"Tis the race of man is faithless,
Cruel is a father's heart;

But in thee I trust; thou'rt gentle,
And true lovers would'st not part.

"Joylessly each lonely day

Passed for me immured away;

Life's sweet flower 'gan droop and bend;
But thou on thy waves dost bear,

Though nor bridge nor ship be there,
Safe to my embrace my friend.
Fathomless are thy still waters,
Fearfully thy billows swell;

But to love thou'lt deign to listen;
Thee the hero's arm can quell.

"Cold thy rapid streams may flow,
Yet on thee love bent his bow,
When the ram, that dared to sweep
High in air from Europe's shore,
Helle and her brother bore
Far above thy dangerous deep.
By her beauty thou wer't conquered,
As they soared aloft in air,

And the maiden to thy caverns

From the golden ram did'st bear.

"There the goddess dwells with thee
In the grots beneath the sea,

Lives and blooms thy deathless bride;
Oft thine anger she hath stayed,
Oft doth lend lorn love her aid,
Oft to port the seaman guide.
Beauteous Helle! lovely goddess'
Blest one! hear me as I pray;
Bring me safely my beloved
Through his wonted path to-day."

Darkness veils the sea and land;
From the tower at her command,
Lo! the kindled torches shine,
That high o'er the barren tide
Burn the wanderer's course to guide,
Giving love's appointed sign.

VOL. II.

20

Now the sea, in darkness swelling,
Foams and menaces afar;

And the near approaching tempest
Shrouds the light of every star.

O'er the Hellespont's wide plain
Night descends, and streams of rain
Gush from every sweeping cloud;
Thunder peals; the wild wind raves;
Bursting from their rocky caves
Storms break loose and roar aloud.
In the troubled waste of waters
Hideous eddies hurl and hiss ;
Like the opening jaws of Oreus
Widely yawns the sea's abyss.

Then she cried, "great Jove relent!
Calm the raging element;
Ah, what have I dared implore?
If the gods have heard my prayer,
If amidst the storm he dare
Plunge to gain the distant shore!
See, the strongest sea-birds gather,
And for refuge haste away;
E'en the ships that ride the tempest,
Fly to gain the sheltered bay.

And the fearless will not shun

Still to do what he hath done,

By his strong affection led;

This he swore by love's own oath,

And at parting pledged his troth;

He will venture, or he's dead.

Now, perchance, e'en now he's wrestling

With the wildness of the storm,

And the angry flood uplifted

Now entombs his noble form.

Faithless Pontus, thou did'st smile

Fair as mercy's self awhile;

Like a mirror smooth and pure;
Calmly spread thy waters lay,
But more surely to betray,
And within thy realms allure.

Now, when struggling with thy current,
Hope discerns no saving shore,

On the youth, whose heart could trust thee,
All thy horrors thou dost pour.

And the tempest louder yells;
High the mountain billow swells;
On the shore the breakers dash,
Beat the cliffs with mighty stroke;
Hark! the ships, whose ribs are oak,
Perish with a fearful crash.

And the storm hath quenched the beacon
Kindled by love's guiding hand;

Horror broods above the waters,

Horror rests upon the land.

She to Venus lifts her prayer;

"Bid the hurricane forbear;

Calm the waves, the strong winds held."
In distress her hands she wrings,

Vows the winds rich offerings,

Bullocks decked with horns of gold.
All the goddesses of ocean,
All the gods, in heaven that dwell,
She invokes, the tempest's fury
With mild words of peace to quell.

Hear! the voice of sorrow calls;
Hear, and rise from thy green halls,
Thou, Leucothea, thrice blest!
Whom the seaman oft has found,

When the storms were gathering round,
Kind to rescue the distrest.

Lend, oh lend the sacred garment,
Woven by thy secret care;

Sent from thee that garment safely
Yet from death the youth may bear.

And the wild winds had repose;
Bright on heaven's far skirt uprose
Morning's steeds o'er hill and lea;
And the waters peaceful pour
In their ancient course once more;
Cheerly smile the land and sea.

Softly breaks the rippling billow
O'er the rocks that guard the strand;
And in playful circles swelling,
Bears a lifeless corse to land.

Yes! 'tis he; borne by the deep-
Lifeless, still his word to keep;
At one glance her friend she knew;
But she uttered not her wo,
Not a tear was seen to flow,
Fixed her eye, and pale her hue.
Hopeless gazed she on the waters,
Hopeless raised to Heaven her head;
Then with lofty passion glowing,
Her pale cheek at once grew red.

"Powers severe! I own your might;
Sternly ye demand your right;
Fearful race, unmoved by prayer!
Soon my early course is run;
Long ere eve, has set my sun;
Yet, my day, though short was fair.
Living in thy temple, Venus,
I've thy happy priestess been;
And upon thine altar offered,
Gladly die for thee, great queen."

And with garments streaming wide,
Down the castle's lofty side,
Leaps the maiden to the wave;
Where the god his billows heaves,
He the hallowed pair receives,
And he is himself their grave.
And now, with his prey contented,
Smoothly on his course he goes;
While, from his exhaustless fountains,

Pours a stream that ever flows.

A Review of the Gallery of the American Academy of Fine Arts, as now opened for the Exhibition of Dunlap's Painting of "Death on the Pale Horse." (continued.)

As in duty bound, we visit the gallery frequently; that such additions as shall be from time to time made to the collection, may not escape our critical inspection. We need not say that

we are always rewarded; but on our last visit we were particularly gratified, by finding another landscape from the pencil of Mr. S. Cole. This is a view of part of the upper falls in the Kattskill mountains; and is the picture which attracted the attention of the president of our academy, and by that means brought into public view, the uncommon talent of Mr. Cole. Though not a more perfect picture than the lake scene noticed in our last number, it is more splendid, more brilliant, and more poetical. The artist had more difficulties to surmount, and, as he has surmounted them, has evinced more skill. We will call the attention of the spectator to the depth into which the water is rushing to the rocks-to the autumnal foliage of the forest, so bright, so true, and so harmonious; and then direct his eye to the distant mountain, from which the wind is whirling the mist-cloud, and scattering it abroad into the heavens. This beautiful composition, evinces in the painter the true poetical feeling of the sublime. This picture would, of itself, place Mr. Cole among the most eminent landscape painters, but his claim to that station is made out to the perfect satisfaction of the connoisseur, when the varied and contrasted excellences of the three pictures (two of which we have noticed) are viewed at the same time.

Before returning to the Catalogue, we must notice the two charming pictures by Newton and Leslie, with which Mr. P. Hone has enriched the Gallery and his country.

The first, Newton's representation of Age and Youth, we should call the most splendid painting of the two. The breadth of light and brilliancy of colouring, catch the eye, and hold it by fascination, by the magic of sweet tints. The scene appears to be Flemish, and perhaps reminds us a little too much of the Flemish school; not of its vulgarity or indecency, but of its better and higher qualities. The girl sleeps from top to toe; full of health, and ornamented with the beauty which health and youth and goodly attire give, but without any of the elegance of the beau ideal, she is an object on which the eye dwells with delight; and though we smile while contrasting her with her studious companion, we would not wish to awaken her to the cares which evidently beset him. This beautiful figure is connected with the aged reader by a table, covered with a rich cloth, and the eye passing from its rich tints, rests pleased upon the more sober colours of the old man. figure is nearer perfection than the first, and is painted with a skill and freedom rarely to be found combined with so high finishing. The light of the picture, which enters at a window, spreads beautifully over the figure of the girl, upon the

This