Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? He's dead alone that lacks her light! And murder sullies in Heaven's sight The sword he draws:
What can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause!
Give that! and welcome War to brace Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space! The colours planted face to face, The charging cheer,
Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear.
And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven! but Haven rebukes my zeal! The cause of Truth and human weal, O God above!
Transfer it from the sword's appeal To Peace and Love.
Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, Where they are not-
The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot.
To incantations dost thou trust, And pompous rites in domes august? See mouldering stones and metal's rust Belie the vaunt,
That men can bless one pile of dust With chime or chaunt.
The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man! Thy temples-creeds themselves grow wan! But there's a dome of nobler span,
Thy faith, that bigots dare not banspace is Heaven!
Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling, Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, And God himself to man revealing, The harmonious spheres
Make music, though unheard their pealing By mortal ears.
Fair stars! are not your beings pure? Can sin, can death your worlds obscure? Else why so swell the thoughts at your Aspect above?
Ye must be Heavens that make us sure Of heavenly love!
And in your harmony sublime I read the doom of distant time; That man's regenerate soul from crime Shall yet be drawn,
And reason on his mortal clime
Immortal dawn.
What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth! Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earth's compass round:
And your high priesthood shall make earth ALL HALLOWED GROUND.
A. If I do this what further can I do?
B. Why, more than ever. Every task thou dost
Brings strength and capability to act.
He who doth climb the difficult mountain's top,
Will the next day outstrip an idler man.
Dip thy young brain in wise men's deep discourse,— In books, which though they freeze thy wit awhile, Will knit thee, i' the end, with wisdom.
The bread-tree, which, without the ploughshare, yields The unreap'd harvest of unfurrow'd fields, And bakes its unadulterated loaves Without a furnace in unpurchased groves, And flings off famine from its fertile breast, A priceless market for the gathering guest.
ADAM'S DESCRIPTION OF Eve.
When I approach
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say, Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best, All higher knowledge in her presence falls Degraded, wisdom, in discourse with her Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows; Authority and reason on her wait, As one intended first, not after made Occasionally; and to consummate all, Greatness of mind, and nobleness their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic placed.
Now, what a sullen-blooded fool was this, At sulks with earth and Heaven! Could he not Out-weep his passion like a blustering day, And be clear-skied thereafter?
Light from the sod the lark exulting springs, Joy tunes his voice and animates his wings: Bard of the blushing dawn, to him are given Earth's choicest verdure, and the midway heaven : Hark! the glad strains that charm our wond'ring ears As upward still the minstrel fearless steers, 'Till wide careering through the solar stream A speck, he wanders on the morning beam.
A DUTCH GIRL SKATING.
Now straight in course as star that shoots By night down Autumn skies serene, Now like a swallow at its play,
The maiden takes her homeward way. Her young face glows, her eye is bright, Her limbs are full of one delight; From parted lips the happy breath Before her floats in silvery wreath. She meets the wind in joy and pride, Like one that swims against the tide; She meets the wind-abroad she flings Her heart and soul upon its wings.
Now Music feedeth on the silent air,— Like Ocean, who upon the moonlight shores Of lone Sigæum, steals with murmuring noise,- Devouring the bright sands and purple slopes, And so, content, retires :-yet music leaves Her soul upon the silence, and our hearts Hear, and for ever hoard those golden sounds, And reproduce them sweet in after hours. BARRY CORNWALL.
In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse Upon the days gone by-to act in thought Past seasons o'er, and be again a child. To sit, in fancy, on the turf-clad slope, Down which the child would roll,
To pluck gay flowers;
Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand (Childhood offended soon, soon reconcil'd) Would throw away, and straight take up again, Then fling them to the winds; and up the lawn Bound, with so playful and so light a step, That the press'd daisy scarce declined her head. CHARLES LAMB.
By J. F. MURRAY, a name unknown to us, but worthy of being better known.
LONE, by my solitary hearth,
Whence peace hath fled,
And home-like joys and innocent mirth Are banished;
Silent and sad, I linger to recall
The memory of all
In thee, dear partner of my cares, I lost; Cares, shared with thee, more sweet than joys the world
My home-why did I
Now have I none,
Unless thou from the grave again couldst come, Beloved one!
My home was in thy trusting heart, Where'er thou wert;
My happy home in thy confiding breast,
Where my worn spirit refuge found and rest.
I know not if thou wast most fair And best of womankind;
Or whether earth yet beareth fruits more rare Of heart and mind;
TO ME, I know, thou wert the fairest,
That heaven to man in mercy ever gave,
And more than man from heaven deserved to have.
Never from thee, sweet wife,
Came word or look awry,
Nor peacock pride, nor sullen fit, nor strife For mastery:
Calm and controlled thy spirit was, and sure So to endure:
My friend, protectress, guide, whose gentle will Compelled my good, withholding from me ill.
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