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Gentle lips that bade us look

THE ARTIST.
Outward from our cradle nook

He breathed the air of realms enchanted,
To the spirit-bearing ocean

He bathed in seas of dreamy light,
With such wonder and devotion,

And seeds within his soul were planted
As each stilly Sabbath day,

That bore us flowers for use too bright,
We were led a little way,

Unless it were to stay some wandering spirit's flight.
Where we saw the waters swell
Far away from inland dell,

With us he lived a common life,
And recived with grave delight

And wore a plain familiar name,
Symbols of the Infinite :-

And meekly dared the vulgar strife
Then our home was near the sea ;

That to inferior spirits came-
- Heaven was round our infancy :"

Yet bore a pulse within, the world could never tame.
Night and day we heard the waves

And skies more soft than Italy's
Murmuring by us to their caves ;-

Their wealth of light around him spread,
Floated in unconscious life,

Their tones were his, and only his-
With no later doubts at strife,

So sweetly floating o'er his head-
Trustful of the upholding Power

None knew at what rich feast the favoured guest was
Who sustained us hour by hour.

fed.
Now we've wandered from the shore,
Dwellers by the sea no more;

They could not guess or reason why
Yet at times there comes a tone

He chose the ways of poverty;
Telling of the visions flown,

They read no wisdom in his eye,
Sounding from the distant sea,

But scorned the holy mystery
Where we left our purity;

That brooded o'er his thoughts and gave him power
Distant glimpses of the surge
Lure us down to ocean's verge ;

But all unveiled the world of Sense
There we stand with vague distress,

An inner meaning had for him,
Yearning for the measureless ;

And Beauty loved in innocence,
By half-wakened instincts driven,

Not sought in passion or in whim,
Half loving earth, half loving heaven, Within a soul so pure could ne'er grow dull and dim.
Fearing to put off and swim,
Yet impelled to turn to Him

And in this vision did he toil,
In whose life we live and move,

And in this Beauty lived and died.

And think not that he left his soil
And whose very name is Love.

By no rich tillage sanctified ;
Grant me courage, Holy One,

In olden times he might have been his country's pride.
To become indeed thy son,

And yet may be—though he hath gone-
And in thee, thou Parent-Sea,

For spirits of so fine a mould
Live and love eternally.

Lose not the glory they have won;

Their memory turns not pale and cold

While Love lives on, the lovely never can grow old.
BEAUTY.
Men talk of Beauty-of the earth and sky,

FIRST TRUTHS.
And the blue stillness of sweet inland waters,
And search all language with a lover's eye.

They come to me at night, but not in dreams,
For flowers of praise to deck earth's glorious

Those revelations of realities; daughters.

Just at the turning moment ere mine eyes And it is well within the soul to cherish

A re closed to sleep, they come-clear sudden gleams, Such love for all things beautiful around.

Brimfull of truth like drops from heaven's deep

streams But there is Beauty that can never perish; A hidden path no « vulture's eye'* hath found. They glide into my soul. Entranced in prayer, Vainly ye seek it who in Sense alone

I gaze upon the vision shining there, Wander amid the sweets the world hath given;

And bless the Father for these transient beams. As vainly ye who make the Mind the throne,

The trite and faded forms of Truth then fall.
While the Heart bends a slave, insulted, driven. I look into myseif, and all alone
Thou who wouldst know what Beauty this can be,

Lie bared before the Eternal All-in-all;
Look on the sunlight of the Soul's deep purity.

Or wandering forth in spirit, on me thrown

A magic robe of light, I roam away • " There is a path which no fowl knoweth, and which the To the true vision-land, unseen by day. vulture's ege hath not scen." - JOB xxviii, 7.

BY JAMES T. FIELDS.

THE PROPHET UNVEILED.

DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL.

From the Spanish.
Kindly he did receive us where he dwelt
And in his smile and eye I inly felt
The self-same power, the influence mild and grand,

Underneath the sod, low lying, dark and drear,
Which o'er our kindred souls had held command, Sleepeth one who left, in dying, sorrow here.
When to the page his mind had wrought we turned. Yes, they're ever-bending o'er her, eyes that weep;
But now anew our hearts within us burned, Forms that to the cold grave bore her, vigils keep.
As side by side, we hearkened to his talk,

When the summer moon is shining soft and fair, Or rambled with him in his morning walk.

Friends she loved, in tears are twining chaplets there. Unveiled he stood; and beautiful he moved

Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, throned above; Amid home-sympathies;-a heart that loved

Souls like thine with God inherit life and love.
Nature as dearly as a gentle mother,
And man as a great spirit and a brother.
In the clear deepening river of his thought,

TO LITTLE MARY.
Welling in tones and words by nature taught;
In the mild lustre of the long-lashed eye,

The following beautiful lines were addressed to a And round the delicate lips, how artlessly

little girl-an only child-in this city, who, in her Broke forth the intuitions of his mind.

sleep, repeated the passage she was accustomed I listened and I looked, but could not find

nightly to utter before closing her eyes. Courage or words to tell my sympathy

“I konw that the angels are whispering to thee." With all this deep-toned wisdom borne to me.

Thou art so like a dream of heaven,
Still less could I declare how, ere I knew
The spell his visible presence o'er me threw,

That still thy visions seem,

Like that phenomenon of sleep,
The
page his inspiration wrought, had warmed

A dream within a dream !
Daily to life the faith within me formed
Of Nature's great relationship to man;

And pure the thoughts that memory brings, So far his speed of sight my own outran.

To voice thy drearning hour; And if I spoke, it seemed to me my thought

The butterfly has closed its wings, Was but a pale and broken reflex caught

Upon a lily flower! From his own orb; so silently I sat

God bless me-make me a good girl.”- Amen. Drinking in truth and beauty. Yet there was that

Not such the dream by slumber thrown, In his serene and sympathizing smile,

When grief's rough swell is o'er; Which as I listened, told me all the while

The ebb of pain, its after moan! That nearer intercourse might give me right

The surge upon the shore ! To come within the region of his light;

Thy prayer is but the echoing Not to be dazzled, moth-like, by his flame,

Of waking peace and love, But go as independent as I came.

The rustling of the Spirit's wing! And once again within the lighted hall,

The cooing of its dove!

- God bless memake me a good girl.”—Amen. Where Mind and Beauty gathered to his call, We heard him speak; upon his eye and tongue,

The roses of the Persian field, Dropping their golden thoughts we mutely hung.

With all their wealth of bloom, Aurora shootings mixed with summer lightning,

Are crush'd, though thousands may but yield Meteors of truth thro’ beauty's sky still bright’ning;

A drop of rich perfume; Phænix-lived things born amid stars and flashes,

And thus, the heart with feeling rife, And rising rocket-winged from their own ashes;

Is crushed, alas! by care: Pearls prodigally rained, too large and fast;

Yet, blest, if suffering wring from life, Rich-music tones too sweet and rare to last

Its other drop-of prayer. Such seemed his natural utterance as it passed.

« God bless me-make me a good girl."- Amen.
And yet the steadier light that shone alway,
Looked through these meteors in their rapid play, Mother! sweet mother! thou hast taught
And warmed around us like the sunlight mild,

That infant soul to pray,
And Truth in Beauty's robes stood by and smiled. Before a rose-leaf from its thought

The world has blown away-
Prayer! on that lip that once was thine !

Thoughts, of thine own a part !
Dropp'd jewels of thy spirit's mine,

Sleep scatters o'er her heart!
« God bless me make me a good girl."- Amen.

VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED.

No. 5.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

the

THE SLAVE MARKET AT WASHINGTON. had come to the city in a vessel, and had been seized

and imprisoned on suspicion of being a slave. As

he happened to have no document to prove his free. I find, in a late number of the Albany Patriot, a dom, after having been kept in close confinement in letter from a gentleman in the city of Washington, a prison cell for six months, he was in a few days to addressed to the editor, from which I take the fol- be sold as a slave, to pay the fees of the jailor! lowing paragraphs :

We visited, the next day, a slave holder's estab“ This year, over five thousand slaves have already Jishment in the city of Washington. It stood somebeen sold in our dens of diabolism, and many more what apart from the dense part of the city, yet in heart strings will be broken before the winter sets in, by full view of the capitol. Its dark, strong walls rose sundering all the ties of life, to meet the demand of hu- in dim contrast with the green beauty of early summan victims in the Louisiana market. In Florida, also, the demand has been increased, by the diabolical law mer—a horror and an abomination-a blot

upon to encourage the armed settlement of that slavery- fair and pleasant landscape. We looked in upon a cursed territory, and thus increase the political weight gronp of human beings herded together like cattle of the slave system in the councils of the country. for the market. The young man in attendance in

“Scenes have taken place in Washington, this sum-formed us that there were five or six other regular mer, that would make the devil blush through the darkness of the pit, if he had been caught in them. A slave dealers in the city, who, having no prisons of fortnight ago last Tuesday, no less than SIXTY HU- their own, kept their slaves in this establishment, MAN BEINGS were carried right by the capitol yard or in the CITY PRISON. The following advertiseto a slave ship! The men were chained in couples, ment of this infernal market house, I have copied and fastened to a log chain, as it is common in this re- from the Washington Globe and the Intelligencer : gion. The women walked by their side. The little children were carried along in wagons.”

CASH PAID FOR NEGROES. In the summer of 1840, when in Washington, I took occasion, in company with two friends, to visit The subscriber wishes to purchase a number of nethe principal slave-trading establishments of the groes for the Louisiana and Mississippi markets. He

will district. In Alexandria, at a great slave prison for- Himself or agent, at all times, can be found at his

pay the highest price which the market will justify. merly known as Franklin & Armfield's, there were JAIL, on Seventh street, the first house south of the about fifty slaves. They were enclosed by high, market bridge, on the west side. Letters addressed to strong walls, with grated iron doors. Among them him will receive the earliest attention. was a poor woman who had escaped, twelve years

WILLIAM H. WILLIAMS." before, from slavery, and who had married a free She had been hunted out by some of those

In the same papers, four other regular dealers in human blood-hounds, who are in the detestable oc

human beings advertised themselves. In addition, cupation of slave-catchers, separated from her hus- George Kephart, of Alexandria, advertised the -- copband, and, with her child, had been sold to the spec- per fastened brig, Isaac Franklin.” It was nearly ulators for the New Orleans market. Another wo

ready to sail with slaves for New Orleans. So much man, whose looks and manner were expressive of

for the national newspaper organs of the whig and dedeep anguish, had, with her nine children, been sold mocratic parties! What must be the state of parties away from her husband an everlasting separation !

which can acknowledge such papers as their mouth But her sorrows had but just begun. Long ere this,

pieces. she and her children have probably been re-sold,

On the wall of the slave dealer's office were susscattered and divided, and are now toiling in hope- pended some low and disgraceful pictures and caricaless bereavement, or buried like brutes, without a tures, in which the abolitionists and blacks were tear or Christian rite, on the banks of the Missis. represented, and in which Daniel O'Connell and John sippi.

Q. Adams held a prominent position, as objects for From this horrible MARKET HOUSE of Hu- the obscene jokes and witticism of the scoundrel MAN FLESH, we were informed that from fifteen traffickers. For one, I regard it as an honorable teshundred to two thousand slaves are sometimes sent timony to the faithfulness and heroism of these great to the South in a single year.

and good men, in their advocacy of human freedom. At the Alexandria public jail was a poor lad who The time is, I trust, not far distant, when those very

man.

pictures shall cause the knees of the base pirates | wonderfully endowed, the fact that they have emwho congregate in the den of iniquity, to smite toployed their talents in upholding a system which gether.

crushes and kills the minds of millions. But here Known to God only, is the dreadful amount of hu- in the slave prison, I saw them in another light.man agony and suffering, which, from this slave-jail, The fascinations of genius, which, like the silver has sent its cry, unheard or unheeded of man, up to veil of the Eastern Prophet, had covered them, fell His ear.

The mother weeping for her child—the off, and left only the deformity of tyranny. I lookwife separated from her husband, breaking the ed upon the one as the high priest of slavery, minnight silence with the shriek of breaking hearts! istering at its altar, and scowling defiance to the reNow and then an appalling fact shed light upon the ligion and philanthropy of christendom—the fitting secret horrors of the prison house. In the winter champion of that southern democracy, whose approof 1838, a poor colored man, overcome with horror priate emblem is the SLAVE-WHIP, with the new at being sold to the South, put an end to his life by gro at one end, and an overseer at the other. And cutting his throat.

with God's immortal children, converted into merFrom the private establishment we next proceed. chandize, I thought of Henry Clay's declaration : ed to the old city prison-built by the people of the - 'That is property which the law makes property," United States the common property of the nation. and that “ two hundred years had sanctioned and It is a damp, dark, loathsome building. We passed sanctified slavery."

I saw the inti. between two ranges of small stone cells, filled with mate and complete connection between the planter blacks. We noticed five or six in a single cell which who raises the slave for market, the dealer who seemed scarcely large enough for a solitary tenant. buys him, the legislator who sustains and legalizes The heat was suffocating. In rainy weather, the the traffic, and the northern freemen, who by his rote keeper told us that the prison was uncomfortably places that legislator in power. In the silence of my wet. In winter, there could be no fire in these cells. soul, I pledged myself anew to liberty; and felt at The keeper, with some reluctance, admitted that he that moment the baptism of a new life-long consereceived slaves from the traders, and kept them until cration to the cause. God helping me, the resoluthey were sold, at thirty-four cents per day. Men tion which I then formed, shall be fulfilled to the of the North! it was your money which helped pile uttermost! the granite of these cells, and forge the massy iron I left that prison with mingled feelings of shame, doors, for the benefit of slave traders! It is your sorrow, and indignation. Before me was the great property which is thus perverted !

dome of the capitol; our national representatives But to me this prison had a painful and peculiar were passing and re-passing on the marble stairs~ interest. It was here that Dr. Crandall, of New over all, the stripes and stars fluttered in the breeze York, was confined for several months. His health which swept down the Potomac. I was thus comwas completely broken down, and he was released pelled to realize the fact, that the abominations I had only to find a grave. Do you ask what was his looked upon, were in the District of Columbia--the crime? He had circulated among some members of chosen home of our republic_the hearthstone of our his profession, at Washington, a copy of a pamphlet national honor—that the representatives of the nawritten by myself, on the subject of slavery, and in tions of Europe here looked, at one and the same favor of freedom! Here in darkness, dampness, and glance, upon the capitol and the slave jail. Not long silence, his warm, generous heart died within before, a friend bad placed in my hand, a letter from him. And this was in Washington—in the metro- Seidensticker, one of the leaders of the patriotic polis of our free country-in the nineteenth cen- movement in behalf of German liberty in 1831. It tury.

was written from the prison of Celle, where he has Scarcely an hour before my visit to the prison, I been for eleven years a living martyr to the cause had been in the senate chamber of the United States. I of freedom. In this letter, the noble German exI had seen the firm lip, the broad, full brow, and presses his indignant astonishment at the speeches of beaming eye of Calhoun, the stern repose of a face Calhoun and others in Congress on the subject of written over with thought, and irradiated with the slavery, and deplores the sad influence which our deep, still fires of genius. I had conversed with slave system is exerting upon the freedom of Eu. Henry Clay, once the object of my boyish enthusi- rope. I could thus estimate in some degree the asm, and encountered the fascination of his smile, blighting effects of our union of liberty and slavery, and winning voice, as he playfully reproached me for upon the cause of political reform in the old world, deserting an old friend. I had there, in spite of my strengthening the hands of the Peels and Mettere knowledge of its gross perversion to the support of nichs, and deepening around the martyrs and con. wrong, felt something of that respect and reverence fessors of European freedom the cold shadow of which is always extorted by intellectual power. For their prisons. All that I had said or done for the the moment I half forgot, in my appreciations of the cause of emancipation heretofore, seemed cold and gifts of genius with which these men have been so I trifling at that moment, and even now, when I am

disposed to blame the ardor and enthusiasm of some of my friends, and censure their harsh denunciations of slavery and its abettors, I think of the slave jails of the District of Columbia, and am constrained to exclaim with Jonathan Edwards, when, in his day, he was accused of fanaticism; 1. If these things be enthusiasms, and the fruits of a distempered imagi. nation, let me still ever more possess them.” It is a very easy thing, at our comfortable northern fire, sides, to condemn and deplore the zeal and extrava. gance of abolitionists, and to reach the conclusion that slavery is a trifling matter, in comparison to the great questions of banks and sub-treasuries ; but he who can visit the SLAVE MARKETS of the DISTRICT, without feeling his whole nature aroused in indignation, must be more or less than a man.

Amesbury, 30th of 10th mo., 1843.

Shall scenes like these the dance inspire,

Or wake th' enlivening notes of mirth?
No! shiver'd be the recreant lyre
That gave this dark idea birth!

Other sounds, I ween, were there,
Other music rent the air,
Other waltz the warriors knew,

When they closed on Waterloo.
Forbear, till time, with lenient hand,

Has sooth'd the pangs of recent sorrow,
And let the picture distant stand,
The softening hue of years to borrow.

When our race have passed away,
Hands unborn may wake the lay-
Yet mournfully should ages view
The horrid deeds at Waterloo !

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

BY FELICIA D. HEMANS.

ON SEEING IN A LIST OF MUSIC THE

WATERLOO WALTZ.'

A moment pause, ye British fair,

While pleasure's phantom ye pursue,
And say if sprightly dance or air
Suit with the name of · Waterloo !'

Awful was the victory,
Chasten'd should the triumph be:
Amidst the laurels dearly won,
Britain mourns for many a son.

The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark,

The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark

On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,

And the trumpet that sings of fame.
Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;They shook the depths of the desert gloom

With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Veil'd in clouds the morning rose;

Nature seem'd to mourn the day Which consign'd, before its close, Thousands to their kindred clay;'

How unfit for courtly ball,
Or the giddy festival,
Was the grim and ghastly view,
Ere evening closed on Waterloo !

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea ! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free.

See the highland warrior rushing,

Firm in danger, on the foe,
Till the life-blood, warmly gushing,
Lays the plaided hero low!

His native pipes' accustom'd sound,
'Mid war's infernal concert drown'd,
Cannot soothe the last adieu,
Or wake his sleep on Waterloo.

The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared

This was their welcome home!

Chasing o'er the cuirassier,

See the foaming charger flying,
Trampling in his wild career,
All alike, the dead and dying.

See the bullets through his side
Answer'd by the spouting tide ;
Helmet, horse, and rider too,
Roll on bloody Waterloo 1

There were men with hoary hair,

Amidst that pilgrim band ;-
Why had they come to wither there,

Away from their childhood's land ?
There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high,

And the fiery heart of youth.

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