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Their own peculiar music on the air,

And glancing in the sunshine radiantly. " Like thee, oh stream! to glide in solitude

Now their clear tones are hushed--for the Frost-King Noiselessly on, reflecting sun or star,

Hath thrown his fetter on them, and evoked Unseen by man, and from the great world's jar

The voice of melody that dwelt with them Kept evermore aloof-methinks 'twere good

In the bright sunny hours, and they are staid io live thus lonely through the silent lapse

In their free current, frozen, murmurless. Of my appointed time.” Not wisely said,

Unthinking Quietist! The brook hath sped Where stays the sunshine ? Hath it learned that Its course for ages through the narrow gaps

Earth Of rifted hills and o'er the reedy plain,

Is chilled through all her veins, and for some grudge Or 'mid the eternal forests, not in vain

That seemed forgotten long ago, resolved The grass more greenly groweth on its brink, To let it freeze for ever? Or, perchance,

And lovelier flowers and richer fruits are there, The sun himself is frozen. If that cloud, And of its crystal waters myriads drink,

That hangs so like a pall along the sky, That else would faint beneath the torrid air. Would move his body corporate, and begone

Back to his ocean-mansion, we might learn

Whether the sun be dead or slumbering.
Inaction now is crime. The old earth reels
Inebriate with guilt; and Vice, grown bold,

Ho! bring my cloak, Katurah! Heap the wood Laughs Innocence to scorn. The thirst for gold On the hot hearth-draw up the high-backed screen: Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels

Let the winds whistle now, if so they willThe impulse of impartial love, nor kneels

I care but little for their minstrelsy, In worship foul to Mammon, is conternned.

So I can shut from me their freezing breath. He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemmed

Well-I am warm and quiet; but, i' faith, Corruption's tide, and from the ruffian heels

I pity the poor wight that's forced to face Of impious tramplers rescued periled Right, Old Boreas to-day. Necessity

Is called fanatic, and with scoffs and jeers Alone will call forth travellers, and—ugh! ugh!

Maliciously assailed. The poor man's tears This cough-ugh! ugh!-will kill me presently Are unregarded—the oppressor's might

An' I am not more careful. Oh, the seams Revered as law, and he whose righteous way Around the doors and windows are unclosed. Departs from evil, makes himself a prey.

List !-List !-a roll of list! I will not freeze

In my own domicil. Heap on the wood, What then? Shall he who wars for Truth succumb And throw another mantle round me-there! To popular Falsehood, and throw down his shield,

Hark! as I live, I hear the ringing sound And drop the sword he hath been taught to wield

Of the light skaters on the frozen lakeIn Virtue's cause ? Shall Righteousness be dumb,

And see how merrily they wheel away Awe-struck before Injustice ? No!-a cry,

In swift gyrations o'er the glassy ice, « Ho! to the rescue!” from the hills hath rung,

As if a power were given them to fly! And men have heard and to the combat sprung

The happy dogs!-- Heaven grant they may not freeze. Strong for the right, to conquer or to die!

I thought no boy would venture out to-day ['p, Loiterer! for on the winds are flung

For sport or labor, an' he were not flogged
The banners of the Faithful !--and erect

For tarrying within. Well, after all,
Beneath their folds the hosts of God's Elect
Stand in their strength. Be thou their ranks among. And I remember me when I was young,

It may not be so very cold for them-
Fear not, nor falter, though the strife endure,

How little cared I for the biting frost,
Thy cause is sacred, and the victory sure.

So I might whirl upon the ringing steel
Merrily on, surrounded by a group

As happy as myself, all life and joy!

But s’death: a few short years will make a change

In a man's ser.sitiveness, 'specially (The middle of December, Thermometer at Zero.)

When they bring with them gout and rheumatism, This feels like winter! Ugh! how bitterly Toothachs and agues, fevers and catarrhsCometh the keen northwester! In the west And worse, far worse than anght, ay, than all else, Dark clouds are piled in gloomy masses up, Dread hypochondria! They will find it soAnd from their folds comes freezingly the breath Those merry boys now skating on the lakeOf the Storm-Spirit, couched and shrouded there. If they, like me, indulge in turtle-soup, But yestermorn the streams were murmuring Sauces, and pies, and cakes, and the whole round With their low, silvery voices, pouring forth Of eatables and drinkables which load

We kissed her cheek, and kissed her brow;

And if aright we read the smile That lingered on her pallid lips,

It told of Heaven the while !

Their glutton-feeding table, who, like me,
Are cursed with wealth that brings but pain and care.
Would I were still a merry, pennyless boy,
As light of foot and heart as I was once-
Free from dispepsy-free from every pain
Money has purchased for me!-then would I
Bind the bright skate upon my agile heel,
And skim-ugh! ugh!- I've added to my cold.

She lived-a radiant Presence, lent

To bless our hearts and glad our hearth; She died-oh, bitter was the cup

To wean us from the earth! Dear God! Thy name be praised for her

For sweetest memories of our childThe angel called from earth to heaven

A spirit undefiled!



Oh, Bessie was a bonny girl

As ever happy mother kissed-
And when our Father called her home,

How sadly was she missed !
For grave or gay, or well or ill,

She had a thousand winning ways,
And mingled infant innocence-

In all her tasks and plays.
How softly beamed her happy smile,

Which played around the sweetest mouth That ever fashioned infant-words

'The sunshine of the South, Mellowed and soft, was in her eye,

And gleamed its brightness o'er her hairAll creatures that had life, I ween,

Did her affections share.


In Ocean's wide domains,

Half buried in the sands, Lie skeletons in chains,

With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,

Deeper than plummet lies, Float ships with all their crews,

No more to sink or rise.

Our Bessie had a loving heart;

No living girl could gentler be-
And 'twas her happiness to sit

Upon her father's knee ;
And as he talked of heavenly things,

And told of Him who made the light, Her eye, uplit with spirit-beams,

Grew brighter and more bright.

There the black slave-ship swims,

Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered fleshless limbs

Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of slaves;

They gleam from the abyss ; They cry, from yawning waves,

"We are the Witnesses !'

With reverent voice she breathed her prayer,

With gentlest tones she sang her hymnAnd when she talked of heaven, our eyes

With tears of joy were dim;
Yet in our selfish grief we wept

When last her lips upon us smiled
Oh, could we, when our Father called,

Detain the happy child ?

Within Earth's wide domains

Are markets for men's lives ; Their necks are galled with chains,

Their wrists are cramped with gyves. Dead bodies, that the kite .

In deserts makes its prey ; Murders, that with affright

Scare schoolboys from their play!

Our home is poor, and cold our clime,

And misery mingles with our mirth'Twas meet our Bessie should depart

From such a weary earth!
Oh, she is safe !--no cloud can dim

The brightness of her ransomed soul ! No trials vex, no tempter lure

Her spirit from its goal ! We wrapt her in her snow-white shroud

We smoothed again her sunny hair, And crossed her hands upon her breast

Oh! she was wondrous fair !

All evil thoughts and deeds,

Anger, and lust, and pride ; The foulest, rankest weeds,

That choke Life's groaning tide!

These are the woes of slaves;

They glare from the abyss; They cry, from unknown graves,

We are the Witnesses !'


To do his work of love, to bind and free,
Who like Saint Peter hold the mystic key;

Who work his miracles, but words instead

Of spells make use of, quickening the dead,
The stars come forth, a silent hymn of praise

The dead in soul, who deadest of all be! To the great God, and, shining every one,

Dearer to me your good opinion is Make up the glorious harmony, led on

Than the poor plaudits of the ignorant crowd, By Hesperus, their chorister : each plays

Groundless as hasty, brief as they are loud; A part in the great concert with its rays,

For Conscience, which but echoes Him in this, And yet so stilly, modestly, as none

Who lists the meek up, and puts down the proud, Claimed to himself aught of the good thus done

Approves your sentence, and confirms it His !
By all alike, each shining in his place;
Each has his path, there moves unerringly,

Nor covets empty fame. Do we as they :
Let each soul lend its utmost light, each play A foolish dreamer! well, e'en be it so—
In the grand concert of humanity

And yet I am awake, or, waking, dream
Its destined part: then mankind on its way Things truer, or which so unto me seem,
Shall move as surely as those stars on high! Than those who wake o' nights and no rest know,

Till they get rich, and life for money throw

Away: and Love, its crowning grace supreme, THOUGHT.

And God (Love's essence,) openly blaspheme, What is the Warrior's sword compared with thee?

Mocking him in his temple with vain show! A brittle reed against a giant's might!

Perhaps I dream-I dream the world is fair,

Fairer than heart can know or tongue can say ! What are the Tyrant's countless hosts? as light As chaff before the tempest! though he be

That Love doth greater treasures with it bear

Than wealth -- and that no wealth were thrown Shut in with guards, and by the bended knee Be-worshipped, like a God, thou still canst smite,

E’en then, with viewless arm, and from that height Could it a sense procure ye, though it were
Hurl him into the dust! for thou art free,

But of a flower's beauty for one day !
Boundless, omnipresent, like God, who gave
Thee for his crowning-gift to man : and when

Thou work'st with thy best weapon, Truth's calm pen,
To punish and reform, exalt and save,

Thou art the truest poet, Keats, for thou
Thou canst combine in one the minds of men, Sing'st but for love, not guerdon: even as
Which strength like that of God, united have! The lark in morning's ear, whose music was

And is, and ever will be, still as now,

Upconscious of an effort, as the bough

Is of its perfume—but the world doth pass
There is a music which I love to hear

Such by : 'tis hard of hearing, and, alas !

Harder of heart, and takes no count of how
Beyond all other music 'neath the sky,
The deep sweet music of Humanity ;

A poet lives and dies, till he be gone ;
Falling for ever on mine inward ear,

Still, when he asks for bread, it gives a stone! From ages past, and choristers now here

And accurate biographers search out

His life's least details, when his name has grown No longer, yet whose voices, sweet and high, Like a « Te Deum” to the Deity,

A word of power, and a light about
Fill the wide world, His temple, far and near!

It gathered, that attends not a King's throne !
Long had I, at the gates, sat listening,
Not daring yet to enter in, nor quite
Conceiving whence those blessed sounds could spring.

But now I, with a concourse infinite,

Before a daisy in the grass I bend
Have entered in at last, and with them sing My head in awe : I could not pluck it thence
And shout Hosannas, worshipping aright!

Without a feeling of deep reverence,
As something God has made for a wise end !

My whole mind it requires to comprehend

The least work of Divine Intelligence,
True men and upright, of whate'er degree, My whole heart, with all feelings deep, intense,
With sweating brow, or crown upon your head, Expression to its loveliness to lend !
True sons of your great Father, missioned But not so is it with the works of Man

On these I boldly lay my hand, on creeds

AMBITION. And dogmas, for these come within my span

Glory enough 't were for the greatest man Therefore with these articulate blasts I fan

To write what men should in their mouths still have, The chaff of Custom from Truth's genuine seeds,

Day after day, when he is in his grave-
Like the great wind, that where it listeth speeds!

To be identified with things of span
And seope perdurable, that since began

The world high mention of mankind still crave :

Things with a soul of good in them to save E'en in my boyish days, ere yet a cloud

Them from oblivion, which nonght else canOf sadness rested on my path, except

Aye, glory twere enough to write a song, To make it brighter, when away 't was swept

That e'en the child upon its mother's knee
By the strong breath of Hope, so gay and proud,

Should love to sing, and still remember long,
E'en then I've turned aside from the vain crowd, Long after, in the days that are to be!
The forms and ceremonies, which intercept

And which to mind recalling, he feels strong,
The heart's diviner beatings, and have wept

Within, the heart of his Humanitie.
For suffering Humanity al !
Aye, even then I made a boyish vow,
In Nature's own grand temple kneeling down,

Who set her sign in token on my brow,

We do not work our wonders with the sword, That I allegiance only would avow

Dear Countrymen, nor claim aught on such plea,To him who wears upon his head the crown With mothers and with children on their knee, of genuine Manhood, be he king or clown!

With patient Thought, and Love, that can afford
To suffer, and by suffering record

His power to achieve all victorie ;

With these, and with whatever else may be
The beggar's staff has often wider sway

Gentlest, and with the power of the Word, Than the king's sceptre! higher empire far,

We work our wonders which none can gainsay ! Far nobler subjects-- his own thoughts, which are

Unfailingly, as from the grass the flower, Best ministers of good from day to day !

The seed divine we scatter by the way, Content with these, still ready to obey,

Shall spring, and ripen in its destined hourHe in his sphere moves stilly, like a star

Then shout, ye Nations, for the harvest-day Which makes all light about it, 'bove the jar

Is coming, and the Sun of Truth gains power! Of earth's vain cares, on his eternal way. Till, thus become a spirit, spirits wait

ON SOME FLOWERS ABOUT A COTTAGE. Upon him, over round that viewless throne, Which He, on passions, taught to own Oh sight beyond all others passing-dear! Wisdom's supremacy, has raised : a state

The love of Nature is the love of all
Wherein celestial powers have sway alone ; That's good, and beautiful, and rational--
The Lord of his own Soul is truly great !

And he, who has but taken pains to rear
A rose about his door, extends his sphere

Of being and enjoyment-he a call
ON SEEING A POOR MAN TO WHOM I HAD Has had, and caught the voice poetical

Which speaks through all her lovely works so clear.

And by that rose she leads, in gentle guise,
I met the old man now so warmly clad

Him, by the hand, as 't were, upon the way,
'Gainst winter, and, rejoicing, asked him how And round him all life's fair humanities
He felt-he answered - better," while his brow Calls by degrees; for she will not betray
Kindled with gratitude, as though he had

The heart that trusts her, but, with closer ties, Received the benefit, not I! what bad,

Towards her draws, nor lets it go astray!
What sorry reckoners the rich must be,
In Joy's arithmetic, who unmoved see
The face, which they with smiles might make so glad,

In sorrow steeped ! then to myself I said,

With things of little cost, of every day, The clothing warms not him, but me--and yet

As common as kind words and gentle looks, Not outwardly, it warms my heart instead!

And daily greetings, and familiar books, Yet he, as though his only were the debt,

That teach us wisdom while it seems but play: Thanks me still! see! how gently is man led With means at hand still by life's daily way, To Good, thus more than all he gave to get! As natural as flowers by the brooks,

As pleasant as field-paths thro' sylvan nooks,

and rival of France. The celebrated Dr. Price of And xo cheap that the poorest can defray

London, and the still more distinguished Priestley The expense thereof: with these and things like these, of Birmingham, spoke out boldly in defence of the We work our wonders by the fireside :

great principles of the Revolution. A London club Our magic-charms, the kiss of love and peace; of reformers, reckoning among its members such Our magic-circles, small at first, but wide

men as Sir William Jones, Earl Grey, Samuel Enough at last to grasp the world with ease, Whitebread and Sir James Mackintosh, was estaHornes, where God, as in temples, doth reside! blished for the purpose of disseminating demo

cratic appeals and arguments throughout the United

Kingdom. THE HEART'S PLACES OF WORSHIP. In Scotland an anixiliary society was formed, under How many shrines, for its affections there

the name of « Friends of the People.” Thomas To dwell, as in a temple, can the heart

Muir, young in years, yet an elder in the Scottish Or man for itself make, with little art,

kirk, a successful advocate at the bar, talented, affaE’en of the simplest things! how passing fair ble, eloquent, and distinguished for the purity of his Seem to us all the spots, so cherished, where

life, and his enthusiasm in the cause of Freedom, We passed our boyish days : ere sorrow's smart was its principal originator. In the 12th month of Had touched, or we had bartered in life's mart,

1792, a Convention of Reformers was held at EdinOur heart's affections for a paltry share

burgh. The government became alarmed, and a Of the world's gold or favour-e’en the stone

warrant was issued for the arrest of Muir. He es. We sat on by the stream-side, in our bliss

caped to France, but soon after, venturing to return Far richer than we since through gold have grown,

to his native land, was recognized and imprisoned. Seerns to us in our inmost hearts all this

He was tried upon the charge of lending books of Revolving, far far better than a throne,

republican tendency, and reading an address from Whose feet, not innocent brooks, but false lips kiss!

Theobald Wolf Tone and the United Irishmen before the society of which he was a member. He defended himself in a long and eloquent address, which concluded in the following noble and manly strain.

« What, then, has been my crime? Not the lendTHE SCOTTISH REFORMERS. ing to a relation a copy of Thomas Paine's works

not the giving away to another a few numbers of an

innocent and constitutional publication—but my I have just been conversing with an aged gentle crime is for having dared to be, according to the man, who has called my attention to the details measure of my feeble abilities, a strenuous and an furnished by late British papers, of the laying of the active advocate for an equal representation of the corner-stone of a monument in honor of the politi- people in the House of the People—for having dared cal reformers, who were banished in 1793 to the to accomplish a measure, by legal means, which was convict-colony of Botany Bay. My friend was in to diminish the weight of their taxes, and to put an Edinburgh at the end of their trial; and, although end to the profusion of their blood. Gentlemen, quite young at that period, distinctly remembers from my infancy to this moment, I have devoted their appearance, and the circumstances preceding myself to the cause of the people. It is a good their arrest. I know not that I can occupy a leisure cause--it shall ultimately prevail-it shall finally evening better, than in compiling a brief account of triumph.” the character and fate of these men, whose names He was sentenced to transportation for fourteen even are unknown to the present generation in this years, and was removed to the Edinburgh jail, from country.

thence to the hulks, and lastly to the transport ship, The impulse of the French Revolution was not containing eighty-three convicts, which conveyed confined by geographical boundaries. Flashing hope him to Botany Bay. into the dark places of the earth, far down among The next victim was Palmer, a learned and high the poor and long oppressed, or startling the oppres- ly accomplished Unitarian minister in Dundee. He sor in his guarded chambers, like that mountain of was greatly beloved and respected as a polished genfire which fell into the sea at the sound of the Apo tleman and sincere friend of the people. He was calyptic trumpet, it agitated the world.

charged with circulating a republican tract, and was The arguments of Condorcet, the battle words of sentenced to seven years' transportation. Mirabeau, the indomitable zeal of St. Just, the iron But the friends of the people were not quelled by energy of Danton, the caustic wit of Camille Des- this summary punishment of two of their devoted moulins and Gaudet, and the sweet eloquence of leaders. In the 10th month, 1793, delegates were Vergniaud, found echoes in all lands; and nowhere called together from various towns in Scotland, as more readily than in Great Britain, the ancient foel well as from Birmingham, Sheffield, and other places


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