eaven's high roof:
What lightens?--'t is Heckla's flame, shooting aloof:
The proud, the majestic, the rugged old Thor,
The mightiest giant the North ever saw,
Transform'd to a mountain, stands there in the field,
With ice for his corslet, and rock for his shield;
With thunder for voice, and with fire for tongue,
He stands there, so frightful, with vapour o'erhung.
On that other side of the boisterous sea
Black Vulcan, as haughty as ever was he,
Stands, chang'd to a mountain, call'd Etna by name,
Which belches continually oceans of flame.
Much blood have they spilt, and much harm have they done,
For both, when the ancient religions were gone,
Combin'd their wild strength to destroy the new race,
Who were boldly beginning their shrines to deface.
O, Jesus of Nazareth, draw forth the blade
Of vengeance, and speed to thy worshippers' aid;
Beat down the old gods, cut asunder their mail--
Amen!--brother Christians, why look ye so pale.

THE VIOLET-GATHERER.
FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER.

Pale the moon her light was shedding
O'er the landscape far and wide;
Calmly bright, all ills undreading,
Emma wander'd by my side.

Night's sad birds their harsh notes utter'd,
Perching low among the trees;
Emma's milk-white kirtle flutter'd
Graceful in the rising breeze:

Then, in sweetness more than mortal,
Sang a voice a plaintive air,
As we pass'd the church's portal,
Lo, a ghostly form stood there!

"Emma, come, thy mother's calling;
Lone I lie in night and gloom,
Whilst the sun and moon-beams, falling,
Glance upon my marble tomb."

Emma star'd upon the figure,--
Wish'd to speak, but vainly tried,
Press'd my hand with loving vigour,
Trembled--faulter'd--gasp'd--and died!

Home I bore my luckless maiden,
Home I bore her in despair;
Chilly blasts, with night-dew laden,
Rustled through her streaming hair.

Plunging then amid the forest,
Soon I found the stately tree,
Under which, when heat was sorest,
She was wont to sit with me.

Down my cheek ran tears in fever,
While with axe its stem I cut;
Soon it fell, and I with lever
Roll'd it straight to Emma's hut.

Kiss'd her oft, and love empassion'd
Sung a song in wildest tones;
While the oaken boards I fashion'd,
Doom'd to hide her lovely bones.

Thereupon I sought the bower,
Where she kept her single hive;
Morning shone on tree and flower,
All around me look'd alive.

Stung by bees in t