her heart. She would not disguise her feelings, nor seek by grace a proper state of mind. Racinus lived their neighbor; and the frequent visits of the families served to keep awake in her unhappy bosom feelings inconsistent with the relation she sustained. The result was fatal. True, she never faltered in outward duty to her husband; but perceiving that another held possession of her heart, and that he had no place in her affections, he became careless and desponding—sought to drown reflection in the bowl-became a gambler, a bankrupt, and a drunkard, and died the victim of his wife's incorrigible neglect and disaffection. Poor woman! She had borne her husband an only child; and in the fortunes of her daughter the mother endured retaliating woes. But what they were we trust the reader to conjecture, and instead of the recital will leave a decent blank.

The mother should not expect her child to regard the filial more sacredly than herself does the conjugal relation.

The wife's love must be pure as well as ardent. But nothing is pure that belongs to human nature. Even the conjugal affections need to be regenerated. What a love that was which Mrs. Fletcher bore her husband! How intimately did it blend with her attachment to the Savior! She saw in him the image of her Christ, and loving Christ, she loved his image. There is a sacred

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