Hallowed Ground. WHAT 's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod By man, the image of his God Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee? That's hallowed ground-where, mourned and missed, No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. A kiss can consecrate the ground Where mated hearts are mutual bound: The spot where love's first links were wound, Is hallowed down to earth's profound, For time makes all but true love old; Until the heart itself be cold In Lethe's pool. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? Or Genii twine beneath the deep But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind- To live in hearts we leave behind, Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right? What can alone ennoble fight? Give that! and welcome War to brace Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space! The colours planted face to face, The charging cheer, Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, And place our trophies where men kneel Transfer it from the sword's appeal Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, Where they are not The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. To incantations dost thou trust, That men can bless one pile of dust The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban- Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, Make music, though unheard their pealing Fair stars! are not your beings pure? Ye must be Heavens that make us sure And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time; And reason on his mortal clime Immortal dawn. What 's hallowed ground? 'T is what gives birth And your high priesthood shall make earth CAMPBELL. The Lost Wife. LONE, by my solitary hearth, Whence peace hath fled, And home-like joys, and innocent mirth Are banished; Silent and sad, I linger to recall The memory of all In thee, dear partner of my cares, I lost; Cares, shared with thee, more sweet than joys the world can boast. My home-why did I say my home! Now have I none, Unless thou from the grave again couldst come, My home was in thy trusting heart, Where'er thou wert; My happy home in thy confiding breast, Where my worn spirit refuge found and rest. I know not if thou wast most fair And best of womankind; Or whether earth yet beareth fruits more rare Of heart and mind; TO ME, I know, thou wert the fairest, Kindest, dearest, That heaven to man in mercy ever gave, And more than man from heaven deserved to have. Never from thee, sweet wife, Came word or look awry, Nor peacock pride, nor sullen fit, nor strife Calm and controlled thy spirit was, and sure My friend, protectress, guide, whose gentle will Compelled my good, withholding from me ill. No art of selfishness Thy generous nature knew; Thy life all love, thy bliss the power to bless; Content, if to thy lot the world should bring Unhappy, if permitted but to share Part of my griefs, wouldst both our burthens bear. |