To its splendor might add the philanthropist’s fame,
Till many an oasis from deserts shall spring,
When the arches of Heaven with thy praises shall ring.
STORM-LINES.
———
BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.
———
When the rains of November are dark on the hills, and the pine-trees incessantly roar
To the sound of the wind-beaten crags, and the floods that in foam through their black channels pour: