'T was twilight, and the sunless day-went down Over the waste of waters, like a veil,
Which-(if withdrawn) would but disclose the frown- Of one whose hate-is masked-but to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes-the night was shown,
And grimly darkled-o'er the faces pale, And the dim-desolate deep; twelve days-had Fear- Been their familiar,—and now-Death-was here! Then-rose-(from the sea)-the wild farewell,- Then-shrieked-the timid,-and stood still-the brave,— Then-some-leaped overboard—(with dreadful yell,) As eager to anticipate-their grave; And the sea-yawned around her-(like a hell,) And down-she sucked with her-the whirling wave, Like one-who grapples—with his enemy,— And strives to strangle him-before he die!
And first-one universal shriek-there rushed,— Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash- Of echoing thunder; and then-all-was hushed, Save the wild wind-and the remorseless dash Of billows; but―(at intervals) there gushed,- (Accompanied with a convulsive splash,) A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry—
Of some strong swimmer-in his agony.
There were two fathers-(in this ghastly crew,)— And with them—their two sons, of whom the one-
Was more robust-and hardy-to the view;
But he--died-early; and when he was gone
His nearest mess-mate-told his sire, who threw
One glance on him,-and said,-"Heaven's will-be done!
I can do nothing!" and he saw him-thrown
Into the deep,-without a tear—or groan !
The other father-had a weaklier child,—
Of a soft cheek-and aspect delicate; But the boy-bore up-long,-and (with a mild- And patient spirit)-held aloof-his fate; Little-he said,—and now-and then-he smiled,- As if to win a part-from off the weight-
He saw increasing-on his father's heart,
With the deep-deadly thought-th't they must part!
And o'er him-bent his sire, and never raised
His eyes-from off his face,-but wiped the foam
From his pale lips,—and ever-on him gazed!
And when the wished-for shower-(at length) was come, And the boy's eyes,-(which the dull film-half-glazed,)— Brightened, and-(for a moment) seemed to roam,
He squeezed (from out a rag) some drops of rain- Into his dying child's mouth; but-in vain!
The boy expired; the father-held the clay,
And looked upon it long; and when (at last) Death-left no doubt,—and the dead burden-lay Stiff-on his heart,-and pulse-and hope was past, He watched it (wistfully,)—until away
'T was borne-by the rude wave-wherein 't was cast; Then—he—(himself) sunk down--all dumb—and shivering, And gave no sign—of life,—save his limbs—quivering.
XLV.-ORIGIN OF FEELINGS, THOUGHTS, AND ACTS. The origin of beauty, love,—and truth,— Of light, life, motion, and immortal youth, Of form, of music, sweetnsss,—and delight, Flashes-from God's own image-on my sight. I feel the pulses of the Eternal Soul—
In all my veins. My thoughts-within me-roll Like new-born planets, flushed with happy life; My nature is at rest. There is no strife, No battle of contending forms,—above Earth-and its spheres.
Know ye the land of love?
Its ancient boundaries, the broad extent
Of its illimitable continent?
Where'er worlds bloom-and spirit skies unfold, Outflow its atmospheres of living gold.
The universe-is like a silver bell;—
The tongue of time—such harmony doth tell That worlds-are formed within the widening sea- Of our divine,—perpetual ecstasy.
One passion-prominent appears:—the lust
Of power,-which oft-times-took the fairer name
Of liberty, and hung the popular flag—
Of FREEDOM Out. Many,-indeed, its names.
When on the throne it sat,-and round the neck
Of millions-riveted-its iron chain,
And on the shoulders of the people—laid Burdens-unmerciful,—it title took—
Of tyranny,-oppression,-despotism; And every tongue-was weary—cursing it. When in the multitude-it gathered strength, And, (like an ocean-bursting-from its bounds,— Long beat in vain,) went forth resistlessly,—
It bore the stamp-and designation then
Of popular fury,-anarchy,—rebellion;
And honest men-bewailed, all order—void; All laws-annulled; all property—destroyed; The venerable-murdered-in the streets;
The wise-despised; streams-red-with human blood; Harvests-beneath the frantic foot-trod down; Lands-desolate, and famine-at the door. These are a part; but other names it had Innumerous-as the shapes-and robes-it wore. But-under every name,-in nature-still- Invariably the same,-and always-bad, Conflicting cruelly-against itself,
By its own hand-it fell; part-slaying part. And men-who noticed not the suicide
Stood-wondering much-why earth,-from age—to age,— Was still enslaved,—and erring causes―gave.
This was earth's liberty,-its nature-this, However named, in whomsoever found,— And found it was-in all-of woman born,- Each man-to make all-subject to his will;
To make them do,-undo,-eat,—drink,—stand,—move, Talk,-think, and feel-exactly—as he chose.
Hence the eternal strife—of brotherhoods,
Of individuals, families,—commonwealths.
The root-(from which it grew)—was pride; bad root,— And bad-the fruit it bore. Then wonder not Th't long-the nations-from it-richly reaped Oppression,-slavery,—tyranny,—and war; Confusion,-desolation,-trouble-shame.
And, marvelous-tho' it seems,-this monster,—(when It took the name-of slavery,—as oft
It did,)-had advocates-to plead its cause;
Beings th't walked erect,—and spoke-like men
Of Christian parentage descended too,
And dipped-in the baptismal font,-as
Of dedication-to the Prince-who bowed
To death-to set the sin-bound prisoner-free.
Unchristian thought! on what pretense—soe'er—
Of right inherited,—or else-acquired;—
Of loss, or profit, or what plea-you name,— To buy and sell,—to barter,-whip,—and hold— In chains-a being-of celestial make;
Of kindred form,—of kindred faculties,— Of kindred feelings,—passions,—thoughts,—desires; Born-free-and heir-of an immortal hope; Thought-villainous,—absurd,—detestable ! Unworthy to be harbored-in a fiend! And only overreached-in wickedness- By that, birth-too of earthly liberty, Which aimed-to make a reasonable man
By legistation-think,—and by the sword-believe.
XLVII.-FOWLS OF THE AIR AND LILIES OF THE FIELD.
When my breast labors-with oppressive care,— And o'er my cheek-descends th' falling tear, While all my warring passions—are at strife, Oh! let me list n-t' th' words of life.
Raptures (deep-felt)—his doctrine did impart,— And thus-he rais'd from earth-th' drooping heart.
"Think not-when all-your scanty stores afford Is spread-(at once)-upon th' sparing board; Think not-when worn-th' homely robe appears,- While on th' roof-th' howling tempest bears;- What-farther—shall this feeble life sustain,— And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again. Say, does not life-its nourishment—exceed, And th' fair body—its investing weed? Behold! and look away-your low despair,- See th' bright tenants of th' barren air:
T' them-nor stores-nor granaries-belong; Naught-but th' woodland—and th' pleasing song; Yet your kind-heavenly Father-bends his eye On th' least wing-th't flits along th' sky.
T' him—they sing—when spring-renews th' plain; T' him—they cry—in winter's pinching reign; Nor is their music-nor their plaint-in vain; He hears th' gay-and th' distressful call, And-(with unsparing bounty)—fills them all.”
Observe-th' rising lily's snowy grace; Observe-th' various-vegetable race;
They-neither toil-nor spin,-but careless grow; Yet see how warm-they blush, how bright-they glow! What regal vestments-can-with them compare!
What king-so shining, or what queen-so fair | If-ceaseless-(thus)-th' fowls of heav'n-he feeds, If-o'er th' fields—such lucid robes—he spreads, Will He not care for you,-(ye faithless,)—say? Is He-unwise, or—are ye-less-than they?
XLVIII.-PROGRESS OF LIFE FROM INFANCY TO OLD AGE.
I dream'd-I saw-a little rosy child- (With flaxen ringlets)—in a garden playing;- Now-stopping here,—and then-afar off-straying,-- As flowers-or butterfly-his feet beguiled.
'Twas chang'd. One summer's day-I stepp'd aside- T' let him pass; his face-and manhood—seeming, And that full eye-of blue-was fondly beaming On a fair maiden-whom he called-"his bride!"
Once-more: 't was autumn,-and-(th' cheerful fire)— I saw a group of youthful forms-surrounding; (Th' room with harmless pleasantry-resounding,)— And-(in th' midst)—I mark'd-th' smiling sire. Th' heavens-were clouded, and I heard th' tone- Of a slow-moving bell;—th' white-hair'd man—was gone.
XLIX.-HAIL TO THE GENTLE BRIDE.-MITFORD. Hail-t' th' gentle bride, th' dove- High nested-in th' column's crest! Oh, welcome-as th' bird of love, Who bore the olive-sign-of rest! Hail t' th' gentle bride! th' flower—
Whose garlands--round th' column twine!
Oh, fairer—than th' citron bower,—
More fragrant-than th' blossomed vine! Hail t' th' gentle bride! th' star—
Whose radiance-o'er th' column beams; Oh, soft-as moonlight-seen afar- A silver shine-on trembling streams!
The way was long, the wind-was cold, The Minstrel was infirm-and old; His withered cheek-and tresses gray- Seemed to have known a better day. The harp, (his sole remaining joy,) Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the bards-was he Who sung-of Border chivalry. For, well-a-day! their date-was fled, His tuneful brethren-all were dead; And he, neglected-and oppressed, Wished to be with them,—and at rest. No more,-on prancing palfrey borne, He caroled,-light as lark—at morn; No longer, courted—and caressed, High placed in hall, a welcome guest, He poured-to lord—and lady gay—
The unpremeditated lay.
Old times-were changed, old manners—gone;
A stranger-filled the Stuarts' throne.
A wandering harper, (scorned—and poor,) He begged his bread-from door to door; And tuned, (to please a peasant's ear,) The harp-a king-had loved to hear.
He passed-where Newark's stately tower Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower;
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