VENETIAN MOONLIGHT.

BY FREDERIC MELLEN.*

THE midnight chime had tolled from Marco's towers,
O'er Adria's wave the trembling echo swept,
The gondolieri paused upon their oars,

Muttering their prayers as through the still night crept.

Far o'er the wave the knell of time was borne, Till the sound died upon its tranquil breast ; The sea-boy started as the peal rolled on,

Gazed at his star and turned himself to rest.

The throbbing heart that late had said farewell, Still lingering on the wave that bore it home, At that bright hour sighed o'er the dying swell,

And thought on years of absence yet to come.

Twas moonlight on Venetia's sea,
And every fragrant bower and tree
Smiled in the glorious light:

The thousand isles that clustered there
Ne'er in their life looked half so fair
As on that happy night.

A thousand sparkling lights were set
On every dome and minaret ;

While through the marble halls
The gush of cooling fountains came,
And crystal lamps sent far their flame,
Upon the high-arched walls.

But sweeter far on Adria's sea,
The gondolier's wild minstrelsy

In accents low began;

While sounding harp and martial zell,
Their music joined, till the rich swell
Seemed heaven's wide arch to span.

Then faintly ceasing-one by one,
That plaintive voice breathed on alone,
Its wild, heart-soothing lay:

And then again that moon-light band,
Started, as if by magic wand,

In one bold burst away.

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The joyous laugh came on the breeze,
And, mid the bright, o'er-hanging trees,

The mazy dance went round;

And, as in joyous ring they flew,

The smiling nymphs the wild flowers threw,
That clustered on the ground.

Soft as a summer evening's sigh,
From each o'er-hanging balcony,

Low, fervent whisperings fell:
And many a heart upon that night
On fancy's pinion sped its flight,
Where holier beings dwell.

Each lovely form the eye might see,
The dark-browed maid of Italy,

With love's own sparkling eyes:
The fairy Swiss-all-all that night
Smiled in the moon-beam's silvery light,
Fair as their native skies.

The moon went down, and o'er that glowing sea,
With darkness, Silence spread abroad her wing.
Nor dash of oars, nor harp's wild minstrelsy,
Came o'er the waters in that mighty ring.
All nature slept-and, save the far-off moan
Of ocean surges, Silence reigned alone.

ST. JOHN IN EXILE.

BY ANDREW DUNNING.

DEATH was decreed, or banishment, to all of christian faith,

And he stood before the Roman power,

for exile, or for death. The weakness of declining years

was all forgotten now;

He stood erect with fearless eye,

and an unquailing brow.

Though storms might break in darkness round, there was an arm to save,

Through faith he trode the lifting seas,

for Christ was on the wave.

Amid the war of elements,

he saw the rainbow dyes

Arching in bows of promise sure, across the frowning skies.

The clouds hung heavy o'er his head,

but sunlight in his soul,

Darted athwart the fearful gloom,

and richly tinged the whole.

He gazed upon the soldier guard, with spear and waving crest; And the thronging mass of bloody men that round him thickly prest ; Calm and undaunted was his gaze,

and through the troubled air, Went up from his confiding heart, the spirit-whispered prayer.

His heart was fixed,-his faith was firm, for he leaned upon the breast

Of his beloved Savior still,

and felt the promised rest.

The stern decree of banishment

to Patmos' lonely shore, Was circled with celestial light,

and tints of glory bore.

'Twas joy to leave a treacherous world,

'twas happiness to meet

Far from the faithlessness of man,

a solitude so sweet.

"Twas joy to share the angry scorn

by persecutors poured,