When the great strife for Freedom rose, Here scouted oft her friends and foes, Alternate, through the changeful war, And beacon-fires flashed bright and far; And here, when Freedom"s strife was won, Fell, in sad feud, her favored son;--
Her son,--the second of the band, The Romans of the rescued land.
Where round yon capes the banks descend, Long shall the pilgrim"s footsteps bend; There, mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh There, tears shall dim the patriot"s eye.
There last he stood. Before his sight Flowed the fair river, free and bright; The rising Mart, and isles and bay, Before him in their glory lay,-- Scenes of his love and of his fame,-- The instant ere the death-shot came.
=_George W. Doane, 1799-1859._= (Manual, p. 523.)
From "Evening."
=_350._=
Softly now the light of day Fades upon my sight away; Free from care, from labor free, Lord, I would commune with thee.
Thou, whose all-pervading eye Nought escapes, without, within, Pardon each infirmity, Open fault, and secret sin.
Soon for me the light of day Shall forever pa.s.s away; Then, from sin and sorrow free, Take me, Lord, to dwell with thee!
Thou who sinless, yet hast known All of man"s infirmity; Then, from thy eternal throne, Jesus, look with pitying eye.
=_George P. Morris, 1801-1864._= (Manual, p. 523.)
=_351._= HIGHLANDS OF THE HUDSON.
Where Hudson"s wave o"er silvery sands Winds through the hills afar, Old Crow-nest like a monarch stands, Crowned with, a single star.
And there amid the billowy swells Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capped earth, My fair and gentle Ida dwells, A nymph of mountain birth.
The snow-flake that the cliff receives-- The diamonds of the showers-- Spring"s tender blossoms, buds, and leaves-- The sisterhood of flowers-- Morn"s early beam, eve"s balmy breeze-- Her purity define;-- But Ida"s dearer far than these To this fond breast of mine.
=_George D. Prentice, 1802-1869._= (Manual, p. 487.)
From "The Mammoth Cave."
=_352._= CONTRAST OF NATURE WITHOUT.
All day, as day is reckoned on the earth, I"ve wandered in these dim and awful aisles, Shut from the blue and breezy dome of heaven, ... And now I"ll sit me down upon yon broken rock, To muse upon the strange and solemn things Of this mysterious realm.
All day my steps Have been amid the beautiful, the wild, The gloomy, the terrific; crystal founts Almost invisible in their serene And pure transparency, high pillared domes With stars and flowers, all fretted like the halls Of Oriental monarchs--rivers dark, And drear, and voiceless, as Oblivion"s stream, That flows through Death"s dim vale of silence,--gulfs All fathomless, down which the loosened rock Plunges, until its far-off echoes come Fainter and fainter, like the dying roll Of thunders in the distance.
... Beautiful Are all the thousand snow-white gems that lie In these mysterious chambers, gleaming out Amid the melancholy gloom, and wild These rocky hills and cliffs, and gulfs, but far More beautiful and wild, the things that greet The wanderer in our world of light--the stars Floating on high, like islands of the blest,-- The autumn sunsets glowing like the gate Of far-off Paradise; the gorgeous clouds On which the glories of the earth and sky Meet, and commingle; earth"s unnumbered flowers, All turning up their gentle eyes to heaven; The birds, with bright wings glancing in the sun, Filling the air with rainbow miniatures; The green old forests surging in the gale; The everlasting mountains, on whose peaks The setting sun burns like an altar-flame.
=_Charles Constantine Pise, 1802-1866._= (Manual, p. 532.)
From "The Pleasures of Religion."
=_353._= THE RAINBOW.
Mark, o"er yon wild, as melts the storm away, The rainbow tints their various hues display; Beauteous, though faint, though deeply shaded, bright, They span the clearing heavens, and charm the sight.
Yes, as I gaze, methinks I view--the while, Hope"s radiant form, and Mercy"s genial smile.
Who doth not see, in that sweet bow of heaven, Circling around the twilight hills of even, Religion"s light, which o"er the wilds of life Shoots its pure rays through misery and strife; Soothes the lone bosom, as it pines in woe, And turns to heaven this barren world below?
O, what were man, did not her hallowed ray Disperse, the clouds that thicken on his way!
A weary pilgrim, left in cheerless gloom, To grope his midnight journey to the tomb; His life a tempest, death, a wreck forlorn, In sorrow dying, as in sorrow born.
From "The Tourist"
=_354._= VIEW AT GIBRALTAR.
And from this height, how beauteous to survey The neighboring sh.o.r.es, the bright cerulean bay: Myriads of sails are swelling on the deep, And oars, in myriads, through the waters sweep.
Behold, in peace, all nations here unite, Their various pennons streaming to the sight: The red cross glows, the Danish crown appears, The half-moon rises, and the lion rears, But mark, bold-towering o"er the conscious wave, The starry banners of my country brave, Stream like a meteor to the wooing breeze, And float all-radiant o"er the sunny seas!
Hail, native flag! for ever mayst thou blow-- Hope to the friend, and terror to the foe!
Again I hail thee, Calpe! on thy steep I wandered high, and gazed upon the deep!
Nature"s best fortress, which no warlike foe, No martial scheme, can ever overthrow.
Art, too, had added strength, and given a grace That smooths the rugged aspect of thy face.
What wondrous halls along the mountain made!
What trains of cannon in those halls arrayed!
They frown imperious from their lofty state, Prepared around to deal the scourge of fate.
=_Elijah P. Lovejoy,[81] 1802-1816._=
From "Lines to my Mother."
=_355._=
There is a fire that burns on earth, A pure and holy flame; It came to men from heavenly birth, And still it is the same As when it burned the chords along That bore the first-born seraph"s song; Sweet as the hymn of grat.i.tude That swelled to Heaven when "all was good."
No pa.s.sion in the choirs above Is purer than a mother"s love.
My mother! I am far away From home, and love, and thee; And stranger hands may heap the clay That soon may cover me; Yet we shall meet--perhaps not here, But in yon shining, azure sphere; And if there"s aught a.s.sures me more, Ere yet my spirit fly, That Heaven has mercy still in store For such a wretch as I, "Tis that a heart so good as thine Must bleed, must burst, along with mine.
And life is short, at best, and time Must soon prepare the tomb; And there is sure a happier clime Beyond this world of gloom.
And should it be my happy lot, After a life of care and pain, In sadness spent, or spent in vain, To go where sighs and sin are not, "Twill make the half my heaven to be, My mother, evermore with thee.
[Footnote 81: Born in Maine, but lived at the West; was editor of a religions newspaper, which early a.s.sailed slavery as wrong; lost his life in defending his press against a mob at Alton, Illinois, July, 1836.]