II.

Aye! little dreams the joyous child,
That prattles on a mother's knee,

How scenes, that on life's morning smiled,
May change ere evening mournfully!
But he can tell, whose heart hath tried
The perils of that treacherous tide

On which the child of earth is cast,
To wander, like a fragile bark

Adrift upon the ocean vast,

When daylight yields to storm and dark,
And bosoms yearn for happy homes,
And friendly arms outstretched to save,
As often as the tempest comes,
Athwart the gleaming, rushing wave.

III.

Why is it that thy loveliness,

With lovelier innocence combined, Should thus recall the deep distress,

And faithlessness of human kind?

'Tis as the warbling of a bird,—
When by the bowed-down captive heard,
Or him who on the couch of pain,

With prostrate powers hath long been laid,-
Brings to his memory again,

The joys that offered not to fade

Till folly withered manhood's strength, And treachery smote his spirit down, And dark despondency at length Proclaimed they were for ever flown!

IV.

But, dark despondency, away!

The gloomiest hour precedes the dawn; Trouble that overcast our day

Hath vanished at the voice of morn ; Friends have arisen to cheer our soul, Restore the peace that error stole,

And chase away the deadly feeling That man, concentrated in self,

No glimpse of nobleness revealing,
Reserves his homage all for pelf!

Yes! mortal life, with all its ills,
Is better, child, than I may deem;
Even my lone bosom sometimes thrills,
And oft mine eyes with rapture gleam.

V.

And is there not a Friend who cleaves
More closely than a brother to us,
Who, once he owns us, never leaves,

Though foes and follies would undo us,
Who bears with all our heedlessness,
And waiting stands to save and bless?

Are there not rays of hoped for glory
Piercing the void twixt earth and heaven,
Telling below the enchanting story
Of full and endless triumph given,

To white robed conquerors on high,
Who fought and won in faithful strife,
And now, 'mid splendors of the sky,
Quaff gladness from the fount of life?

VI.

Yes! clinging fond one, yes! there be,
In that high kingdom, all whose sons
And all whose daughters, like to thee

In humble trust, now sit on thrones,
And reign, while subject to that WORD-
Of kings the king, of lords the lord.

Then for thee, dear and cherished thing!
We would not bode of ill, but rather
Far from thy path all sorrows fling,
And blessings all around it gather,
As upward, like the morning light,
It guides thee, brightening on for aye,
Till, in the sanctuary's height,
It merges into perfect day!

VII.

Some souls there are of perverse mold,
Whom all things others love annoy,
Whose drear and sullen coarse runs cold
Beneath the light of love and joy-
As desert torrents sunbeams meet,
Yet tarry not to prove their heat!

But thou, if thou inheritest

The heart and soul of those who own thee,

Shalt live to render others blest,

And feel their blessing rest upon thee.

And now I pray that, born anew,

Thou may'st, through womanhood and age,
That heavenly beauty show, whose hue

Still freshens on life's pilgrimage,

Till, crowned above with honors due,
Thou dost in deathless songs engage.

Albany, August, 1347.

D'AUBIGNE'S CROMWELL.

THE PROTECTOR, a Vindication: by J. H. Merle D'Aubigné, D. D.

In all the great and stirring periods of the world's history there have been leading men, whose character has remained, through many years of doubt and disputation, a problem for impartial historians to solve. The very prominence of such individuals in the revolutions of states and churches, instead of rendering their lives more intelligible, and the knowledge of their motives more certain as it ought if society were perfect- has raised up so many conflicting opinions, and excited to so great an extent the feelings of adverse parties, that the truth may lie concealed for generations under the rubbish which has been cast over it during the general commotion. While the commotion lasted, the elements of society were so turbid that reality could not be discerned through their medium, and after the establishment of a calm, truth still was overlaid by the deposits which resulted from their subsidence. This fate has chiefly attended the great actors in the work of important political or ecclesiastical change, because their position was in the midst of the agitation, and exposed them most of all to the darkening aud disturbing influence of opposing masses. Time, however, which blackens and consumes, in its long course, the work even of great men's hands, has a different effect on their character if it be composed of really enduring materials. Hence the character of such men as Cæsar and Constantine is now well ascertained. Party feeling with respect to them has had time to fade away. The incense cloud of flatterers and the volcanic breath of adversaries have alike vanished, and the individuals, as they actually were, now stand forth to our inspection, through the vista of ages. There is no longer an Antony to dispute the ambition of the first heathen emperor of Rome, nor a Eusebius to invest his first Christian successor with a direct theocratic commission from on high. The actual conversion of Constantine to Christianity, is yet problematical, and its uncertainty affords a remarkable proof of the extraordinary intensity which the religious element imparts to human prejudice. This we shall have occasion to notice hereafter.

But when we descend to times nearer our own, we immediately experience the distorting power of still living and active impressions. The storms which agitated the political or polemical atmosphere and waters may have ceased to rage; but there is still a rack in the sky and a roll on the deep; so that we cannot make our observations with full precision and steadiness. Napoleon, for example, is still the idol of one great party, and the execration of another. His military genius is the only point on which all are agreed. George the Third of England is almost worshipped by

one set of men as a saint, and by another denounced as a bigot and a despot. His true history has yet to be written. Louis Philippe is regarded by multitudes as one of the wisest and greatest of monarchs, while he is scorned by immense numbers even of his own subjects as a mere intriguer. Daniel O'Connell is hailed by the catholics of Ireland and many others as the liberator of his country, and the worthy recipient of the mantle of Grattan, while he is branded by thousands as having attained the bad eminence of the Prince of Knaves. But we need not multiply examples. The truth which we would illustrate is one of the most trite; although, like others of the same kind, it is so frequently overlooked, that its repetition and enforcement are not only excusable but a duty.

nose.

Of all historical characters, however, that of Oliver Cromwell is in many respects the most striking. Its various features were believed to have been unalterably fixed. His abilities as a soldier and a sovereign-for he was a sovereign - have long been freely allowed. England was never more respected than during his administration, and no man better deserves a place in the gallery of her rulers, with whose statues her new legislative halls are being at present adorned. But on the other hand his consummate hypoc risy was supposed to be equally certain. For about two hundred years its existence was as little doubted as that of the wart upon his Charles the First, the man Charles Stuart, as the Roundheads called him, was canonized as a martyr, and his successful opponent stigmatized as a pharisee, and a conscience-haunted murderer. Now, however, the tables have been turned, the mists of prejudice and bigotry have been dispelled; the structure of truth, like the streets of Pompeii, has been excavated from the overlying debris of fiery convulsion, and the regicide is excused, if not absolutely justified in his deed, while the canonization of the saint goes to strengthen the evidence that churches are not infallible. Or at all events, if the Church of England still holds Charles as a martyr, and loyally celebrates the restoration of his profligate son, she will probably now admit that Cromwell was sincere, and only misled by not realizing the fiction that an absolute monarch can do no wrong!

The complete vindication of the Protector we owe to Thomas Carlyle. Doctor Merle D'Aubigné's book originated in a review of the English author; and we think that had the historian of the Reformation consulted his own fame more than the interests of truth, he would either have contented himself with a mere review, or bestowed more labor upon his task, if he found that a treatise was necessary. The work before us is scarcely worthy of D'Aubigné's reputation. It possesses neither the eloquence nor the pointed clearness of his history. Had Mr. Carlyle's book not preceded it, it would undoubtedly have caused a sensation; although it might not have silenced the gainsayer; but coming after the Englishman's work, it is assez peu de chose. Let Dr. Merle D'Aubigné beware of book-making. Let him see that his publisher does not

make merchandize of his well-earned renown. Let him fully elaborate all his topics, and never do any thing hastily or superficially. For this once his name and his coincidence in opinion with Carlyle will do much toward the vindication of Oliver Cromwell. Indeed the question seems already set at rest, and D'Aubigné may fairly claim a share of the merit. Yet that share is but small. He has only verified the experiment which was made and established by another investigator.

And how is it that Cromwell has been so long and so grievously misrepresented? That he should always have been calumniated by the royalist party, and especially after they had prevailed, and Charles the Second was seated on the throne, is not to be wondered at. But that the impression of his wickedness and hypocrisy should have been so deep and universal, is astonishing. That the licentious courtiers and venal authors of the merry monarch's reign should have bespattered with their ribaldry the character of a whole class of pious men, and particularly of their chief, is most natural. The opposition between the two parties, the struggles in which they had so recently been engaged, and the recollection of defeat inflicted on persons who thought themselves possessed of all the valor and military skill in the nation, by inen whose very profession of religion was supposed to imply fanaticism and cowardice-these rendered slander and abuse inevitable. But that for so long a space thereafter, both Christians and men of the world—both the pious and the profane - should have united in looking upon Cromwell as an able and ambitious impostor, as assuming the cloak of sanctity for the purpose of ruling a powerful section of the people, of chastising by their means the insolent cavaliers, of seizing the supreme power, and of vindicating atrocious crimes this is so strange that we must seek the explanation of it in some other causes than the simple misstatements of contemporary and immediately subsequent party historians. The mere commotions of opposition, the obscuration thereby occasioned, and the uncertainty succeeding their settlement, will not account for an error so palpable and so prevalent. No; we recognize in this phenomenon the presence of a religious element of that ecclesiastical evil spirit which still haunts the memory of Luther and Calvin, and from which that of Knox was not free even in his own country- the most reformed in Europe - till M'Crie published his triumphant vindication. There is something in sectarian animosity which is far more inveterate than even the bitterness of politics, and which shrinks not from the use of any means, however nefarious, of discomfiting an opponent. When arguments fail, physical force is called in; and when that too is found unavailing, falsehood and calumny are slipped, like hellhounds, to mangle the reputation of those who have truth and justice on their side. We believe in Satanic agency. The machinations of the devil and his personality are not mere metaphors. They are realities. Somehow or other he is able to influ