THE STAR OF DESTINY.

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BY ANNE G. HALE.

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[It is related of Signora Angelica Kauffman, the celebrated Italian, that when a youthful maiden, she was one evening by the bank of her native stream, a short distance from Mount Rosa, near the entrance of a forest, when, charmed with the beauty of the sunset, she fell into a reverie, during which a vision passed before her, which led her to form the resolution—which she patiently kept—of being a painter. She afterward obtained the prize from the Royal Academy at London, England, for her painting of the Weeping Magdalen. See Graham’s Magazine, Vol. XXX.]

May, with thousand buds of beauty

Gemmeth o’er the valley’s breast,

Once again with chainless freedom

Are the Alpine streamlets blest;

Down the ancient, snow-clad mountains,

In their joy they leap and spring,

All entrancing with the music

Of the merry lay they sing.

And the haughty, towering glaciers

Gazing down so stern and wild,

Yield them to the spring-time influence,

And diffuse a radiance mild—

For the glowing sunset lingers

On those crystal turrets high,

Long beyond the sun’s departure

From the clear and cloudless sky.

Downward are the rays reflected

To each ancient forest-tree,

Standing in its solemn grandeur,

Monarch of a century;

Birds their evening hymns are singing,

And the peasant homeward hies—

’Tis the welcome hour of vespers

And from every heart they rise.

All, save one—her soul enraptured

With the splendor of the scene,

Listlessly reclines she—dreaming—

On the streamlet’s bank of green;

Thoughts of power her spirit burden

Clamorous for a garb of words,

But they strive in vain for freedom,

Speech no worthy aid affords.

Longing for the tongue of Poet,

For his language bold and grand—

Or for that high power majestic,

With which oft a master-hand

On the vague and empty canvas,

Into being life-like calls

Images first etched by Fancy,

On the mind’s eternal walls.

Dreaming on of Fame and Beauty,

Gazing still upon the sky,

Twilight gathers over nature,

Darkness draws unheeded nigh.

There before her, in the forest,

Stand the oaks in majesty—

Yet before her they are changing

To a statued gallery!

And beneath each marble statue,

There are carved upon the base,

Names that Art hath made immortal,

Names the laurel deigned to grace!

But upon one gray pedestal,

Standing statueless—alone—

She deciphers with emotion

One familiar name—her own!

Filled with solemn awe she lifteth

To the heavens her tearful eyes,

And above that lone pedestal

Sees a glorious star arise!

For herself prepared and ready,

(She can read the mystery,)

’Tis a niche in Fame’s high temple,

’Tis her star of destiny.

Years rolled on—that youthful vision

Haunted still the maiden’s brain,

Oft her fainting heart beguiling

Of its toil, and care, and pain;

Onward, upward still she passed,

By Ambition daily fed,

Till that star e’en as a halo

Threw its lustre round her head.

But have none, save that fair maiden,

’Neath Italia’s sunset sky,

Had pre-knowledge of the future—

Known their coming destiny?

Yea—for all—or soon or later—

Are Life’s mysteries unsealed—

If its oracle, the prescience,

Oft hath Heaven in love revealed.

Not at even, seen but dimly,

Doth the glorious scene appear,

But at noonday, in Faith’s sunlight,

Shines in truthful radiance clear;

Not a marble statue raised

By the flattering hand of Fame—

But a cross—the Cross most holy.

Lifted up in Jesus’ name!

Low upon its base, engraven

—Man—as if upon the stone

Constant tears had wrought the title,

Sadly, secretly—alone;

Upward o’er the cross appearing,

Brighter than the orbs on high,

One fair star full often blesses,

The upraised—the prayerful eye.

Let us from the heavenly vision

Comfort under trial gain;

Though upon our drooping shoulders

We the heavy Cross sustain,

Still the Star of Bethlehem shineth,

With its clear, consoling light,

And by its all-powerful glory,

Day shall take the place of night!