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Thou, unto whom the blind and lame,
The fiends of his revenge, were sent
From Thy pure Gospel's element
Who in that name the Gallows rears,
On the blind eyes which know Thee not, And let the light of thy pure day
Melt in upon his darkened thought. Soften his hard, cold heart, and show
The power which in forbearance lies, And let him feel that Mercy now
Is better than old sacrifice.
The unfelt rite at length was done
The prayer unheard at length was saidAn hour had passed :—the noon day sun
Smote on the features of the dead !
An earnest of the victim's fate,
The kindlings of Eternal Hate-
Against the crime of Law, which gave
His brother to that fearful grave, Whereon Hope's moon-light never lies,
And Faith's white blossoms never wave To the soft breath of Memory's sighs ;Which sent a spirit marred and stained, By fiends of sin possessed, profaned, In madness and in blindness stark, Into the silent unknown dark ? No—from the wild and shrinking dread With which he saw the victim led
Beneath the dark veil which divides Ever the living from the dead,
And Nature's solemn secret hides, The man of prayer can only draw New reasons for his bloody Law; New faith in staying Murder's hand, By murder at that Law's command; New reverence for the Gallows-rope, As human nature's latest hope ; Last relic of the good old time, When Power found license for its crime, And held a writhing world in check By that fell cord about its neck; Stifled Sedition's rising shout, Choked the young breath of Freedom out, And timely checked the words which sprung From Heresy's forbidden tougue; While, in its noose of terror bound, The Church its cherished union found, Conforming, on the Moslem plan, The motley-colored mind of man, Not by the Koran and the Sword, But by the Bible and the Cord!
As on the White Sea's charmèd shore,
The Parsee sees his holy bill With dunnest smoke-clouds curtained o'er, Yet knows beneath them evermore
The low pale fire is quivering still; So, underneath its clouds of sin
The heart of man retaineth yet Gleams of its holy origin:
And half quenched stars that never set Dim colors of its faded bow,
And early beauty, linger there,
Faint breathings of its morning air.
Hath Heaven inscribed « DESPAIR !"
My brother man, Beware! With that deep voice which, from the skies Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice,
God's angel cries, FORBEAR !
Oh Thou ! at whose rebuke the grave
Poetry has been to me its own “exceeding great reward ;' it has soothed my affliction; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments ; it has endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.-COLERIDGE.
You cannot live for men, without living with them.
POEMS BY WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH.
«« THE EARTH IS THE LORD'S.”
Lord! the earth is thine,
And the fulness of the sea-
All belong to Thee!
Where the great sea-monsters roam, Thou hast hollowed wondrous caves
For their ocean home.
Revels in his kingly might
Thou hast fashioned grottos rarer
There uncounted treasures lie
Sparkle aye in starry beams.
All the gems that flash and shine
Underneath the ocean-brine, God! belong to Thee !
Hills arrayed in living green,
Where the sunshine loves to linger,
Waters singing as they pass, (Pauses none to intervene,)
With a low and pleasant tune,
On their verdant slopes, and glancing Downward to their deepest beds
Forests, regally uplifting To the clouds their crowned heads-And the undulating plain Swaying with the swaying grainThese are Thine-and Thine the sky, With its gorgeous pageantry,
And its shadows ever shifting. Wait they all upon thy word, Nature's universal Lord!
Then to Thee, of life the Giver,
Thanks and songs for ever given-Every voice in concert sounding, Every heart with rapture bounding, All harmonious anthems blending, Louder swelling as ascending
Tribute of the earth to Heaven !
H. A. B.
Lord! the earth is thine,
And the fulness of the earth!
O'er the formless void went forth,
And the darkness fled !
In their orbits sped.
In their virgin beauty drest,
From the sluggish worm that crawls
O'er the dungeon's slimy walls,
Flashes in the glad sunshine,
Cifts of song that seem divine-
Insect, beast, and bird are thine ! Formed by Thy creating hand, Heedful all to Thy command.
Deem not, Beloved! that the glow
Of love with youth will know decayFor though the wing of time may throw
A shadow o'er our way ;
The calmness of a holy trust,
Consigns our - dust to dust!'' The fervid passion of our youth
The fervor of Affection's kissLove, born of purity and truth
All pleasant memories--
Upon the Past with dewy eyes ;
How much of sunshine lies!
Men call us poor-it may be true
Amid the gay and glittering crowd-
Yet envy not the proud.
Heart-sheltered through long years of want, Pure hopes and quiet joys are ours,
That wealth could never grant.
Something of beauty from thy brow,
Something of lightness from thy tread, Hath passed- yet thou art dearer now
Than when our vows were said. A softer beauty round thee gleams
Chastened by time, yet calmly bright; And from thine eye of hazel, beams
A deeper, tenderer light
An emblem of the love which lives
Through every change, as time departs; Which binds our souls in one, and gives
New gladness to our hearts ! Flinging a halo over life
Like that which gilds the life beyond ! Ah! well I know thy thoughts, dear wise !
To thoughts like these respond.
TO MY QUAKER COUSIN. Don't tell me of the feelings, the fine sensibilities, the hope and joy, and the true poetry of man's life being blunted by the increase of years! Why, I'll hate old age, if it is true! Make this, if thee pleases, no longer an apology for the laziness thee is guilty of when thee ceases to give us and every body the scintillations of thy poetical genius. It is not that thy days are in the yellow leaf,' but that they are days of downright- laziness !"
Extract from her letter. Yes, thou art right, sweet coz! I own
I am a lazy rhymer-very,–
Of willing music, sad or merry;
And I myself am out of fashion,
Was never my peculiar passion. I never wet my thirsty lip
At Helicon's inspiring fountain, Nor even in fancy took a trip
To meet the Muses on their mountain. The voice of Fame is sweet enough,
Doubtless, for devotees who love her, But then her hill is quite too rough
And steep for me to clamber over.
Lazy and uninspired, can I
Write for thee canzonet or sonnet? Or, smitten by thy beauty, try
To perpetrate a song upon it? No--though thy charms of face and form
Would madden, like a heavenly vision, When wine and love had rendered warm
Some dreamer of the fields Elysian!
But love dies not-the child of God
The soother of Life's many woes-
Where buried hopes repose !
Earth's pleasant streams and pasture by, Still pointing to a better land
Of bliss beyond the sky!
No-though the wicked world should swear
Thou art the latest importation
Bending for aye in adoration !
With the dull muse that weaves my numbers, Nor laughing eye, nor polished brow,
Gleams on her in her dreamless slumbers.
MARY HOWITT. Priestess of Nature! in the solemn woods
And by the sullen sea, whose ceaseless roar
Speaks of God's majesty for evermore, And where the cataracts dash their shattered floods Down to the iris.girdled gulfs which yawn
Eternally beneath, thy hand hath reared
Altars whereon no blood-stain hath appeared-
Of buds or bursting flowers, together kneel
In gladdest worship, till their spirits feel
But, for the brightness of thy youth,
And for the chastened love I bear thee, And for thy gentleness and truth,
Which even thievish Time must spare thee, And for thy heart which overflows
With kindness for the wronged and lowly, And for thy guileless soul which glows
With tenderest feelings, pure and holyAnd for that fervent zeal for Right
Which burneth in thy bosom ever, And for that steadfast faith whose might
In perils's hour shall fail thee never
Shutting from the spirit's eye, Light and glory from on highThink of these—and falter not ! Toil-until the slave is brought
Up to light!
For human sympathies, which bring
True hearts around thee to adore theeFor these, dear coz! I kneel and Aling
The tribute of my song before thee. Others may sonnetize the spell
That lives within thy radiant glances, And lying bardlings boldly tell
That loveliness around thee dances; Vows may be offered thee in rhyme,
And worship paid in common metre But these will pass with passing time,
For beauty than the wind is feeter. Be mine the better task to find
For thee a tribute undegrading : Flowers from the garden of the mind,
Fragrant and pure, and never fadingGems from the mines of knowledge won,
Brighter than fancy ever paintedAn offering to lay upon
The altar of a heart untainted.
What though Hate Darkly scowls upon your path? Fear not ye the tyrant's wrath
Hope, and waitFor though long the strife endure, Freedom's triumph shall be sure Toil in faith, for God hath spoken, Every fetter shall be broken,
Soon or late.
Not in vain
From the chain !
So, when the hand of Time hath reft
From face and form thy youthful graces, A tenderer beauty shall be left
To sanctisy their fading traces ;
Around thy path shall then be shining, With more than earthly brightness fraught,
To gild and bless thy life's declining !
THE FREEMAN. He worthy is of freedom-only he
Who claims the boon for all-and, strong in right,
Rebukes the proud oppressor by whose might The poor are crushed-for Truth hath made him free, And Love hath sanctified his liberty! When Tyranny his horrid head uprears,
And blasts the earth with pestilential breath,
Girded with righteousness and strong in faith, He stems the tide of wrong; nor scoffs, nor jeers, Nor ruffian threats, nor fierce mobocracy, Can daunt his soul, or turn him from the path
Where duty points. Not his the craven heart
That shrinks when tyrants bluster in their wrath ; But well in Freedom's strife he bears his part.
TO THE ABOLITIONISTS OF AMERICA:
Toil and pray! Groweth flesh and spirit faint ? Think of her who pours her plaint
All the dayHer-the wretched negro wife, Robbed of all that sweetens lifeHer—who weeps in anguish wild For the husband and the child
Tears and sighs,
Crowded with multitudinous life-the din
Of toil and traffic-and the wo and sin, The dweller in the populous city meetsThese have I left to seek the cool retreats
Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers
Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers, And roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats
Reclining, I can while away the hours
Indulge, while over me their radiant showers Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down,-And thanks to Him my meditations crown!
Wo and blight, Broken heart and palsied mind, Reason crushed and conscience blind,
Ye may tread on the poor-but not long ! - As I stood upon the forecastle and looked to- But wo !--for the arm of a People is strong
Ye may torture the weak--while.ye dare ! wards the land, which soon seemed but a little streak
When nerved by revenge and despair ! in the horizon, and was fast sinking from our sight, I Let the fetter be tightened !—the sooner 'twill break! seemed to feel a heavy weight drop off me. The chains
Trample on!-and the sert shall more quickly awake! were gone. I felt myself a freeman; and as I watched the fast-receding shore, my bosom heaved with a
My country!- the land of my birth! proud scorn--a mingled feeling of safety and disdain.
Farewell to thy fetters and thee! -- « Farewell, my country!'—such were the thoughts The by-word of tyrants—the scorn of the earththat rose upon my mind, and pressed to find an utter.
A mockery to all shalt thou be! ance from my lips,— and such a country! A land Hurra! for the sea and its waves ! boasting to be the chosen seat of liberty and equal
Ye billows and surges-all hail ! rights, yet holding such a portion of her people in My brothers henceforth—for ye scorn to be slaves, hopeless, helpless, miserable bondage !:
s ye toss up your crests to the gale! 56. Farewell my country! Much is the gratitude Farewell to the land of the « charter and chain,"– and thanks I owe thee! Land of the tyrant and the
My path is away o'er the fetterless main! slave, farewell !' ove And welcome, welcome, ye bounding billows
A SUMMER MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. and foaming surges of the ocean ! Ye are the emblems and the children of liberty-I hail ye as my
How sweetly on the hill-side sleeps brothers !-for, at last, I too am free! - free!
The sunlight with its quickening rays !
The verdant trees that crown the steeps free !! "— Archy Moore, Vol. II. p. 146-7.
Grow greener in its quivering blaze : From my heel 'I have broken the chain!
While all the air that round us floats
With subtile wing, breathes only life-
The woods with song are rife.
Why, this is Nature's holiday ! New hopes have sprung up in my path
She puts her gayest mantle onAnd I leave to my country defiance and scorn,
And, sparkling o'er their pebbly way, The curse of a fugitive's wrath!
With gladder shout the brooklets run ; My country ?-away!—for the gifts which she gave
The birds and breezes seem to give Were the whip and the fetter-the life of a slave!
A sweeter cadence to their songThank God! that a limit is set
A brighter life the insects live
That float in light along.
The fleecy flocks that dot the vale,
All joy alike in life, that fills The fire on the heart's altar laid,
The air, and breathes in every gale! Yet, lit by the breath of Jehovah, like Him
And who that has a heart and eye
To feel the bliss and drink it in,
A sweet companionship to hold
With Nature in her forest-bowers,
And learn the gentle lessons told
By singing birds and opening flowers ?
Nor do they err who love her lore-
Though books have power to stir my heart,
Yet Nature's varied page can more
Of rapturous joy impart !
No selfish joy-if Duty calls,
Not sullenly I turn from these
Though dear the dash of waterfalls, Wo! wo! to the forgers of chains,
The wind's low voice among the trees, Who trample the image of God :
Birds, flowers, and flocks—for God hath taught Calls for vengeance the blood of the bondman, which -Oh, keep, my heart! the lesson stillstains
His soul, alone, with bliss is fraught, The cursed and the verdureless sod!
Who heeds the Father's will !