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172  LOUISA JANE HALL.

panied by his daughter, who lived with him until October, 1840, when she married the Rev. E. B. Hall, of Providence, R. I., where she still resides. 

Miriam, a Dramatic Sketch, the admirable production on which Mrs. Hall's fame as a poet chiefly rests, was begun in the summer of 1826,
and finished the following summer.  Not believing that it possessed sufficient merit to claim attention from the literary world, she allowed ten years to pass before publishing it; then the commendations it received, which were neither faint nor few, surprised no one so much as its modest author.  The story is simple and interesting; the characters are drawn with much spirit and skill; and some passages display no ordinary amount of power and pathos.  Her other principal work is in prose, Joanna of Naples, an Historical Tale; published in 1838.  Ill health, failure of eyesight, and great distrust of her own powers, have prevented her from being a very prolific writer; but her essays and reviews which have occasionally appeared, and her successful efforts in poetry, prove that the deficiency lies, not in the talent, but the will to use it.

PRAYER.

(FROM MIRIAM.)

THRASENO.
Where wouldst thou seek for peace or quietness,
If not beside the altar of thy God?

MIRIAM.
Within these mighty walls of sceptred Rome
A thousand temples rise unto her gods,
Bearing their lofty domes unto the skies, 
Graced with the proudest pomp of earth; their shrines
Glittering with gems, their stately colonnades,
Their dreams of genius wrought into bright forms, 
Instinct with grace and godlike majesty,
Their ever-smoking altars, white-robed priests,
And all the pride of gorgeous sacrifice.
And yet these things are naught.  Rome's prayers ascend
To greet th' unconscious skies, in the blue void

LOUISA JANE HALL.  173

Lost like the floating breath of frankincense,
And find no hearing or acceptance there.
And yet there is an Eye that ever marks
Where its own people pay their simple vows,
Though to the rocks, the caves, the wilderness,
Scourged by a stern and ever-watchful foe!
There is an Ear that hears the voice of prayer
Rising from lonely spots where Christians meet, 
Although it stir not more the sleeping air
Than the soft waterfall, or forest breeze.
Think'st thou, my father, this benignant God
Will close his ear, and turn in wrath away
From the poor sinful creature of his hand, 
Who breathes in solitude her humble prayer?
Think'st thou He will not hear me, should I kneel
Here in the dust beneath his starry sky,
And strive to raise my voiceless thoughts to Him, 
Making an altar of my broken heart?

MIRIAM EXPLAINS TO PAULUS WHY THEY MUST PART.

(FROM THE SAME.)

PAULUS.
My brain is pierced!
Mine eyes with blindness smitten! and mine ear
Rings faintly with the echo of thy words!
Henceforth what man shall ever build his faith
On woman's love, on woman's constancy?
Maiden! look up!  I would but gaze once more
Upon that open brow and clear, dark eye,
To read what aspect Perjury may wear,
What garb of loveliness may Falsehood use,
To lure the eye of guileless, manly love!
Cruel, cold-blooded, fickle that thou art,
Dost thou not quail beneath thy lover's eye?

15*

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