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[The poet is speaking of the tradition respecting a lost Church, and the occasional sounding of its bell. In this tradition he finally recognizes the spirit of martyrdom and self-devotion, of that deep and fervent, all-pervading piety which once characterized the church ; and in the sound of the bell, he hears the voice of conscience, whose tones of solemn admonition are reverberating in undying faithfulness.]

Far in the forest's thickly wooded green,
The sound of bells is heard, as from above ;
The rush of waters to the dark ravine
Sweeps not more wildly ;-yet can none remove
The mists which ever hang upon the sound,
And e'en tradition is in silence bound.

From the lost church, 't is said, the chime is borne,
And by the wind to this dark forest brought ;
The path deserted now, defaced and torn,
How many travellers once with ardor sought!
To the lost church the narrow pathway led,
But every vestige of that path has filed.

As late I wandered to that leafy shade,
Where trodden path no longer marks the sod,
My soul against corruption seemed arrayed;
I wept, and longed to find a home with God!

In this lone spot, the bell's mysterious voice,
With hollow murmurings, seemed to say-Rejoice!

Darkness and silence hung on all around;
Again I heard the deep and solemn chime,
And as I followed the unearthly sound,
My soul, exalted, left the things of time;
Thou holy trance ! e'en now I cannot tell
How all my being rose beneath that bell.

An age, it seemed, had been vouchsafed to me, To dream the clouds of sin and sense away ; Clear as the light, a space unbounded, free, Above the mists, unclosed with brightest day. How bright that sun! how deeply blue that sky! And there a minster stood in sanctity.

It shone resplendent in the gorgeous ray,
And winged winds seemed bearing it afar;
The steeple's point had vanished quite away,
Far, far beyond the light of sun and star;
Yet still I caught the ringing of that bell,
With sound more sweet than ever words can tell.

Yes, from the steeple they came floating by,
Yet not by mortal hand the peal was given ;
It breathed of light, and love, and harmony,
Moved by the blessed violence of heaven.
The very sound seemed near my heart to beat,
And drew within that splendid dome my feet,

Oh! how I felt within that sweet abode !
The windows darkly gleamed with antique hue,
The mystic light o'er painted martyrs glowed,
And into life the holy portraits grew:
Upon a world of sainted ones I gazed ;
I heard the hymn the noble martyrs raised.

Before that altar I devoutly bowed,
And deepest love my all of being filled :
Upon the ceiling heaven's image glowed ;
That golden glory every passion stilled.
But see, the arches of the dome are rent !
Up to the gates of God my eye is bent.

The splendors of that mighty dwelling-place !-
Those shining walls the crystal fountains there!
And wonders which a creature dares not trace !
But let them move the sinner's soul to prayer.
Oh! ye to whom that solemn bell shall ring,
Take heed, and listen to its murmuring !


Viewing thee, no fears we feel
Lest thou, at length, some false pretender prove,
Or subtle hypocrite, of whom no few,
Disseminated o'er its face, the earth
Sustains, adepts in fiction, and who frame
Fables, where fables could be least surmised.


HOWEVER impossible it may be to obtain an exact statistical view of the German emigrants in this country, since they are regarded as American citizens after they have resided a few years among us, and have submitted to certain prescribed forms, it is well known that thousands and tens of thousands of these emigrants are spread over most of the States of the Union, and that every year brings many new settlers to our shores, who disperse over this country as seems to be best suited to their several occupations. But though in numerical respects you may find it difficult to arrive at any degree of certainty, it is much more easy to become acquainted with many prominent features of their general character. Whether you see them as pioneers, struggling through every difficulty, and overcoming every obstruction-or whether you visit them, when collected in families and quietly enjoying the fruits of their agricultural labors or whether, finally,

you meet with the German merchant and mechanic mingling in the larger cities with the American population—they enjoy everywhere the reputation of being a hard-working, temperate and honest people, little inclined to give way to temptations to which the lower classes of society are generally exposed, and highly susceptible to those religious and intellectual influences which they have enjoyed at home. However attached they may be to each other, and to their native land and language, they are found ready to adapt themselves to the customs and habits of the country of their adoption, to quire its language, and to take a share in the voluntary burthens which are inseparable from our state of society. It is to this spirit that the German Charitable Societies owe their origin, to which I once more direct the attention of my reader, since they serve as effectual and important means of bringing about the virtual naturalization of the foreigner, of making him a useful citizen in every point of view. The fundamental principles laid down by these societies differ in general very little from each other, but the spirit in which these principles have been applied by the German Charitable Society of Boston—to whose Board I am indebted for the details here communicated-and various regulations which have been suggested by the peculiar situation of its members, call for a more particular reference, and deserve to be generally known and recommended.

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