114

RELIGION UNREVEALED.

The headlong torrent with its noise of war,
The brook that gurgled o'er the velvet vale,
The hoar and giant mountain, seen afar,

.

Whose dusky summit seamen wont to hail,

Ere Tiber or Piræus saw their sail

The awful forest, and romantic wood,

Each had its god, its shrine, its song and tale, Twilight revealments of a restless mood, Gentle creations of the heart's dim solitude.

Gymnosophist or gnostic ne'er beheld
Wilder or fairer visions; every spot
Was peopled by divinities; hills swelled
And valleys glowed with grandeur; unforgot,
Man felt his Maker everywhere, and nought
Dimmed his deep faith that they, whose features won
His household prayer, would guide him to a lot
Blest as the flower that blossoms in the sun,

When toil had gained its meed, and virtue's race was run.

Fear had its triumphs then-when had it not?
Cocytus, Phlegethon, the gulph of gloom,
Forms shadowless in sunlight-shades of thought!
But sacred sympathies o'er all did bloom;
And the fair urn, unlike the mouldering tomb,
Freshened the memory of the cherished dead;.
And, bending o'er it, love could still illume
The father's ashes, and around them shed

The sunbeams of the soul, that followed when he fled.

RELIGION UNREVEALED.

Ancient romance! thy spirit o'er me came In early years, and many a weary hour Hath glided by, like music, while the fame Of genius held me in its welcome power. And now-though shadows rest upon thy bower, And sorrow weeps o'er my vain vanished dreams,I feel, thou hadst a great and glorious dower, From whose vast treasure, time's unnumbered streams Have washed to us the gold that in our vision gleams.

115

THE FATHER'S LEGACY.

By Hudson's glorious stream, in death's cold rest, Thy head lies low, my great and gallant sire! Pillowed in peace on earth's eternal breast, No more thy bosom pants with hope's desire. Now, more than ever, doth thy name inspire, For lingering years have wept above thy grave, And shed their cold dews o'er my lonely lyre, But to enhance the grief that could not save, The settled woe that sighs o'er Hudson's midnight wave.

In the first gush and glory of my years,

Ere reason gloed, or memory held her power,
Thy pale proud brow was wet with infant tears,
And wild cries rose in thy deserted bower!
Oh, how the dim remembrance of that hour
Crowds on my brain like night's most shadowy dream,
When winds wail loud and o'erfraught tempests lower,
A glimpse of glory in a meteor's gleam,

Sunlight in storms-a flower upon the rushing stream.

THE FATHER'S LEGACY.

The budding boughs, the limpid light of spring,
The mirrored beauty of the brimming rills,
The greenness and the gentle airs, that bring
Life's golden hours again, when heavenly hills
And vales bore witness to the soul that thrills
The heart of youth ere passion riots there—
Shed o'er me now the loveliness which fills,
At parted seasons, such as wed despair
When being's dayspring breaks and all but life is fair.

Yet from this scene of most surpassing love,
Not unrefreshed, I turn to happier years,

117'

Quick in their flight, when through the highland grove

I ran to meet thee with ecstatic tears,

And in thine arms forgot my deepest fears!

Oh, then thou wert to me what I am now

To one blest boy-my sorrow's bliss-who wears

The very majesty of thy high brow,

The pride, the thought, the power, that in thine eye did glow.

No proud sarcophagus thy corse enshrines,
No mausoleum mocks thy mouldering dust,
But there the rose, amid its mazy vines,
Blooms like thy spirit with the pure and just;
And-image of earth's high and holy trust-
Deep verdure smiles and wafts its breath to heaven,
And, holier far than antique print or bust,

Lives in my heart the portrait thou hast given,

The worship of pure love-the faith of autumn's even.

118

THE FATHER'S LEGACY.

Thy Legacy was not the gold of men,
The slave of pomp, the vassal of the mine,
But an o'ermastering intellect, that, when
The world reviled and trampled, soared divine,
And stood o'erpanoplied on GOD's own shrine!
This did'st thou leave me, Father' and
my mind
Hath been my realm of glory-as 't was thine-
Though much it irks me to have cast behind
Thy godlike skill to quell the ills of human kind.

'Twas thine to grapple with the fiend of gain,
'Twas thine to toil and triumph in the field-
It cannot be that I should faint in pain,
And like a craven, to the dastard yield`;

On the starr'd mead, and in the o'erarching weald
It hath been mine to think and to be blest,
And oft on mountain pinnacles I've kneeled
To pray I might be gathered to my rest

With glory on my brow and virtue in my breast.

Though anguish throbs through all my bosom now,

And wild tears gush whene'er I think of thee,
Yet like blue heaven upon Cordillera's brow,
Thy memory clothes me with divinity,
And lifts my soul beyond the things that be,
The strife of traffic, falsehood's common fear,
Friendship betrayed, unguerdoned vassalry,
And every ill, that reigns and riots here,

In this dark world so far from thine immortal sphere.