Phenix Gazette

POETRY.
From the National Gazette.
It was in one of those high halls
Where genius breathes in sculptured stone,
Where shaded light, in softness falls
Whose hearts of fire and hands of skill
On pencilled beauty. They were gone
Had wrought such power, but they spoke
To me in ev'ry feature still,
And fresh lips breathed and dark eyes woke,
And crimsoned cheeks flushed glowing by
To life and motion. I had knelt
And wept with Mary at the tree
Where Jesus suffered. I had felt
The warm blood rushing to my brow,
At the stern buffet of the Jew,
Had seen the Son of Glory bow,
And bleed for sins, he never knew;
And I had wept.--I thought that all
Must feel like me; and when there came
A lady bright and beautiful,
With step of grace and eye of flame,
And tone and look, most sweetly blent,
To make her presence eloquent,
Oh! then I looked for tears, she stood
Before the scene of Calvary,
I saw the piercing spear, the blood.
The gall, the writhe of agony,
I saw his quivering lips in prayer
"Father forgive them"--all was there--
I turned in bitterness of soul
And spoke of Jesus. I had thought
Her feelings would refuse controul,
For woman's heart I knew was fraught
With gushing sympathy. She gazed
A moment on it carelessly,
And coldly curl'd her lip, and praised
The high priest's garment. Could it be
That look, dear Lord, was meant for thee!
Oh! what is woman? what her smile,
Her lips of love, her eyes of light,
What is she, if her lips revile
The lowly Jesus? Love may write
His name upon her marble brow,
May linger in her curls of jet,
The light spring-flower may scarcely bow
Beneath her step--and yet--and yet--
Without that meeker grace, she'll be
A lighter thing than vanity.