CHARLES B. STORRS. And the long suspended thunder When the refuges of Falsehood Oppression's hand may scatter But, where the south wind lingers Or, falls the careless sunbeam Where Mammon hath its altars 65 Redeemed from Falsehood's ban When the fetters shall be broken, And the slave shall be a man! Joy to thy spirit, brother! A thousand hearts are warm- Lo-the waking up of nations, Glory to God forever! Beyond the despot's will The soul of Freedom liveth Imperishable still. The words which thou hast uttered And the good seed thou hast scattered In the evil days before us, And the trials yet to come- 1834 LINES. LINES, ON THE DEATH OF S. o. TORREY. GONE before us, O our brother, Who shall offer youth and beauty On the wasting shrine Of a stern and lofty duty, With a faith like thine? Oh! thy gentle smile of greeting Who amidst the solemn meeting Who, when peril gathers o'er us, Who, with evil men before us, Early hath the spoiler found thee, Autumn's faded earth around thee, And, with future showers, In the locks thy forehead gracing, Nor a line of sorrow's tracing On thy fair young cheek; 67 Will the vigil Love is keeping Will the pleasant memories, swelling If the spirit ever gazes, Wilt thou not, O brother, meet us And, in hours of sadness, greet us Peace be with thee, O our brother, In thy place to stand. Unto Truth and Freedom giving All thy early powers, A LAMENT. "The parted spirit, Knoweth it not our sorrow? Answereth not THE circle is broken-one seat is forsaken,— shaken One heart from among us no longer shall thrill A LAMENT. Weep!-lonely and lowly, are slumbering now The light of her glances, the pride of her brow, Weep-sadly and long shall we listen in vain To hear the soft tones of her welcome again. 69 Give our tears to the dead! For humanity's claim From its silence and darkness is ever the same; The hope of that World whose existence is bliss May not stifle the tears of the mourners of this. For, oh! if one glance the freed spirit can throw To that glance will be dearer the tears which we shed. Oh, who can forget the mild light of her smile, Over lips moved with music and feeling the whileThe eye's deep enchantment, dark, dream-like, and clear, In the glow of its gladness-the shade of its tear. And the charm of her features, while over the whole Played the hues of the heart and the sunshine of soul, And the tones of her voice, like the music which seems Murmured low in our ears by the Angel of dreams! But holier and dearer our memories hold Those treasures of feeling, more precious than gold The love and the kindness and pity which gave Fresh flowers for the bridal, green wreaths for the grave! |