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With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.

They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle steed; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart! One piercing neigh Arose,--and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again.

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The noble horse,
That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils
Neighed courage to his rider, and brake through
Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord
Safe to triumphant victory, old or wounded,
Was set at liberty and freed from service.
The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew
Marble, hewed for the temple of the gods,
The great work ended, were dismissed and fed
At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found
Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel,
Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave.

MASSINGER.

(The following Poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of October (1842.] I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death, Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.)

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING.

THE pages of thy book I read,

And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,

“ Servant of God! well done!"
Well done! Thy words are great and bold;

At times they seem to me,

Like Luther's, in the days of old,

Half-battles for the free.

Go on, until this land revokes

The old and chartered Lie,
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes

Insult humanity.
A voice is ever at thy side,

Speaking in tones of might,
Like the prophetic voice, that criedi

To John in Patmos, “ Write !"

Write! and tell out this bloody tale;

Record this dire eclipse,
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,

This dread Apocalypse !

THE SLAVE'S DREAM,

BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair

Was buried in the sand.
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,

He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flowed; Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen

Among her children stand; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,

They held him by the hand !

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids,

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank; llis bridle-reins were golden chains,

And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;
From morn till nightyhe followed their flight,

O'er the plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,
And the ocean rose to view.

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At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyæna scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream.
The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty ;
And the blast.of the Desert cried aloud,

With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep, and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.
He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,

And his lifeless body lay.
A worn-out fetter, that the soul2,

Had broken and thrown'away!

THE GOOD PART THAT SHALL NOT BE

TAKEN AWAY.

SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side,

In valleys green and cool ;
And all her hope and all her pride

Are in the village school.

Her soul, like the transparent air

That robes the hills above,
Though not of earth, encircles there

All things with arms of love.
And thus she walks among her girls,

With praise, and mild rebukes ;
Subduing e'en rude village churls

By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide

Of One who came to save ;
To cast the captive's chains aside,

And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells

When all men shall be free;
And musical, as silver bells,

Their falling chains shall be.

And following her beloved Lord,

In decent poverty,
She makes her life one sweet record

And deed of charity.
For she was rich, and gave up all

To break the iron bands
Of those who waited in her hall,

And laboured in her lands.

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