Imágenes de páginas

And as it mantling passes ronnd.
With feunel is it wreathed and crowned,
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned
Are in its waters steeped and drowned,

And give a bitter taste.
Above the lowly plants it towers.
The feunel with its yellow flowers,
And in an earlier age than onrs.
Was gifted with the wondrons powers

Lost vision to restore.
It gave new strength and fearless mood;
\nd gladiators, fieree and rnde,
Mingled it in their daily food;
And he who battled and subdned,

A wreath of feunel wore.

Then in Life's goblet freely press
Tlie leaves that give it bitterness,
Nor prize the coloured waterless,
For in thy darkness and distress,

New light and strength they give!
And he who has not learned to know
How false its sparkling bubbles show,
How bitter are the drops of woe.
With which its brim may overflow,

He has not learned to live.
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
Throngh all that dark and desperate night,
The blackness of that no»nday night,
He asked bnt the return of sight,

To see his foeinan's face.
Let onr unceasing, earnest prayer
lie, tuo. for light,- for strength to bear
Our portion of the weight of care,
That crushes into dumb despair

One half the human race.
O, suffering, sad humanity!

O ye afflieted one, who lie
Steeped to the lips in misery.
Longing, and yet afraid to die.

Patient, thongh sorely tried!

1 pledge von in this cup of grief.
Where floats the feunel's bitter leaf!
The Battle of onr Life is brief,

The alarm,—the struggle,—the relief,—
Then sleep we side by side.


Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes,
In whoso orbs a shadow lies.
Like the dusk in evening skies!.

Thon whose locks ontshine the sun,
Golden tresses wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluetant feet.
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance.
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expause!

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beantiful to thee umst seem,
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
W;^en bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

Seest thon shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadows fly 'i

Hearest thon voices on the shore,
That onr ears pereeive no more,
peafened by the cataraet's roar?

O, thon child of many prayers!

Life hath quicksands,—Life hath suaws!

Care and age come unawares!

Like the'swell hi some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon.
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bongh where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered;
Age, that bongh with suows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the yonng heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of suows.

Boar a lily in thy hand;

Gates of brass caunot withstand

One tonch of that magic wand.

Bear, throngh sorrow, wrong, and rnih,

In thy heart the dew of yonth,

On thy lips the smile of trnth.

Oh, that dew, like baim shall steal
Into wonnds that caunot heal.
Even as sleep onr eyes doth seal;
And that smile, like suushine, dart
Into many a suuless heart,
For a smile of God thon art


The shades of night were falling fast.
As throngh an Alpine village passed,
A yonth, who bore 'mid suow and ice,
A bauner with this strange device,

His brow was sad: his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faalcbion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rang,
The aecents of that unknown tongne,


In happy homes he saw the light
Of honsehold tires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the speetral glaciers shone,
And from bis lips escaped a groan,

"Try not the Pass I" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead.
The roaring torrent is deep and wide
And lond that clarion voice replied,

"Oh stay," the maiden said, " and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blne eye,
Bnt still he auswered, with a sigh,

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior I

At break of day, as heaven-ward
The pions monks of St. Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried throngh the startied air,

A traveller, by the faithful honnd.
Half-buried in the suow was fonnd,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That bauner with the strange device,

There in the twilight cold and grey,
Lifeless, bnt beantiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,

[The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of Oetober. I had not then heard of Dr. Chauning's death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no long 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.]


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 mo Like Lnther's In the days of old,

Half-battles for the free.

Goon, until this land revokes

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

Iusult humanity

A voice is ever at thy side,

Speaking in tones of might,
Liko the prophetic voice, that cried

To Johu in Patmos, " Write!"

Write! and tell ont this bloody tale

Record this dire eclipse.
Tliis Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,

This dread Apocalypse!


Beside the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;
Ills 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 throngh the landscape of his dreams

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

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

Descend the monntain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed qneen

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 furions speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank;
His bridle-reius were golden chaius,

And, with a martini clank.
At each leap he conld feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew;
From morn till night he followed their flitfit,

O'er plaius where the tamarind grew
Till he saw the roofs of Caffre hnts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,

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

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

Throngh the trinmph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongnes,

Shonted of liberty:
And the Blast of the Desert cried alond,

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

At their tempestuons 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-oat fetter, that the sonl

Had broken and thrown away!



She dwells by great Kenhawa's side,

In valleys green and cool:
And all her hope and ail her pride

Are in the village school.

Her sonl, like the trausparent air

That robes the hills above,
Thongh not ot earth, encireles thero

All things with arras of love.

And thus she walks among her girls,
With praise and mild rebukes:

Subduing e'en rnde village churls
By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide

Of One who came te save;
To cast the captive's chaius aside.

And liberate the slave.

And oft the blessed time foretells

When all men shall be free:
And umsical as silver beHs,

Their falling chaius 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 all

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

And labonred in her lands. *

Long since beyond the Sonthern Sea
Their onthonnd sails have sped,

While she, in meek humility.
Now earus her daily brea'd.

It is their prayers, which never cease.
That clothe "her with snch grace.

Their blessing is the light of peace
That shines upon her face.

THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. In-the dark feus of the Dismal Swamp .

The hunted negro lay;
He saw the fire of the miduight camp,
And heard it at times a horse's tramp

And a bloodhonnd's distant bay.

Where will-o'-the wisps and glow-worms shine,

In buirush and in brake; Where waving mosses shrond tho pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonons vine

Is spotted like the suake;

Where hardly a human foot conld pass,

Or a human heart wonld dare,
On the quaking turf of the green morass
He conched in the rank and tangled grass.

Like a wild beast in his lair

A poor old slave. infirm and lamo;

Great scars deformed his face;
On his forehead he bare the brand of shame.
And the rags that hid his mangled frame

W ere the livery of disgrace.
All things above were bright and fair.

All things were glad and free;
Lithe squirrels darted here and there
And wild birds filled the echoing air

\\ ith songs of Liberty!

On him alone was the doom of pain,

from the morning of his birth • On him alone the curse of Cain Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain.

And strnck him to the earth.

Loud lie sang the psaim of David •
He, a Negro and euslaved,
Sang of Israel's vietory,
Sang of Zion, bright and free.
In that honr, when night is caimest,
Sang he from the Hebrew Psaimist,
In a voice so sweet and clear
That I conld not choose bnt hear,
Songs of trinmph, and ascriptious.
Snch as reached the swart Egyptiaus,
When upon the Red Sea coast
Perished Pharaob and his host.
And the voice of his devotion
Fllled my sonl with strange emotion;
For its tones by turus were glad,
Sweetly soleum, wildly sad.

Paul and Silas, in their prison,
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen,
And an earthquake's arm of might,
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.
Bnt, alas! what holy angel
Brings the Slave this glad evangel?
And what earthquakes arm of might
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?

In Ocean's wide domaius,

Half buried in the sands,
Like skeletous in chaius.

With shackled feet and hands.
Beyond the fall of dews,

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

No more to sink nor rise.

There the black Slave-shin swims,

Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered, fleshiess 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!"

Within Earth's wide domaius

Are markets for men's lives, Their necks are galled with chaius.

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

In deserts makes its prey; Murders, that with affright

Scare schooiboys from their play. All evil thonghts and deeds;

Anger, and lust, and pride; The fonlest, rankest weeds.

That choke Life's groaning tide! These are Che woes of Slaves;

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

"We are the Witnesses!"

THE QUADROON GIRL. The Slaver in the broad lagoon

Lay moored with idle sail: He waited for the rising moon,

And for the evening gale.

Under the shore his boat was tied

And all her listless crew Watched the grev alligator slido

Into the stilt bayon.

Odonrs of orange-flowers and spice,
lieached them from time to time.

Like airs that breathe from Paradise
Upon a world of crime.

The Planter, under his roof ef thatch.
Smoked thonghtfully and slow;

itio Slaver's thumb was on the latch.
He seemed in haste to go.

He said, "My ship at anchor rides

In yonder broad lagoon
I ouly wait the evening tides.

And the rising of the moon."

Before them, with her face upraised

In timid attitnde,
Like one half curions, half-amazed,

A Quadroon maiden stood.

Her eyes were large, and full of light.

Her arms and neck were bare; No garment she wore save a kirtle bright,

And her own long, raven air.

And on her lips there played n smile

As holy, meek, and faint.
As lights in some cathedral aisle,

The features of a saint.

"The soil is barren.—the farm is old,"

The thonghtful Planter said;
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold,

And then upon the maid.

His heart within him was at strife

With snch aecursed gaius: For he knew whose passious gave her life,

Whose blood ran in her veius.

Bnt the voice of na'ture was too weak:

He took the glittering gold 1 Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek,

Her hands as Iey cold.

The Slaver led her from the door,

He led her by the hand,
To be his slave and paramonr

In a strange and distant land.

THE WARNING. Bewaee! The Israelite of old, who tore

The lion in Iiis path,—when, poor and blind, He saw the blessed light of heaven no more.

Shorn of his noble strength and foreed to grind In prison, and at last led forth to be A pander to Philistine reveiry,— Upon the pillars of the temple laid

His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who made

A crnel mockery of his sightless woe; The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all, Expired, and thonsands perished in the fail! There is a poor, blind Samson in this land,

Shorn of his strength, and bonnd in bonds of steel, Who may, in some grim revel raise his hand,

And shake the pillars of this Commonweal,
Till the vast Temple of onr liberties
A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies.



In the ancient town of Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city,
As the evening shndes decended,
Low ami lond and sweetly blended,
Low at times and lond at times,
And changing like a poet's rhymes,
Rang the beantiful wild chimes
From the Belfry in the market
Of the ancient town of Bruges
Then with deep sonorons clangonr
Caimly auswering their sweet anger,
When the wrangling bells had ended,
Slowly strnck the clock eleven,
And, from ont the silent heaven,
Silence on the town descended,
Silence, silence everywhere,
On the earth and in the air.
Save that footsteps here and there
Of some burgher home returning,
By the street lamps faintly burning,
For a moment woke the echoes
Of the ancient town of Bruges.
Bnt amid my broken slumbers
Still I heard those magic numbers,
As they lond proclaimed the flight
And stolen marehes of the night;
Till their chimes in sweet collision
Mingled with each wandering vision,
.Mingled with the fortune-telling
Gipsy-bands of dreams and fancies,
Which amid the vast expauses
Of the silent land of trances
Have their solitary dwelling,
All else seemed asleep in Bruges,
In the quaint old Flemish city.
And I thonght how like these chime
Are the poet's airy rhymes.
All his rhvmes and ronndelays,
Hls conceits, and songs and ditties,
From the belfry of his brain.
Scattered downward, thongh in vain,
On the roofs and stones of cities!
For by night the drowsy ear
Under its curtaius caunot hour,
And by day men go their ways,
Hearing the umsic as they pass,
Bnt deeming it no more, alas!
Than the hollow sonnd of brass.

Yet perehance a sleepless wight,

Lodging at some humble iun

In the narrow lunes of life,

When the dusk and hush of night

Shnt ont the incessant din

Of daylight and its toils and strife,

May listen with a caim delight

To the poet's melodies,

Till he hears, or dreams lie hears,

Intermingled with the song.

Thonghts that he has cherished long;

Hears amid the chime and singing

The bells of his own village ringing,

And wakes and finds his slumberons eyes

Wet with most delicions tears

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay
In Bruges at, the Fleur-de-Ble",
Listening with a wild delight
To the chimes that throngh the night,
Rang their changes from the Belfry
Of that quaint old Flemish city.


In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry

old and brown: Thrice cousumed and thrice rebuilded, still it

watches o'er the town.

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty

tower I stood, And the world threw off the darkness, like the

weeds of widowhood.

Thick with towus and hamlets stndded, and with

streams and vaponrs grey. Like a shield embossed with silver, ronnd and

vast the landscape lay.

At my feet the city sh>nbered. From its chimneys here and there,

Wreaths of suow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like into air.

Not a sonnd rose from the city at the early morning honr.

Bnt 1 heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the

swallows wild and high; And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed

more distant than the sky.

Then most umsical and soleum, bringing back

the olden times. With their strange, unearthiy changes rang the

melancholy chimes,

Like the psaims from some old cloister, when

the nuus sing in the choir; And the great bell tolled among them, like the

chanting of a friar.

Visious of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain,

They who live in History ouly seem to walk the earth again;

All the Foresters of Flanders,*—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer.

Lyderick du Bncq and Creasyt Philip, Guy de Dam pier re.

I beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned

those days of old; Stately dames, like qneeus attended,-! knights

who bore the Fleece of Gold;5

Lombard and Venetian merehants with deepladen argosies;

Ministers from twenty natious; more than royal pomp and ease.

l beheld prond Maximilian, kneeling immbly on

the gronnd; l beheld the gentle Mary,« imnting with her

hawk and honnd;

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a dnke

slept with the qneen. And the armed gnard aronnd them, and the

sword nusheathed between

l beheld the Flemish weavers, with Isamnr and

Jnliers bold, Marehing homeward from the bloody battle of

the Spnrs of Gold,-7

Saw the fight at Mlunewnter,s saw the White

Hoods moving west, Saw great Artevelde victorions scale the Golden

Dragous nest,9

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land

with terror smote; And again the wild alarnm sonnded from the

toesin's throat;

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and

dike of sand, "I am Roland! 1 am Roland! there is victorv in

the land!"

Then the sonnd of drnms aronsed me. The

awakened city's roar Chased the phantoms l had summonedbackinto

their graves once more.

Honrs had passed away like minntes: and, before l was aware,

Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the snnillnmined sqnare.

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