b'>; \n\n\n\n\n\n\niLIBriARYOFCOriGRESS.I \n\n\n\nI J7^/io/^ j*3l.. # \n\nt \\ \n\nS UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, f \n\n\n\nI \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL, \n\n\n\nTHE WANDERER RESTORED \n\n\n\n%3^A:;^^ \n\n\n\n\nThc7i rnund ih/\' Anresfral Altznsian ikey rrneip- \n27ie lai\'gs of ii/e, and aua/T ih ITeciar .deu\': \nPmir smtlf-s of r//ad7i^.ss, o\'gr //i^ fyrow of A^e, \nAnd trm his N/\'ssiri^. ere he om/s ^7j^ sfa^g. - \n\nsfepaeje 66. \n\n\n\nTHE \n\n\n\nSACRED SEAL; \n\n\n\nTHE WANDERER RESTORED, \n\n\n\nA POEM: \n\n\n\nBY BEV. N.EMMONS JOHNSON \n\n\n\n33 \n\n\n\n\n\n\nSrvTr\' \n\n\n\nNEW- YORK: \n\n\n\nPUBLISHED BY JOHN S. TAYLOR & CO. \nBrick Church Chapel, 145 Nassau Street. \n\n\n\n1843. \n\n\n\n\n\n\nEniered a\xc2\xabofdiiig lo the Act ofCoaaress, ia ilie year 154i by \n\nJOHN S. TAYLOR, \n\nIn the Clerk\'s office of ihe Distiic: Court (rf the Uuited Slate?, \nfor the Sou them District of Xew York. \n\n\n\n5.W. BENEDICT&CO., PHIKT. \n\n\n\nCONTENTS \n\n\n\nHints to the Reader, vii \n\nSCENE I. 9 \n\nParis \xe2\x80\x94 Soliloquy of the Hero upon entering a gambling estab- \nlishment \xe2\x80\x94 His name \xe2\x80\x94 Engaged in play \xe2\x80\x94 A little too suc- \ncessful \xe2\x80\x94 An attempt at Suicide by the one who has lost by \nhim \xe2\x80\x94 Sudden movement by our Wanderer \xe2\x80\x94 A speech on \nSuicide \xe2\x80\x94 The way it is received \xe2\x80\x94 His departure. \n\nSCENE II. 15 \n\nLondon \xe2\x80\x94 The Skeptical Instinct \xe2\x80\x94 The Infidel Club \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln \nGray \xe2\x80\x94 Why is he among Infidels ? \xe2\x80\x94 Skeptical expertness \nof Gray \xe2\x80\x94 Two o\'clock \xe2\x80\x94 The Mock Sacrament \xe2\x80\x94 Convulsive \nmovement of the Wanderer \xe2\x80\x94 A Speech described \xe2\x80\x94 HaEu- \ncination \xe2\x80\x94 An Hour of Terror \xe2\x80\x94 Gray\'s farewell to Skepti- \ncism. \n\nSCENE III. 22 \n\nBoEODiNo\xe2\x80\x94 Night of the Battle \xe2\x80\x94 The Battle Field\xe2\x80\x94 Napo- \nleon \xe2\x80\x94 The Dying Soldier \xe2\x80\x94 Beware Lincoln Gray \xe2\x80\x94 Rough \nGreeting \xe2\x80\x94 Daring Declamation of Gray \xe2\x80\x94 Effect on Napo- \nleon. \n\nSCENE IV. 29 \n\nMoscow \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray views the burning of Moscow from \na deserted palace near the city \xe2\x80\x94 Moscow apostrophized by \nGray, on the supposition that it was burned by the order of \nRotopschin, the Russian Governor \xe2\x80\x94 The entrance of the \nGrand Army \xe2\x80\x94 Commencement and progress of the flames \xe2\x80\x94 \nPhilosophic reflections of Gray on the career of Napoleon \nr\xe2\x80\x94 Great distress of Lincoln Gray. \n\n\n\nvi CONTENTS. \n\nSCENE V. 36 \n\nThe Pirate Island \xe2\x80\x94 A secluded valley \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray ac- \ncused \xe2\x80\x94 Defence and Defiance \xe2\x80\x94 Contest and Escape \xe2\x80\x94 A \nterrible catastrophe. \n\nSCENE VI. 45 \n\nChannel of Mozambique \xe2\x80\x94 The Storm and the Slaver \xe2\x80\x94 ^An \nhour before daybreak \xe2\x80\x94 Don Liugo \xe2\x80\x94 State of matters in the \nhold \xe2\x80\x94 Stoi7 of Loango and Almeda \xe2\x80\x94 The deck \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln \nGray. \n\nSCENE VII. 50 \n\nPetra \xe2\x80\x94 Apostrophe to Idumea \xe2\x80\x94 Conscience \xe2\x80\x94 Sleep \xe2\x80\x94 Dream \nof the Wanderer \xe2\x80\x94 Waking reflections of Gray \xe2\x80\x94 The Wan- \nderer converted. \n\nSCENE VIIL 57 \n\nPalestine \xe2\x80\x94 Its associations to a young believer \xe2\x80\x94 The Wan- \nderer\'s Hymn \xe2\x80\x94 Interruption \xe2\x80\x94 The Apostate \xe2\x80\x94 Farewell to \nPalestine. \n\nSCENE IX. 63 \n\nNew England \xe2\x80\x94 The Patriarch \xe2\x80\x94 The Power of Faith \xe2\x80\x94 \nThanksgiving \xe2\x80\x94 The Supper \xe2\x80\x94 Return of Lincoln Gray. \n\nSCENE X. 70 \n\nMassachusetts \xe2\x80\x94 The Patriarch \xe2\x80\x94 The Baptism \xe2\x80\x94 The Ex- \nplanation and Charge \xe2\x80\x94 Death of the Patriarch \xe2\x80\x94 Address of \nthe Pastor. \n\nNotes 77 \n\n\n\nHINTS TO THE READER. \n\n\n\nThe Author, being aware that two important inquiries will \nnaturally suggest themselves to the reader in the perusal of the \nPoem, desires to give them a partial answer in this place and \nform. The first is, " What is the main design of the Poem ? " \nThe second is, " In what respects is the Hero of the Poem adapt- \ned for its accomplishment ? " \n\nThe chief object of the Poem is to illustrate the value and \nefficiency of the ordinance of Household Consecration. ^ This \nordinance of the Church was founded upon the covenant made \nwith Abraham in behalf of his posterity. This covenant rests \nupon the first principles of the family constitution and upon the \npowerful purposes of redemption. After the death and resurrec- \ntion of our Lord its glorious provisions were extended to every \nfamily in every nation. It has come down to our own age and \nwill exert its influence upon all generations to come. The rite \nof Baptism is now the seal of that same covenant of which cir- \ncumcision was, in the years before the Christian era. Hence the \ntitle of the Poem, " The Sacred Seal." \n\nThese provisions of Christianity for the preservation of vital \npiety in a long train of generations, and for the full cultivation of \nall the great domestic interests constute one of the strongest internal \nevidences of its truth. That the same God who originally created \nman in the family state should adapt the gospel to the wants of \nthat state is, in the nature of things, most reasonable. That a \ncovenant between God and believing parents should have an \nexpressive public seal is also reasonable. \n\n\n\nviii TO THE READER. \n\nThe second inquiry respects the Hero of the Poem. Exercising \nthe privilege of poetry, I have sought to introduce a form of hu- \nman nature "which should be adequate to meet the moral exigency \nof the Poem. A New England family is supposed, which has \nexperienced for many generations the blessings of this covenant. \nThe Patriarch of the last generation lived to see them all truly \nreligious excepting his youngest son. He, for causes assigned in \nthe Poem, breaks away from the restraints of a Christian Home, \nand commences a wandering life. The covenant still lives, the \nPatriarch still prays, and the roving son is finally restored. In \nthis the special force of Household Consecration is displayed. \n\nIn adapting the Hero to this emergency of our high argument, \nI have supposed him a youth of strong mind and thorough educa- \ntion, else he could not have borne the shock. I have imagined \nhim of strong passions, else the violence of his movements would \nhave no explanation. I have imagined him possessed of any re- \nquisite quality of personal courage as a matter of course. I have \ngiven him a well instructed conscience, in order that the whole \nforce of moral influence might be felt. I have represented him \nas capable of self control, else he would have fallen into the com- \nmon vices of drunkenness and debauchery. I have supposed him \ncapable of strong social aflections. Such is the man \xe2\x80\x94 the; hero. \n\nHe goes forth and passes through a variety of scenes sufficient- \nly out of the ordinary course to be worth narrating, and suffi- \nciently within reach of it to retain their probability, and at the \nsame time calculated to be an adequate occasion for developing \nthe man on the one hand, and the providence of the covenanting \nGod on the other. \n\nWhether I have succeeded in accomplishing the main design \nthe reader must judge. That the plan is feasible in its own na- \nture, and that it has furnished a view of the human mind in a \npeculiar state, which has scarcely if ever been made the theme of \npoetry, and yet which is worthy to be such a theme, I think no \nreader will deny. \n\nIf the Poem shall create in the minds of parents a deeper sense of \ndomestic responsibility, and in those of children a stronger impres- \nsion of their privileges, and thereby render more dear our recol- \nlections of the Christian Home, I shall not regret to have \nwritten The Sacred Seal. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. \n\n\n\nSCENE I \n\n\n\nPARIS \xe2\x80\x94 Soliloquy of the Hero upon entering a gambling establishment\xe2\x80\x94 His \nname \xe2\x80\x94 Engaged in play \xe2\x80\x94 A little too successful \xe2\x80\x94 An attempt at Suicide by the \none who has lost by him \xe2\x80\x94 Sudden movement by our Wanderer \xe2\x80\x94 A speech on \nSuicide \xe2\x80\x94 ^The way it is received \xe2\x80\x94 His departure. \n\n\n\nI \n\n" Enchanting Paris ! to thy gorgeous \' hells,\' \nEager to feel their most absorbing spells, \nI rush, and seek in every maddening game \nTo wreak oblivion on Emilia\'s name. \nDear name ! once dearest, now most deeply cursed, \nLike fire still burning when the heart has burst. \nThere ! fierce as ever, nay, more awful yet. \nAgain that memory with my soul has met ! \nI see thee \xe2\x80\x94 hear thee \xe2\x80\x94 and again despair ; \nOh, curse more keen than that of Cain to bear ! \nIt comes \xe2\x80\x94 still comes \xe2\x80\x94 it clings within my breast ; \nGive me one hour of peace, of spirit-rest. \n2 \n\n\n\n10 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nMadness and horror ! all my words are vain ; \nStill doth thine image, scorned, adored, remain j \nDown, down, ye passions, I defy your pangs, \nAnd every scorpion on my heart that hangs ; \nMy heart / hurrah ! I have none; but my purse \nShall know, this night, the better or the worse. \nGrowl on ye mastiffs, ravening as ye will, \nI\'ll see what\'vigor may be with me still ; \nAs yet I am the master of my soul, \nCrouch, ye foul passions, to my stern control ! \nBe still ! What splendors, trembling, shine around. \nWhile beauty floats in each melodious sound ; \nReceive me, bathe me in your softest light. \nYe pandemonium palaces of night ! " \n\nII \n\nSuch were the frantic words of Lincoln Gray, \nWho, from his father-land had burst away ! \nDeluded youth ! thou child of love and prayer. \nIn these saloons, what canst thou do or dare ! \nI see cold drops upon thy marble brow. \nThy furnace-mind burns deep and reckless now : \nMidnight has past and thou art still, oh shame ! \nPlunged in the depths of that most fearful game, \nW^hich, to the circle round thy table, draws \nThose old adepts, famihar with its laws ; \nSilence hangs o\'er thee, throbbing, as it will, \nWhen awful st^es depend on matchless skill ; \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 11 \n\nSometimes all eyes thy purpose strive to see, \nAnd few forget who once look full on thee \xe2\x80\x94 \nPress on! before thee, thou wretched child, \nI see the trophies of thy triumph piled \xe2\x80\x94 \nDark grows the aspect of thy wily foe, \nThe fiendish oath is muttered, fierce and low \xe2\x80\x94 \nStill not like thine, his features work or writhe, \nCompared to thee, his anguish not a tithe \xe2\x80\x94 \nHe seeks for money, thou dost seek relief \nFrom fire, from burning coals, from deadly grief ! \nHe finds his heaven in wealth and low desires, \nHe finds a hell when such a hope expires. \nBut thou, whose knowledge of the true and right \nHath nobler scope, and far diviner hght ; \nWhose conscience, nourished at Siloah\'s fount, , \nWas trained to watch on Salem\'s holy mount ; \nThou, in thy heart, canst feel a keener spasm, \nCanst know the rending of a deeper chasm \nThan he, or many such, could ever know, \nIn all their dull monotony of wo \xe2\x80\x94 \nYet he, or they, with poison or with knife, \nWould sooner take their own, or other\'s life ; \nIt is not much, if brutes have lived or died. \nWhy then should skeptics shrink from suicide 1 \n\nIII \nHark ! is it o\'er ? Ah ! no : his pistol lock \nFor once, at least, his purpose dared to mock. \n\n\n\n12 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nUp Lincoln sprang : \'^ Infatuate man, withhold ; \nO fool, to kill thyself for paltry gold ; \nLive on ! shed not thy blood for such as I\xe2\x80\x94 \nHere, take thy wealth, I will not see thee die. \nNow, for thy soul, these halls of sin forsake, \nAway, away, nor tempt another stake ! \nThou hast no sense of that eternal pain. \nWhich, whep thy life is o\'er, shall still remain \xe2\x80\x94 \nShall but begin. Wilt thou infuriate leap \nIn boiling fire, and hope in peace to sleep 1 \nDepart ! a soul like thine hath not the power \nTo cope with evil in its stormy hour !" \n\nSuch tones of warning in that place of crime. \n\nAbrupt and bold, seemed daring, yea sublime : \n\nEach recreant circle startled, as they smote \n\nThe primal conscience with imperious note : \n\nImpatient Avarice gazed with deep alarm ; \n\nSeductive Beauty lost her fatal charm ; \n\n" Strange man," they whispered, and a smile of scorn \n\nDwelt on one aspect, withered and forlorn. \n\nThat smile the wanderer spied, and in it read \n\nA heart to all but meanest terror dead ; \n\nThat man his fiery eye at once explored, \n\nNor could the wretch another smile afford ; \n\nSilent he sat, and those who saw him quail, \n\nCared not the stranger gambler to assail. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 13 \n\nTall, proud, disdainful, o\'er that cowering crowd, \nWho scarcely dared to speak, or think aloud, \nHe calmly gazed ; then half in sovereign scorn. \nAnd half in pity, thus began to warn. \n\nV \n\n" Ye look astonished : then my story hear : \nReckless, resolved, I am as I appear ; \nI thought your games might try my skill awhile, \nI thought your wealth my days might help beguile ; \nBut when your want and anguish I behold, \nOh, what to me is all this glittering gold ? \nYe are all wretched ! yet how doubly weak^ \nThe end of pain, by suicide to seek ! \nWhy not endure, and bravely test it all. \nWhatever pangs assail or woes befall ; \nNone but the coward shrinks from any wo \nWhich earth can yield, or mortal being know ; \nAnd rash, not less than weak, is he that thinks \nThe future less than that from which he shrinks. \nHow can he prove it ? who has e\'er returned \nTo tell how fierce the future torment burned ! \nYe know me not \xe2\x80\x94 my course is all my own : \nI speak, to warn you, of my will alone. \nBut this I know, the man who cannot bear \nLife\'s heaviest ills and most profound despair, \nShould make no haste those deeper woes to try, \n\nWhich in yon world of endless wailing lie. \n\n2* \n\n\n\n14 THE SACRED SEAL, \n\nHe turn a gambler ! Ha ! if even now, \nOne thought of self-destruction scowl thy brow. \nBack from this hell ; thy soul was never made \nTo drive this wild, this desolating trade ; \nWade not beyond thy depth, who canst not swim. \nNor court the darkness, if thy sight be dim ; \nStrong minds alone the paths of sin should dare, \nStrong to perform, and not the less to l)ear, \nLest in some frantic hour they leap, unbid. \nFar wilder scenes,- and fiercer pains amid." \n\nSo spake that stranger : clear, distinct, and stern, . \nHis speech was felt in every heart to burn ; \nAnd on that brow such fearless grandeur shone, \nSuch sweet persuasion thrilled in every tone ; \nSuch light was streaming from his fiery eye. \nAnd o\'er his form, such grace and majesty. \nThat struck with vision, voice, and bold appeal, \nThey moved not, spoke not, could not help but feel- \nYet, when the wretch whose suicidal blow \nHad almost sent his soul to realms below. \nSeized the declaimer s hand and wept aloud. \nThen took his arm, and with him left the crowd ; \nThere was no eye as yet unmoistened there. \nAnd but one oath \xe2\x80\x94 the gambler\'s only prayer I \n\n\n\nSCENE II. \n\n\n\nLONDON\xe2\x80\x94 The Skeptical Instinct\xe2\x80\x94 The Infidel Club\xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Graj-\xe2\x80\x94 Why i% \nhe among infidels 1 \xe2\x80\x94 Skeptical expeitness of Gray\xe2\x80\x94 Two o\'clock\xe2\x80\x94 The Mock \nSacrament \xe2\x80\x94 Convulsive movement of the Wanderer \xe2\x80\x94 A speech described \nHallucination \xe2\x80\x94 An Hour of Terror \xe2\x80\x94 Gray\'s farewell to Skepticism. \n\n\n\nI \n\nDark are the halls where skeptics love to meet, \nFar from the public eye, and cheerful street ; \nFoes of the day \xe2\x80\x94 vile haters of the light \xe2\x80\x94 \nThey choose the screened recesses of the night ; \nAnd there, to prove the living truth untrue, \nSearch their foul lies and fevered rubbish through ; \nShun the pure streams, in happy vales that flow, \nWhose rosy banks with heavenly beauty glow. \nLook for the sky, in every stagnant pond, \nHunt in each miry slough, for stars beyond, \nFor one cool fount, range all Arabia\'s sand, \nAnd vex each pole, for Eden\'s fairy land ; \nTill cold and famine end the silly strife. \nThat sought, on cliffs of ice, the Tree of Life. \n\n\n\n16 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nII \nSuch was the place, and such the group of shame, \nAs, fierce with wrath, our weary Wanderer came ; \nOne lonely lamp burned blue and faltering, where \nAn aged Skeptic filled the central chair ; \nOn either side were gathered hardened men. \nWho cursed each holy name \xe2\x80\x94 then \xe2\x80\x94 cursed again ; \nWhile youth^ abandoned to the path of crime. \nDrank of their cup, and called the dregs sublime ; \nAnd Woman, mad with atheistic fire. \nWoke, like a syren, her beguihng lyre. \nOf late, with these, was Lincoln often seen, \nReserved, yet graceful, and with haughty mien. \nEstranged from God, and wild with passion still. \nHe sought each old restraining truth to kill \xe2\x80\x94 \nResolved, if once the strong foundations broke, \nTo hurl afar Emmanuel\'s name and yoke ! \n\nIll; \n\nAt length, a welcomed and an honored guest. \nHe learned to cavil e\'en beyond the rest ; \nSkillful to speak, he brought them needed aid. \nAnd lofty thoughts in honied words arrayed ; \nThough weak, to him, their sophistries appeared, \nHe listened, \xe2\x80\x94 scorn\'d, exulted, hoped, and feared, \nUntil, disdainful, his gigantic soul \nDrew on itself to vindicate the whole ; \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 17 \n\nFrom Truth\'s own arsenal, in triumph brought \nFresh stores of stolen and perverted thought, \nTill each young skeptic wondered at his lore, \nAnd grey-haired Atheists marveled even more ; \nFrom hour to hour adored his champion speech. \nWhich taught them wit their books could never teach ; \nDown \'mid eternal rocks he seemed to pass, \nThey crumbled round him, e\'en like fragile glass : \nHis dreadful work roused all their savage glee, \n" There is no God," they shouted, " Man is free !" \n\niV \n\nThe clock struck one \xe2\x80\x94 yea, two \xe2\x80\x94 but still enchained \n\nWith fierce discourse, that frantic club remained ; \n\nWhen, drunk with falsehood, reckless and accurs\'d, \n\nThey dared with mockery to assuage their thirst, \n\nBy foulest sacrilege, and holy signs. \n\nSnatched from the cross, where bleeding mercy shines. \n\nThose foes of God the table dared to spread, \n\nPour the red wine, and break the mimick bread ; \n\nRaised to the throne insulting words of prayer. \n\nAnd challenged all his anger even there ! \n\n" Rise, Lincoln Gray ! " with one consent they cried, \n\n" We hail thee comrade, and a sage beside ; \n\nWe crown thee master, pastor, skeptic-priest ! \n\nRise and officiate at our solemn feast 1 \n\nThou shall baptize us ! We will take the oath \n\nAgainst Jehovah, and Emmanuel both !" \n\n\n\n18 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nV \nThen- flashed almighty truth through all his frame, \nThen, o\'er his soul resistless horror came ; \nGlared his dark eye, upreared his towering form, \nAnd heaved his breast with anger\'s wildest storm! \nAcross that room he dashed the scorching bowl, \nAnd gave each feature to the avenging soul ! \nErect he rose ; then calmed his boiling blood \xe2\x80\x94 \xe2\x80\xa2 \nBetween these symbols and the wretches stood ; \nWith sovereign gesture swept the scoffers back, \nAnd then commenced a calm and keen attack; \nWith tones subdued, yet fraught with thrilling power, \nChained the false spirit of that startling hour ; \nTore first away their cavilings, one by one, \nThen crushed the sophist web himself had spun. \nThen sacred Truth beheld their sad dismay. \nUnchanging Law disclosed his bright array ; \nAnd Mercy watched with gently falling tear. \nTo see if Hope might yet be hovering near ! . . \n\nVI \n\n" These are the crowning proofs," continued Gray, \n" Proofs ever strengthening but which ne\'er decay ; \nHeaven, earth, and ocean, pour their voices out. \nClaim your belief, and frown on every doubt ! \n* No God\' ? \' No Christ\' 1 Is that the impious creed. \nOf which your conscious guilt proclaims the need 1 \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 19 \n\nSay, if that creed be false, what stripes are due ? \n\nBut oh ! what terrors, if it could be true 1 \n\n\' No God \'! Who then shall guard our final home 1 \n\nWhat arm defend us in the years to come ? \n\n\' No Christ \'! Who then shall cleanse our scarlet crimes. \n\nOr lead us ransomed to celestial climes ? \n\nNo ! from the caverns of the changeless Past^ \n\nFrom every whispering zephyr, every blast ; \n\nFrom the deep tokens of the future world. \n\nWhere the bright prophet-banner is unfurled ; \n\nFrom thunder-powers, those giants of the air \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nRings out one warning word. Forbear ! Forbear ! \n\nStamp not undying darkness on the mind, \n\nNor wrap an orphan\'s mantle round mankind !\'* \n\nVII \n\nScarce had the Wanderer closed his warm appeal, \nWhen the whole group before him seemed to reel ; \nA radiant form he spied, or thought he spied, \nWaving a wand of fire from side to side ! \n" Keep your delusions, since ye love them well," \n(Thus from his lips the dreadful mandate fell) ; \n" Beto your minds each lie a seeming fact. \nThere is no Grod \xe2\x80\x94 believe, rejoice, and act. \nLet all things seem to move, as all things miist. \nWere there no God to reverence or to trust. \nYe that desire none, for one fearful hour \nHe gives you over to that fiction\'s power !\'* \n\n\n\n20 THE SACRED SEAL-. \n\nVIII \nUh then, what wailings broke on Lincoln\'s ear, \nWhat fierce contortions in that room appear ! \n" Help ! help ! " The earth, before thy scorching fire, \nO sovereign sun, doth wither and expire ; \nOld ocean boils beneath thy furious rays, \nAnd lands are wrapt in one devouring blaze ! \nWhere shall we fly ? The floods around us roll, \nAnd on each billow leaps a frantic soul ! \nTremendous crash ! The solar system, smote \nWith vengeance, sends its loosened worlds afloat ! \nNay, startled suns their distant orbits blend, \nAnd screech in agonies that have no end ! \nUnnumbered orbs together madly rush ; \nHark ! \'tis the yell of millions whom they crush ! \nAnd waihng intellect, in scalding tears, \nWeeps o\'er the ruin of these glorious spheres ! \nWeeps ! and then, stunned by these appalling shocks, \nBreaks into fury, and exulting \xe2\x80\x94 mocks ! \nLifts the loud laughter, idiot-Hke, and then \nMoans like a famished orphan babe again ! \nOr fired, empowered, and racked with boundless rage, \nWhole realms of mind in mutual wrath engage. \nAnd struck with many an agonizing pang, \nIn general spasms, wrenching, writhing, hang. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. oj \n\nIX \nSuch were the features of the Wanderer\'s dream, \nThat poured derision on their witless scheme. \nNot Daniel standing in the lion\'s den, \nNot whole menageries controlled by men, \nNot the weird ghost that wears a blasted form, \nNot the dark glory of an Alpine storm. \nE\'er to the mind such awful visions gave, \nAs those which Lincoln saw around him rave. \nMoments like ages seemed to pass away. \nAnd hours a whole eternity to stay ! \nHe woke alone \xe2\x80\x94 the frightened club had fled, \nThe dismal lamp its dying radiance shed ; \nChill was the breathing of the piercing morn, ^ \nAnd Lincoln\'s heart was weary and forlorn. \n\n\n\nSCENE III \n\n\n\nBORODINO\xe2\x80\x94 Niglit of the Battle\xe2\x80\x94 The Battle field\xe2\x80\x94 Napoleon\xe2\x80\x94 The Dying \nSoldier- Beware \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray\xe2\x80\x94 Rough Greeting \xe2\x80\x94 Daring Declamation of \nGray \xe2\x80\x94 Eftect on Napoleoh. \n\n\n\nI \n\nWhere fair Kalouga, like a generous bride, \nForsakes her name for Moskwa\'s stronger tide, \nBlood-stained Borodino, her gentle height \nBathes mid the soothings of that soft twilight, \nWhich comes and sings on those bemoaning banks, \nThe vesper dirge of Russia\'s martyred ranks, \nWhen the pale sun, who saw the brave expire. \nSinks, chill and shuddering, to his couch of fire ! \n\nII \n\nWho walks alone, where recent carnage piled \nThe strength of armies, mid these ruins wild ? \nWho reads among these cold uncoffined dead, \nThe ghastly pavements of his triumph-tread ; \nScans each stern face, each glazed and stony eye, \nThat tells how dearly bought that victory ? \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 23 \n\nWho now, long leaning on that angry tomb, \n\nFeasts on the ancient and the present gloom ; \n\nStill bids even there his cruel purpose burn, \n\nAnd plans new games for other realms to learn ; \n\nFancies Europa prostrate to his throne ; \n\nAnd lists to hear Britannia\'s dying groan; \n\nAnd hopes that yet his name, and that of France, \n\nMay shine, all red, where western sunbeams dance ? \n\nOh foul, fierce oiFspring of a reckless age, \n\nIn whom Lust, Popery, Atheism, rage ; \n\nCongenial triune Incarnation ! reared \n\nFrom Hell\'s dark waves, with all their torments seared \xc2\xbb \n\nScourge of the living God ! thine awful crimes \n\nWere vengeance-vials for those guilty times ! \n\nW\'hy art thou silent here, where yesterday \n\nThy voice sent thunder, and thy glance dismay ? \n\nIll \n\nHe stood beside an old memorial stone ; \nUnburied bodies round him ceased to groan ; \nSigh after sigh escaped, as wearied mind \nBreathed some low dirge o\'er all it left behind. \nSolemn and dark had passed the chill midnight : \nHark ! what sad tones upon his heart alight ! \nOne who in childhood\'s brief, but sunny day, \nTo him had clung in many a wild affray ; \nHad tracked his rising glory, and had kept \nHis faith unchanging as he soared or crept ; \n\n\n\n24 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nNow called once more the hero-name aloud, \n\nTrue to the battle, e\'en within his shroud ; \n\nThat voice confiding, yet bewildered, fell \n\nLike some deep word, some grey magician\'s spell, \n\nOn that imperial heart which bowled above \n\nThe gasping form, with all its early love. \n\nO\'er him that soldier felt his monarch lean. \n\nHis eye flashed once \xe2\x80\x94 his lips \xe2\x80\x94 the breath between, \n\nMoved once\xe2\x80\x94\' farewell,\'\xe2\x80\x94 moved yet again \xe2\x80\x94 * beware !\' \n\nThat last strange word \xe2\x80\x94 the conqueror trembled there : \n\nHe gazed, he called him, but the life was past ; \n\nHe listened \xe2\x80\x94 all was real death at last ! \n\nA dull damp scene, a vision, full of dread, \n\nBeneath the pale star-light was round him spread, \n\nTill thoughts so horrid broke from every ray \n\nThat e\'en Napoleon quailed and turned away. \n\nIV \n\nBut on his path, who now presumes to stand ? \nWhat form before him waves the warning hand ? \nA steadfast eye, a look that pierced and grew \nMighty within hira as it searched him through ; \nThat fearful eye, did he e\'er meet before ? \nThat voice ? ah yes, nor wished to meet them more : \nThat glance of scorn had poured its lightning out, \nAnd shook his spirit mid the battle\'s shout : \nFull well Napoleon knew the Wanderer\'s power, \nThat when he claimed he could command the hour. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 25 \n\nFrom him, as from his conscience, fain to flee. \nSmall care have either, what his wish may be. \nHow came he here in such a time and spot ? \n"Hast thou, in madness, my retirement sought ? \nVile miscreant, vanish ! If upon ray path \nOne moment more \xe2\x80\x94 What ! scornest thou the wrath \xe2\x80\x94 \nInsulting iiend ! my vengeance thou shalt feel ;" \nThen flashed with deadly aim the electric steel. \nThe blow fell not! The Wanderer\'s withering word \nShot by the blade, and palsied as \'twas heard ! \n\nV \n\'\' Silence ! proud warrior ; see thy weapon rest, \nPoised in its passage on thy strange behest ! \nSo from this night, thy fame and fortune fade. \nAnd triumph mocks thee like thy truant blade : ^ \nLet thy lip quiver ! not presume to curl \xe2\x80\x94 \nAvenging powers their hostile flag unfurl ! \nNo force of millions, no profound intrigue. \nCan thwart or conquer that eternal league ! \nBanish that sneer, I speak not now of kings, \nOur rallying trump in fiercer regions rings ; \nThey have all heard it \xe2\x80\x94 the obedient Snow, \nThe fierce North Wind, the River\'s icy flow. \nThe Cold, the still, resistless, cruel Cold, \nThe Forests and their Marshes, whe^e, of old, \nHaunt maniac Sicknesses, that dance to gain \nThe pride of nations in their dread domain ; \n\n\n\n26 THES ACRED SEAL, \n\nThe*raging Fire \xe2\x80\x94 whose Heclean oven throws \nSpasms of heat through all the Icelandic snows, \nWhose vast Vesuvian furnace madly gave \nStrange procreation to the Italian wave, \nAnd monster-bearing Vigor to that Isle \nWhose cradle-rock awoke thine infant smile : \xe2\x80\x94 \nThese, all aroused and marshall\'d, calmly wait \nThat awful tempest of out-bursting hate, \nWhich from that wondrous fellowship is born. \nWhich matter feels when mind is all forlorn ; \nWhen Nature, like th6 inward sounding shell, \nHears each imprisoned soul her sorrows tell ; \nAnd all her agencies, with passion fired, \nAwake, in folds of sparkling wrath attired. \n\nVI \n\n" The storm is up ! the signal gun is heard ! \n\nWith lightning speed the talismanic Avord, \n\nVengeance ! careering o\'er the world of thought. \n\nStrikes to the wildest den, the darkest spot \n\nOf all the elements which Nature keeps. \n\nFoaming and howling in her heights and deeps. \n\nLo these, eternal Providence ordains \n\nTo build thy prison, and to forge thy chains. \n\nTornado of the Nations ! Thy wild wrath \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nAn unchained ^tna \xe2\x80\x94 in its lava-path \n\nBled the wide world, as France once learned to bleed. \n\nBeneath the trampling of an Atheist creed. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 27 \n\nFoe to all tyrants ! shouting freedom ! France ! * \nThese were but shades that round thee led the dance. \nWhile to one goal thy scorching footsteps pressed, \nWhile for one prize yearned all thy stormy breast ; \nFor this, vain tyrants from their thrones were hurled \xe2\x80\x94 \nFor this, careering Ruin swept the world. \nOld Glory\'s Rock to hail as all thine own, \nAnd Freedom gain \xe2\x80\x94 to tyrannize alone 1 \n\nVII \n" Hark, that keen yell of terror ! Lo, a sign \nIs on the heavens ! The nations see it shine. \nBehold ! behold ! on all the Russian sky, \n\'Twill break refulgent on thine anguish\'d eye ; \nThe wrath of mind, immortal, wilful mind, \nThe great unresting conscience of mankind. \nBorne onward \xe2\x80\x94 roused by thy career, as when \nThe Ocean, yearning in its every den, \nHeaves, rocks, leaps high, grows ruinous, overwhelms, \nAs the storm angels hold its thousand helms ; \nSo on the waves of that tumultuous sea, \nScattered in fragments shall thy glory be ; \nO\'er Europe\'s breadth, thy God shall strew thy host, \nThen wash thee, wearied, to some lonely coast ; \nWith flesh and bones, a continent shall pave. \nAnd give the Island-born, an Island grave : \nNow pass thee on, the yawning gulf is near, \nThy heart will guide thee and thy path is clear." \n\n\n\n\xe2\x80\xa228 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nVIII \n\nWith haughty bearing Lincoln stepped aside, \n\nAnd bade Napoleon pass. That son of Pride \n\nObeyed Ihe sign, yet turned him with disdain \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n" * An Island grave !\' Not all the ocean main \n\nCan boast one island that can hold the bones \n\nOf him whose words are laws, whose toys are thrones ! \n\nWhose name, when thine has perished, shall command \n\nThe noblest grave in Europe\'s brightest land" \n\nHe spake\xe2\x80\x94 but Gray had vanished \xe2\x80\x94 and the sound \n\nMoved not the dreary dead that slept around; \n\nYet, to his heart they cried in angry tones, \n\n" Where shall thine armies leave their frozen bones ?" \n\n\n\nSCENE IV. \n\n\n\nMOSCOW\xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray views the burning of Moscow from a deserted palace \nnear the city \xe2\x80\x94 Moscow apostrophized by Gray, on the supposition that it was \nburned by order of Rotopschin, the Russian Governor\xe2\x80\x94 The entrance of the \nGrand Army \xe2\x80\x94 Commencement and progress of the flames \xe2\x80\x94 Philosophic reflec- \ntions of Gray on the career of Napoleon \xe2\x80\x94 Great distress of Lincoln Gray. \n\n\n\nI \n\n" Oh, decked for sacrifice \xe2\x80\x94 ordained to fame, \nMoscow ! first martyr-city, rise in flame ! \nAnd give thine ashes, when the cold winds blow, \nTo weave an army\'s winding-sheet of snow ! \nThough royal hands and laboring ages reared \nThine ancient towers and temples, still revered ; \nThough thrice thy gallant sons restored the whole, \nWhen twice the Tartar burned thee \xe2\x80\x94 once the Pole j \nYet now, thine own Rotopschin dares to read, \nIn all thy flames, his darkly-glorious deed ! \nAnd fond adorers light the patriot brand \nWhich sinks thy pomp, but saves their native land ! \nDie, then ! That Phoenix-power, forever nigh \nWhen for our country and our God we die. \n\n\n\n30 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nHis own broad wings shall o\'er thine embers spread, \nAnd rear a mightier Moscow from their bed !" \n\nII \n\nHigh on a neighboring, but deserted dome, \n\nA princely noble\'s once luxurious home, \n\nThe Wanderer stood. In all her martyr pride \n\nThe crowning city rose on eveiy side. \n\nEach splendid palace hailed the fatal hour; \n\nOn every hovel shone the ennobling power; \n\nEach sacred spire its song of glory sung, \n\nAnd triumph thundered from the Kremlin\'s tongue ! \n\nThe haggard forms that rushed from street to street, \n\nWith smoke and flame, in many a lurid sheet, \n\nFelt, as if every tower by ages piled, \n\nLoved the red brand, and on their torches smiled ! \n\nIll \n\nWith Victory\'s haughty march Napoleon comes ! \nHer dullest pavements madden at his drums. \nWhy do no lords his proud arrival greet. \nTo place her keys submissive at his feet ? \nLo ! these at last twelve chosen paupers bear ! \nHow doth Chaorin assume an io norant air ! \nHe sees them not, but in his heart of hearts \nRussia lies mangled in a thousand parts ! \nWhy falls that noble Pole, nor moves a limb ? \nA Russian boor mistook the Pole for him ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 31 \n\n" March to the Kremlin" \xe2\x80\x94 see the sullen wrath \nOf Moscow lighten ! Slaughter clears the path. \n\nIV \n\nThat sacred tower, when gained, abhors the guest : \nDay gives no safety, night no qjiiet rest. \nThe night is strange \xe2\x80\x94 is awful ! From her deep \nAnd throbbing darkness, fierce avengers leap : \nRevenge and Hate \xe2\x80\x94 yea, love ol\'Jand and home \nRouse the fire-bearers ! Every house cries " Come !" \nVolumes of smoke now here, now there, arise ; \nNow sudden flames the aching eye surprise ; \nVain are the Conqueror\'s orders \xe2\x80\x94 vain the power \nOf veteran hosts in this beleaguering hour ! \nWhirlpools of lire begin, and roar aloud ! \nThe warrino- winds awake, and round them crowd ! \nTornadoes join the rout \xe2\x80\x94 strong whirlwinds meet. \nAnd miles of pomp lie melted at their feet ! \nThat burning sea, what giant tempests toss, \nFar as the keenest eye can pierce across ! \nIts boiling billows, and its molten dead, \nLike guilty Sodom\'s slimy lake are spread ! \nOne vast Gehenna in a world of snow ! \nImperial emblem of the lake below I \n\nV \n\nForced by the flames, behold the Hero fly \nWhere old Petrowskoi lifts his turrets high ! \n\n\n\n32 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nYet, ere he fled, one brief command he gave \xe2\x80\x94 \n" Ye soldiers, plunder, since ye cannot save !" \nVain monarch ! veho shall bear the spoils away, \nWhen cold and famine hold their revelry ? \n\nVI \n" Altar of martial glory !" Lincoln cried, \nAs w^ave with wave its fearful prowess tried ; \n" These are the clouds of incense \xe2\x80\x94 this the flame \nWith which Ambition gilds the conqueror\'s name ! \nClimax of glory thou, whose arm could force \nSuch splendid sacrifice, to stop thy course ; \nE\'en thou canst rise no higher. Take thy crown, \nContent henceforth, with Moscow\'s dear renown ! \nAx of Jehovah\'s anger ! who hath swung \nThy ghttering edge o\'er many a land and tongue ; \nTill shattered thrones and cloven kingdoms tell \nHow keen the steel, that hewed its way so well ; \nHe still commands thy crimson edge and helm ; \nHe shook thee flashing over Russia\'s realm, \nShook \xe2\x80\x94 but to deal her no severer blow, \nThan this which lays her ancient city low. \nMysterious Power! beneath thy grand design, \nTo make all lands with truth and beauty shine, \nThe stormy nations dash like stormy seas. \nProud cities burn, and mighty armies freeze. \nWhat solemn lessons shall Napoleon teach ! \nWhat distant ages shall his story reach ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 33 \n\nWild Victory learn her cruel rage to check, \nAnd Empires bend instructed o\'er his wreck ! \n\nVII \n\n" Oh ! deep within these vast events, abide \nPrimeval Truths, which men in vain deride ; \nEternal principles, which at thy seat. \nRedeeming God ! in fond allegiance meet. \nThese, with a might unquenchable and strong, \nWar through all years, with Falsehood and with Wrong. \nSome, onward march with world-subduing force, \nPeace in their rear, and freedom in their course : \nSome, crushed, yea, buried by despotic power, \nAwait from God the disenthralling hour ; \nBut all around one Name adoring cling. \nOne final Conqueror, one mutual King. \n\nVIII \n" He comes \xe2\x80\x94 that next great Conqueror \xe2\x80\x94 whose voice \nShall bid all grades be free, all realms rejoice ; \nHis hastening chariot lightens as it rolls, \nHis vital word yon tameless fire controls ; \nHis voice \xe2\x80\x94 which whispered once on Galilee, \nWhen billow called to billow, \' hush, \'tis He !\' \nAnd thrilled, as meekly on their crest he trod, \nIn silent worship to the Incarnate God \xe2\x80\x94 \nShall bid, in yon bright hour, these Truths arise, \nAnd lift their glorious banner to the skies. \n4. \n\n\n\n34 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nEarth, air, and ocean shall obey his call, \nDown to the dust, the towers of Error fall, \nAnd vile Oppression perish in the shock, \nWhen the live thunder rends her castle-rock. \nThen shall the human soul with angel-might \nExpand, exult, and bathe her wings in light ; \nThen shall the Dove that guards the realms of mind, \nShed the sweet dew of goodness on mankind ; \nThen shall the world, O Christ ! supremely blest, \nIn thine embracing kingdom roll and rest. \n\nIX \n" But where, oh where, in that approaching day, \nShall my lone heart wail out its agony ? \nOh, hated Truths ! \xe2\x80\x94 unchanging Truths \xe2\x80\x94 which hold \nMy heart, rebellious, scorning, yet controlled ; \nDeep in life\'s secret springs I feel your grasp. \nYour points of steel along my conscience rasp ! \nWhere shall I fly ? Depart, ye powers of light ! \nGive me, oh, give the deepest gloom of night ! \nStar of my birth, that on me still doth gleam. \nWhy waste for me, thy mild reproving beam ? \nWhy not forsake me, since thou canst not bless, \nWhy still o\'er-power me with that strange distress 1 \nOh for that glorious bourne, eternal sleep ! \nCome, kind Oblivion, come I and I will steep \nMy soul in thy sweet waters ! Oh, begone ; \nPhantoms, my soul disdains to look upon ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 35 \n\nLet the light blaze around me \xe2\x80\x94 I will bear \nIts fierce reproaches with profound despair ; \nHe, who in heart the truth of God defies. \nMeets that hard, writhing death \xe2\x80\x94 that never dies V^ \n\n\n\nSCENE V. \n\n\n\nTHE PIRATE ISLA.ND- A secluded Valley\xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray accused\xe2\x80\x94 Defence \nand Defiance\xe2\x80\x94 Contest and Escape \xe2\x80\x94 A terrible catastrophe. \n\nI \n\nThere is calm by heavenly zephyrs blest, \nWhen Mercy bids the raging tempest rest, \nAnd on the bosom of the thankful deep, \nLeans from the sky and lulls the surge to sleep ; \nWears on her brow that glorious diadem \nWhich first was lent her by the God of Shem ; \nWafts from her locks ambrosial odors round, \nAdorns the foliage and bedews the ground : \nA calm like this the yielding sinner feels ^ \nWhen Christ forgives, ichen God the Spirit seals. \n\nII \n\nThere is a calm before the storm hath risen, \nThe dreadful stillness of a deadly prison ; \nWhere pains and bolts alike forbid to fly, \nAnd hideous corpses mid the living lie ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 37 \n\nA calm, when gathering to the destined hour, \nCreeps every agent of avenging power ; \nWhen Justice, throned upon his harness\'d car, \nLow whispering, counts the guilty from afar ; \nAnd while the hour of doom is yet delayed. \nPoints the keen shaft, and whets the gleaming blade, \nA calm like this, o\'er Lisbon once was shed. \nWhat hour her thousands sunk amid the dead : \nA calm like this, o\'er Sodom\'s teeming plain, \nWhen Lot reproved, when Abraham prayed in vain : \nA calm like this, the hardened sinner feels. \nWhen God, provoked, his endless ruin seals. \n\nIll \n\nFar in the Deep, that surly island lay, \nWhere savage pirates stowed their spoils away ; \nIts frowning shores, with rugged rocks embossed, \nRepell\'d with scorn, the waves that on them toss\'d \nAnd one small bay, which only pirates knew. \nIn silence welcomed its accustomed crew ; \nThence, from the coast a beaten path retired, \nWhere bloomed a vale, by guardian hills admired ; \nAnd there, accursed, in deep seclusion shone, \nA pirate village, to the world unknown. \nThere lips profane, the liquid ruin quaff \'d, \nWhile Folly revell\'d and while demons laughed ; \nNo sacred church announced the sacred day. \nBut frenzy reign\'d in many a fierce affray ; \n4* \n\n\n\n38 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nAnd there, accused before a furious throng, \nStood Lincoln Gray, unterrified and strong. \n\nIV \n\n*\' The wretch must die," his fierce accuser said ; \n" Wreck\'d on our island, naked, almost dead. \nWe found this vagabond, and mid the strife \nOf raging billows, poax\'d him back to life : \nWe made him more than welcome to our shores. \nAnd bade him share in all our growing stores. \nOnce, it is true, when black Cledomir found \nOur secret bay, and girt the entrance round. \nThis homeless hero brought us great relief, \nAnd we, too grateful, chose him for our chief. \nNow mark the man \xe2\x80\x94 when first with him we sailed. \nOur glorious Rover that hath never quailed. \nSoon chased a splendid vessel, nobly fraught \nWith rarest wealth, from glowing India brought. \nFired with the chase, in all her wonted pride \nThe Rover leaped along the astonished tide ; \nTerror had seized them \xe2\x80\x94 loud their vessel groaned\xe2\x80\x94 \nIn one half-hour, their riches w^e had owned \xe2\x80\x94 \nWhere now^ was yonder chief, upon w^hose lip \nWe looked for ruin for that trembling ship ? \nSpeechless he stood \xe2\x80\x94 we waited for the word, \nVexed to behold the music still deferred. \nDark on his brow, a spell of madness hung. \nAnd pale Remorse, his baby muscles wrung. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 39 \n\nHis eye with fury blazed, his voice was shrill, \n\nAs if a demon wrecked his vengeful will. \n\n* Stand off,\' he cried, \' that ship ye shall not harm, \n\nBack to the Isle ;\' he shouted. Had this arm \n\nObeyed my summons, never more, e\'en then \n\nHad he controll\'d the deeds of braver men. \n\nYet thunder-struck, his mandate we obeyed. \n\nAnd home we brought him to your peaceful shade. \n\nHere let him die, or if he dare, defend \n\nHis sudden madness, and its fatal end." \n\nV \n\nSmothered at first, yet fierce, the murmurs ran ; \nThen cries of \' death,\' came bursting from the clan. \nGray smiled with scorn serene. His practised eye \nBurned darker, mightier, for that bitter cry ; \nHis look severe, disclosed that latent power \nOf lordly mind, which makes e\'en tigers cower. \nA pause ensued \xe2\x80\x94 he spoke \xe2\x80\x94 and every word \nPoured daring meanings o\'er that listening herd. \n" Friends : It is true no plundered spoils attest \nWhat force defends, what courage fires my breast. \nWho saved yon village from Cledomir\'s ire ? \nWho taught that tyrant-ruffian to expire ? \nWho cares e\'en now, this good right-arm to dare ? \nHis own red blood shall clot his mangled hair. \nLet the foul wretch, from whose envenom\'d tongue. \nAgainst your chief such accusations rung ; \n\n\n\n40 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nWhose bloody hand, upon his native shore, \nWas stained \xe2\x80\x94 is now \xe2\x80\x94 with his own father\'s gore ; \nLet him stand forth, the awful charge deny, \nSelect his comrades, and my wrath defy : \nSoon shall he know, and they and all beside, \nHow this keen blade can lighten when \'tis tried. \nSee the pale villain tremble! Thus he quakes. \nWhen o\'er his couc^ that murdered father shakes \nNightly his gory locks. Ye pirates, hear I \nMy words are frank, without disguise or fear : \nWhen ye, unanimous, proclaimed me chief, \nMy heart was wrestUng with enormous grief; \nClaims of eternal })ower my soul oppress\'d. \nAnd dark Despair reigned sovereign in my breast. \nWith reckless anguish did I then resolve, \nA life like your\'s, should all my hopes involve. \nBut when that ship hung trembling on my will, \nThose tyrant claims I found were giants still ! \nRobed like an angel, with celestial light. \nMy sainted mother burst upon my sight. \nBack to your Isle I came, and now resign, \nThis guilty power to other hands than mine ; \nGrant me one favor \xe2\x80\x94 all I ask \xe2\x80\x94 and then \nMy feet shall never tread these shores again ; \nGive me that vessel which my valor tore \nFrom strong Cledomir, on the invaded shore -, \nGive me the men though few their number be, \nWho scorn all deeds of piracy like me : \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 41 \n\nThese you can spare. For in the trying day, \n\nYou look for men, who boldly cast away \n\nAll sense of right, all majesty of mind, \n\nAll that exalts or overawes mankind. \n\nThese you may keep ! But those who yet can feel \n\nThe force, the meaning of a just appeal. \n\nCome to my side. One, ten, yea, twenty, hear, \n\nAnd round the standard of the Truth appear. \n\nThese are my comrades, you can spare them best, \n\nBehold the men ! and grant me my request." \n\nVI \n\nHe paused. All gazed in silence -, for the crowd. \nStruck by his deeds, scarce dared to think aloud. \n" Farewell," he cried, " your silence gives consent, \nWe leave your island ere the day is spent." \nBrief was the parting ; Lincoln led the way, \nStraight to the harbor where the vessel lay. \nRoused from their stupor, rose the pirate clan, \nAnd mutual rage and wild uproar began. \n" Leave us alive ! no \xe2\x80\x94 never ! but their blood \nShall give our soil manure, our vultures food." \nThen came the fierce pursuit \xe2\x80\x94 the firm retreat \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe last dark struggle when their forces meet. \nThen woke in Lincoln\'s breast, that awful might \nOf long-pent agony, \xe2\x80\x94 and fire and light. \nThen, like the spasms of electric power, \nThen, overwhelming as the lava-shower, \n\n\n\n42 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nBurst on the foe his boiling, scorching ire, \nWhile round his feet they shudder and expire ! \n\nVII \n\nThat deep outburst of valor and of strength, \nAppalPd the foe, and drove them back at length. \nThe sails are spread \xe2\x80\x94 the vessel on the wave, \nMann\'d and commanded by the stern and brave. \nOnward they rode the ocean, as it yearned, \nOn, till the fires of sunrise shone and burn\'d. \nBack on that lonely Island Lincoln gazed ; \nFar o\'er the clamorous billows, as they blazed, \nA dull red hght had gathered round the shore, \nIt shook, it vanished, and it rose no more ! \nThe Spirit of the Earthquake, from his caves \nOf surly slumber, underneath the waves. \nStartled, and shrieked aloud ; before the shock, \nThat Island\'s deep foundations wildly rock ; \nTill in one frantic, wrathful hour, she roll\'d \nDown midst the endless gulf that yawn\'d of old : \nCareering surges foam\'d and howl\'d along. \nWhere once her rocks rose impudent and strong. \n\n\n\nSCENE VT \n\n\n\nCHANNEL OF MOZAMBiaUE-The storm and the Slaver\xe2\x80\x94 An hour be- \nfore day-break Don Lingo \xe2\x80\x94 State of matters in tlie hold\xe2\x80\x94 Story of Loango \nand Almeda\xe2\x80\x94 The deck \xe2\x80\x94 Lincoln Gray. \n\n\n\n" Six hundred wretches \xe2\x80\x94 rather closely stowed ! \nWell may they say I bring a noble load. \nHow fast the rascals die : through all the night \nI heard them, shrieking, on the waves alight. \nFierce, greedy waves ! ye chase our bark along, \nAs if ye would condemn, yet share the wrong, \nWhen the poor slave, dragged from his stifled den. \nWith you finds refuge from his fellow-men ! \nLarge sums were mine, if half the wasted bones \nCast to those billowy deeps, with oaths and groans. \nCould yet, re-clothed with sinews, flesh and breath.. \nFind other markets than thine own, death ! \nRe-clothed they shall be, in that final day, \nWhen we shall meet a heavier doom than they. \n\n\n\n4,4; THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nSebastian ! ho ! awake ! Our cargo thins, \nThrough these wild nights of tempests and of sins : \nHow stands the number now ?" \n\n" Just fifteen less \xe2\x80\x94 \nThat hold is one foul scene of wretchedness : \nBad food, bad water, neither room nor air \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe soul\'s stern curse, the laughter of despair : \nYou know the fiery chieftain ? By his side \nWe bound the girl that was to be his bride. \nShe droops a little, but they say he keeps \nHis food for her, and fans her while she sleeps." \n\xe2\x80\x94 " You mean Loango, whose menacing eye \nSpeaks, as if all his irons thundered, * Die !\' \nHis heart defies the chain \xe2\x80\x94 it must be broke : \nThen he will bend more gently to the yoke. \nWhen the glad morn shall greet the swelling tide, \nWe\'ll crush his love, and check his sullen pride." \n" Captain Liugo! O\'er these boiling seas. \nIn fiercer days and gloomier nights than these, \nYear after year, my hardened hand has fed \nThese fattened monsters with peculiar bread, \nFresh from our floating oven ! Yet before, \nSuch weight as now, my spirit never bore. \nSlow comes the fight, Liugo \xe2\x80\x94 let me tell \nThe tale in which these strange forebodings dwell. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 45 \n\nII \n\n" Far through yon sky, where equatorial plains \nStretch to the base of Afric\'s mountain-chains, \nImmortal Zeilah, on her golden throne. \nBrilliant with love and beauty, reigned alone ! \nAt length there came an Arab guest \xe2\x80\x94 a Sheikh, \nWhose soul delighted mid the stars to seek \nWide realms of thought and melodies of sound, \nSuch as in heavenly spheres alone are found ; \nVersed in all starry science, he believed \nThere was a spell, which never yet deceived, \nWrought in the motions of the orbs above, \nWhose love was order, and whose order love. \nFor this he sought the vaults of ancient time ; \nFor this he wandered in each varying clime ; \nTrod the Siberian barriers j on the hills \nOf Syria stood exulting ; by the rills \nOf European mountains held his ear. \nIf thus, a silent listener, he might hear \nSome soft vibration of that wondrous song, \nIn which the worlds of glory march along. \nStruck by the gentleness of Zeilah\'s eye, \nHe laid awhile his dreamy science by. \nAnd found, at last, in calm domestic rest, \nA spell as sweet \xe2\x80\x94 as mighty, in his breast. \nThere, by his side the fair Almeda grew. \nLearned the wild wisdom which Almanzor knew ; \n5 \n\n\n\n46 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nOn hoary cliffs, attended by her sire, \nHer eagle-genius caught aerial fire, \nEnraptured scanned those orbs of grandeur o\'er. \nAnd seemed amid their charioteers to soar. \n\nIll \n\n" Such were the scenes Loango oft surveyed, \nA prince whom ten submissive tribes obeyed. \nWhen with Almeda, at Almanzor\'s side. \nHe read the stars, and won his gentle bride. \nOne cloudless night, when Zeilah with the rest, \nGraced the rude cottage on the mountain\'s breast, \nFar off, serenely pure, Almanzor saw \nA star, that owned some yet unfathomed law : \nFired with the sight, he fixed his flashing eye, \nCalled it by name, as if he sought reply ; \nThen, as if all the visions he had nursed \nForth from his lips in heavenly language burst. \nHe poured such music on the trembling air \nAs every breeze exulted e\'en to bear. \nSudden as death, then burst a savage yell, \nCruel and keen the poisoned arrows fell ; \nThen rushing on, the foes, at first unseen. \nSmote to the ground Almanzor and the Queen. \nLoango fought, Almeda prayed, in vain \xe2\x80\x94 \nEnough : in yon dark hold, by one strong chain \nWe have them fast, dependent on our will. \nLiugo ! I\'ve no heart to treat them ill !" \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 47 \n\n" Thy tale, Sebastian, is too long by far, \nThou too art smitten by a frantic star ; \nWhat, shall our hearts, so long inured to hear \nThe wail of others breaking on our ear, \nMelt at a story, which but proves the more \nTheir hearts must break, as others have before ? \nThese princely captives, once subdued, will bring \nSums which will make the prosperous trader sing. \nSee, that when this impetuous night is fled. \nForth to the deck thy royal friends are led !" \n\nIV \n\n\'Twas sad to see the proud Loango lashed. \n\nFor fiends to mock the form his fetters gashed ; \n\nAnd still more sad, that gentle girl to see. \n\nTrembling and shrinking \'mid their cruel glee. \n\nThen as Liugo cheered his savage crew, \n\nAnd laughed as insult to dishonor grew, \n\nLoango wrung his agonizing chain \n\nWith strength shot wildly from his maddening brain ; \n\nBurned, boiled, endured ; until her fainting cry \n\nStruck through each nerve unearthly energy : \n\nThen did he teach his tyrants how to shrink \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nWhere heads were thickest hurled each severed Jink \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nRushed to the gangway \xe2\x80\x94 bore Almeda there, \n\nAnd stood, a lion roaring in his lair. \n\n\'\' Down to the hold, my queen ! our friends unbind. \n\nArm them with every weapon thou canst find. \n\n\n\n4-8 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nAnd I will stretch that monster in his gore, \nWho dares mock thee, or e\'en Loango more." \nDown, hghtning-like, the freed Almeda sprung. \nTen loosened giants off their fetters flung, \nStood by Loango\'s side, and there proclaimed \nTheir hearts unbroke, their vigor all untamed. \nThe sport, the torture, revelry and wrong, \nHad fired Liugo and his crew so long. \nThat none had marked with what menacing force \nA fierce dark vessel bore upon their course. \nUntil her first unsparing cannonade, \nWith sudden thunder, sterner music made. \n\nV \n\nThen Don Liugo fixed his daring eye \nOn the new foe, that drew contemptuous nigh : \n" That ship, Sebastian, we can ne\'er outrun \xe2\x80\x94 \nExperienced pirates manage every gun ; \nOne course is left \xe2\x80\x94 gird on the whetted knife, \nBoard her at once, and grapple, life for life ! \nLower down the flag a little \xe2\x80\x94 now be still \nAs Death himself, w^hen he prepares to kill. \nLeap when I leap !" Then silence, hke a spell, \nClung until broken by Liugo\'s yell. \nThe ships had grappled : Don Liugo sprung. \nFierce as the famished wolf, his foes among : \nSebastian followed, and each sabre-stroke \nQuenched the red life in sanguinary smoke ; \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 49 \n\nAnd many a soul was hurried to its God, \nWhile on that stranger deck the slavers trod. \nThen, like a wild tornado, Lincoln rushed \nWhere round Liugo foaming torrents gushed. \n" Shame on thy soul, foul wretch !" Liugo cried : \n" Shame to thine own !" avenging Gray rephed : \n" Deem me no pirate ! yet the pirate\'s name \nHath more than thine of grandeur, less of shame ! \nKnow I \'tis the blade of justice smites thee dead." \xe2\x80\x94 \nLiugo spoke not, for his quivering head. \nSevered by one exterminating blow. \nLisped its galvanic oaths in blood below ! \n\nVI \n\nThe rest fought madly, and that awful deck \nPiled up with bleeding limb and gushing neck. . \nAt length they yielded ; and Sebastian died ; \nYet beckoned first the victor to his side. \nWhispered a tale of sorrow and of dread, \nSomething of Zeilah and Almeda said; \nThen, pointing to Loango, gasped for breath. \nAnd sunk in all the hideousness of death. \nThe Afric chief on all the strife had gazed, \nHoping, rejoicing, trembling and amazed; \nBut when the Wanderer marked his noble form, \nGave him his hand, and welcome true and warm, \nOne gush of confidence \xe2\x80\x94 of living love, \nRaised his large eyes in thankfulness above. \nAnd one glad shout rang then from that foul hold. \nOf Home \xe2\x80\x94 of Freedom, that like thunder rolled ! \n\n\n\nSCENE VII. \nI \n\nPETRA \xe2\x80\x94 Apostrophe to Idumea \xe2\x80\x94 Conscience \xe2\x80\x94 Sleep\xe2\x80\x94 Dream of the Wanderer \n\xe2\x80\x94 Waking reflections of Gray \xe2\x80\x94 ^The Wanderer converted. \n\nDark rocks ofEdom! Haunts of sullen Fear! \nLand of the curse ! wild, wondrous Idumea ! \nStill rings the wail of Esau, as it rung \nWhen fell the blighting words from Isaac\'s tongue. \nDamp with his wasted tears is each lone glen \xe2\x80\x94 \nScathed every rock, as was his spirit then. \nOft o\'er these ruins glides his angry form, \nSymbol of Wrath\'s perpetuated storm ! \nThronged by his sons, the haughtiest race of earth, \nWho drank the curse and dared it from their birth. \nThey wail together, as in every dome \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn every glen of Petra, still they roam. \nSire of these hardened tribes of mighty dead, \nThy dreadful pottage smokes for ever red ! \nTells of thy glorious birthright, basely sold \nFor paltry broth \xe2\x80\x94 ten thousand worlds of gold ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 51 \n\nOne rash decision lost that bright estate, \nAnd stamped eternal sorrow on thy fate. \n\nII \n\nOh, thou deserter of the holiest fanes \n\nWhich mercy visits, or which earth contains \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nChild of the Sacred Seal ! Apostate Mind ! \n\nHope not a refuge from thyself to find ! \n\nGo, climb the sternest cliff of Edom\'s hills, \n\nCreep where the dampness of her tombs distils. \n\nTread with revering feet each gloomy hall \n\nWhere hoary Silence spreads her jealous pall. \n\nSearch where the curtains of old ages hang. \n\nWhere Terror worshiped, and where Pleasure sang ; \n\nExplore each frowning ravine \xe2\x80\x94 every cell \n\nWhere beggars moaned, where kings were proud to \n\ndwell : \nNo place can shield thee ! Go where\'er thou wilt, \nConscience still lifts the piercing cry of guilt ! \nDeep, keen, distinct \xe2\x80\x94 it whispers dark dismay ; \nO, grieve thou not that earnest call away ! \nHark ! lest thy Savior give the fatal sign. \nAnd Esau\'s dreadful doom be doubly thine ! \n\nIll \n\nWith thoughts of terror and of sin oppressed, \nIn Khasne\'s sacred walls Gray sunk to rest: \n\n\n\n52 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nStrong cliffs above him leaned their aching; brow \nOn filial columns, which old rocks endow \nWith self-sustaining vigor ! There he sleeps ! \nUnwearied watch his guardian angel keeps. \nHe starts, he smiles, he wonders ! O\'er his soul \nMysterious scenes and grander visions roll. \n\nIV \n\nDown from the golden clouds, a Child of light, \nOn wings of splendid hue and heavenly might, \nSped, like an arrow from the bow of God, \nAnd shouted, fainted, as on earth he trod. \nAt length, revived, he fixed his joyous eye \nOn Lincoln Gray, who stood astonished by. \n" Mortal, rejoice ! My soul is now secure ! \nBless\'d be the God who taught me to endure \nThe long, long flight ; and led my w^eary feet \nThis world of refuge and of hope to greet. \nFar on a flaming sun, whose distant sphere \nHath lovely dwellings, for the Lord is there ! \nA holy race, to Satan never known. \nWorshiped unsinning at Jehovah\'s throne : \nTrue to his perfect laws their spirits cling, \nHark to his voice, and triumph in their King. \nThere was my home, until my recreant mind \nIn one sad moment from his praise declined, \nWhen with a heart of treason I retired, \nWith vain dehghts of wild ambition fired ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 53 \n\nThen flashed his glance of anger ! Oh, it came, \nScorching my nature like devouring flame. \nI sank and quivered where its vengeance fell. \nDarting through all my frame the pangs of hell ! \nI heard one word of mercy \xe2\x80\x94 \' Fly ! \' it said, \n\' Fly to the world in which Immanuel bled : \nThy crime unknown, this only chance I give \xe2\x80\x94 \nHaste ! reach it ! touch it ! and thy soul shall live ! \nOne moment more, delaying rebel, waste \xe2\x80\x94 \nEternal wo shall seize thee ! Haste ! haste !\' \n\nV. \n\n" Then flashed at once, appalling on my view, \n\nThe sword that God\'s avenging angel drew! \nAlarmed, aroused, I sprang, I sought afar. \nWith more than lightning speed, a glorious star. \nWhich in the deep blue ether-ocean smiled, \nAs if in mercy for a fallen child. \nI touched its happy hills ! I asked if there \nThe Son of God the curse of sin did bear ? \nThey understood me not. I asked no more \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn through the azure realms, from shore to shore, \nFraught with undying vigor, still I pressed \xe2\x80\x94 \nWrath on my rear, and terror in my breast ; \nStars, orbs, harmonious systems oft I met, \nWhole caravans of suns that never set. \nTraveling in all the greatness of their might. \nFor ever joyous and for ever bright. \n\n\n\n54 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nStill, still behind me \xe2\x80\x94 on me, fierce and stern, \n\nI felt the breath. of living Justice burn. \n\nHe knew no grace : but I, with trembling fear, \n\nPrayed, and still hoped my gracious God would hear ; \n\nStill felt my strength replenished, as I sprang \n\nWhere rolling spheres their songs of worship sang : \n\nRushing through all their music, like the blast \n\nOf thunderbolts, till Sirius was passed ; \n\nThen a kind angel met my eager eye, \n\nFlew by my side, and wondering seemed to vie \n\nWith me, as pointing to this distant sphere. \n\nHe bade me seek the world of refuge here ! \n\nThen heavenly hope through all my spirit ran, \n\nThen rose the anthems of ascending man. \n\nThen ransomed ones, by shining angels borne. \n\nRose radiant by me to the gates of morn. \n\nOn ! on ! they cried, for they discerned my case ; \n\nDown, down to yonder world of saving grace. \n\nClose on my soul the strong Avenger pressed, \n\nHis two-edged sword gleamed just above my breast.^ \n\nI turned mine eyes away. Convulsive power \n\nWoke, blent, and crowded ages in an hour. \n\nTill, by the might of agony unknown, \n\nBy the dark soul\'s unutterable groan, \n\nI reached the refuge-world \xe2\x80\x94 I touched the sod \n\nOnce stained by thee, bleeding Son of God !" \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 56 \n\nVI \n\nThus worked the Wanderer\'s fancy, as he slept \n\nWhere ivies twined, and oleanders crept \n\nO\'er the bleak cliffs, that reared their towering head \n\nTo guard the tombs of Idumea\'s dead. \n\nStartled, he Avoke ! The meaning of his dream \n\nShone like the sun\'s irradiating beam. \n\nSubdued, o\'erpowered, in humble prayer he bowed, \n\nAnd the dead listened as he wept aloud : \n\n" Where but to Thee, O Savior, shall I go ? \n\nRock of Defence from everlasting wo ! \n\nThy blood, thy smile, might well repay the flight \n\nMy slumbers painted in the lonely night. \n\nYet these have I rejected ! I, for whom \n\nThy righteous law proclaims a heavier doom ; \n\nOh, at thy feet my heart for ever yields, \n\nThy wrath condemns me, but thy mercy shields !" \n\nVII \n\nLong bowed in humble prayer was Lincoln Gray ; \nThen raised his streaming eyes to greet the day. \nBright o\'er those solemn ruins blazed the sun, \nBright in the Wanderer\'s soul was heaven begun : \nHe thrilled with rapture, and the Name he sung \nIn all the rocks around him found a tongue. \nWild Echo struck the harp of ransomed men, \nAnd glad responses broke from every glen. \nWith lofty thoughts his soul began to swell. \nAnd bade the regions of the curse farewell ! \n\n\n\nSCENE VIII \n\n\n\nPALESTINE \xe2\x80\x94 Its associations to a young believer\xe2\x80\x94 The Wanderer\'s Hymn- \nInterruption\xe2\x80\x94 The Apostate \xe2\x80\x94 Farewell to Palestine. \n\nI \n\nWhen Abraham, fired with confidence sublime, \n\nFor thee, bright land, forsook his native clime ; \n\nWhen Moses, humbled by his Maker\'s rod, \n\nOn Nebo\'s height with meek demeanor trod ; \n\nWhen the worn pilgrims of a later day. \n\nFrom distant regions came to muse and pray, \n\nOr clad in burnished steel, the Christian knight \n\nDared the fierce Moslem to the fatal fight ; \n\nNo deeper joy their heaving bosoms filled. \n\nAnd in their hearts no sweeter music thrilled. \n\nThan what the pardoned soul \xe2\x80\x94 the heavenly-born, \n\nFresh with the dews of Mercy\'s smiling morn, \n\nFull oft would feel, could she indeed repose \n\nWhere Jesus bleeding died, or shining rose ; \n\nCould she but fold her renovated wings. \n\nWhere breathed, and sang, and wailed the King of kings ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 57 \n\nII \nThus felt the Wanderer, as Judea spread \nHer own pure sky of glory o\'er his head* \nDear Mount of Olives ! On thy sacred height, \nEnraptured Gray beheld the morning light ; \nWhile Abraham, watching from his lofty seat, \nHeard a new voice the land of promise greet\xe2\x80\x94 \nGreet, as the type of that more glorious land, \nWhere all the holy seed adoring stand ! \n\nIll \n\'^ Oh ThoUj whose promise like yon rising sun. \nStill watches where thy grandest works were done ; \nHow long shall thine avenging anger blast \nThe land thy wisdom chose in ages past \', \nWhat though of old her reckless sons forgot \nTheir fathers\' God, for gods that heard them not ; \nWhat though with blinded zeal they dared to slay \nThe Prince of Peace, and mocked to hear him pray ; \nHath not thy wrath its burning lightnings poured \nOn all their hearts revered, or pride adored ? \nHath not thy winnowing curse pursued them still, \nAnd clung to every shrine and every hill ? \nSee, ancient Hermon meekly owns the rod. \nAnd on his dewy harp-strings pleads with God I \nHark ! \'tis sad Jordan rolls his dirge\' along, \nAnd gentle Kedron moans a pensive song ! \n6 \n\n\n\n58 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nThere Zion bows her penitential head, \nAnd Salem\'s tears around her feet are shed ! \nOh God I have mercy on thy chosen land, \nWhere age on age adored thy holy hand ! \nAlong whose vales thy tender mercies flowed. \nAnd on whose hills celestial chariots glowed ! \nO Thou, who canst forgive her follies yet \xe2\x80\x94 \nO Thou, who never canst her faith forget \xe2\x80\x94 \nGod of unchanging plans, and words that live. \nFraught with a glory only Thou canst give. \nHere once again let all thy nature shine. \nHere stand again, triumphant and divine !" \n\n\n\nIV \n\n" Stop ! stop that prayer !" a voice of fury cried \xe2\x80\x94 \nA wretch, who, listening madly by his side, \nUntil his tortured soul could bear no more, \nShot the heart\'s venom from its blackened core : \nThrough his white hair his boiling eyeballs flashed, \nHis teeth beneath his bearded lips he gnashed ; \nEternal malice purpled every look. \nAnd nerved the arm his gnarled staff that shook : \nOn his hard brow sat seventy years of sin, \nAnd welded deep the chains of hell within ; \nHe wore the garb of high Arabian rank. \nBut used the language of the Anglo-Frank. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 59 \n\nGray knew no fear, but in his searching eye \nThe tears of pity gathered silently \xe2\x80\x94 \n" And who art thou, in whom the voice of prayer \nWakes the dread pangs of frenzy and despair ?" \n\n\n\n" No friend of thine, nor of thy God am I ; \n\nHis love I scorn, his vengeance I defy ; \n\nHis name I hate, his worshipers despise. \n\nAnd as his curse descends, my curses rise ! \n\nOnce, when a daring but a happy child, \n\nOn the green mountains of my native wild, \n\nI said * Our Father !\' when the morning woke, \n\nAnd e\'er I slept His guardian care bespoke. \n\nThen did my sire a filial temper find. \n\nThen did the pastor greet a reverent mind ! \n\nFly from my thoughts, too well remembered hours ! \n\nHath not Jehovah\'s wrath drenched all my powers 1 \n\nDid I not words of fatal meaning say. \n\nTread on his claims, and grieve his grace away 1 \n\nDoth not my heart that frantic hour recall. \n\nWhen every trembling chord was cut, from all \n\nWhich might have linked me to his golden chain ? \n\nOh horror ! that cold seal ! \'tis here again ! \n\nThen, from a land where living Truth displayed \n\nHer form severe, by earnest saints obeyed, \n\n\n\n60 THE SACRED SEAl.. \n\nBorne on the wings of winds, I sought the shores \n\nOf realms whose desert rocks my soul adores ; \n\nThere, with the wild and sohtary form \n\nOf reckless Freedom riding in the storm, \n\nI rose the chief of Haroun\'s daring clan, \n\nAnd hailed the Prophet\'s name my talisman ! \n\nWho called on Jesus, me implored in vain ; \n\nOh ! many a Christian pilgrim have I slain ; \n\nAlong my trusty blade my hatred thrilled, \n\nAnd e\'en my sword burned lurid as it killed. \n\nFull many a wealthy caravan I met, \n\nWhose goods enrich my desert palace yet ; \n\nWhose bones lie bleaching on the arid sand. \n\nWhose souls have vanished to the misty land ; \n\nYet think thou not I scorn all pilgrimage \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nTwice in the year I quench my nourished rage ; \n\nWhen o\'er the wastes of uncomputed miles. \n\nThe young Spring sprinkles her penurious smiles, \n\nI rush \xe2\x80\x94 and climb old Sinai\'s granite brow, \n\nAnd curse the Thunderer, as I curse thee now ; \n\nThere bid the listening hills and deep ravines \n\nRepeat the voice, and join the awful scenes ; \n\nThere shout aloud, while dancing demons quaff \n\nMy song as music, and return my laugh ! \n\nBut sweeter still, when gloomy Winter shrouds \n\nThe earth with snow, and heaven with gushing clouds, \n\nOn yon proud hill my angry steps repair. \n\nAnd curse the land of God superbly there ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 61 \n\nCurse the dread blood" \xe2\x80\x94 He strove to speak in vain, \nWrenched was his face with everlasting pain ! \nOne keen, huge groan, as paralyzed he fell, \nProclaimed how piercing are the flames of hell, \nWhen bursting through, wdth wrath\'s red agony, \nThey teach the world how dark apostates die ! \n\nVI \n\nWhat trembling reverence filled the heart of Gray, \nAs wondering shepherds bore the corpse away ! \n" Oh Thou ! whose sparing mercy lingered still \nRound the mad steps of my presumptuous will. \nWhy was 1 shielded from Apollyon\'s snare. \nWhy sank I not as deeply in despair ? \nThy sovereign grace my song shall ever own. \nAnd lift eternal praises to thy throne. \nOne parting draft of these bemoaning rills. \nOne ling\'ring view of these imploring hills \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen, with a yearning heart no more to roam, \nI\'ll haste repenting to my sacred home ; \nThere on my knees my aged sire implore \nTo love, and teach me as he did of yore !" \n\nVII \n\nBut thou, O sun ! ascend thy path of old ; \nMarch on, while Uriel tunes his harp of gold ; \nSend forth that song of wonder, that sweet hymn \nWhich the melodious stars, when they were dim \n6* \n\n\n\n62 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nWith thy exceeding beauty, in grand choir \nOn Bethlehem poured, with many a hving lyre ; \nOh ! pour thine anthems on us, mid the gleams \nOf Judah\'s own wild thunder and pure streams : \nRoll on, unveiling all thy stores of light ; \nRoll faster on ! pause not ! but in the might \nOf all thy Maker\'s counsels speed thy way, \nAnd wake to bolder notes the Harp of Day ! \n\n\n\nSCENE IX. \n\n\n\nNEW-ENGLAND\xe2\x80\x94 The Patriarch\xe2\x80\x94 The Power of Faith\xe2\x80\x94 Thanksgiving\xe2\x80\x94 The \nSupper \xe2\x80\x94 Return of Lincoln Gray. \n\nI \n\n" Hark !" said the watchful Patriarch j " hath he come \'? \n\nIs that his step so long estranged from home 1 \n\nAh no ! and yet how shall I give thee o\'er, \n\nTo see thy face, and hear thy voice no more ? \n\nThou, loved and lost, to God wert truly given, \n\nStamped with his Sacred Seal and trained for heaven ! \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nI yet shall see him. Ye perhaps may deem \n\nMy yearning dotage, and my hope a dream ; \n\nBut ye shall know that man\'s regenerate soul \n\nHath power with God each promise to unroll, \n\nAnd hail, though storm and darkness intervene. \n\nSome gentle bower \xe2\x80\x94 some love-protected scene, \n\nWhere Grace, for ever strong, for ever true. \n\nHath borne our best joys, for the last adieu \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nJoys well refined, of which serenely fond. \n\nOnce more we drink, then start for worlds beyond ! \n\n\n\n64, THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nII \n\n" Last night, as sleepless on my lonely bed, \nI prayed and wept for him \xe2\x80\x94 the lost, the dead ; \nForms of the past returned, till one was there \nWho seemed to prompt me, and to join the prayer \nShe, the fond mother, whose long vacant seat \nSpeaks to this circle as they yearly meet ; \nHer tears, her tones, her sobs were at my side. \nAs fresh and thriUing.as before she died ; \nWhen oft with me for mutual prayer retired, \nHer soul broke forth, with holy faith inspired, \nAnd to the promise of The Covenant clung, \nFor all, for him, \xe2\x80\x94 the beautiful and young ! \n\nIll \n\n"Hail, holy Memories! servants of the just, \nImmortal daughters of the God we trust! \nFrom world to world with timeless speed ye fly, \nWhen saints below commune with saints on high. \nSo came, amid the wrestlings of that night, \nThy presence, Anna, with peculiar might ; \nBefore the throne with thee I seemed to bear \nThat child again with all the joy of prayer. \nI yearned \xe2\x80\x94 I trusted \xe2\x80\x94 Oh ! it came at length, \nDown on my soul that all-prevailing strength, \nThat purest dew, of love and truth combined \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe smile of God, like sunlight on the mind ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 65 \n\nI heard no speech, and yet my faith is strong \xe2\x80\x94 \nI saw no phantom, yet it can\'t be long, \nEre to these arms that wild and roving one \nShall rush, a ransomed and a welcome son !" \n\nIV \nThe Patriarch gazed far up the shaded lane, \nHis long and earnest look was still in vain ; \nThen, with complacent glance, he turned his eye \nOn that fair group whose hearts were beating high. \nThey, over-awed \xe2\x80\x94 impressed with lofty thought, \nGazed on his form, his inspiration caught. \nBelieved \xe2\x80\x94 why should they not, who long had known \nHow much he held communion with the Throne. \n\nV \n\nBut who were they 1 and what were they to him. \nThat man of giant faith and trembhng limb ? \nWhy came around him thus, and when, and where. \nThat numerous group, so joyous and so fair 1 \n\nVI \nThere is a land of mountain, rock and glen, \nOf schools, and sanctuaries and shrewd men, \nWhere hearths and hearts have fires forever bright, \nAnd home is home, at morning, noon and night \xe2\x80\x94 \nSweet as the fragrance of its suminer rose. \nPure as the whiteness of its winter snows, \n\n\n\n66 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nFresh as the lilac of its verdant spring, \nAround the soul its sacred Sabbaths cling : \nThere passion, curbed by Puritanic thought, \nBreaks forth at last in moral glory wrought, \nTriumphs with majesty, where, life for life, \nStrength meets oppression in the battle strife ; \nExplores with deep research that holy Book, \nAmidst whose wonders angels long to look ; \nSoars high where pure Imagination reigns, \nOr rides with Art through Science\' broad domains; \nThere the strong cords of household love entwine, \nAnd glad Salvation plants her heavenly vine ; \nThere comes Thanksgiving, constant as the year, \nWhose step of joy all ranks exult to hear ; \nThen round the ancestral mansion they renew \nThe loves of life, and quaff its nectar-dew ; \nPour smiles of gladness o\'er tbe brow of Age, \nAnd win his blessing, ere he quits the stage : \nThere Freedom speaks, in Truth\'s commanding tone, \nAnd God around her altars seals his own ! \n\nVII \n\n\'Twas there \xe2\x80\x94 \'twas then! Ye who have borne a part \n\nIn those remembered meetings of the heart. \n\nAmidst New-England\'s hills and vallies green \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nYe know the land, and can recall the scene ; \n\nCan answer well the question, who were they \n\nThat loved the words of him whose locks were gray ; \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 67 \n\nYe kl\'ow who led him to his ancient seat, \nYe know who joyful garabol\'d at his feet ; \nWhat old experienced men, and matrons grave. \nTo him the endearing name of father gave ; \nWhat younger Josephs, with parental pride, \nLed up their Ephraims to the Patriarch\'s side. \nWhile he, amidst this group, sat full of joy, \nReading in each fond girl and playful boy \xe2\x80\x94 \nIn each dear babe \xe2\x80\x94 in every whitening head, \nThe image of himself \xe2\x80\x94 the beauty of the dead. \n\nVIII \n\nYet was there one whose noble presence graced \nThat holy scene, from other lineage traced ; \nSole child of that loved Pastor, by whose side . \nThe aged saint his children loved to guide ; \nDark-eyed Emilia, whose accomplished form. \nWith genius hghted, and with heart as warm, \nGlowed with that ripe, rich lustre, which the close \nOf well-spent youth around the lovely throws ! \nAnd if, when numbers sued, she turned away, \nDid not her heart belong to Lincoln Gray ? \nAnd if when he his fond proposals press\'d. \nShe still refused him as she did the rest. \nDid she not know \'twas sad to cast her lot \nWith one whose heart his God regarded not ? \nOh, who can ask a fair and trembling girl \nTo launch on life\'s wild, agitated whirl. \n\n\n\n68 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nWith one on whom, however dear the tie, \n\nIn hfe or death her soul can ne\'er rely ; \n\nWhose home is prayerless, and whose life abroad \n\nGoes forth unsheltered by the grace of God ! \n\nWith that deep thrilling gaze which beauty pours, \n\nWhen the strong soul yields all its dearest stores, \n\nEmilia fixed her burning eye on him. \n\nThat man of giant faith and trembling limb \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nDrank the pure radiance of his lofty trust. \n\nThen bade her heart beat \xe2\x80\x94 softly, \xe2\x80\x94 if it must \'\xe2\x80\xa2 \n\nIX \n\nWhen on three massive tables joined in one, \nTo spread the feast industrious maids begun, \nThe Patriarch cried, " Oh, yet awhile forbear, \nWait till we bow before our God in prayer ; \nOnce more for Lincoln let us send above \nOne pure believing plea, from hearts of love ; \nTake thou the sacred Book, my eldest born, \nChild of my earliest hopes, my brightest morn ; \nRead that dear passage where my fingers rest. \nSoiled by my tears but treasured in my breast. \nOnce did my roving boy, whose feet depart \nFrom life and glory, learn it all by heart. \nAnd oft would on the holy pages gaze \xe2\x80\x94 \nSee, there the print of his young fingers stays !" \n\n\n\nTHE SACREB SEAL. 69 \n\nX \n\nThe group was silent, as the eldest son \n\nThe story of the Prodigal begun : \xe2\x80\x94 - \n\nSobbing went through the room. The Patriarch bowed ; \n\nAnd there, before his Savior wept aloud : \n\nAt last, composed, his quivering accents fell, \n\nLike genial dews upon the flowery dell. \n\nHe thanked his covenant God, whose grace had made \n\nAt night his sunshine, and at noon his shade ; \n\nWith chastened heart the dismal hour recall\'d \n\nWhen death invaded, and when sin appalled, \n\nAnd when the promise, which so long had shed \n\nIts light and grace upon his reverend head. \n\nRose on his soul full-orbed, his voice awoke \n\nIn glorious exultations. While he spoke, \n\n(And one sweet voice beside him, said amen) \n\nSilent a stranger entered, and unseen \n\nKnelt on the vacant chair with humble mien ; \n\nAnd as the Patriarch ended, once again \n\nBroke forth in stronger tone that word, Amen ! \n\nThat circle started \xe2\x80\x94 from their knees they sprung \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\'Twas Lincoln Gray that o\'er his father hung, \n\nPour\'d his warm tears amidst the whitened hair, \n\nAnd raptures mingled more than heart could bear ! \n\n\n\nSCENE X. \n\n\n\nMASSACHUSETTS\xe2\x80\x94 The Patriarch\xe2\x80\x94 The Baptism\xe2\x80\x94 The Explajoaton "" and \nCharge\xe2\x80\x94 Death of the Patriarch\xe2\x80\x94 Address of the Pastor. \n\n\n\nI \n\nLand of the Mayflower I whose selected shore \nWelcomed the hero-saints Atlantis bore ; \nWhose forests chanted what the ocean told, \nOf wafted treasures richer far than gold ; \nWhose rocks record their first free footsteps yet, \nWhose soil was by their tears, their life-blood wet ; \nTo thee, my soul ^ with eager jEiight returns, \nThrills at thy name, and for thy glory burns ! \nO champion State ! on whose Achillean frame \nOur country rests her past, her future fame. \nMay Vice shrink from thee, and may Slavery feel \nThy truth-shod, firm, invulnerable heel ! \nPeace to thy noble heart, and on thy head. \nStrength, beauty, gladness be forever shed ! \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL, 71 \n\nII \nCalm as the groves of Paradise above, \nWhen angels sing of Everlasting Love, \nSeemed that still chamber, where at closing day, \nThe Patriarch\'s lifetime gently ebbed away. \nAround his couch once more his offspring drew. \nTo soothe each pain, and hear his last adieu, \nStrong in the hope that ere his spirit pass\'d, \nOn them his sacred mantle should be cast. \nThere, too, his aged Pastor still consoled \nWith holy words the friend he loved of old ; \nAnd there the Wanderer with Emilia stood, \nHe strong and wise, she beautiful and good \xe2\x80\x94 \nHeld in his arms a fair and smiling boy, \nOn whom the dying Patriarch gazed with joy, \nWhile with baptismal water on his brow, \nThe Pastor sealed the Covenant and the Vow. \n\nIll \nThen sat erect the Patriarch in his bed. \nAnd filled with grace and glory, thus he said : \n" Ye sons and daughters of a prayerful race, \nCome hear the wonders of celestial grace ; \nAttend ! and treasuring what my voice imparts, \nFix it forever in your heart of hearts. \n\nIV \n\n" Bless\'d be the Lord ! He taught my early youth \nTo fear his name, and trust his saving truth j \n\n\n\n72 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nThat name my parents triumphed to adore, \nAs did their fathers ages long before. \nDown from those ancient fountains freely ran \nThe stream that bless\'d me till I rose to man ; \nThen gave me her, who, gentle as the dove, \nShared in my toils, returning love for love. \nDear, patient Anna ! heir of faith divine. \nWhich dwelt supreme in her ancestral line ! \nWe from His hand our progeny received \xe2\x80\x94 \nWe in His word implicitly believed. \nAssured, that if His right in them we owned, \nWhose matchless blood for all their sins atoned : \nIf for His name we trained each growing mind, \nTrue to his word, and to His will resigned, \nThen would His saving grace on them descend, \nAnd they should find Him an Eternal Friend. \nFor this, with hopes which only parents feel. \nWe stamped on each Jehovah\'s Sacred Seal ; \nGave them to God, and on each infant brow \nHis claim recorded, and our mutual vow ! \n\nV \n\n" With tender mercy God beheld our care. \n\nOur teachings bless\'d, and heard our constant prayer, \n\nTill all but Lincoln knew the Savior\'s voice, \n\nAnd saw their children in His name rejoice ! \n\nBut this dear son, a wild and wayward youth. \n\nStill grieved the Spirit, and repelled the truth. \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 73 \n\n\' Ah why, God !\' my heart uprose to say, \n\' Chastise thy servant, and thy grace delay ? \nDid I not give that darling child to thee 1 \nDidst thou not take the holy pledge from me ? \nHave I not prayed for him, as erst before \nFor these I prayed, who now thy name adore 1 \nOh tell thy trembling servant \xe2\x80\x94 hear my prayer, \nAnd if the cause be with me, show me where !\' \n\nVI \n\n" He heard and answered \xe2\x80\x94 not in such a way \n\nAs I had hoped when thus I strove to pray. \n\nHe searched my heart \xe2\x80\x94 His eye, omniscient, saw \n\nThat heart had varied from his perfect law. \n\nLong had I fondly hoped that ere I died \n\nThe Pastor\'s daughter would be Lincoln\'s bride ; \n\nBut when, obedient to her mother\'s word, \n\nHis ardent suit she solemnly deferred, \n\nAfraid to trust the dearest pearl of life \n\nTo one whose heart with God maintained its strife ; \n\nThen rose my soul against the just decree, \n\nThen, dear Emilia, censured even thee ! \n\nThat word \xe2\x80\x94 he caught it, and infuriate learn\'d \n\nThat e\'en his father thought him wrongly spurned. \n\nMad at the truth, he scorned its high control, \n\nThen burst away with peril on hissoul ! \n\nOh gloomy day ! my stubborn will rebelled. \n\nMy recreant heart with awful anguish swelled \xe2\x80\x94 \n\n\n\n74 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nWhen lo, offended Heaven in one stern blow \nLaid my dear wife, my faithful Anna low ! \nClosed o\'er her form the melancholy grave, \nAnd showed His power to kill, as well as save ! \nThen, my lone heart His sovereign will revered \xe2\x80\x94 \nThen, deep and dark my inward guilt appeared ; \nDay after day the billows o\'er me swept, \nWhile at His feet in penitence I wept ; \nYear after year my yearning prayer could gain \nThis only answer \xe2\x80\x94 ^ Man ! thy God doth reign, \nAnd if thy son the death of sinners die, \nHe still shall reign in holy sovereignty !\' \nLowly I bowed \xe2\x80\x94 yet still my prayers I sent \nO\'er all the earth, where\'er the Wanderer went ; \nAll lands, all waters with petitions sowed \xe2\x80\x94 \nWatched in the sunlight, on the tempest rode, \nAnd strong, yet trembling, to that promise clung. \nFrom which the gladness of my life had sprung, \nUntil by heavenly help my spirit rose \nTo that high station of serene repose. \nWhere, as I sung aloud \' Thy will be done ! \' \nFond hope responded \' Thou shalt see thy son ! \' \nThat voice was true, was glorious. At my side \nHe stands ! and lo, Emilia is his bride ! \nAnd here they bring their infant Theodore ! \nGod of faithfulness ! I ask no more. \nBind ye, my sons. His covenant to your heart 1 \n\'Tis gain to live \xe2\x80\x94 \'tis glory to depart ! " \n\n\n\nTHE SACRED SEAL. 75 \n\nVII \n\nPale on his couch the wearied saint reclined, \n\nHis fi-ame exhausted by the soaring mind ; \n\nHis lingering love-look o\'er that circle passed, \n\nMore brilliant, soft, and blissful to the last ; \n\nWhen the dark eye its full expression raised \n\nAloft to God, and there unchanging gazed \xe2\x80\x94 \n\nGazed, until hfe its latest struggle met. \n\nThen fixed in joy ! as if the seal that set \n\nDeath on the lips, to the same clay had given \n\nThe Soul\'s own smile \xe2\x80\x94 the imperial stamp of Heaven ! \n\nVIII \nThen spoke the reverend Pastor, as he stood, \nTall, mid that group \xe2\x80\x94 a holy man of God : \n" Oh favored Flock ! what mercy have ye known,. \nFor whom that saint a guardian angel shone ; \nDown to your graves his dying language bear, \nOh, keep that Covenant with unceasing care. \nImmortal ones ! awake ! beware ! ye stand \nBy many a strong indissoluble band \nLinked to each other \xe2\x80\x94 to all human kind. \nYea, to the whole wide universe of mind ! \nLinked for eternity ! Your influence good \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn through all years it rolls a joyous flood \nOf mingling, brightening waters ! Is it bad \xe2\x80\x94 \nThe flood is endless, but its waves are sad ! \n\n\n\n76 THE SACRED SEAL. \n\nFor this, Eternal Wisdom formed the plan, \nFrom age to age to plant the race of man. \nThat from the faithful parents to the child \nMight flow these living waters undefiled; \nFor this, when man his birthright cast aside, \nThe curse rolled down its universal tide ; \nFor this, when Mercy interposed to save, \nGod to his saints a holy offspring gave ; \nFor this, when Abram feared his sovereign name, \nThis gracious Covenant with its promise came. \nCelestial gift ! It lives from age to age. \nGave birth of old to prophet, saint and sage ; \nBrought to the world in God\'s appointed hour \nThe promised Savior, and the Spirit\'s power ; \nAnd then walked forth in every waiting land. \nStrong to endure, and destined to expand ; \nDown to this day its saving power hath rolled \xe2\x80\x94 \nOn through all ages shall its grace unfold ! \nIn this glad land its sweetest fountains burst. \nIts genial life our rising nation nursed ; \nIts blooming wreath shall every clime adorn. \nAnd crown thy brows, Resurrection Morn ! \nOh then ! by all the memories of the past, \nWhile time, or grace, or generations last, \nStand on this rock \xe2\x80\x94 while rolling years reveal \nThe strength and grandeur of the Sacred Seal I" \n\n\n\nNOTES \n\n\n\n" Such were the frantic words of Lincoln Gray." \n\nScene /., Sec. 2. \n\nThe state of high excitement, bordering almost on derangement, \nin which the Wanderer appears, has an adequate cause in the re- \njection of his suit by Emilia, the Pastor\'s daughter, on account of \nhis irreligion. Those who have a just conception of the vast in- \nterests dependent upon the family compact, will readily perceive \nthe necessity of mutual piety in order to their safe attainment and \npreservation. Hence, the rule has been often laid down, that a \nbeliever ought never to marry an unbeliever. A New England \npastor, who inculcated this doctrine, was once hardly pressed by \nan opponent. He had an accomplished daughter, who was impeni- \ntent. The antagonist said, " Sir, let us suppose that two young \nmen of equal qualifications in general, should solicit your consent \nto the hand of youi\' daughter. Suppose one of them were pious \nand the other were not, would you feel it your duty to refuse your \nconsent to the pious one merely because of his piety ? Or would \nyou, choosing for your daughter, advise her to marry the impeni- \ntent aspiraiit rather than the believer ?" This was putting a new \naspect upon the question. Yet what Christian could feel himself \ndoing right in connecting himself with one who had no regard for \ntrue religion. Our heroine chose not to run that risk. Oui- \nHero, being full of pride as well as extravagant passion, rushed \nfrom home in the state of mind delineated in the first paragraph \nof this scene. His love for Emilia was, in the main, pure and \nlofty, and in the wild desperation which drives him to the gambling \nroom he resolves to shun the low sensuality of drunkenness and \ndebauchery. \n\n" Silence hangs o\'er thee, throbbing, as it will." \n\nScene /., Sec. 2. \n\nThere is something truly terrible in the aspect of a party en- \ngaged in deep play. The concentration of intellect and passion \n\n8 \n\n\n\n78 NOTES. \n\non the result is described to be intolerably powerful, and often \nterminatesj especially in Paris, with the dreadful deed of self- \ndestruction. \n\n" Ye are all wretched \xe2\x80\x94 yet how doubly weak, \nThe end of pain, by suicide to seek !" \n\nScene /., Sec. 5. \n\nThe Wanderer adduces the most powerful argument against \nsuicide which is possible to be brought \xe2\x80\x94 the doctrine of future \nand eternal punishment. It is the connection of life here with \nour eternal state, that renders it of such immeasurable value, and \nrenders murder so exceedingly criminal. The gospel affords a \nchance for repentance while life remains, but death, especially \nwhen self-inflicted, excludes all possible hope. - \n\n"Which taught them wit their books could never teach." \n\nScene IL, Sec. 3. \n\nIt is well known that the most formidable enemies of Christian- \nity are those persons who have become apostates from it after \nthorough instruction in its truths. Such individuals are rare, but, \nlike traitors to their country, they are the ablest conductors of \nits foes. \n\n" Those foes of God the table dared to spread." \n\nScene II., Sec. 4. \nAwful as the idea of a mock sacrament is, I have heard of \nseveral instances where it has been dared. A decided Christian \nof my acquaintance once informed me that he was himself awak- \nened and converted in consequence of participating in such a \nsacrilege. His name, also, was Gray.. \n\n" Who walks alone where recent carnage piled \nThe strength of armies mid these ruins wild." \n\nScene III., Sec. 2. \nIt has been frequently stated that Napoleon was in the habit of \ntraversing the field of battle alone after the conflict was over. \nThe views taken of his designs in this and the succeeding scene \nare, we believe, the established opinions of Christendom at the \npresent day. \n\n\n\nNOTES. 79 \n\n" But on his path who now presumes to stand ?" \n\nScene III., Sec. 4. \nThe wildness of the Wanderer seems rather to have increased. \nFrom what follows, it appears that he had once joined the stand- \nard of the Emperor, probably soon after his flight from country \nand home. That his re-appearance in such a time and manner \nshould have made some impression on Napoleon is not unnatural, \nwhen the superstition of the Emperor is remembered. \n\n" Yet now, thine own Rotopschin dares to read, \nIn all thy flames, his darkly-glorious deed." \n\nScene IV., Sec. 1, \nThat the burning of Moscow was the work of the Russian \nGovernor is now generally believed. It was one of the sublimest \nacts and scenes recorded in history. \n\n** Let the light blaze around me \xe2\x80\x94 I will bear \nIts fierce reproaches with profound despair." \n\nScene IV., Sec. 9. \nThese lines reveal the deep desolateness of our Hero. He \nknew too much to be an infidel. He was too proud to obey the \ntruth. He had too much self-respect to sink into low vices. It \nis a state of mind which the mass of mankind will not appreciate. \nI shall have readers, however, who will comprehend this language. \n\n" With thoughts of terror and of sin oppressed. \nIn Khasne\'s sacred walls Gray sunk to rest." \n\nScene VII., Sec. 3. \nThe descriptions and pictorial representations of Petra, the an- \ncient capital of Idumea, the country of Esau, have been so widely \ncirculated of late, that the situation of Gray will be easily con- \nceived. His harrowed and agonizing conscience found a congenial \nfellowship in the surrounding desolation. Khasne was supposed \nto be the ancient temple of Petra. \n\n" Here once again let all thy nature shine. \nHere stand again, triumphant and divine." \n\n~ Scene VIII., Sec. 3. \nThe writer numbers himself among those who expect the gene- \nral conversion of the Jews, and, with that event, the re-peopling \nof Palestine with that wonderful race. Prophecy certainly im- \n\n\n\n80 NOTES. \n\nplies it \xe2\x80\x94 so does analogy \xe2\x80\x94 so also does the course of Providence \ngive note of preparation. \n\n" I yearned \xe2\x80\x94 I trusted \xe2\x80\x94 oh, it came at length." \n\nScene IX. ^ Sec. 3. \nThe assurance here intended is widely diffeienl from enthusiasm. \nIt aiises from a cod scion sness of having prayed with holy motives \nand in a luoper manner, combined with a strong persuasion of \nhaving been thus specially moved to pray for the specific blessing \nby the Holy Spirit. For the Spirit helpeth our iniii-milies. In \nthe records of Christian experience many similar instances are \nrecorded. \n\n" There comes Thanksgiving constant as the year." \n\nScene IX., Sec. 3. \nNothing is more purely New England in its character than this \nancient and delightful institution. Its appointment was one of \nthe earliest acts of the forefathers. Its manner of celebration \nhas varied according to the state of vital piety in the churches. \nThe rapid favoi- which the day is obiaining vl the West and South \nis grateful to the sons of New England wherever they are scat- \ntered. \n\n" Bind ye, my sons, His covenant to your hearts." \n\nScene X., Sec. 6. \n\nThe last two scenes of the Poem explain the nature of those \ninvisible, but eflectnol influences, which had theu\' origin around \nthe domestic hearth, and which ciung to the Wanderer wherever \nhe went. The Pat li?. fch continued to plead the gracious promise. \nThe truth was firmly lodged in the undei-standing and conscience \nof the wayward son. The Spirit of- all grace was ready to an- \nswer pi\'ayer and bless the truth. In tliis event, the nature of the \ngreat Houseliold Covenant is exhibited, especially as it is con- \nnected with the histoiy of other branches of the family. \n\nIt is not difficult to find in New England many families in whole \ngenerations in which the power of vital godliness has been thus \nconspicuous. When the great amount of imperfection and un- \nfaithfulness existing in the best families is remembered, the grace \nof God in the bestowment of these spiritual blessings is truly as- \ntonishing. In the Sacked Seal these principles of covenanted \ngrace have been, I trust, in some good degree exhibited. \n\n\n\n'