THE LAST PROPHECY OF CASSANDRA 53 THE LAST PROPHECY OF CASSANDRA. THE sun is fading in the skies, And evening shades are gathering fast; Fair city, ere that sun shall rise, Thy night hath come-thy day is past! Ye know not-but the hour is nigh; h; No vision strikes your clouded eye, Go, age, and let thy withered cheek Be wet once more with freezing tears; Go, child, and pour thy sinless prayer And he who sits in glory there Go. warrior, in thy glittering steel, And bid thy frowning gods reveal 54 THE LAST PROPHECY OF CASSANDRA. Go, maiden, in thy flowing veil, And bare thy brow, and bend thy knee; When the last hopes of mercy fail, Thy God may yet remember thee. Go, as thou went in happier hours, mound: 1 saw them rise-the buried dead- I looked upon the quivering stream, Ye will not hear-ye will not know. - Ye care not! but the voice of wo Blood shall be in your marble halls, And spears shall glance, and fire shall glow; Ruin shall sit upon your walls, But ye shall lie in death below. DEATH. Ay, none shall live-to hear the storm To shudder at the reptile's form, Or scare the wild bird from her sleep. POUR not the voice of grief The weary spirit finds relief In some more hallowed sphere. What recks it that the lip Hath lost its thrilling hue— Untainted was their fellowship As blushing rose and dew. And now-too soon a creeping thing, Yet weep not for the dead Who early pass away, Ere hope and joy and youth have fled, Better to die in youth When life is green and bright, Than when the heart has lost its truth 55 DEATH. In age and sorrow's night Then woes and years around us throng, And death's chill grasp is on us long. Life is a rifled flower When love's pure visions fade— A broken spell—a faded hour— The poet's thirst for fame, And siren beauty's kiss, Ambition's height, and honor's name And man turns back from every goal Would I had died when young! And wasted hopes and severed ties And she on whose pale brow, The damp and cold earth lies, Whose pure heart in its virgin glow Would I had faded soon with her, Pour not the voice of wo! Shed not the burning tear When spirits from the cold earth go Too bright to linger here' THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. 57 Unsullied let them pass Into oblivion's tomb Like snow flakes melting in the sea Then strew fresh flowers above the grave THE SPECTRE SHIP OF SALEM. BY. J. G. WHITTIER. Cotton Mather-the author of 'Magnalia Christi Americana,' -gives a singular account of a vessel and crew, which left Salem some time during the 17th century, for 'Old England. ' It seems that among the passengers were a young man and a beautiful girl-pale and sorrowful, however-whom no one knew, and who held communion with no one. This excited the alarm of some of the credulous people of Salem: they supposed them to be demons or prestigious spirits;' and they endeavored to dissuade their friends from entering the ship,-but, nevertheless, a goodly number of passengers went on board the fatal ship. The remainder of the story is told in the following lines. The morning light is breaking forth All over the dark blue sea And the waves are changed-they are rich with gold As the morning waves should be; And the rising winds are wandering out, On their seaward pinions free. |