V 
 
 \ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. f 
 
 Chap. 3M\1^._. 
 Shelf ._.J)1 <A*% 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 

YOICE S 
 
 SPIRIT-LAND. 
 
 NATHAN FRANCIS WHITE. 
 
 MEDIUM. 
 
 ' In earth and heaven, sea and air, 
 God's Spirit moveth — everywhere ! 
 And speaketh, wheresoe'er a voice 
 Uplifts to sorrow or rejoice." — Schiller. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PARTRIDGE AND BRTTTAN, 
 
 300 BROADWAY. 
 
 1854. 
 

 ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE TEAR 1854, BT 
 
 PARTRIDGE AND BRITTAN, 
 
 IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF THE UNITED 
 STATES FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK. 
 
 NEW YORK STEREOTYPE ASSOCIATION, 
 
 201 William Street. 
 
 Holman, Gray & Co., Printer* 
 New- York. 
 
F R I E 1 I) S OF TRUTH 
 
 AND 
 
 SPIRITUAL FREEDOM 
 
 (■WITHOUT WHICH ALL OTHER FREEDOM IS AS A SHADOW), 
 
 THESE 
 
 Waxtn from Sjmit-f art, 
 
 IN SO FAR AS 
 
 THE MEDIUM 
 
 THROUGH WHOM THEY WERE UTTERED 
 
 IS CONCERNED, 
 
 ARE 
 
 '?$umt}l£ IF nsr erf b ctr. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 How beautiful and consoling to believe, with Coleridge, that there is 
 a Spirit-ladder — 
 
 " That from this gross and visible world of dust, 
 Even to the sjarry world, with thousand rounds, 
 Builds itself up, on which the unseen powers 
 Move up and down, on heavenly ministries; 
 The circles in the circles, that approach 
 The central sun, with ever-narrowing orbits." 
 
 Snch, perchance, was the ladder Jacob saw in rapt vision ; and such, 
 to the aspiring soul, have ever pierced the skies, linking the visible with 
 the invisible, the mortal with the immortal. Those were blessed eras 
 in the history of humanity, when a simple and true faith opened the 
 eyes of the pure to behold, and unloosed their tongues to converse with, 
 the angels and ministering spirits of the Almighty, and even to hold 
 direct communion with God himself. In all Christendom, men believe 
 in the reality of those eras, and accept as sacred the revelation which 
 records to us the familiar intercourse between the inhabitants of earth 
 and the inhabitants of heaven. Nor is such belief irrational, if it be 
 indeed true that God is alike the Creator and Father of all spirits. The 
 sublime prayer of the accepted Son of God, " Thy kingdom come, Thy 
 will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven," confirming the Old Testa- 
 ment by the New, teaches us that the realm of divine bliss — the true 
 Spirit-Land — is neither here nor there, but everywhere, and that as 
 " the pure in heart shall see God," whatever the outward condition of 
 our being, so is heaven, the immortal Paradise, wherever in the uni- 
 verse a pure spirit dwells. In no revelation is it taught that communion 
 between mortals and immortals has been, or will be, denied to the pure 
 in spirit. Nor has any revelation taught, nor does human reason teach, 
 
VI I N T R O D UCTICTN. 
 
 that an intercourse, once enjoyed, may not at all times and forever, be 
 enjoyed under similar circumstances and conditions. And how much 
 stronger is our fai'th in the power of communion between spirits of 
 earth and heaven, when we are taught that the Spirit-Land is open not 
 only to the visio'n of the pure and perfect, but that God and his angels 
 have deigned to repeatedly renew their primal intercourse with the 
 erring and imperfect ? Truly the Psalmist could say of the blessed 
 God: "If I make my bed in hell, He is there;" or, "If I take the 
 wings of the morning, and flee away, He is there" — his love is without 
 weariness, and " His mercy endureth forever." 
 
 All revelations, or scriptures, and the ever-open and unalterable 
 pages of nature, upon which religions, or faiths in the hereafter, are 
 founded, teach, in some degree, a relation and intercourse between the 
 finite and the Infinite, through the medium of spirit. This is the vital 
 essence of the Christian's belief. Without this, his religion is as cold 
 and unconsoling as the most skeptical philosophy that ever sacrificed 
 upon the altar of human pride the universal instinct of humanity— a 
 belief in a wise, paternal, and bountiful God. And every Christian 
 equally believes that, in ages past, at least, man has walked with God 
 upon the earth ; that angels have descended to console, warn, and va- 
 riously minister unto men ; that living men have been translated, while 
 yet in the flesh, to the special presence of God, and that spirits of men 
 who have once walked the earth have been permitted to reappear unto 
 mortals, as it were to remove the last, lingering doubt, of the intimate 
 connection between God's Spirit-children of earth and heaven. If this 
 were not true — if this inspiring belief were not justified, then the record 
 of the Garden of Eden were a fable ; then the pages of the prophets 
 were a fiction ; then Moses heard not and saw not God ; then were not 
 Enoch and Elijah caught up to heaven ; then Jesus descended not, nor 
 arose from the septilcher ; nor were comforting angels with Peter in 
 prison, nor did John behold in Patmos a prophet descending from the 
 skies. ' 
 
 How clear it is in the light of the accepted record of the past, what 
 we must believe in regard to spiritual existence and relations, if we be- 
 lieve at all. And since not to believe — not to have some faith in this 
 regard — is the bitterest cup of human wretchedness, believe we must. 
 We desire felicity too keenly to deny what reason accepts as the highest 
 necessity of our existence. Let us -ask, then, since the Spiritualism of 
 of the past— interfused through all religions, and literature, and creeds, 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 and castes — is accepted as rational, essential, and beautiful, why a 
 corresponding, though less pretentious, Spiritualism of the present 
 should be rejected] Has the character of God, or the needs and char- 
 acter of man changed ? Is the soul's longing impertinent to-day, that 
 was tenderly responded to by its Creator one thousand or six thousand 
 years ago ! Is it less rational that an angel should comfort a Peter, 
 or a prophet's spirit appear unto a John, to-day, than that these things 
 have occurred in other, remoter times? And if, of old, from unlettered 
 fishermen God selected media and apostles, and fired their tongues with 
 more than mortal eloquence and truth, may He not of even the untem- 
 pered clay of our times, select vessels through which to pour the light 
 and glory of his Spirit ? Surely, if there was a betrayer, a denier, and 
 a doubter among the " Twelve," and if a Magdalen was found worthier 
 than many daughters of the Pharisees, we can not believe mankind in 
 our own day unworthy of as close communion and as tender regard as 
 God ever vouchsafed to man. On the contrary, as mankind progress 
 in intelligence, and humanity is more universally developed and recog- 
 nized as related to God, it is rational that the communion of God's 
 Spirit-children with God and with one another, should become more 
 and more intimate and universal. Therefore it is that, in the main, the 
 Spiritualism of all times is to us acceptable and beautiful. Its " Mani- 
 festations" in the present are not dissimilar to its " Eevelations" in the 
 past. Both meet and answer the same universal need — a need that has 
 not ceased at any time, and which can not cease while the mortal state 
 exists. 
 
 But there are some evidences, we conceive, which should especially 
 convince us that we are perpetually surrounded and influenced by 
 superior powers and intelligences — in short, by the Spirit of God, of 
 angels, and of those who, before us, have, like ourselves, walked the 
 earth. Evidences like these were not wanting in other days ; why 
 should they be nowl Let us reason this matter kindly and fairly to- 
 gether, for it has to do, if we are indeed germinating toward immortal- 
 ity, with the highest and holiest concerns of our being. Of old, men 
 were endowed, as is recorded, with supernatural gifts of speech, with 
 diverse tongues, with the power of healing, and to work wonders among 
 men. That was Spiritualism in times not so remote as to be lost in 
 myth and tradition — times historical and veritable, the spiritual records 
 of which are accredited and venerated by the Christian world. Has 
 the Spiritualism of our day done or claimed more 1 Is it, if its mani- 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 festations correspond with the older revelations, less credible, less enti- 
 tled to belief and respect 1 Does the mere lapse of time change princi- 
 ples that are, in the nature of things, fixed and eternal? We can not 
 think so, lest we should confound both our reason and our faith. This 
 very volume, to which we are attempting a feeble and perhaps unbefit- 
 ting introduction, is to our mind, cognizant as we are of the facts con- 
 cerning it, a special proof, though but one of multitudes of similar 
 constantly developing evidences, that man, aye, very imperfect man, is 
 made — as he ever has been, at periods — a particular instrument for the 
 revelation of God's purposes and spirit, and the possible fraternal inter- 
 course of all God's Spirit-children. 
 
 Here is a volume of more than two hundred pages, spoken and writ- 
 ten in obedience to superior influences by one who, in a normal condi- 
 tion, possesses no such power of utterance. This volume of Voices 
 from Spirit-Land is, to our belief, no more the conscious product of 
 the Medium through whom its utterance is claimed to have occurred, 
 than it is the work of some Patagonian yet unborn. Why do we believe 
 thus 1 Simply because this Medium is known, and has been from his 
 infancy, by as many and as rational and reputable witnesses, perhaps, 
 as ever confirmed equally interesting facts ; witnesses whose testimony, 
 with all the formality of the oath, could be. given, if it were deemed 
 necessary, in proof that, except as an involuntary medium, he never 
 has displayed the slightest tendency or capacity for such utterance. It 
 is to him as verily an unknown tongue as was ever given to prophet or 
 apostle. He can not evoke it, nor exorcise it to silence when, by some 
 superior power, it is evoked. It takes possession of his. hand and 
 tongue, speaking whether he will or no ; and to himself, when free 
 from its spell, it is, more than to all who behold it, a wonder and a 
 mystery. And yet no mystery, when the philosophy of spirit-inter- 
 course is embraced and understood. When the poet Gray, immortal 
 through his "Elegy," if he were not else, was reproached in that he 
 wrote so little, he replied, in a letter to a friend : " I by no means pre- 
 tend to inspiration, but yet I affirm, that the faculty in question is by no 
 means voluntary. It is the result, I suppose, of a certain disposition of 
 mind, which does not depend on one's self, and which I have not felt this 
 long time. You that are a witness how seldom this spirit has moved me in 
 my life, may easily give credit to what I say." If so naturally bountifully 
 gifted a soul as Gray's could confess so much, how much more earnestly 
 may the Medium of this volume claim special inspiration for its utter- 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 ance ! He, without one natural gift tending to poesy, and with but 
 small conception and a meager embrace, in his normal state, of the 
 ideas and sentiments, the scope and spirit of what has been uttered 
 tb. rough him, may well claim that inspiration " does not depend on 
 one's self." He may say with Pope, though with an hundred-fold force : 
 
 " As yet a child, and all unknown to fame, 
 I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came !" 
 
 It is scarcely to be expected that the materialistic critic and reader 
 will not smile incredulously. To such, arguments ad facts that do not 
 tally with their prejudices, bigotries, and conceits are as the idle wind. 
 But to Spiritualists— to those whose experience has enlarged their per- 
 eeption and quickened their faith — there is nothing of claim set up for 
 these Voices that is not intelligible and reasonable. It is to such that 
 we are particularly speaking. If the Spiritualisms of mankind had 
 been left to the judgment of those whose lives and beliefs they rebuked 
 and opposed, they would always have been what their enemies of to- 
 day would fain brand them. But, thank God, they are mightier than 
 the scorn, and pride, and ignorance, and prejudice, and castes, and 
 creeds of human invention. 
 
 Many who read this volume will have read the "Epic of the Starry 
 Heaven," uttered through Thomas L. Harris— a marvelous utterance ; 
 and yet, this volume to us appears more remarkable. Mr. Harris is a 
 natural poet, highly gifted in his normal state, and cultivated by obser- 
 vation, experience, and reflection. Though less mightily, his voluntary 
 song had lifted our hearts and thrilled our spirits long ere his subhmer 
 involuntary utterance. Our wonder, even at the loftiest utterance from 
 such a soul, could but be less than if we heard a dumb, ungifted tongue 
 suddenly break forth in rapturing strains, or saw a blank page sud- 
 denly bloom with truth and beauty under the involuntary motion of 
 an undisciplined hand. Such a tongue and hand, save when influenced 
 by some superior invisible power, has the Medium of these Voices 
 from the Spirit-L\nd — Nathan F. White. A gentle-hearted, simple- 
 minded young man ; diffident and unpretending in whatever sphere ; 
 with only the limited common-school education of a humble New-En- 
 gland farmer's son ; a daily hand-toiler since his early youth ; without 
 imagination or ideality beyond the measure of Pollock's happy man, 
 
 " Who thought the moon no bister than his father's shield" — 
 1* 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Is it nofc indeed surprising that such a one, if the spiritual philosophy 
 be rejected, should break forth in a voice, new and startling to him- 
 self, and with fiery tongue scourge evils and picture characters to his 
 observation, reading, and experience unknown 1 All this Mr. White has 
 done — done in the presence of multitudes of unimpeachable witnesses — 
 in the presence of opposers and scoffers of Spiritualism, who, neverthe- 
 less, have not had the hardihood to deny the integrity of the Medium, 
 or dispute facts occurring under their own eyes. What renders the 
 utterances of Mr. White still more remarkable, is the fact that their 
 ideas and teachings were mainly opposed, in so far as Spiritualism is 
 concerned, to his education, prejudices, and belief, and to those of his^ 
 fathers before him. 
 
 Mr. White was born in the then town of Derby (now Seymour), Con- 
 necticut, November 16, 1827 Until within three years past his life 
 has been quietly passed in that State, in the town of his birth, save a 
 period passed, while learning the engraver's art, at New Haven. All 
 who have known him at all intimately, from childhood to the present 
 hour, know equally well that the utterance of poetry has been, and is, 
 as foreign to his natural tendencies and capacities, as the prospect of 
 his becoming the Grand Llama of Thibet. They know, also, that he 
 has been, and is, incapable of disguise or deception. They may believe 
 him under the influence of evil spirits, if they please, but they must 
 believe him under the influence of some spirit superior to his own. For 
 several years prior to his spiritual impressment he was a devoted mem- 
 ber of an " orthodox" Christian sect. And notwithstanding his normal 
 sense and faith have been enlarged by his Spirit-intercourse, until he 
 must needs reject the dogmas and errors of that sect, its communion 
 has not been withdrawn from him, nor have the purity and piety of his 
 life been questioned. Mr. White's Spirit-intercourse began, under re- 
 markable circumstances, some three and a half years ago. Visiting with 
 a friend, a medium, at Bridgeport, Connecticut, the first manifestations 
 he witnessed excited only his mirth and ridicule. Soon after, when in 
 the solitude of his own room, he found himself becoming a medium of 
 the very manifestations — rappings — he had ridiculed. He still per- 
 sistently regarded them as unmeaning and mischievous. In this con- 
 dition of mind he remained for a long time, becoming daily more and 
 more developed as a medium. Even when he found himself a.n invol- 
 untary agent for the communication of idens and truths, he was slow to 
 believe it was not some delusion. About this period he removed to the 
 
INTRODUCTION.. XI 
 
 city of Trey, ISTew York, where he has since resided, pursuing his pro- 
 fession of engraver, and where he has bee a made the medium of extra- 
 ordinary incidents and revelations, among which may be numbered 
 the utterance of these Voices from Spirit-Land. 
 
 After six months of rapping mediumship, Mr. White was developed 
 'as a writing medium, and a year later, as a speaking medium, and is 
 now, by turns, impressed to all these modes of communication. In so 
 far as he has been made aware, he was first impressed by the spirit of 
 an Indian chief — Powhattan, which spirit continues at times to impress 
 him, particularly when other spirits fail. Under the influence of Pow- 
 hattan, Mr. "White has been made to speak in the presence of and with 
 living "Red men," in the Indian tongue, and to manifest all the pecu- 
 liarities of the Indian in. a surprising manner. Under the influence of 
 other s}3irits he has been made to speak in various languages, with all 
 the ease and grace of persons native to them ; and to write in German, 
 or Hebrew, or Arabic, with a rapidity and perfection of chirography 
 impossible to natural skilL * 
 
 At the period of Mr. White's first impressment, he was in feeble 
 health, afflicted with bleeding at the lungs, and other symptoms of 
 pulmonary disease. Under Spirit-influence, his health has been com- 
 pletely restored, and his voice, previously weak, rendered strong and 
 loud — as those can testify who have been startled by his "war-whoop," 
 when thus influenced by his favorite spirit, Powhattan. Some months 
 since, at the earnest solicitation of friends in Troy, and elsewhere, who 
 had been witnesses of his remarkable manifestations, and desired the 
 publication of some of his utterances in a volume, Mr. White visited 
 INew York, where his mediumship was subjected to the severest tests 
 without, in the slightest degree, shaking its claims. The writer of this 
 had, on those occasions, ample opportunity to study the natural char- 
 acter and powers of Mr. W., and to satisfy himself that deception was 
 utterly impossible. We saw Mr. W. under all the forms of Impression 
 — Rapping, Writing, and Speaking -and if the matter communicated 
 had failed to convince us of the presence of some superior spirit, we 
 should have been convinced by the physical phenomena presented. 
 The slowly-growing rigidity, death-like pallor, spasmodic tremors, and 
 icy-cold sweat gathering like " beaded dew" upon the brow of the 
 Medium while in process of entrancement, preparatory to speaking, 
 were what no man could counterfeit. And when the voice issued, as 
 
 1* 
 
Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it were from a body dead to outward impression and appearance, the 
 veriest skeptic felt that this was more than mortal. 
 
 In permitting this volume to go before the public, Mr. White has 
 yielded to the wishes of the large circle of friends by whom he is es- 
 teemed and beloved, rather than consulted his own inclinatioi.s. He 
 knows not by whose spirits the Voices were dictated, and only knows 
 that they were uttered at intervals, through his hand and tongue, often 
 but a few lines at a trance, and sometimes to the extent of more than a 
 hundred lines. It is evident from the subject-matter, that more than 
 one spirit dictated ; style, flow, and force of expression indicate this. 
 The higher qualities of the various poems are their truth, clearness, 
 earnestness, and directness. Here and there is a sting of biting sarcasm 
 worthy of Pope or Byron, or a flash of intellect and fancy that reminds 
 of Shelley. But the pervading spirit is force rather than brilliancy. 
 The song breathes with a noble humanity and lofty faith. It appeals 
 for Freedom, Justice, and Truth. It scourges cant, hypocrisy, and all 
 uncharitableness. It fully accords with the philosophy of Spiritualism. 
 To only three or four of the poems were titles given by the dictating 
 spirits. The rest have been supplied according to the judgment of their 
 editor, as also the title of the volume itself. Since the manuscripts of 
 the poems passed into the publishers' hands, Mr. White has not seen 
 them, nor has he seen any of the proof-sheets of the volume. He is as 
 ignorant of book-making as the child unborn. Any defects, therefore, 
 apart from the Voices themselves, Avhich stand precisely as uttered, 
 must be charged to others than Mr. W. and his impressing-spirits. 
 
 It is not necessary to say more. Voices from Spirit-Land will be 
 welcomed, we doubt not, in the circles and by the firesides of all Spirit- 
 ualists. Let none fear that, whatever other qualities they may possess, 
 they utter one word to contaminate — one line for evil. They are not 
 unworthy of notice from the intellectual, while to the humbler spirit 
 they will bring food for reflection, and perchance light, strength, and 
 consoling balm. C. D. S. 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Spirit divine, eternal and immortal. 
 
 By whom all things created live and move ; 
 Who holds't the keys that open every portal 
 
 Of this vast universe of light and love ; 
 Who hast vouchsafed all things that we inherit, 
 
 So not to chance is left a shade or tissue 
 To shape our destiny — mind, body, spirit — 
 
 From being's smallest need to its immortal issue, 
 Thee we invoke ! O let thy love divine 
 Speed on the Truth, since all of truth is thine. 
 
 Spirit beneficent ! if so thy ministers, 
 
 Angels, or spirits of the freed of earth — 
 Alike thy servants and thy worshipers — 
 
 Have spoken aught to quicken or give birth 
 Through mortal lips to Freedom, Truth, and Love ; 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Charity, and Blessedness ; 
 Or aught, or all that lifts the soul above 
 
 Material things, Thou wilt their utterance bless, 
 Though poor and weak the mortal tongues they bor- 
 row, 
 To waken mortal joy and lessen mortal sorrow. 
 
XIV INVOCATION. 
 
 Spirit all- merciful ! since first to being 
 
 Thou didst from chaos and from darkness call — ■ 
 With hand omnipotent and eye all-seeing — 
 
 All forms, all life, vast suns and atoms small, 
 Thou has not left one sparrow e'er to perish, 
 
 Nor yet one hair unnumbered e'er to fall, 
 But with all-mighty love dost keep and cherish, 
 
 And guide, and guard, through tender mercy, all, 
 Making the universe to glorify 
 Thee in all things — earth, heaven, sea, and sky. 
 
 Spirit all-bountiful ! in other ages, 
 
 Thou deign'd'st to walk in mortal paradise 
 With Adam ! and with prophets, seers, and sages, 
 
 Thy angels, down descending from the skies, 
 Since then have frequent held sweet intercourse, 
 
 Watching and warning, and in cell and prison 
 Holding with saints and eremites discourse ; 
 
 Sitting in sepulchers, from whence, uprisen, 
 Thy Son, ascending, God-like, to the skies, 
 Unvailed to man the immortal paradise. 
 
 Spirit all-mighty! not alone thy angels 
 
 With thee have walked along our mortal way, 
 
 Breathing in raptured ears Love's high evangels, 
 Making our night of sin and sorrow, day ; 
 
INVOCATION. XV 
 
 Thon stood'st with Moses on the holy mountain ; 
 
 Thy angels, Peter, -prisoned, comforted ; 
 To many an ancient shrine and sacred fountain 
 
 The mem'ry of thy presence still is wed ; 
 But more than this, man's spirit thou hast given 
 To bring us messages of Love from Heaven. 
 
 Spirit eternal ! was it not thy prophet, 
 
 And not an angel, John in Patmos saw ? 
 So reads the " Sacred Word." Shall doubters scoff 
 it? 
 
 Ay, one who erst, obedient to thy law, 
 'Mong men walked forth ere called to the Elysian ; 
 
 A holy man — a saint — at death upborne 
 To Heaven, from whence, in glory, to John's vision 
 
 He came, of all his mortal image shorn. 
 And if one earth-born soul, through death immor- 
 tal, 
 Descend, may not another pass Heaven's portal % 
 
 Spirit adorable ! thy love surpasses 
 
 All thought, all wish, all prayer of feeble man. 
 In all time's cycles not a moment passes 
 
 But thou dost all thy vast creation scan. 
 Thou watchest, guiclest, givest life and motion — ■ 
 
 Temp'ring the pulses of the universe ; 
 
XVI INVOCATION. 
 
 Alike in smallest mote, star, tempest, ocean, 
 
 Each voiced thy praise and glory to rehearse ; 
 But most of all, thy love to man is shown, 
 .For in Thine image made is man alone. 
 
 O Spirit, who didst bear in chariot, burning, 
 
 The rapt Elijah np from earth to heaven, 
 While yet with mortal eye and sense discerning 
 
 The glorious convoy to his spirit given ; 
 Who caught up Enoch ere death's hand had stricken 
 
 The cords that bound him to mortality ; 
 Thou canst our mortal to immortal quicken ; 
 
 Thou canst from sin and bondage make us free — 
 To Thee, in faith and trust, we look, adoring, 
 Upon thine altars all our incense pouring. 
 
 O Spirit infinite ! do thou guide — guard us, 
 
 By thy dear messengers of love and grace ; 
 Thou art our God ! forever turn tow r ard us 
 
 The light and glory of thy Father-face ; 
 Speak, by thy spirits, to our souls and through us, 
 
 As thou hast spoken to the saints of old ; 
 In truth and all things beautiful renew us ; 
 
 Purge us from dross and make us as fine gold — 
 Unto our spirits be thy Spirit given, 
 To lead on earth and bear us up to heaven ! 
 
 C. D. S. 
 
€nttntti. 
 
 Page 
 
 AMERICAN FREEDOM _ 19 
 
 THE OUTCAST,. 90 
 
 THE REUNION „ „ „ „ 130 
 
 THE BETRAYED 156 
 
 THE SPIRIT-BORN 167 
 
 A VISION 175 
 
 OLD FABLES 181 
 
 THE LAST OF THE RED MAN 186 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE WORLD 190 
 
 THE CRUCIFIXION . „ 195 
 
 THE FUTURE 199 
 
 THE CHANGE 202 
 
 they've LAID HER TO REST 205 
 
 DEATH 208 
 
 DOGMAS 210 
 
 the rock of truth 1 212 
 
 the pilot, reason , 215 
 
 poverty's doom 220 
 
 a vision 225 
 
 theology 232 
 
 a fragment 238 
 
 trust in god 244 
 
 the future 247 
 
 awake, my lute 248 
 
 SHADOWS 250 
 
 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD 253 
 
 WE ARE FREE 255 
 
 GONE BEFORE 257 
 
 THE child's PRAYER 259 
 
 INFANTILE DEVOTIONS 260 
 
SPIRIT-YOICES. 
 
 JUunntt $xtt)usm. 
 
 America, called Freedom's land, well roam, 
 Leaving awhile our bright, celestial home, 
 Throughout thy growing cities' crowded streets ; 
 Nor e'er forget thy villages' calm retreats, 
 Where rugged plowmen till the fruitful lands, 
 That willing yield unto their toil-worn hands 
 The bread that drives grim famine from your door, 
 And cheers the hearts of Europe's starving poor. 
 Across thy favored hills we'll take our way, 
 From Eastern shores to calm Pacific's«bay ; 
 Where throng the rich, the poor, the young, the old, 
 In eager search — for what 1 for paltry gold ! 
 Where busy cities, with a sudden birth, 
 Shoot up, like fairy castles, from the earth ; 
 Reminding us of tales in childhood learned, 
 Of forests in a night to cities turned j 
 
20 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Of sinking sun that on a desert glowed, 
 Then rose again and countless armies showed. 
 Back turning then, we'll seek thy Southern shore, 
 Where summer's sun seems smiling evermore ; 
 Where luscious fruits are heaping on the ground, 
 And plenty's smile is beaming bright around; 
 Where all seems joy, till, winding through the vale, 
 Is heard the -stifled, heart-despairing wail 
 Of Afric's sons, who groan beneath the toil 
 Oppression claims on Freedom's vaunted soil. 
 Through palace rich, through cottage of the low, 
 With fleeting spirit-step we'll noiseless go ; 
 Through halls of learning wend our quiet way, 
 And temples, where the rich can kneel to pray, 
 Nor fear, beneath the tow'ring dome safe pewed, 
 To soil their splendors in the contact rude ; 
 And sisters, brothers, bearing humble name, 
 Attention from us for awhile shall claim ; 
 Till all combined and mingled into one, 
 From Maine's bleak hills to Texas' southern sun, 
 From California's gold-besprinkled shore, 
 To where Atlantic's billows endless roar, 
 A changeful tale of joy and sorrow tells : 
 And ye may judge how much of Freedom dwells 
 Within the land, which, though beyond the rest, 
 Is still with God-like Liberty unblest. 
 Commence we where the Pilgrim Fathers stood, 
 And to their guide across the foaming flood, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM, 21 
 
 With hearts united bowed in humble prayer, 
 And praise that, with a kind paternal care, 
 From persecution's hand he'd set them free ; 
 Safe guided them across the stormy sea, 
 To where hope smiling on the Western strand, 
 Welcomed their coming with extended hand 
 To where, from shackles free, the mind might soar, 
 And realms of glorious thought unchecked explore, 
 Nor fear, that knowledge gained, to freely speak 
 To minds inquiring truths for which they seek. 
 But were they free as this ? or do I tell 
 What would have been but for the slavish spell 
 Dark superstition throws across the mind, 
 And bigotry's strong chains assist to bind ? 
 Do I but tell what might have been, had they, 
 Who harbored first in Plymouth's welcome bay, 
 But finished what they had so well begun ; 
 Followed the path marked out by Reason's sun, 
 Wide scattered every fragment of the chain 
 That would not let them soar above the plain 
 O'er which their fathers moved, fearful they'd turn 
 From ancient paths, progressive truths to learn ? 
 Did they then break the chains that long had bound 
 Them, willing, abject slaves unto the ground, 
 And rise above the with'ring, dead'ning spell? 
 The blood of those who dared to think, can tell 
 How much the struggling, soaring mind had won, 
 Who fondly dreamed that Freedom's Western sun 
 
22 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Would free him from the hateful, galling band 
 That drove him houseless from his native land. 
 And now ye boast of Pilgrim blood so free 
 That, leaving all, they fled across the sea 
 Rather than bow them to those sordid priests, 
 With 'vengeful warrior and with howling beasts, 
 Where war-whoops mingled with the wolves' deep roar, 
 Their dwellings made far from their native shore. 
 Ye boast them free, but were they free indeed ? 
 Let martyrs tell, who, for their conscience bleed ! 
 Hark to the sound of the disgraceful whip ! 
 The sobs that burst from tortured woman's lip ! 
 And why ? because she dared to think, to speak ; 
 Oh shame ! is this the liberty ye seek ? 
 . Was it for this ye left your early homes 
 To wander where the yelling savage roams ? 
 For this left ye that quiet village green, 
 Where May's glad sun oft hailed thee chosen queen ? 
 Where orders, issued from that rustic throne, 
 Were quick obeyed as though the jewels shone 
 Upon your brow that grace but monarch's head, 
 Instead of fading wreath, that soon would shed 
 Each drooping leaf, and then aside be cast, 
 Known like your power, but only in the past? 
 Why did ye leave old England's rocky shore ? 
 Why cross those stormy, threat'ning billows o'er, 
 To wander where the prowling panthers scream ? 
 Did ye, beneath oppression's goadings dream 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 23 
 
 That liberty of conscience ye might find 
 Where superstition still o'erawed the mind ? 
 Oh vain such dream ! for Liberty's ne'er found 
 Reposing on such bleak, unhallowed ground ; 
 As well might ye expect the gentle dove, 
 Whose loudest murm'rings only breathe of love, 
 Consorting with the filthy bird of prey 
 
 Whose croaking throat forever bodes de 
 
 ay, 
 
 As Bigotry and Liberty combined 
 In partnership, to guide the human mind. 
 And thus, America, upon thy strand, 
 Was it with those who left their childhood's land ; 
 They fled from home to 'scape oppressive toil, 
 Nor shook from off their feet the clinging soil, 
 From which upsprung the growing weeds of strife 
 That, on thy shores, oppression woke to life, 
 Till deeds were done in Freedom's holy name 
 That tyranny's dark, bloody page would shame. 
 But not alone was Liberty disgraced : 
 Religion on the shameful page was placed, 
 And angels bowed their heads in sacred grief 
 To read that name upon such blotted leaf 
 How blotted 1 noble Williams, thou canst tell 
 What bitter tears from houseless exiles fell ! 
 Self-exiled first, far from their native strand, 
 Then driven forth by brother exiles' hand 
 Because they dared to reason 'bove the rest, 
 Nor kept their thoughts confined within the breast ; 
 
24 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 By hands of those they, unresisting, bled, 
 
 Who, with them homeless, from old England fled ; 
 
 Because, forsooth, they could not do the same 
 
 Which now their exiled brothers from them claim. 
 
 They fled from home to free the soaring mind, 
 
 Then strove their brother's growing thoughts to bind ; 
 
 They cross the sea for liberty of speech, 
 
 Then with the lash erase the words they preach. 
 
 Oh what consistency ! how can ye boast 
 
 When rise before ye such a countless host 
 
 Of witnesses, jto prove that Freedom's name 
 
 Beneath such rule was but a word of shame ? 
 
 How can ye say that pure religion dwelt 
 
 Where cruel stock and torturing Avhip were felt ? 
 
 W T here tott'ring age nor helpless youth was spared, 
 
 And shrinking woman to the lash was bared ; 
 
 Where, unprotected, to the forest wild 
 
 Grandsire with hoary lock and infant child 
 
 Alike were driven from each happy home, 
 
 Through cold, bleak winter storms to houseless roam. 
 
 Because they looked beyond what teachers told, 
 
 They deemed them to the prowling arch-fiend sold ; 
 
 And wisely thought their duty plain, to aid 
 
 The fiendish host that 'gainst them were arrayed ; 
 
 Who waited but the sign from godly hand 
 
 To sweep their souls, rebellious, from the land — ■ 
 
 Oh well might angels grieve at such a sight ! 
 
 To see those men refuse the proffered light, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 25 
 
 Which would have quick dispelled the murky clouds 
 That Bigotry's blind votary enshrouds, 
 Might well from seraphs claim a pitying tear, 
 Were tears not banished from their happy sphere. 
 Once did their hearts to Freedom's plane aspire, 
 Within their souls had blazed the holy fire ; 
 They broke their bonds, and such a flood of light 
 Burst full upon their trembling, startled sight, 
 Uncertain, wav'ring for a while they gazed, 
 At Freedom's boundless ocean stood amazed, 
 Then back retired, and closed their wishful eyes, 
 Fearful that gazing thus their souls would rise, 
 And, rising, leave the path their fathers trod, 
 Braving the vengeance of an angry God. 
 Short-sighted fools ! and could you think 'twas sin, 
 To thus on earth the upward course begin ? 
 Dreamed ye that God would anger that ye sought 
 To find the liberty his Spirit taught 
 Was ready for your eager hand to grasp ? 
 Or feared ye that your closing arms would clasp 
 A fiend disguised unto each seeking heart, 
 From which once clasping ye could never part ? 
 Oh foolish man ! could wand'ring dream like this 
 Deter ye from the angel-offered bliss ? 
 Drive ye from cheering light of dawning day, 
 Within night's chilling atmosphere to stay ? 
 Bind you as 'twere with firmer, stronger chain, 
 Down to the level, ne'er ascending plain. 
 2 
 
26 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Had ye but looked beyond that foolish thought, 
 Received the truth that reason would have taught, 
 Nor deemed it sin to God-like wisdom gain, 
 The path of duty would have opened plain. 
 Then naught within thy upward way to bar, 
 No superstitious rock thy path to mar, 
 None would have shame upon thy forehead read, 
 None would have mourned thy liberty as dead. 
 But some perchance will say, " Why dwell so long, 
 Why make their deeds the burden of your song?" 
 We answer not that we the whole would spurn, 
 For much they did oppression's tide to turn ; 
 'Twas nobly done in them to leave their land, 
 And angels smiled as gathering on the strand 
 They bid farewell to friends they -left behind, 
 Rather than feel their struggling souls confined 
 Within the narrow bounds, where, church and state 
 Had bid them panting on their pleasure wait, 
 Nor strive to soar, till bishops could agree 
 How far 'twas safe the thinking mind to free ! 
 'Twas nobly done to break those galling chains ; 
 And all throughout the vast celestial plains, 
 With speed of thought the joyful tidings ran, 
 That light was dawning on misguided man ; 
 And seraphs struck their shining harps anew 
 As through their realms the happy tidings flew, 
 For long their pitying hearts for man had bled, 
 To see him blindly by false teachers led ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 27 
 
 And now the chain is snapped, but ah ! they clasp 
 
 The unlinked fragments still within their grasp. 
 
 Touch not the unclean thing ! cast it away ! 
 
 Thou dost with crawling, venomed serpent play ! 
 
 That soon within its twining, shiny fold, 
 
 Your hearts now free, as prisoners will hold. 
 
 Alas ! they did not hear the warning word, 
 
 Or some did not, and those that list'ning heard, 
 
 Deemed it but one of the foul tempter's arts 
 
 To sow the seeds of sin within their hearts : 
 
 And thus again their slavish chains they kiss, 
 
 And in their blind submission, dream of bliss. 
 
 We blame them not that there they broke the chain. 
 
 But that each link they riveted again ; 
 
 Boasted of liberty to nations 'round, 
 
 E'en while they strove to crush it to the ground ; 
 
 Till their posterity take up the cry, 
 
 Speak of their virtues — pass their vices by ! 
 
 If here ye think we speak with words too strong, 
 
 Retrace your steps, and see the bitter wrong 
 
 Suffered by all who dare increase their speed 
 
 Beyond the sluggish pace of those who lead. 
 
 Then turn to warmer climes, and look with shame 
 
 Upon the children of that church whose fame 
 
 For bigot cruelty has filled the earth ; 
 
 Beneath whose rule the torturing rack had birth ; 
 
 As led by Baltimore they touch thy strand, 
 
 America, the fetters leave each hand : 
 
28 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Or seem to leave, and better it is so, 
 Much will it save the race of future woe ; 
 Though hand and feet they're bound by Romish chain, 
 It is unseen, nor gives them half the pain 
 That falls upon the soul which once was free. 
 The wild-wood bird, whose home is forest tree, 
 Confined, refuses evermore to sing, 
 But beats its prison wires with fluttering wing ; 
 _Presses against each bar its panting breast, 
 In vain attempt to reach its forest nest ; 
 While bird that's fledged within a golden cage, 
 Against the gilded bars will never rage ; 
 And though its prison door should open stand, 
 . Will leave it not, but to caress the hand 
 That shuts it from the light of Freedom's day ; 
 There will it warble forth a merry lay, 
 Then backward skip, nor try a farther flight, 
 Unconscious that there is a freer light 
 Than that which fills the curtained, pictured room — 
 A twilight ray, which scarce dispels the gloom. 
 Imprisoned are Rome's children like such bird, 
 And Liberty's blest name have scarcely heard ; 
 Nor have a wish to roam beyond the bounds 
 Of " Mother Church" to seek forbidden grounds ; 
 They have excuse : the light they never saw, 
 And word from priest ordained to them is law ; 
 Yet while themselves were bound, they bound not those 
 Who sought their homes to 'scape oppressive woes, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 29 
 
 But, though they deemed them all unfit for heaven, 
 
 Thought that to God alone the strength was given 
 
 To turn them from such false, heretic path, 
 
 Or doom their hardened souls to endless wrath ; 
 
 r 
 And there they found the rest which was denied 
 
 By those who made their liberty their pride. 
 
 But now we'll leave those early deeds behind, 
 
 And see what in these later days we'll find 
 
 To prove that Liberty a rest has found, 
 
 America, upon thy favored ground, 
 
 But pause to tell how Freedom's sons arose 
 
 And into one combined their giant throes ; 
 
 Severed the cords 'neath which they'd vainly groaned, 
 
 Nor found redress from tyranny enthroned ; 
 
 Though long obscured by gloomy clouds of night, 
 
 Bravely and well they struggled for the right ; 
 
 How bravely, all thy battle-fields can tell, 
 
 And England's selfish monarch say how well 
 
 Their liberty political they gained ; 
 
 And he who o'er that distant region reigned, 
 
 The brightest gem of all his kingdom lost, 
 
 Because he did not count the future cost, 
 
 But only thought him of the present gain ; 
 
 Nor was that all, the deep, dark purple stain 
 
 Of blood was resting, England, on thy throne ! 
 
 And orphans' wail with wretched widows' groan 
 
 Arose from every village of the land, 
 
 For fathers, husbands, who on foreign strand — 
 
30 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 No friendly voice to soothe the parting breath — 
 
 Were passing through the dreary vale of death. 
 
 Now come we later ; still their freedom won, 
 
 The race with distant nations has begun ; 
 
 Till now the proudest are compelled to own 
 
 The child, almost to parent's stature grown ; 
 
 Each giant hand a mighty ocean grasps, 
 
 And in its arms a hemisphere it clasps ; 
 
 Or clasps a part and reaches for the rest, 
 
 Which soon 'twill fold to its maternal breast ; 
 
 Its fame for liberty, from pole to pole 
 
 Has spread, till now there hardly lives a soul — 
 
 Unless it dwells within a tyrant's form — 
 
 Whose heart does not rebound with throbbings warm, 
 
 While musing on the star of hope that beams 
 
 From out the West to cheer its waking dreams. 
 
 For they do sometimes dream of Liberty, 
 
 And think of what their bleeding souls might be 
 
 Could they, by one strong effort, break the chain 
 
 And bid adieu to mountain, hill, and plain 
 
 Where they have passed their happy childhood days ; 
 
 Direct their course toward the cheering rays 
 
 Which, ever darting from that western star, 
 
 Seem as if shining there to guide afar 
 
 The soul oppressed from tyranny's strong hand ; 
 
 Directing it to Freedom's happy land ! 
 
 And many break that chain — the soaring soul 
 
 The love of home no longer can control ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 31 
 
 But though the heart almost to breaking swell, 
 
 Bids to its friends a long, a last farewell ; 
 
 Takes parting look at each familiar scene., 
 
 Alike on mountain wild and smiling green ! 
 
 Gazes with anguish at the thought that these 
 
 Behind must stay, while o'er the raging seas 
 
 To Freedom's land it speeds its dreary way ; 
 
 And thus they come ; each swiftly passing day 
 
 Hails fresh arrivals on your welcome shore, 
 
 And each succeeding day will usher more, 
 
 Till waking Europe breaks her tyrant chains, 
 
 Or sees but crumbling walls and desert plains. 
 
 They've gained the promised land, but are they free 1 
 
 Mark well each disappointed face, and see 
 
 What struggling hearts by the exchange have made ! 
 
 They have the promptings of their souls obeyed, 
 
 Left all behind blest Liberty to find, 
 
 Yet still they look with disaffected mind ; 
 
 Their home is now where promised Freedom dwells, 
 
 But still the thinking, acting mind rebels ; 
 
 And why is this ? the cause to us is plain, 
 
 The flesh is free, but with a double chain 
 
 The spirit's bound ; what though the body free 
 
 Can gaze upon vast plains of Liberty, 
 
 TKe contrast is more marked ; 'twere best not know 
 
 Of Liberty at all, than view it so. 
 
 But why not best ? the gazing soul will wake, 
 
 And at such glorious sight its fetters shake 
 
32 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 With such new strength that they will, groaning, part, 
 
 And give free access to the thinking heart. 
 
 As pent-up fires that long have silent lain 
 
 Beneath the smiling, ever -verdant plain, 
 
 Linger in darkness but to gain fresh power, 
 
 Then with volcanic mouth belch forth a shower 
 
 That no resisting hand can ever stay, 
 
 Till it has had its own triumphant 'way ; 
 
 So is the fire that's kindled in the breast 
 
 Of Freedom's sons, though it. may seem to rest, 
 
 And all without serene and calm appear ; 
 
 Though it should smoulder on from year to year, 
 
 Each year but adds new fuel to the flame, 
 
 Until some tyrant mind would bind fresh shame 
 
 On the already crushed, o'erburdened heart, 
 
 When with a sudden, overwhelming start, 
 
 Resistless bursts the long impatient flame, 
 
 Devouring all that bars its rightful claim, 
 
 Till it has reached the long-desired goal — 
 
 The highest point e'er reached by prisoned soul. 
 
 We wander here, our duty 's not to say 
 
 What future years will bring, but of to-day, 
 
 Which loudly boasts of Liberty, to speak ; 
 
 Commencing, first, abodes of wealth we'll seek ; 
 
 With noisless step glide through each gorgeous room, 
 
 Nor fear reproof from some officious groom ; 
 
 List to the words that fall from beauty's tongue, 
 
 And judge by them if what we seek, among 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 33 
 
 The fortune-favored few is to be found ; 
 Or if it dwells on ruder, humbler ground ; 
 Traverse with me this busy, crowded street, 
 Nor wonder if at every step ye meet 
 Imploring age, that vainly sues for bread, 
 By side of youth whose jeweled arm would shed 
 Joy's cheering light on many a sinking heart, 
 Would it but with those glittering trinkets part ; 
 Start not, nor wonder if your eye should see, 
 Clad in her robes of gaudy tinselry, 
 The child of guilt with brazen, shameless face, 
 In contact close with one, whose solemn pace 
 And sable suit, speak him ordained of man 
 To tell us that our life is but a span — 
 Prepare our souls for death's dark, misty vale, 
 And teach us how to furl the swelling sail 
 When heavenly breezes blow too fresh and strong, 
 Threat'ning to waft our little bark along 
 Toward the happy shore with greater speed 
 Than the more bulky crafts of those that lead. 
 Heed not such sight, the ever-shifting throng 
 Promiscuously mingled move along ; 
 Awhile, at least, they cast away their pride, 
 Nor pause to ask if wealth is by their side ; 
 Here flutt'ring rags with costly garments play, 
 And humblest stuffs with India's fabrics gay, 
 In wild confusion wildest colors blend, 
 To which exhausted eye can see no end ; 
 2* 
 
34 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Nor longer tries to separation make ; 
 
 Where chaos orders, station seems to take. 
 
 But now the busy crowd is growing less, 
 
 The careless laugh, the wailings of distress 
 
 Which, but a moment since, fell on our ear, 
 
 Less frequent sound — for we are drawing near 
 
 Where gold, the god so many worship, reigns, 
 
 A monarch absolute o'er his domains, 
 
 Or only yields to his companion pride, 
 
 Who, shadow -like, is ever by his side. 
 
 See princely mansions proudly rear their heads, 
 
 And lavish wealth its glitt'ring mantle spreads 
 
 On all around, for e'en the plebeian street — 
 
 As if aware aristocratic feet 
 
 Honored its pavement by their dainty tread — 
 
 Hastens each morn its dingy coat to shed, 
 
 And angry that the coarse brogan has press'd 
 
 Where tiny slipper, pure as cygnet's breast, 
 
 Should hold a rightful,* undisputed claim, 
 
 Forgets its origin, and thinks it shame 
 
 That vulgar dust from weary feet of toil 
 
 The polished walks of bloated Avealth should soil. 
 
 Now up these polished marble steps we'll go, 
 
 Whose glittering white would match unsullied snow; 
 
 Stay not for those whose duty 'tis to wait, 
 
 To bow admittance, and of service prate ; 
 
 But pass in spirit to the inner-room. 
 
 Unseen by pettish maid or surly groom ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 35 
 
 There rest awhile, and wait what will appear. 
 By what we see, but more by what we hear, 
 Judge if the home of Freedom ye have found; 
 But while we wait fear not to gaze around; 
 Awhile the pleasure with the owner share, 
 And feast your sight with gems and vases rare : 
 Nor fear that any will dispute your right — 
 Invisible to all but Spirit-sight. 
 What mighty change has a few moments wrought! 
 Where hungry age a wretched morsel sought, 
 To longer stay the fainting, famished life ; 
 Postpone a while with death the fatal strife ; 
 A moment since we stood and sadly gazed 
 Upon the woful sight — but now, amazed, 
 Within wealth's favorite abode we stand ; 
 Where rich products from nearly every land 
 Are scattered 'round ; from richly frescoed walls, 
 In easy folds the silken drapery falls, 
 And blends with colors rare from Persia's loom, 
 That almost seem as yielding sweet perfume : 
 So perfect are the glowing flowers inwove, 
 For art has here so well with nature strove 
 That life alone is wanting, to complete 
 A perfumed, flowered walk beneath our feet. 
 Here polished marble from Italia's beds 
 Reflects the light, and ebon luster sheds 
 On soft luxurious lounge and easy chair ; 
 While from their costly frames, with life-like stare, 
 
36 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Gay beauties smile — works of a master hand — 
 The richest treasures of that favored land 
 Of glowing sky and ever-genial air, 
 Whose noble works of art and beauty rare, 
 The artist worships and the poet sings ; 
 Whose splendid mansions, once abodes of kings — 
 Though sadly changed — of ancient grandeur speak, 
 That o'er the earth beside 'twere vain to seek. 
 But while we gaze, methinks I hear you say, 
 " What perfect joy must in this mansion stay, 
 And what we seek must have a dwelling found 
 Upon this glittering, wealth-enchanted ground." 
 Haste not to judge till thou dost farther look — 
 And hark ! from out that gorgeous cushioned nook 
 Whose splendor with Arabia's tales might vie, 
 Ascends a smothered, heart-despairing sigh ! 
 A moment stilled, then, rising to a moan, 
 Such as a crushed and bleeding heart alone 
 Can breathe, when its last, only hope has fled, 
 And dark despair its darkest robe has shed 
 To cover with its gloomy, sable folds, 
 The victim its remorseless clutches holds ! 
 You start, and wonder how such grief can be 
 Where cause for happiness alone you see : 
 A moment wait, then gaze with inner-sight — 
 Whose rays reflected make the darkness light — 
 Till you the heart can see, and joy or grief 
 As plainly read as if 'twere printed leaf. 
 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 37 
 
 The gift is yours, and now 'tis yours to trace 
 
 The grief that in wealth's gay, enchanted place 
 
 Dares to intrude its dark, unhallowed form, 
 
 Turning its rich, luxurious calm to storm ! 
 
 The heart unvailed is now before your eyes, 
 
 From whose sad depths those wailing moans arise ; 
 
 Peruse each leaf of that fair being's life, 
 
 From childhood's happy hour, to years when strife 
 
 To conquer nature's first, best law of love, 
 
 Her happy songs, pure as the gentle dove 
 
 In love's own whisperings murmurs to its mate, 
 
 Changed into sad bewailings for her fate. 
 
 First on the title-page we read but peace, 
 
 And as we farther turn her joys increase ; 
 
 Each want supplied, her early wish fulfilled, 
 
 Did aught her fancy please, she only willed 
 
 And gold, the talisman that rules the earth, 
 
 Soon as the wish within her brain had birth, 
 
 The treasure coveted unto her brought, 
 
 Nor e'er refused whate'er the boon she sought. 
 
 But now the page we blotted find with tears, 
 
 And cheering hope with chill, despairing fears 
 
 Each leaf combines, forbidding us to tell 
 
 If beaming smiles that rose, or tears that fell 
 
 In their dominion, shared an equal part — 
 
 Or which as subject, longest ruled the heart. 
 
 And dimly seen on the disfigured leaf — 
 
 Blotted and soiled by tears of anguished grief — 
 
38 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 We read of one who bore a humble name, 
 
 Who, though his deeds the brazen trump of Fame 
 
 Had never sounded to applauding crowds, 
 
 In haunts of woe, where want the mind enshrouds, 
 
 Was ever found, relieving each distress ; 
 
 And outcast wretches knew him but to bless. 
 
 For e'en the vilest, pity in him found, 
 
 And though he lacked the gold to scatter 'round, 
 
 And Poverty had claimed him as her son, 
 
 The comfort he had brought, the good deeds done, 
 
 Were more acceptable than mines of gold 
 
 Without that sympathy, whose worth untold 
 
 Exceeds the riches of Australian hills, 
 
 Whose roaring torrents and whose murm'ring rills 
 
 Alike are bedded with the yellow earth, 
 
 The strife for which gives wrong and outrage birth. 
 
 It speaks of him, and tells how they had met, 
 
 For oft with tears her drooping lids were wet 
 
 While gazing on some scene of squalid woe ; 
 
 And, angel-like, unnoticed she would go 
 
 Often, to cheer some fainting, dying form, 
 
 Where him she met ; but why her heart beat warm 
 
 When he appeared, as yet she could not tell, 
 
 Nor either dreamed that love its binding spell 
 
 Was weaving 'round their mingling, trusting souls ; 
 
 Nor, that Affinity, whose law controls 
 
 The secret movings of each beating heart, 
 
 Had in their meeting taken active part. 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 39 
 
 And thus unconscious passed the happy hours ; 
 
 No dark'ning cloud to threaten future showers : 
 
 The time's delay, till they again could meet, 
 
 Each heart would chide ; then Paradise complete 
 
 When it approached, would deem that they had found, 
 
 Nor wish again to leave the hallowed ground. 
 
 Thus blindly did they live, nor dreamed of love, 
 
 But thought the blessing sent them from above 
 
 To cheer them in their self-devoted task, 
 
 And deemed it better pay that they would ask, 
 
 To feel new joys upspringing in each breast, 
 
 From sparkling founts that never seemed to rest ; 
 
 They rightly judged, for love 's a blessing sent, 
 
 A gift from heavenly spheres, awhile that's lent 
 
 To smooth the youth of rudimental life, 
 
 To calm the final, mortal, dreaded strife, 
 
 When spirits burst their narrow, useless shell 
 
 And soar away in brighter forms to dwell, 
 
 Cheering the soul until the struggles o'er ; 
 
 Then first upon the angel-crowded shore 
 
 Giving it welcome through some seraph face, 
 
 Whose absent image long has held a place 
 
 Sacred, enshrined within that faithful heart ; 
 
 So deep that even death's destructive dart — 
 
 Though years have fled since from the earth it passed — 
 
 Upon it fails to e'en a shadow cast. 
 
 There reuniting hearts already one, 
 
 Love finds its ministry but just begun ; 
 
40 
 
 ERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 And ever through eternity is found 
 Its welcome chain encircling hearts around. 
 But soon a change came o'er their happy dreams — 
 Dark clouds obscured the bright reviving beams 
 'Neath which they unmolested long had basked — 
 Nor in their present joy the future asked 
 If such blest peace could always with them rest — 
 Content that then they felt it in each breast. 
 But thus it ever is with earthly joy ! 
 When at its highest point, the base alloy 
 With which it mingles gains a partial sway, 
 And turns to deadly night the cheerful day, 
 Reminding those who would, without it, think 
 The founts of earthly bliss from which they drink 
 Were all-sufficient for immortal thirst, 
 That they were now enjoying but the first 
 •Imperfect taste of what, as ages roll 
 Their endless rounds, unto the seeking soul 
 Will bring increasing bliss, such as the thought, 
 Though fancy's wildest dreams were to it brought, 
 And into one her changing shape should blend 
 To aid the task, so dim would comprehend 
 That should it, struggling, make attempt to tell, 
 Though 'twere surrounded by the purest spell 
 That angels throw upon the mortal frame, 
 Spirits progressed would bow themselves with shame 
 That such a dull, imperfect glimpse was given 
 Of the increasing, perfect joys of heaven ! - 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 41 
 
 But why do clouds obscure the joyful light ? 
 
 Why is the page, but now so clear and bright, 
 
 Defaced and soiled by burning tears of grief? 
 
 The reason's plain — the words that tell it brief: 
 
 She in wealth's dazzling circle moves around, 
 
 While he in humble walks of life is found. 
 
 A slave to wealth, she ever by her side 
 
 To counsel her, finds wealth's companion, pride — ■ 
 
 Who, adder-like, has whispered to her heart 
 
 That poverty with her can have no part ; 
 
 That she must banish from her mind the past, 
 
 Or lose forever in wealth's state her caste. 
 
 Then the fierce struggle in her soul begun, 
 
 Nor ceased till pride the victory had won : 
 
 'Till she the monster sacrifice had made ; 
 
 Her soul's affections on wealth's altar laid ; 
 
 Condemned to nothingness her wretched heart, 
 
 And with another left a blighting smart. 
 
 And thus, go where you will throughout the land 
 
 Where gold has laid its with'ring yellow hand, 
 
 Despairing sobs and stifled, hopeless sighs, 
 
 Like moaning winds on every side arise 
 
 From souls, whose feet the sea of -Freedom laves, 
 
 That yield themselves to pride as willing slaves. 
 
 They claim themselves as free, and make their boasts 
 
 That, though against them Europe sent her hosts, 
 
 Before they'd yield them to her giant hand, 
 
 Their heart's best blood should moisten all the land ; 
 
42 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 But while they boast, to tyrant pride's control 
 
 They yield unblushing the immortal soul -; 
 
 With them, the worthless Freedom that we find 
 
 Pampers the body but enslaves the mind ! 
 
 With disappointed hearts we pass the door, 
 
 And try if with the struggling, honest poor, 
 
 The treasure that we seek has found the rest 
 
 It vainly sought in wealth's enchanted nest. 
 
 Mount with me up this tottering, crazy stair, 
 
 And try each crumbling step with guarded care, 
 
 For age its unmistaken seal has placed 
 
 Upon each board, forbidding careless haste. 
 
 With wary step grope through the darkened hall ; 
 
 Though chilling damps should on your spirit fall, 
 
 In silence pass along, nor heed the chill ; 
 
 With noiseless feet o'er the decaying sill 
 
 Advance into the dreary, tireless room ; 
 
 Your eyes accustom to the cheerless gloom ; 
 
 Sufficient is one glance the tale to tell, 
 
 That here oppression 's left a dead'ning spell ; 
 
 That worse than Southern slavery is here ; 
 
 For slaves to want, to wretchedness, and fear, 
 
 Groan 'neath a bondage heavier to bear ; 
 
 While chains that Afric's sons would faint to wear, 
 
 By cursed monopoly 'round them are thrown ; 
 
 And though beneath their crushing weight they groan; 
 
 They're forced to hug each cruel, torturing link, 
 
 Or find themselves suspended on the brink 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 43 
 
 Of famine's dark abyss, from which 'tis vain 
 
 To look for help, but to that grinding chain 
 
 Which hardly serves to keep them from the fall — 
 
 Yet in return, unpitying, claims their all 
 
 See, by the dim, uncertain taper's light, 
 
 Where deep into the middle hours of night 
 
 A wretched woman bows her to the toil ; 
 
 Drives back the blinding tears least they should spoil 
 
 The work that from her heart the life-blood drains, 
 
 To swell some heartless monster's daily gains ; 
 
 While he, perchance, who feeds his bloated wealth, 
 
 Unmindful of their tears, their wasting health, 
 
 On toil thus wrung from famished woman's hand, 
 
 Is praised for goodly deeds throughout the land ; 
 
 Coins mints of gold from widows' bleeding hearts, 
 
 Then with a trifle of his riches parts 
 
 For ostentatious charity, till fools 
 
 Who are not deeply learned in wisdom's schools, 
 
 Applaud him for the noble, gen'rous deed ; 
 
 While those who coin his gold in sorest need 
 
 Toil hopeless on, no pitying hand to save — 
 
 And find at last, unknelled, a pauper's grave ! 
 
 Can this be so 1 — on Freedom's sacred soil 
 
 Do feeble women, scarcely resting, toil, 
 
 And with their hands the gains of monster men 
 
 Increasing swell 1 — 'Tis vain for mortal pen 
 
 To make attempt to write the word of shame 
 
 That should be written o'er each wretch's name, 
 
44 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Who dares to live upon the torturing sweat 
 
 With which the weary brow of toil is wet. 
 
 Methinks that ever when he reads his name 
 
 In glaring letters on the scroll of fame, 
 
 As one whose deeds of charity, are known 
 
 Throughout the land, each victim's dying groan 
 
 Should ring its fearful changes in his ear — 
 
 Each heavy sigh, each burning, struggling tear 
 
 Forced from the hearts that his oppressive hand 
 
 Has crushed, and shaped to yield to his command, 
 
 In one should gather on the sullied spot, 
 
 And from fame's page his worthless name should blot 
 
 Methinks when he Heaven's ample blessing seeks 
 
 Upon the board that more than plenty speaks, 
 
 The thought of those who earned that bounteous meal 
 
 By hours of agony, should o'er him steal, 
 
 Forbidding him the grace of God to ask 
 
 Upon the food wrung from their midnight task ; 
 
 That o'er him such a tide of shame should flow 
 
 As the uncalled, unasked-for scene of woe 
 
 Before his guilty, trembling soul was brought 
 
 By the unwelcome, momentary thought, 
 
 That he should loathe but now the welcome meat, 
 
 Nor dare of his unholy gains to eat. 
 
 But from the scene with bleeding hearts we turn, 
 
 Sadly acknowledge we have much to learn 
 
 Of slavery's bond that, in the borrow'd garb 
 
 Of Liberty, with secret, venom'd barb, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 45 
 
 Ranges the land from North to Southern pole, 
 
 Alike on servant and on master's soul, 
 
 With hand unsparing, sets the shameful seal 
 
 That unborn souls will yet most keenly feel. 
 
 Where shall we look for. Freedom, if it dwells 
 
 Not in these gloomy, worse than prison cells ? 
 
 For in abodes of pride it finds no rest. 
 
 But ah ! new hope upsprings within my breast ! 
 
 A noble hall its shadows 'cross the way 
 
 Inviting throws, as wishing us to stay ; 
 
 And o'er the sculptured porch revived I read 
 
 Fair wisdom here — whose duty 'tis to lead 
 
 The knowledge-seeking mind — her dwelling makes : 
 
 And from despondency my soul awakes ; 
 
 For blessed Freedom we shall surely find 
 
 Where wisdom guides the knowledge-seeking mind. 
 
 What place so fit for Liberty to stay 
 
 As where unfettered minds can soar away, 
 
 And in the smiling morn of buoyant youth 
 
 From wisdom's fount drink in refreshing truth ? 
 
 With lightened heart we pass the open door, 
 
 Rejoicing that our search at length is o'er ; 
 
 Ascend the well-worn stairs, traverse the hall, 
 
 Nor heed the mingled roar of words that fall 
 
 In sentences confused upon the ear ; 
 
 But onward glide unseen, till, drawing near, 
 
 The senseless buzz is changed to ordered speech, 
 
 From those that learn alike with those that teach. 
 
46 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Here by this noble youth a moment pause ; 
 
 The beaming soul for each effect seeks cause 
 
 That darts with lightning glance from his proud eye, 
 
 While labored breath and deep, unconscious sigh 
 
 Bespeaks within a struggling, panting soul, 
 
 That will not tamely yield to the control 
 
 Of minds that fain would check its upward way, 
 
 Forbidding it from beaten paths to stray. 
 
 Determination on that brow is stamped, 
 
 And tells the soul within will ne'er be cramped 
 
 By narrow bounds that bigot minds would trace, 
 
 And in their ignorance call holy place ; 
 
 Name all beyond as Satan's dark domains, 
 
 Because their heads, with not sufficient brains 
 
 To even comprehend the rolling earth, 
 
 Where first their conscious spirit had its birth, 
 
 Would others bind unto the groveling plain 
 
 O'er which they plod, but find their efforts vain ; 
 
 For minds like his will ne'er submit to crawl, 
 
 Though all the thunders of the Church should fall 
 
 With fiendish fury on his noble head ; 
 
 Though o'er him the blasphemous curse were read, 
 
 His soul consigning to Satanic power, 
 
 Fearless and firm he'd breast the fearful shower ; 
 
 Smile with contempt as roll the clouds away, 
 
 That they should think their idle threats could stay 
 
 The soul which once has drunk from wisdom's fount, 
 
 Whose feet have trod upon her sacred mount. 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 47 
 
 But see ! with sober pace one comes this way, 
 Whose raven locks, besprinkled thick with gray, 
 And forehead high, furrowed with manly cares, 
 With restless eye, such as the spirit wears 
 From long-continued strife, bespeaks the man, 
 Who, when the light of reason's sun began 
 To dart its first faint beams upon his soul, 
 Instead of yielding to the blest control, 
 Commenced against his better nature, strife ; 
 Advised by fools, applied the bigot knife 
 Called Mystery, to what his youthful mind 
 In ancient, musty records could not find, 
 To God's unchanging, perfect laws explain ; 
 And by that foolish deed, to years of pain 
 His active spirit doomed ; for minds as strong, 
 As quick as his, soon feel the bitter wrong 
 That on the free, immortal soul they cast, 
 By looking only to the ancient past 
 For truths that God has stamped upon the sky, 
 Unvailed and free to e'en the lowest eye — 
 Truths that his thunders speak, his lightnings show ; 
 That o'er the blooming earth, where'er you go, 
 In shapes unnumber'd smile beneath your feet ; 
 That gentle winds in whisp'rings mild repeat ; 
 Then changing to the wild tornado's roar, 
 Re-echo from the east to western shore. 
 Truths that appear when gentle, balmy spring, 
 From nature's store renascent foliage brings 
 
48 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 To deck the trees, but now so drear and bare ; 
 That loudly speak, when bleak, autumnal air 
 Each quiv'ring leaf folds in its chill embrace, 
 Then onward whirls, leaving the fearful trace 
 That marks its visit, in the vivid glow, 
 Which, like the colors of the fleeting bow, 
 A moment gladden our enraptured sight — 
 Each fresh embrace but adding tints more bright, 
 Till from the north a rougher, keener blast 
 Comes wailing on, and then, its glory past, 
 Torn from its parent limb, the trembling leaf 
 (While moans the wind as in repentant grief, 
 At the sad work its blustering kiss has made), 
 Sinks flutt'ring down upon the forest glade, 
 His duty ended ; well content to rest 
 Alone, unnoticed, on the lowly breast 
 From which it sprung — forsaking truths as plain 
 As these, for written truth, is labor vain ; 
 And such the thinking, acting, honest mind, 
 Sooner or later to its shame will find. 
 For strife will ever in that bosom dwell — 
 Making its earthly paradise a hell — 
 That deems it sin for God's decrees to look 
 Except in ancient-written " Holy Book." 
 And such a strife has raged within the breast 
 Of him that now appears ; but if the rest 
 That it so long has sought, his soul has found, 
 Or if it lingers still on neutral groimi, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 49 
 
 We listen for his coming speech to tell ; 
 For he is questioned, to disperse the spell 
 That dark mythology has blindly cast 
 O'er the enticing study of the past, 
 Till truths intended for the common eye 
 Beneath its many folds so deeply lie 
 That scarce a ray of their true light appears. 
 But hark ! the words now greet our listening ears 
 That, to the mind of one, at least, will tell 
 (Driving afar the hateful, blinding spell), 
 The truth for which it eager panting seeks — 
 But ah ! what means the chilling word he speaks ? 
 Instead of bidding it the knowledge gain, 
 He tells the seeker that 'tis worse than vain 
 To seek the mystery of God to know ; 
 Charges the years of misery and woe 
 That he has suffered to his stubborn heart, 
 Because it fain would know what active part 
 'Twas destined in some future age to take ; 
 Bids it take heed, and not too freely slake 
 His raging thirst from wisdom's dangerous stream ; 
 But rather of the future blindly dream 
 Than seek with wicked, sacrilegious eye 
 The awful mystery of God to try. 
 The mystery of God ! that bugbear word, 
 From the pretended lips of wisdom heard ; 
 Taught in the schools, from every pulpit preached, 
 Methinks that word — its noon of glory reached 
 3 
 
50 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 In ages past, when scarce a ray of light 
 
 Illumed the earth — should long ere this to-night, 
 
 Dark as the dreary shade itself would cast, 
 
 From wisdom's catalogue of words have passed. 
 
 The mystery of God ! oh, simple man — 
 
 Because the life that hours and moments span, 
 
 Suffices not the universe to grasp ; 
 
 Because your weak, your feeble, infant clasp 
 
 Can not retain the orb that gives thee light, 
 
 Withhold it from its God-directed flight 
 
 Around the central, great Creative Mind ; 
 
 Because your puny arm has failed to bind 
 
 Even the smallest of the glittering train 
 
 That course obedient through the boundless plain ; 
 
 Because they stay not, at your beck, their speed, 
 
 Till you their unknown history can read, 
 
 You prate of mystery, and think it sin 
 
 To heavenly wisdom on the earth begin ; 
 
 Or deem such blessed wisdom sin at least, 
 
 Unless received from written word or priest. 
 
 Think you that God would laws mysterious make, 
 
 Forbidding works of his own hand to slake 
 
 The thirst himself created, at the spring 1 
 
 By vain desire a settled, hopeless sting 
 
 Fixing upon their ever active souls 1 
 
 Not such the law that human mind controls ; 
 
 Though we its workings dimly comprehend, 
 
 A pleasure 'tis to through its windings wend, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 51 
 
 And, step by step, as perfect laws we trace, 
 
 To find divinity stamped on their face, 
 
 And ever feel that something still before 
 
 Was beck'ning, bidding us to grasp for more ; 
 
 For were all knowledge gained, our bliss would end ; 
 
 And thoughts of an eternity to spend 
 
 With naught to lose, and nothing still to gain, 
 
 Would on the senses pall, creating pain, 
 
 And heaven, the place where joy alone should dwell, 
 
 Would harbor grief, the attribute of hell ; 
 
 With naught to learn, eternity would be 
 
 A plain unbroken, an unruffled sea, 
 
 On which would float the weary, fainting soul, 
 
 And think in gaining rest it gained the whole : 
 
 But long it would not listless, idly dream 
 
 For rest, devoid of future hope, would seem 
 
 To all who bear the principle of life, 
 
 As deeper punishment than years of strife ; 
 
 For though, to those who only dream of years, 
 
 Rest from their grief a paradise appears, 
 
 When they could rightly, truly comprehend 
 
 Eternity, their paradise would end ; 
 
 No soul so idle but it soon would spurn 
 
 Eternity of rest, with naught to learn ; 
 
 No soul, howe'er so much it longs for rest, 
 
 But torments keen would feel within its breast, 
 
 And sooner choose its earthly grief to bear 
 
 Than senseless robes of idleness to wear. 
 
52 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 No wonder such a paradise as this — 
 
 A settled state of unprogressive bliss — 
 
 Unto the soaring angel-mind should seem 
 
 As rest inglorious, or as idle dream ; 
 
 Nor that the bliss of ease should fail to bind, 
 
 To unprogressive ignorance, the mind ! 
 
 No wonder mythologic lore should tell 
 
 How angry hosts did 'gainst their God rebel ! 
 
 But where the wonder of the tale should rest 
 
 Is here — that deep within each angel-breast 
 
 God had implanted an impure desire 
 
 To up toward his sacred throne aspire ; 
 
 Had sowed the seeds of discord through the host, 
 
 That he could in some distant future boast 
 
 Of strength infinite, of resistless hand, 
 
 That with one wave had swept the rebel band 
 
 To shades infernal in disordered haste ; 
 
 And all for what 1 because they strove to taste 
 
 Of more exalted joys, impelled by .thirst 
 
 Himself created, then pronounced accurst. 
 
 Here lies the wonder of that liquid tale : 
 
 Methinks, as upward from the happy vale 
 
 In circles floated the vast, mighty throng, 
 
 Impelled by hope the shining way along, 
 
 He, who created in their breasts desire, 
 
 Who kindled in their hearts the raging fire 
 
 That's ever asking, like the leech, for more, 
 
 Should, as he glanced their coming legions o'er, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 53 
 
 Have given welcome words instead of wrath ; 
 
 Assisted them to mount the heavenly path, 
 
 Nor augured that they, struggling, strove to gain 
 
 The highest point of that celestial plain. 
 
 Divinity, methinks, should smiling greet 
 
 The panting souls that with unwearied feet 
 
 The height had gained, and whisper to each mind, 
 
 That still beyond more perfect truths they'd find ; 
 
 Nor upward aspirations strive to crush, 
 
 Nor thoughts itself created wish to hush. 
 
 But why do I thus ling'ring here delay 1 
 
 Why mourning o'er perverted wisdom stay 1 
 
 'Tis vain for Liberty in halls to seek, 
 
 Where it is treason deemed of God to speak, 
 
 Only as one mysterious and stern, 
 
 Whose ways inscrutable we ne'er can learn ; 
 
 Where souls to Satan's rule are given o'er, 
 
 Should they attempt beyond the chain to soar, 
 
 Thrown, by tradition, across wisdom's path, 
 
 Where minds inquiring are, with holy wrath — 
 
 Because they dare to reason, dare to think — 
 
 Branded as infidels and left to sink ; 
 
 The curses of the Church against them hurled, 
 
 Scorned and neglected by the pious world. 
 
 Retrace your steps, pass through the opened door, 
 
 Nor grieve that disappointment rankles sore 
 
 Within, but now, your gladdened, hope-cheered breast, 
 
 That Liberty e'en here can have no rest ; 
 
54 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 For wisdom will not ever, crouching, lay- 
 Beneath tradition's folds, but soar away ; 
 The chain which it so long has dreaded spurn, 
 For, by attempt, its brittleness 'twill learn ; 
 E'en now it more than half suspects the truth, 
 And, in the minds of ardent, fearless youth, 
 Its ruffled pinions plumes, prepares for flight, 
 And soon, before the wond'ring, startled sight 
 Of earth's inhabitants, 'twill upward soar 
 And bliss in ignorance be taught no more ; 
 But till that joyful time her halls we'll leave 
 Cumbered with idols ; her debasement grieve, 
 But not as those who grieve without a hope, 
 For cursed slavery can not ever cope 
 Successfully against the dazzling beams 
 That reason's sun directs, from " idle dreams," 
 The slumb'ring thousands of the earth to 'wake. 
 Unsatisfied as yet, our course we'll take 
 To where yon tow'ring spire points to the sky, 
 Hasten within its sacred shade, to try 
 If there, beneath its consecrated dome, 
 The world-neglected treasure 's found a home. 
 A massive structure, comely to the eye, 
 It now appears ; and ev'ry passer by- 
 Gazes with awe upon its silent walls, 
 Which still increases, until, wearied, falls 
 The eye, and wond'ring, 'neath its shadows sees 
 The wretch whose sunken cheek and trembling knees, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 55 
 
 Louder than words, of want and suff'ring speak ; 
 Whose feeble voice, with age and hunger weak, 
 Imploring bread, quick changes fancy's flight 
 From airy regions — where the gorgeous sight 
 Had sent it, dwelling on the power of will, 
 By means supported, wonders to fulfill — 
 To what the labor lavished on each stone 
 Of the huge pile before them, might have done, 
 Rightly controlled, the suffering to ease — 
 Each passing moment 'neath their shadow sees. 
 But we've at last the lofty entrance reached ; 
 And, as the Christian gospel here is preached, 
 The lamb-like Jesus for a pattern taught, 
 Who ever for the low and needy sought ; 
 Who deemed it duty's privilege to bind 
 The broken heart, to cheer the fainting mind 
 That want almost had driven to despair ; 
 'Twere better robes of poverty to wear, 
 And visible unto the sight appear, 
 That followers of his, who worship here, 
 May with extended hand our coming greet, 
 And offer by their side the vacant seat. 
 Thus we in clean, though tattered robes, arrayed, 
 With hollow cheeks, as famine had the shade 
 Upon us thrown — that it alone can cast — 
 Have through the lofty, creaking portals passed ; 
 And now on carpets rich, through hallowed aisle 
 With muffled step advance, then pause awhile 
 
56 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 And view the fretted roof, where arches rim 
 Their thousand lines, till mingled into one 
 They seem like giant forest trees that weave 
 Their limbs compact, nor smallest opening leave 
 For heaven's free light to through the net-work stray ; 
 And, though a beam is flitting 'cross the way, 
 Upon its native purity 's a stain — • 
 Caught in its passage through the colored pane, 
 Which, with its thousand mates, a varied hue 
 Gives*to each wand'ring ray that struggles through — 
 Bat soon the eye, bewildered -with the sight 
 •Of ornaments unnumbered, that the light, 
 Arranged and softened by the artist's hand, 
 From frescoed walls, life-like, has made to stand, 
 Confused and wearied, to the cushioned seats 
 Sinks listless down ; but there it, startled, meets 
 Fresh cause for wonder, when the glitt'ring show 
 It finds itself comparing with the woe 
 That's felt by those outside the massive walls, 
 Who, where the shadow of that building falls, 
 Day after day in vain implore for bread, 
 Nor hope for rest, but with the silent dead. 
 But onward move, for eyes reproving turn 
 From every side, as to our business learn ; 
 And looks of scorn greet us in every glance ; 
 Thus, uninvited, we our only chance 
 For rest discern in yonder vacant seat, 
 Which we approach, but to resistance meet ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 57 
 
 The Christian owner, fearful lest the poor 
 Who sometimes venture through the sacred door, 
 Should dare to claim the vacant, cushioned pew, 
 Where satins rich and flowers of every hue 
 Monthly appear, has bolted fast the door, 
 And all our dreams of Christian love are o'er; 
 The temple has become a market-place 
 Where wealth is honored, poverty disgraced ; 
 Where right to hear the word of God is soid, 
 And heaven's passports bought with paltry gold. 
 But one approaches ; willing we suspend 
 Our condemnation till we see the end ; 
 For should one soul, who bears a Christian name, 
 Of all the throng, without a blush of shame 
 For our imagined wants a pity feel, 
 And invitation give with him to kneel, 
 Awhile forget his consequential pride, 
 Proffer the vacant seat- that's by his side, 
 We'd willing yield that he, who bore the name, 
 Had gained a partial right at least, to claim 
 Himself as follower of the Spirit meek, 
 Who, with the humble fisherman would speak 
 In pref 'rence to the wisest of the land ; 
 Who ne'er refused to give the welcome hand 
 And with endearing name of brother, hail 
 The lowest wretch of all the earthly vale. 
 And now, perchance, the man who comes this way 
 Deems it a blessed privilege to obey 
 3* 
 
58 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 The teachings of that pure, that gentle breast, 
 Where pity for the humblest found a rest ; 
 But why does he each step of his advance, 
 Return inquiring look with scornful glance ? 
 And why where should be seen the pitying tear, 
 Rests on his face that bitter, cruel sneer 1 
 Can tattered robes and famine-hollowed cheek, 
 Can silvery locks that age and sorrow speak, 
 Be deemed objections to an entrance here ? 
 We soon shall know, for now approaching near 
 To us he speaks — he bids us leave the place, 
 Nor thus, presumptuous, dare to show the face 
 Of poverty again within the door ; 
 Nor dare profane with vulgar foot the floor 
 Which has been consecrated scarce a week 
 As dwelling of the Lord, where he can speak, 
 Through ministers appointed, to the world ; 
 Where Christian banners have been late unfurled, 
 Their mottoes sculptured on the fretted walls, 
 " Good-will to men"—" the Gospel free to all." 
 The Gospel free ? what mockery is this, 
 When gold must pave the path that leads to bliss ! 
 Good-will to men 1 quick, quick the words erase, 
 That they have been, leave not the faintest trace ; 
 But, on the tablets where they stood, engrave, 
 While truth approving doth her pinions wa' e, 
 " Here bow the knee if thou hast gold to pay, 
 And to the great ' I Am 1 in comfort pray ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 59 
 
 If thou hast none, depart unblessed, nor dare 
 Attempt to mingle with the polished prayer 
 That from the proud, the wealthy, here ascends ; 
 Thy uncouth language, which but poorly blends 
 With liquid words, that, in the mode approved 
 By latest fashion, seem as if they moved 
 From beauty's lips, impelled by ease along ; 
 Not from the heart, but like some careless song 
 Which has its birth upon the thoughtless tongue, 
 The sentiment forgotten ere 'tis sung." 
 Engrave such words as these upon thy walls 
 And truth, at least, will dwell within thy halls ; 
 But never more within this building dare 
 Allow a falsehood, plain as this, to stare 
 The humble, truthful seeker in the face ; 
 For if a constant effort to erase 
 The word offending is but labor vain, 
 Your duty then, it seems, would tell you plain 
 These glaring opposites to reconcile 
 By opening to the poor each gorgeous aisle, 
 That famished souls, who scarcely yet have heard 
 Of their Creator, may receive the word 
 And feel, upspringing in each saddened breast, 
 The feeble hope that they can find the rest 
 They've vainly sought for on the selfish earth, 
 When their freed spirits have the promised birth 
 In spheres that circle 'bove the sensuous plane, 
 Where heavenly joys, unmixed with earthly pain, 
 
60 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 They'll even feel, nor fear from spirit born 
 To e'er receive the cruel looks of scorn 
 That, through their pilgrimage in t mortal frames, 
 Have ever greeted their uuhonored names. 
 Again outside the walls, we've only learned 
 That from the house of God the poor are spurned, 
 Which speaks not well for Liberty's abode ; 
 Yet once again we'll try the sacred road 
 In which it seems so difficult to stay; 
 And now, methinks, that " narrow is the way 
 And few there be who find it," we've been told ; 
 But that 'twas only found by aid of gold, 
 . We've never heard ; perchance the secret lies 
 In wealth alone, for which the good and wise 
 Of every age have sought ; if this be so, 
 We who have suffered will the secret know. 
 A moment will suffice us for the change, 
 These tattered rags to costly folds arrange, 
 And now, with footing firm and head erect, 
 With glance which claims as rightful due respect, 
 Wearing our e archly wealth upon our backs — 
 In this we only follow in the tracks 
 Of many who have passed the inner door — 
 Again the consecrated threshold o'er 
 We proudly step — what wondrous change is wrought ! 
 AVhat servile cringing has our garments brought ! 
 The man who, but a moment since, the door 
 With rudeness showed us, bows him to the floor ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 61 
 
 Our entrance welcomes with officious haste, 
 And foolishly unconscious of the waste 
 Of words polite, bows us within the aisle, 
 Where doors are opened with obliging smile, 
 And seats that but a moment since seemed filled, 
 As if some power mysterious had willed 
 Increasing room, find still a vacant place, 
 Which courteous owners with inviting face, 
 That scarce a moment back with scorn and pride, 
 Greeted our presence — offer by their side ; 
 And we accept with condescending grace 
 The cushioned, poverty-forbidden place, 
 Resign ourselves awhile to silent thought, 
 To speculation on the change that's wrought 
 By scarce a moment's absence— 'tis not gold ! 
 Were our possessions earthly to be sold, 
 The one that bought would find it easy task, 
 Be only for our robes obliged to ask ; 
 And while we gaze around, we many see 
 Who from the anxious cares of wealth are free ; 
 Alike with us they rich possessions lack, 
 Except the show of wealth upon the back ; 
 Nor is it virtue, for we many find 
 Beneath this roof of base, deceitful mind ; . 
 And here we see, with sanctimonious face 
 Within the highest, most exclusive place, 
 The man, that fruits of vicious, sinful shame, 
 Permit the most exalted seat to claim ; 
 
62 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 But here the secret of admission lies — 
 Not in our wealth, for he indeed were wise 
 Who could discern amid the varied throng 
 Of costly robes, which did to wealth belong ; 
 He is advanced in wisdom who can say, 
 In this the noon of imitative day, 
 Who imitates, and who has right to wear, 
 Who part, and who their whole possessions bear 
 Upon their backs ; of this they have no test, 
 And so they bow them to the 'broidered vest ; 
 To polished coats offer each vacant seat, 
 And turn the coarser fabrics to the street. 
 Virtue and goodness with an entrance here 
 Have naught to do. Let angels drop a tear 
 As Lthe fact humiliating speak — 
 'Tis purity of cloth, not heart, they seek. 
 The man who robs the widow of her mite, 
 To worship in this sacred place has right, 
 While she whose heart is wrung to furnish gold, 
 For which this sacred privilege is sold, 
 Lacking the passport to admittance here, 
 With heart despairing and with gushing tear 
 Is driven to her dreary room unblessed, 
 Starving and prayerless sinks awhile to rest, 
 No friend on earth from misery to save, 
 And none to tell of hope beyond the grave. 
 Oh, Liberty ! in vain for thee I seek ! 
 Naught do I see thy presence here to speak ! 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 63 
 
 The place where, of all others, thou shouldst dwell, 
 
 Seems as surrounded by a triple spell 
 
 Of slavery ; not only tyrant gold 
 
 Confronts each entrance with his visage bold, 
 
 But fashion throws her slavish mantle o'er 
 
 Each soul that passes the emblazoned door ; 
 
 While superstition, of the dreaded three 
 
 The most tyrannical, enthroned we see 
 
 In yonder desk, its vengeful thunders hurled 
 
 We hear each hour against the erring world, 
 
 Striving the germ of Liberty to crush, 
 
 Watching with care each whispered thought to hush, 
 
 Lest they should kindle fires in Freedom's breast, 
 
 Which, faint and smould'ring, suit the tyrant best. 
 
 Disgusted with the sight we leave our seat, 
 
 Nor wish again our visit to repeat, 
 
 But safer feel where to the public gaze 
 
 Vice is exposed, than where disguised it prays, 
 
 To outward eyes appearing spirit-bright, 
 
 But to the inner gaze a thing of- night, 
 
 Which darker grows the more it strives to hide 
 
 Beneath that robe of sanctity and pride. 
 
 Alas ! that followers of the Spirit pure, 
 
 Who sight of misery could not long endure, 
 
 Should dream they were obeying his commands, 
 
 By proudly turning from imploring hands 
 
 To kneel in prayer beneath this fretted dome, 
 
 Whose ornaments alone would find a home, 
 
64 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 And hundreds furnish with a place of rest, 
 Who now repose upon the earth's chill breast — 
 Would turn to notes of joy the wailing sound 
 That compasses these massive walls around. 
 But from the W t est a mighty shout is heard, 
 And men awaken at the magic word ; 
 Their preparations make, with lightened heart, 
 Nor grieve from comforts of their homes to part ; 
 But leave Atlantic's bays with happy song, 
 And on Pacific's shore by thousands throng. 
 What joyful sound has made them cease to grieve 
 That they behind must every comfort leave 1 
 What is't attracts them to that distant shore ? 
 'Tis not to listen to Pacific's roar — 
 For the Atlantic, with her mountain waves, 
 Makes sweeter music, where their father's graves 
 By them neglected line her verdant shores ; 
 And spring's reviving sun its blessing pours 
 Alike on Eastern and on Western plain ; 
 Each pleasure there receives its share of pain ; 
 And waters sparkling on those Western hills, 
 Can not surpass in purity the rills 
 That dash adown the Eastern mountain's side — 
 Then why should men, leaving the youthful bride, 
 E'en at the altar, hasten to those hills ? 
 What mighty power, that but a moment wills, 
 Is followed by this moving, breathing host, 
 Until vast cities line the Western coast ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 65 
 
 Till wilds, that late re-echoed but the yell 
 
 Of savage warrior, as enchanted spell 
 
 Is resting on them, teem with busy life, 
 
 And hewer's axe, instead of cruel knife, 
 
 With jarring pick and rattling spade is heard ? 
 
 In vain we strive to think what moving word 
 
 Such fires can kindle in the human soul — 
 
 But ah! perhaps we've nearly reached the goal! 
 
 The prize we deemed as lost, perchance may rest 
 
 On yonder shore — what, in the human breast 
 
 But Liberty, could kindle such a flame ? 
 
 And what, but sound of that neglected name, 
 
 Could wake the slumb'ring thousands from their sleep, 
 
 To leave, unmindful of the friends that weep, 
 
 Each scene familiar for those mountains wild? 
 
 What else, from sobbing wife and wond'ring child, 
 
 Could loving husband, doting father part ? 
 
 For what but Freedom could the tender heart 
 
 Still the deep yearning for its childhood's home, 
 
 Alone and friendless on those shores to roam ? 
 
 It must be that — and now, rejoicing, speed 
 
 We to those distant shores, nor e'er have need 
 
 Of human aid to help our joyful flight ; 
 
 For thought excels so much in speed the sight, 
 
 Which darts so sudden through the distant space, 
 
 That by its side, as sluggard's weary pace, 
 
 The fearful lightning's blinding flash appears ; 
 
 That, soon as sight its course commencing steers, 
 
66 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Thought finishes the journey just begun ; 
 Alike with thought the spirit-journey's done, 
 Soon as it wills, the place it seeks is gained 
 Ere time with age has e'en a moment stained. 
 Now we thus will, and on Pacific's sand, 
 "Unseen by those around us, gazing-stand, 
 And, for a moment, scarcely feel the change, 
 Nor, till your eyes take more extended range, 
 Can realize that 'tis the distant ground 
 For which wa sought ; for still the busy sound 
 Of mingled voices greets the list'ning ear, 
 And crowded streets on every side appear ; 
 For here the Western, like the Eastern sky, 
 By lofty blocks forbidden to the eye, 
 In meager patches only can he seen ; 
 And where but late was rude, uncultured green, 
 With silence hardly broken by a sound, 
 The dashing coach and rattling cart are found ; 
 The lively green to dingy red gives place, 
 Until there now is hardly left a trace 
 That Nature unmolested here did reign, 
 That solitude had dwelling on this plain. 
 But yet no whisper of the magic word 
 That wrought this sudden, wondrous change we've heard ; 
 And seeking it, we'll join the moving throng- 
 That, by it, seem as still impelled along ; 
 They leave behind Pacific's wave-washed shore, 
 Turn from the city's never-ceasing roar, 
 
JlMERICAN freedom. 67 
 
 And, like the waves of a resistless tide, 
 
 Sweep onward to the distant mountain's side ; 
 
 Hope sits enthroned upon each weary face, 
 
 Quickens the lagging, half exhausted pace 
 
 As, near approaching to those cloud-capped hills, 
 
 They hear the murmur of their dancing rills, 
 
 And soon will learn the power that draws them here ; 
 
 But in my soul upsprings a growing fear 
 
 That disappointment, with her envious dart, 
 
 Again stands ready to transfix my heart ; 
 
 For now each eye upon the earth is bent, 
 
 And avaricious glance around is sent 
 
 From ev'ry soul of all this hurrying throng ; 
 
 Such selfish glance we know can ne'er belong 
 
 To votaries of Liberty — her name 
 
 Was never coupled with that word of shame ; 
 
 For he who seeks to robes of Freedom wear, 
 
 Wishes the world that privilege to share ; 
 
 But what besides could tempt them from each home, 
 
 Through desolated wilds like these to roam ? 
 
 Approach yon eager crowd — the story 's told ! 
 
 The sacrifice is made for love of gold ; 
 
 And looks of avarice no longer seem 
 
 As out of place, for where the yellow gleam 
 
 Of glitt'ring gold is found, av'rice a rest 
 
 Is sure to gain, within the finder's breast. 
 
 But can it be that man, who blindly sleeps 
 
 When violated Freedom 'round him weeps; 
 
68 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Who unmoved listens to despairing sighs 
 
 Of mental slavery, heeds not wailing cries 
 
 Of thousands 'round him, feels a kindling flame 
 
 At sight of gold ? this, this indeed is shame ! 
 
 If Liberty could waken half the fire 
 
 That rages, kindled by gold's base desire ; 
 
 Could cause the soul to half these dangers dare, 
 
 The earth not long would chains of slavery wear ; 
 
 One half the labor that is spent for gold, 
 
 And thoughts divine could not be bought and sold ; 
 
 The many would no longer to the few 
 
 Yield blind obedience, but accept the true, 
 
 The never-changing laws of God, for rule, 
 
 As soon from Nature as Tradition's school. 
 
 My spirit 's burdened with the sick'ning sight, 
 
 And fain from earth would take its final flight ! 
 
 Such sad debasement fills my soul with shame 
 
 That ever I have borne an earthly name ! 
 
 To see immortal spirits groping 'round, 
 
 By chains of selfishness so firmly bound 
 
 That e'en the dust they tread upon 's preferred 
 
 To Liberty — the heaven-exalted word — 
 
 Where gold, pronounced, would raise resistless flame, 
 
 Failing to e'en a passing notice claim, 
 
 Fills my sad, disappointed heart with grief, 
 
 To which but absence can afford relief. 
 
 But where can 1 absent myself from sight 
 
 Of scenes like this ? if I direct my flight 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 69 
 
 On backward path and gain thy Eastern shore, 
 Not only do I find them to the ore 
 Yielding, as slaves, the free, immortal mind; 
 But pride and fashion are with wealth combined, 
 While dread monopoly and bigot chains 
 Make four-fold slavery on those fertile plains ! 
 One place alone is left in all thy bounds — 
 The smiling South — the wild, mysterious mounds 
 Which scattered o'er thy Western prairies lie, 
 Pass'd by the savage e'en in rev'rence by, 
 As relicts of a mighty, extinct race, 
 We've stood upon ; Ontario's ruffled face 
 Have traveled o'er, and on thy Northern hills 
 Listened to whispered songs from leaping rills ; 
 Stood wond'ring at Niagara's deafening roar ; 
 Inhaled Atlantic's breeze on Eastern shore 
 In search of Liberty — where dashing waves, 
 Like savage beast that 'gainst its prison raves, 
 Upon Pacific's golden barriers rush, 
 As if beneath their mountain weight to crush 
 The tow'ring cliffs that ages long have stood, 
 Like silent sentinels, to guard the flood ; 
 We've sought for Freedom but have found it not, 
 And now we'll turn us to that smiling spot 
 W r here sons of chivalry are said to dwell ; 
 For chivalry had ever Freedom's spell 
 Entwining with it in its darkest hour ; 
 When tyranny held undisputed power, 
 
70 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Threat'ning to crush the soul that dared to speak 
 
 Of outraged rights, whatever, for the weak ; 
 
 Feared not to battle 'gainst the tyrant wrong ? 
 
 'Twas chivalry ! and daring deeds in song 
 
 Have often of her noble sons been told, 
 
 Who, for the right, 'gainst mighty odds were bold. 
 
 If chivalry, then, in its young, dawning day 
 
 So much of Freedom had, what bright'ning ray 
 
 Must now illume Columbia's verdant plains, 
 
 Where sceptered tyranny no longer reigns 1 
 
 What deeds beneath its ever genial sun 
 
 Must daily by her votaries be done 
 
 For Freedom's cause, of which we never hear ? 
 
 Should on its broad savannas fall a tear 
 
 From soul oppressed, quick would that tear be caught 
 
 By some adventurous knight, the cause be sought, 
 
 The proud oppressor made to feel the weight 
 
 Of Freedom's arm, nerved by the righteous hate 
 
 That dwells secure, unshaken in the breast 
 
 Of chivalry, by groans of the oppressed 
 
 Each day increased against the tyrant mind 
 
 Who dares, unblushing, on his brother bind 
 
 Burdens "neath which himself would sink to earth ; 
 
 Scenes like to this, where chivalry has birth, 
 
 Must every day be seen ; and where, for right 
 
 Against the wrong, such overpowering might 
 
 Is ever found, that wrong must surely end, 
 
 And naught but songs of happiness ascend 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 71 
 
 To greet the list'ning seraph's joyful ear. 
 
 Those plains of promise now we're drawing near, 
 
 And list to try if we can catch the strains 
 
 Of joy, that fancy, on those Southern plains, 
 
 Has bid arise in never-ceasing songs 
 
 From smiling Liberty's enchanted throngs. 
 
 But now an anguished shriek her vision breaks, 
 
 And at the fearful cry my soul awakes 
 
 To ask the meaning of that boding sound ; 
 
 To make inquiry why this promised ground 
 
 Should such a robe of desolation wear ; 
 
 What mean the looks of unresigned despair 
 
 That greet us now whichever side we turn ? 
 
 Oh ! can it be that we have yet to learn, 
 
 America, of deeper, darker stains, 
 
 Marring the face of Freedom's boasted plains, 
 
 Than soul-debasing, mantal slavery brings ? 
 
 Fain would I hush the spirit-jarring strings 
 
 I now must sweep to tell (Oh ! worse than shame ! 
 
 That such a blot should rest upon thy name, 
 
 Country of Washington !) that sinews, bone, 
 
 Blood, flesh, and souls, from child to manhood grown, 
 
 Alike with brutes are bartered here for gold — 
 
 Husband from wife, and wife from husband sold ; 
 
 The wailing infant from its mother's breast 
 
 By lustful master torn, its place of rest 
 
 Denied, for reasons best unto him known — 
 
 For songs of joy, the tortured victim's groan, 
 
72 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Writhing beneath the driver's cruel lash, 
 
 Which leaves behind each blow a quiv'ring gash, 
 
 Each moment can our list'ning spirits hear ; 
 
 Oh ! could that shame by angel's spotless tear 
 
 Be washed, Columbia, from thy favored shore, 
 
 From spheres celestial would such torrents pour 
 
 That naught could stand before the sweeping flood ; 
 
 The torturing " cat" stiffened with human blood, 
 
 Flesh-biting thong with clanking, grating chain, 
 
 The fiend-invented screw, whose hellish pain 
 
 Would cause the stoutest, firmest heart to quail, 
 
 The seller's " pen " the loathsome, dreaded jail, 
 
 Alike would mingle in one ruined mass, 
 
 And from the sight of man forever pass ! 
 
 This may not be ; and here such wrongs are done 
 
 Beneath the glaring light of noonday sun, 
 
 Where modern chivalry is boldly claimed, 
 
 That ancient deeds of tyranny are shamed, 
 
 And from the strife disgusted quick retire, 
 
 Nor to such worse than tyranny aspire ; 
 
 To modern wrongs their ancient doings yield, 
 
 And, fairly Vanquished, quit the shameful field. 
 
 See men, like brutes, here smarting 'neath the whip, 
 
 While yawning owners of their coffee sip, 
 
 And grow indignant as the news they read 
 
 Of Magyar patriots, who by thousands bleed ; 
 
 Exclaim against proud Austria's cruel hate, 
 
 W T hich dooms, unpitying, to such bloody fate 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 73 
 
 Those noble chiefs, because they seek their right 
 To Liberty" 'gainst overpowering might. 
 What means that sudden flush ? is 't crimson shame, 
 Or is it indignation's burning flame, 
 Which mantles all his brow and temples o'er 
 And bids him angry pace the mati.ed floor ? 
 Tis both combined, that Haynau's bloody hand 
 Should still more shameful sacrifice demand ; 
 'Tis shame, that he to public lash should dare 
 A trembling, weak, defenseless woman bare — 
 'Tis indignation, that the coward hearts 
 Who viewed her, with'ring 'neath the maddening smarts, 
 Shrinking beneath the deeper, deadlier wound 
 Of violated modesty, around 
 
 Should trembling stand, with nerveless, folded hand, 
 Nor dare resistance to the fiend's demand ; 
 'Tis this his shame and indignation makes, 
 Till trembling servant 'neath his anger quakes 
 And fears to cross his often turning path, 
 Lest on his head should fall the smothered wrath. 
 And now, in fancy, on that distant shore 
 He proudly stands, fights Hung'ry's battles o'er, 
 Gives Liberty to patriots confined, 
 The " woman-whipper," in his Vengeful mind, 
 Binds to the stake where late his victim stood, 
 And smiles to see the gouts of tyrant blood 
 Gather upon the brutal butcher's back ; 
 Nor of his fancy-giving blows will slack 
 4 
 
74 . AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Till, sudden summoned to the world of real, 
 He, ling'ring, leaves behind the stake ideal 
 To list the summons ; 'tis that human mould, 
 His rightful property (by right of gold), 
 A slender woman with her infant child 
 Stands bound, just captured from the forest wild, 
 Where she had fled from man to savage beast ; 
 On acorns wild and bitter roots to feast, 
 Resting her head by hissing adder's den, 
 For, rather than return to haunts of men, 
 She'd dare the venomed viper's fatal sting, 
 Which, at the worst, but sudden death could bring 
 For what was slavery, but a fourfold death ? 
 What use to her was life-inspiring breath ? 
 'Twas worse than mockery to live and breathe, 
 Each day beneath the goading lash to writhe ; 
 No hope on earth to which her soul could cling 
 While all beyond was dark imagining ; 
 What use to gaze upon her infant's face, 
 But future years of agony to trace, 
 And, in her wild imagination, dream 
 Of smothered groan and soul-distracting scream 
 From him she cradled on her aching breast 1 
 To think the darling child she now caressed, 
 Whose little heart, unconscious of her tears, 
 Bounded with joy, should feel in coming years 
 The heavy weight of mis'ry she had felt ; — 
 His back be furrowed with the scar and welt ; 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 75 
 
 That now unconscious spirit, free from care, 
 
 The crushing weight of slavery should bear 
 
 That she had borne, to desperation wrought 
 
 Her mother's heart, till, in the swamp she sought 
 
 For Liberty by man to her denied ! 
 
 Only when trampled does the viper spring, 
 
 But men for very selfishness will sting. 
 
 Oh what a state is this ! when forest wild, 
 
 Whose matted branches through the sun ne'er smiled, 
 
 Where beasts are lurking for expected prey, 
 
 And slimy serpents 'cross the tangled way 
 
 Lay coiled, entwining in disgusting heap — 
 
 Where endless croaking, filthy night-birds keep, 
 
 A paradise to panting souls should seem ! 
 
 Oh ! is there not one struggling, ling'ring beam 
 
 Of Liberty, to pierce this gloomy night ? 
 
 Or must God's image seek in trembling flight 
 
 A refuge in the darkened, loathsome den 
 
 Of hissing reptiles, from the eyes of men 
 
 Who claim him property 1 the only sin 
 
 Of which he's guilty found — his sable skin. . 
 
 Must spirits of the noble, patriotic dead 
 
 View on these plains, where they have fought and bled 
 
 For Liberty, such scenes of tyrant power 1 
 
 Why o'er these hills did clouds of battle lower ? 
 
 Why thundered cannon through each peaceful vale.. 
 
 Causing the cheek of anxious wife to pale ? 
 
 Whv fell the widow'd mother's scalding tear 
 
76 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 So oft above the reeking, bloody bier 
 
 Of darling son, her only hope and stay, 
 
 Who, when he fell, obscured the brightest ray 
 
 That lingered still to cheer her widowed soul ? — 
 
 Was 't not to 'scape from tyranny's control 
 
 That human blood, like drenching summer rains, 
 
 From patriot hearts watered these flow'ry plains ? 
 
 Was 't not for Liberty ? then why's the cord, 
 
 For one who seeks it now, deemed fit award ? 
 
 Why should that woman cower at the sight 
 
 Of stake and rope, beneath the searching light 
 
 Of Freedom's sun ? why sinks her trembling heart 
 
 At sight of him who patriot Magyar's part 
 
 But now was taking 'gainst the tyrant foe ? 
 
 Why turn those eyes, that speak imploring woe 
 
 Upon the man, whose soul indignant burned, 
 
 Who, in his heart, the " woman-whipper" spurned 
 
 As brutal wretch — whose bloody, tyrant name 
 
 Should ever rest beneath a blot of shame 1 
 
 Is 't for protection that she seeks his eye ? 
 
 We're answered by that low, despairing sigh — 
 
 Protection, such as hungry tigers give, 
 
 Bidding the prey they crouch above, to live, 
 
 Till long continued, never varying sight, 
 
 To keener relish whets the appetite, 
 
 Is the protection that she will receive ; 
 
 For he, the man who distant wrongs can grieve, 
 
 With self-same tongue that cursed the Austrian's name 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 77 
 
 Upon the scroll of just, impartial fame 
 
 His own has placed — with Haynau's to compare — < 
 
 By bidding drivers' ruffian hand to bare 
 
 To savage " cat" her shrinking, trembling form, 
 
 While he, unpityirig, as the life-blood warm 
 
 Trickles adown her fainting, sinking frame, 
 
 Reproaches her without a blush of shame, 
 
 That she to seek for Liberty should dare ; 
 
 Nor listens to her piteous, wailing prayer 
 
 Till she beneath the brutal scourging sinks, 
 
 When he, unburdened of his anger, drinks 
 
 Again his morning draught ; sheds feeling tears 
 
 O'er Ireland's wrongs, while echoes in his ears 
 
 Uncared, unthought of ,e'en, the anguished moan 
 
 Of woman scourged ; such sounds have common grown 
 
 Unto his hardened ear, till it would seem 
 
 That he can only foreign outrage dream ; 
 
 His eyes so oft have viewed such shameful sight, 
 
 That they must needs take higher, wider flight, 
 
 With outraged rights on Europe's distant shore 
 
 To sympathize ; while tyranny his door 
 
 So compasses around, that lowest serf 
 
 Who daily turns the barren, fruitless turf 
 
 In the dominions of the northern Czar, 
 
 Would feel as double weight, as triple bar, 
 
 Depriving him of e'en the shallow hope 
 
 To which, as drowning man grasps friendly rope, 
 
 The lowest feudal serf may ever cling. 
 
78 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 And what inflicts a deeper, keener sting 
 
 Upon the soul, already crushed with care, 
 
 Than slavery's fearful attribute, despair 1 
 
 Were smiling hope from every bosom hurled, 
 
 How cheerless, comfortless would seem the world ! 
 
 Like hand extended which has naught to clasp, 
 
 The mind its own dark images would grasp 
 
 Then seek in death, o'erpowered by the sight 
 
 Itself had conjured up, oblivion's night. 
 
 But turn from the degrading, hateful sight 
 
 To where one seeks, in cunning, stealthy flight 
 
 Thy northern hills, where he, by chance, has heard 
 
 Is found the meaning of that precious word 
 
 So oft pronounced by master's thoughtless tongue, 
 
 So often by the happy mistress sung 
 
 As glorious boon, entailed by patriot sires, 
 
 As waking in the dullest bosom fires 
 
 Which tyranny to quench has strove in vain ; 
 
 But which has burned, undimmed, upon each plain 
 
 Since haughty Britons strove to crush its germ, 
 
 And found America no stingless worm ! 
 
 He feels a fire is raging in his breast, 
 
 That will not let him in his bondage rest ; 
 
 And hope has whispered, that the rest denied, 
 
 With chains of slav'ry clanking by his side, 
 
 That peace and quiet, for the rankling smart, 
 
 Which, like a worm, is gnawing at his heart, 
 
 The summit of those snow-tipp'd mountains passed 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 79 
 
 And Northern valleys reached, will find at last ; 
 His bands he breaks — goes forth in manly might 
 To seek for Freedom, which he feels his right ; 
 Though tangled bush and tearing thorn would stay 
 His course direct, though streams obstruct his way, 
 He dashes in, nor fears the rapids strong — 
 Not half the terrors to their roar belong 
 That dwell in slavery — that crushing word 1 
 Its horrors who can tell, or who has heard ? 
 They're only found upon the trembling lip 
 Of one that's cowered 'neath the biting whip ; 
 The aching limbs, the torn and bleeding feet 
 With him are naught, for Liberty is sweet, 
 And hope is whisp'ring that, beyond those hills, 
 His weary limbs may bathe in Freedom's rills. 
 But ah ! what cloud obscures the coming day ? 
 Why start those drops of fear ? the warning bay 
 He hears upon his track, of savage hound, 
 And with wild throbbings does his heart rebound ; 
 Fear takes possession of the sacred seat 
 Which, but a moment since, was hope's retreat ; 
 His trembling limbs no more obey his will, 
 And dread despair has sent a death-like chill 
 Upon his heart, till e'en the stream that flows 
 From out its depths, like fast congealing snows 
 Winding their sluggish way through mountain rill — 
 Each moment threat'ning to their progress still — 
 Seems as each labored movement were its last; 
 
80 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Till, nerveless, his despairing form is cast 
 
 Helpless, extended on the turfless ground, 
 
 Scarce conscious of the distant, baying hound. 
 
 Is there no hope ? must Freedom's promised streams 
 
 Be only known to him in longing dreams ? 
 
 Are all his patient sufferings to end 
 
 In worse than naught 1 will God no refuge send ? 
 
 E'en death itself to slavery 's preferred ; 
 
 And, as that savage howl is nearer heard, 
 
 A hope is gaining foothold in his breast, 
 
 That in its chill embrace he'll find a rest ; 
 
 For well he knows, as baying echoes ring 
 
 Throughout those wilds, that bloody fangs will bring 
 
 A certain, though a lingering, cruel death. 
 
 But better far to thus resign his breath, 
 
 Better those foaming jaws his flesh should tear, 
 
 Than he be doomed those cursed chains to wear ; 
 
 Better, than feel upon his quiv'ring back 
 
 Again the driver's whip, that hellish rack, 
 
 With all the tortures that each fiendish mind 
 
 Of every age has dreamed, should be combined 
 
 In one vast engine 'gainst his shrinking frame, 
 
 Inflicting cruelties for which a name 
 
 'Twere vain to seek where icy chains a spell 
 
 Have endless thrown, that in the deepest hell 
 
 Imagination vile can conjure up — ■ 
 
 Where vengeful demons on fresh tortures sup — ■ 
 
 Can ne'er be found, if welcome, friendly death 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 81 
 
 With them would come, to still his tortured breath, 
 For then his woes and sufferings would end ; 
 But years of misery again to spend, 
 To one that's felt a spark of Freedom's flame, 
 That's whispered only Liberty's blest name, 
 Is cruelty distilled ; each shameful lash, 
 Howe'er so light, through thinking brain will crash ; 
 Each clank of the degrading, slavish chain 
 Will pierce such heart with deeper, keener pain 
 Than death can bring, though in its fiercest mood. 
 But hark ! another sound steals through the wood, 
 Mingling its echoes with the bloodhound's bay 
 And terrors new now dart across the way 
 To start the fugitive from his despair ; 
 And look resigned is changed to hopeless stare ; 
 With freshened strength he hurries from the place, 
 New terrors painted on his startled face. 
 From whence proceeds the low, mysterious sound, 
 Causing the heart with fear renewed to bound, 
 Which calmly beat at thought of bloodhound's fang ; 
 Nor which, as near the horrid bayings rang 
 Increased, for e'en a moment's space, its speed 1 
 The cause must e'en be told though hearts should bleed 
 At such a tale, 'twas voice of man he heard — ■ 
 And (oh, I shame to speak the bitter word !) 
 Where bloodhound's yell had failed to terror wake, 
 That voice such horror to his spirit spake 
 That he awoke almost as 'twere from death, 
 4* 
 
82 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 To seek anew with panting, labored breath, 
 
 A refuge for the form from human laws 
 
 Which he had, to the reeking, bloody jaws 
 
 Of raving hound yielded as willing prey, 
 
 O'erpowered by weight of wearied, anguish'd clay. 
 
 But fiercer yell proclaims fresh-scented track, 
 
 As up yon tangled hill the vengeful pack, 
 
 With foam-flecked jaws and drooping tongue, appear ; 
 
 While human hunters, close upon the rear, 
 
 With ruffian shouts urge on the lagging way, 
 
 For fresh-turned leaf speaks near approach to prey ; 
 
 And they, already, in their brutal hearts 
 
 Are gloating o'er the hunted wretch's smarts ; 
 
 List'ning, in fancy, to his piteous cry — 
 
 Oh well may'st thou from such vile monsters fly ! 
 
 Nor fear the half from reeking fang of hound 
 
 Of cruelty, that in the breast is found 
 
 Of brother man ! but speed thy wav'ring flight, 
 
 For shouts increasing speak thy form in sight, 
 
 And soon thy short-lived Liberty will end ; 
 
 E'en now I see the robe of slavery blend 
 
 Its pall-black folds with Freedom's lighter dress ! 
 
 Almost it has thee in its curs'd caress ! 
 
 On ! on, nor sink ; through yonder wood a gleam, 
 
 Flashing, appears of swiftly running stream ; 
 
 And that may save thee from the' tyrant's power 
 
 Which would have seemed a curse in former hour; 
 
 The stream that causes thy worn pace to slack, 
 
AMERICA/ FREEDOM. 83 
 
 May turn both hound and hunter from thy track. 
 
 He gains the bank, he plunges 'neath the wave, 
 
 And while the hunters, disappointed, rave, 
 
 Hid from their sight, he seeks a safe retreat ; 
 
 Securely smiles, as fast retiring feet 
 
 Tell him that doubling trick, on backward trail, 
 
 Has turned pursuers to a distant vale ; 
 
 Then quick emerges from the friendly stream, 
 
 For well he knows not long they'll blindly dream 
 
 That flying fugitive is just before ; 
 
 But, new commencing on the other shore, 
 
 The hound again will scent his wearied path, 
 
 Again the hunter, with increasing wrath, 
 
 Will follow closely on the scented track ; 
 
 E'en now, ascending from the distant pack, 
 
 He hears the bay that wild confusion tells, 
 
 And from his heart the life-blood curdling wells, 
 
 Almost refusing to its task perform ; 
 
 But views ahead, with life his pulses warm, 
 
 For few brief steps and he the height will gain 
 
 Which overlooks bless'd Freedom's promised plain. 
 
 And now he stands upon the topmost peak, 
 
 With thoughts too big for human lips to speak — 
 
 The task were worthy of an angel's tongue ; 
 
 By seraph bands alone should thoughts be sung 
 
 That spring, o'erwhelming, from the thankful soul 
 
 When first it's freed from slavery's control, 
 
 And feels that Liberty 's no idle dream, 
 
84 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Its brightning ray no false, delusive beam 
 Of Fancy's own creating, but a light 
 That evermore increases, till the night 
 Of slavery and oppression flees away, 
 Yielding its place to purer, brighter day. 
 What though the baying hound is close behind ? 
 His heart is lighter, now that Freedom's wind 
 With kindly murmurings sweeps across his brow ; 
 His limbs have lost the heaviness but now, 
 Like rabid beast pursued, they seemed to wear ; 
 Hope sits enthroned where late was but despair, 
 And, with fresh speed, he leaves his foes behind, 
 Upon the trails which now, too late, they find ; 
 Nor wavers till he gains the distant vale, 
 Till he, to man, has told his piteous tale ; 
 Then sinks, exhausted by each bleeding wound, 
 And wakes to find himself securely bound — 
 Shut out, by prison walls, from heaven's light ; 
 And why? because he dared assert his right 
 To Freedom bravely, 'gainst the cursed wrong 
 Which falsely says that man does not belong 
 Unto himself, but can for glitt'ring gold, , 
 Like burdened beast, by brother man be sold. 
 But stood he not on Freedom's promised land, 
 Which, gained, gives Liberty to shackled hand ? 
 Did he not reach the promised, hoped-for soil, 
 That takes oppressive chain from foot of toil ? 
 Did not his sleeping with his waking dreams, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 85 
 
 Teach him the center of those scattered beams 
 
 That sometimes glanced across his dreary way — 
 
 Giving the promise of a brighter day — 
 
 To seek where those proud cliffs their shadows cast, 
 
 As if in haste to meet the chilling blast, 
 
 That sweeps with icy breath from northern pole ? 
 
 Did they not whisper to his famished soul 
 
 That Liberty, the food for which it pined, 
 
 Those valleys gained, unstinted, it would find ? 
 
 Such hope they gave — but then they were but dreams, 
 
 And, like the ripple of thy limpid streams, 
 
 Which startle with their mirrored suns the eye, 
 
 Passing the cloud almost unnoticed by, 
 
 They caught the rays from many noble hearts, 
 
 And sought with them to ease the captive's smarts ; 
 
 But did not tell that man, for worldly fame, 
 
 Had helped perpetuate the blighting shame, 
 
 Which makes the stripes that grace your banners proud 
 
 The jest and by-word of the mocking crowd, 
 
 By placing on thy statute books a law, 
 
 Yielding the flying victim to the maw 
 
 Of greedy tyranny — the deed of shame 
 
 Striving to shield beneath the holy name 
 
 Of justice ! — word so long, so much abused, 
 
 So oft by fools and knaves designing used 
 
 To cover deeds of selfishness and crime. 
 
 What right has he, of North or Southern clime, 
 
 To claim as his the free, immortal mind 
 
86 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 Of brother man ? does justice help to bind 
 
 The clanking chain upon the manly wrist 
 
 Of one that dares be free ? does it assist 
 
 The brutal driver, with blood-stiffened lash 
 
 The shrinking back of trembling slave to gash ? 
 
 Does it, regardless of the truth declared 
 
 By early patriots, who fearless bared 
 
 To British steel each noble breast, to prove 
 
 That all were equal born and free to move 
 
 On equal plane, yield rightful servant one, 
 
 Because his skin is tinged by torrid sun, 
 
 To him that has perchance a fairer skin 1 
 
 No, never ! justice such a damning sin 
 
 Would ne'er indorse ; her even-balanced scales, 
 
 Held by the steady hand that never fails, 
 
 Not long would waver, but with anxious speed 
 
 Would kick the beam 'gainst the unrighteous deed ; 
 
 Though all the land that's worked by slavish toil, 
 
 Heaped with its many years of robber spoil, 
 
 Its houses, " pens," its fetters, chains, and stakes, 
 
 Its cattle — brute and human — all that makes 
 
 A Southern home, with owners' selves combined 
 
 In one vast weight, itself would wanting find, 
 
 When, in the other scale, the tears and groans, 
 
 The piteous screams, the heart-despairing moans 
 
 Of those were placed, whose never-ceasing sweat 
 
 Of agony and grief, that soil has wet. 
 
 Speak not of justice when you strive to bind, 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 87 
 
 By law permitted, the immortal mind ! 
 
 In silence, rather, wield the lawful sledge, 
 
 Muffle the blow that drives the ready wedge 
 
 Which holds, securely holds, each cursed link 
 
 Of slavery's chain ; but did'st thou ever think 
 
 That when the wedge which binds secure is driven, 
 
 Its way it finds, though by the shock is riven 
 
 The tough'ned fibers of the mighty oak — 
 
 With arm contracted for another stroke, 
 
 Smiling, self-satisfied, as tighter grow 
 
 The grating chains beneath each damning blow — 
 
 Dost ever think this blow may break the bands 
 
 It strives to wedge — free countless captives' hands 
 
 From fetters which they've vainly strove to break ? 
 
 Of this thou'st never dreamed ; but fires will wake, ' 
 
 By desperation fanned, howe'er so low 
 
 They now may burn ; each cruel, taunting blow, 
 
 Though laid upon the least, hastens the day 
 
 When slavery's curse, forever swept away 
 
 By fires now fresh'ning, shall no more be known ; 
 
 Its name be found in history alone. 
 
 But, till that time, we'll leave the fruitless search — ■ 
 
 For home of Liberty, where Christian church 
 
 With the peculiar institution blends, 
 
 'Tis vain to seek — when priest-appointed bends 
 
 From his high place to pamper to such wrong ; 
 
 When holy word, alike with holy song, 
 
 Are brought to prove it God's appointed way 
 
88 AMERICAN FREEDOM. 
 
 That some were born in slavish bonds to stay ; 
 We feel that Freedom ne'er can find a rest 
 Till of this ally slavery's dispossessed ; 
 Till sacred desks no more shall be profaned 
 By hireling priests ; till truths no longer stairied 
 By them to suit the list'ning master's ear, 
 Are boldly taught by those who will not fear 
 To speak like men, the free impressions given 
 By angel teachers ! — wrong and outrage driven 
 By reason's lash, the smiling face of earth 
 Will then forsake, and noble, manly worth, 
 Whate'er its color, its reward will claim, 
 Nor find in Afric's skin the cause for shame 
 Which now it finds throughout this smiling land. 
 And now, farewell, America! — each sand 
 Of countless millions that compose thy shore, 
 Has value far above the glitt'ring ore 
 Which lies imbedded in thy mountains wild ; 
 Aye, though with it the boasted wealth was piled 
 Of Afric's sparkling gems — for here we find, 
 Speaking the presence of undaunted mind, 
 The prints of many free, advancing feet, 
 And know oppressive slavery here will mee 
 Its final check, though now from shore to shore 
 It ranges unmolested; evermore 
 Must it advance with fast decreasing stride, 
 For, moving softly by its hateful side, 
 We hear the rustle of the blessed folds 
 
AMERICAN FREEDOM. 89 
 
 Whose drapery the form of Freedom holds. 
 And here we leave the theme, hoping for change 
 E'er we again thy fields unbounded range, 
 For deeds now done where thy free mountains cast 
 Their noble shades, would shame the heathen past, 
 Would put the Russian tyrant to the blush ; 
 Then rise, ye noble minds ! the monster crush ! 
 With one unite*d effort break the chain — 
 Throughout this fruitful land leave not a stain 
 To tell that slavery hath ever dwelt 
 Secure upon its shores. Ye who have felt 
 Its biting chain rust deep into your hearts, 
 Shake off your lethargy ! take Freedom's part, 
 And boldly strike against the tyrant might 
 Which would deprive you of your manly right. 
 Leave not one hateful, damning link to bind 
 The Body, or its rightful monarch, Mind ! 
 
%\t ©tttmi. 
 
 Awake, my Spirit-harp ! awake, and swell 
 
 Thy notes, responsive to the thoughts inspired 
 By angel minds ; of heavenly bliss they tell, 
 
 Till my roused soul with love and joy is fired 
 And will not silent keep ; but joins the song 
 
 Of seraph love, and sweeps thy slumbering strings, 
 The joyful, happy strains to help prolong, 
 
 Till heaven's arch with thy glad music rings. 
 
 No longer sound as in thy earthly da)'-, 
 
 When with rude hands I swept thy jarring strings ; 
 No longer be the burden of thy lay 
 
 The griefs, the tears that earthly pleasure brings ; 
 Nor tell of wars where brothers brothers meet, 
 
 And cross paternal hands in deadly strife ; 
 Of sons that the long-absent parents greet, 
 
 With secret longings for those parents' life. 
 
 Of these no longer sing ; but tell of one, 
 
 Who wandered friendless on the smiling earth ; 
 
 Who, 'mid the thronging crowds, was still alone, 
 Whom shame had followed even from her birth ; 
 
THEOUTCAST. 91 
 
 And while ye speak of her sad, early doom, 
 
 And how unwept, unmourned, away she passed, 
 
 Leave her not there ; but glance beyond the tomb, 
 And tell us where her future lot was cast. 
 
 Tell us, if, in the silent spirit-land, 
 
 That stricken spirit found a place of rest ; 
 If there, she was refused the friendly hand, 
 
 Or was she welcome, though a humble guest ? 
 Tne v e, was she passed with looks of cruel scorn ? 
 
 Were withering curses heaped upon her head ? 
 Or did she joyful hail the spirit-morn, 
 
 By angel hands her earth-scorned spirit led. 
 
 Loud shrieks the gale, the storm is high, 
 Dark clouds are whirling through the sky, 
 And fiercely drives the blinding sleet 
 Through that proud city's silent street. 
 Silent, for 'tis a fearful storm, 
 And he that bears a human form, 
 And dares to wander in that street, 
 May find the snow his winding-sheet. 
 That piercing gale has put to flight 
 The watchful guardians of the night, 
 And naught is left to tell of life 
 'Mid this wild, elemental strife. 
 Naught did I say ? what means yon form 
 That's feebly struggling through the storm ? 
 
92 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Can it be one of mortal race 
 
 Who dares this fearful gale to face 1 
 
 Or is it but somie restless sprite, 
 
 Condemned to wander through the night, 
 
 And ever, at such fearful time, 
 
 Dread penance do for earthly crime ? 
 
 That is no restless sprite ; for slow 
 
 It struggles through the drifting snow ; 
 
 And were it- spirit of the air 
 
 That mortal form it would not bear. , 
 
 'Tis pausing now beneath yon light : 
 
 Ah! 'tis a sad, a mournful sight ; 
 
 A female form, appearing plain, 
 
 A wretched, guilty child of shame. 
 
 The garb of poverty she wears, 
 
 Her face is furrowed o'er with cares 
 
 Untimely age has bowed her frame, 
 
 On her is set the seal of shame. 
 
 Sheltered a moment from the blast, 
 
 Her wishful eyes around are cast, 
 
 As looking for some friendly light, 
 
 Some shelter through the dreary night. 
 
 A glimm'ring light now greets her eye, 
 
 Where yonder mansion to the sky 
 
 Rears its proud head ; there sure she'll find 
 
 A refuge from the bitter wind ; 
 
 For who, unmindful of her fate, 
 
 On such a night would close his eate 
 
THE OUTCAST. 93 
 
 Against her form, though bowed with shame, 
 
 Unworthy is of Christian name ; 
 
 For though she years had seen of crime, 
 
 'Twere deeper guilt at such a time 
 
 Against her sin and shame to rail, 
 
 Nor shelter offer from the gale. 
 
 But who is she thus forced to roam 
 
 In this wild storm ! has she no home 1 
 
 That, facing thus the blinding sleet, 
 
 She wanders through the city's street ? 
 
 Brief is the tale that tells her wrong — 
 
 Such tales to every age belong. 
 
 Far from the city's noisy strife 
 
 She, guileless, passed her early life ; 
 
 And though she bore a humble name 
 
 And sorrow knew, was free from shame, 
 
 Or only felt it for the sake 
 
 Of parents whom she strove to wake, 
 
 To rouse from the vile, with'ring spell 
 
 That made their early home a hell. 
 
 And she was scorned, the drunkard's child — 
 
 No friendly word her way beguiled ; 
 
 For those who daily bowed in prayer, 
 
 On her poor soul no time could spare ; 
 
 But with unwearied, tireless hands, 
 
 They work for distant heathen lands. 
 
 They can not leave the Hindoo souls — 
 
 Who wander where the Ganges rolls, 
 
94 THEOUTCAST. 
 
 And list to supplicating prayers 
 
 From one who Christian garment wears ; 
 
 In charity they passed their time, 
 
 Yet left that suffering soul to crime. 
 
 Within that wretched, squalid form 
 
 There beat a heart as pure, as warm 
 
 As though it dwelt in lordly halls, 
 
 Or e'en within a palace walls ; 
 
 A heart that longed its mate to find, 
 
 That sought communion with its kind— 
 
 No wonder, then, that words of love 
 
 Should potent be her soul to move ; 
 
 Nor, that she felt a trusting hope 
 
 As in her ear those words were spoke, 
 
 For who beneath that smiling face 
 
 The tempter's hellish art could trace ? 
 
 How should she know that words so kind 
 
 Were but to gloss his evil mind, 
 
 Or think that one so gentle, mild, 
 
 Who never spurned the drunkard's child, 
 
 But her with kindly smiles would greet, 
 
 Could ever stoop to base deceit 1 
 
 The plans were laid, the snares were set, 
 
 A wily fowler drew the net ; 
 
 Unwearied at his task he wrought, 
 
 Till the untutored maid was caught ; 
 
 His guilty heart she never knew 
 
 Until the net he closer drew. 
 
THE OUTCAST. 95 
 
 Then, roused, she struggled 'gainst her fate, 
 
 Alas ! her struggles were too late ; 
 
 His task was o'er, his work was done ; 
 
 With treach'rous words the game was won, 
 
 While he, the guilty monster, fled, 
 
 And left that maiden worse than dead. 
 
 But words are useless, worse than vain, 
 
 And can not tell the guilty shame 
 
 That fell upon the wretched maid, 
 
 When first she felt she was betrayed. 
 
 Though bred in ignorance and vice, — 
 
 She'd guarded well that pearl of price — 
 
 The only pearl that she possessed, 
 
 And deemed it safe within her breast ; 
 
 Unstained through scenes of crime she'd passed 
 
 Only to be betrayed at last ; 
 
 And he, she thought so pure, so kind, 
 
 That loving heart, that noble mind, 
 
 Had robbed her of that gem of worth, 
 
 Had crushed her, helpless, to the earth ! 
 
 But, though she knew in his vile heart 
 
 That love for her ne'er had a part, 
 
 As if her cup of grief to fill, 
 
 She loved the base betrayer still. 
 
 In vain she sought for earthly aid, 
 
 In vain for speedy death she prayed ; 
 
 But earthly aid for her was not, 
 
 And death with prayers can ne'er be bought. 
 
96 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 From home, with curses, she was turned, 
 With words of bitter scorn was spurned 
 By those who should have shelter given, 
 And pointed her the way to heaven. 
 Unwarned, they left her to the wiles, 
 The hellish arts, the treacherous smiles 
 Of one, whose face his heart belied, 
 His deepest guilt his greatest pride ; 
 Well knowing that his only aim 
 Was but to bring that maid to shame. 
 But what's the maid to them, that they 
 Should strive to check the tempter's way ? 
 From beaten paths they never turned, 
 With holy horror quick they spurned 
 The thought, and would not let it rest 
 One moment in their Christian breast ; 
 But left her to her wretched fate, 
 Or warning gave when 'twas too late. 
 Thus driven from her native vale, 
 Unsheltered from the piercing gale, 
 With bleeding heart and wearied feet 
 She sought the distant city's street ; 
 For still within her wandering mind 
 Lingers his form — perchance she'll find 
 The guilty wretch who caused her grief, 
 He'll surely not refuse relief; 
 But, though she bears a blasted name, 
 Will save her from a deeper shame. 
 
THEOUTCAST. 97 
 
 She still in vain for shelter seeks ; 
 Her feeble form and sunken cheeks, 
 Her wishful look, imploring eye 
 No pity win from passers by : 
 For mournful tales from forms of woe 
 Are greeting them where'er they go, 
 And squalid forms with sunken cheek, 
 Imploring eyes that suffering speak, 
 With wrong triumphing over right, 
 Have grown familiar to their sight. 
 Thus, with her, passed the weary day, 
 Till night on her exhausted way 
 Its mantle's sable folds had cast, 
 And 'round her swept its chilling blast; 
 A warning to that soul distressed, 
 That she had yet no place to rest. 
 From all the heartless, busy throng 
 Who passed the city's streets along, 
 Except from one, no kindly word . 
 That trembling, suffering girl had heard ; 
 One only listened to her prayers, 
 One only learned her wrongs, her cares, 
 And she could little do to aid, 
 Or cheer the anguish-stricken maid ; 
 For she was one at whom the world 
 The lip of scorn had often curled ; 
 From sin and shame ne'er tried to save, 
 But doomed to an unhonored grave. 
 
98 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Though sunk in crime, she's not so low- 
 That she can pass such look of woe 
 Unnioved ; but gives (though it appears 
 But useless gift) a woman's tears ; 
 Still, it was all that she possessed, 
 And coming from such guilty breast, 
 The purest, brightest gem that shines — 
 The richest of Golconda's mines — 
 In worth with it can ne'er compare ; 
 Earth's purest gems not half so rare 
 As sympathizing tears, that flow 
 From hearts of guilt at scenes of woe. 
 shame ! to all the Christian crowd 
 Who passed that form with sorrow bowed, 
 Nor checked their speed at woman's wail, 
 Nor listened to her plaintive tale ; 
 Unheeding her imploring face, 
 They but increase their hurried pace, 
 As though to pity one so vile 
 Would their pure hearts with sin defile. 
 And can this be a Christian land, 
 Where all refuse the helping hand ? 
 Repenting now she feels her shame, 
 Will no one labor to reclaim 
 From worse reproach her blasted name ? 
 Shall it be said the Christian's creed 
 Learns him to break the bruised reed ? 
 Not such a lesson that One gave ; 
 
THE OUTCAST. 99 
 
 He stooped the vilest wretch to save — 
 While they who follow in his path, 
 Would leave that sinful soul to wrath. 
 Of all the throng that passed her there, 
 But one would listen to her prayer ; 
 And she a wanderer on the earth, 
 An outcast from her place of birth, 
 Unworthy deemed in prayer to kneel, 
 Alone did pity for her feel 
 And with her wept — their mingled tears 
 Were treasured in the spirit-spheres. 
 That friend has gone, again alone 
 She strove to move those hearts of stone ; 
 But, as she passed, unpitying eyes, 
 Or cruel taunts returned her sighs ; 
 All wearied, worn, and desolate, 
 She sad bewailed her wretched fate, 
 For fast the storm was gathering 'round ; 
 The whirling snow now hid the ground ; 
 The shades of night began to fall, 
 To shroud the earth as with a pall, 
 And soon throughout that noisy street 
 Was hushed the tramp of hurried feet ; 
 Silence was settling fast around, 
 Or broken only by the sound 
 Of winds, that fall upon the ear 
 In wild and gloomy notes of fear ; 
 Now whirling 'round some ruin gray, 
 
100 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Now darting 'cross her toilsome way ; 
 Anon, with fearful, moaning sound, 
 Driving the drifted snow around 
 Till all the demons of the air, 
 It seemed, were holding revel there. 
 She feels her strength is failing fast, 
 Her limbs are stiff'ning with the blast ; 
 Soon she must yield her to the storm, 
 Death soon will claim that stricken form 
 Unless she gains a place of rest ; 
 And hope almost forsakes her breast, 
 For none to hear her story wait, 
 But quick against her close the gate ; 
 She lingers, wavers, all is lost ! 
 The chilling winds, the biting frost, 
 With her their work have almost done ; 
 Death has its victim nearly won. 
 But while she sinks, a light appears, 
 And hope restored dispels her fears ; 
 One effort more, and should they cast 
 Her from that door, 'twill be the last ; 
 One effort more, that anguished breast 
 Beneath yon roof will find a rest, 
 Or yield its agonizing breath 
 On yon chill drift — her bed of death ! 
 She still to hope despairing clings ; 
 With sinking, trembling heart she rings 
 And longs, yet dreads the answering voice 
 
THE OUTCAST. 101 
 
 That bids her fainting heart rejoice, 
 Or dooms it to that spotless bed — 
 No shelter for her dying head. 
 They ope the door, and on her sight 
 Bursts forth a dazzling flood of light; 
 Within, a pampered menial stands, 
 To him she lifts her feeble hands, 
 " Oh ! pity, for a wretched maid," 
 With trembling, hopeless voice she prayed ; 
 " Oh ! save me from the bitter storm ! 
 Doom not to death this guilty form ! 
 Though faint and worn, I ask not bread, 
 But shelter for this weary head ; 
 1 dare not, can not, will not die!" 
 With heart of stone and scornful eye 
 He listens to her wailing prayers, 
 Then at her tattered garment stares ; 
 Fast bars the door against her form, 
 Unsheltered leaves her to the storm ! 
 While with a hard, unfeeling heart 
 That servant plays his ordered part, 
 We'll leave awhile this scene of gloom 
 And turn our eyes within that room, 
 Where gems of art from every land 
 Are lavished with unsparing hand ; 
 Soon from the mirrored, pictured walls 
 The o'ertasked eye exhausted falls, 
 Yet falls in vain, and only meets 
 
102 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 With carpets rich and 'broidered seats ; 
 Or turning from the splendor there, 
 It rests on riches still more rare : 
 For precious pearl and priceless gem, 
 That well would grace a diadem, 
 With thousand rays reflect the light 
 And turn to day the dreary night ; 
 While treasures, all that gold can buy, 
 Around in rich profusion lie ; 
 What place is better fit to please 
 And pamper to luxurious ease 1 
 These treasures speak of wealth untold, 
 And teach us of the power of gold. 
 But from this wealth with wearied sight 
 We turn, to where, beneath yon light, 
 With silent tongue and listening ear 
 A little group are drawing near, 
 While from that book the father read 
 Of One who, uncomplaining, bled ; 
 Of One whose breast with pity burned 
 At sight of woe — who never turned 
 From lowest wretch who sought his aid ; 
 The vilest soul that to him prayed 
 Ne'er prayed in vain — unkindly word 
 Was never from his bosom heard. 
 E'en while the blessed word he reads, 
 That wretched maid for shelter pleads ; 
 And rising 'bove the moaning air, 
 
THE OUTCAST. 103 
 
 He hears her last imploring prayer ; 
 
 He hears her trembling, wayworn feet 
 
 Descend to the deserted street, 
 
 Then reads again that holy word, 
 
 As though her prayer he ne'er had heard. 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a bitter, burning shame, 
 
 That title to a Christian name 
 
 Such heartless, soulless man can claim. 
 
 What right has he that name to use, 
 
 Who food and shelter would refuse 
 
 To guiltiest wretch that e'er saw light, 
 
 And turn him forth such dismal night 
 
 To sink and perish by the way 1 
 
 Methinks, that when he bows to pray, 
 
 Such thoughts within his guilty breast 
 
 A firm, unyielding weight should rest, 
 
 And drive him from the mocking task — 
 
 For, sure, 'tis mockery to ask 
 
 Relief from him who saw that deed. 
 
 He, in that maiden's sorest need, 
 
 Unmoved had heard her vainly plead 
 
 For refuge from the driving snow, 
 
 Nor softened at her tale of woe, 
 
 But heard her from his mansion driven ; 
 
 Then how could he in prayer to Heaven 
 
 For blessings on his efforts ask ? 
 
 It must indeed be hopeless task. 
 
 If shame could find the smallest part 
 
104 THEOUTCAST. 
 
 Within that worse than heathen heart, 
 The bended knee and voice of prayer 
 Would be forever banished there ; 
 Or his unfeeling soul would learn 
 Imploring grief to never spurn. 
 
 But why, my Spirit-harp, dost here delay ? 
 
 Why longer ponder on such mournful theme 1 
 Why lingering dwell on weak and sinful clay ? 
 
 Quick, quick transport us where the joyous stream 
 Of love, eternal love, forever flows ; 
 
 And as we on its sparkling waters gaze, 
 Forgetting all of earthly grief and woes, 
 
 We'll tune our gladsome notes to words of praise. 
 
 Leave, leave the sick'ning, soul-debasing sight 
 
 Of minds — immortal minds — enslaved by gold ; 
 Away from these sad scenes ; speed, speed thy flight, 
 
 And ne'er again thy soaring pinions fold, 
 Until lost, vanished, swallowed up in space, 
 
 The groveling, selfish world shall disappear, 
 And only in our memory hold its place, 
 
 As object meet for sympathizing tear. 
 
 But ere ye leave these scenes of shame and woe, 
 Turn, for one moment, where yon hapless girl 
 
 Gasps her last breath, while chilling night-winds blow, 
 And eddying, snow-flakes wildly 'round her whirl ; 
 
THE OUTCAST. 105 
 
 An outcast from her home — no weeping ffiend 
 To wipe the chilling death-damps from her brow : 
 
 Must her poor houseless life thus wretched end ? 
 Sure if she ever needed friends, 'tis now. 
 
 Why did I think no loving friends were near 
 
 To watch with anxious heart her passing breath — 
 To calm her mind, and soothe each growing fear, 
 
 And guard her safely through the shades of death ? 
 Though 'tis not clearly seen to her vailed eyes, 
 
 Hovering appears a bright, angelic form 
 Above her head, and now, methinks, arise 
 
 Sweet notes of joy 'mid pauses of the storm. 
 
 Delay thy upward flight, till thou canst tell 
 
 If yon bright form that seems to hover near, 
 Is but imagination's airy spell, 
 
 Or guardian angel from the spirit-sphere 
 That, hovering, waits her weary soul to greet 
 
 And welcome give to that immortal shore ; 
 Through wisdom's paths to guide her wayward feet, 
 
 From sin and sorrow freed forevermore. 
 
 With that exhausted, struggling spirit stay 
 'Till helpless, lifeless, stiffening in the cold, 
 
 Its worthless, soul- forsaken form shall lay, 
 Then quick thy ready pinions wide unfold ; 
 5* 
 
106 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 And in its upward, angel-guided track, 
 Direct thy course the shining way along ; 
 
 Let nothing intervene thy speed to slack 
 
 Till bursts upon our ears the rapturous song. 
 
 Till soul-exalting strain the seraph sings, 
 
 When into spirit-life a soul has passed, 
 My ear retains, and on thy willing strings 
 
 Swells forth the notes above the wailing blast, 
 That ever upward from the earth ascend 
 
 To tell of weary, suffering souls oppressed ; 
 Till with those notes of woe the strain shall blend, 
 
 And then, thy duty ended, sink to rest. 
 
 On these proud steps the maiden stands 
 
 And hopeless wrings her ice-cold hands, 
 
 Then wildly tears her flowing hair, 
 
 And yields her soul to dark despair ; 
 
 For fierce the night-winds 'round her blow 
 
 And fiercer drives the drifting snow. 
 
 Oh ! it is hard for her to die, 
 
 No friend to close her glazing eye — 
 
 Her bed of death the cold, cold street, 
 
 The spotless snow her winding-sheet. 
 
 'Tis hard to die with help so near : 
 
 If she was in some desert drear, 
 
 Far, far from any human form, 
 
 Without a struggle, to the 'storm 
 
THE OUTCAST. 107 
 
 She'd yield her unresisting breath, 
 
 And calmly smile at coming death ; 
 
 For then she'd know that death was sure, 
 
 And better could the thought endure 
 
 To die within that desert wild, * 
 
 Than where uncounted wealth was piled ; 
 
 Where food to strengthen, fire to warm, 
 
 And shelter from the ruthless storm 
 
 Were ready to her eager hand — 
 
 Or would be but for stern command 
 
 Of one who Christian birthright claimed, 
 
 Nor of such heartless order shamed. 
 
 She gains the street, benumbed with cold, 
 
 'Round her chilled limbs she strives to fold 
 
 The remnants of that garment old ; 
 
 But winds that 'round their victim play, 
 
 Quick tear the sheltering folds away — 
 
 As fearful that her drooping form 
 
 These fluttering rags to life would warm. 
 
 In this the cold, unpitying winds, 
 
 But pattern takes from Christian minds ; 
 
 The Christian soul refuses fire 
 
 To her chilled frame ; the winds aspire 
 
 In holy deeds with him to vie ! 
 
 And lest the garments worn, that lie 
 
 In tattered folds across her breast, 
 
 Should give her heart one moment's rest, 
 
 The wretched fragments quick they tear — 
 
108 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Expose her to the biting air, 
 
 Rejoicing as they onward speed, 
 
 That they have done a Christian deed. 
 
 Thus was she scorned ! the very snow 
 
 Across her paths in drifts would blow, 
 
 As if in eager haste to throw 
 
 It's mite to fill her cup with woe, 
 
 Until to her weak, wandering mind,' 
 
 It seemed that earth and heaven combined 
 
 Against her soul ; the driving sleet, 
 
 The wailing winds that whirling meet, 
 
 And shriek like demons in her ear 
 
 Their wild, unearthly notes of fear. 
 
 The drooping clouds above her head, 
 
 As wide their pall-like folds they spread, 
 
 To that poor guilty, dying maid. 
 
 In fierce, opposing ranks arrayed, 
 
 Seem as if, barring farther way, 
 
 To bid her there unsheltered stay. 
 
 What use for her to further try 
 
 For aid, when 'gainst her earth and sky 
 
 Their might opposing, bring to bear ? 
 
 While forms with souls strive hard to share 
 
 With them the glory of the deed, 
 
 And in her hour of mortal need, 
 
 To show their horror deep of sin, 
 
 Refuse to take the wanderer in. 
 
 Why longer urge the wearied pace 
 
THE OUTCAST. 109 
 
 When all against her turn the face — 
 Who, who will listen to her cry, 
 When Christians turn her forth to die ? 
 If those who pray, heed not her prayers, 
 Where shall she tell her griefs and cares ? 
 Useless the thought, with want and cold 
 The maid must die — her garments' fold 
 Her shivering frame she draws around, 
 And sinks exhausted to the ground. 
 Then, as her dying form it passed, 
 Shrieked with delight the moaning blast ; 
 While cold, bleak walls that rose around, 
 Quick caught the fearful, wailing sound, 
 And to her trembling, startled ear 
 Returned the dismal notes of fear ; 
 Till swiftly whirling through the street, 
 That shriek, the mocking winds repeat ; 
 Then with unpitying, savage whirl, 
 Linger a moment by the girl, 
 As if to gloat upon the sight, 
 Then onward speeds its maddened flight ; 
 Tells forth the tale with wild delight 
 Upon the listening ear of night, 
 Until a vague, a nameless dread — 
 Such as, when gazing on the dead, 
 We've often felt — cold, chilling creeps 
 Over the soul, who, while he sleeps, 
 For wealth is toiling evermore, 
 
110 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 And dreams but of the yellow ore, 
 
 Until with sudden, fearful start, 
 
 With trembling limbs and beating heart, 
 
 He wakes, and -hears with blanched cheek 
 
 The winds repeat that mournful shriek ; 
 
 Then tossing through the dreary night, 
 
 Impatient prays for morning light. 
 
 The watcher by the dying bed 
 
 Hears that wild shriek, with fear and dread, 
 
 Then listens to the gasping breath, 
 
 Watches the slow approach of death, 
 
 And prays that, when he leaves the form, 
 
 It may not be in such a storm. 
 
 On sped the wind, and shrieked the tale 
 
 Till it re-echoed through the vale 
 
 Where once she dwelt ; then circling back, 
 
 Again it swept the city's track ; 
 
 Again, like beast of prey, it played 
 
 With joy around the victim maid, 
 
 Until new strains of woe it caught, 
 
 Then with exulting clamor sought 
 
 Once more the miser's couch of sleep ; 
 
 And where loved friends their vigils keep 
 
 Around the bed of death, that wail 
 
 Was heard again, and hill and dale 
 
 Sent moaning back the dreary sound 
 
 On its unceasing, changeless round. 
 
 " And must I perish in this storm 1 
 
THE OUTCAST. Ill 
 
 Oh, God ! must this grief-stricken form 
 
 In such wild tempest breathe its last ? 
 
 Here, where these frost-chilled limbs are cast, 
 
 Must I resign my anguished breath — 
 
 Yield to the cold embrace of death 1 
 
 It must be so ! e'en now I feel 
 
 The blood through its cold channels steal 
 
 With sluggish step, then back retreat 
 
 To where the heart, with wavering beat, 
 
 Seems as if fearing to repeat 
 
 The weary task, yet struggles still 
 
 The cold, unfriendly veins to fill ; 
 
 But each faint beat is growing less, 
 
 And adds but to my deep distress ; 
 
 Each quivering pulse, each labored breath, 
 
 Speaks dread approach of greedy death ; 
 
 Of death 1 oh, no ! I can not die ! 
 
 But give me strength, oh, God ! to try 
 
 Once more for aid ; one feeble cry ; 
 
 Some pity sure must lingering dwell 
 
 In human breasts ! — that cry will tell 
 
 Of anguish, grief, and suffering, more 
 
 Than words can speak ; some friendly door 
 
 Will surely ope — they will not turn ; 
 
 A dying wretch they can not spurn !" 
 
 With one wild throb that quivering heart 
 
 Drives the chilled blood to every part 
 
 Of that exhausted frame ; revived, 
 
112 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 She thinks that succor has arrived, 
 Then with one fierce, convulsive bound 
 She gains her feet and gazes round ; 
 'Tis all in vain ! her hope-cheered eye 
 But cold, gray walls and gloomy sky 
 Despairing sees, with, rising high, 
 Snow drifting 'round ; 'twere vain to try, 
 And would require unearthly feat 
 Of strength, to walk that snow-piled street ; 
 And should she raise her feeble voice 
 The winds, that at her woes rejoice, 
 Would louder laugh and shriek around — 
 With their loud yells her voice be drowned ; 
 But the warm blood is driving back, 
 The throbbing pulse begins to slack, 
 She knows that she is sinking fast ; 
 That soon will every hope be past ; 
 Retains the breath that's gasping slow, 
 Waits till the winds are sobbing low, 
 With one last effort shrieks her woe, 
 And, breathless, sinks upon the snow ! 
 That shriek the heartless Christian hears ; 
 It breaks upon his startled ears, 
 And to his coward soul appears — 
 Curdling his blood with guilty fears — 
 As though the master fiend of hell 
 Had conjured, by some fearful spell, 
 Up from its gloomy depths the yell. 
 
THE OUTCAST. 113 
 
 Trembling he stands, and ghastly pale 
 Lists to the fast-increasing gale, 
 And dreads lest he again should hear 
 That shriek of more than mortal fear. 
 Again he reads the precious word, 
 But in his ear a voice is heard — 
 " Ye took her not, a stranger, in ; 
 Drove from your door a child of sin, 
 Hungry and wayworn, at your feet 
 She prayed for help ; ye gave no meat 
 Nor clothing to that form of woe, 
 Nor aught to guard her from the snow ; 
 Naked and hungry from your gate 
 Ye cast her forth to fearful fate." 
 He closed the book, a flush of shame 
 Mantled his brow like scorching flame ; 
 The words that sounded in his ear, 
 It seemed to him that all might hear ; 
 But happy,- smiling faces 'round, 
 Tell him that none have heard the sound, 
 For when he ope'd the holy book 
 They did not mark his startled look ; 
 They'd never learned 'twas wrong to spurn 
 And from the door a stranger turn ; 
 They knew not that the sudden rush 
 That tinged his cheek with crimson blush, 
 Was momentary rule of shame — 
 Which oft its heritage will claim. 
 
114 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 But while the follower profess'd 
 
 Of the meek, gentle, God-like breast, 
 
 (That ever sighed at sight of grief, 
 
 Whose every thought was of relief 
 
 For man o'erburdened and distressed), 
 
 With guilty heart retires to rest, 
 
 We'll turn again from riches rare 
 
 To where the cold, death-chilling air, 
 
 With the slow beating heart has strife 
 
 Against, and for, that wretched life. 
 
 Oh ! when that last wild shriek she gave, 
 
 'T would better been if death's cold wave 
 
 The last faint spark of life had chilled — 
 
 The fluttering pulse forever stilled ; 
 
 But still she lingers on ; the heart 
 
 Urges at each convulsive start 
 
 The thickening blood, till the chill frost 
 
 It meets, and then, its impulse lost, 
 
 It turns, as if reluctant, back, 
 
 Yet leaves upon its sluggish track 
 
 A part congealed in every vein, 
 
 A freshened sting, a deeper pain. 
 
 Not like consumption's flattering dart, 
 
 That pierces the scarce conscious heart, 
 
 Its victim clothes with health's gay bloom, 
 
 E'en while it drags him to the tomb — 
 
 Until 'tis difficult to tell 
 
 The moment when he bids farewell 
 
THE OUTCAST. 115 
 
 To earthly scenes. Oh ! death like this, 
 To her poor soul indeed were bliss ; 
 But houseless, friendless, and alone, 
 Each gurgling gasp, each dying groan, 
 'Tis agony to hear ; and tell 
 Me, can there be a deeper hell 
 Than dwells within that Christian form, 
 Who turned her, dying, to the storm ? 
 But sure kind friends are near her now, 
 Or that wan cheek and pallid brow 
 Would not have changed their look of gloom 
 For smiles, as bright as when health's bloom 
 Mantled her cheek with crimson glow, 
 Then left it pure as spotless snow ; 
 Or as, when her own mountain air 
 Kissed her soft cheek with tender care, 
 And checked, whene'er it crossed her path, 
 Each roughened note, each wail of wrath 
 Sunk to the gentle, murmuring breeze, 
 And softly to the waving trees 
 Whispered her praise, then onward sped, 
 Mourning her absence while it fled, 
 Rebellious that it could not stay, 
 And with her flowing ringlets play. 
 Her face, as then, is wreathed in smiles ; 
 What glorious sight the way beguiles 
 And cheers her through each gasping breath, 
 Lights up the gloomy vale of death ? 
 
116 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Sees that departing, weary soul — 
 Through threatening clouds that 'round her roll- 
 Faint glimpses of the angel band ; 
 The cheering smile, extended hand 
 Of cherub and of seraph bright, 
 Who wait on yon vast plain of light, 
 To welcome her from dreary night ? 
 Sure such glad vision greets her sight ; 
 For what could ease her dying throes, 
 Make her forget all earthly woes, 
 But glimpse of that immortal shore 
 Where she could wander evermore ? 
 No taunts to greet her shrinking ear : 
 No danger, want, and death to fear ; 
 Where words of love instead of scorn 
 Would welcome her, the spirit-born. 
 Yes, she was happy, and the gale 
 Might louder shriek and wilder wail ; 
 Its dirge-like tones she minded not, 
 Her dying pains were all forgot 
 In gazing on that heavenly scene ; 
 And were that snow a mossy green, 
 That winter night a summer day, 
 And she a thoughtless child at play, 
 She would not feel more free from care, 
 A calmer smile she could not wear. 
 For she — the guilty and disgraced, 
 Her name from virtue's page erased, 
 
THE OUTCAST. 117 
 
 No shelter from the stinging cold, 
 With scarce a rag to round her fold — 
 Is happier far than he, who sold 
 His right to Christian name for gold. 
 For though reclining in a room 
 Whose tints would vie with roses' bloom, 
 Where soothing fragrance filled the air, 
 And all seems formed to banish care, 
 There is within his guilty breast 
 A worm that will not let him rest ! 
 E'en while the spirit that he spurned, 
 And helpless from his. mansion turned, 
 Gazes with rapture on the sight 
 Of countless hosts of spirits bright, 
 Who throng around to comfort, cheer, 
 And guide her to their own glad sphere, 
 He writhes beneath the venomed stings 
 A guilty conscience ever brings. 
 The dreary walls, the driving snow, 
 The angry winds that wrathful blow 
 And rave, because they can not hear 
 Again from her that shriek of fear, 
 Nor see, nor hear the dying girl — 
 Far, far above the tempest's whirl, 
 Her thoughts are mingling with the throng 
 Who sing for her the welcome song 
 That ever greets the fainting soul, 
 While death's dark billows round it roll ; 
 
118 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Commences ere it leaves the clay, 
 
 Nor ending, till in glorious day 
 
 It wakes, and joins the heavenly strain 
 
 Which mortal tongues would try in vain. 
 
 She glances o'er the gloomy wave, 
 
 Nor heeds between the cold, damp grave, 
 
 Which, yawning, waits till hungry death — 
 
 Its friend and brother — stills her breath ; 
 
 Plays its dread part in nature's laws, 
 
 And yields her to its greedy jaws. 
 
 Why should she mind that worn-out frame ? 
 
 It ne'er has brought but grief and shame ; 
 
 Then let it moulder in decay, 
 
 To crawling death-worms fall a prey, 
 
 While her freed spirit soars away 
 
 To bask in beams of endless day. 
 
 But, hark ! new strains of music rise, 
 
 More dazzling beauties greet her eyes, 
 
 She pants, she struggles to embrace 
 
 Those spirit-forms ; each friendly face 
 
 Of that bright band is drawing near, 
 
 Each note of angel-song to hear ; 
 
 Her spirit strove, and in the strife 
 
 She passed through death to endless life ; 
 
 Beneath the snow, a form of woe 
 Lies stiffening in the cold ; 
 
 But free from care, a spirit fair 
 Does seraph arms unfold. 
 
THE OUTCAST. 119 
 
 As from a dream she woke, amazed ! 
 Around with startled wonder gazed, 
 Enraptured at the glorious sight ; 
 Then sunk o'erpowered by the light, 
 And feared again to raise her head 
 Lest she should find the vision fled ; 
 Until at once there rose around 
 Such a wild burst of heavenly sound 
 From angel harps, a moment stilled, 
 That her faint heart with rapture filled, 
 And whispered her that death was o'er, 
 That she had gained the blissful shore. 
 Then louder rose the joyful song, 
 And heavenly breezes bore along 
 The cheering, ever-welcome sound 
 To angel ears, " The lost is found ;" 
 Till distant harps caught up the strain, 
 And o'er the vast, ethereal plain 
 Was heard the sweet, harmonious notes, 
 Sounding from countless seraph throats. 
 Oh ! what a change to that poor heart 
 Was brought by death's long dreaded dart. 
 A moment since, her mournful wail 
 Was mingling with the howling gale ; 
 And now she's joining the glad songs 
 Sung by the happy seraph throngs ; 
 Treated a moment since with scorn, 
 Now angel-hailed as spirit-born ; 
 
120 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Chilled by the sleet and driving snow, 
 
 Now fanned by gentle winds, that blow 
 
 With murmuring sound from heavenly bowers, 
 
 Laden with sweet perfume of flowers 
 
 (Flowers ne'er watered by earth's tears) 
 
 That only bloom in spirit spheres. 
 
 " Oh ! joy !" she cried ; " it is no dream ; 
 
 I've gained the rest, I've crossed the stream, 
 
 And left behind my grief and shame 
 
 With that decaying, worthless frame. 
 
 On earth (or rest I vainly tried ; 
 
 Each prayer for help was there denied ; 
 
 Each bitter tear, each feeble cry, 
 
 Imploring look and heartfelt sigh, 
 
 But gained for me a harsh reply, 
 
 And scornful look from every eye ; 
 
 But kindly words now greet my ear, 
 
 No longer falls the scalding tear, 
 
 Unless for very joy it Hows 
 
 While musing on my banished woes. 
 
 Here, my glad soul no more oppressed — 
 
 No more by earthly want distressed, 
 
 Shall ever mingle with the blest, 
 
 And share with them the glorious rest — 
 
 The rest that mortals seek in vain, 
 
 And struggle for through years of pain," 
 
 Reluctant, for a moment's space 
 
 We turn from that bright, beaming face, 
 
THE OUTCAST. 121 
 
 To where is left the mouldering shell 
 That, to the gaping crowd, will tell 
 By morning light of fearful death, 
 Of limbs convulsed and gasping breath ; 
 And some, perchance, will cry, " Oh, shame !" 
 Nor take unto their hearts the blame ; 
 Although they passed the wanderer by, 
 And left her, shelterless, to die. 
 And some will pity her sad fate — 
 Alas ! their pity is too late ; 
 But why alas ? if they had turned 
 And sheltered her, instead of spurned, 
 That bleak, that dreary winter's morn 
 Would not have found her spirit-born ; 
 Companion of bright seraph bands, 
 Guarded and soothed by angel hands ; 
 But turned again upon the street, 
 Her piteous' story to repeat. 
 Again to meet insulting sneers, 
 The cruel taunts, the heartless jeers 
 Of men, who souls immortal claim, 
 Yet act like fiends in human frame ; 
 For had a transient pity burned 
 Within their hearts for her, the spurned 
 Of all (and something in their breast, 
 Had bid them not refuse her rest 
 And shelter through the stormy night), 
 At the first dawn of morning light 
 6 
 
122 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 They would have deemed their duty done, ' 
 
 And ere the warm, reviving sun 
 
 Through scattered clouds had beamed again 
 
 Over the snow-clad hill and plain, 
 
 They would have turned her forth to roam 
 
 Again, without a friend or home. 
 
 But 'tis not her we pity now- — 
 
 Her weary heart and throbbing brow 
 
 Have found a rest from toil and shame, 
 
 Nor longer aid and pity claim 
 
 From human hearts ; but woe betide 
 
 The souls who spurned her in their pride ; 
 
 They have a murderer's title gained ; 
 
 Their guilty hearts with blood are stained, 
 
 As deep as though a crimson tide 
 
 Was flowing from her wounded side, 
 
 And their own hands the bloody knife 
 
 Guided, that robbed her of her life. 
 
 But all is o'er ; no friendly tear 
 
 Was shed upon the pauper's bier ; 
 
 No prayer above her corpse was said ; 
 
 No word from Holy Writ was read, 
 
 But hirelings, with a careless tread, 
 
 Conveyed her to that narrow bed, 
 
 And brutal laugh and jest went round 
 
 With those who placed her 'neath the ground, 
 
 Till e'en the cold, unfeeling earth 
 
 Seemed angry at their ill-timed mirth, 
 
THE OUTCAST. 123 
 
 And with a sound so dismal, fell 
 
 Above her head, that fear's dark spell 
 
 Through their seared hearts sucn horror thrilled, 
 
 That quick the dreary grave they filled, 
 
 And hurried from the gloomy place, 
 
 With silent tongue and trembling pace ; 
 
 Nor dared again to glance around, 
 
 For in their ears that fearful sound 
 
 Was ringing still — the guilty heart, 
 
 Thus ever plays a coward's part. 
 
 There she was left, the only trace 
 
 That told to mortal eyes the place, 
 
 Was earth disturbed, and sullied snow, 
 
 Which the fierce winds, with envious blow — 
 
 As if to hide it from the sight — 
 
 Quick covered with a robe of white. 
 
 Her grave 'neath that pure robe was lost, 
 
 Nor found again till winter's frost 
 
 And chilling snow had left the ground, 
 
 When with sweet flowers blooming round, 
 
 A blasted, dreary spot was seen, 
 
 Like island 'mid the ocean green ; 
 
 A sunken place across the way, 
 
 That only told of dread decay : 
 
 No monument above her head, 
 
 To tell the virtues of the dead ; 
 
 But all who pass her story read 
 
 In the dark #rass and noxious weed, 
 
124 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 That ever, with a flowing wave 
 Are sighing o'er that sunken grave. 
 And what, than this, could better tell 
 Of one who erst from virtue fell ? 
 What could more plainly to us speak 
 Of blasted heart, all drear and bleak 
 Amid the smiling world around, 
 Than straggling weed and barren ground, 
 Encircled by a sea of flowers, 
 That Spring's warm sun and genial showers 
 Had waked to life and fragrant bloom — 
 Except upon' the victim's tomb. 
 But she's not there — that loathsome frame 
 From her no sympathy can claim. 
 Reclaims the stalk the mouldering shell 
 That lies decaying where it fell, 
 A shapeless form beneath the earth ? 
 Or springs it up to nobler birth 1 
 Until the growing head is seen 
 Surrounded by the waving green, 
 That screens it from the chilling rain, 
 Till all the wide extended plain 
 In purest golden tinting glows, 
 And to the anxious farmer shows 
 His care and trouble well repaid ; 
 Thus was it with the outcast maid, — 
 She'd left the covering to decay, 
 And, in those realms of endless day, 
 
THE OUTCAST. 125 
 
 Was pressing on new joys to gain ; 
 
 Was ripening like that head of grain. 
 
 What though false bigotry and pride, 
 
 Almost a Christian grave denied 
 
 To that pale, drooping, lifeless head, 
 
 And hurled upon the helpless dead 
 
 Curses so dark, that they would seem 
 
 The offspring of some hideous dream, 
 
 So fiendish, that the words to hear 
 
 Would shock the lowest, vilest ear 1 
 
 What though they doomed her to a hell, 
 
 Whose fearful agony to tell 
 
 The firmest, strongest brain would craze, 
 
 And e'en the fiends they paint, would gaze 
 
 And wonder where the human mind 
 
 Such worse than fiendish thoughts could find? 
 
 Her soaring spirit heeds them not, 
 
 But seeks some quiet, silent grot, 
 
 And muses on the Father's love, 
 
 That bore her hopeless soul above 
 
 The dreary confines of the earth, 
 
 Where sorrow, want, and pain have birth, 
 
 To the freed spirit's joyful home ; 
 
 Where, learning ever, she might roam ; 
 
 On ripening beauties ever gaze, 
 
 And, gazing, find new cause for praise ; 
 
 A vast eternity to spend, 
 
 In works of love that never end. 
 
126 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 Eternity! oh, what a theme; ♦ 
 
 When dawns the first faint, flickering beam 
 
 Of reason on the human soul, 
 
 It, struggling, fain would grasp the whole ; 
 
 And when, as with an eager flight 
 
 The height is gained, with anxious sight 
 
 It finds that knowledge just begun, 
 
 And up toward the glowing sun 
 
 Of truth, eternal truth, appears 
 
 New fields of wisdom, trembling fears 
 
 Again to soar, and lingers, till" 
 
 Impelled, almost against its will, 
 
 It flies those regions to explore, 
 
 Till it has gained of knowledge more 
 
 Than it had ever looked to find, 
 
 Except in Omnipresent mind. 
 
 But still eternity 's before, 
 
 And that one word alone is more 
 
 Than mind immortal comprehends, 
 
 Though on the thought it ages spends. 
 
 And that eternity she's found ; 
 
 Bright seraphs countless throng around, 
 
 And in their sinless arms embrace 
 
 That soul, from whom the Christian's face 
 
 With horror turned, as if the sight 
 
 His holy heart with sin would blight. 
 
 Though vice and misery hailed her birth, 
 
 And though her few brief years on earth 
 
THE OUTCAST. 127 
 
 Were filled with agony and shame, 
 
 Her heritage a blasted name — 
 
 Though earth had yielded to her part 
 
 But blighted form and broken heart, 
 
 They'd gathered round her dying form ; 
 
 They'd watched her through the fearful storm ; 
 
 Had cheered her faint, expiring sight 
 
 With glimpses of the glorious light 
 
 That, when her dying pangs were o'er, 
 
 Would greet her on the happy shore. 
 
 And when she left that suffering clay, 
 
 They bore her spirit freed away 
 
 To where earth's wants no more distress, 
 
 Where tyrant minds no more oppress ; 
 
 But where the soaring mind aspires 
 
 To wisdom's fount, and never tires 
 
 Of draughts that, there unceasing spring, 
 
 With love's own gentle murmuring. 
 
 And there we leave this earth-freed mind ; 
 
 With naught the soaring thoughts to bind, 
 
 She'll wander through those blooming bowers 
 
 Surrounded by reviving showers 
 
 Of heavenly wisdom, till the heart, 
 
 Like budding flowers, in every part 
 
 Unfolds and opens to the gaze 
 
 More beauteous truths ; and brighter rays 
 
 Will beam upon her raptured soul, 
 
 While love's glad billows ever roll, 
 
128 THE OUTCAST. 
 
 And round the joyous maiden play, 
 
 To drive each saddening thought away. 
 
 But while her soul with love o'erflows, 
 
 As up the shining steep she goes, 
 
 The man that turned her from his door 
 
 Still hugs unto his breast the ore 
 
 He's coined from widows', orphans' tears, 
 
 Which, as his dying moment nears, 
 
 He wills to charity ; and fame, 
 
 Upon her temple, finds his name 
 
 Engraved in characters of gold. 
 
 But naught avails the mighty deed 
 
 While hearts oppressed around him bleed : 
 
 The world may almost deify, 
 
 And fools applaud him to the sky, 
 
 But still the low, despairing cry, 
 
 The stifled sob, the feeble sigh, 
 
 Like lead will weigh his troubled soul ; 
 
 And when death's billows darkly roll 
 
 Around, and sweep him from the place, 
 
 Within the boundless realms of space 
 
 He'll wake, to find his spirit weighed 
 
 And wanting found, until, for aid 
 
 He'll gladly ask the soul he spurned, 
 
 And proudly from his mansion turned. 
 
 But now thy task is ended, sink to rest ; 
 
 Repose awhile each quivering, trembling string 
 
THE OUTCAST. 129 
 
 Until new fire is kindled in my breast, 
 
 And then again each glowing note shall ring 
 In harmony with inner thoughts, that spring 
 
 Unbidden from the ever gushing well, 
 
 From which we drink and mount on angel's wing, 
 
 Far, far above what earthly tongue can tell. 
 
 And though, amid the songs of joy that rise 
 To mingle with the song of seraph bands, 
 
 Are often heard ascending to the skies 
 Sad notes of grief from rudimental lands, 
 Thy notes, continued, tell that angel hands 
 
 With chords of love those wailing notes will blend, 
 Till songs of praise the spirit freed demands, 
 
 And joins the happy strains that never end. 
 6* 
 
%\t §mi0tt. 
 
 Beneath an oak tree's ancient shade, 
 Two guileless children laughing played, 
 
 Shouting in youthful glee ; 
 As loud their joyful clamor rose, 
 Who grief and mis'ry, want and woes, 
 
 Could in their future see ? 
 One was a boy, of noble form, 
 Who seemed as master of the storm, 
 
 So young, and yet so bold ; 
 And one a girl, so dazzling fair, 
 She seemed a nymph of upper air, 
 As down her back her golden hair 
 
 In glossy ringlets rolled. 
 
 Long years have past since, filled with glee, 
 Those children skipp'd beneath that tree, 
 
 And there again they stand ; 
 Not now, as then, with careless smile, 
 For one must leave that happy Isle, 
 For fame and fortune seek awhile 
 
 In some far distant land. 
 
THE REUNION. 131 
 
 He strove in vain to calm her fears- 
 He would return in two short years, 
 
 And never more would roam ; 
 Return with riches, honor, fame, 
 Return her waiting hand to claim 
 
 In this his treasured home. 
 Truth sits upon his noble brow. 
 Then how can she distrust him now 
 
 In this, their parting hour ? 
 She does not ! yet the threatening cloud 
 That's gathering 'round her, like a cloud, 
 
 Portends a gloomy shower. 
 
 Though young, she yet hath sorrow seen, 
 And thus with her it's ever been 
 
 When some deep grief was near ; 
 And now her first, her only love, 
 Was bound in foreign climes to rove ; 
 Dost wonder that she vainly strove 
 
 To check the falling tear ? 
 Time flies — he must away — farewell ! 
 Like gloomy sound of convent bell, 
 Tolling a passing "spirit's knell, 
 
 That parting word appears ! 
 And why ? he'll sure return again — • 
 Then why that heavy, dreary pain ? 
 
 Why all those boding fears 1 
 That gath'ring cloud above her hung 
 
132 THE REUNION'. 
 
 And would not pass away, 
 That dread unto her spirit clung, 
 Its sable mantle 'round her flung 
 
 For many a weary day. 
 
 Glad news soon came her mind to free — ■ 
 He'd landed safe beyond the sea ; 
 
 Farewell to all her fears — 
 Ah, no ! though all seemed clear and bright 
 To others, yet to her no light 
 
 Through that dark cloud appears ; 
 A letter, and another, came, 
 Bringing her news of wealth and fame 
 
 For him on distant shore — 
 Still to herself she'd ever say, 
 Through sleepless night and weary day, 
 
 " I ne'er shall see him more !" 
 His letters breathed but hope and love ; 
 He said for her alone he strove, 
 
 Without her all was gloom ; 
 Yet ever, as these words she read, 
 They seemed as coming from the dead — 
 
 As echoes from the tomb. 
 
 Two years have nearly passed, and now 
 
 He speaks of his return ; 
 That sadness still is on her brow, 
 
 And why — she's yet to learn ; 
 
THE REUNION. 133 
 
 She knows his love for her is pure, 
 And will throughout all time endure, 
 
 Then why that failing heart ? 
 Now that the wished-for day is near, 
 When he'll return her way to cheer, 
 Why does that heavy cloud of fear 
 
 Still threaten them to part ? 
 
 But now that youth, so true, so brave, 
 
 Is dashing o'er the sparkling wave ; 
 
 Loaded with honor, wealth, and fame, 
 
 His love for her is still the same 
 
 As when the pale moon heard their vows, 
 
 Beneath that oak's wide-spreading boughs ; 
 
 He's traveled many a land I ween, 
 
 And many a form of beauty seen, 
 
 But none that could with her compare — 
 
 No beauty that was half so rare. 
 
 Now, musing to himself, he'd say, 
 
 While gazing on the sea, 
 "Why should that spirit, once so gay, 
 
 So changed, so saddened be ? 
 Her letters all are tinged with gloom, 
 As if some dark, some dreadful doom, 
 Some fearful phantom of the tomb 
 
 Was ever by her side ; 
 But soon we'll meet, no more to part, 
 Then with that faithful, trusting heart, 
 
134 THE REUNION. 
 
 Adown life's stream I'll glide." 
 Ay ! soon they'll meet to part no more — 
 But not on Albion's friendly shore. 
 
 Above the deep, the foaming tides 
 Yon gallant ship so nobly rides, 
 
 Oh ! who could danger fear ? 
 They've crossed the ocean almost o'er, 
 And soon old England's rock-bound shore 
 
 Their anxious sight will cheer ; 
 Once more they'll tread familiar lands — 
 And now they dream that loving hands 
 
 Are greeting them at last ; 
 Alas ! their dreams are all in vain, 
 They ne'er will see those friends again 
 
 Till death's dark stream they've passed ! 
 All free from care, he's sleeping now ; 
 The smile of hope is on his brow ; 
 He hears not the low, mournful wail 
 Of winds, that speak the rising gale — 
 The white-capp'd waves, the lightning's flash, 
 The sea-bird's cry, the thunder's crash, 
 
 He does not see nor hear. 
 But many in that noble ship 
 Are starting up with quiv'ring lip, 
 
 And cheeks all blanched with fear — 
 Oh ! 'twas a sad, a mournful sight, 
 Through all the dark, the fearful night, 
 
THE REUNION. 135 
 
 Upon that wave-washed deck ; 
 "Who shall describe the dreadful shock, 
 As, high upon that hidden rock, 
 
 She drove a helpless wreck ? 
 Loud cries for help and woman's wail 
 Were heard above the rising gale, 
 
 By those upon the beach ; 
 But all in vain the wish to save — 
 No boat could live upon the wave, 
 
 That vessel's side to reach. 
 
 These cries for help are growing less, 
 But still that signal of distress 
 
 Sounds high above the storm, 
 And tells, though breakers 'round them dash, 
 That shattered bark delays the crash, 
 
 And hearts with hope beat warm ; 
 They hope in vain, for never more 
 They'll stand upon old England's shore, 
 
 And wander through each vale ; 
 Long, long will loved ones for them mourn, 
 And watch in vain for their return — 
 
 Their cheeks with sorrow pale ! 
 
 But, hark ! what means that dreadful shriek 
 
 Which rises 'bove the gale ? 
 Could that dread rock, those breakers speak, 
 
 They'd tell a mournful tale — 
 
136 THE REUNION. 
 
 How with one wild, one sudden dash, 
 One parting groan, one fearful crash, 
 
 That stranded ship went down ; 
 How words of hope and trusting prayer, 
 Mingled with ravings of despair, 
 Rose high upon the wailing air, 
 
 Amid the tempest's frown : 
 That shriek was heard upon the beach, 
 
 Above the ocean's roar, 
 And ghastly forms they could not reach, 
 
 Came dashing on the shore. 
 
 The strength of that fierce gale is past, 
 And morning's light is breaking fast 
 
 Upon the foaming wave, 
 Beneath which, all the joyful band 
 That gazed upon their native land, 
 
 Have found a watery grave ; 
 Oh, no ! not all have sunk to rest 
 Beneath the billow's foaming crest, 
 
 For one is on the shore ; 
 But he is numbered with the dead — 
 The light from that dark eye has fled — 
 
 Yes, fled forevermore ! 
 
 Was it for this he left his home, 
 Through gloomy, savage wilds to roam 
 Far, far from every friend 1 
 
THE REUNION. 137 
 
 Of all his youthful dreams of fame, 
 Of faithful love and honored name, 
 
 Is this to be the end 1 
 Is this pale, lifeless, ghastly form, 
 The noble man, whose heart beat warm 
 
 At near approach to home ? 
 
 Oh, no ! he's left that useless clay, 
 Through glorious worlds of endless day, 
 
 Eternally to roam ; 
 They gather 'round him on the sand, 
 With sorrowing hearts and friendly hand, 
 
 They close his glazing eye ; 
 With mournful steps and words of gloom, 
 They bear that stranger to the tomb, 
 And wonder why this early doom — 
 
 Why one so young should die ! 
 Ah ! could they look beyond this earth, 
 And see that glorious angel-birth, 
 
 They would not question why ! 
 
 The storm is raging fierce and loud 
 
 'Round the once happy home, 
 Where sits a form in silence bowed, 
 
 Her brow o'ercast with gloom ; 
 Fiercely the lightnings 'round her flash, 
 And mingling with the tempest's crash, 
 
 Do threatening thunders roll ; 
 
138 THE REUNION. 
 
 She heeds them not, though pealing loud, 
 For now a heavier, darker cloud 
 
 Is resting on her soul ; 
 Too well she knows that sorrow's near, 
 
 As darker grows that cloud — 
 As deep'ning gloom and hopeless fear, 
 
 Fast on her spirit crowd ; 
 For oft before she's felt such gloom, 
 As o'er loved friends some dreadful doom 
 
 Was gathering to fall ; 
 But ne'er before did cloud so bold 
 Twine round her heart in fearful fold, 
 
 So like a gloomy pall. 
 
 The morning sun now shining bright, 
 Is bathing in a flood of light 
 
 That quiet, peaceful vale ; 
 And but for trees all twisted, torn, 
 No trace is left this lovely morn 
 
 Of the fierce evening gale ; 
 But for that sad, that weary heart, 
 Morn's cheerful light can have no part, 
 
 For all is dark despair ! 
 Her last, faint hope forever fled, 
 As burst that cloud above her head ; 
 Ah ! better far be with the dead 
 
 Than all her grief to bear ! 
 She wandered forth, in listless mood, 
 
THE REUNION. 139 
 
 Beneath the shade of a deep wood ; 
 She heeded not that 'cross her path 
 Huge limbs were strewn, as if in wrath, 
 
 By the fierce tempest's power ; 
 The ruin 'round she minded not, 
 Until she came unto the spot, 
 Where oft in childhood's hour she'd played — 
 That sacred place, the oak-tree's shade, 
 
 Where passed their parting hour ; 
 But, ah ! how changed was all — how drear, 
 The place so long by her held dear, 
 
 That heard their youthful vows ! 
 The winds had spared that noble oak, 
 But, shattered by the lightning's stroke, 
 
 Were its wide-spreading boughs. 
 
 Leaning against the blasted oak, 
 
 That stricken form now feebly spoke — 
 
 Her voice with anguish chill ; 
 " That threat'ning, gloomy cloud has fled, 
 But well I know he's with the dead — 
 
 His noble heart is still ; 
 I felt his presence in the storm, 
 And, though I could not see his form, 
 
 I knew 'twas by my side : 
 'Tis past — and now, like this brave oak, 
 My mind is blasted by the stroke, 
 My weary, weary heart is broke, 
 
140 THE REUNION. 
 
 My hopes all scattered wide ; 
 This lonely bower, all stripp'd and bare, 
 Is a fit type of the despair 
 
 That's settling on my mind ; 
 Yon oak is shatter'd by the storm, 
 But still it stands, like this frail form, 
 
 Exposed to each chill wind ; 
 Though on it falls reviving rain, 
 And shines the summer sun, 'tis vain — 
 
 It ne'er again will bloom ; 
 But long a useless trunk will stand, 
 Like me, a cumberer of the land, 
 
 Fit only for the tomb." 
 
 Thus sadly spake this maiden pale, 
 And wandering lonely through the vale, 
 
 She ever for him wept ; 
 Friends strove to drive away that gloom ; 
 But though she had not heard his doom, 
 Full well she knew within the tomb, 
 
 In death's embrace he slept ; 
 For often now she felt him near, 
 
 Her weary steps to guide — 
 And oft as for him fell the tear, 
 
 He seemed her grief to chide ; 
 But still she could not give him up, 
 And oft she mourned affliction's cup 
 
 Such brimming draught should bear ; 
 
THE REUNION. 141 
 
 With mortal eyes she could not see 
 The heavenly rest he'd entered, free 
 
 From every earthly care ; 
 She could not see the angel-form 
 Which sprung to life in that wild storm ; 
 She does not see those spirits bright, 
 Who gather round him in the light 
 
 Of that celestial day ; 
 That welcome song she does not hear, 
 Too thrilling sweet for mortal ear ; 
 Those heavenly notes, that glorious light 
 For earthly eyes is far too bright — 
 
 Too bright for feeble clay ;* 
 But could she for one moment see 
 His noble form from sorrow free, 
 
 As, roaming through those spheres, 
 He turns from viewing beauties rare, 
 To guard her steps with tender care, 
 
 She'd banish all her fears. 
 
 Kind friends are gathering round to cheer, 
 And, as time flies, they hope to hear 
 
 Some tidings of that crew ; 
 She knew their hopes were all in vain — 
 That never they would hear again 
 
 Too well the maiden knew ! 
 It was a mournful sight to see 
 That youthful heart, once light and free, 
 
142 THE REUNION. 
 
 Fast sink into the grave ; 
 Sad 'twas to see each loving heart, 
 That in her sorrows shared a part 
 
 So vainly strive to save — 
 As day by day her cheek grew pale, 
 And that wan form told the dread tale 
 
 That from them she must go, 
 They gazed upon her brow with grief, 
 And strove, in vain, to find relief 
 
 From the impending woe. 
 
 Often she felt those friends were dear, 
 
 And fain would with them stay ; 
 But that loved spirit's ever near 
 
 To beckon her away ; 
 He whispers to her weary soul, 
 That where those blissful waters roll, 
 
 She'll find eternal rest — 
 He bids her look beyond this earth, 
 To glorious scenes of spirit-birth, 
 
 Where ever dwell the blest ; 
 She knows that he is ever by, 
 Though with her feeble, mortal eye, 
 
 She can not see his face ; 
 Yet soon she feels that she shall be 
 With his blest spirit roaming free, 
 Then gazing, as beneath that tree, 
 
 New beauties she will trace. 
 
THE REUNION. 143 
 
 No wonder, then, devouring death 
 
 For her had lost its sting ; 
 That thoughts of her expiring breath, 
 
 Should naught but pleasure bring ; 
 Nor that she looked with rapturous joy 
 
 To the bright angel-home, 
 Where death could ne'er her hopes destroy- 
 Where sorrow ne'er could come ; 
 For she had known scarce else but grief, 
 And feeling soon she'd find relief — 
 
 From all her sorrows part — 
 Revived the hope within her breast, 
 Not for a fleeting, earthly rest, 
 
 But with that faithful heart ; 
 For earthly rest she knew was vain — 
 With every pleasure -mingled pain, 
 
 Its thorny paths she'd tried — ■ 
 But with those spirits roaming free, 
 She knew earth's sorrows all would flee ; 
 How could she else than happy be, 
 
 When by that loved one's side ? 
 
 As faded fast her form away, 
 And nearer, nearer drew the day, 
 
 When with his spirit bright 
 She'd meet in yon celestial place, 
 They gazed upon her lovely face, 
 And in those features plainly traced 
 
144 THE REUNION. 
 
 The spirits' beaming light ; 
 Then wonder'd why that settled gloom — 
 The fearful impress of the tomb, 
 
 Which stamped her youthful face — 
 To those calm smiles, serene and bright, 
 Peaceful as autumn's fading light, 
 
 So soon should give its place ! 
 She's greatly changed — and yet 'tis not 
 That she the lost one has forgot — 
 
 He's ever in her thought ; 
 But that with him she soon will be — 
 That soon his noble face she'll see 
 
 This happy change has wrought ; 
 And should she for one moment feel, 
 Death did not o'er her senses steal 
 
 With sure though cautious tread, 
 Deep grief would rest on that frail form, 
 Again would rage the fearful storm 
 
 'Round her devoted head. 
 
 Her mind is fixed, not on the earth, 
 But on those spheres where love has birth ; 
 She's through with fleeting, transient toys, 
 Fast pressing on to nobler joys — 
 Joys to which angel minds aspire — 
 Where souls are warmed by wisdom's fire, 
 And ever mounting higher, higher, 
 By reason's hand are led. 
 
THE REUNION. 145 
 
 Now autumn winds, with mournful sound 
 
 Are sweeping through the vale, 
 And forest leaves are scattered 'round, 
 
 Like chaff before the gale ; 
 How sadly changed is Nature's face, 
 To those who only there can trace 
 
 The emblems of decay ; 
 They see not, in the parent earth, 
 Those germs that, patient, wait their birth, 
 
 Till spring's reviving day ; 
 But to those minds that farther look, 
 That deeper read in Nature's book, 
 
 Those trees so leafless, bare, 
 Their garments worn have thrown aside, 
 To be replaced by robes of pride, 
 
 Through Nature's kindly care ; 
 Thus was it with that lovely form, 
 
 As on her couch she lay ; 
 She heeded not the wailing storm — 
 
 Her thoughts were far away ; 
 She knows that soon from earth she'll go, 
 And leave that feeble form below 
 
 To mingle with the dust ; 
 She knows her spirit soon will wear 
 A garment free from every care — 
 
 Unwav'ring is her trust ; 
 For now her griefs are nearly o'er, 
 She's almost reached the blessed shore 
 7 
 
146 THE REUNION. 
 
 Where dwells the loved and lost ; 
 Her little bark has faced the gale — ■ 
 Soon, soon she'll furl its peaceful sail, 
 And wander through that heavenly vale, 
 
 No longer tempest tossed. 
 
 Dear friends are gathering 'round her now ; 
 With bleeding heart and saddened brow 
 
 Each takes a long farewell ; 
 
 As the last, parting word they speak, 
 
 "And gaze their last on that wan cheek, 
 
 Their anguish who can tell? 
 For she was dear to every heart, 
 And now that with her they must part — 
 
 Must yield her to the tomb — 
 
 ~They feel that when her voice is stilled 
 
 In death, her place can ne'er be filled, 
 
 No light can cheer the gloom. 
 
 Grim death is stealing o'er her fast, 
 But on her brow, until the last 
 
 Is hovering that smile ; 
 For loving spirits gather near, 
 And while they banish every fear, 
 
 The dreary way beguile ; 
 But while they wait, those shining bands, 
 Her soul to greet with welcome hands, 
 
 She turns to those that weep, 
 
THE REUNION. 147 
 
 And bids them cast aside their fears, 
 For loved ones from the spirit-spheres 
 
 Their vigils 'round her keep ; 
 Then to the form that's bending low 
 Above her couch, with looks of woe, 
 
 She whispers, " Mother, dear ! 
 My moments now witri you are brief — 
 But gaze not thus with looks of grief, 
 This weary soul will find relief — 
 
 Then dry those falling tears ; 
 Long hast thou seen my inmost heart, 
 And known on earth I've had no part — 
 
 That all was one drear waste ; 
 Ah ! could you see these spirits near, 
 Their welcome songs could you but hear, 
 Soon, soon you'd check the gushing tear, 
 
 And bid my spirit haste — 
 Haste ! haste my grief-worn, weary soul, 
 For thou hast nearly reached the goal — 
 
 No longer here delay ! 
 Spread thy glad wings and leave the form, 
 And in this dark, this lowering storm, 
 
 My soul no longer stay ! 
 Hark ! now I hear glad spirit-songs — 
 Ah ! could they but their notes prolong 
 
 To reach thy listening ears — 
 Could that sweet music fill this room, 
 'T would quick the gath'ring gloom disperse 
 
148 THE REUNION. 
 
 And wing your thoughts with seraph verse 
 
 To your celestial spheres — 
 Where soon, from this frail body free, 
 Away from earthly cares I'll flee, 
 
 And find a rest at last ; 
 Then grieve no more that I must go 
 Where love's eternal waters flow, 
 Where love's unfading blossoms grow, 
 Where never more can earthly woe 
 
 Its shadows o'er me cast. 
 You're slowly fading ffom my sight — 
 And now a soft, a heavenly light 
 
 Is stealing through the room ; 
 Swallowed, as 'twere, in that bright cloud 
 Your forms — but spirits 'round me crowd, 
 
 Though not with looks of gloom ; 
 They come, those loved ones mourned as dead, 
 They press around my dying bed, 
 
 And wait my parting breath — 
 Dark clouds no longer dim my sight, 
 And 'round me now beams Heaven's own light ; 
 
 My soul, can this be death ? 
 Ah, yes ! I feel I'm almost there ! 
 A few brief moments more of care 
 
 And with this earth I've done ! 
 One struggle with this useless clay 
 And my freed soul will soar away, 
 
 The victory will be won ! 
 
THE REUNION. 149 
 
 Farewell, dear friends ! farewell to all, 
 I must away ! bright spirits call, 
 
 And gladly I obey ; 
 Dry, dry those tears — no longer weep, 
 For though this spirit now must sleep, 
 
 'Twill wake to perfect day." 
 
 Thus passed this lovely maid away, 
 And, while the sun's descending ray 
 
 Still lingered in the room, 
 The flower that graced this earth awhile 
 Was taken from its native Isle, 
 
 In Paradise to bloom. 
 
 She wakes — and hark ! what heavenly sound 
 Is that ? why does her heart rebound 
 
 So light, so free from pain ? 
 She's still within that dying room — 
 Why has it lost its look of gloom ? 
 
 Has health returned again ? 
 Bright spirit-forms she now can see. 
 And asks, " What means this mystery ?" 
 
 They point her to that bed ! 
 She sees her form in death's cold sleep, 
 With loving friends that o'er it weep, 
 
 And mourn her with the dead ; 
 She turns unto those spirits now — 
 She looks — she sees that noble brow, 
 
150 THE REUNION. 
 
 That never-absent form ; 
 " I come ! I come !" she cried, and sprung 
 Unto his side — then 'round him flung 
 Her arms, and felt, as there she clung, 
 
 Secure from every storm. 
 
 Oh ! who can tell the rapturous joy, 
 The love, the bliss without alloy, 
 
 Of her fond, trusting heart 1 
 They've passed through trouble, toil, and strife, 
 And met in realms of endless life, 
 
 Where sorrow has no part. 
 " And have I passed the dreary shade, 
 In heavenly garments, bright, arrayed — 
 
 Or do I yet but dream ? 
 Is this bright form to which I cling, 
 But the weak brain's imagining — 
 
 Or he it truly seems ?" 
 He speaks, he bids her now rejoice ; 
 And as she hears that spirit-voice, 
 
 Her doubts aside are cast ; 
 For now she knows her trials o'er, 
 Unto that welcome, blissful shore 
 
 Across death's stream she's passed". 
 
 " Welcome !" that noble spirit cried ; 
 " Welcome once more unto my side 
 
THE REUNION. 151 
 
 Where thou shalt ever stay ! 
 Together will we roam these spheres, 
 Through an eternity of years, 
 
 With naught to bar the way ; 
 Long have I watched thy footsteps drear, 
 Long strove the dismal way to cheer, 
 
 But now, that duty o'er, 
 Each will assist the upward way, 
 And in the light of endless day 
 
 We'll countless realms explore."" 
 She looks once more upon the clay 
 That's now fast hast'ning to decay — 
 
 They've dressed it for the tomb — 
 But little reck the friends that weep, 
 And o'er it lonely vigils keep, 
 
 She's still within the room — 
 Ah ! for one moment could that light, 
 So pure, so heavenly, pierce their sight, 
 
 'T would chase away the gloom ! 
 Now, turning from that scene of woe, 
 She listens to the music low, 
 
 Which seems advancing near ; 
 Higher and higher swells the song, 
 As nearer draws that angel throng 
 Till she this lay can hear — 
 
 " Sister, come, welcome home — 
 Free from grief and care ; 
 
152 THE REUNION. 
 
 Find a rest with the blest, 
 In their pleasures share. 
 
 Spirits bright, with delight 
 Meet thee on the shore ; 
 
 Welcome hands, from these bands, 
 Greet thee evermore. 
 
 In these spheres, bitter tears 
 Are no longer shed ; 
 
 Earth's dark storm, with yon form, 
 Has forever fled. 
 
 One that's dear, now is near 
 To instruct the way ; 
 
 With him press on to bliss, 
 Here no longer stay ; 
 
 By his side thou hast tried 
 What was earthly joy ; 
 
 But thou'rt free now to see 
 Bliss without alloy. 
 
 Sister, on ; thou hast won 
 
 Victory at last ; 
 Then advance, not a glance 
 
 Backward ever cast." 
 
THE REUNION. 153 
 
 Many a well-remembered face 
 Amid the throng she now can trace, 
 
 As fast as they gather near ; 
 And many from that happy band 
 Are pressing on with friendly hand 
 
 And welcome words of cheer. 
 Could those fond hearts, by grief oppressed 
 As on her form they gaze their last, 
 
 But turn their weeping eyes 
 Where spirits loved, on that blessed shore 
 Are greeting her, oh ! never more 
 
 Would murmuring doubts arise ; 
 But now that lifeless, soulless clay 
 Within its narrow tomb they lay, 
 
 And turn them to their home — 
 One long-loved form was missing there, 
 And all seemed desolate and bare 
 
 As light would never come ; 
 But she they sadly mourn as dead, 
 By that fond, loving spirit led, 
 
 Now roams the seraph sphere. 
 And listens, with enraptured soul, 
 To blissful songs that 'round her roll, 
 
 And greet her gladdened ear ; 
 Supported now by friendly hands, 
 Guarded by loving angel bands, 
 
 She mounts the azure skies ; 
 She leaves the earth far, far behind, 
 7* 
 
154 THE REUNION. 
 
 And swifter than the viewless wind, 
 
 On seraph pinions flies ; 
 Higher and higher still she mounts, 
 And deeper drinks from heavenly founts 
 
 While gazing on those scenes, 
 Till rapt and swallowed up in love 
 And bliss unspeakable, above 
 
 Her wildest, fondest dreams ; 
 But, while she soars on angel wings, 
 And blissful draughts from heavenly springs 
 
 O'erpower her soul with light, 
 She'll ne'er forget the earthly home, 
 Where in youth's summer hour she roamed, 
 But strive to cheer the deep'ning gloom — 
 
 Dispel the settled night. 
 She hovers 'round the friends she's left, 
 Brings comfort to the hearts bereft, 
 
 And lights the dreary way ; 
 She cheers the struggling, fainting mind 
 That lingers in despair behind, 
 
 O'erburdened with the clay. 
 
 Thus, when her race on earth was run, 
 Her life of usefulness begun, 
 
 Who would not hail the hour 
 When called to leave the weary form — ■ 
 To leave earth's cares, its gloomy storm, 
 
 For heaven's peaceful bower ? 
 
THE REUNION. 155 
 
 What on this earth was there to bind 
 That pure, that heaven-exalted mind, 
 
 Or check her upward way ? 
 She was indeed a child of grief, 
 Nor could her spirit find relief 
 
 Confined within the clay ; 
 Until death came, with friendly hand, 
 And freed her from the hateful band 
 
 That held her to the earth 
 She little else than sorrow knew, 
 But soon her happy spirit flew 
 
 Where Jove and joy have birth ; 
 Encircling now that heavenly height, 
 Upon the blissful, glorious sight 
 
 Those wond'ring spirits gaze ; 
 That youth so brave, that maid so fair, 
 Are filling now the fragrant air 
 With words of trusting, thankful prayer, 
 
 And notes of endless praise. 
 
Sadly sighs the wailing breeze 
 To the startled, rustling trees ; 
 Whispering its mournful tale 
 To the wild-flowers of the vale ; 
 Sobbing to the rippled stream, 
 Till its ever-shifting gleam 
 Vanishes, as 'neath a cloud — 
 Till the gentle wild-flower, bowed 
 To the earth, in silence weeps ; 
 While the tender vine that creeps, 
 Joining tendrils with the leaves 
 Of the forest monarch, grieves 
 That the wind such saddened tale 
 Truthful whispers through the vale. 
 
 Thus the wind its story told — 
 Sweeping playful through the wold, 
 Sporting now with withered leaf, 
 Now with imitative grief — 
 Shrieking through the gnarled root, 
 At the aged oak-tree's foot ; 
 
THEBETRAYED. 157 
 
 Darting now o'er sunny glade, 
 Kissing cheek of willing maid, 
 Seeking then the merry rill, 
 Leaping down the shaded hill, 
 Bathing in its darkest pool 
 Over-heated breath to cool. 
 
 In a gloomy, caverned glen, 
 Where man's foot had hardly been, 
 Paused I for a moment, where, 
 With a look of fixed despair, 
 By a limpid spring reclined, 
 Wildly talking to the wind, 
 Fairest maid of earthly mold ; 
 Pale her cheek, and deathly cold 
 Was each water-dripping hand, 
 With which she the pebbled sand, 
 From that ever-bubbling spring 
 Hastened by her side to bring. 
 Then she'd spread each raven lock 
 On the mossy cushioned rock, 
 Laughing, as each tangled tress 
 She entwined with water-cress, 
 Dripping from that lonely brook ; 
 Then with wild, inquiring look 
 Down the tangled glen she'd gaze, 
 While her feeble voice she'd raise 
 To a wild, unearthly strain, 
 
158 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 Half of pleasure, half of pain ; 
 Now a joyous, happy note 
 Issued from her trembling throat, 
 Changing to a fiercer sound, 
 Waking dismal echoes 'round, 
 Sinking to such plaintive trill 
 That the merry, whirling rill 
 Lingered in a shady nook, 
 Wond'ring, till it saw the look 
 That despair will ever trace, 
 Unmistaken, on her face ; 
 Kissing kindly, then, the hand 
 Which she buried 'neath its sand, 
 Sadly silent on it swept, 
 And the maiden's sorrows wept ; 
 Wept, while it this changing lay 
 Heard upon its bounding way. 
 
 " 'Neath a wild-wood's cooling shade 
 Where our happy vows were made, 
 
 Wander I so cheerily ; 
 In the over-arching trees, 
 Joining with the whisp'ring breeze, 
 
 Birds are singing merrily ; 
 
 Yet he lingers, lingers still, 
 While adown the distant hill 
 Creep the shadows steadily ; 
 
THE BETRAYED. 159 
 
 Once I could not breathe his name, 
 But my own, returning, came 
 From his lips so readily ; 
 
 Downward creeps the cruel shade, . 
 Stretches o'er the open glade, 
 
 Creeping, oh ! so drearily ; 
 Still I, watching, wait to greet, 
 Listen for his ling'ring feet, 
 
 Lonely listen wearily. 
 
 Still he comes not ; is it so — 
 Must I disappointed go, 
 
 Roaming, roaming wearily? 
 Has he then forgot the vow — 
 Whispered as it seems but now, 
 
 While the birds sang cheerily 1 
 
 Peace, my struggling heart, be still ; 
 
 Peace, each throbbing vein ; 
 Wait ; the shadows on the hill 
 
 Bid you wait again : 
 Wait ; thy weary watching's done — 
 Ended with the sinking sun. 
 
 Said he not he'd meet me here, 
 
 Ere the shadows fell ? 
 But 'twas in the fading year 
 
160 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 When he bid farewell ; 
 Weary weeks have passed since then- 
 Will he never come again? 
 
 They have cursed me for my shame 
 
 Since we parted last, 
 And upon my wretched name 
 
 Shadows have been cast ; 
 Even now they dark'ning fall 
 O'er my heart like gloomy pall. 
 
 Only curses greet my ear 
 
 When I seek my home, 
 Look of scorn for pity's tear — 
 
 Friendless thus I roam ; 
 Peace, my whirling brain, be still, 
 Night is creeping down the hill. 
 
 Night is creeping, while I, weeping, 
 
 List his step in vain ; 
 Fancies frightful, then delightful, 
 
 Dart across my brain ; 
 Oh, my weary, weary head, 
 Would 'twas resting with the dead !" 
 
 Singing thus, the drooping maid 
 Gathered up each dripping braid, 
 
THE BETRAYED. 
 
 While her tears kept mournful time 
 To the crush'd heart's wailing rhyme ; 
 Then she changed that song of grief — 
 In her hair twined faded wreath, 
 Laughed to see the gloomy shade 
 Stealing o'er the forest glade ; 
 Down the glen gave parting look, 
 Whisper'd to the list'ning brook, 
 Bidding it a sad good-night, 
 Promising, when morning light 
 Took its first, its early rest 
 On the tiny billow's breast, 
 She would haste that light to greet — 
 Haste the absent one to meet ; 
 Lihg'ring then, she left the place, 
 And with feeble, trembling pace, 
 Refuge from the night-mist chill, 
 Rolling down the darkening hill, 
 Sought beneath some roof to find — 
 Silent, following behind, 
 Heard I curses, deep and loud, 
 Greet her soul with' sorrow bowed ; 
 Saw I then the Christian spurn — 
 To the night air, helpless, turn 
 With reproach her tender frame ; 
 Then unto her, softly, came, 
 As she faint, despairing stood, . 
 From the borders of the wood, 
 
 161 
 
162 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 Music sweet of dancing wave, 
 From a stream whose ripples lave 
 Many a drooping forest leaf ; 
 First, they seemed like wail of grief, 
 Echoes of her own soft cry ; 
 Then they floated gently by 
 With a soothing, magic strain, 
 Whisp'ring to her grief-crazed brain 
 That her troubled, aching breast 
 Might in their embrace find rest. 
 
 Then I saw the sudden start, 
 As, within her wretched heart, 
 Strongest principle of life 
 With that syren song had strife. 
 To the first inclining fast 
 Was she, when a Christian passed; 
 Scornful scanned her hollow face, 
 Then increased his pious pace, 
 Sneering words upon his tongue ; 
 Then the dark waves louder sung 
 That, beneath their sparkling tide, 
 From that look of holy pride — 
 Giving to her bleeding heart 
 Keener pain than venomed dart — 
 She might sleep, nor heartless jeer, 
 Mocking laugh, or curses hear ; 
 Yielding to that magic spell, 
 
THE BETRAYED. 163 
 
 Sought she then the forest dell : 
 Still I followed on the bank, 
 Water-flowers and rushes rank 
 Bowed their heads beneath her feet ; 
 A decaying trunk her seat 
 Made she, till each braided tress, 
 Loosened, did its mate caress ; 
 Singing mournfully the while, 
 With a saddened, wand'ring smile 
 Gazed she on each flowing lock ; 
 Lightly scaled a frowning rock 
 'Round which waters wildly swept ; 
 Changing then her mood, she wept ; 
 And each droop'd, mist-dripping leaf 
 Joined the maiden's lonely grief, 
 While the never-ceasing spray, 
 Trickling down its channeled way, 
 From the mossy granite fell 
 With fresh speed, as pity's spell 
 Softened e'en its hardened bed, 
 Till it mournful tear-drops shed. 
 
 'Cross her fevered brow I swept, 
 And, as scalding tears she wept, 
 Brushed them from each drooping lid, 
 Whispered her that death was hid 
 'Neath the silver-crested wave ; 
 But in vain I strove to save 
 
164 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 From that doom the maiden fair ; 
 Words of mine, like idle air, 
 Pass'd her ears unheeded by ; 
 With one wild, despairing cry 
 From the spray- wet cliff she sprung, 
 While the dark waves upward flung— 
 To the maiden's coming greet — 
 Their chill arms her form to meet ; 
 Then I saw them madly whirl 
 Onward with the struggling girl ; 
 Saw one fierce, convulsive grasp, 
 Heard one smothered, gurgling gasp 
 Followed by a feeble moan, 
 Then was with the waves alone. 
 
 Hushed the tale, and onward sped, 
 As the scene renewed it fled, 
 The sad wind ; while trailing vine, 
 Lily pale and eglantine, 
 Joined each trembling moistened leaf 
 In a mingled wail of grief 
 At the maiden's mournful fate ; 
 Wond'ring why each friendly gate 
 'Gainst the one who bore the sin 
 Should be closed, while safe within, 
 Welcomed was the tempter vile ; 
 Wond'ring thus, they drooped awhile, 
 Till with evening dews there came 
 
THE BETRAYED. 165 
 
 Echoes of the lost one's name ; 
 
 Sounding not in saddened wail ; 
 
 Shrieking not in moaning gale ; 
 
 Stealing 'stead in gentle sigh, 
 
 Such as breathes when Autumn's sky 
 
 With unruffled beauty glows ; 
 
 Such as fans the opening rose, 
 
 'Neath the pure, unclouded moon — 
 
 Or, at sultry hour of noon 
 
 Breathes upon the lily's leaf, 
 
 Till its seeming weight of grief 
 
 Is forgotten, and it rears, 
 
 Dripping still with pearly tears, 
 
 Its pale cheek of purest white, 
 
 Thankful, to the offered light. 
 
 Gently thus her name was heard, 
 
 And, as by some magic word, 
 
 Was each rising murmur stilled ; 
 
 And a joyous feeling thrilled 
 
 Through each drooping leaf and flower 
 
 Of that ancient forest bower ; 
 
 For they knew that she was there, 
 
 Silent moving through the air. 
 
 Changed they then their sobs of woe 
 To the breeze, that sadly slow 
 Whispered them the mournful tale, 
 As again it swept the vale, 
 
166 THE BETRAYED. 
 
 Quickly told the tidings glad ; 
 Then it changed its sighings sad, 
 Paused to sweep the ling'ring tears — 
 Remnants left of passing fears — 
 From o'erburdened stalk and limb, 
 Joined a while the thankful hymn 
 Raised by them, that earthly wrong 
 Could alone to earth belong ; 
 That, in the creative mind 
 Justice perfect she could find ; 
 Justice, free from base alloy ; 
 Justice, that would not destroy, 
 But assist her wretched mind 
 Rest by men denied, to find. 
 Left it then the smiling bower, 
 Whispered to each weeping flower 
 That the morning's saddened tale 
 Bowed, in sorrow, through the vale, 
 Of the rest that she had found ; 
 Then arose a joyful sound 
 From each forest, hill, and dale, 
 That had joined the morning's wail. 
 
Silence, unbroken silence, reigns where late 
 
 The ringing laugh and sportive jest were heard. 
 
 Telling of hearts, as then, unclouded by 
 
 The cares of rudimental life ; the rich, 
 
 Exotic plants, whose perfume loads the air, 
 
 Till it would seem that Persia's boasted breeze 
 
 Its rarest gifts had brought, now droop as if 
 
 In grief ; pictures, gazing upon us from 
 
 Their draped, half-hidden frames, seem weeping 'neath 
 
 Their painted smiles ; and in its gloomy folds 
 
 Of black, severe the cold, unfeeling glass 
 
 Reflects but sorrow. 
 
 Why is this ? why should 
 Those beaming smiles be changed to bitter tears ? 
 Why should these rooms that late re-echoed songs 
 Of joy, now silent as the grave appear — 
 Like some vast charnel-house, prepared for the 
 Reception of the crushed and withered hopes 
 Accumulated through long years of joy ? 
 All nature smiles without ; the air is filled 
 With gladsome sounds ; even the rattling cart 
 Seems striving in its rough, unpolished way 
 
168 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 
 
 To time with " feathered songsters of the grove," 
 Whose little throats are warbling notes of praise, 
 Till prisoned mates, finding resistance to 
 The gilded wires in vain, join in the song, 
 Though with a somewhat saddened trill ; but here 
 Those sounds are muffled, and the reviving 
 Sun, whose welcome beams call forth these grateful 
 * Songs, seeks vainly for an entrance through the 
 Drooping folds, that fain would banish every 
 Ray of light from these deserted rooms ; or 
 If, perchance, a struggling ray finds entrance 
 Through some careless opening, it dimly falls, 
 Tinged of a somber hue, upon the black 
 Draped walls, and, by the contrast, to the scene 
 Adds deeper gloom. 
 
 " Dead ! dead ! my child ! my child ! 
 And hast thou gone forever from my sight ? 
 The light that glanced from out those beaming eyes, 
 Now glazed in death, forever banished hence? 
 Those little hands, so still, so icy cold, 
 That ever could with their caresses cheer 
 My loneliest hours, forever stilled 1 oh, no ! 
 It can not be ! she does but sleep ! I sure 
 Again shall hear that darling voice — shall feel 
 Those loved caresses — the music of those 
 Feet are not — they can not be — hushed to a 
 Never-ending silence ; we can not part! 
 My child ! my child ! awake, and leave me not 
 
THE SPIRIT-BORN. 169 
 
 Alone in this cold world. Alas ! no voice 
 Responds to mine — that stiffened tongue is mute ; 
 The seal of death upon those precious lips 
 Is placed ; the music of that angel-voice 
 Is hushed, and I am desolate. She's gone ! 
 They tell me to a happy home — but where 1 
 Her form is still before my eyes ; the curls 
 Through which her smiles but yesterday burst forth, 
 Like April sun from golden-tinted clouds, 
 Are clustering to day upon 
 
 This marble brow — these lips are hers, and e'en 
 The smile — they ever wore when in her happy 
 Tranquil mood — is resting on them ; all, all 
 Are hers but this dread silence ; this belongs 
 To death, and dooms her to the cold, damp grave. 
 The grave ? oh, no ! I can not lay this head, 
 Which hath so often pillowed on my breast, 
 Within that dark abode, for winter storms 
 To rage above, with no kind hand to wipe 
 The gath'ring mould from this cold cheek — oh, no ! 
 I can not leave her there. If I could feel 
 That what I love no longer dwells within 
 This darling form, then I, perchance, might part 
 From it with less of grief; might yield it to 
 Its gloomy bed without this severing 
 Of soul. But thus we can not part. Oh, death ! 
 Whose envious dart hath stilled that bounding pulse, 
 Release her from these icy bonds till she 
 8 
 
170 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 
 
 This awful mystery can declare. 'Tis vain! 
 My prayers return unanswered, and I weep, 
 Alone. My child ! my child ! — would I had died 
 For thee, my child !" 
 
 Thus, bending o'er the cold 
 Remains of her whose merry laugh so late 
 Re-echoed through these gorgeous rooms, with crushed, 
 Despairing heart, the mother sobbed her grief; 
 The precious bud that sprang from widowed stalk, 
 As if its lonely way to cheer, was nipp'd 
 By envious, death-biting frost, and drooped, 
 And died, ere yet its perfumed beauties scarce 
 Had opened to the wooing breeze, leaving 
 The parent stalk all desolate. What then 
 On earth could cheer the mother's heart? the light 
 Had fled that blessed her lonely hearth, she knew 
 Not where ; 'tis true the man of God had told 
 Her to a happy clime ; but then he placed 
 A gulf impassable between the hearts 
 That lived but in each other's presence once, 
 And deemed it grief to separate e'en for 
 An hour ; with such a gulf between, could she 
 Be happy ? Judging by her own stricken 
 Heart, the mother's doubts would rise until she, 
 In her wand'ring agony, upbraided 
 Death for the forced separation, which left 
 Of hope not e'en a flitting ray to cheer 
 The darkening future. 
 
THE SPIRIT-BORN. 171 
 
 But, hark ! too sweetly- 
 Soft to come from mortal lips, slow music 
 Steals in wavy trills throughout that darkened 
 Room ; perhaps too pure for mortal ears to 
 Catch the strains which float above that darling 
 Head, and seem connected, as it were, by 
 Some mysterious link to that fixed cherub 
 Smile, which lingers on those icy lips so 
 Pure, so colorless, that one would deem them 
 Freshly chiseled by some master hand from pure 
 Unsullied marble, but for that smile — which 
 Mortal hand, howe'er so high it ranked in 
 Art, would fail to even imitate ; fresh 
 Bursts of music fill the darkened air, till 
 All this dreary room alive with angel 
 Voices seems; but still the mourner hears them 
 Not ; she only thinks of her she loved as 
 Dead, or, at the least, within some far-off, 
 Dreamy place, with but a chance that they would 
 Meet again forever. Oh, what ajiope 
 For stricken heart like hers — how desolate 
 It seemed ! could she but leave that hope, so gross, 
 Material, and worthless, for the truth 
 Nature would teach ; would she but turn within 
 Her eyes, so dim with tears ; forget awhile 
 The outward world and list the teachings of 
 Her own unbiased soul, quick would those gloomy 
 Doubts give place to brighter hopes ; no longer 
 
172 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 
 
 Would she in death a hideous monster see, 
 
 Created for the curse of man, but hail 
 
 It as a messenger from Heaven sent, 
 
 To clothe with never-fading robes of joy 
 
 And immortality the waiting soul ; 
 
 The room, whose threshold it had crossed, she would 
 
 In gloomy folds of black no longer drape ; 
 
 But view it as the place, not where her child 
 
 Had died, but where its little spirit, ere 
 
 Yet 'twas stained by long abiding with the 
 
 Flesh, had laid aside the shell which held it 
 
 To the gross, material earth, unwilling 
 
 Prisoner, e'en in its infancy ; she 
 
 Would not roam the distant fields of space, in 
 
 Mournful search for that mysterious home where 
 
 Man, in simple ignorance, had told her 
 
 Dwelt her absent child, to turn disheartened 
 
 From the search — as now she did — again to 
 
 Gaze with agony renewed upon the 
 
 Fast decaying form ; to mark the fearful 
 
 Ravages of death, and in despair feel 
 
 Stealing through her half-crazed brain the dreadful 
 
 Thought — " this is the end of life ;" within the 
 
 Grave our hopes, our fears, our joys, our sorrows 
 
 All are hushed. Oh, no ! she'd not extend her 
 
 Search to distant regions, nor would it be 
 
 Thus fruitless ; a gentle voice, soft as the 
 
 Whisperings of love, would murmur to her 
 
THE SPIRIT-BORN. 173 
 
 Yearning soul — " Mother, thy side I have not 
 
 Left ; 'tis true I've laid aside the worthless 
 
 Robe which late I wore, but, clothed in garments 
 
 Of heavenly texture, now I hover near 
 
 Thy heart, to ease it of its load of grief; 
 
 Above those cold remains no longer weep ; 
 
 With me they've naught to do ; like garments soiled 
 
 And rent, aside they're cast, something to be 
 
 Forgotten :" thus would her sobs be stilled and 
 
 She, perchance, in calmer mood might hear some 
 
 Ling'ring strain of the seraphic song sung 
 
 Now, e'en here, within this dreary room, by 
 
 Smiling spirit-forms, her angel-child to 
 
 Welcome, and in the pauses of those notes 
 
 Hold converse sweet with the invisible 
 
 But ever-present form of her that now 
 
 She mourns as dead. 
 
 Thus might it be with all 
 Who agonize — refusing comfort o'er 
 The husk, the outward covering of friends, 
 Ere dread decay forever forces them 
 Apart — would they but in their strength arise 
 And soar above the narrow dome 'neath which 
 They vainly seek for light ; would they but range, 
 Freed from their superstitious chains, the fields 
 Of nature, from her pages study, and 
 Seek the truth, not from the lips of others, 
 But in the never-failing streams which have 
 
174 THE SPIRIT-BORN. 
 
 Their rise deep in the inner caverns of 
 The soul, their head the germ divine planted, 
 By God, in every human breast, their mouth 
 The boundless universe. 
 
Weary with gazing on the strife that men — 
 
 With brother, blessed word, still lingering on 
 
 Their lips — hold with their fellow-men for vain 
 
 Supremacy ; sick at sight of wrongs, of 
 
 Bitter, burning wrongs heaped by the strong 
 
 Upon the weak, the law-defenseless head ; 
 
 Pained with the mingled sighs and groans that from 
 
 The suffring thousands of the earth arise 
 
 In one vast, wailing chorus to the God 
 
 Of the oppressed, for freedom from the chains 
 
 That ages long have rusted to the flesh, 
 
 Hardened and seared by constant wear, till now 
 
 They scarce would feel their weight, but for the worm, 
 
 The canker of that rust, which ever gnaws 
 
 And, as it deeper eats, creates a pain 
 
 That's keener felt than e'en the last, which seemed 
 
 As it were insupportable — 
 
 Weary 
 Of all these bitter groans and tears, awhile 
 I wandered from the busy haunts of men, 
 Alone, to try if I my scattered thoughts 
 From their confusion could recall, and there. 
 
176 A VISION. 
 
 In solitude unbroken, rearrange 
 
 Their broken ranks in order's firm array, 
 
 Til] I might rightly judge if what I saw 
 
 Of earthly wrongs was but the picture of 
 
 A heat-distempered brain ; or if such wrongs 
 
 Indeed were done to man by brother man, 
 
 Unnoticed for their commonness. 
 
 A spring, 
 Nestling almost unseen beneath a rock, 
 Whose roughened surface aged velvet moss 
 And creeping plants had leveled to a seat 
 Luxurious and soft as palace lounge could 
 Boast, my wand'ring steps approached ; the arching 
 Foliage overhead, driving aslant the 
 Sun's descending rays,, seemed as inviting 
 Beneath their welcome shade the weary soul, 
 To find repose awhile from busy scenes 
 Of earth ; a moment in uncertainty 
 I paused, then yielding to the languor that 
 With mysterious slowness enveloped every 
 Sense, sunk half unconscious to the flowered 
 Turf which circled 'round that limped spring like 
 Oasis in a desert wild, a spot of 
 Life amid a world of desolation, 
 Or island-paradise surrounded by 
 A boundless, dreary ocean. 
 
 But soon a 
 Change came slowly creeping, o'er the scene ; the 
 
A VISION. 177 
 
 Spring, which sparkled but a moment since in 
 Conscious purity, had changed its peaceful, 
 Home-like notes to dashing cadences ; and 
 As it forced its heedless way, bounding from 
 Rock to rock, methought, though pure itself as 
 Yet, fragments impure it bore upon its 
 Bosom, that, almost imperceptibly 
 Dissolving as they passed along, mingled 
 With the unconscious stream, giving a tint 
 Of sadder hue to its bright, dancing waves ; 
 But as I longer looked I saw fresh streams 
 From fountain heads as pure as that from which 
 It started, hasting with joy to cast their 
 Mite upon its smiling breast ; and then, as 
 Mingled into one they passed along, I 
 Marked their purity combined cast off the 
 Shade which had commenced to dim the early 
 Brightness of the stream. 
 
 But while 1 mused, the 
 Scene again was changed — the brook was now a 
 Wildly leaping stream, resistless dashing 
 On ; and though upon its breast floated huge 
 Logs, borne by its waves from forests never 
 By man disturbed, the germ of purity 
 Which from that sparkling spring commenced, refused 
 To mingle with the drift it swept along ; 
 Or if it sometimes caught a tinge from what 
 It bore, quick gathered all its force, and cast 
 8* 
 
178 A VISION. 
 
 The offending fragments on its grassy shore 
 To linger in obscurity, until at length 
 Some wave adventurous that rose above the 
 Rest received it, purified by age, and 
 Bore it from the place. 
 
 Thus, though its roaring 
 Notes sounded more free and wild, it still was 
 Pure ; but now huge fabrics upon its banks 
 Appeared, and, disturbed by art, nature was 
 Changed. Through, channels dug by hands the torrent 
 Rushed, and, at his bidding, wrought the work of 
 Puny man ; then, its duty ended, sought 
 Again its bed — but, ah, how changed ! Its pride, 
 Its brightness, all had disappeared, and but 
 A turbid, sluggish mass now met the eye, 
 That vainly strove to cast its filthiness 
 Upon the shore ; each struggling effort but 
 Increased the filth, for nature no longer 
 Smiled upon its banks : the flowered turf had 
 Changed to filthy streets, and each returning 
 Wave their drainings brought, till, in despair, the 
 Hopeless task it fled, and hurried on to 
 Hide its filth and shame beneath the ocean's 
 Dingy wave. 
 
 • Awhile I gazed in sadness 
 On the scene, then, sorrowing, turned away to 
 Leave the place, but found a stranger by my 
 Side. Although his silver locks betokened 
 
A VISION. 179 
 
 Age, the piercing glance of youthful eye and 
 Form erect, spoke that within secure from 
 Time's relentless hand — not one of earthly 
 Mold. A reverence and awe crept o'er my 
 Soul. He spake : 
 
 " Oh, mortal man ! the vision 
 Is for thee — reflect and profit by the 
 Lesson ; the smiling spring, half hidden by 
 Sweet flowers and trailing vines, with not a speck 
 To mar its beauty, is mind immortal, 
 Emanating from the bosom of its 
 God, pure and unspotted, to commence its 
 Course in mortal frame ; with joyful songs it 
 Changes to a running stream, and, bounding, 
 Leaps from rock to rock, changing to songs more 
 Wild, but still as pure ; for though it meets with 
 Long-established creeds, assisted by fresh 
 Streams from nature's fount it sweeps them on, in 
 Size increasing, until still more bulky 
 Obstacles it moves along, nor suffers 
 By the contact ; for if the stream's less pure 
 From such a burden, it quick aside is 
 Cast, till minds too strong to be o'erpowered by 
 Its impurities resistless sweep it 
 From its long abiding place — a horror 
 To the shrinking waves no more. 
 
 And thus it 
 Rushes on, by its own workings casting 
 
180 A VISION. 
 
 Impurities aside ; and ever pure 
 As this it would have been if left to move 
 Along in nature's path ; but when its bed, 
 Obstructed by minds for selfish purpose, 
 Is left, seeking to find its level, and 
 Swept through other channels than designed by- 
 God, its purity o'erbalanced by the 
 Yielding earth through which it rushed was lost, nor 
 E'er regained till buried 'neath the ocean's 
 Wave, when, on the bosom of the mist, it 
 Once more ascended to its native seat, 
 The paradise of God." 
 
 He ended, and 
 I found myself reclining by the spring 
 Where I had slept The sun was bathing all 
 The western hills with his expiring light ; 
 The lowing herd returning from the fields, 
 And parent bird seeking its happy nest, 
 Whispered of home, and bade me once more seek 
 The haunts of men ; but as my ling'ring steps 
 Bore me from the enchanted place, I said, 
 '• Henceforth, with me the creeds, the lessons taught 
 By men, shall yield to the divinity 
 Of nature." 
 
®n gtiltt. 
 
 What wild commotfon's this ? discordant sounds 
 
 And fearful strife in heaven, the fountain head 
 
 Of peace 1 — the fields where thought impure has ne'er 
 
 Before found rest, the battle-ground become 
 
 Of hosts of cherubs and of seraphs bright, 
 
 Who until this dread hour were purity 
 
 Perfected ? The throne of God, the only 
 
 Great creative mind, where universal 
 
 Love has sway omnipotent, become the 
 
 Cause of dev'lish strife between those angel, 
 
 Heaven-exalted minds ; revenge within, till 
 
 Now, the peaceful breasts of all, opposer 
 
 And opposed, creating, and in one vast 
 
 Uprising the work of an Eternity 
 
 Of ages making void and useless ! Why 
 
 Is this ? the thinking mind would ask ; why should 
 
 The Father, infinite in power and love, 
 
 From whom all knowledge springs, create, if it 
 
 Is sin to upward look, within the breasts 
 
 Of cherished, happy children such desire 1 
 
 Did the omnipresent One of secret 
 
182 OLD FABLES'. 
 
 Danger dream, in distant ages of the 
 Future and, by this stratagem desire, 
 The danger probe ? or did justice — mighty 
 Attribute of Deity — urge on the 
 Strife as punishment severe for early, 
 Undeveloped sins by them committed 
 In some rudimental sphere, ere yet they 
 Reached the station glorious now occupied 1 
 Or did Love, attribute of all the most 
 Divine, counsel the act, to guard the power 
 Infinite, who created all desire 
 (For till that time sin was not known), against 
 Some future thought created by itself? 
 Or was it that he, who was the Sun, the 
 Center of all glory, by the mighty 
 Act might, by man, the puny work of his 
 Almighty hand, be glorified, that now 
 The fields, where love and harmony alone 
 Have right, should echo to the yells of fierce 
 Revenge, while discord holds glad jubilee 
 Exulting at the sight ? Was scene like this 
 Needed to guard 'gainst future, or e'en from 
 Present danger omnipotence divine ? 
 Would justice, holy name, deserve to rouse 
 A feeling impious within the, till then, 
 Sinless breast of cherubim, disturbing 
 Holy thoughts of ages, the beauty of 
 Its impartial laws to prove — then, upon 
 
OLD FABLES. 183 
 
 The mind it thus urged to the deed, inflict 
 
 Revengful punishment ? Was't attribute 
 
 Of love to gender hate implacable 
 
 Between those hosts ? Was't love urged on the strife 
 
 And laughed aloud as mind immortal, with 
 
 Uplifted hand, smote down its brother mind ; 
 
 Then o'er the tortures of the weaker hung 
 
 And gloated at the sight ? Was't love that smiled 
 
 To see revenge hold feast upon those plains, 
 
 And, while it feasted, with its greedy eyes 
 
 Into the future peer, and ghastly grin 
 
 At thought of coming victims — or throwing 
 
 Watchful care, love, justice, all aside would 
 
 Glory, if indeed Creator can by 
 
 Creature's act be glorified, insure 
 
 From fiendish strife like this ? What glory dwells 
 
 In vengeance, that purity incarnate 
 
 The hellish attribute should seek 1 Copies 
 
 Divinity from man, that scarce progressed 
 
 Above the brute does battle fierce against 
 
 His brother unprogressed ; and, the slaughter 
 
 Ended, great glory to himself receives 
 
 That he, by treach'rous cunning, or else by 
 
 Brutal force, his brother has o'erpowered? 
 
 Like man, does't raise victorious shout above 
 
 The bloody battle-field, and glorify 
 
 Itself that its own mighty power has such 
 
 Fearful carnage wrought ? Is't in such vengeful 
 
184 OLDFABLES. 
 
 Scene divinity for glory seeks — or 
 
 If, by causes mentioned now, the bloody 
 
 Strife is not produced, whence comes that fiendish 
 
 Shout which fills the whole celestial air, of 
 
 Deadly combat telling, and in its wild, 
 
 Tumultuous, roar drowning the peaceful 
 
 Angel-notes, which, undisturbed until this 
 
 Time, were sounded ever from seraphic 
 
 Harps — higher and higher rising, each strain 
 
 More perfect than the last, which perfection's 
 
 Incarnation seemed. 
 
 The reason for this 
 Tumult wild within the peaceful walls of 
 Heaven, this wondrous change from holy thoughts to 
 Aspirations sinful, the mind that hears 
 The tale has right to ask, nor should be deemed 
 Presumptuous that it seeks the cause to know ; 
 For should it, if a cause can not be given 
 For this most wondrous mythologic tale, 
 Be censured that it will not blindly bow 
 Before foundationless authority ? 
 " Thus saith the word," to minds acknowledging 
 The right to reason — first, best gift of God — 
 Is not sufficient proof, though it may lean 
 Somewhat toward the word, it still asks for 
 Cause, and ever will, till cause is given or 
 It rejects the causeless tale. 
 
OLD FABLES. 185 
 
 Then wonder • 
 Not, ye who have crushed that germ implanted 
 In your breasts by Deity ; ye who of sin 
 In knowledge prate, and fear to turn your eyes 
 Within for wisdom's light ; wonder not that 
 Some should ask a cause for monstrous tale like 
 This ; but wonder 'stead that ye, unblushing 
 For your ignorance, such superstitious 
 Tale accept because in ancient records 
 It is found ; ye who of ignorance and 
 Superstition prate of those who modern 
 Truths receive by facts supported, look to 
 Your walls, for brittle glass is easy crushed ; 
 Retire into the inner room, or some 
 Stray missile, by yourself projected, may 
 Rebound against your fragile structure ; the 
 Beam remove from your distorted vision 
 First, then seek the mote, if mote there be, 
 Within your brother's eye ; but, till the beam's 
 Removed, presume no more to glaring 
 Imperfections seek in others. 
 
%\t fast of i\t %t)t Pan. 
 
 Where the broad Pacific's waters 
 
 Lave the golden, western strand, 
 With their weeping wives and daughters, 
 
 Gather a decaying band — 
 And their eagle eyes are flashing, 
 
 While they muse upon their wrongs ; 
 'Bove the roar of breakers dashing 
 
 Rise their wildly wailing songs — 
 
 " From the valleys and the mountains, 
 
 Which our fathers made their home, 
 From their sparkling rills and fountains, 
 
 We are driven forth to roam ; 
 They, the race we hailed with pleasure, 
 
 Coming o'er the eastern waves, 
 Rob us of our only treasure, 
 
 Drive us from their sacred graves. 
 
 " Love we not the quiet rivers 
 
 Winding through our native vales ? 
 
THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 187 
 
 Dear is every leaf that quivers 
 
 Shaken by autumnal gales ; 
 Dearer far are shadows streamin 
 
 O'er our fathers' lonely graves — ■ 
 Than the glorious sunlight beaming 
 
 On the vast Pacific's waves. 
 
 " They the pale-face, worn and weary, 
 
 Welcomed on the freezing sand ; 
 In their forests, wild and dreary, 
 
 Greeted them with friendly hand ; 
 Had they known that they were clasping 
 
 To their breasts a poisoned dart, 
 Closer would have been the grasping 
 
 Till they'd crushed the serpent's heart. 
 
 " Warmed that heart 'neath their embraces 
 
 Till it gained a giant's size, 
 Then, before their startled faces, 
 
 Did a monster form arise ; 
 Silent it had gained the power 
 
 Under which they groaning reel, 
 But to which they will not cower 
 
 Till it does their vengeance feel. 
 
 " Soon the council-fires were burning 
 And the war-whoop sounded loud — 
 
188 THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 
 
 From the chase, the braves quick turning 
 Join the wild, excited crowd ; 
 
 Then the tomahawk, unburied, 
 Desolation hurled around ; 
 
 Their sad fate it only hurried, 
 
 Crushed them nearer to the ground. 
 
 " Ever since we've been retreating ; 
 
 Still they, eager, grasp for more — 
 Injury and wrong repeating 
 
 Till we've gained the farther shore — 
 Oh, Great Spirit ! shall we longer 
 
 Sink beneath oppression's bands 1 
 Shall we yield us to the stronger — 
 
 Lick, like dogs, their tyrant hands 1 
 
 " No ! the soul within is burning, 
 
 Though 'tis helpless, crushed, and weak ! 
 And the heart the tongue is spurning 
 
 That such thought it e'er could speak ! 
 While the hunting-grounds above us 
 
 Are not closed against our feet, 
 While those spirit-forms still love us, 
 
 We with smiles our fate will meet." 
 
 Hushed the song, and then advancing 
 To the rock-encircled shore, 
 
THE LAST OF THE RED MAN. 189 
 
 Not a soul was backward glancing 
 
 At the homes they'd see no more ; 
 Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, 
 
 'Neath the foaming, tossing wave 
 Of the deep Pacific's waters 
 
 Lie within its coral caves. 
 
fojjnss at t%t matla. 
 
 What means the sound that breaks upon my ear, 
 Like murm'rings of a far-off sea of waves 
 That dash, untiring, on the tow'ring cliffs, 
 Which, like mighty bulwarks, guard the island 
 Vale 'gainst their advances ? 
 
 A growing power 
 Is moving through the earth, and struggling minds 
 That long have been confined boldly refuse 
 To tamely, blindly submit the God-like 
 Attributes that dwell within to others' 
 Dictates ; but, conscious in their might, arise 
 And shake as 'twere with giant strength the galling 
 Fetters from their hands ; the heaving earth is 
 Struggling to be free, and rent in many 
 Places is the vail of ignorance, which 
 Like a gloomy pall has shrouded long the 
 Minds of men. 
 
 Through dreary paths, darker than 
 Darkest night — so dark 'tis hard to virtue 
 Tell from vice — man long' has wandered, seeking 
 For some ray of light to cheer his gloomy 
 
PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. ±91 
 
 Pilgrimage on earth ; for there is ever 
 
 That within him burns, tyrant oppression 
 
 Strives in vain to quench ; a something stronger 
 
 Far than outward man, which, crush it as he 
 
 May, will rise again, and, rising, ever 
 
 Point above. Something there is which tells of 
 
 That beyond the grov'ling, selfish earth on 
 
 Which he dwells, that bids him soar through regions 
 
 Far above what telescopic eye can 
 
 See, as minds, imprisoned minds can ever 
 
 Comprehend. 
 
 Though some have ever lived who 
 Did not fear to follow what their inner 
 Promptings taught, the glorious destiny of 
 Man fulfill, and soar above the earth, yet 
 Most have stilled those thoughts deep back into the 
 Inner temples of the heart, driven the 
 Cooling, sparkling drops that, like a never 
 Ceasing spring, their glad, refreshing streams should 
 Have sent forth, and made their earthly homes a 
 Paradise. 
 
 Often the panting soul would 
 Find a vent, and, unrestrained, upon the 
 Air gush forth, seeking to find its level, 
 But, shrinking, it would see those noble minds 
 Who did not fear, feeling the truth within, 
 To speak their thoughts, by all the common herd 
 Treated with silent scorn, or else with rude 
 
192 PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Contempt, because they dared to soar above 
 . The willful, self-deluded crowd and learn 
 More in one hour than they could comprehend 
 In years — bound hand and foot by slavish chains, 
 That held them fast and would not let them soar 
 Above their masters. Men saw such sight, and 
 Fearful lest the scorn should fall on them, drove 
 Back the gushing tide ; folded their shackled 
 Hands across their breasts, and bowed them to the 
 Ground, with feigned humility, before the 
 Fangless monster — worldly scorn. 
 
 But now those 
 Pent-up fountains burst their bounds ; and gathering 
 Fresh strength by long confinement, descend from 
 Distant mountains to the plain, resistless, 
 Sweeping all that bars their course. The mind of 
 Man no longer yields a credence blind to 
 Every tale, but asks for each effect a 
 Cause ; and that increasing roar, like distant 
 Waves which startle every ear, is one vast 
 Cry for knowledge ; and that cry increasing 
 Evermore, will rise until ascends from 
 The awakening earth one universal 
 Shout for Liberty. And not alone from 
 Southern climes will it arise, for there are 
 More cruel chains than those which bind the flesh ; 
 Immortal minds are groaning 'neath the bonds 
 Of ignorance, of which they would be free. 
 
PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 193 
 
 From them ye hear that cry — then 'wake ! arise, 
 And join the shout, nor longer slumber in 
 Your chains and fondly dream, in ignorance, 
 Of bliss. No longer deem it sin that your 
 Immortal souls, aspiring ever, seek 
 For something new ; cherish those aspirations, 
 Guard them with care, and watch that no rude hand 
 Shall check their course progressive. 
 
 Rejoice, ye 
 Highly favored youth, that such a glorious 
 Light is dawning on the world , that the dark 
 Clouds of ignorance and oppression are 
 Rolling back before the rising sun of 
 Freedom, disclosing to your enlightened 
 Visions scenes beyond the dreams of wildest 
 Ancient seer ; rejoice that, unmolested, 
 You can pierce the skies and make acquaintance 
 With the rolling orbs ; so distant from the 
 Sister orb on which you stand, that strongest 
 Unassisted eye can not discern the 
 Faintest glimmer of their light ; rejoice that 
 Ye can penetrate beneath your feet the 
 Solid rock, and read with geologic 
 Eye your own earth's history ; nor fear that 
 Fools will rail and deem it sin that you should 
 Seek to know the mystery of creation. 
 Then onward move, for thou art highly blest 
 With privilege, far, far beyond the ages 
 9 
 
194 PROGRESS OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Past ; look to it then, that ye do spurn them 
 Not, but treasure as the apple of your 
 Eye the lessons that you learn in nature's 
 School. 
 
 And ye whose noble duty 'tis to 
 Teach, act well the part that on life's stage ye 
 Have to play ; the audience is vast — millions 
 On earth, and countless hosts who long since left 
 This sphere of action, with anxious int'rest 
 Gaze upon the scene ; the play is deep — yea, 
 Far exceeds in depth the acts of former 
 Ages, and ye hold a*part conspicuous 
 On the stage ; act well that part, and teach the 
 Youthful mind that fears, like eagles' young, to 
 Leave its nest, to plume its wings and take an 
 Upward flight ; nor fear, if it should reach the 
 Foremost mind, to dart beyond and seek for 
 Higher truths ; teach it its upward destiny, 
 Nor bind it down, forbidding it to soar 
 Above some master mind. Progression is 
 The word ; let it be stamped upon your minds 
 In characters of living flame ; in all 
 Your teachings let that master word stand first. 
 
* tonfintftt. 
 
 Who is he, yon hill ascending, 
 
 Followed by the railing crowd 1 
 Low beneath a burden bending 
 
 To the earth his form is bowed ; 
 Soldiers keeping guard around him 
 
 Join the rabble in their cry — 
 See ! in mockery they've crowned him — 
 
 'Tis some felon doomed to die. 
 
 Why are bitter tear-drops falling 
 
 From that sinking felon's eyes, 
 While with sneers his name they're calling, 
 
 While around him curses rise ? 
 Now with brutal rage they strike him, 
 
 To increase his wearied pace, 
 While the ruffian crowd, to spite him, 
 
 Spit upon his gentle face ; 
 
 Gentle still, though bruised and weary, 
 Though no friendly voice he hears, 
 
196 THE CRUCIFIXION. 
 
 Though, through all tjie way so dreary 
 Naught but railing greets his ears. 
 
 Sure he's some dread sin committed, 
 That they thus assail him loud ; 
 
 Not a voice that speaks him pitied 
 Sounds from out the raging crowd. 
 
 Now he turns, with looks of pity 
 
 Halting on his upward way ; 
 Gazes on that noble city, 
 
 Silent, bows himself to pray ; 
 " Heavenly Father., oh, forgive them, 
 
 Lay not this unto their charge ; 
 Though in darkness I must leave them, 
 
 Father, now their hearts enlarge." 
 
 While the shameful tree they're raising 
 
 On that threat'ning, angry throng 
 He with look of love is gazing — 
 
 Can such look to crime belong ? 
 Why is he this death deserving, 
 
 He whose inmost soul is love 1 
 Never from his duty swerving, 
 
 Gentle, harmless as a dove. 
 
 If to cheer the broken-hearted 
 
 And to heal the sick is guilt ; 
 If 'tis sin to clothe the naked, 
 
THE CRUCIFIXION. 197 
 
 Truly let his blood be spilt ; 
 For these crimes he's oft committed, 
 
 Often cheered the fainting mind ; 
 Grief and misery ever pitied, 
 
 Comfort ever left behind. 
 
 For his death the wretches clamor 
 
 Till they nail him to the tree ; 
 While they wield the torturing hammer, 
 
 Gloat upon his agony ; 
 " It is finished ! oh, forgive them !" 
 
 That pure, gentle spirit cried ; 
 " Father, of this sin relieve them — " 
 
 Praying thus, the victim died. 
 
 Yes, 'twas finished ! they had vented 
 
 All their wrath upon his head ; 
 He their scoffs had not resented — 
 
 Patient, uncomplaining, bled ! 
 Now the rabble throng dispersing 
 
 Seek the city's crowded marts ; 
 Silence takes the place of cursing, 
 
 Guilt is resting on their hearts. 
 
 For that meek, that loving spirit 
 
 They have hunted to the death ; 
 Of their passions made a merit, 
 
 Cursed him till his latest breath ; 
 
1 98 T H E CRUCIFIXION. 
 
 He their curses met with blessing, 
 For us, an example bright — 
 
 Not his wrongs with wrong redressing — 
 What will conquer darkness 1 — light. 
 
While beneath the shade reclining 
 Of these blissful, happy bowers, 
 
 Hope around my heart is twining 
 Sweet impress of future hours. 
 
 Mingling with that joyous feeling 
 
 Softly creeping o'er my mind, 
 Visions of the future, stealing, 
 
 Come like gentle summer's wind. 
 
 Now the vision grows still brighter — 
 Present things have left my sight — 
 
 All around seems freer, lighter, 
 Not a shade of gloomy night. 
 
 From whence come those notes of gladness 
 
 That now break upon my ear 1 
 Not from hearts oppressed with sadness, 
 
 Nor from slaves to doubt and fear ; 
 
 Notes like those can ne'er be sounded 
 By oppressed and bleeding souls ; 
 
200 THE FUTURE. 
 
 No ! they spring from love unbounded — 
 Not by form or creeds controlled ! 
 
 From the earth, those notes ascending, 
 Which has thus in love progressed ; 
 
 Praise commencing, never ending, 
 
 Speaks that man's no more oppressed ; 
 
 Despots triumph there no longer, 
 O'er a cringing, servile race ; 
 
 Thanks to reason, they are stronger, 
 Taking each his proper place. 
 
 War's no longer desolating, 
 Laying waste a fruitful land, 
 
 Sin and evil fast abating — 
 As before a magic wand. 
 
 Brother no more looks on brother 
 With a watchful,"jeafous fear ; 
 
 Striving each to help the other, 
 Side by side they now appear. 
 
 Oh, how lovely ! oh, how glorious ! 
 
 When men thus with men unite, 
 Over party, sect, victorious, 
 
 Pressing forward in their might ! 
 
THE FUTURE. 201 
 
 The vision's passing from my sight, 
 
 Fading into viewless air — 
 But leaving on my soul its light, 
 
 Firmly fixed and settled there. 
 
 Well I know the glorious dawning 
 
 On the earth has now begun ; 
 See the first faint beams of morning 
 
 Darting forth from reason's sun. 
 
 Now, the rays but gild the mountains 
 
 With a faint and feeble light ; 
 But descending, like those fountains 
 
 Downward from their mountain height, 
 
 Soon shall spread throughout the valley, 
 
 Bringing light and peace to all ; 
 While the hosts of heav'n shall rally — 
 
 Rally at man's urgent call. 
 
 Then the bright millennial year, 
 
 Christians long have watched in vain, 
 
 In all its glory will appear — 
 Pleasure then succeed to pain. 
 
 Forward, then ! look backward never 
 From the work to which thou'rt called, 
 
 Till the earth is free forever, 
 Never more by sin enthralled. 
 
%\t (£ ft a ftp 
 
 Wildly on life's troubled ocean 
 With an ever-changing motion, 
 Ever tossed by darkest wave, 
 From the cradle to the grave ; 
 
 On the tide 
 
 Did I ride, 
 Fearful fancies by my side. 
 
 Like a meteor's transient gleaming 
 O'er some lonely wand'rer streaming- 
 Darting with a lurid glare 
 Through the silent midnight air, 
 
 Was the light, 
 
 Fleeting, bright, 
 That illum'd my earthly sight. 
 
 Like the Ignis Fatuus dancing, 
 Ever beck'ning, still advancing, 
 Till the traveler, beguiled, 
 Lost within the forest wild 
 
THE CHANGE. 203 
 
 In despair 
 Grasps the air, 
 Was to me that treach'rous glare. 
 
 Like the storm-cloud on the mountain, 
 Then the dark, resistless fountain 
 Gath'ring in my lonely heart, 
 From its turbid spring would start — • 
 
 Onward roll, 
 
 Till my soul 
 Yielded to its mad control ; 
 
 Nor would for a moment tarry, 
 But before its wild waves carry 
 All that strove to check its way, 
 All that would its progress stay, 
 
 Till Lenore, 
 
 On this shore 
 Lulls its waves for evermore ; 
 
 Stills its course — with taper finger 
 Motions, and the mad waves linger, 
 Then, retiring, lakelets form, 
 Sheltered from each bitter storm, 
 
 Where glides love, 
 
 Timid dove, 
 Guarded by that smile above. 
 
204 THE CHANGE. 
 
 Happy change, from grief to gladness, 
 Calmest smiles for fearful madness — 
 Where a raging torrent's roar 
 Echoed on its craggy shore, 
 Flows a stream, 
 From whose gleam 
 Is reflected love's pure beam. 
 
They've laid her to rest where the cypress waves 
 
 Its dark boughs over her head ; 
 While willows that droop o'er the scattered graves, 
 
 And mourn for the early dead, 
 Sigh low to the air, with a saddened sound, 
 And sweep, in their sorrow, the freshened ground. 
 
 « We give dust unto dust," the words were said, 
 
 Quick followed by falling ground ; 
 And they left the place with a hurried tread, 
 
 For sad was the muffled sound — 
 While weeping they thought of the youthful face 
 And form they had left in that dreary place. 
 
 They wept as they entered the empty room 
 Where last they gazed on her brow, 
 
 For the flowers she loved, though still in their bloom, 
 Seemed sad and desolate now ; 
 
 The eye was glazed that had watched them unfold, 
 
 The hand that nourished was stiffened and cold. 
 
206 they've laid her to rest. 
 
 They wandered those chambers wretched and sad, 
 The light that cheered them had fled ; 
 
 Hushed was the laugh once so ringing and glad, 
 Drear silence reigned in its stead ; 
 
 And their hearts with murmurings bitter rebel 
 
 That death's cold hand on their darling had fell. 
 
 Oh, could they have seen, as 'round her they pressed 
 
 And wept at each gasping breath, 
 The spirits of loved ones gone to their rest, 
 
 Who waited approach of death 
 To greet her, in loving, seraph-embrace, 
 They could not have gazed with grief on that face. 
 
 Could they have heard, as they stood 'round her grave, 
 
 The sounds that greeted her ear, 
 The cypress' dark shade, the willow's slow wave 
 
 Would not have whispered of fear, 
 But told of mansions enduring, above, 
 Where, ever, is heard sweet music of love. 
 
 ■» 
 They would not have left with such hurried tread 
 
 The place where her form was laid ; 
 Nor wept as the soil above her cold head 
 
 Was thrown by the sexton's spade — 
 If they could have seen that bright spirit wave 
 Its joyful, freed pinions o'er the chill grave. 
 
they've laid her to rest. 207 
 
 Nor would they feel, as they enter that room, 
 
 That all was blasted and drear ; 
 Could they but pierce superstition's dark gloom, 
 
 And know their darling was near, 
 Their hearts would bound with thanksgiving and praise 
 That God, in his love, had shortened her days. 
 
§nt\. 
 
 Oh, Death ! so long abused — so long declared 
 
 The enemy of man ! from us receive, 
 
 Who have thy power felt, thy just desert ! 
 
 We met thee once with dread, and shrank, as on 
 
 Each pallid brow thy chilling hand was laid ; 
 
 We trembled as thy near approach we felt, 
 
 And deemed thee monster hideous, whose greedy 
 
 Jaws would shut us from the present world, and, 
 
 To some uncertain state our shrinking souls 
 
 Consign ; with fear we felt thy chill embrace, 
 
 And struggled to release us from thy grasp ; 
 
 But found our struggles vain and yielded, how 
 
 Unwillingly, our panting souls unto 
 
 Thy power resistless ; but when, resistance 
 
 O'er, we sank into thy arms, what joy was 
 
 Ours to find our fears imaginary dreams ; 
 
 To find thee, not as pictured on our minds, 
 
 The imagery of curse divine upon 
 
 Our early parents sent — by them entailed 
 
 To us as punishment that we were born 
 
DEATH. 209 
 
 Of them — to find thee, not an endless wall 
 Of separation made between the hearts 
 That earthly life had mingled, as it were, 
 In one ; not the destroyer of our earth- 
 Formed hopes, but the change, the happy change through 
 Which those hopes, those aspirations, all were 
 Purified and made inhabitants more 
 Fit for their celestial habitations. 
 What joy was ours to find the grasp, which, spite 
 Our struggles, held us firm, not the fierce grip 
 Of some revengeful monster sent to force 
 Us from the cherished friends that stood around ; 
 But friendly hand of angel-messenger, 
 From love divine, to lead us, sent, from the 
 Decaying tenement of flesh, to climes 
 Where joy progressive ever more should be 
 Our portion heavenly ! 
 
 A messenger 
 Of love unto our weary souls thou wert 
 Indeed ; and when by thee the blissful scenes 
 Of paradise were opened to our view, 
 Humiliating shame was mingled with 
 Our 'wakening joys that we, in ignorance, 
 Had ever of thee thought as curse on man 
 For early disobedience sent ; and glad, 
 From that time hailed thee Heaven's choicest gift 
 To mortal man. 
 
Weep not as you gaze on the features 
 That soon must be hid from your sight, 
 
 Nor think that the least of God's creatures 
 Is doomed to an eternal night. 
 
 Away with such blasphemous thought ! 
 
 By lessons of Jesus be taught. 
 
 Thinkest thou that thy God would destroy 
 The work which he once pronounced good 1 
 
 Would it not his pure glory alloy, 
 That ages unnumbered has stood, 
 
 A mark to the uprising soul — 
 
 In race to perfection the goal ? 
 
 Thinkest thou that anger a dwelling 
 
 Can find in that deific breast ? 
 That feelings revengeful are welling 
 
 Where purity only should rest 1 
 Oh, shame ! to the unthinking mind 
 That such foolish dogmas can bind ! 
 
DOGMAS. 211 
 
 Oh, woe to the sheep of the shepherd 
 Who wanders so far from the way ; 
 
 Sooner changed are spots of the leopard 
 Than the spirit that falleth a prey — 
 
 Refusing each glimmer of light — 
 
 To such worse than the darkness of night. 
 
 Why turn to those pages so dusty 
 
 To prop up the wavering creeds ? 
 Those volumes so blotted and musty 
 
 The reasoning minds never needs ; 
 Though coming from Spirit divine, 
 Disfigured is many a line. 
 
 But stand firm the whole truth to receive 
 
 That reason and nature will teach, 
 Until you're constrained to believe 
 
 Divinity dwelleth in each ; 
 Nor yield a blind credence to one 
 E'er reason has fully begun. 
 
Upon the shores of time 
 For countless ages reared a lofty cliff 
 Its noble head above the foaming waves, 
 Which, unceasing from the boundless ocean 
 Of immensity, with fury impotent, 
 Dashed in their gathered strength against its base. 
 Since first those waves commenced an endless war 
 'Gainst its foundations firm, thousands of cliffs 
 That seeming stood as firm as it have bowed 
 Their craggy heads before the ceaseless dash 
 That, grain by grain, wore out the crumbling earth 
 On which they stood, until without support, 
 As if reluctant thus inglorious 
 To yield their boasted strength they, irresolute 
 For one brief moment, wavered, then with 
 A sullen plunge sank in obscurity 
 Beneath the leaping spray, uphurled by the 
 Rejoicing conquerors to triumph o'er 
 Their downfall. 
 
 Nations into existence sprang 
 
THE ROCK OF TRUTH. 213 
 
 And passed away ; powers commenced and ended ; 
 
 Ages grew old, and reluctant yielded 
 
 Their tottering rule to ages just commenced, 
 
 Which, in their turn, grew old and passed from sight 
 
 To be forgotten ; but still that cliff, firm 
 
 And unchanged as when implanted first by 
 
 Deity upon that shore, hurled proudly 
 
 Back those angry waves and laughed defiance 
 
 At their puny efforts. 
 
 Not like those conquered cliffs 
 Were its foundations built upon the sand ; 
 But as earth's center deep the solid base, 
 Whose snow-capped apex reached the skies as firm, 
 As indestructible as earth itself 
 It stood, and stands ; and ever will o'er its 
 Assailants triumph. 
 
 That cliff is Truth. 
 And waves of error, of bigotry, and 
 Superstition may chafe around its base 
 Until they tire and find their labor vain ; 
 The winds of envy 'round its topmost peak 
 May howling whirl, threat'ning to level to 
 The baser plain its noble front ; malice 
 With her sulphurous bolts may dart above 
 Its craggy head ; her hollow growl it laughs 
 To scorn, and hurls her- fiery darts defiant 
 Back to feed in gloomy disappointment 
 On herself. 
 
214 THE ROCK OF TRUTH. 
 
 The God-implanted rock 
 Will ever stand secure ; nor does it ask 
 From puny man protection — itself its 
 Best protection is ; then if upon its 
 Rough exterior the dust of ages 
 Should sometimes gather, until some poisonous 
 Yine takes root, and, cautious outreaching 
 With its deadly tendrils, winds slowly up 
 Toward its head, fear not that those who seek 
 To tear the creeping fibers from their hold 
 Will in the least deface the rock itself — 
 That can not be ; the soil which nourishes 
 Such noxious weeds will be uprooted, and 
 Where the rock was late disfigured by its 
 Blighting presence will its pure face appear, 
 Uninjured, uncontaminated. 
 
 Then why oppose the efforts 
 That, to your sight, blinded by prejudice, 
 Perhaps would seem as if about to hurl 
 That firm, moveless rock from its foundation ? 
 Only the deadly vines will from its face 
 Be rent, while truth outrides, triumphant , 
 
 Every storm, nor quails at what to you seems 
 Sure destruction. 
 
Before the gale a storm-tossed vessel flies, 
 
 Her creaking masts, submissive, cowering 
 
 Almost to level with the leaping foam 
 
 That angry chafes against her dripping hull ; 
 
 Hoarse, muttering thunders roll around, and while 
 
 The howling winds her death-dirge sing with shriek 
 
 And wail, forked-lightnings through her tattered sails 
 
 Quick dart, till fabled Pandemonium's 
 
 Glowing gates unbarred, 'twould seem had yielded 
 
 Ready egress to its yelling crew, who, 
 
 In the fury of their joy, were holding 
 
 Glad jubilee all through the darkened air ; 
 
 Like hounds' of Tartarus black, yawning waves 
 
 Hold by her quivering side the fearful chase, 
 
 And ever and anon leap up unto 
 
 Her very yards, moist'ning with foaming tongues 
 
 The loosened ropes, as they, unwillingly, 
 
 Were waiting for the final plunge, that to 
 
 Their greedy, gaping jaws would yield her up 
 
 A helpless victim. 
 
216 THE PILOT REASON. 
 
 Upon her groaning deck, 
 With hands upraised toward the inky clouds, 
 Which darker seemed to frown upon their prayers, 
 Her gathered crew, with horrid calmness — such 
 As despair alone can give — are waiting, 
 Silent, for the expected shocl^ that to their 
 Long-anticipated graves will send each 
 Care-worn, weather-beaten frame. 
 
 Not at the thought 
 Of chilling grave beneath old Ocean's breast 
 Do they repine, for that they long have prayed 
 Might be their resting-place ; but of loved friends 
 They're thinking now, who, watching, long will wait, 
 And waiting hope, till wearied hope retires 
 And leaves them crushed and desolate ; 'tis thoughts 
 Like these that bow those manly forms unto 
 That sea-strained deck in speechless agony ; 
 And for the sake of those loved, waiting ones 
 They pray, that this once, only, may their bark 
 Be spared. 
 
 Nor are those hardy sons of toil 
 Alone in their despair ; a venerable 
 Form holds firm the wheel, and fearless fronts 
 The howling winds that yelling whirl among his 
 Silver locks, as if they fain would wrap him 
 Around with fiendish arms and drag him down 
 Before that doomed bark, into the gloomy, 
 Caverned billows of the deep ; the angry 
 
THE PILOT REASON. 217 
 
 Spray dashes in madness o'er his wrinkled 
 Brow, and shrieks its disappointment that it 
 Can not sweep him from the deck ; the threat'ning 
 Iiightnings dart in their wrath before his sight ; 
 Yet quails he not, but firmly holds his place 
 And proudly smiles, secure in conscious strength. 
 
 Now woman's feeble shriek is heard, 
 And from her spray-invaded sanctuary — 
 With agony-clasped hands, her golden locks 
 Disheveled by the gale, which louder shrieks 
 At her appearance wild — rushes a form 
 Of youth and beauty once, now only of 
 Despair the picture, to make more perfect 
 The fearful scene ; upon the breast of age 
 She cowering sinks and mute implores, with looks 
 Which louder speak than words, protection ; 
 While the fierce billows higher, wilder leap, 
 As if in joy that one more victim waits 
 For the last, dread scene of this heart-crushing 
 Tragedy. 
 
 Deeper the thunders roll, 
 And fiercer lightnings flash, until the last 
 One of that noble crew forsakes his post, 
 Leaving alone the calm, majestic form 
 That firmer holds the wheel, and heads the ship 
 Direct before the gale ; he, as the storm 
 Increases, bolder grows, nor wavers at 
 10 
 
218 THE PILOT REASON. 
 
 Its strength, nor yields, e'en to imploring voice 
 Of helpless youth, that fain would have him seek 
 Security in cabined hold. 
 
 He long has silence kept ; 
 And only seemed, as one by one they fled 
 Their posts, about to speak, but ere the words 
 Were uttered closed his lips, as if in scorn, 
 And silent braved the gale ; but now the last 
 Has fled, and he alone the gale-chased bark 
 Is left to guide : upon one only now 
 Depends the safety of. the noble ship, 
 That, like a frightened racer, plunges 'neath 
 His steady hand, and rushes seeming on 
 To fearful end ; and hark ! he' speaks ! the lips 
 That scorn had sealed are parted now, and 'bove 
 The yelling blast rings full and clear his voice ; 
 At the fearless sound up from the deck spring 
 The despairing forms of all that crew, and 
 Man again, with hope renewed, the dripping 
 Ropes. 
 
 That youthful form relaxes slow her 
 Frightened grasp, and shelter seeks beneath the 
 Storm-washed deck, ashamed that she had yielded 
 To such fear; the gale in disappointment 
 Sinks away to silent rest ; the thunders 
 (Muttering retire, accompanied by 
 The fierce glare that lights their pathway through the 
 Caverned clouds ; the angry waves, no longer 
 
THE PILOT REASON. 219 
 
 Into fierce fury lashed, yield humbly now 
 Before the parting prow, nor resistance 
 Dare ; and while the Day-God's earliest rays are 
 Darting o'er those waves subdued, the wished-for 
 Port appears, into which glides, safe guided 
 By the noble, God-like form of Reason, 
 The rescued ship, and safe at anchor rides 
 Within her native bay, as though she ne'er 
 Had known but calms. 
 
Night's dusky pall is settling slowly down 
 
 On tow'ring spires, that rise 'bove marble balls 
 
 "Where wealth triumphant reigns, and hovels low, 
 
 Where poverty sits shivering in rags, 
 
 As if with selfish finger they would clasp 
 
 The last, ling'ring sunbeams which for many 
 
 Weary winter hours they've hid from trembling 
 
 Forms that, crouching 'neath their shade, have prayed, aye 
 
 Vainly prayed, for one stray beam to pierce the 
 
 Gloomy adamantine walls, and wake to 
 
 Life, to wretched life, their poverty-chilled 
 
 Frames ; with eager looks they've viewed the flick'ring 
 
 Rays steal slowly up the richly-carved and 
 
 Wealth-encumbered spire, leaping from scroll to 
 
 Scroll, as if in heartless sport they mocked their 
 
 Woes, then, as the gilded cross, emblem of 
 
 Christianity, they reached ling'ring, they 
 
 Seemed as if, repentant of their careless 
 
 Mirth, they'd fain return to cheer the haggard 
 
 Forms beneath ; but only for a moment 
 
poverty's doom. 221 
 
 Paused, then from the gilded emblem upsprung 
 Into the cold, blue sky, and faded from 
 Their sight ; nor passed away alone, but bore 
 Along the ling'rmg hope which, while those rays 
 Were to the earth connected, though by that- 
 Poverty-forbidden pile, still dwelt with 
 Those chilled, famished forms, to smooth the ragged 
 Edge of poverty. 
 
 The hurried tread of 
 Many feet proclaims the presence of the 
 Toiling mass, whose weary sweat is coined to 
 Glitt'ring gold, to load the few, the idle 
 Few, with useless gems, or else, unused, to 
 Dim in heaps within some banded chest ; and 
 As they homeward drag their famished, o'erworked 
 Frames to seek forgetfulness, 'their only 
 Friend, in stupid sleep, imploring voices 
 Rise at every step, from those who e'en that 
 Short respite find not except upon the 
 Cold, damp street ; the slimy curb their pillow, 
 Companioned with the wallowing beast, whose 
 Stupidness they fain would share. 
 
 But fewer 
 Feet are passing now ; and as the night creeps 
 On apace, upon the streets a stillness 
 Settles down — a stillness broken only - 
 By despairing sobs from lowly wanderers, 
 Who through the day with raised, imploring hands 
 
222 
 
 And streaming eyes, have begged and begged, to meet 
 With chilling looks, or blows, or curses from 
 The Christian throng, until at last, without a 
 Shelter for the form that holds divinity- 
 Enshrined, before the chilling, midnight air 
 They cow'ring shrink and ask despairingly 
 For death ; by dread of future only held 
 From seeking it beneath the prancing feet 
 Of gold-emblazoned steeds, that sweep along 
 With laughing beauties on the cushioned seats 
 Reclined, whose jeweled tresses, were they shorn, 
 Would plume hope's wings anew until she'd seek 
 The place where dread despair has brooded long, 
 And chase her from the place. 
 
 Anon those moans, 
 By near approach of seeming merriment, 
 Are drowned ; a laugh is grating on the ear ; 
 But how unlike the laugh of innocence ; 
 False as hell itself! a mockery of 
 Mirth, 'tis forced from out those ghastly lips with 
 Such a hollow sound, that e'en the painted 
 Cheeks, beneath the blush that mantles up the 
 Once pure brow, grow dim and pale ; despair is 
 Father to that fiendish laugh, and, with 
 Revenge its mother, in that once pure breast 
 Holds horrid revel, feasting on departed 
 Virtue, blasted hopes, cruel neglect, and scorned 
 Until the seat of love a very hell 
 
poverty' S DOOM. 223 
 
 Becomes ! while those who make it so, prate 
 Knowingly of early sin, of fallen 
 Nature, and of hearts depraved, e'en while they 
 On the other side pass by, and leave the 
 Friendless Magdalen to deeper sin, lest 
 They should soil themselves in contact. 
 
 But from 
 These scenes my soul revolting turns, to ask 
 The cause ; why, why, oh, God ! should such things be 
 Where holy, consecrated spires are up 
 To heaven pointing, to tell the Christian's 
 Hope ? — where followers of the pure Nazarene 
 Are numbered by the hosts ; why toils away 
 His life the struggling artisan for bread 1 
 Why herds divinity with swine, and in 
 Despair wishes that it knew no more than 
 Its companion beast ? — why sweeps the painted 
 Harlot o'er the night-frosted pave with none 
 The helping hand to give ? no kindly balm 
 To heal the guilt-scarred heart, and raise her from 
 Her degradation ? Look to your altars 
 For the cause ! Until the temple 's cleansed 'tis 
 Vain to seek for beauty in its walls ! While 
 Hirelings desecrate the inner courts — while 
 Christianity is bought and sold like 
 Paltry trash ; while vice embroidered finds a 
 Seat where ragged virtue 's scorned, such sights 
 Will ever mar the scene. 
 
224 poverty's doom. 
 
 In form, the power of 
 Godliness is lost ; beware, ye who have 
 Found the mystery of that power whose forms no 
 More encumber you ! by fruits the tree is 
 Known, and he who seeks to grasp the apple 
 From the fruitless limb will find a shadow 
 In his hand, or, worse, a bitter morsel, 
 A deadly poison to the mind ; again 
 Beware ! beware of forms ! 
 
From scenes of glory, such as mortal eyes^ 
 
 Would dim to gaze upon, where love, from earth's 
 
 Impurities made free, weaves ever crowns 
 
 Of priceless worth from hope's glad rainbow tints, 
 
 For the freed millions that her counsel take ; 
 
 From angel paths upwinding evermore 
 
 Through scenes of fairer beauty, and where joy 
 
 Divine beams forth from each seraphic face, 
 
 I turn, reluctant, my unwilling gaze 
 
 Into the distant, gloomy past ; a deep, 
 
 Impenetrable darkness shrouds the scene, 
 
 Bidding defiance to the clearest sight ; 
 
 A. darkness such as spirit-eye alone 
 
 Can see, that seems embodied in material 
 
 Form, so dense its horrid blackness. 
 
 But while I gaze, 
 The shade that but a moment since seemed like 
 An everlasting barrier of strength, rolls 
 Heavy back, giving permission to my 
 Sight to roam, still on its unwilling 
 10* 
 
226 a vision. 
 
 Search for the dark, dread secrets of the past, 
 
 Until it meets another check ; not now 
 
 A shade, a dreary void that only in 
 
 Imagination has a form, for through 
 
 The fearful gloom, impenetrable still 
 
 To mortal eyes, the jagged points appear, 
 
 Mingled promiscuous of frowning rocks, 
 
 Which, as if upheaved by tortured Nature's 
 
 Fiercest throes, in wild irregularity 
 
 Are piled, until the eye at either way 
 
 Can find no end, and upward looks, only 
 
 To see the thick'ning shade receive into 
 
 Its dark embrace, and blend the roughened points 
 
 Into night's blackest pall. 
 
 My sight, no longer free 
 To dart ahead, wanders, devoid of rest, 
 Around those earthquake-sculptured walls, seeking 
 Some opening through the horrid shapes of gloom 
 That, frescoed by volcanic fires, seem, from 
 Gigantic robes of blackest shade, starting 
 To bar advance. 
 
 Through those imaginary ranks 
 Of fearful shape it wanders vainly on, 
 Until at last a break appears ; though not 
 Of promise much it seems, but darker 
 Shade, of care mysterious it tells, through which, 
 Perchance, my step may wanderirig find, though it 
 Be but small, some opening, from which the eye 
 
a vision. 227 
 
 May gaze, and read of brighter days than seem 
 Impressed upon these walls ; adventurous 
 Indeed the journey seems, and peril lurks 
 At every step — but forward, self-impelled, 
 I move, and scorn to ling'ring wait while aught 
 Before me is to learn. 
 
 The entrance reached ; 
 Those dusky forms seem stooping from their cold 
 Rigidity to warn me back ; but as I enter, 
 Changed, appear to close the way with their gaunt, 
 Shadowy arms, and hold me prisoner, in 
 Living grave confined ; the rock-ribbed arches 
 Overhead send echoing, like distant 
 Thunder, back the hollow sound thai rolls the 
 Caverned way along at every step of 
 My advance ; with frightful stare the wondering 
 Eyes of startled night-birds, through the black void, 
 From every side upon me glare, while their 
 Sharp boding screams in wild discordant sounds 
 Combine at this intrusion on their chill 
 Solitude ; disgusting reptiles at my 
 Step retreat into their inner, shiny 
 Dens, or coiled in hissing heaps warn me to 
 Change my course, while poisonous bats brush fiercely 
 Past on angry wing, to make more horrid 
 Still the gloom ; until, with brain confused, I 
 Turn discouraged from the search, again to 
 Seek the outer world ; but only turn to 
 
228 a vision. 
 
 Find confusion greater still, fresh discords 
 Circling 'round my path, and horrors new on 
 Every side urging me on into the 
 Dread unknown, to 'scape the awful present. 
 
 But in the distance 
 Lurid rays across the dreary way are 
 Flashing fitfully, and thither now I 
 Turn my steps confused to find the cause ; nor 
 Check my speed until, the distance reached, full 
 In the glare I stand,, and gaze with wonder 
 On the scene unfolded to my view. 
 
 Upon a mighty throne, 
 Whose vast foundations, broad as earth on which 
 They rest, embedded are in hecatombs 
 Of slaughtered millions, sits the giant form 
 Of Bigotry ; clothed in his robes of stern, 
 Relentless power, he holds a bloody axe 
 Suspended o'er the cowering thousands at 
 His feet, and while his chosen favorite, 
 Revenge, sends death and misery unchecked 
 Abroad to all that dare his power deny, 
 Encouragingly smiles, and waves him on 
 To darker deeds of blood ; upon his right, 
 Gray, wrinkled Superstition stands, and with 
 Her shadowy but mysterious power upholds 
 The form that but for her would totter in 
 Its childish imbecility, and sink, 
 
a vision. 229 
 
 A helpless shadow, to the earth ; while she, 
 Without protection from the hand which she 
 Sustains, would by Reason's biting lash from 
 Off the face of earth be driven ; Ignorance, 
 Black Ignorance, with vacant smile, supports 
 His left, holding her ready robe before 
 The gaze of all who would inquire, to hide 
 The imperfections of her tyrant lord ; 
 And while she holds the vail before their eyes, 
 Prates with her parrot tongue of hidden things, 
 Of mystery that it is deadly sin 
 To seek to solve ; then sings of bliss in blind 
 Obedience, until the list'ning crowd 
 Bow down before her vacant face, and dream 
 That in her soulless, stupid smile they read 
 Of perfect peace ; then join the hosts that bow 
 Before the hand. of blood which holds them, by 
 That mated pair, its willing slaves. 
 
 A horrid crew, 
 In many a phalanx deep and strong, are ranged 
 On either side ; in the front rank Murder 
 Appears, and with her blood-red hand casts at 
 The tyrant's feet a quivering heart, that from 
 The mangled breast of one who dared assert 
 The truth was torn ere it had ceased to beat, 
 And for the cursed deed claims boldly her 
 Reward, which ready granted sets her in 
 Advance of all that crew, with title of 
 
230 • A VISION. 
 
 " First propagator of the faith," and she, 
 Flanked by her followers, exulting wheels 
 Her brutal butcheries to recommence, 
 Under blasphemous name of " holy war." 
 
 Slander advances next, 
 And bears the blasted character of one 
 Whose heart was purity itself within 
 Her blighting hand, that she by her vile hints 
 Has driven to the suicidal wave, 
 To shelter seek, in desperate moment, from 
 Her venomed darts, because she would not yield 
 The God-implanted reason of her soul 
 For Bigotry's blind, damning creeds ; now the 
 Grim phantom smiles, and condescending takes 
 Her withered hand in his, to lead her to 
 Station high before the hosts arrayed, who 
 Wait her nod, to make each quiet village 
 Green a battle-ground of strife — each happy 
 Fireside but a wrangling hell. 
 
 But why should I delay 
 While each unholy leader fierce displays 
 His shameful trophies to that tyrant power 1 
 Why wait to look on vice rewarded, while 
 Down-trampled virtue bleeds ? — The misery of 
 The past is now explained, and at the doors 
 Of cursed Bigotry I lay the groans 
 And wails that ages long have risen from 
 Suffering humanity — imploring 
 
A VISION. 231 
 
 Aid to upper air — the murdered hosts whose 
 Blood has sprinkled every plain ; the crushed and 
 Bleeding hearts — defamed and slandered by her 
 Groveling parasites — whose tears have flowed in 
 Torrents through the land at shame unjustly 
 Heaped upon them, call for your overthrow, 
 Oh, heart-polluting Bigotry ! 
 
 And you, ye noble few, 
 Who bold array yourselves those mighty ranks 
 Against, though treachery and murder on 
 Your right assail, while Slander on the left 
 Advances fierce, shrink never from the task ; 
 Compact and close, welded in solid square, 
 Press on direct toward the first great cause 
 Of misery ; the frowning tyrant crushed, 
 His satellites will hide their heads in caves 
 And dens, and starve in solitude. 
 
Back, back, material mists of earth ! 
 Into the past, which has so long bowed down 
 Before your gloom mysterious, retire ! 
 The present needs no more your aid, but seeks 
 The unobstructed light of truth ; long has 
 Your blighting presence intervened between 
 That glorious light and souls in mortal frames 
 Encased, giving its gross, material tint 
 To emanations of divinity, 
 As unpolluted as divinity 
 Itself; aye ! even the divine has not 
 Escaped your base, polluting presence free ; 
 For the great creative, great pervading 
 Mind, from which all motion sprang, the Mind that 
 Hurled the countless systems into space, then 
 Bade them all harmoniously 'round their 
 Many centers roll, nor interfere one 
 With the other, in the race sublime ; 
 The Mind that spans a universe so vast 
 That seraphs high, who flit from star to star ' 
 
X 
 
 THEOLOGY. 233 
 
 Ere thought a wing unfolds, have never found 
 
 Its end ; the Mind whose changeless plans must be 
 
 Perfection perfected, unchangeable 
 
 Forever, or result in wild disorder 
 
 Evermore increased ; the Omnipresent 
 
 Mind, whose power omnipotent throughout all 
 
 Space extends, you've robed in finite form of 
 
 Man, slow wandering through the earth, screened by the 
 
 Waving foliage, just by him created, 
 
 From the burning rays of one of those bright 
 
 Centers, moulded by his Almighty hand 
 
 And hurled into the circling realms of space. 
 
 The voice of Omnipresence, 
 At your arbitrary mandate, issues 
 From divinity-refreshing shades in 
 Thunder tones — the presence of created 
 One, that from his sight is hid — commanding ; 
 Then, as the trembling fugitive appears, 
 A curse — the first to which the smiling face 
 Of earth e'er listened — those lips divine you 
 Make to utter, because frail man (by him 
 Created frail) has to temptations, placed 
 Purposely before him, yielded ; nor falls 
 The curse alone on the transgressor ; 
 The fruitful earth, pronounced by those same lips 
 As good, doomed to sterility, no more 
 Rewards the panting laborer without 
 A daily tribute from care-wrinkled brows; 
 
234 THEOLOGY. 
 
 The flowers which sprang spontaneous from the soil, 
 
 Must, withered, pass from off its face, or yield 
 
 But niggardly perfume as payment for 
 
 Long hours of watchful care ; while e'en the beasts 
 
 That sported o'er earth's earliest tender green 
 
 In harmony unbroken, are for man's 
 
 Transgression cursed, and upon each other 
 
 Prey in sudden wrath, until their fangs drip 
 
 With the blood that but a moment since cOursed 
 
 Playfully along their passion-scatheless 
 
 Yeins. 
 
 Each law of earth's condition 
 Undeveloped, thus ye called a curse ; saw 
 Angry Gods in each electric flash, and 
 Heard in the quick following report the 
 Boding rumble of their chariot wheels ; each 
 War of elements was brooding wrath of 
 Deity ; each tinted bow told of that 
 Wrath appeased ; each meteor's transient flash, each 
 Earthquake's rumbling jar, were premonitions 
 In your sight of fearful future ; thus wrath 
 Wao nourished in the human breast, wrath to 
 Repel, and base revenge a resting-place 
 There found ; but yet he deemed it not enough 
 With your damp, heavy fogs to dim the light, 
 Till Deity, thus seen, was to a level 
 Brought with man created, while man sank down 
 To equal level with the beast of prey, 
 
THEOLOGY. 235 
 
 But settled thicker down, and darker made 
 
 The scene by clothing the Unchangeable 
 
 In robes of fickleness, till he repents 
 
 Him of his noblest work, and sends from out 
 
 The fountains of the deep resistless floods, 
 
 To sweep him from his angered sight, as though . 
 
 In ignorance was issued the command 
 
 To multiply and fill the earth ; then spared 
 
 A chosen family, his stern commands 
 
 Again to disobey ; with bloody robes 
 
 Of cruelty you've wrapped him 'round, until 
 
 His name is but a name of fear, his voice, 
 
 The voice of anger infinite. 
 
 Then back again, I say, 
 Oh, soul-enshrouding mists ! for in the east 
 The golden tint appears that speaks approach 
 Of welcome dawn, and her advancing chariot 
 Whispers of thy conqueror. 
 
 Hark ! catch ye not the sound 
 Above the selfish roar of outer life — 
 Of breaking chains, that ye so long have heaped 
 Upon your trembling slaves 1 the cheering sound 
 Is rising strong above the warning blasts 
 Echoing from every watch-tower of your 
 Fast decaying, fear-encompassed walls ; and, 
 Swelling forth, it meets the early rays with 
 Promise freighted darting 'cross the eastern 
 Sky, the speedy advent of the noon-tide 
 
236 THEOLOGY. 
 
 Blaze to usher in ; at the awakening 
 
 Cry, which from each quarter of the earth so 
 
 Long by you enslaved ascends, your crumbling 
 
 Walls totter and sway with fear, and, like the 
 
 Walls of Jericho, at the united 
 
 Sound that soon will rise, they'll level with the 
 
 Earth in desolation lie, a jest and 
 
 By-word to the crowd they once inclosed. 
 
 With eye prophetic, 
 That the future reads like printed page, I 
 See advancing mighty hosts, arrayed in 
 Reason's armor strong, prepared to battle 
 Do 'gainst the material ranks that wait, 
 With wavering, broken front, their coming ; square 
 After square wheels into sight in rising 
 Tiers, until the upper center of the 
 Arch seems reached, while at either way the ranks 
 Extending, in the distance blend with the 
 Blue of space, giving imagination 
 Liberty to roam still on and on in 
 Search of either flank ; as they advance, in 
 Wild disorder break the wavering ranks that 
 Them oppose, and, coward-like, into their 
 Separate holds retreat, then turn to make a 
 Show of bravery, protected by their walls ; 
 But Reason from the front advances, and with 
 Resistless batteries of might, action 
 Against those rock-embattled fortresses 
 
THEOLOGY. 237 
 
 Commences, the roar of which by mortal 
 Ears e'en now is heard ; but farther on my 
 Sight extends, and sees, amid the eddying 
 Whirl, the towering spire that, rising 'bove the 
 Dust and smoke below, marks where each fortress 
 Stands falling on every side, confusion 
 Making greater still ; but the fierce din that 
 Marked the heat of strife is growing less, the 
 Blinding smoke, which like a cloud has hung so 
 Long between my sight impatient and those 
 Striving hosts, is rising 'bove the scene, and 
 Where but late those frowning piles cast dreary 
 Shade across the way, Nature's more airy 
 Castles rise, and shouts ascend, glad, happy, 
 From millions freed from slavish bondage 
 By the change. 
 
Black night, your blackest pall unloop, 
 And drape in deepest gloom the smiling blue 
 Of heaven — the budding beauties of the earth 
 Within your thickest folds enwrap, till its 
 Inhabitants shall in the darkness grope, 
 Trembling with dread, lest next advancing step 
 Shall plunge their sightless forms into some dark 
 Abyss, made by your rayless drapery 
 More dark. 
 
 Dart into distant space, bright orb 
 Of light, till telescope-assisted eye 
 Shall fail to mark your sudden flight ; and you, 
 Ye suns, with your revolving satellites, 
 Retire, nor strive to pierce the vail with which 
 The ebon hand of night seeks to enshroud 
 The earth ; leave her alone in her wild flight 
 With no companion but the orb she guides, 
 Which, with its light withdrawn, 'round her whirls 
 A thing to dread in its mysterious gloom. 
 -Drive to her center, fierce Vesuvius, 
 
A FRAGMENT. 239 
 
 The flames she spouts from out your roaring mouth ! 
 
 Let each volcanic torch she lights by the 
 
 Proud peaks which they consume, extinguished be, 
 
 Or turned to smoldering on her vitals feed, 
 
 Till fierce convulsions shall the center to 
 
 The outer throw, making each fruitful plain 
 
 A barren wilderness, yielding no life 
 
 Life to sustain. 
 
 Rush from your caves, ye desolating winds, 
 
 And lend assistance to the storm-cloud fierce, 
 
 That waits your aid to sweep with demon wings 
 
 In fury to the trembling plain below, 
 
 The universal gloom to help increase. 
 
 While on those wings to havoc new create 
 
 Ye downward whirl, let bolts sulphureous from 
 
 Your center dart, oh, night-enveloped clouds ! 
 
 To make the gloom perceptible by contrast, 
 
 While your artillery from hill to hill 
 
 Echoes with deaf'niiig crash confusion's reign 
 
 To usher in. 
 
 Break, torrents, from your icy fast'nings, 
 And from those cloud-engirdled peaks descend, 
 With might resistless, to the warmer vale 
 Sweeping down all that your unchannel'd way 
 Obstructs, till, where but late proud palaces 
 Securely stood, the lightning's fitful glare 
 Shall to the wandering gaze of man disclose 
 Crag upon crag in wild disorder piled. , 
 
240 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Old roaring ocean, shake your shaggy mane, 
 
 And lifting high your age-unconquered head, 
 
 With foaming jaws upon your rival rush 
 
 Until, where now the Andes proudly lift 
 
 To heaven their many snow-capped heads, your huge 
 
 Leviathans shall gambol with their young. 
 
 # # # * # 
 
 Made happy, let chance appear, and to her 
 Wayward steed connect this darkened orb, 
 While discord holds the loosened reins and laughs 
 . Aloud to see confusion wild commence ; 
 For man acknowledges no more the mind 
 That holds the many systems, as it were, 
 In one connected, but, selfish himself, 
 Seeks selfish God and worships Deity 
 Created by himself — nor even then 
 Combines, for he of vengeful mind only 
 In vengeance his Creator sees, and rears 
 A bloody altar his revenge to bribe, 
 With blood of lower grade, nor ceases there, 
 But in imagination, with horror 
 Fertile, into the future dives, and molds 
 From ancient myths a hell of torments, such 
 As heathen demons formed in heathen brains — 
 Which, o'er the tiger of their tangled wilds 
 Scarce raised, would blush to use as prison-house 
 For vilest victim — until accustomed 
 Long to dwell upon the hell created 
 
A FRAGMENT. 241 
 
 By himself, he sees naught but rising flames, 
 Whirling in circles 'round a writhing mass 
 That once bore impress of Divinity ; 
 Peering from which, the countenance of friend 
 Whose hand in friendship's holy grasp with his 
 Has often met, with awful agony 
 Disfigured now, perchance, appears — aye, e'en 
 Those by closer ties connected — blood of 
 His blood — may, rising 'bove the boiling surge, 
 Gaze with reproachful look toward the hand 
 That, from them turned, is raised unmindful of 
 Their woes in selfish thankfulness toward 
 That phantom God, that with their agony 
 His revenge has glutted — yet loves to hear 
 The wail of tortured souls ever ascending 
 Upward from that horrid pit, and justice 
 Sees in men created for such doom. 
 
 Altars 
 By such erected to revenge are held 
 Sacred, and on every side are seen ; but 
 Pride and jealousy each their altars claim 
 Within temples reared to the one — but by 
 Gods many used— nor unsuccessful claim 
 Present ; for many homage ready stand 
 To yield, and swell the shout : " Great, great is our 
 Divinity ;" thus deified becomes 
 Each passion base, till to the unthinking • 
 Mass it virtue seems, and wrong and outrage 
 11 
 
242 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Riot hold where love alone should peaceful 
 Scepter wield. 
 
 What better, then, are they who 
 Bow them to such shadowy Gods,' than those who 
 Hail the orb of day as cheering presence 
 Of Divinity — then, as it low sinks 
 Behind the western hills, Divinity 
 Departing see 1 The Deity they worship 
 Ever smiles when he appears, and wraps the 
 Mantling clouds around his face whene'er he 
 Frowns, that they may not upon his anger 
 Gaze ; while the fierce God revenge in wrath speaks 
 Most, and wanton frowns on every side his 
 Followers to hold in awe, and seems in 
 Trembling fear delight to take. 
 
 What matters it 
 That Christian name they bear, while to cruel 
 Hate they offer sacrifice, and, virtue 
 Neglecting, deify each vice 1 for light 
 They ever ask, then, when the light appears, 
 Reject its aid because, like tinsel'd crowns 
 Worn by stage-strutting monarchs of an hour, 
 Their boasted virtue stands by that light in 
 All its wortblessness revealed ; for peace 
 They pray, then with the selfsame lips defiance 
 Hurl on every side the baser passions 
 To arouse ; for wisdom's presence ask, then, 
 When her radiant form appears, load her with 
 
A FRAGMENT. 243 
 
 Vilest epithets that she points out a 
 Higher, nobler path than that in which they 
 Tread, making their daily life a life of 
 Contradictions palpable, of brute more 
 Worthy than of man. Then let the gods they 
 Worship unobstructed reign till chaos 
 Claims her own, and they are satisfied to 
 Yield them to a God whose statutes infinite 
 E'en by himself are held inviolate. 
 
%xutt in (gjorir. 
 
 Hark ! what dread decree is sounding 
 
 'Mid the city's bustling throng ? 
 Why are hearts with fear rebounding, 
 
 Why is hushed the cheerful song ? 
 Hear that monarch's proclamation 
 
 Sounding through the silent air : 
 " Death to every tongue and nation 
 
 That shall bow the knee in prayer." 
 
 See, in yonder open chamber, 
 
 Where one bows the humble knee ; 
 Fears he not the threatened danger — 
 
 Heard he not the dread decree 1 
 Thinks he that a monarch's favor 
 
 His defenseless head will shield 
 From a law that will not waver — 
 
 That to kings will never yield ? 
 
 'Tis not that the fearful mandate 
 Has not sounded in his ear ; 
 
TRUST IN GOD. 245 
 
 Nor that hope of monarch's favor 
 From his mind has banished fear — 
 
 Well he knows his mortal body 
 Will be thrown to raging beast ; 
 
 Still he turns unto his duty, 
 Bows him to the favored east. 
 
 Though he knows, with envy raging, 
 
 Men are thirsting for his blood ; 
 He his heavenly Father trusting, 
 
 Bows himself in prayer to God. 
 While his humble voice he's raising, 
 
 Calling on his Father's name, 
 Men, with looks of envy gazing, 
 
 Hasten to his guilt proclaim. 
 
 What avails that monarch's sorrow 1 
 
 He can not avert the doom ; 
 Though he labor till the morrow, 
 
 'Twill not save him from the tomb. 
 Though his heart were turned to mercy, 
 
 Though he pity for him feel ; 
 The decree of Mode and Persia 
 
 He that passed can ne'er repeal. 
 
 Now that man, so pure and holy, 
 
 To devouring beasts is cast ; 
 While that monarch's turning, slowly, 
 
246 TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 To his house to watch and fast. 
 Anxious, waits he for the morning — 
 
 Sleep is banished from his eyes ; 
 Ready at the early dawning, 
 
 To the cave of death he flies. 
 
 With a hopeless voice he's calling, 
 
 Feeling that he calls in vain- 
 Sure, he hears a voice replying — 
 
 Beats his heart with hope again; 
 " Live, oh, mighty king, forever !" 
 
 Sounds from out that fearful cave ; 
 " God his servants will deliver, 
 
 He is ever near to save." 
 
 With exceeding joy he listens, 
 
 As he hears that faithful voice ; 
 Hastes to free him from his prison, 
 
 Hastens with him to rejoice ; 
 While those men with envy burning 
 
 To the angry beasts are thrown — 
 Their revenge is on them turning, 
 
 They but reap what they have sown. 
 
 Thus, unwavering, to thy duty 
 Forward press and never fear ; 
 
 Though revengeful foes surround thee, 
 Spirit-guards are ever near ; 
 
TRUST IN GOD. 247 
 
 Though the poison tongue of slander 
 
 For a while obscures thy light, 
 'Twill burst forth in double splendor, 
 
 Scatter every shade of night. 
 
^toalu, mg f Hi* 
 
 Awake, my lute, to songs of praise, 
 No more attune to mournful lays 
 
 Thy sweet, familiar strings ; 
 But sound them now to strains more true, 
 Cheerful and bright, as rainbow hue 
 
 Glancing from angel wings 
 
 Far, far from every earthly grief, 
 In thy sweet chords I'll find relief, 
 
 And from thee never part ; 
 For when all else was dark and drear, 
 Thy soothing notes would ever cheer 
 
 My bleeding, breaking heart. 
 
 Thou wert my best, my truest friend, 
 Faithful unto me to the end 
 
 Through all my weary strife ; 
 Then thou shalt not neglected lay 
 In those bright realms of endless day, 
 
 But wake again to life. 
 
AWAKE, MY LUTE. 249 
 
 Often, while ling'ring in the form, 
 Crushed to the earth beneath the storm 
 
 Of earthly griefs and wrongs, 
 I 'woke thy chords to mournful strains, 
 Which now on these celestial plains 
 
 I wake to rapture songs. 
 
 No more shall sound those notes of grief, 
 
 Which often sounded in my brief 
 
 Sojourn within the form ; 
 
 But here, where all is joy and love, 
 
 I'll sweep those chords to bliss above 
 
 And music heaven-born. 
 
 / 
 
 Then loud the glorious anthem raise, 
 Anew the great Creator praise 
 
 In strains that never cease ; 
 And while thy friendly chords shall ring, 
 Of heavenly love I'll ever sing 
 
 In spheres of endless peace. 
 11* 
 
Shadows on my soul were falling 
 
 When I left the earthly form ; 
 Dark and dismal seemed the future- 
 
 With no shelter from the storm 
 That was ever 'round me raging — 
 
 Making desolate my path — 
 All my fondest hopes destroying, 
 
 Overturning in it wrath. 
 
 Why, I know not, o'er me hanging 
 
 Ever seemed a gloomy pall ; 
 Ever drooping to envelop 
 
 All I loved beneath its pall ; 
 Even there, so near the borders 
 
 Of the unknown spirit-sphere, 
 O'er my soul that shadow hovered, 
 
 Filling it with gloomy fear. 
 
 Soon I slumbered ; then awaking 
 From a calm, a sweet repose, 
 
SHADOWS. 251 
 
 Found that gloomy cloud had vanished, 
 
 With it vanished all my woes ; 
 Then I saw bright faces gath'ring, 
 
 Whose long absence I had wept ; 
 Then I knew I'd crossed the threshold 
 
 To those spirits, while I slept — 
 
 Crossed and left behind my sorrows 
 
 With that feeble, worn-out frame ; 
 Then I looked, with joy and wonder, 
 
 At the form from which I came — 
 Joyful that my griefs were ended, 
 
 Ended with that parting breath — 
 Wond'ring why my spirit trembled 
 
 Even at the thought of death. 
 
 Death, what is it but a blessing 
 
 To the weary, weary heart? 
 Calling it to brighter mansions, 
 
 Never more from friends to part ! 
 Still we meet it with a shudder, 
 
 Tremble when we feel it near, 
 Struggle hard 'gainst its advances 
 
 With an agonizing fear. 
 
 Near the happy day 's approaching 
 When mankind the truth shall see, 
 
 Look not upon death with terror, 
 But as one that sets them free : 
 
252 SHADOWS. 
 
 Free from sickness, pain, and sorrow, 
 Free forever from all grief; 
 
 Leads them to that happy country 
 Where the weary find relief ; 
 
 Find relief from every burden, 
 
 On that bright, celestial shore ; 
 Sin and folly then forsaking, 
 
 Pressing forward evermore : 
 Then, above the grave exulting, 
 
 Shout with thy expiring breath — 
 " Oh, grave ! where is thy victory ? 
 
 Where is thy sting, oh, death ?" 
 
iHeejj ut for tlj.e i*aft. 
 
 Rejoice for the day, 
 
 When that mansion of clay 
 The spirit no longer confines ; 
 
 When 'tis free to arise 
 
 To its home in the skies, 
 Where love's light eternally shines. 
 
 When a spirit oppressed 
 
 Flies away to the rest 
 It sought for in vain on the earth, 
 
 And forgets every wrong 
 
 In the triumphant song 
 That welcomes the new angel-birth ; 
 
 Wlien it leaves all its fears, 
 
 All its sad, bitter tears 
 Behind with the moldering form ; 
 
 For bright regions of bliss, 
 
 Leaves a world of distress, 
 And bids a farewell to earth's storm— 
 
254 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD 
 
 Why, why do ye mourn 
 For that spirit's return — 
 
 Why wish it again with its cares 1 
 See ! e'en now as it roves 
 Through those mansions above, 
 
 New garments of beauty it wears. 
 
 Once 'twas shrouded in gloom, 
 
 Deep and dark as the tomb, 
 Of light not a glimmering ray ; 
 
 Now it dwells with the blest, 
 
 And forever will rest 
 In eternal regions of day. 
 
 Once, o'erburdened with care, 
 And weighed down with despair, 
 
 Of hope and of comfort bereft — 
 Now, 'tis gazing with love 
 On those angels above, 
 
 Forgetting the sorrows it's left. 
 
 Then no longer weep 
 For the loved ones that sleep — 
 Though taken away from thy sight ; 
 For you'll meet them again, 
 Free from anguish and pain, 
 . In mansions of eternal light. 
 
SBe to frn. 
 
 We are free, we are free from our prisons of clay ; 
 Free, to roam through the regions of eternal day ; 
 No longer confined to those gross, earthly forms, 
 We're safe from earth's trials, far, far from its storms — 
 From its dark storms of passion, its sorrows, its tears 
 Forever we're free ; then farewell to our fears — 
 Never more shall we suffer with anguish distressed, 
 See our plans o'erturned, all our efforts unblessed, 
 For from all that can hinder our progress we're free, 
 Then " right onward and upward" our motto shall be, 
 Yes, onward and upward to meet the bright throngs 
 Who will welcome our progress with triumphant songs ; 
 Nor e'en there will we rest, but for ever progress, 
 Ever gaining fresh knowledge to comfort and bless ; 
 Through scenes ever roaming of beauty and joy, 
 There we'll first find true happiness without alloy, 
 And as we press onward in wisdom and love, 
 While gaining, still grasping for knowledge above, 
 We will not forget the loved ones in the form 
 Who still are exposed to earth's pitiless storm ; 
 
256 WE ARE FREE. 
 
 But gather around to encourage and cheer, 
 
 With kind words of comfort from this happy sphere, 
 
 While imparting to them sweet lessons of peace 
 
 The fountains of wisdom for us will increase— 
 
 Forever increase, until we have progressed 
 
 Where sin never comes, where the weary find rest ; 
 
 From earth's false-hearted friends, its trouble and strife, 
 
 Find rest from its sorrows in eternal life ; 
 
 Then will we rejoice that we've gained the bright land, 
 
 Nor refuse to those left the encouraging hand. 
 
I am happy, dearest parents, 
 In this glorious world of light ; 
 
 Could you wish me to return then, 
 Where day oft is changed to night ? 
 
 Blissful spirits round me gather, 
 Spirits from the heavenly spheres, 
 
 And with them I'm near thee ever. 
 Ever to dispel thy fears. 
 
 Oh, what joy for me to see thee ! 
 
 Hear thee ! ever near thee stay ! 
 But what bliss to meet and welcome 
 
 Thee to realms of endless day ! 
 
 Oh, what pleasure ! oh, what rapture 
 With thee o'er these fields to roam ! 
 
 Never faint and never weary — 
 Endless space our future home 
 
258 GONE BEFORE. 
 
 Scenes of beauty, ever rising 
 Upon the enraptured sight ; 
 
 Ever changing, ever changing, 
 Never hid by vail of night. 
 
 Then, dear parents, do not mourn me, 
 Think not of me with the dead ; 
 
 Only gone awhile before thee, 
 
 Through the path that all must tread. 
 
Happy voices oft are singing ; 
 Words of<Jk)ve are often ringing ; 
 Welcome faces, brightly gleaming, 
 Smile upon me when I'm dreaming — 
 Come they from the courts of heaven ? 
 Am I to their keeping given 1 
 
 Tell me if those forms so loving 
 That with noiseless step are moving, 
 And my path are guarding ever, 
 That are absent from me never, 
 Left those happy, shining bowers 
 For this world of gloomy showers ? 
 
 Tell me, for my heart is glowing, 
 And with love is ever flowing — 
 I my voice would fain be raising 
 Their untiring love in praising — 
 Love Infinite tells the story 
 Then to it belongs the glory. 
 
Infantile SMirjortwits. 
 
 Softly evening shades are stealing, 
 Where a lovely cherub kneeling, 
 
 Lisps her little prayer 
 And a look, almost of heaven, 
 To her angel-face is given — 
 
 Trusting hope is there. 
 
 " Heavenly Father, far above me, 
 Though I can not see, I love thee 
 
 For thy kindly care ; 
 Tell me if dear father, mother, 
 And my little smiling brother, 
 
 In thy presence are ? 
 
 For around me when I'm dreaming, 
 Come three faces, happy, beaming, 
 
 And I know them well ; 
 When they come, sweet songs are ringing, 
 Are they in thy presence singing ? 
 
 Heavenly Father, tell." * 
 
JUST PUBLISHED BY 
 
 PARTRIDGE ABJD BRITTAN, 
 
 300 Broadway, Stew York. 
 
 Brittan and Richmond's Discussion. 
 
 Four hundred pages, octavo. This work contains twenty- four letters from each of 
 the parties above named, embodying a great number of facts and arguments, pro 
 and con, designed to illustrate the Spiritual Phenomena of all ages, but especially 
 the modern Manifestations. To insure a wide circulation, the work is offered at the 
 low price of $1. 
 
 The Present Age and the Inner Life; 
 
 Being a Sequel to Spiritual Intercourse. By A. J. Davis. This is an elegant book, 
 of near 800 pages octavo, illustrated. Price $1, postage 23 cents. 
 
 Discourses from the Spirit-World, 
 
 Dictated by Stephen Oliu, through Bev. E. P. Wilson, Writing Medium. To do 
 good is the Golden Rule of the Universe. This is an interesting volume of some 
 200 pages. Price 63 cents. 
 
 The Spiritual Telegraph, Vol. I. 
 
 A few copies complete, bound in a substantial manner — contains the fullest record 
 of the facts, etc., of the Spiritual movement that has yet been published. Price $3. 
 
 The Shekinah, Vol. II. 
 
 Embellished with Six Portraits. Edited by S. B. Brittan. The work is elegantly 
 printed and hound in muslin, at $1 50. 
 
 Brittans Review of Beecher's Report, 
 
 Wherein the conclusions of the latter are carefully examined and tested by a com • 
 parison with his premises and with the facts. Price 25 cents. 
 
 The Telegraph Papers.. 
 
 Volume I., some 4U0 pages, 12mo., consists of all the more important articles which 
 have appeared in the Second Volume of the Telegraph, from May to July inclusive 
 1853. Price 75 cents. 
 
 Philosophy of the Spirit- World, 
 
 Rev. Charles Hammond, Medium. Price 63 cents, postage 12 cents. 
 
 A Chart, 
 
 Exhibiting an outline of the Progressive History and approaching Destiny of the 
 Race. Bound, or on rollers. By A. J Davis. Price $1 75. 
 
2 PARTRIDG-E & BRITTANS SPIRITUAL LIBRARY. 
 
 The Philosophy of Special Providences. 
 
 A Vision. By A. J. Davis. Price, 15 cents ; postage, 3 cents. 
 
 The Celestial Telegraph. 
 
 Or, secrets of the Life to Come, revealed through Magnetism; wherein the Exist- 
 ence, the Form, and the Occupation of the Soul after its Separation from the Body 
 are proved by many year's Experiments, by the means of eight ecstatic Somnambu- 
 lists, who had Eighty perceptions of Thirty-six Deceased Persons of various Con- 
 ditions ; a Description of them, their Conversation, etc., with proofs of their Ex- 
 istence in the Spiritual World. By L. A. Cahanet. Published by Partridge & 
 Brittan. Price, $1 00 ; postage, 19 cents. 
 
 familiar Spirits. 
 
 And Spiritual Manifestations ; being a Series of Articles by Dr. Enoch Pond, Pro 
 lessor in the Bangor Theological Seminary. With a Reply, by A. Bingham, Esq., 
 of Boston. Price 25 cents ; postage 3 cents. 
 
 Night Side of Nature. 
 
 Ghosts and Ghost Seers. By Catharine Crowe. Price, $1 25 ; postage 20 cents 
 
 Gregory's Lectures on Animal Magnetism. 
 
 Price, $1 00 ; postage, 17 cents. 
 
 The Macrocosm and Microcosm; 
 
 Or, the Universe Without and the Universe Within. By William Fishbough. This 
 volume comprehends only the first part, or the Universe Without. Paper, bound, 
 price, 50 cents ; muslin, 75 cents ; postage, 12 cents. 
 
 Arrest, Trial, and Acquittal of Abby Warner, 
 
 For Spirit-Rapping. By Dr. A. Underhill. Price, 12 cents ; postage, 2 cents. 
 
 Physico-Physiological Researches 
 
 In the Dynamics of Magnetism, Electricity, Heat, Light, Crystallization, and 
 Chemism, in their relations to Vital Force. By Baron Charles Von Reichenbach. 
 Complete from the German second edition ; with the addition of a Preface and 
 Critical Notes, by John Ashburner, M.D. ; third American Edition. Published 
 by Partridge & Brittan at the reduced price of $1 00 ; postage, 20 cents. 
 
 Spiritual Experience of Mrs. Lorin L. Piatt, 
 
 Medium. Price, 20 cents ; postage, 3 cents. 
 
 Spirit-Manifestations : 
 
 Being an Exposition of Facts, Principles, etc By Rev. Adlo Ballou. Price, 75 
 
 cents ; postage, 11 cents, 
 
 piritual Instructor; 
 
 Containing Facts and the Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse. Price, 38 cents ■ 
 postage, 6 cents. 
 
 The Spiritual Teacher. 
 
 By Spirits of the Sixth Circle R. P. Ambler, Medium. Price, 50 cents -, postage, 
 7 cents. 
 
PARTRIDGE & BRITTAN S SPIRITUAL LIBRARY. 6 
 
 Light From The Spirit World. 
 
 Being written by the control of Spirits. Rev. Charles Hammond, Medium. Price, 
 75 cents ; postage, 10 cents. 
 
 The Pilgrimage of Thomas Paine. 
 
 Written by the Spirit of Thomas Paine, through C. Hammond, Medium. Paper, 
 price, 50 cents ; muslin, 75 cents ; postage, 12 cents. 
 
 Elements of Spiritual Philosophy. 
 
 R. P. Ambler, Medium. Price, 25 cents ; postage, 4 cents. 
 
 Stilling's Pneumatology, 
 
 Being a Reply to the Question, What Ought and Ought Not to be Believed or Dis« 
 believed concerning Presentiments, Visions, and Apparitions according to Nature, 
 Reason, and Scripture. Translated from the German ; edited by Prof. George 
 Bush. Published by Partridge & Brittan. Price, 75 cents ; postage, 16 cents. 
 
 Voices from the Spirit- World. 
 
 Isaac Post, Medium. Price, 50 cents; postage, 10 cents, 
 
 Dr. Esdaile's Natuial and Mesmeric Clairvoyance. 
 
 With the Practical Application of Mesmerism in Surgery and Medicine. (English 
 edition.) Price, $1 25; postage, 10 cents. 
 
 Also, Mesmerism in India. 
 
 By the same Author. Price, 75 cents; postage, 13 cents. 
 
 Fascination: 
 
 Or, the. Philosophy of Charming. By John B. Newman, M.D. Price 40 cents; 
 postage, 10 cents. 
 Shadow-Land : 
 
 Or, the Seer. By Mrs. E. Oakes Smith. Price, 25 cents; postage 5 cents. 
 
 Supernal Theology. 
 
 Alleged Spiritup' Manifestations. Price, 25 cents; postage 5 cents. 
 
 Messages from the Superior State. 
 
 Communicated by John Murray, through J. M. Spear. Price, 50 cents ; postage, 
 8 cents. 
 
 Love and Wisdom from the Spirit- World. 
 
 By Jacob Harshman, writing Medium. Price, 60 cents ; postage, 11 cents. 
 
 Seevess of Prevorst. 
 
 A Book of Facts and Revelations concerning the Inner Life of Man and a World 
 of Spirits. By Jnstinus Kerner. New Edition, published by Partridge & Brit- 
 tan. Price, 38 cents ; postage, 6 cents. 
 
 Philosophy of Mysterious Agents. 
 
 Human and Mundane ; or, The Dynamic Laws and Relations of Man. By E. C. 
 Rogers. Bound; price, $1 00; postage, 24 cents. 
 
 The Science of the Soul. 
 
 By Haddock. Price, 25 cents ; postage, 5 cenU. 
 
£ PARTRIDGE & BBTTTAn's SPIRITUAL LIBRARY, 
 
 Sorcery and Magic. 
 
 By Wright. Price, $1 00; postage, 19 cents. 
 
 The Clairvoyant Family Physician. 
 
 By Mrs. Tuttle. Paper, price 75 cents ; muslin, $1 00 ; postage, 10 cents. 
 
 Answers to Seventeen Objections 
 
 Against Spiritual Intercourse. By John S. Adams. Published by Partridge 6 
 Brittan. Paper, price 25 cents ; muslin, 28 cents ; postage, 7 cents. 
 
 The Approaching Crisis : 
 
 Being a Review of Dr. Bushnell's recent Lectures on Supernaturalism. By A. J. 
 Davis. Published by Partridge & Brittan. Price, 50 cents ; postage, 13 cents. 
 
 Practical Instruction in Animal Magnetism. 
 
 By J. P. F. Deleuse. Price, $1 00 ; postage, 16 cents. 
 
 Spirit-Minstrel. 
 
 A collection of Ninety familiar Tunes and Hymns, appropriate to Meetings for 
 Spiritual Intercourse. v Paper, 25 cents ; muslin, 38 cents ; postage, 6 cents. 
 
 Spirit-Voices. 
 
 Dictated by Spirits, for the use of Circles. By E. C. Henck, Medium. Price, 
 paper, 38 cents ; muslin, 50 cents . postage, 6 cents. 
 
 Buchanan's Journal of Man. 
 
 A Monthly Magazine, devoted to Anthropological Science, by which the Constitu- 
 tion of Man is determined through Phrenological and Psychological Develop- 
 ments. Price, per annum, $2 00; single copies, 25 cents ; postage, 3 cents. 
 
 Beechsr's Report on the Spiritual Manifestations, 
 
 To the Congregational Association of New York arid Brooklyn. Price, paper 25 
 cents ; muslin, 38 cents ; postage, 3 and 6 cents. 
 
 The Ministry of A-ogels Realized. 
 
 By A. E. Newton, Boston. Price 12 cents postage 1 cent. 
 
 Amaranth Blooms. 
 
 A Collection of embodied Poetical Thoughts, by Mrs. S. S. Smith. Price 62 cents. 
 ' postage 8 cents. 
 
 Reply to a Discourse 
 
 Of Rev. S. W. Lind, D.D.. President Western Baptist Theological Institute, Coving- 
 ton, Kentucky, by P. E. Bland, A.M., St. Louis. Price 15 cents, postage 2 cents. 
 
 The Harmonial Man: 
 
 Or, Thoughts for the Age. By Andrew Jackson Davis. Price 80 cents, postage 6 
 cents. 
 Biography of Mrs. Semantha Mettler, 
 
 And an account of the Wonderful Cures performed by her. By Francis H. Green. 
 Harmonial Association, publishers. Price, paper 25 cents ; muslin, 38 cents; post- 
 age, 8 cents. 
 
 PARTRIDGE & BRITTAN, Publishers, 
 
 No. 300 Broadway, New York, 
 
^arfrftg? K Man's ijtiritual ifttartf. 
 
 Our list of Books embraces all the principal works devoted to Spirit- 
 ualism, whether published by ourselves or others, and will comprehend all 
 works of value that may be issued hereafter. The reader's attention is 
 particularly invited to those named below, all of which may be found at the 
 Office of The Shekinah and Spiritual Telegraph. The reader will per- 
 ceive that the price of each book in the list, and the amount of postage, if 
 forwarded by mail, are annexed. 
 
 The Shekinah, Vol. I. 
 
 By S. B. Brittan, Editor, and other writers, is devoted chiefly to an Inquiry into the 
 Spiritual Nature and Relations of Man. It treats especially of the Philosophy 
 of Vital, Mental, and Spiritual Phenomena, and contains interesting Facts and 
 profound Expositions of the Psychical Conditions and Manifestations now attract- 
 ing attention in Europe and America. This volume contains, in part, the Editor's 
 Philosophy of the Soul ; the Interesting Visons of Hon. J. W. Edmonds ; Lives 
 and Portraits of Seers and Eminent Spiritualists ; Facsimiles of Mystical Writ- 
 ings, in Foreign and Dead Languages, through E. P. Fowler, etc. Published by 
 Partridge and Brittan. Bound in muslin, price $2 50 ; elegantly bound in moroc- 
 co, lettered and gilt in a style suitable for a gift book, price $3 00 ; postage 34 
 cents. 
 
 Nature's Divine Revelations, etc. 
 
 By A. J. Davis, the Clairvoyant. Price, $2 00; postage, 43 cents. 
 
 The Great Harmonia, Vol. I. 
 
 The Physician. By A. J. Davis. Price, $1 25 ; postage, 20 cents. 
 
 The Great Harmonia, Vol, IT., 
 
 The Teacher. By A. J. Davis. Price, $1 00 ; postage, 19 cents. 
 
 The Great Harmonia, Vol. III., 
 
 The Seer. By A. J. Davis. Price, $1 00 ; postage, 19 cento. 
 
 The Philosophy of Spiritual Intercourse. 
 
 By A. J. Davis. Price, 50 cents ; postage, 9 cents,. 
 
6 
 
 Spiritualism by Judge Edmonds and Dr. Dezter. 
 
 The First Part consists of a comprehensive and forcible analysis of the Spiritual 
 experience of Judge Edmonds and Dr. Dexter, through whose mediumship this 
 book has been given to the public. 
 
 The Second Part is a faithful record of numerous interviews with Spirits claiming 
 to be Emanuel Swedenborg and Lord Bacon, wherein they give philosophical 
 disquisitions in reply to numerous questions respecting the life of Spirits. 
 Part Third is a copious Appendix, embracing the experience and observation 
 of Hon. N. P. Tallmadge, late United States Senator and Governor of "Wisconsin, 
 together with the similar experience of several other persons, Correspondence, etc. 
 The work is embellished with a beautiful frontispiece, drawn by a Spirit, engraved 
 on steel, illustrative of the departure of a Spirit from the earth-sphere ; also, six pages 
 of facsimiles of Spirit- writing, and other engraved illustrations. The work is a 
 splendid octavo of over 500 pages, handsomely printed on fine paper, and bound, 
 for $1 25. Postage, 30 cents. — Partridge & Brittan. 
 
 A Compendium of the Theological and Spiritual Writings of Emanuel 
 Swedenborg ; 
 
 Being a Systematic and Orderly Epitome of all his Eeligious "Works ; selected from 
 more than Thirty Volumes, and embracing all his Fundamental Principles, with 
 copious Illustrations and Teachings. With an appropriate Introduction. Prefaced by 
 a fall Life of the Author ; with a brief View of all his Works on Science, Philosophy, 
 and Theology. Partridge & Brittan, General Agent. Price $2. Postage, 45 cents. 
 
 The Telegraph Papers. 
 
 Vol. I. ; edited by S. B. Brittan. This volume of miscellanies comprises all the 
 important articles published in the Spiritual Telegraph for the three months 
 ending August 1st, 1853— over 400 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. 
 
 The Telegraph Papers. 
 
 Vol. II. ; edited by S. B. Brittan. This book contains all the important facts and 
 disquisitions published in the weekly paper from August to November, 1853 — over 
 500 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. 
 
 Proceedings of the Hartford Bible Convention. 
 
 Eeported phonographically by Andrew J. Graham. Published for the Commit- 
 tee ; 383 pages, 12 mo. Price 75 cents. Postage, 17 cents. 
 
 The Birth of the Universe. 
 
 Being a Philosophical Exposition of the Origin, TJnfoIdings, and Ultimate of Crea- 
 tion, by and through E. P. Ambler. Price 50 cents. Postage, 9 cents. 
 
 Spirit-Intercourse. 
 
 Containing Incidents of Personal Experience while investigating the new phe- 
 nomena of Spirit-thought and action ; with various Spirit-communications through 
 himself as medium. By Herman Snow, late Unitarian minister at Montague, 
 Massachusetts. Price 60 cents. Postage, 10 cents. 
 
 Spirit-works Eeal, but not Miraculous. 
 
 A Lecture, read at the City Hall in Eoxbury, Mass., by A. Putnam. Price 25 cents. 
 Postage, 3 cents. '' 
 
 A Treatise on the Peculiarities of the Bible. 
 
 Being an Exposition of the Principles involved in some of the most remarkable 
 Facts and Phenomena recorded in Eevelation; by Eev. E. D. Eendell. Price 75 
 cents. Postage, 17 cents.