II.

  My sister, have I lived to see thy name
  Dishonored?  Thou, who wast my pride, my stay;
  Shall Jealousy and Fraud thy love defame
  And I be dumb?  Just Heaven, let a ray
  From thy majestic light illume earth’s clay,[A]
  That through her I may scorch the slander vile,
  And light throughout the land a torch to-day,
  Which shall reveal how false and full of guile
Are they who seek thy name, Augusta, to defile.

[Footnote A:  The Clairvoyant.]

III.

  She who has borne my title and my name,
  In deeds fraternal saw some monster crime;
  To her base level sought my heart to tame,
  Made mock of each aspiring thought sublime,
  And sought to bury me beneath the slime
  Of her imaginings.  All—­all are gone
  Who could defend me.  From the grave of time
  I am unearth’d—­by sland’rous miscreants torn,
And rise to feel again the ills I once have borne.

IV.

  Is this a Christian deed, to flaunt a vice,
  And with another’s failings gild your own? 
  To hearken to the whisperings and device
  Of old age, selfish, to suspicion grown? 
  To misconstrue each friendly look—­each tone—­
  And out of natural love create vile lust? 
  Must brother’s heart his very kin disown,
  While rudest hand disturbs her mouldering dust? 
Is this a Christian deed?  Shall mankind call it just?

V.

  But let that pass.  I hear a nation’s voice
  Raised to defend the absent, wronged child;
  My hopes and aims were high, albeit my choice
  Was fixed on one who felt not for my wild
  And wayward nature; one who never smiled
  On imperfection.  From my home of light
  Unscathed, I see life’s blackening billows piled,
  Ready to sweep the daring soul from sight,
Sinking his name and memory in darkest night.

VI.

  I rise again above the woes of earth,
  Like unchained bird, seeking my native air. 
  Men seldom see their fellow-creatures’ worth,
  But blot sweet nature’s page, however fair. 
  Away, my soul, and seek thy nobler state,
  Where loving angels breathe their softest prayer,
  Where sweetest seraphs for thy coming wait,
And ne’er suspicion’s breath can pass the Golden Gate.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

APPARITIONS.

Returning one evening from a visit to a friend on earth, I was impelled to take a route with which I was unfamiliar.  It led me far beyond the habitations of the city, into an open country whose surface was diversified by sloping hills and broad valleys.

The sun was quite low in the horizon, and dark purple clouds, gathering in the west, indicated an approaching storm.  Anxious to reach my spirit-home before such an event, I was nevertheless compelled to keep within the earth’s atmosphere.