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POEMS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 RT. REV. GEORGE BURGESS, D. D. 
 
 BISHOIP OW JMAJINISI. 
 
 §nt ^nUmAutUon 
 
 BISHOP OF WESTERN NEW YORK. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 1868. 
 
K 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 BROWX & GKOSS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for 
 the District of Connecticut. 
 
 CASE, LOCKWOOD & CO., 
 BOOK BIXDERS AST) PRDfTEES 
 HAKTFOED, CONX. 
 
PEEFAOE. 
 
 Though I cannot suppose that the poems of Bishop 
 Burgess need any Preface from my Jiand, I feel it a privi- 
 lege, at the request of a friend whom I knew first among 
 the scenes of early youth, in New York, and afterwards as 
 his wife, and with whom I now profoundly condole as his 
 widow — to express, in few words, my views of their great 
 excellence. 
 
 The poetry of the departed prelate is not that of ambi- 
 tious worldly genius ; nor is it the mere idle strain of edu- 
 cated mind and elegant leisure. It is the poetry of the soul, 
 under the guidance of feeling and taste ; but more espec- 
 ially, inspired by love to Grod and love to Man. If, as in 
 his patriotic songs, any harsher element can be discerned, 
 it is only when a sense of right and a call of duty seem, to 
 the poet, at least, to bid him imitate the indignant zeal of 
 his Master, and to use " the whip of small cords," which 
 He who was " meek and lowly" yet found himself forced 
 to fashion and to wield. 
 
 It is useless to expect of our countrymen, in the existing 
 stage of their development, any general appreciation of the 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 merits of these poems, simply as poetry. Few of our pop- 
 ular writers are more worthy of admiration on critical prin- 
 ciples ; most of them are immeasurably his inferiors in all 
 that challenges discriminating praise : but his themes are 
 too pure and elevated to strike the popular taste, and the 
 music of his verse is commonly too refined for the popular 
 ear. Yet there will be some, even now, and more hereafter, 
 to note how well these poems compare with many which 
 have secured immortality for their authors ; how seldom 
 they offend the stricter rules of versification ; how, almost 
 entirely, they are free from extravagances of expression, 
 from vulgarisms of style, and from provincial words and 
 accentuations. 
 
 I must confess my own regret that this collection fails to 
 include the Bishop's Metrical Psalter, which has been pro- 
 nounced by an English critic, one of the most faultless, 
 in versification, of all such works ;' and which I venture to 
 regard as one of the most critical of poetical versions, and 
 one of the most faithful to the sacred text, if not also to the 
 fire and inspiration of the Psalmist. We may reasonably 
 hope that the sale of this volume will justify the publishers 
 in producing, as a companion to it, a reprint of the Psalms. 
 Were this book designed to compete with a crowd of 
 others for the favour of the higher class of critics, it would 
 have been well, no doubt, to exclude from it many little 
 artless things which detract, perhaps, from the merits of the 
 collection, considered as the work of a poet. But this volume 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 claims to be no more than the precious remains of a pastor 
 and a prelate, whose every verse is dear to many, as pre- 
 serving some trace or relic of himself ; of that character 
 above the poetic art, which was poetry in itself. It has 
 been the aim of those who are responsible for the editing of 
 the book, to commend it not to the public at large, so much 
 as to the hearts of those who loved the saintly Bishop for 
 his works' sake, and who were so happy as to partake of 
 his pastoral love or his personal affections. 
 
 I should have arranged the book somewhat differently : I 
 should have placed foremost the works that are most likely 
 to preserve the claim of Bishop Burgess to a place among 
 poets of no mean renown. Such, I conceive to be the 
 Academic Poems and the " Strife of Brothers." But the 
 design to which I have referred has given the first place to 
 a poem of the heart, and has interspersed divers little 
 poems, more likely to be popular favourites. " The Family 
 Burial Place" is indeed a highly meritorious poem, and it 
 may be that I am not right in preferring to it the produc- 
 tions which embody more of the poet's erudition, and dis- 
 play his opinions on a greater variety of subjects. The 
 admirers of Goldsmith will prefer the former, and the lat- 
 ter will best please the readers of Pope and Cowper. But 
 to me, there is a charm about the other poems I have 
 named, that makes them more attractive than all the rest, 
 and possibly it is because, after all, they most forcibly re- 
 call the man himself; his table-talk, and his way of think- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ing and expressing himself. As I read them, I am carried 
 back to young and halcyon days, in Hartford, when I la- 
 boured at his side, and spent long hours with him in the 
 discussions and inqumes suggested by our common duties 
 and pursuits. 
 
 Of such communmgs, often protracted of summer nights, 
 till the morning watch was near, "The Strife of Brothers" 
 is to me an intensely interesting record. Those were the 
 days of the early excitements occasioned by the Oxford 
 tracts. As an ardent youth, I admired the revival of a 
 Catholicity which I supposed to be that of Andrews and of 
 Bull, but in which his maturer mind discovered, sooner than 
 I did, the taint of a sickly mediasvalism. The topics which 
 are barely touched upon in the poem, with epigrammatic 
 force and point, were in fact talked over, in all their bear- 
 ings, night after night and day after day. Of what was 
 really said and urged, often with feeling and hot debate, on 
 both sides, little is given : of course the game is all on one 
 side ; " Catholicus" only moves his pieces for " Irenicus" 
 to take them ; but the generous idea of a brotherly discus- 
 sion is fairly sustained, and the poet's interlocutor is suffi- 
 ciently represented, for all purposes of the work. It is 
 pleasant to reflect that these debates never separated the 
 hearts of those who so long maintained their divers views, 
 side by side, and during constant ministrations at the same 
 altar, and no less frequent minglings in the same social 
 scenes. In after life, when they met in the House of Bish- 
 
PREFACE. Vii 
 
 ops, I have thought something was to be discerned in 
 each, that was the result of those early conferences ; and I 
 recollect an amusing incident which seemed to reverse the 
 positions of the poem, when, during a visit to a clerical 
 brother, " Irenicus" was found enlarging on the inexcusable 
 nature of the Wesleyan Schism, while " Catholicus" Avas 
 urging that the gross neglect of the Church almost drove 
 men into it. Certain it is, that the later views of the Bish- 
 op were far less latitudinarian than they are represented in 
 the poem ; and I rejoice to own that if my own views are 
 not wholly one-sided and illiberal, I am greatly indebted for 
 their balance and harmony, to the attractive force and fun- 
 damental orthodoxy of his broader Churchmanship. 
 
 In "The Martyrdom of St. Peter and St. Paul," we 
 have another poem full of the author's piety, and very 
 deeply imbued with his spirit of primitive faith and feeling. 
 The more fanciful " Death of St. John" is conceived in the 
 same spirit, and might have made part of the same poem, 
 perhaps, but for the difference in the scene, and the diffi- 
 culty of connecting it with the city of Rome. Like the 
 " Palestine" of Bishop Heber, these are not the mere suc- 
 cessful performances of a graduate ; they are poems which 
 have in them a salt of perpetuity, and which partake of the 
 lasting interest of the Truth of God. 
 
 Unconsciously, this preface has already become too long. 
 I need say nothing of the smaller poems, most of M'hich 
 are of a popular cast, and will first attract the reader's at- 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 tention. Who that observes the unfinished design with 
 which the book concludes, will not find in it fresh reason to 
 lament the death of the Bishop, to human minds so un- 
 timely and deplorable. A single shaft assures us what the 
 fabric would have been, had he lived to complete it, and to 
 give us a view of religion in successive stages of human 
 life. This, however, his whole career presents us in a more 
 practical way. Among "' the Poets of Religion," whom he 
 has so felicitously celebrated, he has all unconsciously in- 
 scribed his own name ; and I rejoice to believe that when 
 our native land, in due time, shall have largely identified 
 itself with the Church of which he was a Bishop, the place 
 assigned him by competent criticism will be such as shall 
 make these poems no inconsiderable part of the Life's work, 
 by which he " being dead, yet speaketh." 
 
 A. C. C. 
 
 NOVEMBBK, 1867. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Page 
 The Family Burial Place, 1 
 
 Aspirations. A teanslation from the Latin, - . . . 88 
 
 Morning Hymn, " " " 92 
 
 The Strife of Brothers, - 94 
 
 Missionary Hymn. A translation from the German of Stolberg, 137 
 To the Redeemer A translation from the German of K'.opstock, 138 
 
 The Son of Man — The King of Kings, 141 
 
 "I Sing to Thee with Heart and Voice." A translation from 
 
 the German of Paul Gerhard t, 143 
 
 " O My Creator, when Thy Might." A translation fi-ora the 
 
 German of Gellert, 147 
 
 The Martyi-dom of St Peter and St. Paul, - - - - 1,50 
 
 The Death of St John, 185 
 
 Psalm XXV, 196 
 
 Psalm CXLVIII, - - - - 199 
 
 The Poets of Religion, 201 
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 The Spii-it of Rhode Island in 1842, 226 
 
 Virginia to the North in 1861, 228 
 
 The Confederacy of Treason, 229 
 
 The Old Blue Coat, 232 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 One of the Noble Army, 236 
 
 Lines on the Departure of the Prince ot Wales, - - - 239 
 The Hours, . - - 240 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pass 
 
 The Christian Traveler, 245 
 
 The Unbroken Bond, - - 247 
 
 Ode for the Centennial Celebration of Brown University, - 249 
 
 Letter to Mrs. Sigoumey, - - 250 
 
 Presentation Lines, 253 
 
 Song for a Sewing School, 254 
 
 Inscription for a Bible, 254 
 
 Close of General Convention in 1850, 255 
 
 Serpent's Hiss, .-...-.-. 258 
 
 Farewell to a Teacher, 259 
 
 To God be endless gloiy given, -..--- 260 
 
 The Great Physician, 262 
 
 Funeral Hymn, 263 
 
 " Who will say Prayers when Father is gone 1" - - - 267 
 
 On Sailing, - 268 
 
 On Coming in Sight of Land, 269 
 
 On Arriving in Port, 270 
 
 The Christian's Dream, 271 
 
 "I Put away Childish Things," 275 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 1827. 
 
 Dun autumn fades ; the moaning breeze is chill ; 
 The oaks' sere foliage strews the grassy hill ; 
 Slow seek yon ling'ring clouds their dreary West ; 
 Dai-k on the bay the billow rolls to rest ; 
 From field and town the mingling murmurs come ; 
 J)own the white wall the beetle wakes his drum ; 
 Around, the rustling weeds and wild flowers wave, 
 Alike by mural vault and lowly grave ; 
 And mournful nature lends a mother's sigh, 
 And lulls in sleep the dead that round me He. 
 An hour I steal from earth's corroding chains, 
 Forget the wild that yet to pass remains. 
 And o'er my kindred's dust in secret tread. 
 Last of the race whose couches here are spread. 
 
 This little spot, whose narrow bounds enclose 
 From others' dead my buried line's repose. 
 This little spot to me may lovely seem 
 As fades its turf in autumn's fading gleam. 
 While ev'ry name each verdant mound above, 
 Recalls a beaming glance, an heart of love ; 
 And sad as lovely ; forms are mould'ring here 
 For whom my form had joy'd to press the bier ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 The rev'rend locks that chain'cl my childish look 
 As came a grandsire's praise with toy oi- book : 
 The tender eyes that "watch'd my cradled sleep, 
 Gave back my smile, and wept that I must weep ; 
 The guardian hand that sway'd my riper hours. 
 And op'd my way to wisdom's realm of flowers ; 
 My boyhood's mates, that cheer'd with sparkling mien 
 The vent'rous sport, the study's calmer scene ; 
 And they whose love a double sway could hold 
 Through kindred's bands, and beauty's links of gold ; 
 For each its sign some pale memorial rears, 
 O'er each memorial fall affection's tears. 
 
 But more than sad and fair the greensward blooms : 
 I walk, an hermit, mid the martyrs' tombs. ^ 
 
 This little sj)ot has none within its breast, 
 But heav'n may hail to that immortal rest : 
 There sleeps not one, save those whose infant clay 
 Scarce dimm'd Avith sin the ransomed spirit's ray ; 
 There sleeps not one beneath this hallow'd dust, 
 But fix'd on high in death a living trust ; 
 There sleeps not one, but long with soul renew'd 
 The radiant path of sainted hosts pursued ; 
 There sleeps not one, but now from bhss may part, 
 In love and hope to watch a chasten'd heart. 
 
 A race was ours of old Fingallian fame ; 
 From northern Albyn's utmost hills we came : 
 Where o'er the spray the wheeling sea-birds shriek, 
 From Pentland's foam to Wrath's wild, -windy peak, 
 There lighting far the dim Orcadian deep, 
 Our ancient chiefs' tall turrets crown the steep : 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 3 
 
 There yet our clan the strong right hand may boast 
 That hurled the Dane to Lochlin's misty coast ; 
 Ttiat plied the chase, the feud, by strath and giade ; 
 That bore at Brace's back a patriot blade ; 
 That pour'd its blood in Flodden's ghastly tide ; 
 That loyal struck for Bothwell's rescued bride ; 
 That led to foreign fight our kindred bands, 
 When burst the lion Swede o'er Saxon sands ; 
 That drew with brave Montrose bai'onial swoixl ; 
 That won from Brunswick thanks for crowns restor'd ; 
 Tliat still, where knightly shields have thickest press'd. 
 For throne and shrine has rear'd a champion's crest. 
 A friendless youth that Highland home forsook. 
 O'er many a realm his guided journey took. 
 And resting last beyond the spreading sea. 
 The line began that ends, alas ! in me, 
 
 His bones are here, from other soil convey'd ; 
 Here, close beneath our elm-tree's ancient shade ; 
 The grasping roots are deep below his head ; 
 The branches murmur o'er his offspring's bed. 
 He died in age, in honor's hoary prime ; 
 His youth's fond love had sought the kindlier clime ; 
 And gen'rous sons smooth'd down his way from earth, 
 And fair-hair'd prattlers laugh'd around his hearth : 
 He died in peace ; but long behind his day 
 Hung the soft tints of virtue's sunset ray ; 
 And not more ti'ue, through all his rising race, 
 Mid varied hues and lines of varied grace. 
 O'er ev'ry brow his faint resemblance shone. 
 And mark'd the kindred streams in sire and son, 
 Than glow'd through all his spirit's gentle pow'r. 
 That warm'd with grateful love the genial hour, 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL -PL A C E. 
 
 His faith that clung on one redeeming aid, 
 And went to pray, and came with all it pray'd ; 
 His lowly hope mid stern affliction's tide, 
 His fear of One, his fear of naught beside. 
 
 "With moss obscur'd his sculptur'd name appears 
 On marbles worn with rains of threescore years : 
 Beside, an equal mound serenely swells, 
 An equal stone his bride's young graces tells ; 
 And, pillowed here beyond the father's feet. 
 The noble sons in silent chambers meet. 
 Together grown, majestic as the pines 
 That look afar o'er basking flocks and vines. 
 Beneath whose arms Arcadian maidens stray. 
 Arcadian shepherds chant the am'rous lay ; 
 Spirits that brighten'd, rising on the view. 
 Till hate esteem, esteem affection grew ; 
 While round their names each rich adornment hung 
 Of skUl's tried hand, of sweet persuasion's tongue. 
 And wore the world its robe of gilded wiles. 
 And gave its laurels, gave its stealing smiles, 
 They turn'd them back to joys of purer mould 
 That mock'd its laurels, mock'd its smiles and gold ; 
 And came with all that fav'ring heav'n had lent. 
 Ere pall'd the cup, ere sunny morn was spent ; 
 Gave all to Him who gives a crown divine. 
 And rear'd and bore His passion's hallow'd sign. 
 
 The younger, nurs'd in learning's fond embrace. 
 Mid the high glories of her chosen race, 
 The breathing world of many a classic page, 
 The still, deep truth of many a mystic sage. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 The pearls and gems entwined in Eastern lore, 
 Tlie marble fanes on Hellas' summer shore, 
 A boy, a youth, to cloister'd wisdom bow'd. 
 Nor frequent shone where fiery vot'ries crowd, 
 Save when he rose as whisp'ring duty press'd. 
 And grateful pray'rs his lofty pathway bless'd. 
 Thus, long and lone, those toilsome pleasures ran, 
 And left him nerv'd, when prouder scenes began ; 
 So Rome's tough wrestler, train'd to sports severe, 
 Her stoutest champion, grasped the shield and spear, 
 His manhood sped, with ripen'd lustre crown'd. 
 And wreaths unsought his worthy temples bound : 
 He spoke, and passion dropp'd the lifted arm. 
 And taste, with parting lips, drank in the chami ; 
 He wrote, and science, at her altars Avon, 
 Rent mist and cloud from truth's transcendent sun : 
 Not his the voice that lauds triumphant wrong. 
 Nor his the pen that lures an erring throng. 
 Nor his the soul that flings on glory's blaze 
 The incense hallow'd for a purer praise. 
 When virtue sank, his arm her stay upheld. 
 When virtue soar'd, his joy her pinions swell'd ; 
 The spreading bounty's full Hydaspian tide, 
 Th' ascending group his step would onward guide. 
 The fire-side ring where chasten'd mirth was warm. 
 And where he bow'd, the altar's rev'renc'd form. 
 These saw his heart from toils and honors rush, 
 A captive loos'd, to freedom's mountain flush. 
 Without a stain he mov'd in eyes below. 
 And life was giv'n almost Avithout a woe. 
 Sweet, transient, pure, as fragrant lavers pour'd 
 For auests that meet to invd a regal board. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Yet nauglit had earth to chain the ri.-ing mind 
 That tearless all that joyous lot resign'd, 
 While yet his spring its rays of promise threw, 
 And brighten'd on to summer's golden hue. 
 Deep, deep within the pale destroyer prey'd. 
 And, oft retiring, still his ambush made ; 
 Till worn, subdued, the victim spread his sail 
 For climes where health breathes milder in the gale, 
 And trac'd with genius' eye the realms of art 
 By mount and shore, at shrine and bow'r and mart : 
 But vainly op'd that classic South to him ; 
 His might was crushed, his sinking fire was dim ; 
 Oppress'd he look'd or Baiae's moon-light wave. 
 And boding stood by tuneless Maro's grave, 
 With awe and praise and high reliance trod 
 Where sainted blood once ran along the sod: 
 Then pensive thought recall'd his lonely dome, 
 And far he came to lay his dust' at home. 
 Life ebb'd apace : th' imprison'd breezes slept ; 
 A weary watch the patient suff'rer kept; 
 The morn beheld his eyelids westward strain. 
 The evening saw them cross the western main. 
 While fancy reach'd to scenes where redden'd yet 
 The orb that hasted, there like him to set. 
 He liv'd to see, expanding on the skies. 
 His misty hills from ocean's bosom rise. 
 To breathe a day his home's erdiv'ning air. 
 To pour with one belov'd his dying prayer, 
 To soothe with comfort rich and ne'er forgot 
 The weeping girl that mourn'd her oi'phan lot ; 
 Then thank'd the mercy that denied not this. 
 And sank in gentle sleep, and woke in bliss. 
 
THE FAMILY B L' R I A L -PL A C E . i 
 
 The elder was my grandsire : mem'ry now 
 Has sketch'd for me that mildly beaming brow ; 
 Dimly I i?ee through time's mysterious screen 
 The eyes that watch'd my sports along the green, 
 And, faintly borne, the voice of kindness hear. 
 Sweet, as the woodland song in childhood's ear. 
 Thron'd on his knee, or couch'd beside his chair, 
 Or Avith bold fingers twin'd amidst his hair, 
 When evening came, we press'd the rev'renc'd man, 
 Till, meetly phras'd for youthful strength to span. 
 His honey'd speech, with Pylian wisdom stor'd, 
 Drew some bright tale from age's garnish'd hoard, 
 Bright with the loftier truth that glow'd within, 
 That back to heav'n our young desires would win. 
 In youth he march'd to bear his art of life 
 On fields where battle wove its wildest strife ; 
 And sighing saw, that fortress steep below. 
 From gallant Howe the life-blood torrent flow. 
 When Britain's arms that northern war forbore. 
 For many a year his peaceful summers wore : 
 He would not crave a leaf from higli renown. 
 But gave his hope to truth's unfading crown. 
 And taught around his virtue's subject ring 
 The blossoms foir of faith and love to spring. 
 When o'er the couch where strength in ruins lay. 
 Or languid flash'd young beauty's trembling ray, 
 He stoop'd in fear till mute despondence rose. 
 Then grasp'd his heart such heart's most secret woes 
 And for the just whose hour of vict'ry came. 
 He caught the sound of love's almighty Name, 
 Borne on soft voices from the higher sphere, 
 Like nature's voice when harvest days are near : 
 
THE FABIILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 And on the -wretch whose years, a stormy train, 
 Kush'd black'ning in o'er mem'ry's hopeless wane, 
 He call'd that Sun which fills all mortal air 
 Till the dread dial pauses at despair. 
 Nor, when the pest was stay'd amidst its blight, 
 And mourn'd and mourners rose to life and light, 
 Eestrain'd his lips the precept wise that drew 
 Beyond his art that could not half subdue, 
 An humble praise on love's ascending wing 
 For earth's and hcav'n's bright light and life to brin< 
 To him for help the helpless widow sped ; 
 Within his gate the orphan found his bread ; 
 And many a poor man, when, from toil releas'd. 
 His offspring gather'd round their homely feast, 
 And, all the evening's harmless pleasures o'er. 
 Heard by their hut the sweeping tempest roar, 
 And read the word above the glowing brands, 
 And rose to kneel and fold beseeching hands, 
 Call'd all to bring to deep devotion's shrine, 
 In grateful thought my grandsire's name and line 
 And I remember when, his trial past, 
 His spirit parted, faithful to the last. 
 And I, a child, in sable vestments clad. 
 Stood near his hearse with mien amaz'd and sad. 
 How low'r'd around an hundred forms of gloom. 
 And not a form but wept the patriarch's doom. 
 The fair one's tears fell gushing o'er his grave. 
 As flings its dew the willow on the wave ; 
 Tears hurried down the boy's dejected cheek ; 
 Tears spoke the grief the vet'ran could not speak ; 
 And the lost wand'rer heav'd once more a pray'r. 
 And sigh'd to sleep as slept the righteous tliere. 
 
THE FAMILY B U K 1 A L - r L A C E . 
 
 And oft, ere yet in beauteous coldness lay 
 The tranquil brows that seem'd to mock decay, 
 We deein'd it sweet in summer's sabbath eve, 
 Above his dust the gather'd flow'rs to leave, 
 And fix'd like him on higher, holier might, 
 Our spirits' pinions plume for future flight : 
 We deem'd it sweet, till bound the just award 
 My soul to heav'n by many an equal cord, 
 And, one by one, our circle thinn'd its rounds. 
 And, one by one, arose these speaking mounds. 
 
 So sleep the brethren : who should sleep beside, 
 Who but the widow'd Avife, the faded bride ? 
 One ceas'd at noon a short, an halcyon course, 
 One late and lonely heard the tempest hoarse ; 
 For one pure life was like the gentle brook, 
 In verdant dell its lowly spring that took, 
 And, winding on by bow'rs and palms and mead- . 
 With sparkling breast a thousand violets feeds. 
 And foaming lightly o'er a single rock, 
 Embosoms deep its w ave with scarce a shock : 
 One like the flood in lofty bleakness nurs'd, 
 That, dark but firm, o'er barren ramparts burst, 
 And pour'd afar its might's majestic swell, 
 And, wrapp'd in cavern'd gloom, impetuous fell. 
 But both alike beheld Judea's sun, 
 And both were taught by Sion's walls to run. 
 From high Samaar, from Carmel's crown of tree.-, 
 Till both in Jordan hail'd the happy breeze. 
 
 A matron here is laid : the years are brief 
 
 Since round her broke tlie sobs of more than griet • 
 
10 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, 
 
 We mourn'd not one for wiiom an heart could bleed 
 
 And find in sad romance a soothing weed ; 
 
 "VVe mourn'd not one for whom the pang could pierce 
 
 With bursting pow'r, with passion fleet as fierce. 
 
 But ne'er was she whose name our mem'ry wove 
 
 On every spot where joy's light step could rove, 
 
 Whom virtue crown'd with ev'ry diarm serene 
 
 O'er Eden's latest bliss the social queen, 
 
 She, round whose hearth was n,e'er a weary void, 
 
 She, all enjoying, best by all enjoy'd, 
 
 Oh, ne'er when met the band she loved and left, 
 
 Was she, was heav'n, forgot by one bereft. 
 
 Her sire's high genius sparkled in her glance ; 
 
 Her stately mother gave her brow's expanse ; 
 
 Her own bright spirit mingling, melting all, 
 
 The courteous dame aro^e within her hall. 
 
 In blended mood from years of varying fate, 
 
 The girl's hght glee, the matron's glow sedate. 
 
 To sacred truth, to gen'rous feeling true. 
 
 That kindest heart no false allurement knew, 
 
 Knew all to feel, and needed naught to feign 
 
 Of joy that swell'd in every leaping vein. 
 
 Of placid grace that wore and nurtm-'d ease. 
 
 Of love that, pleas'd itself, rejoic'd to please. 
 
 She moved on earth with :rpell of sway benign, 
 
 As blooming spring bids hidden glories shine : 
 
 Delight's pure flow'rets laughed her steps between, 
 
 Faith breathed around a balmy breeze unset'u, 
 
 Her palace home, and home her rich domain, 
 
 Her vassals all we hail'd the enchanting chain : 
 
 There built domestic bliss its regal nest. 
 
 And kindred love was e'er a welcome guest. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 11 
 
 How oft I came, how long I loitering hung, 
 
 The garden walls, the orchard shades among ; 
 
 The merriest spot for childhood's summer play, 
 
 The blithest scene where youthful friends could stray ! 
 
 And wlien rough winter's icy portals won. 
 
 The parting year drew on the year begun, 
 
 In that bless'd season crown'd with festive rite, 
 
 When hail'd their Prince descending bands of light, 
 
 While rang through olive groves the heavenly string, 
 
 And flash'd afar the seraph's starry wing. 
 
 In that bless'd season when from wand'ring lot 
 
 Tlie scatter'd race return to hall and cot. 
 
 And Yule fires blaze, and evening sports are loud. 
 
 And evening tales go round the list'ning crowd, 
 
 And knees devoted joy apart to bend. 
 
 And gusliing hearts in raptured praise ascend. 
 
 How glad were then our hours of meeting fleet. 
 
 How sure old Morven's welcome warm to greet, 
 
 Most warm, most glad, Avithin the festal gates 
 
 Where veign'd the form that here its triumph waits. 
 
 That home is chang'd ; a stranger lord uprears 
 
 High hope and joy where her's went down in fears ; 
 
 The tones she lov'd have ceas'd their happy sound ; 
 
 The iair, the good, their kindred rest have found : 
 
 She saw not all ; a flash beside her blaz'd. 
 
 To heav'n her eye the weeping mother rais'd ; 
 
 But ere our fate's dark tempest arew its veil, 
 
 That eye was clos'd, that radiant cheek was pale. 
 
 For her so bright above can sorrow flow? 
 
 Can sori-ow cease for her so bright hAow ? 
 
12 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 The manly hand that seal'd her youthful yow.s 
 
 This marble fix'd above that priceless spouse. 
 
 High o'er the ancient shield of emblems proud 
 
 A snow-white dove sails upward from the cloud ; 
 
 Half seems it glad its pinions fair to try, 
 
 And flutt'ring half in ling'ring round to fly. 
 
 Few words recall th' illumin'd faith that shed 
 
 Its twilight beams around her soften'd bed ; 
 
 And brief and sweet, in mem'ry's still content, 
 
 Flows, pensive flows, a classic love's lament. 
 
 By chasten'd hope the off 'ring fond was wrought, 
 
 By hope that grew from lessons sternly taught ; 
 
 For he with whom her bridal torch was lit. 
 
 Who o'er its gleam forbade a shade to flit, 
 
 Whose heart's deep caves its spicy odors kept 
 
 Till death's damp vapors through their archway swep; 
 
 He early prov'd the shiv'ring arms of youth, 
 
 But sacred sorrow steeled his mail with truth. 
 
 When op'niiig life its promis'd goal display'd. 
 
 On high he stood, in graceful pow'r array'd : 
 
 To ev'ry crown ambition pointed far. 
 
 Bent o'er the steeds, and sped the brilliant car ; 
 
 Accomplish'd beauty claim'd the myrtle spray. 
 
 And lettered wit the wreath of Pythian bay ; 
 
 In shining band the courted praises met, 
 
 As southern gems in gay tiara set : 
 
 The gen'rous mind each splendid praise may taste. 
 
 They willing spring in virtue's wildest waste ; 
 
 And yet such regal soul the gem disdains, 
 
 And wears alike its fortunes, crowns and chains ; 
 
 So equal shar'd his people's noblest sire 
 
 Vincennes' hushed wood, and Lybya's sands of fire. 
 
THE FAJIILY HUKIAL-PLACE. 1,') 
 
 Still on and on the aspiring racer hied 
 Where heartless pleasure leagu'd with heartless pride ; 
 And if he shunn'd of tainting shame the spot, 
 Avail'd it aught, the loftiest name forgot? 
 But o'er his path, when struggling (onscience reclM, 
 Preserving angels spread their snowy shield ; 
 And when at length he stood the couch beside 
 Where all a brother's love in triumph died. 
 And when in death a mothei^'s tender eyes 
 Imploring call'd where mother's pray'rs arise, 
 Sweet mercy barb'd the shafts in kindness sent, 
 And, sick at soul, to lonely shades he went. 
 By slow decay the ci'umbling fetters broke, 
 In happy hour Avhile grief and nature spoke ; 
 They spoke when midnight from her starry reign 
 Sent down the voice of spirits loos'd from pain ; 
 They spoke when morning, bursting o'er the isle.-, 
 Woke glad creation's vast cathedral piles ; 
 And holy tones along his bosom rush'd. 
 Till the deep flow of hallow'd sorrow gush'd, 
 When o'er the landscape rose the Sabbath morn 
 O'er waving fields and golden harvest corn, 
 And from the village fane the humble hind 
 Rais'd the true vows each simple soul enshrin'd : 
 Oh, far from peace more envied sjnrits stray 
 Till earth's gay hues are swept in clouds awa} ! 
 On roU'd his years ; and when he came to weep 
 Her whose bright name these stones sepulchral keeji. 
 The hope of years sprung up around the tomb, 
 And in his death he pluck'd its fragrant bloom. 
 The last dear tribute o'er her ashes paid, 
 Her lightest wish with anxious truth obey'd, 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Ill duty's walk, in virtue's foremost rank, 
 With brief farewell the trusting servant sank. 
 And sinkhig gave, in all her mother's charms. 
 His lonely child to love's enfolding arms. 
 
 Yon sairmg fleece has westward rolled its flake, 
 And o'er the plain tli' uufetter'd sunbeams break. 
 With glowing lamp the storied sculpture pass, 
 Tiie tree's dark image fling along the grass, 
 The bird's glad whig with freer stretch unfurl, 
 And touch afar the wave's resplendent curl ; 
 And, rous'd awhile, I lift my musing gaze. 
 And roam in eye the prospect's varied maze. 
 But sad the scene in Tadmor's ruined street. 
 When sound by night the camels' echoing feet. 
 And pours the caravan its pilgrim troop 
 Where shone of old Zenobia's princely group ; 
 E'en thus to me, as o'er the valley brown 
 And up its ramparts sweeps my smiling town. 
 While, brightly smooth, the mingling waters glide, 
 And lift the ambient hills their verdant pride, 
 E'en thus to me a voice of mournhig calls, 
 From earth's green shades, from man's responding wall- 
 And speaks, howe'er the hurrying throng may burn, 
 With ivy crown'd, affection's mouldering urn. 
 The busy mart a fresh remembrance yields, 
 And lone meniorJals haunt the silent fields ; 
 Spring lights the vale, the fanning zephyr blows ; 
 But who with me shall pluck the op'ning rose ? 
 The gleaming autumn trails its wealth of sheaves. 
 And, with'ring fast, shakes down the forest leaves ; 
 
THE FAMILY B U R I A L - T L A C E . x-i 
 
 But who with me the while shall pensive look, 
 
 And wisdom learn from nature's moral book ? 
 
 1 roam afar, to richer regions flee ; 
 
 But, aching sorrow, who shall roam from thee ? 
 
 I homeward turn ; along the yellow strand 
 
 Glad voices shout, and breasts of joy expand ; 
 
 For all but me appears a kindred face, 
 
 And proffer kindred arms the warm embrace. 
 
 Sad sighs the gale amidst my scenes of sport ; 
 
 Th' untrodden grass has cloth'd my lonely court ; 
 
 Sad on my ear the stream's faint murm'rings die, 
 
 And sad re-ounds the warbler's mellow cry ; 
 
 I tread the hall ; beneath my wonted track 
 
 The dismal silence rings an echo back ; 
 
 Soft, was the shape by curious fancy drawn, 
 
 On sped a shadow o'er the velvet lawn ? 
 
 Hark, 't was the breeze ; but whisp'ring through it seem; 
 
 To waft a sound that haunts my happier dreams, 
 
 The laughing voice of frank and youthful mirth. 
 
 When sparkling glances lit the festal hearth 
 
 Vain mem'ry, vain ! but where the Avillow thi'ov.s 
 
 O'er Gothic walls its boughs in soft repose. 
 
 Where darts the sunbeam up the shad'wy aisle 
 
 In emblem meek of heav'n's unclouded smile. 
 
 There, though beside a stranger's knee recline. 
 
 Nor soar as once the pray'r belov'd with mine. 
 
 Yet, girt with faith that mid tlie burning fight 
 
 Turns lance and arrow from its scales of light. 
 
 Yet, sooth'd by hope that, smiling through her tears, 
 
 With humble arm her azure banner rears. 
 
 Yet, waim with love that waits the glorious hour 
 
 When conqu'ring mercy dons the robes of pov.-'r, 
 
10 THE FA3IILY BURIAL-PLACK. 
 
 My heart may rest in sorrow's slumb'rings calm, 
 And breathe the gale from Salem's groves of palm. 
 Such welcome winds the anguish'd members fann'd, 
 Above whose dust I now have paus'd to stand, 
 When fell decay their bursting fibres wrung, 
 And slow behind severe destruction clung, 
 When life's wild throbs tumxiltuous sank and heav'd 
 Through years that (old but hope no more believ'd. 
 
 As some tall palace lif s each eolumn'd arch. 
 In semblance smiles o'er havoc's meaner march. 
 With graceful pride reflects the western sun 
 From walls Avhose heights no mossy flag has won, 
 Though far beneath the deep foundations cow'r'd, 
 When o'er the land the giant earthquake tow'r'd, 
 Though still within that mining victor toils, 
 And ceaseless ruin heaps increasing spoils, 
 Till downward swept when every lattice glows. 
 With sudden crush the beauteous pageant goes ; 
 So suff''ring stood, so fell with swift relief 
 Our eldest stay, our race's honor'd chief. 
 Such name we gave in clansmen's fancied zeal. 
 And well that mind such gen'rous tie could feel. 
 And well had borne, had loftier doom allow'd, 
 The proudest crest of Scotland's thanedoms proud ; 
 Plad left, as now, a name as richly graced, 
 A patriarch's tent on mem'ry's gloomy waste ; 
 Had joy'd to see along his subject glen 
 The harvest's wealth, the mirth of stalwarlh men, 
 With hamlets green the lake's bright edge to gem, 
 With bow'rs surround the ash's mountain si-em. 
 Where foam'd the torrent down his Highland rocks. 
 And bath'd their sides a thousand snowy flocks ; 
 
THE FAMILY BUKIAL-PLACE. 17 
 
 Had lov'd to hear liis foll'wer's long array 
 With simple joy awake his portals gray ; 
 And most had lov'd each faithful step to call 
 Where girt the graves his sires' old chapel wall, 
 Mid kindred forms as bow'd his sires to bow, 
 With kindred lips to breathe responsive vow ; 
 And thus confirm'd, while bade his mild command 
 Glad plenty smile on labor's swarthy hand. 
 And oft and long, in ev'ning's quiet shade, 
 His blithest notes the household harper play'd, 
 Immortal truth and living grace had sown. 
 And fix'd in peaceful breasts his Saviour's throne. 
 But not with him a warmer wish could fall. 
 Had plume and banner crown'd his costlier pall, 
 A warmer wish than sank in many an eye 
 When piercing pain half wrung a single sigh, 
 As, cloudless still, his summer's ruddy light 
 Blush'd, broaden'd, redden'd, faded, into night. 
 With prescience long he watch'd the mortal blow, 
 So sure, so swift ; nor crav'd he more to know ; 
 But like the trav'ler who at distance sees 
 His cottage taper twinkling through the trees, 
 And, all his perils, all his pains forgot. 
 Still warmer pants to gain that halcyon spot. 
 In fancy opes his home's impatient door. 
 And greets his clinging children o'er and o'er ; 
 And pond'ring fond the scene, the moment near. 
 The tale to tell, the welcome words to hear. 
 Feels kindling life with quicker pulses swim. 
 Feels buoyant strength in ev'ry tiring limb ; 
 He mov'd to death, and while he onward drew. 
 And other worlds arose in clearer view. 
 
18 THE FAMILY B U R I AL -P L A C K . 
 
 It might have seeniM. some glow of heav'n's own ii/c 
 Some warblings tar that join"d a heavn'ly lyre. 
 Some glimpse of bliss through clouds a moment riv'n. 
 Some seraph voice that told of sins forgiv'u. 
 Had taught him here, iu still victorious grace. 
 The glorious path that angels' footsteps trace. 
 Then ev'rv hour a Avilling tribute bore. 
 And fell the fruit from boughs that bloom'd before : 
 Then frequeut broke the kr.ell of parting time 
 On closer pray'r and patience more sublime ; 
 Each precious day some rich memorial gave. 
 Of deeper speech above the closing grave, 
 The precept wise, the truth remember'd oft, 
 The kind reproof, so mournful yet so soft. 
 And many a deed of such as lend their charm? 
 To tell the faith that conquer'd death disiirms, 
 When tranquil sinks the suppliant tired to sleep. 
 And doubt is merg'd. and love delight^ to weep. 
 He spake not oft of solemn parting nigh, 
 And few untaught could desp'rate sign descry 
 "When paleness calm hi- manly brow o'erspread. 
 Or ting'd his cheek the flash of fev'rish red : 
 And when he died, though all we wish'd was told. 
 And pure and radiant shone the bumish'd gold. 
 Tet saw we not his spirit's raptur'd hope 
 To present sense the realms of promise ope, 
 Tet saw we not the joy of ling'ring death 
 Wliose worth departs on pray'r s ascending breath. 
 Together were we, all a household ring ; 
 Soft through the lattice blew the breeze of spring ; 
 But not more soft fix)m field and early flow'r. 
 Than came the sway of mem'ry's pensive pcw'r : 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-rLACE. l.> 
 
 For one was thei'e whom foreigii suns had burii'd. 
 A sire, a brother, home in peace returned : 
 And since before he trod that wonted room. 
 One place belov'd was veil'd in tender gloom : 
 To him he spoke of her the fair, the young. 
 Who falter'd, fell, a plamtive lyre unstrung ; 
 To him he told with warm, with grateful tears. 
 How shone the charm that ev'r}' chann endears ; 
 What sweet support her conscious weakness felt 
 Where near the cross she early, truly knelt : 
 Then, tracing back his life's rememberd road. 
 He spoke of love where'er his feet abode ; 
 Of mercies lent, of months of dear employ. 
 Of bless'd companions gone in hope and joy : 
 He spoke of all who round his board arose 
 In truth's pure light that brighten'd to the close : 
 Then sank his voice, his eye more laintly beam'd. 
 Pale mov'd his lips, one sigh of pray'r it seem'd : 
 In frail relief his brother's arms were cast, 
 But with that sigh the flutt'ring spirit pass'd. 
 
 . Three little graves, three simple names appear. 
 Of three bright babes whose dust is slumb'ring here : 
 But better life the chast'ning hand convey'd. 
 And bloom they now where Eden ne'er decay'd. 
 
 Two later born to dawning boyhood came ; 
 Health sped the hours with pleasure's laughing gam: 
 Glad sight it was to watch their toil and play 
 While pride nor passion marr'd the livelong day ; 
 And light the sleep where guardian cherubs kncAv 
 Each sin confess'd, and spotless curtains drew. 
 
20 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Hours of the Lord, the earhest and the best, 
 
 To them ye came with all your balmy rest, 
 
 With all your train of pleasures mild and meek. 
 
 That beam'd in hope through all the passing week, 
 
 The quiet morn that tun'd their grateful hymn, 
 
 The swelling chant along the arches dim, 
 
 Pray'r's mingling tones, salvation's word of pow'r, 
 
 The bended knee in wisdom's secret bow'r ; 
 
 The summer walk that led their happy feet 
 
 Where poor content had found a lone retreat, 
 
 To blind old age the book of truth to read, 
 
 Or teach the infant lip its psalm and creed ; 
 
 The winter fireside, where the .social blaze 
 
 Match'd its warm hues with twilight's redd'ning rays, 
 
 Bright round the wall reveal'd each honor'd head 
 
 In pictur'd life, the distant and the dead, 
 
 Sliew'd where below, those leaves of knowledge clos'd, 
 
 Unruffled brows in heav'nly thought repos'd. 
 
 And heav'nly speech like Indian breezes flow'd. 
 
 That waft the voy'ger while they cheer his road ; 
 
 The still resolve, as night's last vows were made. 
 
 Ere moonlight dreams had wove their mystic shade 
 
 To pant no more from walks of peace to roam 
 
 Till led that peace to see her heav'nly home. 
 
 Oh, loveliest childhood where the cherish'd root. 
 
 In promise rich of many a future fruit. 
 
 By that fair stem its spreading buds had cast 
 
 Whose sov'reign verdure shields from ev'ry blast ! 
 
 First died the younger : on his couch of pain 
 Hot fever rag'd, and shook the madd'ning brain ; 
 
THK FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 21 
 
 In frequent pangs his nervous frame he turn'd, 
 
 And his bold eye with strange effulgence burn'd : 
 
 How sad a scene when on its startled gaze 
 
 Wild phantoms broke in many a horrid maze. 
 
 And the poor suff'rer, trembling at his dreams, 
 
 Clung round his mother's neck with sobs and screams ; 
 
 Sad, but we kneAv the dreadful reign was brief, 
 
 And ev'ry change must bring a bless'd relief. 
 
 One night he slept, and she who watched him knew 
 
 His troubled pulse more mild and milder grew, 
 
 And came his breath, releas'd from fierce disease, 
 
 Like weary moans of April's dying breeze : 
 
 He woke, and mark'd her eye above him bent 
 
 Where hope and fear, fast rallying, came and went 
 
 His brow Avas smooth, his feeble tones were kind. 
 
 And filial love reveal'd th' emerging mind. 
 
 Then in that hour a gentle boon he sought, 
 
 Some word of heav'n with sacred comfort iraught : 
 
 Then in that hour she read an heavenly page 
 
 That oft could quell his fiery current's rage, 
 
 How in his arms th' eternal Saviour press'd 
 
 Meek childhood's forms, and lov'd and prais'd and 
 
 bless'd. 
 While heav'n for them its portals wider flung. 
 And angel notes a sweeter Avelcome sung. 
 No groan he breath'd ; above his quiet bed 
 Fell oft and low the gracious words she read ; 
 While his pale brother, pale with watching fears, 
 Beside the pillow hid his many tears : 
 Her voice had ceas'd a moment's solemn space ; 
 A closing radiance lit the suff'rer's face ; 
 
22 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 '• Forgive me, each," he said, " th' ungrateful clee-l, 
 The word unkind, my passion would not heed : 
 Forgive, my mother : oh, my Lord forgave, 
 And now is with me, now is here to save." 
 Few words and faint exhausted nature lent. 
 Of hope, of prayer, of kindness, of content ; 
 A few short hours, and fled a languid guest 
 The silent mansion of that noble breast. 
 
 Fair as the fairest form young mothers paint 
 Their youthful hero, poet, sage or saint, 
 Hope of all hearts, and joy of ev'ry eye. 
 His gentle brother yet prepared to die. 
 E'en from his infant years he learn'd to feel 
 What scarce enough our riper age may seal ; 
 To calling wisdom gave attentive ears, 
 Stretch'd his warm wish beyond terrestrial spheres 
 Nor less, for thoughts that sought a purer scene, 
 Enjoy'd, adorn'd the transient vale between. 
 His laugh was frankest in the merry throng ; 
 His voice was sweetest in the childish song ; 
 His step was lightest at his mother's beck ; 
 His arm was fondest on his sistei^'s neck ; 
 His tear was readiest at the moan of grief 
 His hand was kindest in the swift relief. 
 He knew the walks where mute reflection roves, 
 The shaded founts, the dim, sequester'd groves ; 
 The lone hill-side where fancy comes to muse 
 Mid morn's gray mists or evening's early dews : 
 He lov'd them all, yet not in pensive gloom. 
 E'en when he mourn'd a brother's closing tomb ; 
 
TIIK FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 23 
 
 A meeker shcade perchance his feature; wove, 
 Perchance a softer tinge his spirit bore ; 
 All else the same, in cheerful, gentle grace 
 Each kind emotion sparkled o'er his face. 
 That always spoke, and spoke in accents t ue, 
 That smil'd on all, nor hail'd the less a few. 
 He thought of death ; but not as sinks the ey.' 
 From Vallombrosa ranging earth and sky. 
 Bright Arno's vale and Florence' palace piles, 
 Till glows the hermit's cheek with youthful smile-, 
 But heaves his breast beneath the sackcloth belt. 
 And darts the pang in timely penance felt ; 
 So griev'd not he : in pleasure's easy road, 
 In the calm course his daily duty showed, 
 Where'er he mov'd, that thought its influence gave ; 
 And all his virtues kindled at the grave. 
 Just at that time when first the gorgeons joy 
 Of manly honors fires the dreaming boy, 
 From health he sank, from beauty, genius, go'd. 
 That all were brightest, parting from his hold. 
 Beyond the hills that bound yon northern plain, 
 A pleasant river murmurs to the main : 
 Down a fair vale a narrow fall it pours, 
 And scatter'd willoAvs droop along its shores : 
 Where scarce its sound the distant trav'ler hears, 
 My cousin's home its rural beauty rears. 
 The summer sun that scene in splendor lav'd. 
 And light the summer gale the branches wav'd, 
 And, whisp'ring through his chamber's leafy shade, 
 O'er his moist lip the cooling freshness play'd, 
 As each lov'd haunt in sad succession met 
 His last subduing glance of fond regret. 
 
24 THE FAMILY BUKIAL-PLACE 
 
 Thick flowers o'erhung the garden's rich alcove, 
 
 And dark with foliage rose the stately grove ; 
 
 On glitt'ring wing the happy insect stirr'd, 
 
 From bush and bow'r awoke the happy bird ; 
 
 Luxuriant verdure wrapp'd the hillock's bi-ow, 
 
 And blushing fruits weigh'd down the orchard bough ; 
 
 O'er the smooth mead the cattle sought the ford ; 
 
 Fiom yellow fields the mounting skylark soar'd ; 
 
 And all Avere his, his childhood's lovely home, 
 
 And all had promis'd riper jov to come. 
 
 To live were bless'd, might neaven such doom decree, 
 
 The blooming scion of a graceful tree. 
 
 To lift the hopes that round his fortunes clung, 
 
 To cheei" the walks that far before him sprung : 
 
 But pass'd the wish as morning shadows cea>e. 
 
 Nor mov'd a sigh his bosom's spotless peace. 
 
 I was not there, but I have heard them tell 
 
 Whom deep remembrance taught to paint it well. 
 
 What angel beauty charm'd them while he gaz'd 
 
 Where clouds o'er clouds their snowy splendor rais'd. 
 
 In long array beneath the sunbeam cast 
 
 Like bannered armies when the war is past. 
 
 He died as meekly on his mother's breast 
 
 As when her arms his infant sleep caressed, 
 
 And, bending low to kiss his beauteous brow. 
 
 She craved for him such hope as blessed him now ; 
 
 How easy then th' endearing morn to -wait. 
 
 But now, his long, long rest, how still and late ! 
 
 I cannot turn this nearest grave to view, 
 
 Where seems the turf to spread its greenest hue. 
 
THE FAMILY B U U I AL -PL A C E. 2 
 
 I cannot think on lier I must not sec, 
 
 So lov'd of all, of none more lov'd than nic, 
 
 But deathless joys with brighter radiance {i'ov,. 
 
 Though fresher tears awhile perforce must flow. 
 
 To meet her once, but once her smile to sliare. 
 
 Remembered long, might soothe an hour of care ; 
 
 Beyond such tie each dearer thought to blend, 
 
 Of childhood's first and boyhood's fondest fiiend ; 
 
 To sanction all by still a warmer claim, 
 
 And bear and feel a kinsman's favor'd name ; 
 
 These cherished mem'ries bind mc Avhere she lie.- . 
 
 These hallowed mem'ries point me to the skies. 
 
 E'en such the form that on the minstrel beamed 
 
 Who once of Scotia's royal Mary dream'd ; 
 
 And never bard before queen Mary knelt, 
 
 Or knight for her put on the spur and belt, 
 
 With truer breast than I to bleed had borne 
 
 Ere wrong or woe that matchless heart should mourn 
 
 I asked not, gave not, more than friendship ma}' ; 
 
 Another felt th' enchant'ress' softer sway : 
 
 I gave the homage nature pays to charms 
 
 That once might set a realm, a Avorld in arms ; 
 
 The noblest place in many a youthful trance 
 
 That owned the master's song of high romance ; 
 
 The gaze that rests where lip and eye and cheek, 
 
 Though passing bright, the soul's rich beauty spealv ; 
 
 The constant service, grateful in its flight 
 
 For constant trust and hours of swift delight. 
 
 She might have glittered where, in courtly halls. 
 
 On pleasure's ear the strain of flatt'ry falls ; 
 
 Few foreheads there with costlier gems are crowned. 
 
 And none of all with lovelier tresses bound : 
 
26 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 She chose to reign in joy's serener reahar, 
 
 Beneath the shadow of her native elms, 
 
 Or where, around her winter's cheerful flame 
 
 Of those she prized the gladd'ning footsteps came. 
 
 There affluent hands the wealth of art had placed, 
 
 And ev'ry Mu.-e an off 'ring gave to taste ; 
 
 T)ie harp, the pencil, books of varied lore, 
 
 A glowing touch to all alike she bore. 
 
 But not for praise ; the feeling hour to spend. 
 
 To pay the kindness of an asking friend. 
 
 While these she sought, her beauty's golden cloud 
 
 Veil'd half her genius from th' admiring crowd. 
 
 The tunes she chose were such as chain the heart 
 
 "When mighty nature wields the arms of art ; 
 
 The thi'illing notes that match some ancient rhyme, 
 
 The vesper mu^ic of some Southern cHme, 
 
 The high lament o'er valor's honor'd bier, 
 
 And each sweet song that home makes doubly dear. 
 
 The scenes she drew her fancy much had fir'd. 
 
 Some poet's landscape, or some deed admir'd. 
 
 Or tome fair view her raptured eye sur\ey'd, 
 
 Still tracmg beauties wheresoe'er it stray'd. 
 
 Of such a few fond relics stiU are mine ; 
 
 I love to watch them in the day's decline. 
 
 While o'er my sight the shad'wy prospects glide 
 
 As when afar we sketched them, side by side. 
 
 We roamed, to soothe her father's weary days, 
 
 By mount and lake, through all romantic ways ; 
 
 And came where, rising from its wat'ry throne, 
 
 Quebec's old strength o'er rocks and ramparts shone. 
 
 We climbed to linger on the lofty steep ; 
 
 We sailed along the slumb'ring river's sweep ; 
 
THE FAMILY B U U I A L -PL AC E. 27 
 
 We saw tlie cat'racts roll their sounding floods ; 
 
 We heard the murmurs of the ancient woods ; 
 
 And on the plain Avhere AYolfe and Britain bled, 
 
 We traced the spot, each noble foeman's bed. 
 
 Her rirady skill the varying pictures caught, 
 
 And my rough tod. some Aveak resemblance wrougiii , 
 
 And when at home our travlers' tales we told, 
 
 As that brave Lycian gave his arms of gold 
 
 For Argive brass, the fairy scenes she made 
 
 In token kind for my poor gift she paid. 
 
 What happy leisure marked our rising age ! 
 
 We mused together o'er th' historic page, 
 
 With wit and truth the hours of evening spent, 
 
 Explored the track the vcnt'rous voy'ger went, 
 
 Of sag.i or chief retraced the legend gray, 
 
 Or hung delighted on the deathless lay : 
 
 Whate'er I praised her kindness loved to read. 
 
 And rightly still her modest taste decreed. 
 
 In the mid lustre of her radiant youth 
 
 She pledged the hand and heart of wedded truth, 
 
 With joyous spousals pledged : I stood beside 
 
 While many voices hailed so fair a bride, 
 
 And I could see, when ev'ry hand she pressed, 
 
 How old endearments hurried o'er her breast. 
 
 And when awhile she asked my wonted arm, 
 
 How early friendship wore a softened charm. 
 
 And buried years, and days of coming power 
 
 With sober tints could calm that festal hour. 
 
 And she too died, a mourning mother, died ; 
 
 Fast flowed and ebbed her fortune's swelling tide : 
 
 All human bliss did one brief week bestow, 
 
 A first-born's face, and health's reviving glow ; 
 
28 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 And veil'd that bliss when faintly now she smilM, 
 A faded mother o'er her pining child ; 
 And ere it clos'd, beheld their dreamless rest, 
 The lov'd one pillow'd on her shrouded breast, 
 Though yet so sweet her pallid charms she kept, 
 As angel plumes had fann'd her w^hile she slept. 
 When onward wound the long funereal train, 
 The autumn breezes swept her native plain ; 
 But all that day untouch'd the fields must wave. 
 The mourning reaper foUow'd to the grave ; 
 And as we pass'd did age and woman sigh, 
 And tears sprung up in childhood's merry eye. 
 For her wliose thanks the weariest toil repaid, 
 Whose presence smii'd on sorrow's darkest shade, 
 Who midst them grew, and midst them carried down 
 The beauty's, heiress', genius'. Christian's crown. 
 Now o'er her grave, mid changing suns and show'rs, 
 Year after year have sprung the simple flowr's ; 
 Through many a winter midnight's silence drear 
 Has howl'd the stormy blast she could not hear ; 
 The blast that oft, her mansion sweeping by, 
 But brought us pleasure in its distant sigh ; 
 Of gratefid joy it told that social room, 
 It cannot speak within the lonely tomb. 
 Yet, could my voice, my gen'rous cousin, now 
 Call back the charms that crowned thy lovely brow, 
 Could one slight word, amidst my sorrows said, 
 Warm the frank heart that moulders cold and dea 1. 
 I could not say it : thou art happier there ; 
 Thy bark is moor'd within her haven fair ; 
 And, in the glory of that world above, 
 I well believe remains thy early love ; 
 
THE FAMILY B U K I AL - 1' L A C E 20 
 
 I well believe that, while I onward glide, 
 
 To heav'n and thee my wand'rings thou would'st guide ; 
 
 And with such joy my fancy turns to thee 
 
 As felt of yore the pilgrims of the sea 
 
 When, broad and far, their nightly course to keep. 
 
 The Pharos beam'd o'er Egypt's subject deep : 
 
 Then Rome's tall galleys ran before the blast; 
 
 Free swelled the sail round old Gyrene's mast ; 
 
 The weary sons of many a blooming isle 
 
 Woke Grecian echoes from the banks of Nile ; 
 
 And the glad Hebrew, journeying on his way, 
 
 Poured forth in praise the royal prophet's lay. 
 
 When warmer gales along the meadows blort", 
 
 And mountain peaks put off their crests of snow, 
 
 Last stays the glory o'er some noble hill, 
 
 And sinking beams with radiance bright'ning still ; 
 
 Thus, tow'rds tlie grave the childless widow went. 
 
 And bore for heav'n the boon that heav'n had sent. 
 
 Fair lands and treasures rich her fortunie gave ; 
 
 Nor lands nor gold one precious life could save : 
 
 Then what remained ? O'er others woes to melt, 
 
 To spread the sov'reign balm her own had felt. 
 
 In angel deeds angelic bliss begin. 
 
 And more than all she lost press on to win. 
 
 She look'd around ; a pitying glance she threw 
 
 On many a scene the prosp'rous never knew ; 
 
 On tears, warm teai's, that all in secret gush, 
 
 On wants, stern wants, that quell the manly blush, 
 
 On ills that bind the soul's celestial might, 
 
 And hide afar its opened home of light. 
 
30 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 She saw the poor man, years of- labor done, 
 The Aveary lot that goes from sire to son. 
 On his hard couch his painful limbs compose, 
 While half he needs no gentle hand bestows ; 
 None lifts the cordial draught with ready care ; 
 None bars the sounds that sickness cannot bear ; 
 His little children shiver o'er the blaze ; 
 His patient wife a slender board arrays : 
 When he is gone, their weakness what shall shield ? 
 Small aid and slow may hearts reluctant yield ; 
 And sad the home that waits at ev'ry stage, 
 And trains from slighted youth to wretched age. 
 She saw the student, when from echoing tow'rs 
 Peals the clear knell of midnight's silent hours ; 
 Still mounts the vig'rous mind its lofty track. 
 Still woos the lore of buried sages back ; 
 But dim the lamp that lights his lonely wall. 
 On humble shelves its flutt'ring shadows fall ; 
 A tear has touch'd the scholar's homely sleeve : 
 Mid learning's wealth can learning's vot'ry grieve ? 
 He thinks of them who plied for him to-night 
 The busy toil that love can render light ; 
 Of yon fond sire who wins from hard employ. 
 And asks no more, enough to train his boy ; 
 Of yon dear mother, glad her all to spend 
 For him whom now her wistful prayers attend ; 
 Of yon pale girl, who strives in slumber now 
 To weave a laurel for her brother's brow. 
 And bounds her wants till soon his riper day 
 Shall cares and toils and gen'rous needs repay. 
 She saw the village where no pray'rs are pray'd 
 While sabbath sims forgotten rise and fade. 
 
THE FAMILY B U RI AL -T L A C E . SI 
 
 And like those suns tlie common life of man 
 
 In clouds or light completes its little span ; 
 
 No matin song its early dawning blessed, 
 
 No vesper hymn attends its evening rest. 
 
 She saw the lands where many a teeming plain 
 
 Sends its fair fruits to fill an idol's fane, 
 
 And many a city lights its gorgeous street 
 
 And pours its throng an idol's pomp to greet ; 
 
 Where, hov'ring high, the scepter'd demon flings 
 
 Despair and darkness from his sable wings, 
 
 For widow'd beauty lights the fun'ral pile, 
 
 Bares the red arm foi childhood's guiltless smile, 
 
 SnuflFs the dire scent where round th' accursed feast 
 
 The bloody warriors meet the bloodier priest. 
 
 And mocks the breath of misery's latest sigh. 
 
 The fear to perish, and the wish to die. 
 
 Her ample wealth for all she largely gave ; 
 
 Gave well in life, gave richly at the grave ; 
 
 Gave, not in pride but sure and solemn trust, 
 
 And love whose fruits spring thick around the just. 
 
 Save one the last, the votive stone was rais'd 
 
 To tell her virtues when a stranger gaz'd : 
 
 In other scenes memorials nobler cast 
 
 A soothmg splendor where her footsteps pass'd. 
 
 Thei'e is a hamlet where, beside the green, 
 
 Neat cottage roofs are ranged with trees between ; 
 
 The pleasant light plays gently through the leaves ; 
 
 Blithe chirps the swallow from the shelt'ring eaves ; 
 
 The op'ning doors a widow's toils reveal, 
 
 A child's gay sports, a grandam's busy wheel ; 
 
 To reach the gate the shouting schoolboy hie.-, 
 
 Health in his step, and laughter in his eyes ; 
 
32 THE FAMILY B URI AL -PL A C F . 
 
 In ev'ry home serene contentment dwells, 
 
 And ev'ry voice her gratel'ul praises tells, 
 
 Who all the scene with quiet plenty spread, 
 
 That want might taste, by guardian prudence led. 
 
 There is a hall where, youthful studies oer, 
 
 A band have met, again to meet no more ; 
 
 And midst that band are some whose feet have traced 
 
 The path with learning's earliest honors graced. 
 
 From prize to prize, from high to higher aim. 
 
 And still untired it glows, th' expanding flame. 
 
 WhUe mem'ry turns to muse on dearer days, 
 
 And hope awhile its onward flight delays, 
 
 One strikes the lyre ; the lyre whose mellow strain 
 
 His country strove to match and strove in vain ; 
 
 The lyre whose notes in loftier sway shall fall, 
 
 Till list'ning nations rouse them at its call : 
 
 Sad floats the lay ; but ere its music ends. 
 
 To that blessed shade the poet's soul ascends, 
 
 Who op'd the way for humble worth to run. 
 
 And gave the wreaths their own high hearts have won. 
 
 There is a church that far o'er mead and dell 
 
 Sends the sweet summons of its Sabbath bell : 
 
 There, girt around with many a household fair, 
 
 A bending pastor speaks the words of prayer ; 
 
 There hallowed waters lave the infant brow ; 
 
 There rising youth repeats the saintly vow. 
 
 There living fruits revive th' immortal breath ; 
 
 There hope illumes the peaceful place of death ; 
 
 And each glad sire, beneath the shaded wall, 
 
 Tells his young son of her who gave hirn all. 
 
 There is an island far beyond the seas. 
 
 Where groves of balm perfume the Southern breeze. 
 
THE FAMILl B UK I A L-T L A C K . 33 
 
 Where nature revels in her giant power, 
 
 Spreads the broad tree, and paints the crimson flower; 
 
 There curls the smoke above each village fire. 
 
 And, loved though rude, there shines the recent spire ; 
 
 In busy port the gallant vessel rides ; 
 
 His list'ning school the skillful teacher guides ; 
 
 And that broad ocean, where his waters roll. 
 
 Sees ne'er a lovelier land from pole to pole. 
 
 A boy beneath the embow'ring foliage lies, 
 
 1 he wond'rous page with close endeavor tries. 
 
 And, while he hears his elder comrade's tale. 
 
 How distant faith unfurled the stranger's sail. 
 
 Sent light and peace to grace their happy shore. 
 
 And gave the church one suppliant nation more, 
 
 Though all unknown the name that meets me here. 
 
 He gives the buried dust a pious tear. 
 
 Oh, souls thrice bless'd, who, bending from the skies, 
 
 See where ye sowed a glist'ning harvest rise ; 
 
 See age by age the wid'ning scene renew, 
 
 And owe and pay their grateful debt to you ; 
 
 See taste and learning deck your hallowed tomb. 
 
 And virtue press to share so high a doom : 
 
 Thrice blcs=^ed, who live in all for which we long. 
 
 In bliss, in bounty and in faithful song ! 
 
 From dift'rent path reposed her at the shrine 
 
 The second offspring of my grandsire's line. 
 
 Her's was the fate to watch from day to day 
 
 Joy's promised glories sink in sure decay ; 
 
 To risk her fortxmes on a single deck. 
 
 And mark the waves sweep o'er its dreadful wreck, 
 
34 THE FAMILY B UK I AL-PL A C IC . 
 
 To prove the wound each earthly woun:l above, 
 Cold, careless, scornful, all that once was love. 
 She wedded one who saw our western strand 
 In honor'd absence from his British land : 
 A blooming girl, for him she left her home; 
 A faithful wife, with him she lov'd to roam ; 
 Till o'er the paths where pleasure found despair, 
 She hung in daily, hung in nightly care. 
 Deceived, forsaken, pierced with ev'ry smart, 
 She gave him still a constant prayer and heart ; 
 And not in vain ; for when the message sped 
 How, sick and lone, he bow'd his friendless head. 
 The contrite words of trembling faith it brought. 
 And told of wrongs that claim'd his latest thought. 
 With five fair children here she came to dwell. 
 Where midst her kin might kindred bosoms swell : 
 Grief, friendship, nature, join'd in common tie, 
 And each young life awhile Avent peaceful by. 
 My mem'ry first the mournful image shows 
 Of death's stern form that broke the mild repose : 
 In maiden bloom a gentle daughter died; 
 The mother wept, and weeping sank beside. 
 There crossed her scene of death no dark'ning cloud ; 
 With fearless faith the willing spirit bowed : 
 Her pilgrim step had trod a weary Avay ; 
 The land she sought in vei'dant prospect lay ; 
 Nor that high trust one gloomy doubt could bear 
 But endless love could bring her oSspring there. 
 
 Then parted two at other kindred's call 
 On Isis' bank to hail the cloister'd hall : 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 6i) 
 
 Her words, her Avish, went with them o'er the mahi. 
 
 Nor word, nor wish, nor guarding pray'r in vain. 
 
 One was a scholar, of that noble host. 
 
 Majestic learning's loftiest power and boast, 
 
 Who find delight in all her manly toils, 
 
 And leave, for her, ambition's purple spoils, 
 
 Love learning's self, deem naught with learning lost, 
 
 Nor count the pain, the peril or the cost. 
 
 Still feel for her th' enthusiast fires of youth, 
 
 Win all for her, and her for sov'reign truth. 
 
 The modest strength, the calm unfalt'ring zeal, 
 
 What wisdom ever felt, 't was his to feel ; 
 
 The strength that roams amidst the starry spheres. 
 
 Yet stoops to please a child's enraptur'd ears ; 
 
 The zeal that wide through nature's depths can range. 
 
 Yet pause to hear a sailor's marvel strange ; 
 
 So modest still, from louder praise retired, 
 
 The many lov'd him, and the few admired ; 
 
 So calm, though knowledge brighten'd all his sky, 
 
 Yet one pure breast with him could all outvie. 
 
 To such a mind, if clouds and myst'ries swell 
 
 O'er scenes where frailty dwells, or hopes to dwell ; 
 
 If guiding reason shrink, as shrink she must. 
 
 To search the pathway downward to the dust ; 
 
 If sink and fade, yet dies not there the ray ; 
 
 Faith lifts the torch, illumes the narrow way, 
 
 Shows all enough to bind th' imfailing choice. 
 
 Bids erring doubt submit, revere, rejoice. 
 
 Tells the high bliss that o'er the ransom'd soul 
 
 Its glorious floods of living light shall roll. 
 
 When worlds and ages, midst its beams descried. 
 
 Shall seem in peace round wisdom's throne to glide. 
 
THE FAMILY B TRIAL-PLACE. 
 
 And therefore blessed, in Isis' ancient bowers, 
 Sped the smooth eiurent of his studious hours ; 
 And health! ul taste adorned his relished ease, 
 And quiet pleasures kept their pow'r to please. 
 Still lur'd the meadow walks his w^onted feet, 
 And still with awe he trod that stately street. 
 Still lov'd old Baliol's rev'rend wall to climb. 
 Still lov'd the music of Saint Mary's chime ; 
 Still with the wise and good, nor last nor least. 
 Of wit and friendship shared the social feast, 
 Glad as the guided bee that stooped to sip 
 The treasured dew from Plato's infant lip ; 
 Still saw mid Britain's youth with watchful eyet. 
 Band after band, her future sages rise ; 
 Still own'd with praise how rich his tranquil lot, 
 And felt in death the spirit of the spot. 
 Once, and yet once, he sought our distant shore, 
 And ran his chain of early friendships o'er ; 
 Found all the golden worth that bound him first, 
 And brighten'd each bright Hnk so soon to burst. 
 Thus pass'd his days ; and when with solenm call 
 The summons came to him that comes to all. 
 Few toils deplored, and scarce a wish denied, 
 Eesigned, sustained, he laid him down and died ; 
 And the last sounds that murmured in his ear 
 Were holy words his life had loved to hear ; 
 And the last scene that cross'd his failing sight. 
 His chamber purpled with the evening light. 
 His looks, recalling all the pleasant past. 
 His ancient hour-glass telling out the last. 
 And chosen forms that round his couch had press't 
 And shar'd the cup his dying Lord had bless' d. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 37 
 
 He sleeps where death its proudest trophies rears, 
 The piled memorials of a thousand years ; 
 He sleeps with stamless youth and rev'rend age, 
 Sleeps with the bard, the prelate and the sage ; 
 Sleeps with the noble heart that, bounding high, 
 To Oxford came, in life's bright morn to die ; 
 With the ripe scholar, wreck'd on glory's shore 
 Ere knew the world how rich a freight he bore ; 
 With the gray wisdom that at set of sun 
 Look'd back on many a path, rejoic'd in one ; 
 E'en where he ask'd, amidst that throng he lies : 
 Calm be their worthy bed, till all shall rise ! 
 
 From those monastic shades my thoughts retire, 
 And seek afar yon eastern heav'n of fire ; 
 I look on Ganges, where his might of waves 
 The silent shores to green luxuriance laves ; 
 Above me spread the banyan's hundred arms ; 
 Around, the landscape glitters in its charms ; 
 Fresh o'er the tide the fragrant breathings float ; 
 Leaps at the wafting touch yon idle boat ; 
 A thousand flow'rs in gay exub'rance spring, 
 A thousand birds ascend on painted wing ; 
 Till dazzled fancy seeks a darker view 
 Where skirt the scene yon northern mountains blue. 
 Long ere Iscander's host, by Indus' foam, 
 Weigh'd the warm joys of conquest and of home, 
 Here a tall city spread its fair domain, 
 Gardens and tow'rs, the palace and the fane, 
 All might and glare that mocks the deadly doom. 
 Pomp's golden seat, and art's mirivaled loom : 
 
 4 
 
38 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Here his tir'd course the western pilgrim stay'd ; 
 Their flowing wealth the ocean islands paid ; 
 Here jeweled beauty trod the courtly dance ; 
 And all obey'd a sceptre'd sultan's glance. 
 All has departed, all that mighty race, 
 And hard the task one ruin'd wall to trace, 
 "Where still, unscar'd, may scream the lonely owl. 
 Or yet by night the wand'ring tiger prowl : 
 Thick, waving grass the scatter'd mounds display. 
 And half the fields are rich with human clay. 
 As near the shore the traveler guides his bark, 
 A place of graves his pensive eye may mark, 
 Which British hands with British trees have set. 
 And deck'd with records fair of vain' regret ; 
 Theirs who at home the weary seasons told, 
 And look'd for hearts that ne'er before were cold. 
 And theirs who felt how sad the frequent call, 
 In foreign climes to spread a comrade's pall. 
 
 A stone is there, inscribed wdth sacred signs ; 
 The cross above, below the promise, shines ; 
 It tells of one who sought the glorious strife 
 That yet shall win a world for realms of life, 
 Dared e'en in peril's front his lot to take. 
 And preach'd the gospel for the gospel's sake. 
 While up to man in sorrow's vale he grew. 
 High aims and pure his young devotion knew : 
 He read the tale that gilds that better time 
 When spread the church her wings o'er eVrj clime. 
 Till the far Ethiop boVd his kingly knee. 
 And swept the cross Byzantium's triple sea ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 39 
 
 He long'd for scenes beheld by holy seers, 
 
 An Eden stretch'd beyond the waste of years, 
 
 Its sparkling streams encircling ev'ry land. 
 
 Its fruits all bending to the courted hand. 
 
 He ponder'd oft above the storied dead, 
 
 Martyrs and saints, the hosts that toil'd or bled ; 
 
 He heard the sounds on distant breezes stirr'd, 
 
 Faith's strengthen'd call, and victory's cheering word ; 
 
 Like that wrong'd chief he breath'd the purpose high, 
 
 " Is it a time for men at ease to lie ? 
 
 The ark of God is in the tented field ; 
 
 Israel and Judah sleep on spear and shield ; 
 
 E'en now they quake in yon beleaguer'd tow'rs : 
 
 Is it a time to dream of quiet hours ? " ' 
 
 The message came : he hail'd its welcome voice 
 
 If duty urg'd, it broke no fonder choice ; 
 
 With soul as calm, "with all as meek content, 
 
 From halls of peace to Indian shores he went, 
 
 As his who, wak'd by morning's earliest ray, 
 
 Leaves his lone chamber for the toils of day, 
 
 While health, the nymph, amidst her w^oodlands sports, 
 
 And calls his step to nature's mossy courts, 
 
 While faith beholds a Father's hand to guide. 
 
 And the pure conscience brightens all beside. 
 
 That ancient tongue, he leam'd its hidden lore, 
 
 And saw the wonders of that ancient shore ; • 
 
 Pour'd the rich music of his manly tone 
 
 Where, close beside, the proud pagoda shone ; 
 
 Call'd the glad exile, far on foreign strand. 
 
 To join the voice of all his distant land. 
 
 Till almost seem'd the dale of early days 
 
 To echo back the sound of prayer and praise ; 
 
40 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 And call'd the Pagan, toss'd from wave to wave, 
 Back to the hope th' unerring pilot gave, 
 Mid mists and storms to lead the wand'rer's way 
 O'er life's dark sea to home and peace and day. 
 There fix'd his hope, the erring soul to bring 
 To Zion's walls, the city of oui King ; 
 In doubt's sad breast the boding gloom to quell, 
 To still the woe of sorrow's long farewell. 
 And eVry bond that here affection ties, 
 In him, in all to fasten for the skies. 
 Soldier of Christ, thy mail was nobly prov'd 
 And on with thee celestial victory moved ; 
 Within her arms thy ebbing breath was spent, 
 And from thy grave with firmer helm she went. 
 Oh, not alone thy saintly virtues sleep 
 Where kindred fondness cannot come to weep ; 
 And not alone of all the blameless dead, 
 Poured that fierce sun on thy devoted head : 
 While ev'ry breeze was rich with eVry praise. 
 There clos'd the great, the good, his treasured days, 
 Who Imk'd with India's tale a single name 
 Song, letters, wisdom, all were proud to claim ; 
 There the last strain of plaintive Leyden died. 
 Far, far from love's sweet home on Teviot's side ; 
 And there, mid many a bishop's ancient rest. 
 Each swelling wish that heav'd in Heber's breast. 
 The glow of hope, the beam of high design, 
 Fired its last blaze, and sank beside the shrine. 
 Sleep thou with them, with souls of humbler fame. 
 To fill Avhose grasp the purchas'd knowledge came, 
 Or, arni'd for truth, who bore her sov'reign reign 
 O'er hills, and shores, and isles that skirt the main ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 41 
 
 Since came the Greek, with Brama's hoary sage 
 To read the lore of nature's mystic page, 
 Since, wrapp'd in heav'nly might, th' apostle stood. 
 And spake of Him who, when he died, subdued ; 
 To each, to all, 't was sad, the lonely doom, 
 Not e'en to lie beside a kinsman's tomb. 
 And sad in death's dim hour the shadowy scene, 
 Home's distant walks, and friendship's imaged mien ; 
 Yet comes the day, on rushing wing it flies, 
 When kindred forms may beam on kindred eyes. 
 And all the joy that home and friendship gave, 
 Unting'd with tears, may smile beyond the grave. 
 
 There were two sisters : one was bless'd above, 
 
 Ere my young heart had rightly learn'd to love. 
 
 I but recall in thought a childish band 
 
 Brought round a maiden's dying bed to stand, 
 
 Her pale, pure face, all full of waited bUss, 
 
 Her few, soft words, her tender parting kiss. 
 
 And my warm pray'r that happy land to tread, 
 
 "Where guides unseen her rising spirit led. 
 
 But she who lived, in each unfaded hue 
 
 Her picture comes to fancy's ling'ring view ; 
 
 A fairy form, an eye of brilliant light, 
 
 Dark, clust'ring curls o'er features ever bright ; 
 
 A step as free, a voice as gaily sweet. 
 
 As the blithe bird's in Irem's fabled seat ; 
 
 The busiest mind to kind endeavors lent, 
 
 For all things ready, and in all content; 
 
 Fond in its love, devoted in its care ; 
 
 Though shrinking, bold ; though pliant, strong to bear : 
 
42 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 That ne'er forgot, though paid, a slight good will, 
 
 And ne'er, though deeply felt, remember'd ill ; 
 
 True as the day, the daily task to do ; 
 
 In ev'ry change to ancient friendship true ; 
 
 That priz'd each hour, but time had still to give ; 
 
 That mus'd on death, yet felt it joy to live ; 
 
 Nor fear'd nor shunn'd whate'er h(^r duty brought, 
 
 Yet ne'er could dreain that perfect duty wrought. 
 
 Ting'd too her thoughts some show of fair romance, 
 
 The fruit of youth, and nurs'd by various chance ; 
 
 And she had been where southern landscapes shine, 
 
 "VTliere deck'd her bow'r the orange and the vine, 
 
 On shores tliat saw th' advent'rous Spaniard's sail 
 
 Long ere a path had cross'd yon woody vale. 
 
 Saw cities rise, and tall cathedrals frown, 
 
 And iron avarice hew a nation do^^^l, 
 
 While here the oaks on many a secret glade 
 
 Toss'd their old arms, aiid all untouch'd decay 'd. 
 
 It blended hghtly with the cares of life ; 
 
 It never met those cares in hostile strife ; 
 
 It gave an eye for nature's common dress, 
 
 She loved her more, but loved not virtue less, 
 
 The gentle virtue that forgets its own. 
 
 And sinks contented so it sinks alone. 
 
 TTheu the dai'k mists hung thick o'er wood and stream. 
 
 Or shot through clouds the lightning's distant gleam. 
 
 She lov'd the sight ; and lov'd the rushing rain. 
 
 And the snow sheet stretch'd dazzling o'er the plain. 
 
 Not less than chai-ms that light the morn of June, 
 
 Or the soft scene that greets the harvest moon. 
 
 In all alike she kept her steadfast aim, 
 
 The same her pleasures, and her toil the same ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 43 
 
 And if it led to gaze o'er heaven and earth, 
 
 Or if it held her at the quiet hearth, 
 
 Still lov'd she well each destin'd place to fill, 
 
 And duty's walk was fresh with verdure still. 
 
 Slowly, oh slowly, o'er her bending frame 
 
 The fearful sway of wan consumption came ; 
 
 First for her health she felt unwonted care. 
 
 And shunn'd the morning dew, the evening air ; 
 
 Then a slight pain, a weakness slight appear'd. 
 
 That, scarce increasing, daily more was fear'd ; 
 
 Link after link, the chain was closer twdn'd ; 
 
 The house, the room, the chair, her strength confin'd ; 
 
 Day after day we saw her face assume 
 
 A pallid beauty and a fev'rish bloom ; 
 
 And her still sparkling glance, with changing ray 
 
 Shone on her kindred as she sank away. 
 
 Why o'er the narrow vale did clouds descend 
 
 When such a path approach'd its early end ? 
 
 In health her eye had sought the gloomy gate. 
 
 And she had liv'd as those that watch and wait ; 
 
 Yet when adown the steep her way declin d. 
 
 And earth with all its shades was dim behind, 
 
 When the dark king led on his stern array. 
 
 Pain, parting, fear, sad grief and lone decay, 
 
 Clouds hid the star, clouds veil'd the deep defile. 
 
 And her frail, falt'ring heart recoil'd awhile. 
 
 'T was but awhile, sweet cousin : thick and fast 
 
 Before thy sight they vanish'd on the blast ; 
 
 And thou'could'st see, beyond our mortal view, 
 
 A thousand radiant orbs to light thee through. 
 
 When last in life her hand was link'd with mine, 
 
 She waited daily for the closing sign : 
 
44 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Still the dark ringlets hung around her brow, 
 
 StiU beam'd her eye ; all else was faded now : 
 
 Beside her, withering in their wonted vase, 
 
 A few fau" flow'rs preserv'd an emblem's place ; 
 
 Withia her reach her book of pray'rs was laid, 
 
 Read while she could, and when she could not pray'd. 
 
 "Cousin," she said, "I could not wish to live 
 
 For aught that death denies or life could give ; 
 
 I could not ask, though short my youthful day. 
 
 Sire, mother, brethren gone, a long delay : 
 
 One thought remain'd, but now that thought is past, 
 
 And joy and glory call me on at last." 
 
 Rich praise was there, when last her grateful voice 
 
 In all its music waken'd to rejoice ; 
 
 There was high triumph when her listening soul 
 
 Heard on its way the golden chariot roll ; 
 
 And as it bore her to her bright abode 
 
 The grave and death lay prostrate where she rode. 
 
 We lov'd her more that she had seem'd to grace 
 
 To us a daughter's and a sister's place, 
 
 A lonely orphan since the red campaign 
 
 When her last brother died beyond the main. 
 
 The frank, brave boy, my youth's advent'rous friend. 
 
 The soul that naught could break though aught could 
 
 bend. 
 He lies afar : how oft yon oaks have rung 
 While their cool leaves our greenwood sports o'erhmig ! 
 On yon blue stream, the toils of study o'er, 
 We plied the rapid race from shore to shore, 
 Dash'd in glad freedom through its summer tide, 
 Or o'er its frozen breast rejoic'd to glide ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 45 
 
 And not a scene around yon hills is spread, 
 
 But midst its depths our rambhng feet have sped ; 
 
 And not a bird there hides her infant brood, 
 
 But we have trac'd her to her native wood ; 
 
 And not a fragrant flow'r there drinks the dew. 
 
 But we have found it where it fairest grew. 
 
 He was the first where sport had boldest shape, 
 
 The mimic warfare or the feign'd escape : 
 
 His was the eye no second glance that needs 
 
 To grasp and hold the varied page it reads ; 
 
 His the good hand in each emergence true 
 
 With all that vent'rous skill can dare or do ; 
 
 His the warm heart ; and his the stainless name. 
 
 Though, conquering sin, his soul had courted shame. 
 
 Claim'd from a child by friends in foreign lands 
 
 To serve their country in her martial bands. 
 
 With many a tear, for gallant spirits weep, 
 
 He left us first to cross the swelling deep. 
 
 Again he came, and oft : for fortune furl'd 
 
 His peaceful banner in the western world ; 
 
 And to his ancient home his bosom clung. 
 
 And to his sister's fond embrace he sprung. 
 
 We lov'd to hear his tales of many climes ; 
 
 We match'd his name with names of other times ; 
 
 Handsome and brave and good, our thoughts combin'd 
 
 In him a Sidney's soul, a Raleigh's mind : 
 
 We deem'd, though ne'er his country's hand should 
 
 yield 
 Fame's laurel'd page, or honor's blazon'd shield, 
 Yet where he pass'd, at virtue's purest shrine, 
 Should love and praise a priceless garland twine. 
 
46 THE FAMILY B UKI AL -PL A C E. 
 
 With hope's and glory's leaves I twine it now, 
 
 And blend the rest from sorrow's cypress bough. 
 
 When leaguing nations battled for the right, 
 
 And turn'd the strong usurper back in fight, 
 
 The heartless tyrant, at whose empire's knell 
 
 Tears, not the tears of grief or pity, fell. 
 
 And loud and far, from many a coast and flood, 
 
 Swell'd up to heaven the cry of blood for blood, 
 
 He went, prepar'd a soldier's lot to meet, 
 
 And lay his arms and lief at freedom's feet, 
 
 Where on the mountain pass, the verdant plain, 
 
 Spain struck for man, and Britain struck with Spain. 
 
 He shar'd the martial pomp, the martial toil, 
 
 Climb'd the hot breach, and stay'd the guilty spoil. 
 
 Tried his firm soul at grim Busaco's hill. 
 
 And prov'd on Tagus' bank his active skiU ; 
 
 Long months and years in march and warfare spent. 
 
 His friend the veteran, and his home the tent ; 
 
 And glad the soldier, who in his command 
 
 Bore pam and peril on a foreine strand. 
 
 There no strong hand from rightful weakness tore 
 
 The burgher's Avealth, the peasant's httle store ; 
 
 No felon blade, with fierce or scornful blow, 
 
 Struck down the jielding or the captive foe : 
 
 Their leader's care each cheerful aid bestow'd 
 
 That makes the camp of arms a fair abode ; 
 
 O'er the sick bed with soothing voice he bent, 
 
 To anxious friends the friendly tidings sent. 
 
 Up to the cross the dying sinner led. 
 
 And foUow'd to the grave the humble dead : 
 
 Each heart, each hand, the youthful captain sway'd, 
 
 For the rough spirit lov'd him and obey'd. 
 
THE FAMILY BUKIAL-PLACE. 4/ 
 
 Now, many a stormy battle lost and won, 
 
 Dawn'd on the northern lands a brighter sun : 
 
 His fervent wish was with the conqu'ring sword 
 
 That exil'd peace to all her thrones restor'd ; 
 
 And each dear scene in nearer prospect rose, 
 
 His duty done, the warrior's sweet repose, 
 
 His sister's form, exulting at his side. 
 
 And, crowned with bridal floAvers, his plighted bride. 
 
 Then came the last stern field : his waking eyes 
 
 Saw night go down in Biscay's starry skies. 
 
 And ere the east was ting'd with crimson morn, 
 
 Rang through the vales the impatient drum and hoin, 
 
 And manly breasts that pass'd that day from life 
 
 Were early up, and waiting for the strife. 
 
 The armies clos'd : and many a pleasant hearth 
 
 In distant England ceas'd its noisy mirth. 
 
 And many a hamlet wept mid Galhc bowers, 
 
 And many an eye by fair Lisboa's towers. 
 
 When that day's tale was told, how fell the brave, 
 
 As single drops to swell the mighty wave 
 
 That bore th' encamp'd usurper's fortunes down, 
 
 The blood that bought, maintain'd, o'ei-whelm'd his 
 
 crown. 
 The summer noon had pass'd : with cooler breath 
 The breeze unheard was o'er the field of death, 
 Where, flashing bright above the smoky view, 
 The vanquish'd eagles fast and far withdrew. 
 One effort more, yon guarded height to gain ; 
 There the last hopes of injur'd pride remain : 
 Right up the steep the British bayonet drove ; 
 Fierce strove the valiant foe, successless strove ; 
 
48 THE FAMILY BUEI AL-PL A C E. 
 
 But on th' ascent sank many a bleeding breast ; 
 
 And died above, the bravest and the best. 
 
 As o'er his head a faithful comrade hung, 
 
 And caught the words that trembled on his tongue, 
 
 The soothing message and the kind farewell, 
 
 The dear bequest his memory long to tell, 
 
 It chanc'd a soldier of his broken band 
 
 In bitter anguish groan'd and stretch'd the hand. 
 
 And crav'd some aid to staunch the fatal tide 
 
 That gush'd and murmur'd from his wounded side. 
 
 To calm the leader's pain each ai,d was nigh ; 
 
 But who shall hear the humble sufferer's cry ? 
 
 That leader heard ; a feeble sign he gave ; 
 
 " My hours are closing ; his ye yet may save : " 
 
 And with that word, that snatch'd from woe and death, 
 
 His pitying spirit breath'd its latest breath. 
 
 On such a summer day I since have seen 
 
 Vittoria's circling hills, and vale of green : 
 
 There did I stand till now the sunbeam low 
 
 Shone on his grave mid graves of friend and foe ; 
 
 The mule's light bell was tinkling up the steep ; 
 
 The weary peasant call'd his scatter'd sheep ; 
 
 From the church tow'r, o'er tomb and cross and 
 
 mound 
 The vesper peal sent out its pensive sound : 
 I stood and thought how died those brethren three 
 All severed far by land and stormy sea , 
 How o'er each head, alone, the turf had clos'd. 
 Far from the scenes where buried love repos'd ; 
 How, though we carv'd each honor'd hist'ry here, 
 We could not weep above each honor'd bier ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 49 
 
 And asked my heart, how little aught could weigh 
 Tried with the faith, their only, only stay, 
 That join'd them aU on every distant shore. 
 And yet should all to me and mine restore ! 
 
 My father's grave ! if from thy place on high, 
 
 My earthly sire, thou bend'st a parent's eye, 
 
 If thou hast mark'd, through all my lonely years. 
 
 My pilgrim staff bedew'd with frequent tears ; 
 
 Then^ for the skill that taught my youthful heart 
 
 Each transient gift to taste, from each to part ; 
 
 For better hopes that still within me spoke 
 
 When, one by one, my early friendships broke ; 
 
 For all the calm delights whose guiltless smile 
 
 My joy could brighten, and my grief beguile ; 
 
 For the sweet art, if I such art possess'd, 
 
 Myself to be, in blessing others, bless'd ; 
 
 For the fond trust that ne'er thy offspring's shame 
 
 Has brought dishonor on thy spotless name. 
 
 That, when I sleep with thee, some grateful sign 
 
 Shall show my mem'ry lov'd, as shoAv'd they thine ; 
 
 For the high call, in boyhood's careless hours, 
 
 To serve my God with all my opening pow'rs ; 
 
 For thoughts that e'en that service more endear; 
 
 For all, my thanks may reach thy listening ear. 
 
 How could it be that e'er a dream unkind, 
 
 Like blackening clouds, could cross the gloomy mind, 
 
 That now, remembring all that gave thee pain, 
 
 Sheds bitter tears, and sheds them now in vain ? 
 
 It was my lot to be an only heir. 
 
 And therefore bless'd with twice a parent's care ; 
 
50 THE FAMILY B D R I A L -PL A C K . 
 
 For me indulgence pour'd its lavish tide, 
 And near was wisdom grave tlie streams to guide : 
 That father made, along my youthful way, 
 Eacli study cheerful, each amusement gay • 
 With brighter light the wide creation beam'd. 
 With richer lore th' instructive volume teem'd. 
 He led me forth when twilight's shades began ; 
 We talk'd with nature, and we talked of man : 
 The fading purple flooded all the west ; 
 He told what hope illumes the sainted rest : 
 Th' emerging moon its broad red banner rear'd, 
 Star after star in twinkling depths appear'd ; 
 He spoke of Him whose might and wisdom trace 
 For every orb its long, mysterious race, 
 Whose love, o'er all in rich abundance shed. 
 Pours its best beams ai'ound the lowliest head : 
 Toil's weary hand the closing day releas'd, 
 The busy hum on hill and valley ceas'd. 
 An hundred happy households could we see 
 Around the board or near the spreading tree ; 
 He bade me then no toil of mine to deem 
 Too much, too small, to swell the social stream 
 O'er whose fair course of sweet and pious love 
 Spreads his soft sway that still descending Dove. 
 He led me here, and taught my breast to burn 
 With sparks that glow'd from worth's unsullied urn 
 And who may look, with purer aim than mine, 
 On the bright records of his slumbering hue. 
 Or, who, my sire, with surer trust may weep, 
 If in thy steps I journey up the steep ? 
 He left me when my heart had learn'd to prize 
 Its guide, its guard, a father just and wise ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 51 
 
 Whose counsel sav'd mid doubt's and danger's might, 
 
 And still is with me, like a form of light ; 
 
 Who felt for all, but gave his heart to one, 
 
 And lov'd mankind, but liv'd to bless his son. 
 
 Not mine for him a lonely grief to bear ; 
 
 For all around were groups that elaira'd to share : 
 
 His kindred mourn'd another verdant bough 
 
 Torn from the tree that fear'd the tempest now, 
 
 Tom while afar its shelt'ring strength it flung 
 
 And the ripe fruits amidst its foliage hung. 
 
 The wretched mourn'd him, mourn'd the generous aid 
 
 So wisely given, yet so kindly paid ; 
 
 The poor man's claim from him had ne'er a frown, 
 
 And while he gave, the pledg'd reward came down. 
 
 The pious mourn'd him ; he amidst them stood, 
 
 And lov'd the truth, and lov'd the work of good, 
 
 Lov'd the throng'd courts beneath yon hallow'd dome, 
 
 Lov'd the sweet walks of virtue's holy home. 
 
 And kept where joy, and kept where duty sways. 
 
 Through halls and marts, through thought's secluded 
 
 ways, 
 A glorious trust that o'er Ixis dying head, 
 Like love's fond arms, its shelt'ring aid should spread. 
 To me was given beside that couch to kneel, 
 Watch ev'ry change, and every suffering feel ; 
 To view the scene where now remembrance clings. 
 Where stretch'd triumphant faith its mounting wings ; 
 To strive, with sad but pleasing toil, to pay 
 The debt that grew with each remaining day, 
 "While, as the parting hour approach'd more near. 
 Precept and act grew doubly bright and dear. 
 
52 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 In his last dreams a form beloved was seen ; 
 Angelic beauty clothed an earthly mien : 
 With ev'ry thought of heaven that image rose, 
 And hope and mem'ry lighted up the close ; 
 And the last words, the last save those that gave 
 His soul to Him who knew the gloomy grave, 
 The last faint words, that half unconscious came, 
 Bore to my ear my buried mother's name. 
 
 Days of my childhood, when I follow back 
 In pensive, musing mood your airy track. 
 And think how soft on downy plumes ye flew. 
 While all was beauteous, and that beauty new ; 
 When yet I see your joyous haunts portray'd, 
 The winter fireside and the summer shade. 
 That social throng in smiling circle met. 
 Who hailed me all, and all were blooming yet ; 
 My father's hand laid fondly on my head, 
 My mother's brow with light and love o'erspread ; 
 And when I think how now I stand alone. 
 And wait my summons from th' eternal throne ; 
 Then o'er my soul that mother's words must glide, 
 The gentle stream that quell'd this soil of pride : 
 " My boy," she said, " while fortune swells thy sail, 
 Oh bless the hand that sends the favoring gale ; 
 Think mid thy pleasant hours where all must end. 
 And seek thy Saviour for thy surest friend ; 
 So through thy future clouds a beam shall steal. 
 And He that smites in love in love shall heal." 
 Oh, when she died He smote, He healed in love ; 
 Clouds roll'd around, but mercy beam'd above ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, O 
 
 Though speechless sorrow bowed my stripling form, 
 And for a while I yielded to the storm. 
 While yet she sank, my buoyant hope remain'd. 
 And like the past the present terror feign'd, 
 And the sad, certain word that she must die 
 Came like the flash in evening's slumbering sky. 
 The fever's rage was spent : at night she knew 
 With the next sun for her the moments flew, 
 When man, as death's dim shades around him fall, 
 Seeks all the aids of faith, and needs them all. 
 Then felt she near her loved Redeemer's arm ; 
 He quelled each doubt, subdued each brief alarm ; 
 To Him she looked her trembling feet to stay ; 
 His presence shone along the dreary way ; 
 His bleeding grace o'ercame the taint of sin ; 
 And His pure Spirit dwelt in peace within. 
 She called me nigh, a few more words to speak ; 
 A long, long kiss impress'd my pallid cheek ; 
 And as she held my hand through tears she smiled, 
 "And God," she said, " shall guard my orphan child : 
 And never, never be this night forgot, 
 Howe'er His wise command may fix thy lot ; 
 Soon, though it wait, yet soon the hour must come 
 When thou wilt follow to thy lowly home : 
 Bright is the dawn, and calm the day's decline. 
 Be but thy heart, thy being, given with mine • 
 Oh, thou wilt keep thy mother's dying woixl. 
 And come to meet that mother with the Lord." 
 
 At morn she died ; and then how lone and drear 
 Rolled on their way the months, the varied year ! 
 
 5 
 
54 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 O'er nature's face a veil of sadness hung, 
 And fruits and flowers in mournful beauty sprung : 
 Then study's charms an opiate ceased to bear. 
 And home was home no more ; she was not there. 
 Till, like the dew, a holy influence came. 
 And in my heart I clasped her still the same ; 
 And sweet communion taught how slight the screen 
 That severed spirit's truth must bear between, 
 How not alone to outward ear and eye 
 The form of love, the voice of love, is nigh. 
 
 Farewell, dear mother : from thy bliss could'st thou 
 
 Down to the grave mthout a murmur bow. 
 
 While all were deep in tears, save thee alone. 
 
 And ev'ry- bosom faltered but thine own ; 
 
 Mourn'd, not of all who felt thy kindness here, 
 
 For many felt, nor knew thy hand was near, 
 
 Yet mourn'd of all who saw thy conscience pure. 
 
 Thy strength to strive, thy patience to endure. 
 
 And trac'd by all to that far, fragrant shore 
 
 "Whence brought thy name one sweet allurement more. 
 
 Here, when my dying sands have ceased to run. 
 
 And life's last stage of weary toil is done. 
 
 Here, though if heaven another lot decree, 
 
 I sleep content, where'er my rest shall be, 
 
 Here, where e'en now the elm's long shadow waves. 
 
 Here be my couch beside my parents' graves. 
 
 I would not change it for the loftiest tomb 
 
 Where that fam'd Minster spreads its hallowed gloom. 
 
 Or where along that old illustrious road 
 
 Rome's worthiest dust still keeps its deep abode : 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 01 
 
 My home is here, with them who gave me birth, 
 And Ibrm'd for heaven the breast they arm'd for eartii 
 The same low winds shall murmur o'er our bed, 
 The same green sod repeat the stranger's tread, 
 The same loved graves surround us till we rise, 
 C!onjoined in life, in death, beyond the skies. 
 
 There shines no link, how close soe'er it binds, 
 There breathes no group of dear, congenial minds, 
 But comes to each the severing moment nigh. 
 And some must live to mourn ere all must die. 
 Oh happy they, who know that not in vain 
 The faded hues of friendship past remain ; 
 Who sought the amaranth through the fleeting hour, 
 To deck the social hall, the nuptial bower ; 
 And marked the hand whose warning signs displa}-. 
 Where'er we turn, a tale of stem decay. 
 Man reads of realms in long succession gone. 
 And looks and plans for nations still unborn : 
 Small, small amidst the throng his destined space, 
 And on they press to fill the vacant place ; 
 The house he loves his fathers loved before, 
 His children's children soon shall tread its floor ; 
 Above his buried race he plants his trees. 
 Another race their spreading branches sees ; 
 Childhood and youth have left associates few ; 
 E'en those are mourned whom late so near he knew ; 
 Forms younger far are hurried from his sight ; 
 Beside him falls his bosom's best delight ; 
 Now lingering pain afiiicts his cheerless way; 
 And lo, his step is weak, his locks are gray : 
 
5(3 THE FA3I1LY B U K I A L -PL A C E . 
 
 Oh, liow can man, in sin's vain banquet hall, 
 "With garlands hide the writing on the wall, 
 Nor hear the voice which hope and rest would give. 
 Which o'er these graves commands me how to live ? 
 
 Home, dearest home ! how old affection burns, 
 TThen the tired traveler to his home returns ! 
 When, her bold path retrac'd o'er half the world. 
 The tall ship moors, with sails and streamers furl'd. 
 And greet the well-knoT\Ti hills his longing eyes, 
 And, bright below, his happy birth-place lies. 
 As roll his wheels along the beaten ground, 
 Each echo s<-ems some long familiar sound ; 
 At ev'iy turn remembered faces glow ; 
 The old, the new, a double charm bestow ; 
 Here at his gate a loved acquaintance tallis. 
 And there his wonted round another walks ; 
 Beneath yon trees a group of children play, 
 How grown, how altered, since his parting day I 
 A fair-haired girl behind yon window's screen 
 Has spied, or seemed to spy, his welcome mien ; 
 Now at his door he stands in act to Hght, 
 No foreign dome has op'd so rich a sight ; 
 They come, they come ; their radiant glances tell 
 That all is happy, all is more than well ; 
 Those light young fav'rites come with quiet glee, 
 Sit by his side, or mount his ready knee : 
 Where'er he passes, joy and kindness speak. 
 And smiling hail the hero of the week ; 
 And every hour some ancient bliss repays, 
 And calls the grateful breast to warmer praise. 
 
THE FAMILY B UKI AL-P L A C K. 57 
 
 O'er such a scene benignant skies were spread, 
 
 When homeward oft my younger uncle sped , 
 
 He, doom'd to toil, through manhood's flower and 
 
 prime. 
 With gain and loss, beneath a distant clime. 
 Left a sweet cu-cle on his native spot. 
 Forgetting ne'er, and ne'er by them forgot. 
 Who has not watched, with varying hope and fear. 
 The wild winds changing in their fleet career. 
 Or pondered long with anxious features o'er 
 The daily tidings from some foreign shore. 
 Or waked by night, when dreams disturbed his sleep, 
 To follow far the kinsman on the deep ? 
 Through those wild seas the merchant's journey lay, 
 Which sweep Malaya's rocks and rich Cathay : 
 Thence came the luscious fruit, th' ingenious toy, 
 Lm'es for the curious girl, th' adventurous boy ; 
 Thence the quaint trophy, borne through many a 
 
 gale; 
 Thence the glad theme for winter's cheerful tale ; 
 And thence the exile, whom we loved to teach 
 England's pure faith in England's noble speech, 
 Till he too prayed for Israel's light to dawn 
 On those fair regions of the rising morn. 
 Time steals the mood for change : the traveler's breast 
 Clung closer to his home, and long'd for rest ; 
 Content and pleased with fortune's moderate boo£i, 
 He bade the joys of eve commence at noon ; 
 With rural taste enlarged his modest bound. 
 Trimmed his smooth tui-f, and hedged his garden round , 
 Gave manly zeal to deck his pleasant town ; 
 Receiv'd, of civic worth the oaken crown ; 
 
58 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Smoothed for the drooping youth his patient rise ; 
 And with his children shared the better prize. 
 Oil ofrace divine, divinely rich and fair, 
 Earth hath no spot but thou art lovely there ! 
 The silvery tmts of years his hair bestrewed ; 
 His ev'ry wish was granted or subdued : 
 Like the full sheaf on autumn's golden plain, 
 That pays its glist'ning honors to the swain, 
 He bowed his head to meet th' approaching fate, 
 Nor came it early, nor he wish'd it late. 
 Not with the hour when such a breast is low, 
 Its healthful virtues cease their balmy flow ; 
 Through many an age the noble fountain nms, 
 And future sires transmit to future sons ; 
 From such a source a people's honor springs ; 
 From such the church its earthly graces brings ; 
 And distant times of peaceful glory tell 
 That private men have done their duty well. 
 
 His children liv'd to mourn him ; liv'd to mourn 
 Tiie closing sway a mother's wish had borne ; 
 How lov'd a mother, how revered a guide, 
 An absent father's place for them supplied ! 
 Fram'd for the post she fill'd, she ask'd no more 
 Reward or honor than that station bore ; 
 Enough of honor and of rich reward 
 To bless her household, and to serve her Lord. 
 To the calm quiet of her home retired. 
 No pleasures lured her, no applauses fired ; 
 Her husband came, and all the toils of life 
 Lost all their thorns before his charming wife ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 59 
 
 While wealth was theirs, his Uberal board she spread, 
 
 His blithe repast, the poor's remember'd bread ; 
 
 When all that affluence totter'd to its fall. 
 
 She stUl could wish him joy since this was all. 
 
 And with such sweet content she bade him prize 
 
 The bliss that heaven to virtue ne'er denies, 
 
 With such sweet art the flowers of pleasure made 
 
 To bloom secluded in the silent shade. 
 
 That half he ceased to wish the gayer smile 
 
 Which favoring fortune but withheld a while. 
 
 Small pain to her it seem'd, that all she could 
 
 Alone she labored for her offspring's good ; 
 
 That, month by month, she bore, with none to share. 
 
 The anxious course of close domestic care ; 
 
 That with the morn increasing burdens rose. 
 
 And tranquil eve but brought a late repose ; 
 
 That all her duty left of time or ease 
 
 She freely gave each youthful wish to please ; 
 
 That still she strove the eager mind to fill, 
 
 Move the light heart, and curb the fiery will, 
 
 And teach the rising tendrils how to twine. 
 
 Graceful and rich, beneath the living Vine ; 
 
 That night and day her ceaseless prayer she made. 
 
 And all her soul ascended as she prayed. 
 
 With what a rapture looks she downward now. 
 
 While beams in heaven each young, immortal brow, 
 
 Down on the path of transient care or pain, 
 
 So trod in faith, so crowned with endless gain ! 
 
 Yet e'en on earth no happier sight we view, 
 
 Than such fair band as here around her grew ; 
 
 Elder and younger like, though we could trace 
 
 Charms all its own in each resembling face. 
 
GO THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Like in the hazel eye, the dark brown hair, 
 
 Like in tlie mother's mifii, the father's air, 
 
 Like in the love that made them all believe 
 
 No hour so sweet as when they met at eve, 
 
 Together learn'd and labor'd, read and play'd, 
 
 And mutual pleasure joined vvdth mutual aid, 
 
 Felt all the peace that virtuous firesides know, 
 
 Nor envied aught beside that realms besto'vv. 
 
 She saw them ris'n, prepared Avith those to stand 
 
 Who walk on earth as earth and heaven command -, 
 
 In honor's courts to meet the purest voice, 
 
 The wise man's praise, the good man's friendly choice ; 
 
 Along the path of varied worth pursue 
 
 The boundless good that all can help to do ; 
 
 And each, the blessing of a household sphere. 
 
 Revive the scenes that once with her were dear. 
 
 She saw, and closed her eyes in joy serene. 
 
 And join'd her spouse while yet his grave was green 
 
 A better joy than thine, O warrior sage, 
 
 Though thine was high in Greece's sinking age, 
 
 "Who from the altar tumed'st not, proud if pale. 
 
 When tidings from the camp brought mournful tale, 
 
 How death with fame thy Gryllus' javelin won, 
 
 Red with the gore of Thebes' most noble son. 
 
 A better joy than her's, th' illustrious dame. 
 
 Who matched the Scipio's with the Gracchi's name. 
 
 Though then she marked the words of graceful flow 
 
 And the bold zeal, her country's future woe, 
 
 When, with her hand on each aspiring head, 
 
 " My jewels these," the Roman matron said. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 61 
 
 Thrice happy thea to die ! the port to reach 
 While yet the waves broke soft along the beach, 
 And thence to see how every storm but bore 
 Each tossing bark in mercy to the shore. 
 Six grateful children heard her closing sigh, 
 Health in their veins was swellinor warm and hit^h • 
 Six times yon fields had mourn'd the with'ring flow'r 
 And they were with her in her blissful bower. 
 Such scenes are drear, yet all such scenes have known. 
 Whole households gone, or one sad ling'rer lone ; 
 And in their life who boundless ages live. 
 How light is all a few short summers give ! 
 
 The first who died, the youngest, now had seen 
 Her days' gay flush, the glow of bright sixteen : 
 In her soft youth she gave her heart to God, 
 And in the walks of peace contented trod, 
 Th' alluring throng survey'd with thoughtful look, 
 And fear'd and wonder'd, pitied and forsook. 
 The old with kindly smiles pronounc'd her name ; 
 The young who would not follow, could not blame : 
 Those heaved the sigh, might thus their moi-n have 
 
 flown. 
 And these beheld the pattern for then- own. 
 Where on the blooming head of pious youth 
 Indulgent heaven fulfill'd its promis'd truth. 
 From memory's wealth reraov'd the black alloy, 
 And wide unveiled the realms of future joy. 
 Then what if death denied the gentler stroke 
 That long o'erhangs ere yet a band is broke ; 
 What if the mail with heavenly temper steel'd 
 No time was given (o burnish for the field ? 
 
62 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 The strong disease her throbbing temples press'd, 
 
 And the mind wandered till, it sank to rest : 
 
 Few heard the tale but thought how swiftly fade 
 
 The loveliest hues by nature's skill arrayed, 
 
 And thought how sweet that blasted rose shall bloom 
 
 When glory's spring shall burst o'er nature's tomb. 
 
 Twins were the third and fourth : year after year 
 Came the bright birthday morn, so doubly dear, 
 And saw them rise, as like in form and fate 
 As the twin trees before their father's gate. 
 When round those trees they ran in childish plays, 
 The passing stranger loitered there to gaze ; 
 And e'en the friend inquired, with doubting brow, 
 "Art thou the brother, and the sister thou ?" 
 The theme beloved of many a guileless joke 
 In merry days of school and pleasure spoke, 
 In many a toilsome task companions tried. 
 In joy and sorrow journeying side by side. 
 In the same hour, with bosoms taught to feel 
 The contrite pang that earth can never heal. 
 With faith, undying faith, that, humbly brave, 
 O'ercomes the world, the tempter, and the grave. 
 With warm good-will, that roves to all mankind, 
 Yet in the ark alone its rest can find. 
 With meek resolve to tread that perfect way 
 Which hope and fear and mightier love display, 
 With thrilling thought on that last feast divine, 
 That mystic bread, that cup of hallowed wine. 
 That garden's unknown gloom, that guilty hall. 
 And that red cross whose stains accomplished all. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 63 
 
 In the same hour at Jesus' board they kneel'd, 
 And grace the bonds of young affection seal'd. 
 Companions too in death ! she never knew 
 How near her couch his closing breath he di-ew, 
 Till far behind those gloomy chambers lay, 
 And beamed on both the dawn of cloudless day. 
 ' Twas at a time when o'er the general breast 
 Hung the wild terror of th' invading pest : 
 No shout was heard along yon haven's shore ; 
 Seldom and sad the seaman plunged his oar ; 
 Hushed was the lonely mart, the echoing street. 
 And wonted friends awhile could shun to meet ; 
 From the drear house with casements bolted fast 
 The fearful turned, or shuddered as they passed : 
 In such an hour must constant kindred hold 
 That daring stand unbought with countless gold, 
 And prove how strong, beyond each fickle choice, 
 The sov'reign sway of nature's mighty voice. 
 Swift on the wind the noiseless arrows sped . 
 To that dear roof the dire infection spread ; 
 They spoke of danger, for they knew it near ; 
 Solemn they spoke, but not with trembling fear ; 
 E'en while they spoke, the rankling venom bore 
 Doubt, dread, alarm, conviction ; ail was o'er. 
 We laid them sadly on the self-same spot. 
 Lovely in life, in death divided not. 
 
 The second brother had the thoughtful eye 
 That pious parents love in him to spy, 
 Wliom, ever fond to serve the cause divine, 
 They give, like Samuel, hallowed at the shrine. 
 
64 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 A gentle child, his chosen joy he took, 
 Bent o'er the pages of some manlier book : 
 His boyhood roved with easy step along 
 The shadowy realms of history and of song : 
 And still, when youthful fancy's veil withdrew. 
 And life's high end had all his steadfast view, 
 Still would his soul the tide of time ascend. 
 To meet the wise and good as friend with, friend. 
 Still mid the forms of elder ages live 
 Such life as bards to old Elysium give 
 And next to that blessed land whose hills remain 
 Tablets and types of Heaven's paternal reign, 
 Signed with the step of mercy or of wrath. 
 From Sinai's rocks to Calvary's steepy path, 
 Next to that land across the severing sea. 
 Oh noble England, turned his heart to thee. 
 He loved her cliffs far glittering o'er the foam. 
 Her valleys, bright with many a peaceful home, 
 Thatch'd roofs that cluster round the village fane. 
 Old halls, a gentle race's long domain, 
 Her ruin'd abbeys, mouldering down the da^e. 
 Her plains, renowned in battle's ancient tale. 
 Lawns, where the foot of living genius trod, 
 And graves where virtue whispers from the sod. 
 With fresh delight he saw each honored shade, 
 With Boyle he pondered, and with Hale he prayed 
 Saw martyr'd Charles, more pure from ev'ry shock. 
 In patient triumph journeying to the block ; 
 Saw truth, in venal courts too hardly tried, 
 To honest exile turn with virtuous Hyde ; 
 Saw modest Evelyn, where, in quiet's bowers, 
 To nature's self he gave the favorite hours ; 
 
THE F A M I L r B U K I A L - P L A C E . 65 
 
 Saw Hagley's walks each willing Muse invite ; 
 
 Saw Mansfield rise, undaunted in the right ; 
 
 Heard the sweet strain where, warm with seraph fire, 
 
 The soul of Cowper warbled o'er the lyre. 
 
 Around whose strings each flower that Albion knows 
 
 Was meekly twined with Sharon's lovelier rose. 
 
 He loved her church, while, through her rolling yea:-, 
 
 She wakes the sacred song, the sacred tear ; 
 
 While midst her thousand courts she bows her down, 
 
 Lifts high the cross, and reaches to the crown ; 
 
 While, ever watchful o'er her offspring's doom, 
 
 To sruard the cradle as to light the tomb, 
 
 She pours her blessing on the tender child, 
 
 Writes on his brow the token undefiled. 
 
 Guides his rash step through youth's alluring maze. 
 
 And binds his heart to wisdom's purer ways, 
 
 Smiles on the bliss her nuptial vow bestows. 
 
 And hallows all his joys and all his woes. 
 
 Comes with the hope that faith alone must share 
 
 At his last couch to raise the voice of p;ayer. 
 
 And, bending o'er his grave with steadfast eye, 
 
 Tells her Redeemer's hour of judgment nigh. 
 
 He loved to trace her roll of worthy names, 
 
 Who passed to glory through th' ascending flames. 
 
 Or sought, to conscience true, a distant shore, 
 
 Or, humble still, a spotless mitre wore. 
 
 Or wrote for truth when truth had utmost neeo. 
 
 Or midst an erring crowd stood forth to plead. 
 
 Or down to death with silent footsteps went. 
 
 To lead some little flock to heaven content. 
 
 E'en such the lot his early wishes chose ; 
 
 So high his hopes of bliss on earth arose ; 
 
GG TUE FAMILY liU III A L- I'L A C E. 
 
 Taste, learning, letters, all resigned their sway, 
 
 No more to rule, yet happy to obey: 
 
 And when his head the hallow'd hands had press'd 
 
 That sent him forth, with lleav'n's commission bless'd. 
 
 Seem'd naught too rich his errand high to grace, 
 
 Sccm'd naught too poor to find that errand place ; 
 
 Each solemn fear eternal dooms can bring. 
 
 Each message sent on mercy's stooping wing, 
 
 Joy for the truth that gave him peace within. 
 
 Tears for a world that slumbers in its sin, 
 
 The crown of glory, radiant at the goal. 
 
 The warning words, aroused his kindling soul : 
 
 Ilia Master's arm coidd all the work achieve. 
 
 And, in His strength, he bade the lost believe. 
 
 Nor found the seed divin(! a barren soil ; 
 
 The harvest rich repaid the pious toil : 
 
 Not worlds on worlds one priceless soul could buy ; 
 
 How bless'd who many wins, oh ne'er to die . 
 
 Ho i)reach'd of sin, for he had felt its smart. 
 
 The long, hai'd conflict in the rebel heart ; 
 
 He preach'd of wrath, for, bowed in sacred awe, 
 
 He heard the thunders of th' avenging law ; 
 
 But when Ik; spoke of that transcend(Mit love, 
 
 That bought with blood the long lost land above, 
 
 Of that glad song that nigh the throne ascends, 
 
 When first in dust the turning sinner bends, 
 
 Of that rich grace whose ever near relief 
 
 Quells every foe, and sweetens every grief, 
 
 Of that bright scene that far beyond awaits 
 
 The ransom'd tlu'ong at Zion's peerless gates. 
 
 Then all the glow of hope immortal blazed. 
 
 His drooping head the humble mourner raised, 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 67 
 
 Lost for awhile the world its transient glare, 
 
 And still some quickeu'd heart was mov'd to prayer. 
 
 In his dear parish, yet how lov'd his name ! 
 
 Oh, such regard is better far than fame : 
 
 There have I heard them tell, whom he had led 
 
 To that sole fount where endless peace is shed, 
 
 Who saw, perchance, his faithful accents lend 
 
 The last, best aid that cheered some dying friend. 
 
 There have I heard them tell his ready zeal 
 
 For all to laboi', and with all to feel, 
 
 His studious toil, his daily healthful walk 
 
 With frequent pause on worthy themes to talk ; 
 
 How soon he sought the house of woe and pain, 
 
 How warm he strove each youthful breast to gain. 
 
 His eager love to speed each generous plan 
 
 That knowledge, virtue, joy, extends in man ; 
 
 He fram'd the scheme that rear'd their noble school. 
 
 He formed their young lyceum's prudent rule ; 
 
 To him the poor man owes that winter's storm, 
 
 Come when it may, still finds him cloth'd and warm ; 
 
 And if they know that prayers for them arise 
 
 Where parted day illumines other skies, 
 
 Where Gentile tribes amidst their woods rejoice, 
 
 And hail the word and bless the preacher's voice. 
 
 To .him shall grateful memory still return. 
 
 And fan the flame that first he taught to burn. 
 
 A poet, too : his few and modest lays 
 
 Won praise from taste, from virtue more than praise ; 
 
 His is the hymn that greets the summer morn 
 
 When hastes the mower o'er his once loved lawn ; 
 
 When round his desk are met the youthful throng, 
 
 His are the strains that swell their Sabbath song ; 
 
68 THE FAMILY B O RI AL -PL A C E. 
 
 The child repeats them when to rest he goes, 
 The fireside hears them oft at evening's close ; 
 While fancy brings, to aid the holy spell. 
 The form, the look, the tones they loved so well. 
 Pastor and bard, the precious gift was thine, 
 "With double glow to hear the harp divine, 
 With silent awe to watch the prophet gaze 
 Far o'er the vision'd field of future days, 
 Princes and empires, lifted high to fall. 
 Babel and Tyre and Ninus' ancient wall. 
 The dark'ned earth when bow'd the promis'd seed 
 For man's black guilt in man's own form to bleed, 
 Th' immortal fruit of that victorious hour, 
 From sea to sea Messiah's realm of power, 
 And all that scene of glory and of light 
 That stream'd along th' apostle's dazzled sight, 
 Who stood on Patmos, o'er th' Egean main. 
 And trac'd through ages long the saintly train. 
 Till the new heavens and earth before him rose. 
 And the last seer beheld the mighty close. 
 And heard the voice that life alone can give, 
 " Come, all and freely, come and taste and live." 
 With that bless'd theme, as twilight spread around, 
 Ceas'd through the aisle thy latest call to sound ; 
 One Sabbath more, and there they joined to pray 
 Strength for thy need, to succor or to stay ; 
 The next, another filled thy wonted place 
 To tell the triumph of thy dying grace. 
 When all thy hope to one deliv'rance clung, 
 Love in thy smile, salvation on thy tongue. 
 Here with thy kindred rest, till time shall bring 
 The glorious day when comes the promis'd King : 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 69 
 
 Then shalt thou rise ; and while from every coast 
 Gleans its \ast bands the saints' unnumber'd host, 
 Amidst them all thy melting eyes shall see 
 The cherish'd fruits that mercy gave to thee. 
 
 It was a sight that every heai t subdued, 
 
 When round his grave th' assembled mourners stood, 
 
 And he the first who came to bury there 
 
 That fairest growth of friendship ever fair, 
 
 The sacred union twined in infant years, 
 
 An elder brother's cares and hopes and fears. 
 
 Chastened but firm, he saw them lift the pall, 
 
 Heard on its bed the coffin's hollow fall. 
 
 Felt the high words of sure and holy trust, 
 
 And mark'd the mingling still of dust with dust ; 
 
 But when he tum'd, and all the scene was o'er, 
 
 And that warm breast must meet him now no more, 
 
 Then manly strength without a struggle bowed ; 
 
 He hid his quiv'ring face, and wept aloud. 
 
 So soon to follow ! Oh, how dark the ways 
 
 Of wasting death ! but all shall yet be praise. 
 
 Not the close cords the last affliction rends 
 
 Where public worth with private virtue blends ; 
 
 Not all the works of love by duty bound 
 
 On willing hearts when few are willing found ; 
 
 Not all the claims that call the honored son 
 
 When the good sire his worthy race has run ; 
 
 Not the pale youth of all but him bereft ; 
 
 Not the fair bride to widowed loneness left ; 
 
 Not all could keep him here : a wiser hand 
 
 Had measured out his life's fast fleeting sand. 
 
70 THE FAMILY BURIAL PLACE. 
 
 Wise was the doom, and kind ; he did not die 
 
 Till all his soul was fashion'd for the sky ; 
 
 Till that short life had stamp'd the lesson bright 
 
 What life avails when all is fiUed aright. 
 
 I ponder now the forms of various shade, 
 
 That, mingling there, the noble picture made ; 
 
 The merchant true, who saw the hand that lent 
 
 A steward's trust with all the gifts it sent, 
 
 While rash adventure bowed to wisdom's rein, 
 
 And watchful conscience held the keys of gain ; 
 
 The loyal burgher, steadfast at his post, 
 
 Skilled to discern, and firm when needed most ; 
 
 The reading man, whose precious leisure brought 
 
 A world's wide wealth to deck his realm of thought ; 
 
 The Sabbath guide, who through such sweet employ 
 
 Saw the fair festal morn with deeper joy. 
 
 And deem'd no hour to loftier purpose given 
 
 Than that which forms a child's young breast for 
 
 heaven ; 
 The generous spouse, whose little household's peace 
 Alone in death, and ah ! so soon, could cease ; 
 The faithful neighbor, kinsman, brother, son. 
 Each social name and praise adorning one ; 
 Oh if my country, rich in heavenly grace. 
 Saw in her many sons e'en such a race, 
 Oh what a bliss her future page should ope, 
 Far, far beyond th' impassioned patriot's hope ! 
 
 One still survived ; the frailest, yet the last : 
 So the last leaf hangs trembling in the blast. 
 With every breeze that whispers o'er the plain 
 Hears its own doom, and cannot long remain. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 71 
 
 Alone he seem'd, mid many friends and dear ; 
 He loved the living, but his soul Avas here ; 
 Yet oft could prayer and hallowed musings thro\\' 
 Refulgence high to chase his weight of woe, 
 And cheerful hours the setthng sorrows break. 
 Like sunbeams strugghng o'er the darkened lake. 
 His was no murm'ring heart : he bowed and felt 
 ' Twas mercy's self before whose rod he knelt , 
 But light the storm, and deep the still decay, 
 When frequent griefs have bared the spoiler's prey. 
 We saw him pine, and sought each art in vain ; 
 The silent shaft had fixed with little pain : 
 In vain he travel'd ; with the zephyr's breath, 
 With the cool sea, he felt the chill of death : 
 In vain he rested ; onward still it came. 
 Till daily, hourly, sank the victim frame. 
 And so he died ; and when the time was nigh. 
 Smiled as the world was fading from his eye ; 
 In kindness smiled on those whose duteous aid 
 That grateful look with tenfold worth repaid ; 
 Smiled too in meek content that now he quaffed 
 From his deep cup its last and mildest draught ; 
 And smiled in hope, where saintly throngs adore, 
 To join their strain, the friends who pass'd before. 
 
 Turn I from them to one who loved us all. 
 
 Saw each arise, and many, many fall. 
 
 And spent for us, while none so near below, 
 
 The fountain's warmth a woman's heart must know. 
 
 Above that heart at times some cloud might rest ; 
 
 Some hidden thought might come, a lonely guest ; 
 
12 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE- 
 
 And her's the world may deem a lot of gloom, 
 Whose fading years resign their early bloom, 
 Nor give to wear the graceful robes of life, 
 A hoping mother, a rejoicing wife ; 
 So deem not I, if there, at summer's flight, 
 Blush the fair flowers that autumn caimot blight ; 
 If Avishes long restrain'd nor fond to roam 
 There sit them doA\Ti, like wand'rers bless'd at home 
 If fancy naught at folly's footstool crave, 
 But hold the exile happier than the slave ; 
 If gay good humor brighten up the morn, 
 And taste, perchance, the evening hours adoni ; 
 And, more than all, if angel mercy live. 
 Give what it may, its feeling bosom give, 
 And virtue come, each toil of love to fill. 
 And calm devotion hail the Maker's will. 
 And every gentle joy that courts retreat 
 Find with religion's peace a tranquil seat. 
 Oft in those arms my infant eyes have slept ; 
 Scarce tend'rer watch parental fondness kept : 
 Oft brought that hand the gift so long admired, 
 And oft those lips the tale that never tired ; 
 Nephew and niece, the venturous and the mild, 
 Amidst us all was each her favorite child : 
 Our sports, our studies, all, her interest moved, 
 With care she blam'd, with earnest care approved ; 
 And when, unstain'd, we mingled in the crowd. 
 All made her glad, and some had made her proud, 
 Save that on earth th' illumin'd heart descried 
 Ten thousand calls to praise, but none to pride. 
 There high reflection served the mental shrine, 
 And there was wit, that seldom strove to shine, 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Yet, when it rose, could dart a piercing raj, 
 Allure the wise, instruct the flitting gay. 
 
 She too is gone ; I cannot longer seek 
 The soothing words she lov'd for grief to speak ; 
 For she had learn'd, with sacred truth her guide, 
 To look abroad on scenes where man is tried ; 
 And learn'd what heavenly air can oft pervade 
 The chamber still, the garden's whispering shade, 
 When, hid from all, the sad disciple bends. 
 On woe's swoll'n tide the quelling power descends. 
 And comes to him the voice that bade of old 
 And rough Tiberias' waves in silence rolled. 
 She too is gone ; and here I pause to pay 
 Thanks that she lived to bless our early way ; 
 To share the sire's, the mother's, throbbing care. 
 The sire's, the mother's, pattern, precept, prayer ; 
 Ne'er shall I know till there our thanks Ave blend. 
 How bless'd is he whom pious prayers attend. 
 
 Lo, downward fast yon glorious orb retires ; 
 Soon the dark woods shall veil his crimson fires ; 
 Hushed are the winds ; the lengthen'd shadows fail ; 
 Seems as yon silvery cloud had ceas'd to sail : 
 How still, how solemn ! On yon sinking sun 
 Nations have look'd whose ages all are run, 
 Look'd from the plains that now have seen him se^ 
 Look'd from the towers whose ruins gilds he yet : 
 Millions, the dead, like me have turned to view, 
 IVIillions shall still that purple path pursue. 
 And still this hour shall waft each thought sublime, 
 And speak the flight, the end, of ancier.t timr^. 
 
74 THE FAMILY BUKIAL -PLACE. 
 
 Then what am I, and all this mighty throng 
 Who shout, and struggle, and are borne along? 
 The laurel, withering on the moulder'd bust, 
 The palace, crqmbling o'er its prince's dust, 
 Gold, heap'd to deck an unremember'd grave, 
 Strong to destroy, but powerless all to save, 
 Pleasures that cannot fill and wiU not stay, 
 Whose dread to-morrow poisons light to-day. 
 Shall such reward the deathless spirit win 
 In mad revolt to lift the arms of sin, 
 Wage on almighty love unyielding strife. 
 And lose yon holy realms of perfect life, 
 Where all the pomp of earth as brief may seem 
 As the morn's memory of a troubled dream ? 
 
 At such an hour, perhaps, from seats of joy 
 Some stooping seraph bound on high employ, 
 Pausing to drink from every sound and sight 
 The gathering glory's ever new delight. 
 May smile benig-n on many a thoughtful pair, 
 Whose evening walks this balmy influence share, 
 Who watch with kindling hearts the setting blaze, 
 And hymn for one day more the Giver's praise. 
 Or, death's dim visions stealing on the shades 
 As dying faith's resplendent image fades. 
 Talk of th' eternal morn, the night between. 
 And breathe th' inspiring air of worlds unseen. 
 It may be given to happy souls to bend 
 At such an hour above some musing friend : 
 If thus it be, then I could here believe 
 He meets me now who met me oft at eve. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 75 
 
 When, as we broke from study's tenfold chain, 
 Spread rural nature health, delight and gain. 
 Such joys may shine across the track of years. 
 And still may shine on eyes suffus'd with tears, 
 Shine at his grave to waken no regret 
 Save the soft sigh of friendship's grateful debt. 
 
 He from our race's younger branch was sprung ; 
 Elder than I, though Heaven receiv'd him young : 
 The promise rich that mark'd the boy's career 
 Rose with his life above a widening sphere ; 
 Wisdom, the fruit of many a varying soil. 
 He sought with love, and won with manly toil ; 
 Survey'd its lightest flower, its loftiest theme, 
 And chief admired each classic sage's scheme. 
 To fix on pillars fair the peaceful state, 
 With laws and manners mould a people's fate. 
 Then history brought the scroll of war and crime, 
 And showed the ceaseless doom to crouch or climb 
 Till at that sacred draught the thirst expires, 
 Sink on their shrine ambition's druid fires. 
 The crumbled mental chain drops clanking down, 
 And reason, justice, love, their freeman crown. 
 Hence, not enough could Plato, TuUy, plan ; 
 On Christian truth the Christian work began ; 
 Though rev'renc'd forms by cool Ilyssus strayed. 
 Though wise the group that talked in Tiber's shade. 
 Yet not in peace Minerva's symbol grew. 
 Not for mankind the Roman eagle flew : 
 To other days lamenting virtue turns. 
 Where in her cause the patriot ruler burns ; 
 
76 THE FAMILY BURIAL PLACE 
 
 Where Albion stretch'd her sceptre o'er the sea, 
 
 And spoke the slave on all its waters free ; 
 
 Where Prussia's sword, in righteous triumph sheath'd, 
 
 The fragrant bloom of nurtur'd knowledge wreath'd. 
 
 The generous call that bids the statesman keep 
 
 His midnight vigils while a nation sleep ; 
 
 That prompts the heart and hand of liberal wealth 
 
 To ope the streams of plenty, comfort, health ; 
 
 That sends, when genius lifts the honest pen. 
 
 The mighty thoughts and words which govern men ; 
 
 That summons loyal truth its all to bring. 
 
 Toil, fortune, life, to save a suffering king : 
 
 That nerves a host, with strong and single arm, 
 
 To drive afar the pure i-epublic's harm ; 
 
 That comes the va^t assembly's soul to bend. 
 
 And make the common good the common end ; 
 
 That generous call he heard in ail its power, 
 
 And we had hop'd to hail the future hour. 
 
 When at his voice his country's veins should swell, 
 
 And her wide bounds the noble impulse tell. 
 
 Pleasure he found my boyish steps to guide 
 
 On ways so long his manlier feet had tried ; 
 
 Pleasure to wield, his raptured friend to teach, 
 
 The scholar's golden arms of glowing speech ; 
 
 For mine was then th' enthusiast's novice eye. 
 
 By knowledge fix'd and charm'd, I knew not why 
 
 He show'd how meek her wisest votary moves 
 
 In the high, humble path that God approves. 
 
 There naught could shake him ; thence could naught 
 
 allure ; 
 If honors found him they must find him pure ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 77 
 
 Though weaker powers might praise, and loftier lead, 
 Yet ne'er for him should virtuous bosom bleed : 
 Had he but lived, one more had joined tl)e band 
 Whose names are treasures, hoarded by their land. 
 That points her youth the storied, spotless few, 
 And bids their march without a fear pursue : 
 Now, learning strikes once more the plaintive shell 
 For gifts that still untried, untainted fell. 
 Slight was the warning space, severe the blow ; 
 His sire, his sister, bow'd in lengthen'd woe ; 
 Too soon thy gush, maternal grief^ was dry, 
 But there where tears are wip'd from every eye : 
 Yet was there joy in grief; for he was all 
 That love could ask or wish or pleased recall : 
 There was no hope but large fulfilment won ; 
 There was no duty but was truly done ; 
 There was no doubt to hang above his dust ; 
 When such we moui'n, ' tis only that Ave must. 
 
 At the last grave I stand. The day is past. 
 And twilight's calm red sky is fading fast : 
 Bless'd be the Lord, who sends this pensive hour. 
 Lulls the rough wind, and closes up the flower, 
 Gives beast and bird and weary man their rest, 
 And soothes to grateful peace the wounded breast. 
 A sweeter rest remains : and there art thou, 
 Belov'd, betroth'd, mine never more than now 
 Thou, left with me when none was left beside. 
 Thou, at whose death my race, my being died. 
 Save of that race this lone and leafless tree, 
 And of that heart the hope to follow thee. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Since first began the power of dreams to frame, 
 
 My fairy world of bliss that never came, 
 
 In each ideal scone thy image shone. 
 
 And had an empire that was all its own ; 
 
 From boyhood's days not one may memory bring, 
 
 That did not see it like the smi of spring ; 
 
 There it remained when all the visions flew, 
 
 And, fajse to much, I yet to thee was true ; 
 
 Fairer than here it smiled it smiles above, 
 
 And thou art still my first, my only love. 
 
 That firm affection could not lead astray ; 
 
 Its gentle voice outsang the sorceress' lay ; 
 
 E'en when in childhood, round some blazing heai'th. 
 
 Our band of cousins came in noisy mirth, 
 
 Or, happier yet, retraced the rural road 
 
 Where long my grandsire held his blessed abode, 
 
 O'er orchard, meadow, forest, i-ambled free, 
 
 Stripp'd the full bush, and shook the bending tree, 
 
 Wlien, for ray side in many a partner's play, 
 
 One choice I had, and feared that choice to say ; 
 
 "When laughing friendship read the destin'd sign. 
 
 My eyes, my brow, the ruder shade of thine, 
 
 And half believ'd our equal age's end 
 
 The severed streams in beauteous flow to blend ; 
 
 E'en then a word, a look, from thee could still 
 
 My passion wild, my strong, rebellious will : 
 
 E'en then, though wav'ring oft, I wish'd to be 
 
 The duteous, grateful child I saw in thee. 
 
 Long, long tmtold, but kept in vestal truth. 
 
 That firm atlection passed through all my youth : 
 
 When favoring minds too lai'ge a praise decreed. 
 
 It was my joy that thou w^ould'st prize the meed ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, 79 
 
 When on a foreign strand I wandered far, 
 Thou cam'st as true as yon fair western star ; 
 When, bowed in soul, 1 heard my Saviour's voice, 
 Sweet was the thought of thy devoted choice ; 
 When morn and midnight saw me bend alone. 
 My prayers for thee were wafted to the throne. 
 How oft that graceful form, in fancy nigh, 
 Has made some heavy toil glide smoothly by ! 
 How many a time my fastened sight would trace 
 Something of thee in some bright stranger face. 
 Not stately charms, not light, alluring wiles. 
 But goodness' self when goodness gayest smiles. 
 Affliction came ; and since thy brother died, 
 Thy robes of mourning ne'er were laid aside ; 
 Year after year, we wept our kindred's fall, 
 Till thou to me, as I to thee, wert all. 
 All, and how mnch ! we still might hope to twine 
 Above our threshold dear the peaceful vine. 
 And, taught by tears like pilgrims here to go, 
 In union share such joys as pilgrims know. 
 How shall my heart on that fond moment dwell 
 When still I turned to look a brief farewell, 
 When we liad parted, yet with scarce a pain. 
 The swift return should bind the sacred chain : 
 I paused awhile beneath the moonbeam bright ; 
 Shone from thy window's shade one lonely light : 
 I saw thee sit, as weary with the way. 
 Or lost in musing on the by-gone day ; 
 From thy fair frame the cloak was backward flung, 
 Down thy supporting arm the dark veil hung ; 
 And I could feel how high thy bosom swelled. 
 What changing scenes thy mental glance beheld. 
 
80 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Future and past, the altar and the grave, 
 
 As the sav'd seaman looks o'er land and wave. 
 
 Was it for me thou seemed'st thy hands to raise, 
 
 While turn'd in tears my last delighted gaze ? 
 
 Again I saw thee : suffering fierce and deep, 
 
 The wiider'd brain, the couch that knows not sleep. 
 
 Oh, thou hadst much endured : but, through the gloom. 
 
 Like those bright twain that watched at Joseph's tomli. 
 
 Patience and faith sustained the house of clay, 
 
 Languid and pale and lovely in decay ; 
 
 And gladness trembled in thy voice and eye, 
 
 That I had hasted far to see thee die. 
 
 Thou best and dearest ! death had lost its sting ; 
 
 For me thy spirit linger'd on the wing ; 
 
 Cheer'd as thou wert, thy long belov'd to cheer, 
 
 And make him feel the hour of meeting near ; 
 
 Feel every grief almighty grace attend. 
 
 Guiding the path, and guarding till the end ; 
 
 Feel, worship, love, that wise, that bounteous sway. 
 
 Good when it gives, good when it takes away ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! till, following all his line, 
 Beneath this turf a willing head recline. 
 Till then I live among the viewless dead ; 
 Around my shadowy path they seem to tread ; 
 ]\Iid bustling crowds their tones are in my ear ; 
 In the still iiight I wake those tones to hear ; 
 Solemn they speak ; " the number'd moments fly ; 
 Naught here abides ; thy home is in the sky : 
 Dead to the world, arise from every loss 
 With purer zeal for yon redeeming cross ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 81 
 
 Do what thou find'st to do with all thy might ; 
 And lift thine eyes, for all is glorious light : 
 Oh, think what love still shields thy cherish 'd days ; 
 In what thou hast and hopest, rejoice and praise." 
 
 I will rejoice and praise : the chasten'd child 
 Shall thank his Sire because he has not smil'd. 
 The creature formed from dust, without a claim, 
 Shall bless in dust the sovereign Maker's name, 
 Who fram'd for all delight th' immortal mind, 
 And left amidst her wreck so much behind. 
 The ransom'd sinner, rescued from his chain, 
 Shall look on Him who trod the vale of pain, 
 And, passing there, for all His followers won 
 Grace, truth, and peace, and bliss e'en here begun. 
 
 In happier years to Him my heart I gave, 
 
 To serve where'er His heavenly banners wave : 
 
 Though oft 1 roam'd, though oft mid peril slept, 
 
 His promise still was richly, richly kept : 
 
 Now^ naught allures the recreant champion's flight ; 
 
 I lift the arms, I gird the mail, of light ; 
 
 I seek the field where, man's last hope to aid, 
 
 All holy might have heaven and earth array'd : 
 
 Each human heart the brother's name endears, 
 
 Till duty burns, and grief forgets her tears. 
 
 All are my brethren, all ! what gentle ties, 
 What kindly claims, in sweet remembrance rise, 
 Still for the living bind my soul to live. 
 And ffive me back as much as earth can give ! 
 
82 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 My native vale, beneath thy peaceful spires 
 Blaze at this hour a thousand household fires ; 
 Parent and child resume the w^onted seat ; 
 Kindred and friends at evening pastime meet : 
 How many a form, the rich, the poor, is there, 
 Beauty's young brow, and age's hoary hair. 
 Whose daily sight some grateful record brings, 
 And tunes the mental lyre's discordant strings ! 
 There dwells the friend who up beside me grew. 
 Boy, youth and man, in worth unwavering true ; 
 The teacher there, w^ho generous seed prepared, 
 Th' associate there, who all its harvest shared ; 
 The pastor there, who wrought his work divine 
 For many souls, nor therefore less for mine ; 
 They who for me the social board have spread, 
 They who with me have watch'd the dying bed : 
 My native vale, a greeting fair I send ; 
 Peace o'er thy walls her snowy wings extend ; 
 Truth light in thee each temple and each breast : 
 I too would live to make thy children bless'd. 
 
 My country ! when I trod the far-famed shores, 
 Along whose sands the Adrian billow roars ; 
 When stretch'd from Sabine hills my parting view, 
 And flung toward vanish'd Rome the last adieu ; 
 When glad I saw in morning's early beam 
 Dresden's fair arches glittering on the stream ; 
 When down I looked from many a vine-clad steep 
 Where Rhine's smooth tides round many a ruin sweep 
 Still from each scene my eyes were westward turn'd, 
 StUl at thy name the filial feeling burn'd, 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 83 
 
 And still the stranger join'd that honor'd name 
 With some high word of freedom, peace and fame. 
 Then long'd thy son his little powers to lend 
 Thy cherish'd lot to keep, adorn, defend ; 
 Then to his lip the glad thanksgiving sprung, 
 That on that lot his priceless birthright hung ; 
 Then kings and kingdoms, mount and ocean fled, 
 And thy green forests echoed to his tread. 
 'T was nature's call, 'twas duty's willing vow ; 
 Fain would the pilgrim's hand fulfil it now. 
 Where'er thy cities roll the breathing mass, 
 Where'er thy prairies wave their lakes of grass. 
 Far as thy waters wind to either sea. 
 Thou should'st be virtuous, as thou wouxd'st be free ; 
 Who would not grasp the moments as they fly, 
 When on their wings such mighty issues lie ? 
 
 Dearest art thou ; yet dear is many a land ; 
 
 I found in all the welcome's cheerful hand : 
 
 Oft was the meeting brief, yet sweet the stay ; 
 
 Unknown I came, in tears I turned away : 
 
 I know not now if yet they journey here ; 
 
 I shall not meet them till the dead appear ; 
 
 But they have taught the slumbering fire to wake, 
 
 Dear is their country for their memory's sake : 
 
 They taught the truth that love's celestial chain. 
 
 Unseen, must cross the desert and the main ; 
 
 Each strength'ning each, its thousand links must bind, 
 
 For man was made, redeemed, to love mankind: 
 
 Joming each land the mystic church is spread, 
 
 Joining the living with th' immortal dead. 
 
84 THE FAMILY B UEI AL -PL A C E. 
 
 Joining the pure below, the blessed above, 
 
 All in His sovereign name whose name is Love. 
 
 Oh, happy he, who, midst that peaceful flock, 
 
 Roves the green meads beneath th' eternal rock : 
 
 Thrice happy he, who comes to judgment's throne, 
 
 Sealed with the cross of faith, nor comes alone I 
 
 Ten thousand years, if years be told on high. 
 
 May yon slow systems sweep through boundless sky, 
 
 Each its long course of wondrous cycles run, 
 
 The never-ending morning scarce begun ; 
 
 Then while, perchance, along their path of light 
 
 Some angel memory turns her downward flight 
 
 Back to the little scenes she saw below. 
 
 And all the grief she knew or e'er shall know. 
 
 While, broad between, the past unrufiled smiles 
 
 Like a bright ocean strewed with many isles, 
 
 And on, still on, th' unruffled future glows. 
 
 Like that same ocean trackless in repose ; 
 
 The seraph's form celestial joy shall speak. 
 
 The seraph's eye one kindred seraph seek, 
 
 And sweeter tones than mortals hear may say, 
 
 " Thine was the hand that shew'd the heavenly way '" 
 
 Yes, all is sure : e'en fancy's tales are true : 
 
 High, high beyond this dome of starry blue, 
 
 Whose countless orbs are lighted up to-night, 
 
 To pour their glory on a mortal's sight. 
 
 Spreads many a lovelier land its airy coast. 
 
 The blissful seats of m any a perfect host : 
 
 From sphere to sphere aerial travelers roam, 
 
 And find in all a heaven, in heaven a home. 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 85 
 
 Gardens of God, whose tenants never fell, 
 
 Bowers where, from victory crown'd, the ransomed 
 
 dwell ; 
 All that we have of joy that can be pure. 
 All that of time may after time endure, 
 Whate'er of glory fills the poet's trance, 
 Earth, ocean, sky, all bursting on his glance, 
 Whate'er of light illumes the modest sage. 
 Shedding soft beams from truth's unfolding page, 
 Whate'er of warmth is beating in the breast 
 That leans on friendship's faithful arm to rest, 
 Whate'er of silent bliss its rapture speaks 
 In parent's eyes and children's dimpling cheeks, 
 Whate'er of conscious peace the pardon seals 
 Wlien, pouring forth his soul, the contrite kneels, 
 Whate'er of praise soars upward from the throng 
 When burning thousands wake the choral song, 
 All that the purest hearts, the noblest powers, 
 Felt in their noblest, in their purest hours, 
 All that in wisdom's eye was good and fair, 
 Fairest and best and ne'er to fade is there. 
 
 And of those holy hosts whose regal train 
 By the fair streams of paradise remain, 
 While ripening earth shall other millions send, 
 Till the full harvest crown her awful end, 
 Few, yet a few, of those blessed forms we know, 
 Thrice honored names, long lov'd and mourn'd below , 
 Patriarchs, and faithful priests, and righteous kings. 
 And rev'rend seers with harps of sweeter strings, 
 Scholars, who loved at Jesus' feet to hear, 
 Chiefs who with prayer upreared the pati-io*^^ spear, 
 7 
 
86 THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 Bishops amidst the flock their words had fed, 
 Queens at whose death a people's spirit bled. 
 Few, though a few : we know not how they came. 
 The souls that died and left no earthly fame. 
 From every scene where'er a heavenly heart 
 Sighed its last wish to God, content to part ; 
 From the cool tent beside some eastern rill. 
 From the drear hut where want lay shivering chill, 
 From the proud gloom of grandeur's mourning halls, 
 From the still valley's echoing cloister walls. 
 From the wild rout on battle's groaning plain. 
 Where the hot war-horse dashed him o'er the slain, 
 From the brave ship that founder'd in the gale 
 And left no voice to tell at home the tale, 
 From the soft couch where kindred watch'd and wept. 
 And sooth'd the patient suff 'rer till he slept. 
 From the lone spot where closed a weary eye, 
 None but the Lord and tarrying angels nigh ; 
 Alike if yet, whUe earth and man were young, 
 O'er distant years the bow of promise hung ; 
 Alike if while this evening's sun was red, 
 " Thy kingdom come," the spirit prayed and fled. 
 
 Mine too are there ! together all they stand ; 
 They smile on me, they spread the beckoning hand ; 
 So from the roofs of some fair rescued town 
 Sister and spouse and child look wistful down, 
 And towards the field whose wreaths are almost won, 
 Stretch the white flag, and wave their champions on. 
 Each eye is beaming, mild and bright as here. 
 But ne'er shall dim its glance one moment's tear ; 
 
THE FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE. 87 
 
 Nor age nor pain one graceful frame shall bow, 
 Nor shade a cloud of care one beauteous brow : 
 'T is peace, 't is bliss, around, within, above ; 
 The air is life, th' unfettered will is love : 
 Oh, while I look, 'tis glory all divine, 
 And yet 't is all the same that here was mine ; 
 I gaze, I linger on each heavenly face : 
 Not yet, not yet it comes, the long embrace. 
 "A little while : " 't is thus they seem to saj-, 
 And with that word I take my lonely way : 
 It is not dark, but as o'er woods and streams 
 E'en at this hour the rising moonlight beams, 
 Thus in my bosom stills its holy guest 
 The bitter sadness of a heart oppress'd. 
 And bids me think on that celestial smile, 
 And bless that glowing word, " a little while." 
 
 My Lord, my God, to thee I lift my eyes ; 
 From the still graves my prayers, my praise shall rise : 
 Good, good art thou ; with thee, with thee is re.«t ; 
 All hast thou given to win the childlike breast : 
 I turned from all ; I broke thy righteous will ; 
 I loved the world ; and thou wert gracious still ; 
 To the sweet paths, the sacred fane, of truth. 
 Gently thou led'st me, led'st me yet in youth, 
 Gav'st one immortal hope to every friend, 
 And kept'st that hope refulgent to the end. 
 Nor bad'st a tear in all my sorrows fall. 
 But that celestial hope was more than all. 
 
ASPIRATIOE"S. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN 
 
 1831. 
 
 Borne without the gate of doom, 
 Prisoned in corruption's gloom, 
 Shrouded, sepulchred, he lies, 
 Who, if thou but speak, shall rise : 
 Speak, and far the stone is rolled ; 
 Speak, and drops the shrouduig fold 
 Forth he comes, nor knows delay ; 
 When thy voice. Come forth, shalt say. 
 
 On the deep my storm-tossed bark 
 Meets the lurking pirates dark ; 
 Foes above, and waves below, 
 All around is death and woe : 
 But thou, blessed Pilot ! come ; 
 Quell the winds, and smooth the foam ; 
 Drive away the pirate band ; 
 Guide the vessel safe to land. 
 
 Lo, a barren fig-tree I, 
 And its branche?, branches dry, 
 Felled and fired, must sink to dust, 
 If thou speak the sentence just. 
 
ASPIRATIONS. S9 
 
 Let a year its doom restrain ; 
 Dig if, dung it, yet again : 
 Then, if nought it still return, 
 Weeping speak I, it shall burn. 
 
 Lo, the old tormentor wrings me ; 
 Into fires and waters flings me ; 
 Wearied, wasted, and o'erthrown, 
 I am left to thee alone. 
 That this foe may cease to strive. 
 That the sufferer may revive, 
 Give me. Lord, the grace of fasting, 
 Give me lowly prayer and lasting, 
 For this woe, so Christ has spoken, 
 Shall by fasts and prayers be broken. 
 
 From this woe my spirit cure, 
 Make me penitent and pure ; 
 Give me fear, ray safety shielding, 
 Nought to hazard idly yielding ; 
 Give me hope, and faith, and love ; 
 Warm desires that mount above ; 
 Give me scorn of things that die, 
 Give me sober piety. 
 
 All, God, from thee I crave ; 
 All in thee I hope to have ; 
 All things from thy gift possessing. 
 Thou, my only praise and blessing ; 
 Thou, my solace in my toil ; 
 In disease my healing oil ; 
 Thou, in grief my gladsome lyre; 
 Thou, my peace mid storms of ire ; 
 
90 ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 Thou, who freest me in distresses ; 
 Thou, whose arm my falls redresses ; 
 Prompting fear when I psevail ; 
 Hope maintaining when I fail ; 
 Am I injured '^ thou coutendest ; 
 Am I threatened ? thou defendest ; 
 All things dubious thou revealest, 
 All that should be hid comealest. 
 
 Oh, permit me not to go 
 Thi-ongh th' infernal gates of woe, 
 AMiere is anguish, where are feai's ; 
 TVhere are loathsomeness and tears ; 
 Where are crimes with light surrounded ; 
 "Whei-e the guilty ai-e confounded , 
 "WTiei-e the scoiirge is ever smiting ; 
 Where the womi is ever biting ; 
 "Where these horrors are forever, 
 For the second death dies never. 
 
 Me let yonder Sion greet ; 
 Sion. David's tranquil seat : 
 Here, the Lord of hght immortal 
 BuUt, and made the cross her portal ; 
 And her keys are Peter's voice ; 
 And her dwellers aU rojoice ^ 
 And her walls are living stone, 
 And her guard the Almighty throne. 
 
 In her towers is light eternal ; 
 Peaceful seasons ever vernal ; 
 Fragrance tilling all the skies. 
 Floods of festal melodies. 
 
ASPIRATIONS. 91 
 
 Tiiere, is no corrupting taint, 
 No defect, and no complaint ; 
 None or spot or blemish bearing ; 
 All, but Christ's own image wealing. 
 
 Heavenly city, city bless'd, 
 Founded on the rojk of rest, 
 Haven safe for every sail, 
 From afar thy towers I hail ; 
 Hail, and long more near to see ; 
 Loving, seeking, nought but thee. 
 
 What the praise thy dwellers render. 
 What the marriage-supper's splendor, 
 What its fellowship entwining, 
 With what gems the walls are shining, 
 Jacinth, sapphire, how they glow, 
 They who there abide may know. 
 May I. in that city's street, 
 With the pious concourse meet, 
 And with Moses and EUas, 
 Sing the hallelujah pious. 
 
 N'OTE, — This appears to have been written by Hildebert. Bishop of Mentz, in the 
 twelfth century, and is called by Archbishop Usher'- rhythmos elegantissimos 1 "' 
 
TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN. 
 
 While now ascends the orb of day, 
 With supphant spirits let us pray, 
 That God, the uncreated light, 
 May guide our erriug footsteps right. 
 
 Nor be our tongue or hand in sin, 
 Nor evil thought find rest within, 
 But simple truth the lips control, 
 And love be sovereign in the soul, 
 
 Oh, while the day begun goes by. 
 Be thou, Christ, our watchman nigh, 
 And guard our senses' open gates, 
 Where close the fierce besieger waits. 
 
 Grant that our daily toil may raise 
 Some work to tell thy glorious praise ; 
 And as from thee the purpose flows. 
 So let thy favor cx'own the close. 
 
 And lest the pride of flesh should bind 
 Too much the frail and subject mind, 
 Let food and drink but slow supplied. 
 Subdue with care that fleshly pride. 
 
MORNING HYMN. 
 
 93 
 
 To God the Father glory be, 
 And to His sole begotten Son, 
 And Holy Spirit, Three in One, 
 Now and through all eternity. 
 
THE STEIFE OF BKOTHEES. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I.' — Oh,- might I find some sacred, safe retreat. 
 
 Where Truth and gentle Peace might dare to meet I 
 TMiere, hstening from alar to mark tlie roar 
 Of passion's Avaves that died along the shore, 
 My heart and thine might hold the silent way, 
 And only need to love, and toil, and pray ! 
 
 C. — If thou e.uist guess the years of idol reign. 
 
 Or teU how long 'the Ai-abian moon must ^Yane. 
 Or count how oft the atheist's sharpened stmg^ 
 Firm on his head the trampling heel shall bring, 
 Then thou may'st look on that soft realm of flowers. 
 And build for lancv brisht millennial bowers. 
 
 I. and 0. The reader mav interpret these letters as signs of the names Ikes- 
 icus and CATHOLicrs, or of any other titles answering to the sentiments at the 
 head of which they are placed. 
 
 2 ^Ve can but •'"anticipate," with Bishop Horsley, that " glorious consummation 
 when &ith shall be absorbed in knowledge, and the fire of controversy forever 
 quenched : when the same generous zeal for God and truth, which, too often, iu 
 this world of folly and confusion, sets those at widest variance whom the similitude 
 of virtuous feeUnss should the most unite, shall be the cement of an indissoluble 
 friendship." 
 
 * •• The Arabian moon must wane, to was no more." — Soiithey. 
 
 * " Pertness and ignorance," says Bishop Home, '-may ask a question in three 
 lines, which it will cost lejuming and ingenuity thirty pages to answer. When 
 this is done, the same question shtUl be triumphantly asked again the next year, 
 as if nothing had ever been written upon the subject." 
 
THE STRIF^: OK BKOXHKRS. 95 
 
 But while so thick the deadly arrows fly, 
 Lower not a shield, nor cast a javelin by ; 
 For, Salem's walls must rise, as once they rose,' 
 By builders armed, and mid beleaguering foes. 
 
 I. — Oh, let such task, in battle's front, be mine , 
 To guard the walls, or bleed before the shrine I 
 But when sweet hymns are wafted up the aisle,® 
 And prayer's high incense fills th' o'erarching pile, 
 And all below, mid banners' hostile pride. 
 Terror and wrath are kneeling, side by side, 
 Then sinks my heart ; and strength and courage dies : 
 Such way I learned not, to the starry skies." 
 
 Soft down yon vale, a Sabbath's t\vilight hour 
 
 Gilds, midst its modest elms, a buttressed tower ; 
 
 And, lingering yet, enfolds with crimson fire 
 
 On the tall hill the far-seen, flashing spire ; 
 
 An humbler place of prayer o'erhangs the stream 
 
 That glides, a Jordan, through the enthusiast's dream. 
 
 If Charlestown's news once more cculd rouse the glen, 
 'Our villajre still mijjht arm its six-score men : 
 
 '■> '• They which builded on the wall, and the}' that bare burdens, with thoee 
 that laded, every one with one of his hand^ wrought in the work, and with the 
 other hand held a weapon.-' Nehemiah ir. 1". 
 
 6 Lord Bacon, in a •' Prayer or Psalm " composed by him.exclainig, "I hare 
 loved Thy a.s.sembliei : I have mourned for the divisions of Thy Church : I have 
 delighted in the brightness of Thy sanctuarj-." " Why." says old Fuller, " should 
 there be so much railing about the body of Christ, when there was none about the 
 body of Mo«es in the act kept betwixt the devil and Michael the archangel? '■ 
 
 ' Non " sic itnr ad astra." 
 
 8 A prelate of excellent sense and temper, after enumerating twenty-two sub- 
 divisions of the four most numerous denominations of Christians in the United 
 States, remarks that, •' in most of our villages, one half the church edifices, and 
 one half the clergy, would supply ample accommodations, and better instruction, 
 to the people, at less expense to them, and with increased usefnliKSS to the clergy.'' 
 
96 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 But three sharp peals the echoes woke to-day, 
 And three small bands went up, apart to pray, 
 And thrice went round the cup of mystic grace. 
 And homeward now a threefold path they pace; 
 They could not meet e'en love's own cup to share ; 
 They could not bend in faith's own common prayer ; 
 And as they pass, I mark the whispering fear. 
 The cold, proud glance, the smile almost a sneer ; 
 One land they seek — one lord and law they own ; 
 But each small band must win its way alone ! 
 
 C — Still spread that buttressed tower an ample gate ; 
 
 Schism was their guilt, and schism their wasting fate 
 The church, the spouse, still wooed them to her arms — 
 
 I. — Wooed, dare I say, with Amazonian charms r° 
 As when young Edward sought a Scottish bride," 
 And that stout Earl mid smoking fields replied, 
 " He liked not ill, good sooth, the proffered ring, 
 But somewhat roughly wooed the love-lorn king !" 
 So bland from Crito's pen persuasion streams ! 
 With such mild grace the Ambrosian mitre" beams ' 
 AYhen friends but weep, and champions true retire. 
 Sure, foes must melt beneath such coals of fire. 
 
 9 "The Church,'' says Jeremy Taylor, " is not a chimaera, not a shadow, but a 
 company of men believing in Jesus Christ; which men either speak by themselves 
 immediately, or by their rulers, or by their proxies and representatives." 
 
 10 The battle of Musselburgh was fought in 1C47, during the invasion of Scot- 
 land by the English, when the guardians of Edward the Sixth attempted to com- 
 pel a marriage between him and the young Queen of Scotland ''About fifteen 
 hundred of both sorts,' says Ileylin, 'were taken prisoners; amongst which the 
 daring Earl of Huntley was one of the chief, who, being after asked, how he 
 liked the marriage, is said to have returned this answer : • That he could well 
 enough brook the wedding, but that he did not like that kind of wooing. ' ' 
 
 " One American prelate, has described another as ' ' exercising the c;race of the 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 97 
 
 No, not by arms like these shall truth subdue 
 
 The souls that once from arms like these withdrew. 
 
 When learless Hampden rose : when meek disdain 
 
 Sat on the earnest brow of youthful Vane ;'- 
 
 When Cromwell," yet untaught the apostate's art, 
 
 Spoke the frank fire that warmed an English heart ; 
 
 No sealing cross by Herbert's finger drawn, 
 
 Nor Mede's white robe, nor Hall's unsullied lawn. 
 
 Woke that sad wish which sent the eager eye 
 
 Where gleamed through Western woods our purple sky. 
 
 No ; but the train of pomp'* mid flocks forgot ; 
 
 The crosier stretched to crush the outcast's cot ; 
 
 The lofty mien that spoke its scorn aloud, 
 
 If robed in gloom some contrite spirit bowed ; 
 
 The might that smote where hearts had learned to feel, 
 
 E'en erring hearts, the firm confessor's zeal. 
 
 While round the throne its frail and dangerous aid 
 
 Twined like the ivy in some leafless shade. 
 
 In man's strange breast e'en stranger bonds are tied, 
 
 Than e'en though love should wear the brow of pride ; 
 
 But never yet that brow the free o'erawed. 
 
 From conquering Austin'^ down to conquered Laud. 
 
 Apostleship ;" and another has excused the imperfections of a sermon by '"the 
 pressure of the many cares and anxieties connected with the Apostolic office." 
 
 12 " Vane, young in years, but in sage council old." — Milton. 
 
 13 When Cromwell first spoke in Parliament, " Lord Digby. going down the 
 parliament stairs with Mr. Hampden, and not knowing Oliver personally, said, 
 ' Pray, Mr. Hampden, who is that man, for I see he is on our side by his speaking 
 80 warmly to-day?' ' That sloven,' said Mr. Hampden, prophetically, ' whom you 
 see before you, hath no ornament in his speech ; that sloven. I say, if we should 
 ever come to a breach with the king, which God forbid I in such a case, I say, that 
 sloven will be the greatest man in England.' " 
 
 1* Bishop Burnet, describing two or three of the most pious amongst the Scot- 
 tish prelates, says of the Presbyterians, " some of the severest of them have 
 owned to me, that if there were many such bishops, they would all be episcopal.'' 
 Cotton Mather has recorded a similar remark of his father, that, had the bench 
 been filled in the time of King Charles with such prelates as he found in England 
 under King William, there had been no New England. 
 
 15 " If this Austin," said the old British hermit to his countrymen, " be mild 
 
St8 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 C — Green wave the palm above the martyr's rest ; 
 And name him not, or let his name be blessed ! 
 When that pale reverend head fell down at last, 
 And o'er the crimson wave'""' his spirit passed, 
 Oh, could not then the huntsmen's fury cease, 
 And leave the dead, the murdered dead, in peace ? 
 
 I. — Forgive the word that but in sorrow rose : 
 
 I thonght on Charles and that last night'" of woes 
 His own proud halls were silent ; but the clang 
 Of heavy squadrons on tlie pavement rang, 
 And sometimes reached his ear a stifled sound, 
 "While rose the scatfold from the moaning groand. 
 
 Forms on the tapestry, shadows mid the gloom. 
 To fancy's eye half hllod the stately room, 
 "Where still his prayerful watch the monarch kept, 
 And, lulled by grief one true companion slept. 
 Mid broken d)-emns the murdered prelate came ; 
 Keen was liis glance, unbent his aged frame ; 
 But when, it seemed, he caught his king's reply, 
 He paused, he fell, with one vast speechless sigh. 
 The starting sleeper woke, the scene to tell ; 
 And, " strange," said Charles ; *' but though I loved 
 him well, 
 
 and luimble of heart, it is likely that he himself boareth the yoke of Christ, and 
 will offer you the same to hear. But if he be curst and proud, it is certain that 
 he is not of God, neither must we much esteem his words." " If when ye ap- 
 proach ne;ir, he ariseth courteously to you, think you that he is the servant of 
 Christ, and so hear ye him obediently. IJut if he despise you, nor will vouchsafe 
 to rise at your presence, which are the more in number, let him likewise be des- 
 pised of yovi." Austin failed under the test ; but the Saxons were converted, and 
 the Britons were subdued. 
 
 1'^ More than once, in his speech and prayer upon the scaffold, the venerable 
 victim compared his death to the passage of a Ked Sea. 
 
 1" This iiffecting incident is related by Sir Thomas Herbert, who passed the 
 night with the king before his execution. 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 99 
 
 Heard he me now, too late his soul had sighed !" 
 Oh, what a tale to bend the brow of pride ! 
 
 C. — The brow was smooth, and meek the downcast eye, 
 Where the grave, plotting Puritan went by ' 
 His was no wrathful flash, no sudden blow, 
 Though king and kingdom shared the wild o'erthrow ; 
 And when his iron council met to slay, 
 The deep arch-villain turned aside to pray !'" 
 The axe with Britain's worthiest gore was red 
 On the drear moors her chivalry had bled ; 
 Her orphaned church was exiled from her aisles ; 
 He had no tears, he scarce had painful smiles ! 
 But that the Yule fires blazed,'® that merry May 
 Sent village boys and maidens to their play. 
 That on the Lord's bright mom he could not shroud 
 Fields, towns, and men, in all his spirit's cloud ; 
 That youth was young, that tortured laughter laughed ; 
 These were the woes in his embittered draught ! 
 
 I- — Yet, calm delights sprung up where, o'er the sea, 
 He built a home, and bade that home be free. 
 My own New England ! Oh, not yet forgot 
 Be those blithe days, in that sequestered spot. 
 
 18 Cromwell, Treton, and Ilarrison, are saij to have been engaged in prayer 
 when the axe fell upon the neck of their sovereign : and it is added, though not on 
 good authority, that it was to deceive Fairfax till it should be too late for his inter- 
 position. 
 
 's Edmund Calamy. preaching before the House of Commons on Christmas- 
 day, 1644, which was observed as a fast, said, " Truly, I think the superstition and 
 profaneness of this day is so rooted into it, that there is no way to reform it, but 
 by dealing with it as Hezekiah did with the brazen serjient: this year God has bu- 
 ried this feast in a fast, and I hope it will never rise again." Prynne was charged 
 with " having railed, not only against stage-jtlays. comedies, dancing, and all other 
 exercises of the people, and against such as beheld them, but further, and in par- 
 ticular, against hunting, public festivals, Christmas-keeping, bonfires, and May- 
 poles. " 
 
 LofC. 
 
100 THE STRIPE OF BEOTHEKSo 
 
 Where once, mid rural gales, a careless boy 
 Found with the Pilgrims' children health and joy : 
 That dear old mansion, with its birds and bees. 
 And green boughs tossing in the summer breeze ; 
 The wood, where that wild brook in tumult went ; 
 The lake, where o'er our boat the wiUows bent i 
 And sparkling fields from morning casements seen ; 
 And evening shadows on the new-mown green ! 
 What sacred fragrance breathed through all the air? 
 And why seemed every thought almost a prayer ? 
 No spire Avas there, nor chime of distant bell, 
 Surplice, nor font, nor organ's rolling swell ; 
 The pastor rose mid gray-haired brethren calm. 
 And but the heart's sweet music winged the psalm : 
 B'at there was simple faith, and holy fear, 
 And love that triumphed o'er a creed austere ; 
 And the blue skies were aU a temple's dome. 
 And a priest worshipped in each qmet home '. 
 Oh, still the stream of joys that deepest glide, 
 With heaven's own sunbeams resting on its tide ? 
 And one pure sparkling cup shall gayer shine 
 Than goblets blushing with the reveler's wine. 
 
 If, e'en where ancient manners oloom no more, 
 Freedom and peace still guard thy native shore 5 
 If, with the flag that bears their onward sway, 
 Floats the true Cross to cHmes of Western day ; 
 If, from the harvests of ten thousand vales, 
 A song of Christian gladness loads the gales ; 
 Then honor thou thy sires : beneath their toil 
 High heaven Avith blessing fed the desert soil, 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 101 
 
 On rocks and sands outspread the vernal sod, 
 And gave them love's own fruits, the seal of God. 
 
 C. — Peace to tlieir dust ! But where they dared to stray, 
 Shall I then fear to tread the worthier way ? 
 E'en from their rest^" the righteous army call, 
 And bid us love their steps, but shun their fall ! 
 On all the summer plains no living seed 
 Springs half so sure as man's immortal deed ; 
 The winds may waft o'er streams and forests wide, 
 And long, long years the buried germ may hide 
 But comes a day with genial suns and airs. 
 And springs the wheat, and waves the wasting tares. 
 So, virtuous fruits still wait on virtuous men. 
 Vouchsafed to Wesley, not Avithheld from Penn ; 
 From exiled sires my country's glory came ; 
 Yet whence but thence my country's wasting shame ? 
 That shame is strife,^' that draws the unhallowed 
 sword — 
 
 1. — The strife of brethren round their father's board — 
 
 C. — The strife of warriors battling o'er a corse 
 
 That bleeds in dust beneath their charging horse ! 
 Oh, for the days when one white banner flew, 
 And round it close the sacred phalanx drew ! 
 How beauteous then was Zion ! East and West 
 The pilgrim passed,^^ a glad and welcome guest ; 
 
 20 « If not, and I have lost my way, 
 
 Here part we ; go not thou astray. — Montgomery. 
 
 21 The principle of division, or of sects, m opposition to the principle of union 
 as developed in the system of a comprehensive church, has been very forcibly 
 illustrated in a work from the pen of the Rev. Mr. Vail, of Connecticut 
 
 22 " There was a time," says Bishop Home, "and it is pleasing to look back to 
 it, when a Christian, provided with proper credentials from his bishop, might 
 
102 THE STRIFE OF BROTH I. ES. 
 
 Though rites of various beauty crossed his way. 
 Like all the hues that tinge the robes of day, 
 Yet true and bright as yon all-circling sun, 
 ■The faith he bore, the faith he found, was one. 
 Still the same blessing fell from priestly hands ; 
 He heard his father's creed in distant lands ; 
 Thrice'^^ called the rolling year the festal throng, 
 While little children lisped his childhood's song ; 
 As evening closed, he staid his weary feet, 
 Where vesper anthems brought his greeting sweet : 
 And when at mom he turned him from the door. 
 The prayer that summons angels sped before ; 
 And, hoUest still, one spotless board was spread, 
 And hallowed hands still broke the living bread, 
 Alike where far o'er isles and waves looked fortli 
 Ancient lona,-* torchhght of the North ; 
 Alike where whispering through Saint Thomas"'' 
 
 palm, 
 The Indian sea-breeze bore the Syrian psalm. 
 
 I. — ^O fairy vision, sweet, but all untrue !-^ 
 
 Like life's young morning, bright with fancy's dew. 
 And lingering still, Avhile niemory, gaily blind, 
 Its cares, its toils, its sorrows, flings behind ! 
 Cradled mid storms, and nerved by scenes of fear, 
 The serpent, falsehood, crouching at her ear, 
 
 travel through the world, from East to West, and from North to South, and be ve- 
 ceired to communion with his brethren, in any part of the globe then known."" 
 
 -^ To this daj-, where, except in Scotland and the United States, :s Christmas. 
 Easter, or Pentecost, unhonored ' 
 
 2* AVho has forgotten the stately admiration of Johnson ' 
 
 -5 Bishop Heber seems disposed to listen to the tradition that the Apostle 
 Thomas actually reached the point on the Indian shore that bears his name 
 
 ^ '' We need," says the writer of Ancient Christianity, "neither feel surprise 
 nor alarm, when we find, in particular instances, that the grossest errors of theory 
 and practice are to be traced to their origin in the first centujry." 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 103 
 
 To sternest strife" the infant church upsprung, 
 And truth came trembling from her fiery tongue ; 
 Tlirough sternest strife she clasped her treasured 
 
 theme, 
 Through Marcion's^^ hate, and Manes"^ gorgooufi 
 
 dream ; 
 E'en o'er her PaschaP" feast wild hearts could burn, 
 E'en o'er the contrite recreant's late return: ' 
 Then spoke in vain Nicaea's just decree. 
 Free swelled the Arian's hymns ^^ o'er shore and sea ; 
 From rival shrines'' unhallowed lightnings burst. 
 And half the realm ot Christ held half accursed ; 
 
 27 '• Who knows not," asks Bishop Jewel, " how many heresies arose together, 
 from the very times of the Apostles, when the Gospel *as first spread abroad? 
 Who had ever before heard of Simon, Menander, Saturninus, Basilides, Carpo- 
 crates, Cerinthus, Ebion, Valentinus, Secundus, Marcosius, Colorbasius, Herac- 
 leon, Lucian, Severus? And why mention we these? Epiphanius enumerates 
 eighty distinct heresies, Augustine even more, which grew up together with the 
 Gospel." 
 
 ^ Marcion received only the Epistles of St. Paul, and a Gospel drawn, with 
 many alterations, from that of St. Luke ; and he " arrayed against each other the 
 Supreme God and the Demiurge, the God of the Jews," representing the latter as 
 •' though not unjust by nature, infected by matter, subject to all the passions of 
 man, cruel, changeable." He was born in the first half of the second century. 
 
 29 "A bold and ambitious adventurer," says Milman, "in the career of reli- 
 gious change, attempted to unite the conflicting elements ; to reconcile the hostile 
 genius of the East and West ; to fuse together, in one comprehensive scheme, 
 Christianity, Zoroastrianism, and apparently, the Buddhism of India." "In the 
 East and in the West, the doctrines spread with the utmost rapidity ; and the deep 
 impression which they made upon the mind of 'man may be estimated by Maniche- 
 ism having become, almost throughout Asia and Europe, a by -word of religious 
 animosity." He was born about 240. 
 
 ^0 The contention respecting the time of celebrating Easter must have begun 
 almost as early as the first propagation of the Gospel, and was deemed by the 
 Bishop of Rome, towards the end of the second century, suflicieutly important to 
 justify an interruption of communion. Syria and Mesopotamia followed the Jew- 
 ish rule till the Council of Nice. 
 
 31 The Novatian and Donatist schisms originated in questions concerning those 
 who had yielded, more or less, under the fury of persecution. 
 
 33 Arius composed hymns in accordance with his opinions, to be sung by seamen, 
 travelers, and laborers. After the Council of Rimini, " the world groaned." says 
 St. Jerome, "to find itself Arian." It was, indeed, but for a moment; yet a 
 strong minority, embracing whole nations, remained for at least two centuries. 
 
 .•« "The persecutions which followed," says Bishop White, " are sufficient to 
 render problematical how far so gross a departure from the spirit of the Gospel 
 ought to permit, from that time, the mere testimony of the Church to be evidence 
 ol the purity of its doctrine." 
 
104 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 Then, Latin zeal the hosts of heaven adored ; 
 Then, Grecian wrath allured the Moslem sword ; 
 Till silence wrapped the ashes of the East, 
 And Western strife with truth's old freedom ceased. 
 
 When spake the Church like one sweet lyre the same, 
 
 Since on the spot" that gave its dearest name, 
 
 In victory's earliest dawn apostles strove, 
 
 Fast by the shades of Daphne's trembling grove ? 
 
 C. — Not long they strove : the mists in morning's beam 
 Float on the hills, and shroud the sleepless stream ; 
 So doubt and error met that purer ray, 
 And melting as it climbed, fled fast away. 
 On the long river's side, a thousand waves 
 Break on the rocks, or dash down hidden caves , 
 But doubts the voyager more where, far and free, 
 Points the broad channel onward to the sea? 
 
 I. — Yet, the same hand that poured from heaven the tide, 
 Each humblest drop along its course shall guide ; 
 Nor finds the Nile a home less sure at last. 
 For all the sevenfold Avay its waters passed. 
 I count not, man by man, each bannered host. 
 To plant my faith, and cast my lot, with most ; 
 Nor lofty words my steadfast heart appal. 
 That name the voice of most the voice of all." 
 
 34 " But -when Peter was come to Antioch, I withstood him to the face."' 6al- 
 f.tians ii. 11. 
 
 '■> " The Church," says Archbishop AVhately, " is one, and so is the human 
 race one ; but not as a society." An acute German theologian expresses the same 
 thought with more fulness : '• the inward Church is necessarily and always a sin- 
 gle body, {h eKK\r)(!ia tov deov, coijia Xptoroij ;) but the Church become outward 
 is such only through the medium of the inward, otherwise it consists of several 
 ■Kdaai ai lKKKr)aiai rC)V ayiwv.'''' Bishop Butler speaks of " the whole visible 
 Church," as identical with '" all 'Christian communities.'' 
 
THE STKIFE OF BROTHERS. 105 
 
 Nestorius erred : I hail the judgment true, 
 
 But not because JS'estorius marshaled few, 
 
 Nor e'en, though banned and hunted o'er and o'er, 
 
 They fled from shouting conncils,^' one or four ! 
 
 If Asia bow before the partial train 
 
 That met and clamored on the Ephesian plain,-' 
 
 How low must England's stubborn knee be bent, 
 
 When the vast West speaks forth from solemn Trent ! 
 
 Strong is the arm of myriads ; strong their cry, 
 Whose many pinions scale the upper sky : 
 Yet lifts them there no word more sure or sweet, 
 Than that whose promise rests where twain shall meet , 
 Than that which hovers where some lonely saint 
 For heavenly wisdom pours to heaven his plaint. 
 That wisdom's sunbeam makes the simple wise. 
 And lights all willing hearts and waking eyes ; 
 That wisdom's manna lies o'er all the ground, 
 Till all that search their sacred feast have found. 
 
 C— Then, welcome all ; for all such search shall boast ; 
 It waves on every pennon of the host. 
 The Wesleyan searched ; and lo, the mingled seed. 
 Where powerless prelates" mould a shapeless creed ; 
 
 36 "We reverence," says Burnet, " those Councils fo, the sake of their doc- 
 trine ; but do not believe the doctrine for the authority of the Councils " ■' Be- 
 sides that they are excellent instruments of peace," says Jeremy Taylor " the 
 best human judicatories in the world, rare sermons for the determining a point in 
 controversy, and the greatest probability for human authority ; besides thc-e ad- 
 vantages, I say, I know nothing greater that general councils can pretend to with 
 reai?onand argument sufficient to satisfy any wise man." 
 
 37 .-This Assembly," says Neander, "was partly the blind instrument of 
 Cyril, who by various artt succeeded in securing sovereign influence over it and 
 partly was governed by a wild fanaticism " ' 
 
 38 Wesley did not hesitate to write, in 1785, " I firmly believe I am a scriptural 
 Em^Ko-rroT^s much as any man in England or in Europe. For the uninterrupted 
 succession I know to be a fable, which no man ever did or can prove " "^""^''•" 
 
10() TIIK STIMFK OF U U O T U K 15 S . 
 
 Where perfect love''* the darts of wrath can aim, 
 And perfect pureness leap the verge of shame ! 
 See, lliroiigh their camp, mid circling forests dim. 
 Glides the loo^ic ruiliau to the midnight hynm ; 
 The village beauty bares her maiden charms ; 
 High lifts the imposter loud his sinewy arms ; 
 Till terrors wild with wilder raptures close, 
 And strewed they lie, like herds, in strange repose! 
 
 I. — Yet, truth should tell how once, when slept the priest^" 
 O'er his drained goblet and his evening feast. 
 They sought the miner, as the sun went down, 
 Or pierced the lanes that thread the o'ersw^arming town ; 
 How at their cry the iron bosom heaved. 
 The scotfer prayed, the illumined poor believed ; 
 How PauP' seemed risen in their apostle's lire ; 
 How David's spirit" touched their psalmist's lyre ; 
 How first beside the settler's cot tliey stood. 
 Or with the boatman by the lonely liood, 
 Or sought the hunter n\id his wild-wood reign. 
 Or the slave panting on through tielils of cane ; 
 
 ■''■' Tho iloi'trino of Wo?U\v is tlnis oxpvossod by l\inisolf : " \t ivniiiins, then, 
 that Ohvisti;ins aro savoil in this wtn-Ul from all sin, iVoni all miriifhtoousnoss ; that 
 thoy aro now, in suoh ;\ sonso porfoot as not to commit sin, and to bo frood from 
 evil thonijhts andovii tompors." 
 
 *' "l\Sir," oxolaims W osloy, in a lottor to a clergyman, in 1749, "wliatnn 
 idlo thins is it for yon to dis|nite about lay proaohers ? Is not a lay-pi-ojiohor pvef- 
 orable to a drnnkon proaohor ? to a oursinsi, swoarinp; prcnchor '.'" '"Some may 
 oonsure me," says WhitotioKl, " but is thoiv not a oanse ? Tulpits arc denied, aud 
 t!io poor colliers are ready to perish for lack of knowledge."' 
 
 •" Tho desoriptiou of Wliitetield by Cowper, eqnally paints his gi-eat riv.il and 
 frioiui. 
 
 " He followed Vaul, his zeal a kindred flame, 
 His apostolic charity the same ; 
 l.ike hini cvossoii cliccrfnlly tempestuous sons, 
 Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease ; 
 Like him he labored, and, like him content 
 To bear it, suffered shauio where'er ho went." 
 
 ■*- Xo writer of sacivd poetry, iu our lauguage, has equaled the ardor and bold- 
 r.ess of Charles AVeslev. 
 
TIIK STlUKt: OF Bit OTHERS. 107 
 
 No .spire ulxjvc, save those oM giant trees, 
 
 No strain sav(i theirs, and that (le<;p We.^teiii Ijreeze ! 
 
 C. — Then turn, and maik liow still such search could end, 
 When sank the Christian, and rose up the F'riend ! 
 I'alled with the word," above the word he flew, 
 And fiota his own heart's heaven a spirit drew : 
 First, on the startled aisle it poured its dream, 
 With naked form and more than maniac scream 
 Next, calmer zeal each precious rite denied. 
 The twofold stream from that once wounded side ; 
 Tlien, sinking far, exhausts its love and fire 
 On words antique and courtiers' old attire ; 
 And last, contentment seeks an humbler prize. 
 Health, wealth, and comfort, all beneath the skies; 
 And, faith and fancy lost in one decay, 
 Tlie world remains, the world in sober gray!" 
 
 1. — Too sad, too sadly true, the bitter tale: 
 Yet not e'en there the dews of mercy fail. 
 Calm women preached of peace, anrl smiled at death ; 
 . Gazing on Penn, fierce sachems held their breath ; 
 And truth but sighs for strains to freedom dear. 
 When yon high clarion lay" is in her ear. 
 
 C. — In Cliristian lands a Roman's classic zeal ; 
 
 In Christian breasts what upright Bramins feel. 
 
 *" ^^^ye may not,"' says Barclay, '"call the Scriptures the principal fountain 
 of all truth anj knowledge, nor yet the firHt adequate rule of faith and manners."' 
 
 ** The i)ro;n'eK« of QuikeriHin from the times of fjijorge Fox to the ♦imes of the 
 author of '• I'aiitika,"' and '• Visits to Ilcmarkable Pl.V'es," certainly contains one 
 st<,'i» more than this description ; for the world of William Ilowitt has all its natu- 
 ral colors. 
 
 *^ American poetry has known no sounds so arousing as those which have 
 issued from the home of a .M.assachus<;tts Friend; one whose manly zeal for the 
 rights and ha]>pinessof his fe!low-men is in most painful contnutt with his disdain 
 f jr iastitutions which, at the lea.st, he must own to be coeval with the Gospel. 
 
108 THE STRIFE OF BROTEIERS 
 
 But e'en the bleak bare mount has charms sublime; 
 And such the faith that knows nor }Mte nor tmie 
 Such charms are gone, where, far along the land, 
 Each hamlet groans beneath its rudest band,'" 
 Who meet, with stifled hearts and bended brows. 
 To rend the white robe of the unsullied spouse; 
 Intent alone, that when, through streams they scoi n. 
 To joy's new life the heir of heaven is born, 
 No secret spot, no half unmoistened hair, 
 Like young Pelides' heel, the death may bear , 
 Intent alone that still those streams may shed 
 Their balm on all except the guileless head ; 
 Intent alone, o'er many an age's track, 
 To call the bliss of Pagan childhood back ' 
 
 I. — Another charm those simple hearts'" awoke ; 
 " We go but where the path our Master spoke " 
 And not untinged with praise the blame that waits 
 When error dwells so near devotion's gates. 
 Next, on the sons the fathers' mantles fall ; 
 So Foster wrote, so spoke the soul of Hall, 
 So Tervius walks, a million's sing'e boast, 
 And towers, like Saul, a head o'er all the host. 
 
 C. — And if a kindly heart so much atone, 
 
 Light be their cares, who on the fiery throne 
 
 *^ The author of " Spiritual Despotism" describes the sect of Baptists as " a 
 small party of Christians, by no means outshining their brethren in solid Christian 
 ■virtues, or in amiable and heavenlj^ dispositions, shutting themselves up in their 
 little munition and spiritual pride, a city walled up to heaven ; and there un- 
 christianizing, or at leasi unchurching, all Christendom.' ' 
 
 *^ AVhere the information of a body of men is Lmited, the argument which re- 
 quires the plain words of Scripture for every usage, has its utmost effect. It is a 
 mere point of history, and not mentioned in any disparaging spirit, that the :ntel- 
 lectual strength of the Baptists has never been proportionate with their numbers, 
 and that the wisest amongst them have appeared to owe their sectai-ian principles to 
 education alone. 
 
THE STKIFE OF BROTHERS. lO'J 
 
 As calmly gaze as on some earthly flame, 
 And bow no knee to own their Saviour's name ! 
 For, candid Lardner loved a gentle lore ; 
 And Channing's plea was heard on every shore ; 
 And many a pastor sits, content to twine 
 Above his rural porch the household vine, 
 With studies mild beguile the sober hours, 
 And steal the thox'ns of virtue from the flower^:, 
 And cherish every truth, and every grace, 
 Except the Cro.-:s," except the strenuous race ! 
 
 -If, early trained to deem the dazzling trutli 
 A glorious dream, that passed Avith reason's youth, 
 Or lured too far Avhere faith and sense must part. 
 The erring mind outran the steadfast heart ; 
 If thus, Avhile night still shades the morning's brow, 
 They seek and love the beams they know not now ; 
 It is not mine to doom ; and I can trust 
 The love that dwelt and felt with mortal dust : 
 He can forgive, where failed the evil will ; 
 Where He condemns, I suffer and am still. 
 
 But scorn shall rest, high scorn and fervent shame. 
 On those whose bread is truth their lips defame ; 
 Whose Christian terms the web of falsehood weave ; • 
 Who soothe, and preach, and pray, and disbelieve ! 
 The word they strove to bend they strive to blot ; 
 Each brightest name becomes an odious spot ; 
 
 *8 " TheXJnitarians,'' says one of their most eminent antagonl'sts, " are Eclec- 
 tics in religion ; they do notfollow the Bible as itis, buttake only what suits their 
 antecedent principles." 
 
] 10 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 " Here erred the scribe ;'*' there spoke a childlike age ; 
 
 There pious craft threw in its fabling page :" 
 
 Till, tired beneath so vast and vain a task, 
 
 The man, the scholar, drops the idle mask, 
 
 And forth Hortensius stands, whose flowing phrase 
 
 Tells how each seer and old apostle strays ; 
 
 And glowing Roscidus, in bird-like song, 
 
 With themes of sweet I'omance enchants the Ihrong, 
 
 Then on Almighty Truth exhausts his rage, 
 
 And beats his Avings against the xu^yielding cage. 
 
 Oh, better far,''" though sad e'en then the choice, 
 
 To lift in lofty halls the patriot voice, 
 
 And win perhaps from Isis' lettered pride 
 
 What Isis' steadfast faith had still denied ; 
 
 Or grace with one more wreath our country's sire, 
 
 Or fling one torch to faction's guilty fire ; 
 
 C. — Yet bolder feet, and darker depths, are there : 
 Nor scowls a way that freedom shall not dare. 
 They reach that gate on that tremendous shore, 
 Where hope, that comes to ad, must come no more :^' 
 
 ^^ Eelsham could even reason thus on a passage of Scripture ; " It may have 
 been a slip of the Apostle's tongue in dictating ; or a mistake of his amanuensis ; 
 or an error of some eai'ly transcriber ; or there may be a various reading ; or the 
 words might be intended in a different sense ; or the Apostle might not study per- 
 fect correctness of language ; or there might be some other i-easou which cannot 
 be discovered. I will give up the text as altogether inexplicable, sooner than I 
 will believe that the Apostle intended, in this casual, incidental manner, to teach 
 a doctrine so new and incredible." 
 
 ■^ Several of the ablest political and historical wr'iters of our country, have ex- 
 ihanged the Unitarian ministry for pursuits ■which have yielded them civil ad- 
 vancement and literary renown. 
 
 51 "AUhope abf^ndon, ye who enter hero." — Dante. 
 "A dungeon horrible, on all sides round 
 As one great furnace, flamed ; yet from these fir.mes 
 No light, but rather darkness risible 
 Served only to discover sights of wo. 
 Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace 
 And rest can never dwell, hope never comes 
 That comes to all." —Milton. 
 
THE STUIFE OF BROTHERS. Ill 
 
 Down at their touch the awful vision falls : 
 Sink the red vaults, and jiass the flaming wall.< ; 
 And fiends lie tranquil on their s^niouldering bed, 
 And guilt may walk the earth with fearless tread. 
 
 I. — Oh, passed alone the scene of Dante's awe. 
 Or that deep world our blind old Milton saw ! 
 But on they glide ; this realm of shadow flies ; 
 And one by one the dread adventure tries ; 
 A moment's light a wide, wide realm can show, 
 And ears long closed may wake to sounds of wo. 
 But if e'en now they seek our liallowed name, 
 I only hear the scoffer's jesting claim,-" 
 The hireling's feint, the apostate's lingering fear. 
 That dares not part with all which once was dear. 
 
 C. — But on a way obscure, without a guide. 
 
 It were not strange that many a foot should slide : 
 Wliere all may read, sure some must read amiss — 
 
 I. — Who oped a way obscure to life and bliss ? 
 
 Who wrote a page where each resplendent line, 
 Till man's pale torches came, in vain should shine '' 
 Ask thine own honest heart, and that shall tell ; 
 The hand that all things made, made all things well 
 Truth to the true He gave , wliate'er their need. 
 The hasting travelers" still may haste, and read , 
 And if it soar or hide beyond their view, 
 It is not needful, or tliey are not true. 
 
 ■>- The religion which denies a future retribution on wickedness, is but a form 
 of irreligion. 
 
 ^'- Declarations like that of Taylor, ''all the articles of faith are clearly and 
 plainly set down in Scripture, and "the Gospel is not hid, except from them ihat are 
 lost:'' like that of Locke, "if t!-.e poor bad the Gospel preached to taeui, it was, 
 
112 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 C. — And must I wander on, through doubt and gloom, 
 And find my path to meet the eternal doom, 
 Armed with no staflF of wisdom save mine own, 
 A desert pilgrim, trembling and alone ? 
 Another sight had on my fancy smiled : 
 A mother bent above her nestling child ; 
 Serene her brow, and innocent, and grave. 
 And ere she spake, a gentle answer gave ; 
 Round his young form her matron vesture hmig, 
 And close in love, and close in fear, he clung, 
 And still would turn, from wars and storms unblessed, 
 And sink to peace on that dear, faithful breast. 
 In such a home was meek Augustin" proud ; 
 With such a trust Cambray's good pi'elate" bowed; 
 And such the lay that still in England's ear 
 Chants the sweet flow of all her sacred year.^^ 
 
 I. — 0, soldier of the Cross, aAvay with dreams ! 
 Bright on thy path the noontide glory streams ! 
 
 without doubt, such a Gospel as the poor could understand, plain and intelligi- 
 ble;"' like that of Waterlaud, ' I doubt not to say that the Scripture is plaiu 
 enough in this cause for any honest Turk or Indian to judge of, who is but able to 
 discern the difference between wresting a text and giving it an easy and natural 
 interpretation ;" like that of Bishop Conybeare, " points of absolute necessity to 
 be known are laid down with a clearness suitable to their importance ; every man 
 of common capacity, by using the proper means of instruction, may satisfy his 
 miud about them ;" mighr be multiplied to any extent, from the writings of the 
 most illustrious and pious of Protestant Christians 
 
 =* " I should not even believe the Gospel," says St Augustin, " did not the 
 authority of the Church obUge me " 
 
 ^ " Such," says Fenelon, " are those amiable Saints who have been nourished 
 and perfected in the bosom of the mother Church. Do you not wish to be of their 
 communion, and to love like them the mother whom they have so tenderly loved ' 
 You must become, like them, a simple and a little child, that you may suck the 
 milk of her breasts " In a letter written but two days before his death, he says, 
 " I seek but to be. without judgment and without will of my own, in the hands 
 of the Church our holy mother." 
 
 s" A discriminating criticism on the poems called "Lyra Apostolica," has these 
 remarks: " When the writers of the Lyra think more correctly, we believe that 
 they will sing more sweetly. There is what Johnson would call a ponderosity, and 
 ii gloom, about their compositions, which we cannot but attribute mainlj' to the 
 sad cast of thought which is th« natural and necessary attendant on religious 
 views such as those that are held by writers of their school. Their religious path 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 11. 'J 
 
 In power, in love, in wisdom's steadfast mind, 
 
 Arise, and leave the moonlight camp behind ! 
 
 Thine be the hope that beamed on Luther's brow, 
 
 When near he marked" the sparrow on the bough, 
 
 And knew it safe mid all that boundless blue, 
 
 And knew his Maker's skill to him as true ; 
 
 Or his, whose step through years of triumph hied 
 
 From old Damascus e'en to Tiber's side. 
 
 Who, while with heaven his own bold breast was 
 
 warm. 
 Stood up alone, and met the howling storm : 
 No holy mother's clasping arms knew he. 
 Save Salem in the skies, the city free . 
 
 IS a painful one, and with painful steps they tread it. Their wings are heavy, and 
 the atmosphere they fly in is dark and misty. They remind us of another voy- 
 ager,bound on a very different work : 
 
 ' So he with difficulty and labor hard 
 Moved on ; with difficulty and labor he.' 
 Every word Ls expressive of toil. The author of the Christian Year once wrote 
 in a far sweeter strain, because he had a blither heart.'' 
 
 ^' The incident is related in the history of Luther. It was at some period when 
 his mind was ready to sink under the weight of the task assigned him by Provi- 
 dence ; a single man, as he was, against every ecclesiastical authority which he 
 had been trained to revere. 
 
THE STEIFE OF BROTHERS 
 
 PART II. 
 
 C. — Dear morn of lioaven I How calmly o'er the vale 
 Yon thiu Avliite clouds like barks of glory sail I 
 Beneath their flight the solemn woods i-epose ; 
 Yet sunbeams flash where every streamlet flows . 
 No shout of toil comes wafted o'er the plain. 
 And scarce a bieath waves light the autumnal grain 
 But heaven and earth have found a tuneful voice, 
 And the skies waken, and the groves rejoice. 
 Oh, why, to human notes must discord cling. 
 And nature's harp still want its noblest string ! 
 
 I. — And hark, the early peal of holy time ! 
 Still hark, a loftier I still, a softer chime ! 
 Not with the mingling clash of strife or fear, 
 But answering each to each, so sweet and clear. 
 That, while the strain along the woodland dies. 
 The echoes seem still lingering in the skies. 
 E'en thus, perhaps, oxu- blended praise may soar. 
 And reach, without a jar, yon blissful shore. 
 Stars, with their diftering glory, gild the mght. 
 And heaven has room for e'en the comet's flight ; 
 
THE STRIFE OF UKOTIIERS. 115 
 
 An hundred floweis for one bright chaplet bloom, 
 
 Each bears its hue, its blossom, its perfume ; 
 
 The smiles that stamp one human brow divine, 
 
 Mid millions nought, from none beside can shine ; 
 
 And human voices sweet have many a tone, 
 
 But one sole lip is each sweet voice's throne, 
 
 So, the same hand' our powers and passions gave, 
 
 And made us gaily warm or calmly grave ; 
 
 One leaps the awful chasm with joyous bound, 
 
 And one glides timorous o'er the trodden ground ; 
 
 Each state and form some righteous mind can charm ; 
 
 Law's sceptered might, and freedom's vigorous arm 
 
 Column, and spire, and pinnacle, and dome 
 
 The Attic porch, the arch of conquering Rome ; 
 
 The choral peal far rolling o'er the throng. 
 
 The simple strain that wafts the rural song ; 
 
 The stately rites which solemn minsters see. 
 
 The phiin, plain board where bends no suppliant 
 
 kneje ; 
 The modest path where steadfast hearts retire, 
 And, flashing on. the enthusiast's generous fire : 
 Why may not love, through all, its image trace, 
 And clasp the various scene in one embrace ? 
 
 C. — It may, it must ; and thus the church of old 
 
 Could walk in weeds of shame, or crowns of gold 
 
 1 The remarks of Frederick Schlegel, a convert to Roniani.=tn. on the Reforma- 
 tion, are susceptible of other applications. '-At any rate, we should in no care 
 immoderately repine at such an event, and murmur against destiny, that L? to say. 
 the ruUng Providence which permits the occurrence of such evils. The permi*- 
 sion by God of a mere human, unsanctioned enterprise, nay. of a mighty, gene- 
 ral, protracted, and incurable division amongst mankind. — a .system of opposition, 
 with all its unhappy con.=equences, its moral impcliments. and its poUtical disas- 
 ters ; such a permission forms, as I have already observed, the great enigma of his- 
 tory ; the wonderful .secret of the divine decrees in the conduct of mankind, as 
 well as in the conduct of individuals." 
 
116 THE STRIFE OF BKOTHERS. 
 
 Stretched its dread hands^ to sanction Cyril's vow, 
 And bind the mitre on Synesius'^ brow ; 
 Amidst imperial gems its laurels wove, 
 And fixed its shrine beneath the German grove."* 
 But love with faith abides ; and faith must cling. 
 Where o'ei* the ark^ the cherub spreads its wing : 
 Thence, near and far, their tender eyes behold 
 The Gentile courts, and flocks of many a fold 
 But on the tribes, within their chosen walls. 
 Each holiest gleam of promised glory falls ; 
 On that sole spot was Sion's ancient trust. 
 They dare not cast its barriers down to dust. 
 
 I. — It is not love, the love that stooped to fave, 
 
 Which builds the walls that made that Sion's grave 
 
 - Cjril of Alexandria, the fiercest opponent of heresy amongst all the fathers, 
 was the last of all the bishops to give his consent that the name of St. Chrysostom 
 should he mentioned in the dyptichs, for his uncle Theophilus, whom he succeed- 
 ed, had been the great adversary of Chrysostom. " But whatever the fault of 
 Cyril might be," says the Roman Catholic, Alban Butler, in his Lives of 1he 
 Saints, " his defence of the Catholic faith against Nestorius, Patriarch of Constan- 
 tinople, made sufficient amends for it." 
 
 3 Synesius was a philosopher of Cyrene, who was chosen by the Christians of 
 Ptolemais to be their bishop, and consecrated by the Patriarch Theophilus, of 
 Alexandria. He was married, and declared his intention still to live in wedlock 
 He declared also to Theophilus, with an upright love of truth, that he could not 
 reconcile his philosophical conyictions in many points with the doctrines of the 
 Church ; as he adhered to the pre-existence of souls, and gave to the doctrine of 
 the resurrection a peculiar interpretation. Yet the persecutor of Chrysostom, 
 and the tutor of Cyril, could lay his hands upon Synesius, who was otherwise one 
 of the noblest characters of the early Church ; but whose writings, says Milman, 
 " blend, with a very scanty Christianity, the mystic theology of the later Platon- 
 ism, but it is rather philosophy adopting Christian language, than Christianity 
 moulding philosophy to its own uses." 
 
 * "Unquestionably," says Schlegel, "the two conflicting elements in that 
 eventful period, which contained the first germs of all modern civilization, the 
 freebom energy of Germanic nature, and the Romanic refinement, science, and lan- 
 guage, were happily blended and harmonized by the Christian religion only." 
 
 5 " I have Moses and the prophets," says Bourdalone, " I have Thy Church, 
 Lord, to guide me, and it suflices me. I know where that Church is found ; I 
 know by what succession since St. Peter, or rathe- since Jesus Christ, it has been 
 brought down to us ; I know where our fathers have revered it, where they have 
 consulted it, how it has spoken to them, and with what respect and obedience they 
 have listened. There I abide, and it is enough for me." 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 117 
 
 Which, searching wide through love's own heavenly 
 
 page, 
 And down the path of faith's first glowing age, 
 But gathers link by link, with toilsome pain, 
 To frame the severing, not the binding, chain. 
 From Sinai's quiver next its shafts would bring. 
 And on the air the words of lightning fling. 
 No milder guilt than Uzzah's touch would know. 
 And speak no softer fate than Korah's wo." 
 
 C. — Yet, so the kinsman of the Purest'' spake ; 
 And so the fisher of that holy lake" — 
 
 I. — So such may speak, who, like in all beside, 
 
 Mark, as they marked,'' the mounting step of pride. 
 The secret haunts of shame, the impious gain, 
 Like that false seer's, who fell mid Midian's slain ! 
 
 <5 " This is the crime," says Bishop Ilobart, quoting Bishop Home, " for which 
 the leprosy once rose up in the forehead of a monarch, and Korah and his com- 
 pany, holy as they all thought themselves to be, went down alive into the pit." 
 " Was it," says the former prelate again, " was it for a violation only of charity 
 and internal unity, and not for a resistiince to the priesthood of the Jewish Church, 
 that Korah and his associates were punished, and that it is said of Christians, 
 there are some who perish in the gainsaying of Korah ?"' A similar reply is heard 
 from an able writer. " It is no trivial offence, we may be sure, and no slight 
 peril, to miscall God's work and Satan's. This was, in substance, the very sin of 
 the Pharisees, which our Lord branded with the marli of unpardonable blas- 
 phemy." 
 
 ^ St. Jude was one of those who are called the brethren of the Saviour 
 8 " Last came, and last did go 
 
 The pilot of the Galilean lake ; 
 
 Two massy keys he bore, of inetals twain 
 
 The golden opes, the iron shuts amain ; 
 
 He shook his mitred locks." — Milton. 
 9 The men described by St. Jude and St. Peter, were such as " defiled the flesh, 
 despised dominion, spoke evil of dignities, ran greedily after the errors of Balaam 
 for reward, walked after their own ungodly lusts, spoke great swelling words, had 
 men's persons in admiration because of advantage, were sensual, had not the 
 Spirit, privily brought in damnable heresies, counted it pleasure to riot in the 
 daytime, had eyes full of adultery, and sported themselves with their own de- 
 ceivlngs," while they feasted with the disciples 
 
118 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 These were not theirs, who with the venturous sail, 
 Caught from their own far land the Eastern gale, 
 And sought a home where endless summer smiles 
 On the still ocean and the coral isles : 
 When the stout seaman dashed a tear-drop by. 
 And freedom's stars went down the distant sky, 
 They turned them from the shore ; alone they knelt. 
 And rose, and mid the mild barbarians dwelt, 
 And long, lone years of grief and slander bore. 
 But gave the church one Christian people more ! 
 
 C — I will not say, what holier lips have said. 
 
 How angel light may wrap a demon's tread — 
 
 I. — Thou wilt not ; no ! at our o^vn side they grew ; 
 
 Their homes, their paths, their words, their hearts, we 
 
 knew; 
 And when we hung below the bright ascent. 
 Far up they passed, and called us as they went. 
 If all that in us'° owns the eternal beam. 
 As to the sunlight sparkles back the stream ; 
 If all that breathes of heaven, each imaged grace 
 That shone on earth from One thrice glorious face ; 
 If deeds, and gifts, and pains, and mom and eve. 
 And lite, and death, still watched, can still deceive ; 
 Then, e'en the stone that bears our faith might fail. 
 And Bethlehem's scenes might prove a minstrel's tale. 
 Thou canst not doubt. 
 
 10 ''In tills manner," says Mr. Verplanck, " the lives, tempers, and. characters 
 01 the mass of those who freely embrace, or decidedly reject, a religion, will afford, 
 it not unerring, yet certainly very strong indications of the source from whence it 
 springs." " The testimony," says Neander, " which the true Christians gave to 
 their Lord by their conversation, the sanctifying power of the Gospel which dis- 
 played itself in their lives, was most mightily effectual to the conversion of the 
 heathen." 
 
THE STRIFE OF BKOTUEKS. lit) 
 
 C. — I doubt not. From the hills 
 That meet the cloud, rush down a thousand rills, 
 And the glad flood o'erleaps its channel wide, 
 And they that till the desert drink its tide. 
 The church must grasp the promise, yet afar 
 The wise behold and love the unknown star. 
 
 I. — Love, then, is there, and faith : where these can glow, 
 A Christian bosom must not find a foe. 
 No brighter seal can mark thy dearest ties. 
 Than that which makes thy passport to the skies 
 Who comes with this, be still thy honored guest ; 
 So clasp thy Saviour's image to thy breast. 
 
 C. — But when from all the earth, his ransomed land. 
 He summoned to his feet a sacred band. 
 The anointed twelve, too soon the true eleven, 
 And pledged their thrones, and gave the keys" of 
 heaven, 
 
 And laid the crystal walls, whose rising tOAvers 
 Should mock the infernal gates Avith aU their powers ; 
 When, from his foes, the fieriest heart of all. 
 And that meek Son of Comfort, at his call, 
 Subdued by love, the seed of glory cast. 
 And sheltered round the firstlings from the blast ; 
 Then, far as e'er their peaceful triumph rolled. 
 In every vale*" a prelate Avatched his fold ; 
 
 11 " But the keys," says Bishop Jewel in his Apology, " we, with Chrysostom, 
 affirm to be the knowledge of the Scriptures ; with TertuUian, to be the inter- 
 pretation of the law ; with Eusebiua, to be the word of God." 
 
 12 " We know beyond doubt," says the author of Spiritual Despotism, "that, 
 until the seamless coat of Christ was rent by angry spirits, the brethren of every 
 city, and its suburbs, formed one communion, and ate of one loaf, and were led 
 and ruled by one staff. There was one centre, and one circumference ; or rather, 
 one fold and one shepherd." 
 
120 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 Then, then began the line that cannot end '^" 
 
 Who from the bride'^ the bridegroom's ai m shall rend ? 
 
 I. — In fancy's lonely hour, when earth is still, 
 
 And sleeps before the throne thy chastened will, 
 Let him be nigh who, at that paschal board, 
 Leaned on his Lord ere yet the cup was poured. 
 Or him who heard the unuttered words above, 
 A cymbal's clash, he deemed, if lost to love ; 
 Or, should thy heart yet higher answer seek. 
 Stand on the Olive Mount, and humbly speak ; 
 " In days long past, when zeal and fear were stiong. 
 The sacred bond of peace sustained a wrong ; 
 From their home altars and their priestly line 
 Went steadfast forth, my brethren's sires and mine ; 
 Thou all their love, or grief, or hate couldst see. 
 And all they bore or spurned was marked by Thee. 
 Still bleeds the wound ; fresh heave the bosom pains , 
 But the same life rolls warm through distant veins ; 
 From the same word the same pure truth they bring. 
 In the same strains the same sweet praise they sing -, 
 With one trine name one cleansing wave is blessed, 
 One memory dear at one dread board confessed ; 
 And, save the unbroken link and ruling hand, 
 The same true guides before their altars stand ; 
 And all the fruits that holiest soil should bear, 
 Hope, joy and inward heaven, alike are there : 
 
 13 " Let others," says Bishop Atterbury, in a sermon to the Sons of the Clergy, 
 ''justify their mission as they can : we judge not those without ; but are sure, we 
 can justify that of our fathers, by an uninterrupted succession from Christ him- 
 self ; a succession which hath already continued longer than the Aaronical priest- 
 hood, and will, we doubt not, still continue, till the Church militant, and time it- 
 self, shall be no more." 
 
 1* "The bridegroom desires," says Fenelon, '"but one sole bride. By what 
 right have men constituted several?" 
 
THE STKIFE OF Bit OTHERS. 121 
 
 Say, must I call, or wait, the sweeping flame, 
 Or dare I yield the covenant's boundless claim ?" 
 
 C — A glowing answer rose within my heart, 
 '• Who not against us wars, is on our part ; 
 One name is preached, and there my joys abide ; 
 Far as we may, still press we side by side !" 
 But then I paused, and heard that mightiest prayer, 
 Which flowed serene on Cedron's twilight air, 
 " That all who trust My word but one may be. 
 As, Father, I in them, and Thou in Me !" 
 Now on my ear those later echoes fall. 
 That ask one mind and heart and word from all 
 And faith accepts and loves the just control. 
 And sacred order triumphs in my soul. 
 
 I. — Anl comes no voice from all that glorious deep, 
 The Shepherd's love for every wandering sheep, 
 Whispering in tones like these, '" Had I designed 
 To one pure spot My healing might to bind, 
 I had not left'^ so many a lovely way. 
 Where tenderest hearts could scarce but turn astray : 
 Who gave thee power My word's keen sway to bound. 
 To tell where prayer shall kneel on holy ground. 
 Or whence alone the Spirit's wind shall blow. 
 Or when alone the mystic blood-stream flow ? 
 
 C. — I saw, when up the sapphire heavens He passed 
 On the lone twelve His mantling Spirit cast ; 
 
 1' The words of Paley are : " It cannot be proved that any form of church 
 government is laid down in the Christian, as it had been la the Jewish Scriptures, 
 with a view of fixing a constitution for succeeding ages, and which constitution, 
 consequently, the disciples of Christianity would everywhere, and at all times, by 
 the very law of their religioo be obliged to adopt."' 
 
122 THE STKIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 And as His outstretched hands the ble-sing shed, 
 So theirs were laid on many a reverend head : 
 Who gave me power"^ beyond that bound to rano- 
 And see His fold mid all this war of change ? 
 
 I. — The same who bled all contrite hearts to win ; 
 The same who fixed his kingdom's throne within ; 
 The same who sat by Shechem's ancient well ; 
 Whose healing bread to Canaan's daughter fell ; 
 Who looked beneath a warrior Eomaii's mail, 
 Aiad bade the heathen's mightier faith prevail. 
 
 C. — All heaven and earth one golden law obey, 
 
 And law but speaks in order's ceaseless sway. ' 
 Love's towering heart the scheme of order drew, 
 By power's high word the stately fabric grew, 
 And wisdom placed each stone in every wall. 
 And not a stone'" without its woe can fall. 
 Within thee warns the solemn guardian, fear ; 
 Law cannot pause for all thou deem'st most dear ; 
 If to the cataract's whirl thou blindly urge, 
 On, on ! for thou must pass the mortal verge ; 
 If in thy maddening breast thou plunge the knife. 
 Nor prayers nor tears can stanch thine ebbing life. 
 Such doom is theirs wlio break through nature's awe. 
 And brave the eternal might of sacred law : 
 
 IG " The question," says William Law, '■ is not fairly stated, when it is asked 
 whether episcopacy, being an apostolical practice, may be laid aside? But it 
 should be asked whether an instituted particular method of continuing the 
 priesthood be not necessary to be continued .' AVhether an appointed order of re- 
 ceiTing a commission from God be not necessary to be obserred, in order to re- 
 ceive u commission from him ? If the case was thus stated, as it ought to be fairly 
 stated, any one would soon perceive that we can no more lay aside episcopacy, and 
 yet continue the Christian priesthood, than we can alter the terms of salvation, 
 and be in covenant with God."' 
 
 1' " Is it possible," says Hooker, " that man, being not only the noblest creat- 
 ure in the world, but even a very world in himself, his transgressing the law of his 
 nature should draw no manner of harm after it ?" 
 
THE STKIFE OF BUOTHERS, 123 
 
 In realms of grace less sacred spreads its reign, 
 Or brings the severed bond less sure a pain ? 
 
 I — Yes ; the stem fabric fell amidst its woes, 
 And o'er the wreck the cross of hope arose : 
 !No more a sovereign, in these realms of grace 
 At love's fair feet, high order chose her place. 
 There, armed with blessing,'* not with wrath, she 
 
 stands. 
 And lifts no blade, but spreads her bounteous hands ; 
 Delights to marshal forth her wide array. 
 Yet not one lonely champion's arm would stay;'* 
 And if by heedless wound her bosom bleeds, 
 Still smiles benign, and still the warrior speeds. 
 
 C. — And asks no more than this '' 
 
 I. — Exacts no more ; 
 Nor longs to tlireat, nor pauses to deplore. 
 The church of order wears a radiant crown. 
 From the first days-" it passed in splendor down : 
 All ancient memories shine and cluster there. 
 And all the lowly majesty of prayer ; 
 
 1- " God sent not his son into the world, to condemn the world, but that the 
 world through him might be Baved." — St. John iii. 17. 
 
 19 ■' Forbid him not,"— St. Markix. 39. 
 
 -" •' That the apostle," says Mr. Mihnan, " should appoint some distinguished 
 individual as the delegate, the representative, the successor to his authority, as 
 primary instructor of the community ; invest him in an episcopacy, or ovenseer- 
 Bhip, superior to that of the co-ordinate body of elders, is in itself by no meuns 
 improbable ; it harmonizes with the period in which we discover in the Sacred 
 Writing.^ this change in the form of the permanent government of the differ- 
 ent boiJlios : accounts most easily for the general submission to the authority 
 of one religious chief magistrate, so unsatisfactorily explained by the accidental 
 pre-eminence of the president of a college of coequal presbyters ; and is affirmed 
 b}' general tradition, which has ever, in strict unison with every other part of 
 Christi.in historj-, preserved the names of many succe=.«ors of tbe apostles, the first 
 bishops in most of the larger cities in which Christianity was first established." 
 
124 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 And pastors kneel in robes that martyrs wore, 
 And prelates sit where angels "' sat before ; 
 While still, with swelling years and hosts, increase 
 The peace of strength, the glorious strength of peace : 
 Enough are claims like these ! the heir of home 
 Shall send no sigh where younger brethren roam ; 
 Not e'en though wrathful word or purpose vain 
 Should scorn his love, or fence his just domain ; 
 But opes in generous wealth^^ the ancestral hall, 
 Spreads out a brother's board, and welcomes all, 
 
 C. — Might he not seem to hear a murmuring sound. 
 As from the statues of their sires around. 
 Whose Roman hearts had kept their holy trust, 
 Unawed mid strife, and mid entreaties, just? 
 Such hearts were theirs,^'' who rose, a valiant train, 
 While the last Stuart reared his arm profane. 
 Yet, when he fell, retired with patient sigh. 
 And laid for him the jeweled signet by : 
 So firm he stood, who thence the first^* upbore 
 The pastoral crosier on the Atlantic shore : 
 So bold the march of that outdazzling star,^* 
 Which poured its kindling beams so full and far, 
 
 -1 '• The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches."' — Rev. i. 20. 
 
 22 "It is not," says a pious writer, "by shutting herself up in a fortress, and 
 fighting from canonical ramparts, that the Church is at any time to be sustained, 
 but by coming abroad to bless with hu enlarged heart and a liberal hand." 
 
 2* Four of the seven prelates, who were tried for resisting the dispensing power 
 of James the Second, were afterwards deprived for their adhesion to his royal 
 right, and aided in laying the foundation of the nonjuring communion in Eng- 
 land 
 
 ^* The Scottish Bishops were long nonjurors, and their consecrations and those 
 of the English nonjurors, were mingled together. Bishop Seabury, who derived 
 his consecration from these sources, unquestionably shared, to a great extent, their 
 conceptions of ecclesiastical authority. 
 
 25 The peculiar principles of Bishop Ilobart were designedly so prominent in 
 his whole career, that, in an eloquent address which' his biographer describes as 
 "all nature, feeling, and passion, wrought up to the highest pitch." he rejected 
 Resolutions of general respect and approbation from his diocese, which made i:o 
 allusion to those pri iciples. 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 125 
 
 That pilgrims come, where still they latest rest, 
 And kiss thy sod, sweet Auburn of the West ! 
 
 I. — If names prevail, 1 call e'en worthier names ; 
 And Cranmer'^ answers from his car of flames; 
 And Grindal's"" mild, and Whitgifi's"'^ sober sway ; 
 And Sancroft's-'' self in Albion's troubled day ; 
 And those whose toils Nassau's^" great tale adorn. 
 When faith and learning smiled in freedom's morn ; 
 
 -'> The opinion of Craumer was, in his own iTords, that " sometimes the Apos- 
 tles and others, unto whom God had given abundantly his Spirit, sent or appointed 
 ministers of (Jod's word ; sometimes the people did choose such as they thought 
 meet hereunto ; and when any were appointed or Kent by the Apostles or others, 
 the people of their own voluntary will with thanks did accept them : not for the 
 supremity, empire, or dominion that the Apostles had over them to command, as 
 their princes and masters, but as good people, ready to obey the advice of good 
 counselors, and to accept any thing that was necessary for their edification and 
 benefit." He also declared that "in tlie New Testament, he that is appointed to 
 be a bishop, or a priest, needeth no consecration, by the Scripture, for election or 
 appointing thereto is sufficient." 
 
 2' Archbishop Grindal acted as superintendent of the foreign Protestants in 
 London, and exercised discipline, excommunicating one of their ministers for her- 
 etical doctrine. They had, of course, an organization derived from the ecclesiasti- 
 cal systems of their own churches abroad. lie did not hesitate, it would also 
 seem, to license a minister, who had received only prcsbyterian ordination ; an ex- 
 ample in which he would have beou followed by many of the prelates of his gene- 
 ration and the next ; among whom, according to their own declarations, would 
 have been Ilutton and Overall. 
 
 28 Archbishop \\'hitgift, against the Puritan Cartwright, expressly denied that 
 ''the Scriptures have set down any one form of church government to be per- 
 petual." 
 
 29 Archbishop Bancroft, when the Church of England was threatened by the 
 Measures of King James, besought his clergy, •• more especially tliat they have a 
 tender regard to our brethren the Protestant Dissenters; that upon occasion of- 
 fered they visit them at their houses and receive them kindly at their own, and 
 treat them fairly wherever they meet them, persuading them, If it may be, to a 
 full comphance with our Church ; or at least, that wliereunto we have already at- 
 tained, we may walk by the same rub, and mind the same things ; and in order 
 thereunto, that they take opportunities of assuring and convincing them, that the 
 bi.<hops of this Church are really and sincerely irreconcilable enemies to the er- 
 rors, superstitions, idolatries, and tyrannies of the Church of Rome, and that the 
 very unkind jealousies which some have had of us to the contrary were altogether 
 groundless ; and in the last place, that they warmly and affectionately join us in 
 daily fervent prayer tu the God of peace for an universal, blessed union of all 
 Refonned Churches at home and abroad, against our common enemy." 
 
 -0 Amongst those names which King 'William placed on the catalogue of pre- 
 la'es were, Tillotson, Stillingdeet, Sharp, Kidder, liurnet, Patrick, Cumberland, 
 Fowler, ^Villiams, Tenison (Srove, Hough. It was a part of the plan of Arch- 
 bishop Tillotson, of " concessions which would probably be made by the Church 
 of England," that ministers ordained abroad by presbyters should not be reor- 
 dained in England, and thiit ministers so ordaii:;ed at home should be h potheti- 
 cally reordained. 
 
126 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 The halls of Dort," and Zurich's'- quiet strand ; 
 And ancient aisles''^ in Leighton's mountain land ; 
 And Wake's warm lips,^* that blessed the missioned 
 
 Dane ; 
 And Seeker's heai't/'' with Swartz across the main : 
 
 SI The Church of England was i-cpresented at the Synod of Dort. in Presbyte- 
 rian Holland, by BishopVaWetou, and by Davenant and Hull, afterwards two of 
 its most eminent and pious prelates. Pelegntes had been invited from Seotland, 
 France, Switzerland, and Germany, and probably were present ftoni most or all 
 of these countries. 
 
 •*^ The first bishops after the final establishment of the Reformation under 
 Elizabeth, had been exiles in Switzerland and Germany , had lived in affectionate 
 communion with the Protestant Churches abroad, and never dropped a grateful 
 correspondence after their return .lewel, Sandys, and Parkhurst, were at Zurich, 
 the guests of Peter Martyr, when they heard of the death cf Queen Mary. 
 
 s^' When the Scottish bishops, under James the tii-st, were to receive conse- 
 cration in England, Bishop Andrews, of Ely, suggested that, asthey had never re- 
 ceived episcopal ordination, this must be fii-st administered '"Archbishop Ban- 
 croft," siiys Coo\i. the historian of the Church of Scotland, "insisted, on the 
 other hand, that tliis was unnecessary, because, where there were no bishops, or- 
 dination by presbytei-s must be esteemed valid, and that if this were disputed, it 
 might be doubted whether there ^\as any lawful vocation ui most of the reformed 
 churches. The Bishop of Ely was satisfied by the judicious observation oi the 
 primate, and the work of consecration was then completed ' Fifty years later, m- 
 deed, after the temporary overthrow of episcopacy in Scotland, a diflerent decision 
 was adopted ; but Sharp" himself, the Scottish primate, though he unwillingly sub- 
 mitted, did not require the ministeis in Scotland tcbe reordained 
 
 3* Ai-ehbishop \\'ake, in 1715, addivssed, with paternal affection and apostolic 
 fervency, the missionary Ziegenbalg, who liad been ordained in Penmark The 
 missions in India, conducted \v Pauish and tun'man Lutherans, were under the 
 special patronage and support of the English Church, through the Society for Pro- 
 moting Christian Knowledge, its oi-gan " It is well known whatan intercourse was 
 maintained by AVake with" foreign "churches, and how lie disclaimed the "iron 
 heart," and the "fury "' of those who denied them the possession of tri;e sacra- 
 ments. 
 
 S5 The labors of Swartz began a little before the primacy of Seeker, which ex- 
 tended from 175S to 176S ; but it was in 17t^t5 that Swartz established the mission 
 at Trichinopoly. Seeker expressed himself in this manner, respectfug the foreign 
 Protestants: " AVe desire to live in peace with all the Protestant Churches 
 abroad. AVe protect and assist tliose on the continent of Europe as much as we 
 are able. AA'e show our regard for the members of the Church of Scotland, as 
 oftenas we have an opportunity."" " Supposing we had even acted ■nithout, and 
 separated from, our church governors, as our Protest,ant brethren abroad were 
 forced to do, w:;s thero not a "cnuse ' AVhen the AAord of God was hidden from 
 men, and his woi"ship performed in aa unknown tongue ; when pernicious false- 
 hoods were i-equired to be professed, and sinful terms of communion to be com- 
 plied with ; when church authority, try supporting such things as these, became 
 incompetent to the ends for which "it was estjiblished, what remedy was there but 
 to throw it off, and form new establishments ? If in these there were any imper 
 Sections, they were the faults of those who forced men into them, and are nor to 
 be considei-ed in comparison with the reason that made a change necessary. For. 
 were a man to separate himself from vVei-y church he knows on earth, in order 
 that he might obey the command of Christ, he would still be a va.uable menil er 
 of the general assembly and church of the first-boru whose names ai e written in 
 heaven."' 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 127 
 
 The serr'K'd ranks where Howe and Burnet moved,'* 
 "Where Doddridge wrote and Warburton approved ;'' 
 Fulham's green walks when fervent Porteus'' smiled 
 On bonds that half the ills of strife beguiled ; 
 And Heber's voice'"* along the Indian plains ; 
 And that high-hearted lone'" from London's fanes; 
 Or the long age" that, reverenced first as last, 
 O'er all our land its charm of meekness cast ; 
 Or his who chained our childhood's awe and love, 
 Simple, and wise, and gentle as the dove, 
 That second patriarch, calm through many a stoi-m 
 The apostle's soul within the apostle's form ! 
 
 30 Howe in a Letter on OccaMonal Conformity, thus ppeaks of the prelates of 
 that dav aiiion-'st whom Burnet was the most voluminous writer, and one of the 
 most friendlv to the nonconformists : " Thanks he to God, we are not so stupid. 
 as not to apprehend we are under stricter and much more sacred obligations, than 
 can be carried under the sound of a name, to adhere to our reverend fathers and 
 brethren of the Established Church, who are most united among themselves in 
 .lutv to God and our Kedeemer, in loyalty to our sovereign, and in fidelity to the 
 Protestant Religion : as with whom, in thia dubious state of things, we are to run 
 all hazards. an<f to live anl die togerher."' ,j , , 
 
 ^' Warburton w^ a correspondent of Doddndge for many years, and declared 
 the obUgations of all Christians to him for his Exposition ^ • . u »™> 
 
 « Tiie part of Bishop I'orteus in the foundation of the Bible Society, has been 
 supported and followed by such prelates as Barrington. Burgess. Ryder, and the 
 
 ^'^^^.t Were I to return to Germany,"' said Bishop Heber. in a letter to rne of the 
 Lutheran missionaries, " I would again, as before, humbly and thankfully avail 
 mvself of the preaching and sacramenUl ordinances of the fcvangelical Lutheran 
 Church no' doubting that thev are a true Church of Christ, and that the Spint 
 of God is with them, as I trust he is with us also." He adds. " if a preacher, or- 
 dained in the method practised in Germany, foresees a marked advantage to 
 Christ's cjiuse in a closer alliance with his Episcopalian brethren. I see not that be 
 dishonors his previous commission bv seeking our prayers and blessing in the form 
 which we think most conformable to God's will " His determination a.s to the 
 Lutheran sacrament-;, is the same with that of Usher and Cosin as to those of the 
 Refoimed Church in France and Holland 
 
 40 •• That hi-'h-heirteJ prelate,"' as he has been named, who presides over the 
 BritUh metropolis, has openlv, in his own cathedral, acknowledged the Protetant 
 Churches of the continent, as true branches of the one bo-Jy. Even Laud could 
 gav •• I hive endeavored to unite the Calvinists and Lutherans : nor have I abso- 
 lutely unchurched them : I .sav, indeed, in my book against Fu«her. according to 
 «: Jerome No Bishop, no Church, and that none but a Bishop can ordain, except 
 tn cases of inevitable necessity, and whether that be the case in the foreign 
 churches, the world must judge."' ,,..,,. - • „ *•* »^ 
 
 *i Bishop White deemed it enough to say, '• this is the onginaUy constituted 
 order, andf therefore, without judging those who have departed from it, '^e may 
 wish and prav for its restoration in all Christian Ch arches ; and to speak of •' the 
 takins. of OUT share in the work of extending Christiaa preaching and worship to 
 the States recently risen and to tha=e still rising."' 
 
128 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 They left no hallowed trust, they spurned no laws ; 
 But on their banners wrote the common ca,use :*- 
 No fetters yet were foi'ged, and none they broke, 
 AVhen what we feel they freely, frankly spoke.''-' 
 
 C. — If, while beneath their vines the borderers live, 
 Such words the gentlest to the gentlest give, 
 Yet, soon as bitter shafts are on the wing. 
 Another banner to the breeze they fling. 
 Peace, courtesy, love, may grace the tents of men ; 
 But bear not these within the wild wolf's den. 
 
 I. — Then, from the den away ! and well beware 
 
 Lest thine own feet should find the hunter's snare I 
 Yes, bitter shafts are sped ! scarce viler flew 
 When his fierce taunts the Assyrian boaster threw ! 
 Just in that hour, when, hastening to repose. 
 The seventh day's sun with holiest softness glows. 
 Then, like the car that rolled from door to door 
 With the plague's dead, and only asked for more, 
 Comes the black sheet,^* unchristened save in name, 
 And strews the gathered poison of its shame. 
 I seek not words of fire ; but tears may flow, 
 And warmth may mingle with foreboding woe, 
 
 ■*- Thus has Hare spoken : " Such is God's visible kingdom. We of the Thurch 
 of England foi-m one portion of it ; the Dissenters form another portion of it : the 
 Roman Catholics form a third, though a rery corrupt portion. In a word, wher- 
 ever Christ is worshipped, wherever his sacraments are administered, wherever salva- 
 tion is preached through faith in him, there is a hi-anch of the Church of Christ , 
 there is a portion of God"s visible kingdom." 
 
 ■'s " They," says AVhately, ■• who shall have disdained all politic disguise, sup- 
 pression of truths and connivance at error, as intrinsically evil, derogatory to the 
 cause of our religion, and indicating a want of faith in God, will afterwards find 
 by experience that the most frank, manlv, and sfraightforw.ord course is also 
 the wisest ; and will have averted many of the evils into which a timorous and 
 crooked policy, adopted through apprehension of those evils, would have led 
 them." 
 
 ■" '• Paliiiam qui meruit, ferat." 
 
THK STRItE OF BROTHERS. 129 
 
 When, pert and coarse and reckless and profane. 
 Quenching all love, and nursing all disdo.in, 
 The idol press pollutes our Sabbath rest, 
 And claims the holy hearth, a brawling tniest, 
 The lip of scorn o'er pleadhig candor curled, 
 And courtesy left to rule the smiling world ; 
 Till, stripped of might, still Bonner seems to roar. 
 And Peters*' lifts the Roundhead's axe once more. 
 
 C. — All are not such : sometimes a loftier page 
 "With classic sweetness soothes a warring age ; 
 And like the brooks that, loosed in early spring, 
 Sing as they leap, and sparkle as they sing, 
 So wakes the Gothic Muse,*^ with stirring lays. 
 Tales of renown, and chants of other days, 
 Deep thoughts that loved the cloister's silent gloom. 
 Fancy that lights on no unhallowed bloom, 
 And reason ranging o'er the appointed ground. 
 And soaring high as glory's outmost bound .' 
 
 I- — So let them range, nor linger all too Ion" 
 
 Mid themes that damp the wings of truth and son" I 
 
 The gown of black against the gown of white;*' 
 
 The candles fading in the noonday light ; 
 
 The author's solemn care, with nice delay. 
 
 To close his preface on St. Andrew's day I 
 
 And sometimes e'en might mount a flight sublime 
 
 Beyond the questions grave that shake the time ; 
 
 *■' There was a story that Hugh Peters was the executioner of King Charles 
 Directly, he certainly was not 
 
 .^ *l-^u*' literature to which this name is appropriate, is ea.Mly identified : and in 
 the higher order of it- productions, claims an honest admiration 
 
 *■ •• ttemay laugh atranity,-' says Pascal, •' without a breach of charity • 
 
130 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 The questions grave, i^ save from priestly hand, 
 Truth can be true, and rites divine can stand ; 
 K, when the prelate's crook is hung on high, 
 Auf^ht eLse remain to win a Saviour's eye ! 
 When fields like these are wandered o'er and o'er, 
 The church might yield some vale or hill-top more, 
 Whence the rich mind might load tlie graceful pen, 
 To bring some truth that heaven has sowed for men. 
 
 C. — The strenuous chief will push the broken host ; 
 Most plies the leech his skill where pain is most ; 
 To-morrow's ease may deck thy rural bower ! 
 But snatch to-day thy harvest from the shower. 
 For many a post a thousand hands will fight ; 
 The queenly church must guard her queenly right : 
 How but by arms she needs must wield alone, 
 Hopes she on earth to rear her destined throne, 
 An age of scorn to notes of peace to still, 
 And lead in triumph up her holy hill ? 
 
 I. — I know a nobler way !*"' Serene to rise, 
 
 And wear the crown and vestments of the skies ; 
 The fair white robe that floats, without a stain. 
 When, one by one, ascend the saintly train ; 
 The jeweled wreath that fits the heavenly bride, 
 A spirit meek, and pure, and strange to pride ; 
 
 *^ ''.Some,'' says Berkley, "preferring points notional or ritual to the love of 
 God and man, consider the National Church only as it stands opjjosed to other 
 Christian Societies. The.se generally have a zea" without knowledge, and the 
 effects are suitable to the cau.se, they really hurt what they seem to espouse." 
 The British Critic of former years has the remark, "if men are determined that 
 combination of principles shall be called compromise of principle, we cannot help 
 it . for it is better not to shrink from an ugly word, than to ride the hobby of 
 some single xjrinciple to death, and so act in a manner contrary to all the anal- 
 ogies of the natural, and all the u.se3 of the moral and intellectual world." 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. lol 
 
 The shining zone, where love's naild splendors play. 
 And pour o'er every charm its dearest ray I 
 The laurels won in learning's hallowed toils : 
 The mission's camp, enriched with Pagan spoils ; 
 The peaceful councils, where to glorious deeds 
 A lather's call the band of brethren leads ; 
 And wealth's tree hand ; and maimers imdehled ; 
 And the sweet care that guards a Christian child : 
 Truth to those creeds, so old, and finu, and large : 
 Truth, through the fnune. to each sole member's 
 
 charge; 
 Zeal's burning trump, and bounty's noiseless tivad. 
 Lit'e's well-fought tield, and victory's dying bed ; 
 Whate'er should grace the guide to realms of rest, 
 TVTiate'er should be the school of spirits blest I 
 
 C — Oh, come the day when all those holy charms 
 
 Shall add their might to right's triumphimt arms I 
 Then, then, perhaps, the film at last may fall. 
 And spectres rise no more at hatred's call. 
 To pour through vaulted aisles a shadowv- gloom. 
 Shed the chill vapors of the living tomb. 
 Breathe o'er the font of grace their magic air, 
 Plant some grim monster in the apostle's chair. 
 Fix on all brows and hands that deadly seal. 
 Or round tlie shrine an idol's pomp reveal ! 
 
 I. — E'en now they pass ; already for they tly ; 
 And champions meet and ponder, eye to eye, 
 From the calm mount survey their battle plains. 
 And ask how much of all their feud remain-. 
 
132 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 The wounds that Baxter" wept almost are healed, 
 And time has given what Hooker*" dared not yield ; 
 Forgot the baron's state, the prince's stay, 
 That burdened once the shepherd's gentle swav ; 
 From the pure board retires the throng profane, 
 And doctrine melts where penance scourged in vain ; 
 Once stubborn knees around us joy to bend ; 
 From the grave's brink unwonted prayers ascend ; 
 Where David's song was rent from David's string, 
 Psaltery and viol, chant and organ ring : 
 So far are fled the dreams of elder days ; 
 Oh, come no voice yet darker shapes to raise ! 
 If on this voyage of centuries aught be won, 
 If faith's true banner court the noonday sun. 
 Not to the deep the dear-bought prize be cast, 
 But nail that banner only to the mast ! 
 
 C. — Alone to that dear banner clings my love : 
 Give but the faith that opes yon land above, 
 Give but the chain which guards that faith below, 
 And all beside with time or taste may flow. 
 A band of silken hair can bind the heart : 
 Sadly from friendship's meanest gift we part ; 
 And I could joy the self-same prints to tread 
 "Where trod from age to age the holy dead ; 
 Old words to hear, and rites unchanged to see, 
 E'en on the long-worn stone to press my knee : 
 
 •-5 Of the eight things -which Baxter and his hrethren, at the Savoy Conference, 
 selected as directly sinful requisitions in the English Liturgy six or seven are not 
 requisitions in the American. 
 
 0" Hooker delends the length of the English service, the use of the songs of 
 Mary and of Simeon, and of tlie Athanasian Creed, the absence of general and 
 special forms of thanksgiving, the requisition of the sign of the cross, and various 
 other usages which, in the progress of time, and at subsequent reviews, have been 
 e'ther removed or modified, some in England, all in the United States. 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 133 
 
 Yet, give but these, and strife's wild standards furled, 
 One host we march/' and peace subdues the world. 
 
 I. — So speak thy pulses, love, where'er they beat ! 
 So kindred bosoms leap, and long to meet ! 
 When shall the gathered tide of feeling roll 
 O'er the poor mounds that sever soul from soul ? 
 When, when, shall wisdom, learning, patience, prayer, 
 With their strong arms the ark of union bear, 
 Not in slight skirmish, not to village broil,^^ 
 But as in scenes where patriot statesmen toil ; 
 Not win a stripling's or a maiden's voice. 
 But lead right on the vast assembly's choice ? 
 Till then, be hope," still smiling hope, our guide. 
 And, change what may, let one just word abide : 
 Where love persuades, shall eaidiest truth prevail : 
 Where love and truth persuade not, all must fail. 
 
 C. — Then, Rome remains, in smiles or frowns alike. 
 Watching her hour, and watching but to strike ; 
 Like the hawk hovering just beyond the hill. 
 Her pinions spread. 
 
 I. — So spread her pinions still ! 
 They shall not cloud a hearth on all our coast, 
 Save where the foot of pride shall plant its boast ! 
 
 51 " Utinam." exclaims the elegant Witsius, in language too sweet to be trans- 
 lated, " utinam tandem ille tot priorum votis expetitus illucescat dies, quo subla- 
 tis e medio, seternaeque damnatis oblivioni, cunctis schismatum nominibus, quid- 
 quid toto orbe Christianorum est, ad ortum solis ab Hesperio cubili, unum una 
 mente colat, una voce loquatur Deum ; et, ut in Zachariaa oraculis est, Jehova 
 uuus sit, et nomen ejus unum in universa terra!" 
 
 »- " To certain zealots,'" says Lord Bacon, " all speech of pacification ia odious. 
 ' Is it peace, Jehu ?'' What hast thou to do with peace? turn thou behind me.' 
 Peace is not the matter, but following, and party." 
 
 i>'i " Dabit Deus his quoque fiuem." 
 
 10 
 
] 34 THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 
 
 By the dark Danube, on the Tuscan plain, 
 Where olive gioves o'erhang the vales of Spain, 
 Where from their towers the Aztec myriads poured, 
 And their realm melted at the adventurer's sword, 
 There the son still may share the father's doom, 
 And faith, through crushing rocks, may upward 
 
 bloom. 
 But other sires were ours ! and Rome must blot 
 From her rich vestments many a damning spot, 
 The anthems poured^* for that remorseless night 
 When good Coligny fell, but not in fight, 
 The -word that sealed the murderei*'s blind command, 
 And loosed red Alva^^ on the Flemish strand, 
 And to the prince^® of fiery triumphs gave 
 The snow-white cliffs, when chains should bind the 
 
 wave ; 
 Then, she may turn Missouri's mingled tides, 
 And bid them climb the rocky rampart's sides ; 
 Ere all her breath shall check the loosened bark,'^ 
 Or light, for all her spells, again be dark ! 
 
 51 Pope Gregory XIII. made a solemn procession, in tliaEksglviug for the E;a3- 
 sacre of St Bartholomew. 
 
 sj Pius V. exhorted Philip II. to make no conee.=sions in the Netherlands. 
 Ranke relates, that after the dreadful successes of Alva, whom Schiller descrihes 
 as a man who might have been supposed to liave been born far too early, and to have 
 been designed for an instrument of providential 'udgment, a mighty reaper, when 
 the harvest of human iniquity should be ripe for the sickle ; a private secretary 
 of King Philip addressed the papal nuncio one day, "My Lord, are you satisfied 
 witti the King's proceedings?" "Quite satisfied," answered the nuncio with a 
 smile. 
 
 so Sixtus V. urged on the husband of Queen Mary to the conquest of England ; 
 and if papal blessings, prayers, or mone^', could have availed, the armada had 
 safely reached the shore, the stout hearts of Elizabeth and her people had poured 
 out their blood, and the Inquisition had lighted the fires of Smithfield in a thou- 
 sand market-places. " Is there any wrong way in the world," says Lightfoot, '• if 
 blowing up parliaments be not out of the right one?" 
 
 57 " You may tell 
 Your Pope, that when I sail upon the seas, 
 I sha'l not stri'.ie a topsail for tbe breath 
 Of all his maledictions." — Southey's Madoc. 
 
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS. 1 3.") 
 
 my deur counii y ! great and fair and free, 
 With thy wide arms outstretched to either sea I 
 Lift high those arms to heaven ; redeem thy tru.>^t , 
 And in thy power be generous and be just ! 
 Cleanse from thy shield dishonor's rusting stain ; 
 Strike down the wretched links of every chain ; 
 Tell in thy halls a ransomed world's release ■,''^ 
 And lead the glorious front of Christian peace ! 
 So, though the welcome stranger build his shrine, 
 And blend the rites of gloomier days with thine, 
 Far shall he leave the dread of sceptred Rome, 
 And the pure waves shall guard our Western home. 
 
 C. — Sweet scenes before my soul come floating by ! 
 
 1 see a Christian empire's''^ eagle fly I 
 One chant of praise a thousand cities sing. 
 Ten thousand dales the same far echoes ring ; 
 From the high towers in thunder forth it swells, 
 Then answers soft where die the village bells ; 
 It joins the sound of labor's cheerful peals, 
 
 The rushing stream, the hum of countless wheels ; 
 Down the calm bay a manlier note is cast, 
 Where the true seaman sends it from the mast ; 
 It comes to nerve the woodman's mountain stroke ; 
 It rises lonely with the settler's smoke ; 
 It cheers the rough hand resting on the plough ; 
 And the black peasant shouts, a freeman now ! 
 
 58 "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. ■ — St 
 John Tiii. 32. 
 
 59 "Whether the destiny of our repuhlic be, us I have imagined, to uni'e, not 
 by constraint, not in mere tolerance, but with the biight bands of a true affection, 
 whatever is really Christian, and thus to give to the world what neither '.he 
 laws of princes, nor the authority of synods could give, the spectacle of Chris- 
 tianity reigning in peace, time will reveal In the mean while, I have cast tli's 
 leaf upon the wind, believing that it will find in other minds the feeling which gave 
 it birth, the warm wish for catholic unity of heart 
 
13G THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS 
 
 Church of my heart's best love ! there thou art seen, 
 A virgin pure, perhaps a spotless queen ! 
 If thy dear Lord to thee such crown has given. 
 And all shall grasp a bond that ne'er was riven, 
 Lead on, where'er his guiding star has shone, 
 And wilUng hearts shall form thy peaceful throne ! 
 Or, if the years of one sole bond be past, 
 Nor the first hallowed union mould the last. 
 Thou knowest where yields our war a nobler crown. 
 Where laid thy Prince His heavenly purple down ; 
 The patient field where holiest toils are tried, 
 The green, still meads that hear no note of pride. 
 
MISSIOS"AIlT HTMI^. 
 
 THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG. 
 
 O'er barren hills ray soul upsprings, 
 
 And looks e'en there on blooming flowers : 
 I see above the. golden wings 
 
 Of the near dawn's resplendent hours ! 
 Say, who are these like startled doves ! 
 
 Before the Lord's right hand they flee ! 
 Yet welcome, Israel, to the groves 
 
 Which Jacob's God shall plant for thee ' 
 
 I see the fiery pillar blaze 
 
 Where sank long since the pillar'd cloud : 
 God calls His nation, and His praise 
 
 All nations echo far and loud ; 
 And morn and eve have greetings sweet, 
 
 And north and south no seas can sever ; 
 And all is low at Jesus' feet, 
 
 And all is bhss in Him forever. 
 
 137 
 
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 TO THE EEDEEMEE. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM KLOPSTOCK. 
 
 I HOPED it. Lord to Thee ! and I have sung 
 The song of thy new covenant, Lamb of God ! 
 Run is the awful race ; and Thou 
 My trembling footsteps hast forgiven ! 
 
 Begin the harp's first sound, 
 Warm, wing'd, eternal praise ! 
 Begin, begin, my heart is streaming o'er ; 
 I weep for bliss ! 
 
 Reward I crave not ; rich reward was mine, 
 In angel raptures, when of Thee I sang ; 
 
 The swelling of the soul,, 
 Down to the depths of her primeval power ; 
 
 The inmost being shaken all, till heaven 
 
 And earth were far away ; 
 And flew the storm no more, in feeling soft, 
 That, like the spring's young breathing, whispered 
 life. 
 
 1S8 
 
TO THE REDEEMER. 
 
 139 
 
 He knows not all my thanks, 
 
 On whom scarce dawns it yet, 
 That when the soul in strong emotior's title 
 Pours all its fulness forth, speech can but falter slow. 
 
 Reward is mine, reward ! for I have seen 
 
 The Christian's gushing tear ; 
 And into the far future dare I look. 
 
 E'en heavenly tears to see ! 
 
 In human raptures, too. From Thee in vain 
 Hide I my heart with strong aspiring filled. 
 Loud in the youth it beat ; and in the man 
 Still beat it, but more calm. 
 
 Where'er a virtue is, where'er a praise, 
 
 Think on those things ! This flame my guide I 
 
 chose ! 
 High onward Avaves the holy flame, and lights 
 Ambition's better path ! 
 
 This, this was still my guard, that human joys 
 "With their enchantments luU'd me not to sleep ; 
 
 This waked me oft to turn 
 
 Back to those angel joys ! 
 
 They waked me, too, with loud, cleai*, silver tones. 
 With ravish'd memory of the holy hours, 
 
 Themselves, themselves, those angel joys. 
 With harp and clarion, with the thunder's call I 
 
140 TO THE REDEEMER. 
 
 I stand at the goal, at the goal ! and feel where I 
 stand, 
 In all my quaking spirit! So, (I speak. 
 Human, of things divine,) so shall it be. 
 Brethren of Him who died, and rose ! in the first 
 hour of heaven. 
 
 Up to this goal hast thou, , 
 
 My Lord and God ! 
 By more than one sad grave 
 Led me, with mighty arm ! 
 
 Thou gavest me health, gavest courage and resolve, 
 
 While death's dark perils hovei-'d nigh ! 
 And if I saw those frightful forms unknown, 
 They harm'd not me, for Thou wert still my Shiel 1 ! 
 
 They fled away ! and I have sung 
 The song of thy new covenant, Lamb of God ! 
 Run is the awful race ! 
 I hoped it. Lord, to Thee ! 
 
THE SON OF MAIT,-THE KING 
 OF KIN^GS. 
 
 O Son of God, when Thou hadst worn, 
 One little hour, the crown of thorn, 
 And, from the grave in triumph come, 
 Hadst gone mid shining angels home, 
 A radiant crown to Thee was given, 
 The mediatorial crown of heaven. 
 
 But not yon dazzling worlds alone 
 With starry splendor gird thy throne, 
 And not alone the hosts on high 
 Thrice " holy, hcly, holy," cry : 
 For, Thou hast shared our lowly birth, 
 And Thine is every crown of earth. 
 
 A sacred oath is read above. 
 And blood has sealed that oath of love, 
 That this broad world, from main to main. 
 Shall own at last thy peaceful reign, 
 And all that live shall bend the knee, 
 In heaven, and earth, and hell, to Thee. 
 
 141 
 
142 THE SON OF MAN, ETC 
 
 Though slow th' advancing march of years. 
 And dim the rising dawn appears ; 
 Yet, while Thy chosen watch and pray, 
 O, Saviour, for Thy perfect day, 
 They hear the song that nature sings, 
 And praise the coming King of kings. 
 
"I SII^G TO THEE WITH 
 HEAET Al^D VOICE." 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF P A IT I. GERHARD. 
 
 I SING to Thee with heart and voice, 
 O Lord, my heart's delight : 
 
 I sing and know Thee, and rejoice 
 On earth to tell Thy might. 
 
 I know Thee, O eternal Source 
 
 Whence all our blessings flow ; 
 Whence, mom and eve, their various course 
 
 The streams of mercy go. 
 
 And what are we ? and what have we 
 
 On this wide earthly ball. 
 That was not. Father, given by Thee, 
 
 By Thee alone and all ? 
 
 Who like a tent above us spreads, 
 The heavens' resplendent blue ? 
 
 Who on our fields so gently sheds 
 The rain and nightly dew ? 
 
 I4n 
 
144 I SING TO THEE 
 
 Who warms us, through the frost and cold ? 
 
 Who guards us from the gale ? 
 Who bade that while their seasons rolled, 
 
 Nor oil nor wine should fail ? 
 
 Who sends the life-blood through our veins ? 
 
 What potent, faithful hand 
 The golden bond of peace maintains 
 
 In our dear, native land ? 
 
 O Lord my God, from Thee it comes ; 
 
 All, all by Thee is bless'd ; 
 Thou keep'st Thy watch around our homes. 
 
 And we in safety rest. 
 
 Thou giv'st us bread from year to year, 
 
 With love and patience tried ; 
 And in our peril and our fear, 
 
 Thou standest at our side. 
 
 Mildly Thy chastenings fall, and slow :, 
 Nor strikes Thy sharper scourge ; 
 
 But o'er our load of sin and woe 
 Thou roU'st the ocean surge. 
 
 When oui poor spirit sighs and cries, 
 
 Thou meltest o'er our pain, 
 Till gladness sparkles in our eyes, 
 
 And sings Thy praise again. 
 
WITH HEART AND VOICE. 145 
 
 Thou eeest Avhen Christian sorrows fall, 
 
 Aiid numberest eveiy sigh ; 
 And not a tear-drop is so small, 
 
 But Thou hast laid it by. 
 
 What this life lacks Thy love supplies 
 
 From joys that ne'er decay ; 
 And leads to mansions in the skies 
 
 When earth must fade away. 
 
 Then up, m}-^ heart, and sing, and spring, 
 
 And on with courage press ; 
 Since God, th' eternal Source and King, 
 
 Shall be thy happiness. 
 
 He is thy heritage and wealth, 
 
 Thy joyous sun and star ; 
 Thy shield and shade, thy hope and health, 
 
 Whose aid was never far. 
 
 Why shouldst thou pine, and, day and night 
 
 Consume with weak alarm ? 
 Oh, take thy care, and cast it light 
 
 On thy Creator's arm. 
 
 Hast thou not from thy cradle known 
 
 His nurture and His care ? 
 How many a woe^ fast hastening on, 
 
 Has fled before thy prayer ! 
 
146 I SING TO THEE, ETC. 
 
 Oh, never yet, all ages through, 
 Could aught His work amend ; 
 
 And what He does, or grants to do, 
 Shall reach its happy end. 
 
 Then let Him still His labors close ; 
 
 Nor interrupt His ways : 
 So shalt thou here in peace repose, 
 
 And ever sing His praise. 
 
O MY CEEATOR, WHEl^ THY 
 MIGHT." 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GEI.LERT. 
 
 MT Creator, when Thy might. 
 The wisdom of Thy Avays, 
 
 Thy love which sheds on all its light. 
 My Avondering heart surveys : 
 
 1 know not, while amazed I bow. 
 
 The song I ought to rai-e : 
 My God, my Lord, my Father, Thou 
 Must teach me how to praise. 
 
 Where'er my raptured eyes are tuined. 
 
 Thy Avonders I descry ; 
 The heavens, Avith radiant gems adorned. 
 
 Lift up Thy praise on high. 
 
 O God of strength ! Avho taught the run 
 
 His lofty pathway far ? 
 Who put his robes of glory on? 
 
 Who summons everA' star? 
 
 147 
 
148 O MY CREATOR, WHEN THY MIGHT. 
 
 Who gives the wind its course or birth ? 
 
 Who pours the welcome rain ? 
 Who opeus wide the lap of earth, 
 
 And heaps the golden grain ? 
 
 O God of might and majesty ! 
 
 O God, thy boundless love. 
 Far as the clouds stretch o'er the sky, 
 
 Its mantle spreads above. 
 
 Thy name the sunshine and the storm, 
 Thy name the sea-sands raise ; 
 
 " Give," cries aloud the meanest worm, 
 " Give my Creator praise !" 
 
 " God made me," cries the stately tree 
 
 That with the tempest plays ; 
 " God," cries the little seed, " made me ; 
 
 Give my Creator praise !" 
 
 Man, on whose frame Thy fearful hand 
 
 Such skill could so bestow ; 
 Man, whose high reasoning soul can stand, 
 
 And ask his God to know ; 
 
 Man, made a king on earth to move. 
 
 Creation's noblest part, 
 In his own mould can daily prove 
 
 How good and great Thou art. 
 
MY CREATOR, AVHEN XH V MIGHT. 149 
 
 Oh, praise Him still, thou soul of mine ; 
 
 And praise Him yet again; 
 O God our Father, praise be Thine ! 
 
 Let all things say "Amen !"' 
 
 Let all their sovereign Maker fear 
 
 And trust His gracious word. 
 And hold His happy service dear; 
 
 Who would not serve the Lord ? 
 
 11 
 
This Poem was recited before the Rhode Island Alpha of the Phi Beta Kapp- 
 SociETT, at their Anniversary, September 3(1, 1834, with the follo'n'ing introduc- 
 tory observations : — 
 
 Gentlemen op the Phi Beta Kappa Society — 
 
 In offering to you on such an occasion such a poem as that which I now pre- 
 sent, one remark becomes important. When, a few months since, I had the honor 
 to be appointed your poet for this anniversary, it was already too late for me, un- 
 der the engagements which I was required to assume, to attempt tlie composition 
 of any thing new and especially appropriate. Under these circumstances, the 
 only way in which it remained possible for me to discharge that duty which everj' 
 man, on these occasions, owes to his Alma Mater, was by laying before you some 
 fruit of earlier leisure. The following poem was projected and begun during a 
 short residence at Rome Around that mighty metropoUs of the earth, the history 
 of all ages seems to have revolved ; and one is there continually discovering some 
 link of connection between the ancient and the modern, the Pagan and the Chris- 
 tian world. Such a link I thought I saw in the tradition of the martyrdom of St. 
 Peter and St Paul ; and this is the foundation of a poem ^Incti, viewed firom this 
 point, may not seem altogether unsuitable to this occasion. 
 
 150 
 
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 MARTYRDOM 
 
 O F 
 
 ST. PETEE AI^TD ST. PAUL. 
 
 The morn was high in heaven, the morn of Spring ;' 
 Basked in its joyous blaze each living thing : 
 Through bower and grove came down the golden beam, 
 It bathed the hills, it glittered on the stream ; 
 Just breathed a wind the olive's leaves to stir, 
 And touch on high tlie cresto of Northern fir ; 
 
 Note 1. 
 
 The mom was high in heaven, tlie morn of rpri::^. 
 
 There is here a variation from the tradition, unless the spring bo allowed, in the 
 latitude of a poetical expression, to include the kindred mouth of Juno. The 
 twenty-ninth of that month, is the day assigned by all the various forms of the 
 tradition to the martyrdom of the t-.vo apostles ; though, while the accounts con- 
 cur in this, one of them supposes that they died iu two successive years, on the 
 same day of the same month. So Prudentius, the Christian poet : 
 
 Unus utrumque dies, pleno tamen innovatus anno, 
 Vidit superba nurte laureatum. — Piristrjjh. Hymn 12. 
 
 So also Augustine de sanct senn. 28. A Inrge majority, however, of the ancior.t 
 writers, maintain that they suffered at the same time, in one of the last .years of 
 the reigu of Nei'o, probably A. D. 69. Bishop I'earson, in his A:;niles Pauiini, 
 mentions the twenty-second of February as the day of the mart;rdom, and refers 
 to Sylvius in Calendario VIII. Kai. Martiis. All the particulars of t'.ie several tra- 
 ditions, whether true or false, may be found in the Annals of Cardinal Beronius. 
 Hy the adoption or omission of any of them ia this poem, ii is not designed either 
 to maintain or to deny their authenticity 
 
 151 
 
152 THIi; MARTYK.DOM OF 
 
 Mid laurel walks (he budding orange liung ; 
 
 Round the young holm the vine's soft promise clung ; 
 
 Loud was the voice of song from bush and tree ; 
 
 On his blithe errand hied the wakeful bee ; 
 
 The sportive lamb leaped lighter on the plain ; 
 
 Strong trod the ox beneath the massy wain ; 
 
 Laughed the gay boy, he knew not wherefore gay, 
 
 Shook his bright locks, and ran to merrier play ; 
 
 And bending age, amidst some sunny spot, 
 
 Laid by its staff, and half its woes forgot : 
 
 Smiling on all, the gorgeous morn arose, 
 
 All but the victim woke from brief repose 
 
 O'er the fair scene to fling a parting eye. 
 
 And then in torture and in shame to die. 
 
 Yet e'en of such there were to whom the night 
 
 Passed wi;h that dawn forever into light. 
 
 The mom was high in heaven, the Latian morn ; 
 What glorious hues the landscape famed adorn, 
 Where the long hills from lone Soracte sweep,- 
 And the far plain spreads onward to the deep ! 
 There is no cloud to veil th' enchanting view. 
 Earth's richest green, and heaven's serenest blue, 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 Where the long hills from lone Soracte STveep, 
 And the far plain spreads onward to the deep ! 
 
 Mount Soracte, rising above the other hills, and separated from them, is, per- 
 haps, the most prominent natural otject, to one who looks from Ecmo over tlie 
 surrounding Campagna. If it be in winter, he will he reminded of the eig'ith 
 oJo of the first book of Horace : 
 
 Vides ut alta stet nive candidum 
 Soracte. 
 
 T!io range of the Alban Hills and the aJjacent extremities of the Appeniues, stretch 
 towards the southward till they terminate about Terracina, the 
 
 In:positum saxis late candentibus Anxur 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. • 153 
 
 Here nature's hand luxuriant bounty gave, 
 To every hope whate'er that hope could crave ; 
 And here each power of culturing man was tried, 
 Toil, wisdom, taste, and wealth, and might, and pride. 
 Mid cheerful farms, and vin yard's opening bloom, 
 And gardens scattering all a world's perfume, 
 By arch, and tomb, and column's tall array, ' 
 Lo, towards each land the host's majestic Way ; 
 Far as around the kindling eye may roam. 
 Rests its fond glance on classic porch and dome ; 
 O'er hill and vale, from yon dim mountain's side. 
 Brings the long stream of art its liealthful tide ■* 
 See, on each height an ancient city's towers,^ 
 So might have built the Titan's fabled powers ; 
 Bright in the sun, and open to the breeze, 
 Here the fair villa woos to health and ease ; 
 
 Note 3. 
 By arch, and tomb, and column's tall array, 
 La, towards each land the host's majestic Way. 
 
 IIow conspicuous were the tombs upon some of the Via:, we may judge from the 
 still remaining mausoleum of Caius Cestius. and the wife of Crassus, and from 
 the complaint of Cicero, that the Appian Way was so lined with sepulchres, that 
 there was scarcely room for the erection of country-houses. 
 
 Note 4 
 
 Brings the long stream of art its healthful tide 
 
 The remains of the aqueducts, which lonveyed their water a distance of many 
 miles to Rome, are, as is well known, among the most astonishing ruins of the 
 Cainpag7ia. 
 
 Note 5. 
 
 See, on each height an ancient city's towers 
 
 In many parts of Italy, the old cities are almost unifoi-mly situated on the vei/ 
 summits of steep hills ; a kind of sites as picturesque as inaccessible. 
 
154' THE MARTYRD031 OF 
 
 There, deep ben:-'atli the grotto's solemn shade. 
 Pours rapid Anio many a white cascade / 
 While southward for, amidst th.^ naighty throng, 
 From slo.hful Tiber sounds the boatman's sopg. 
 Oh; not a rood, and not a spot, is there, 
 But he who passes breathes of glory's air ; 
 'T is Alba's lake, and old PrtKueste's hiiy 
 And the soft flow of meek Egeria's rill ; 
 'T is Flaccus' walk, 't is wise Maecenas' grove, 
 'T is the cool path where TuUy loved to rove ; 
 These plains have heard the Fabii's martial tread ;" 
 Here rest the Scipios, rest with all their dead ; 
 Here all was won that man might win alone, 
 Knowledge and skill, the laurel and the throne ; 
 Won but to teach, alike through rise and fall, 
 How great, how poor, how strange, that human all ; 
 
 Note 6. 
 
 Pours rapiil Anio uiouy a ■white cascade. 
 
 Without referring to the artificial cascades at Tivoli, the natural fell will per- 
 haps justify this line The CasrateUe, however, in whicli human labor has made 
 tie waters of the Teverone dash, in several places, down deeUvities of a hundred 
 teet, may almost match the work ot nature, though they possess a gentler beauty 
 than that of the '' prwceps Anio '' itself. 
 
 Note 7- 
 
 And old PriBneste's hill. 
 
 Quique altum Praeneste viri, quique arva Gabina 
 Junonis, gelidumque Anienem, et roscida rivis 
 Hernica saxa colunt. — Vtrg. En. Lib. vii. v. 682. 
 
 Note 8. 
 
 These plains have heard the Fabii's martial tread. 
 
 The three hundred and six of that name, who. except one man, fell together in 
 b.itt!e From the only survivor, descended the family of the celebrated Dictator. 
 
ST. PETEK AXD ST. PAUL. lijo 
 
 Won ; but e'en now, long, long the heiglit is passed,^ 
 Down whirls the car, each hour more fierce and fast ; 
 Though pi-Quder decked, the maddening courser springs, 
 Unseen the vulture flaps impatient wings. 
 
 Palace and shrine and fortress glittering high, 
 Ridge over ridge piled upward to the sky. 
 Like frowning Juno, stately in her charms. 
 The seven-hilled city spreads her queenly arras. 
 Not now in joy ! from Jove's illustrious dome,'" 
 Looks the sad burgher o'er his wasted home : 
 Where, wide around, hot ruins mark the path 
 0[)'d by the whirling flame's insatiate wrath ; 
 And th'nks on those stem nights and sterner days 
 Wlien sleep and hope fled far before the blaze. 
 When houseless thousands flocked to fane by fane, 
 That, one by one, went down, adored in vain. 
 
 Note 9. 
 
 Won ; but e'en now, long, long the height is passed. 
 
 The Roman historians, from Livy downwards, lament and denounce the vices of 
 their age, and the degeneracy from the ancient hardiiiood. 'ihose vices, indeed, 
 had reaclied a height of which it is, perhaps, impossible for modem, at least for 
 American minds, to form a conception. It is a most interesting speculation to 
 consider the precise state of mankind when Christianity appeared ; and t!ie morul 
 ruin to which, without Christianity, the Iloman Empire, and, what is almost sy- 
 nonymous, the world, was rapidly approaching. 
 
 Not- 10. 
 
 Not TjO-x in joy 1 from Jove's illuptrious dome, 
 Looks tae sad burgher o'er his wasted home. 
 
 The flre, and the consequent persecution of the Christians, took place A. D. fi4, 
 and the common voice of antiquity sets the death of the two Apostles A. D. 68 or 
 69 ; so that, if historical truth were a high object i.i poetry, the anachronism 
 would be inexcusable. We may be allowed, however, to suppose that the ruins 
 of so vast a conflagration were ftill visible at the distance of so few years, and that. 
 an old accusation might be joined with others in fomenting popular resentment. 
 The imperial palace on Mount Palatine was destroyed by the flames. It is scarcely 
 ucceiEary to allude to the conduct of Nero on this occasion. 
 
loG THK MAKTYHD051 OF 
 
 And as tlie Ca^sai-'^ halls of glory 1\11. 
 
 Seemed as the gods of Eoine had called farewell ; 
 
 Thinks how on yon tall tower the monarch stood. 
 
 Mid his loose train iudnlgod his mimic mood. 
 
 Gazed, like a painter, on the horrid glare. 
 
 And poured poetic sorrows on the air ; 
 
 Thinks, and his eye has sunk to deadly rest. 
 
 And all the soul of Cherea fills his breast." 
 
 Tyrant and fool ! and couldst thou madly trust, 
 
 The guiltless blood that stained tlv arena's dust, 
 
 Stained the dread rack, the civss, the fieiy stake, 
 
 Should lull the vengeance guilt had roused to wake ? 
 
 And couldst thou di'eam, thy g-olden pomp should blind' - 
 
 That judge of kings, the future's fearless mind? 
 
 In that lone hour when thou shalt hide thy head, 
 
 A trembling slave, beneath a fi'eedman's shed.' ^ 
 
 Shalt poise the blade, yet cheek the mortnl blo\\-. 
 
 Airaid to strike, afraid to wait the Ibe. 
 
 Then shall that guilt the fierce pursuer steel. 
 
 Shall from the tomb its awful simimons peal ; 
 
 XOTE 11. 
 
 Aud ill! the soul of Ohoroa fills his bre.ist. 
 Cherea, the courageous i\ssassiu of Caligula. 
 
 XOTB 12 
 
 Thy golden pomp. 
 
 The celebrated palace of Neio, called from its splendor the Golden House, aud 
 of which scarcely a Tcstige remjuns. -was built upou a portion of the city which 
 had been prostrated by the contlagrsxtion 
 
 XOTK 13. 
 
 A trembUug slave beneath a freedman's shed. 
 
 The narrative of the death of Nero, given by Suetonius, is minute and vi-»id. 
 He had tleil to the >illa of his freedmau Phaou, vrhich wis ncju- the fourth mile- 
 stone from the city, between the A'ia Salaria aud the A'ia Nomeutsina. The accour.t 
 proceeils: 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 157 
 
 And when the walls thou ]-eavVt are ^llnk in cl;:v, 
 Thy race, thy works, thy empire, swept away, 
 Then, if perchance one more on earth shall spring 
 With all that blots a son, a man, a king. 
 Till crime shall shrink, and history drop the pen, 
 And words be faint that men have framed for men, 
 Then shall each child recall thy matchless shame, 
 And give the monster Nero's hated name. 
 
 Behold, the forum's throng, the murmuring street. 
 The bath, the bridge, the scenes Avhere millions meet I 
 
 '• Leaving the road, and dismissing the horses amongst the bushes, he escaped 
 by a foot-path through the reeds, not without difficulty, and being even obliged to 
 spread his garments under his feet, to the wall of the villa. Here I'haon advised 
 that he should retire for a while into an excavation made by the removal of sand ; 
 but he refused, saying that he would never go under ground alive. During the 
 short delay, while a clandestine entrance into the villa w:is prepared, he took in 
 the hollow of his hand a little water from the ditch below, and drank it, saying, 
 ikis is the boiled water of Nero.''' [Allusion is here made to a luxurious device of 
 his mentioned by Pliny.] '' With his cloak torn by the thorns, he crept on his 
 hands and feet through a narrow hole into an adjoining cell, and there lay down 
 upon a miserable bed. covered with an old mantle. Hungry and thirsty, he yet 
 refused some vile bread whieh was offered him : but drank a little warm wafer — 
 Then, while every one exhorted him to snatch himself from impending disgr: ce, 
 he ordered a trench to be made bi fore him, after the measure of his body, and 
 pieces of marble, if any were at hand, together with wood and water, "to be 
 brought, for the purposes of sepulture, weeping at each preparation, and repeating, 
 Qunlis arliffx pereo ! In the midst of t lo-e delays, the courier of Phaon came in 
 and, seizing from him his papers, Nero read that the Senate hnil declared him an ene- 
 my, and condemned him to be puni.fhed after the ancient custom. Inquiring what 
 was that kind of punishment, and finding that the head of the naked criminal 
 was to be placed within the stocks, and his body beaten with rods till he died, he 
 grasped in alarm two daggers which he had brought ^vith him. and. havirg tried 
 the edge of each, laid them by, saying that the fatal hour teas not yet come. 
 Then he would call upon Sporus to weep and lament, and again, he would be.seecli 
 that some one would show him. by example, how to die ; and sometimes would re- 
 proach his own slowness with the vfod^, I live dishonorably anri vilely; and in 
 Greek, it becomes not Nero, it becomes him not thus to wait: come.^ arouse thys-lf. 
 The horsemen now approached, who were commanded to take him alive. Perceiv- 
 ing this, he said tremblingly, 
 
 '•Methinks the noise of trsmpling steeds I hear." — Horn. 11. Book x. v. 535. 
 
 and thrust the blade into his throat, with the assistance of Epaphroditus, his Sec- 
 retary. While he was yet alive, the centurion rushed in. and applied his c!o,ik to 
 the wound, as if he had come to his a.s.sistance. Nero only answered. Too late, and 
 This is fidelity. With that word he died, hi< eyes standing out and staring t3 the 
 horror of the spectators." — Suet. Lib. \i. Ori. 48. 49. 
 
158 THE MARTYRDOM Oi' 
 
 Each laud has exiles there, for none is free ; 
 
 All loathe the lords, as all have bowed the knee : 
 
 Numidia's swarihy son, subdued at length ; 
 
 The blue-eyed German with his giant strength ; 
 
 The graceful chiefs of seme devoted host 
 
 That bled to guard their Britain's lovely coast ; 
 
 The crouchinp- form where lurks a bitter heart 
 
 That yet may teach how true the Parthian dart ; 
 
 The Plebrew, doomed a tenfold scorn to brook; 
 
 A tenfold anguish writhing in his look ; 
 
 All, all. are here: nor their's the pride to share, 
 
 Waked by this pomp of famed, and grand, and fair : 
 
 Their's but to plod the way of w^ily gaui, 
 
 Or curse the arts that forged and decked the chain, 
 
 And wish one equal day, one equal field. 
 
 Where naught should win, but lance, and sword, and shield. 
 
 In joy returned from wars of distant lands. 
 
 Marked by his scars, the legion's veteran stands ; 
 
 The tall praetorian nods his helm of pride, 
 
 The massy pavement ringing to his stride ; 
 
 Solemn and slow the stately priests ascend, 
 
 In worship not their own to strike or bend ; 
 
 The patient sculptor wakes to gradual view 
 
 Ideal forms, and dreams not all untrue ; 
 
 Th' expecting crowd surround the patron's gate ; 
 
 The morning chariot rolls in gilded state ; 
 
 The light buffoon, with idle gibe and jest, 
 
 Scans the nerved athlet's mighty arm and chest ; 
 
 The girded slave resumes his daily task, 
 
 ISfor deems his lord's a lot the wise should ask ; 
 
 Morn warms with life the c"ty's utmost vein, 
 
 And every pas:io:i holds its wonted I'eign, 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 151) 
 
 Such sight is here : nor seek to lift the veil, 
 Nor bid more secret scenes disclose their tale ; 
 Wish not to know what princely roofii may hide, 
 Nor ask where humbler worth and peace abide. 
 Though in pa rician robes all crime be dressed. 
 Though through tlie meaner crowd sweep on the pest, 
 Till each old image looks in mourning down, 
 And that stern Cato's wears a deeper frown ; 
 Still, still, may live some ancient Roman truth, 
 Live, if ni chains, in exile, or in youth : 
 E'en yet, perhaps, some hardy breasts remain' * 
 Where hoaiy Galba leads the arms of Spain, 
 Yet its bright rays may omen'd glory shed 
 Around some stripling Titus' modest head;'' 
 Yet private worth with good Virginius bloom,'" 
 Reject a crown, and win a peaceful tomb ; 
 
 Note 14. 
 
 E'en jet, perchance, .some hardy breasts remain 
 Where hoary Galba leads the arms of Spain. 
 
 Sergius Sulpicius Galba was called to the empire by his army, at the age cf 
 seventy-two, while commanding in llispania Terraconensis Suetonius thus de- 
 scribes him : "acer, vehemens, et in coerceudis quidem delictis vel immodicus." — 
 Lib. -viii. Cap. 1 
 
 Note 15. 
 
 Around some stripling Titus' modest head 
 
 Titus Vespasian, " amor ac delifia; generis humani," was bom A. D. 41, and was 
 therefore at this time twenty-seven or eight years old 
 
 Note 16. 
 
 Yet private worth with good Virginius bloom, 
 Keject a crown and win a peaceful tomb. 
 
 Piufus Virginius, who twice rejected the imperial purple, during the civil wars 
 t'.i.it preceded the accession of Vespasian. 
 
160 THE MAKTYRDOM OF 
 
 And Still, perchance, all woman's faith and grace,"'' 
 
 E'en as of late, Massilia's walls embrace, 
 
 That saw a mother, with a mother's fear, 
 
 Thy future conqu'ror, Caledonia, rear. 
 
 So lifts the bow of heaven its radiant form, 
 
 When troubled day goes down with cloud and storm ; 
 
 So draws the beams in fading splendor cast, 
 
 And gives them back, the loveliest and the last. 
 
 There is a stir of mustering crowds to-day : 
 
 E'en such precedes the triumph's long array ; 
 
 Such greets the hour, when, matched in desperate strife, 
 
 The victim swordsman strikes, and strikes for life. 
 
 Group after group they come, and waiting seem 
 
 With cautious words to touch the general theme ; 
 
 The gossip brings his tale, forever new ; 
 
 The honored sire unfolds his deeper view 
 
 With pausing breath, and fixed, though timorous eye, 
 
 Women and gentle youths stand listening by ; 
 
 But none may freely speak, or boldly hear. 
 
 Lest the cloak'd form of treachery linger near. 
 
 Of fearful dooms for secret deeds they tell, 
 
 Wrath that perchance with causeless fury fell, 
 
 When on a race that shunned each lighter blame, 
 
 It heaped the guilt of that wild midnight flame ; 
 
 Of a new faith in Eastern lands that rose. 
 
 Lands, to the gods anrl Eome unchanging foes 
 
 3S 
 
 Note 1". 
 
 And still, perchance, all woman's faith and grace, 
 E'en as of late Massilia's walls embrace, 
 That saw a mother, with a mother's fear. 
 Thy future conq'ror, Caledonia, rear. 
 
 The mother of Agricola is thus mentioned hy his Fon-in-law and biographrr. 
 ■ Mater Julia Procilla fuit, rarae castitatis ; In hujus sinu indulgentiaque eductus. 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 161 
 
 Of wondt-rs wrought by one who guiltless bled, 
 Of whote rent tomb mysterious tale^ were spread ; 
 His name afar his wand'ring followers bore, 
 And fixed triumphant feet on every shore ; 
 In that high name, 't was said, the blind had seen, 
 The lame had walked, the leper's flesh was clean ; 
 But though the bad had turned, the good believed, 
 Nor priest, nor sage, nor lord, the signs received ; 
 The god^, the gods, their jealous wrath declare ;'^ 
 Th' imperial lion rouses from his lair ; 
 With their strange lore of sin and contrite woe. 
 And hidden truths the wise could never know. 
 Their bigot zeal, that fain would break the shrine, 
 Nor holds e'en Jove's or Caesar's name divine,'^ 
 On their own heads th' avenging blow they call— 
 On with the rest, this hour to see it fall ! 
 
 per omnem honestarum artium cultum pueritiam a(lol"scentiamque transegit 
 Arcebat eum ab illecebris peccantiuni, praeter ipsius bonam integramquenaturam, 
 quod statim parTuIus sedem ac magistram studiorum Massiliam habuerit, lof.um 
 Graeca comitate et provinciali par.«imonia mistum ac bene compositum." — Tacit 
 Vit. Agric. Cap. 4. 
 
 Note 18. 
 
 The gods, the gods, their jealous wrath declare. 
 
 The Christians were often made to bear the guilt of drawing down public calam- 
 ities, as judgments from the gods. Augustine quotes the proverb, " non pluit 
 Deus, due ad Christianos :'" and even Porphyry finds the cause of the continuance 
 of an infectious disease in tlie anger of Esculapius against the new and successful 
 religion. ( See Neander's Church History, Vol. i. pp. 87, 88. 
 
 Note 19. 
 
 Nor holds e'en Jove's or Caesar's name divine. 
 
 The Christians were termed " irreligiosi in Csesares," for refusing to worship the 
 imperial image. 
 
162 . THE MARTYKDOm OF 
 
 Come to the spot where Roman glory rears-" 
 
 The storied piles of twice foxir hundred years ; 
 
 Where for her sons her proudest wreath she wove, 
 
 By the high ahar of Feretrian Jove ; 
 
 Where o'er the steep her victor's chariot came, 
 
 While mournmg captives brought the spoils to fame ; 
 
 Where on the kindling words her thousands hung, 
 
 Till up in arms the rous'd republic sprung : 
 
 Here at this hour th' assembled gazers wait, 
 
 And two chained men move onAvard to their fate. 
 
 There is a dungeon, deep, alas, how deep T^' 
 
 Beneath yon ancient wall's tremendous heap. 
 
 As close, as dark, as ocean's hollow rock, 
 
 Where howls above the billow's ceaseless shock ; 
 
 One chasm alone its lattice and its way, 
 
 That to the victim's bed of stone convey 
 
 Nought but the bread that lengthens out his breath. 
 
 Naught but the doom that calls him forth to death : 
 
 Few fathoms off, the crowd is shouting round, 
 
 Ne'er wans his ear the farthest, faintest sound ; 
 
 Few fathoms off, the dazzling sunbeams fall, 
 
 Not one can steal within his solid wall : 
 
 Not e'en the reptile's crawling touch is there ; 
 
 Sense, feeling, hfe, all bow to slow despair. 
 
 Come to the spot -whpre Roman glory rears 
 The storied piles of twice four hundred years. 
 
 The Forum, immediately helow the Capitol. Under the Capitol were tie Mamer- 
 tine pri.=ons. 
 
 Note 21. 
 
 There is a dungeon, deep, alas, how deep I 
 Beneath yon ancient pile's tremendous heap. 
 
 This description is literally true of the cell which is shown as their place of con 
 fini ment, and in which Jugurtha is said to have been left to perish with hunger. 
 
ST. PETEK AND ST. PAUL 163 
 
 There Afric's guilty prince in misery lay, 
 
 An iron heart, of iron iiearts the prey 
 
 Hour after hour, day after day, he pined, 
 
 Nor feared, nor hoped, enduring, not resigned ; 
 
 Till hunger's mighty pangs could bear no more, 
 
 And its last anguish drew the living gore. 
 
 Thence were they brought : that murd'rous den had rung 
 
 With sounds that come not oft from captive's tongue ; 
 
 And judgment's voice had made their bondage sweet, 
 
 When, for a while, she gave them there to meet. 
 
 Since once they met on Syria's distant soil. 
 
 Long years had flown in sufF'ring and ni toil : 
 
 One, with the fire that knew no earthly rest," 
 
 Pierced to the seas that gird tlie utmost West ; 
 
 One, to his narrower call as warmly true. 
 
 Sought his own people, scattered far and few : 
 
 Alike their aim, alike their heaven-born strength, 
 
 Alike the hope that led them here at length, 
 
 One, to the field his hand in bonds had sown. 
 
 One, to that reaper joying but alone. 
 
 They saw on high, in art's most sovereign skill. 
 
 Each imaged godhead threat'ning, cold and still ; 
 
 They marked the whirling throngs that fain would hido 
 
 That mighty want, which brings all want beside ; 
 
 They knew how soon, to trample truth in dust, 
 
 Pride stoops to shame, and avarice creeps for lust, 
 
 One with the fire that knew no earthly rest, 
 Pierced to the seas that gird the utmost AVest. 
 
 That St. Paul really executed his intention of visiting Spain, (Kom. 15, 24.) or 
 at least preached in regions west of Italy, is conclusively proved hy the assertion 
 of Clement, Bishop of Rome, iu his first Epistle to the Corinthians, § 5. For the 
 rest, his return to Rome and meeting with his brother Apostle, are matters ou 
 which all avtthentic history is silent. 
 
164 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 How, leagued they stand, the common realm to save, 
 Atheist and priest, the tyrant and the slave ; 
 They knew what unseen powers of darker might 
 Waged desperate war, and cursed the arms of light : 
 They knew, and paused not : one resistless voice 
 Still bade them toil, and in that toil rejoice. 
 And triumph in that joy i and now 't was done, 
 The first, the worthiest, hardest vantage won . 
 For God and man their wilUng lives they gave. 
 And sealed their hallowed victory at the grave. 
 
 Few were the prison hours, and small the trace 
 
 Of aught that mars the form of strength or grace . 
 
 Look on them now ! behold that rev'rend head. 
 
 With the thin frosts of green old age o'erspread,^^ 
 
 That calm, clear eye, that broad unruffled brow. 
 
 That lofty frame, unwont for naught to bow. 
 
 That soul they paint, so solemn, yet so mild. 
 
 Firm as a warrior, peaceful as a child. 
 
 The hardiest wretch who fastened on his bands. 
 
 Touched, but with awe, those stretched, defenceless hands ; 
 
 The ci'owd. inured to terrors, heaved the sigh, 
 
 " So like a god, and such a death to die !" 
 
 ]Sioi that they marked the lines of princely birth, 
 
 His was a peasant sire, a peasant's hearth ; 
 
 Long in his youth he plied the boldest oar, 
 
 Where break the waves on rough Bethsaida's shore ; 
 
 NoTL 23 
 
 Behold that rpyerend head, 
 With the thin locks of green old age o erspread. 
 
 Nicephorus, no authority certainly in the matter, gives this description of the per 
 son of St Peter : •• Petrus quidem hand crassa corporis statura fuit, sed quae ali- 
 quantum esset erectior, facie subpallida etalba admodum.' — Lib. ii. Cap. 37- 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL.. 165 
 
 ^Jot tiiat his name had filled the school, the field, 
 Far other arms and arts t was his to wield, 
 Since from on high the rushing glory came. 
 And tinged his spirit and his tongue with flame. 
 The manly beauty nature's mould impressed. 
 Stamp of the gifts, her noblest and her best. 
 Health, courage, fire, and wisdom never taught. 
 From that high flash immortal radiance caught ; 
 And while around he turned his pitying view. 
 Love, mercy, peace, beamed all divinely through. 
 Yet he had stood where falsehood's daring tongue 
 Twice in the face of heaven defiance flung, 
 And while, constrained, the awful doom he said, 
 Sank at his feet the apostates pale and dead. 
 Angels that love perchance afar to keep 
 Danger and fear from childhood's gentle sleep, 
 Angels, that swell their song to loftier praise, 
 When one lost sinner turns him from his ways, , 
 Have not a tear, when, down to ruin hurled, 
 A tyrant falls, and falling frees the world ; 
 Or when, while conscience stirs its slumbering fires, 
 The hoar blasphemer shudders and expires. 
 
 Younger is he who bears beside his chains. 
 Younger, though less of youthful fire remams. 
 His eye is piercing, but his cheek is pale ;^^ 
 Erect he inoves ; erect, but worn and frail ; 
 
 Note 24. 
 
 His eye is piercing, but tiis cheek is pale 
 
 St P«ul is represented by the same author as '• corpora parvo et contraeto at 
 que incurve et paululum inflexo, facie Candida annosque plures prae se ferente, et 
 capite modico '-iift. ii. Cap. 37 
 
 12 
 
166 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Hardship, and toil, and days of anxious care 
 Have marked his mien, and blanched his sable hair, 
 Without, within, each pain the guiltless weep, 
 Troubles by land, and perils on the deep. 
 The scourge, the chain, the snares relentless spread. 
 And the keen pang when recreant friendship fled. 
 His is a light that trembles while we gaze. 
 But never fades or falls its heavenly blaze : 
 There shines the spirit born with ills to cope. 
 Still hoping on when fails all human hope ; 
 Knowing what doubt to mortal wisdom cleaves. 
 Yet fast believing, for the heart believes : 
 From his own race a hunted outcast driven, 
 Forgiving all ; to him was much forgiven. 
 Chosen, and called, and on his message sent, 
 His Master's voice was with him as he went ; 
 Mid pains and tears, he prayed, and wrote and spoke, 
 And smote the fetters, till the fetters broke : 
 His fight is fought, his faith has reached the end, 
 Firm to the heavens his glance, his heart ascend ; 
 There with the Judge he sees his crown remain, 
 And if to live be Christ, to die is gain. 
 
 In that last night his eyes no slumber closed ; 
 The morning found him sleepless, yet reposed : 
 Ne'er from his race for ease he turned aside. 
 Nor nature asked what mightier zeal denied . 
 Now, when he almost panted at the goal, 
 Rest more than sleep' s descended on his soul. 
 Sleep flies the warrior, ere the morning light 
 Of the last battle for a nation's right ; 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 167 
 
 Sleep flies the bridegroom, ere the purple ray 
 
 Proclaims to happy love its nuptial day. 
 
 Might he but write for every scattering flock 
 
 That mourns, but shall not always mourn, the shock, 
 
 Oh, to the words of such immortal page 
 
 Should cling the bleeding breasts of every age ! 
 
 It might not be : yet from that prison wall 
 
 Soared high and far the chainless heart of Saul, 
 
 O'er the vast work that, ere the world, began. 
 
 The wondrous doom that judged and ransomed man. 
 
 The sev'ring barriers, prostrate at a stroke, 
 
 The nations bowing to Messiah's yoke : 
 
 On the hard dungeon stone he bowed his knee. 
 
 And thanked that Lord who makes the pris'ners free. 
 
 The elder slept, and passed in freshened dreams 
 Back to his own Judea's vales and streams : 
 Again his vessel touched Tiberias' strand ; 
 Again he heard the Master's mild command ; 
 Again he walked by Cedron's waters still, 
 And climbed, in evening's calm, the olive hill : 
 Again on Tabor's shining summit saw^^ 
 Unveiled the seer, unveiled the fading law ; 
 At the high words again his bosom thrilled, 
 " On this firm rock my conquering church I build ;" 
 Once more he plunged, mid winds' and billows' roar. 
 And sank, and clasped the rescuing hand once more. 
 
 Note 25. 
 
 Again on Tabor's shining summit saw 
 Unveiled the seer, unveiled the fading law. 
 
 Monnt Tabor is usually supposed to have been the scene of the Transfigura- 
 tion. 
 
168 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Not with its shame returned that judgment hall, 
 Where nature's strength was weakness in its fall, 
 Where chosen faith blasphemed whom all forsook, 
 Till bowed in tears by one resistless look : 
 Not on such thoughts, save love's warm tide to swell. 
 Not on such thoughts, the parting saint may dwell, 
 For whom their cords the hard tormentors hold. 
 And fix the cross of death, so long foretold. 
 
 Came there no arm from heaven mid silent night, 
 
 To touch the bonds with touch of seraph might. 
 
 Ope, as in Sion once, each iron gate, 
 
 And snatch the tried apostle from his fate ? 
 
 Was there no power its aiding bolt to send, 
 
 The towers 1 o shake, the solid earth to rend, 
 
 Till deeper dungeons than Philippi's heaved, 
 
 And prouder bosoms trembled and believed ? 
 
 None : but serene as Eden's breeze of balm 
 
 Eose to the soldier's ear their morning psalm ; 
 
 So high, so pure, its distant chorus fell. 
 
 It waked each string that yet remains to tell. 
 
 In solemn hours, to man's most secret breast. 
 
 News of the spirit's home of perfect rest. 
 
 They sang, they prayed ; the last of many prayers ,* 
 
 Past was the reign of wishes and of cares : 
 
 And if a grief bedewed the younger's face, 
 
 Mid the close folding of the last embrace, 
 
 *T was but to think what pangs the day must blend 
 
 On his loved brother's passage, till the end. 
 
 The end is nigh : on rolls the mighty crowd, 
 Around them still, behind more fierce and loud : 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 169 
 
 Not one of all believed the guilty deed, 
 
 But they had learned to see the guiltless bleed ; 
 
 And there were there the tyrant's countless spies, 
 
 Dreaded and loathed, the men of threats and lies, 
 
 Pois'ning with wilder tales the startled ear. 
 
 Tales of black lust and midnight feasts of fearr" 
 
 And thus, as on the train of slaughter wind. 
 
 The frequent cry of insult rings behind. 
 
 The faithful flock were hidden, or were fled ; 
 
 Some lay in chains, and some for Christ had bled ; 
 
 Some from the throng their timorous glances cast, 
 
 And blessed the honored martyrs as they passed : 
 
 One man alone beside the victims stands,^'' 
 
 Moves as they move, and hears their last commands ; 
 
 Oh, for one page from his recording pen, 
 
 To give each treasured word to future men ; 
 
 That pen that once, so simple, graceful, wise, 
 
 Of heaven's bright kingdom told th' unfolding rise, 
 
 From that first day when, high in Salem's shrine. 
 
 Shone on the aged priest the form divine. 
 
 Till, falsehood's realm fast trembling towards its fall, 
 
 The Caesars' city heard the voice of Paul ! 
 
 Note 26. 
 
 Tales of black lusts and midnight feasts of fear. 
 
 Popular fanaticism attributed to the early Christians, in their assemblies, the 
 same outrages anl unnatural practices, such as the dcTOuring of children, which 
 in the middle ags were charged upon the Templars, the Jews, and other perse- 
 cuted classe.s of men 
 
 Note 27. 
 
 One man alone beside the victims stands. 
 
 St. Luke was with the Apostle Paul, when he wrote his second epistle to Timo- 
 thy, which was probably in the early part of his last imprisonment. See 2 Timo- 
 thy, iv, 11 He might have remained to the last. 
 
170 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Downward they passed, by many a prostrate pile, 
 
 To Tiber's bank, and o'er his sacred isle,^' 
 
 And stood beneath the mount, where oft on high 
 
 The augur watched the birds of omen fly : 
 
 Slow and more slow the cohort led along. 
 
 For close and closer urged the circling throng , 
 
 When through the midst a panting stranger pressed,*" 
 
 And fell on Paul's stretched arms and throbbing breast ; 
 
 " Father," he speaks, and lifts his anguished brow, 
 
 '• Our Israel's chariot and her horsemen thou !" 
 
 And grief and joy suffuse the martyr's eyes, 
 
 "And thou art come, my son, my son," he cries. 
 
 It was the man whose meek and gifted youth 
 
 He found in pureness, and he led in truth : 
 
 The partner given, his ways, his toils to share, 
 
 To know his heart, and feel its every care : 
 
 Now from Ephesian shores, in summoned haste, 
 
 O'er sea and land his distant way he traced ; 
 
 Still in each church fresh tidings met his ear. 
 
 And still the last were dark with heaviest fear ; 
 
 Note 28 
 
 To Tiber's bank, and o'er his sacred isle 
 
 Tiiis wou'd have been ttie direct course from the Mamertine prison to Mount 
 Janiculus, where St. Peter is said to have suffered, on the spot now covered by the 
 most stupendous pile on earth. Baronius labors diligently to prove, that this 
 place was embraced within both the general names, Janiculus and Vaticanus 
 The tradition supposes that St Paul was put to death, although at the same time, 
 ytat a different place, without the gate, upon the road to Ostia, on the spot where, 
 stood the rich church of St Paul, ruined by fire within a few years. For the sake 
 of unity, it was thought expedient to depart from the tradition. 
 
 NOTS 29. 
 
 AVhen through the midst a panting stranger pressed 
 
 The presence of Timothy, like that of Luke, is not supported by tradition , but 
 it may be judged not improbable, from the feet tnat the last letter of the apostle 
 had requested him to •■ do his diligence to come shortly unto him '• 2 Timothy, 
 iv,9. 
 
ST. PETER AND oT. PAUL. 171 
 
 He reached the gate, he heard the sounds of dread, 
 He saw the train, and onward, onward sped ; 
 To pierce the throng, to pass the spears he dared, 
 Braved all, and saw his master, and was spared. 
 
 For so much love a few short moments more; 
 A few short moments, and those few are o'er ; 
 No scroll is left, no voice of man to tell 
 "What tears, what counsels, marked the last farewell ; 
 And yet perchance that hour of parting life 
 Spread o'er the church a sway that melted strife. 
 And rising nations felt through future years 
 How gently wrought those counsels and those tears. 
 Now at the place of death the victims pause ; 
 Around the ring of guards and lictors draws : 
 See, at his post the gloomy headsman stands. 
 The axe of vengeance glittering in his hands ; 
 And its rough arms the cross extends on high, 
 "Where, like the Lord, the servant true must die , 
 All waits for blood , and, eager for the shock. 
 Ten thousand eyes are gazing towards the block. 
 
 Then spake the Tarsian, and his words were clear; 
 " Men, Romans, brethren, yet a moment hear ; 
 Let no man turn from hence, at home to say. 
 Naught hath he known of them who died to-day : 
 Might but all nations hear our lips confess 
 Why thus we suffer, and in suffering bless. 
 Not that we strove to rouse a rebel land ; 
 Not that we flung destruction's midnight brand ; 
 Not that in scorn of laws or lawful powers, 
 A deed, a word, a silent wish was ours; 
 
172 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Ye men of Rome, we die for what we teach, 
 
 Truths that must speak with life's fast failing speech ; 
 
 How God, who made the world, hath sent his Son, 
 
 In him his realm of grace and peace begun ; 
 
 He died for all, he rose and passed the skies, 
 
 And he shall judge the dead when all shall rise. 
 
 Wonders and signs by us his power hath wrought, 
 
 Confirming thus the mighty call we brought, 
 
 That ye should turn from pride and worldly lust, 
 
 And from the gods that mock your erring trust ;" 
 
 More had he said, but loud the murmurs sprung ; 
 
 And the bold accents died upon his tongue ; 
 
 And one fierce rufiian, hardier than the rest, 
 
 With his steel gauntlet smote his cheek and breast : 
 
 A look of love on all the martyr shed. 
 
 Turned to his friends, and nobly bowed his head ; 
 
 Swift falls the blade ; it streams, the spouting gore,^" 
 
 And soars to God one ransomed spirit more. 
 
 O'er the vast throng a brief, deep silence sank ; 
 From her fall'n prey astonished vengeance shrank ; 
 Then hoarse and faint, arose the heartless call, 
 " So let the foes of Rome and Caesar fall !" 
 Alone stood Simon ; and with lifted eye. 
 Like the first martyr when he saw on high 
 Heaven in its glory, and, at God's right hand, 
 As once on earth, his ris'n Redeemer stand, 
 " My Lord," he said, " for whom I joy to bleed. 
 Be with thy servant in his hour of need : 
 
 Note 30. 
 
 Swift falls the blade : it streams, the spouting gore. 
 
 There is an insipid story that milk, and not blood alone, flowed from the Teins 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. T'AUL. 173 
 
 Let all in rae, as in ray brother, own 
 
 The peace thou giv'st in death, and thou alone." 
 
 Round his torn limbs the seven-fold bands they wound, 
 
 And his swoll'n forehead almost pressed the ground ; 
 
 They strained each cord, they cleft each gushing vein. 
 
 They plied each weapon of distracting pain • 
 
 Each pang's, each torture's work, amazed they viewed, 
 
 Each pang, each torture pierced, but none subdued : 
 
 But ei'e the hammer heaved its closing blow. 
 
 Chill, chill and falt'ring rolled the life-blood slow : 
 
 Ere half their bootless rage the torments spent, 
 
 On angel wings the sweet release was sent. 
 
 Oh, saints of God ! when dropped this mortal screen, 
 And on ye gazed to all that boundless scene. 
 Where worlds of worlds their mighty voyages keep. 
 The barks of joy on yon blue, glorious deep ; 
 "When the long course of ages lay in light, 
 And what ye here believed was turned to sight ; 
 When on that scattered throng ye looked behind. 
 On Rome, Italia, Europe, earth, mankind, 
 And saw the cause whose conquering front ye led 
 O'er tower and fane its snow-white banners spread. 
 Bearing o'er all, in victory sure if late. 
 Peace to the household, virtue to the state. 
 Love to the lord, and freedom to the slave. 
 And grace in life, and triumph at the grave ; 
 Saw, far as e'er your kindling vision soared. 
 The bliss of man, of man redeemed, restored; 
 Then might ye feel how care and woe and pain, 
 And prayer and conflict, naught had passed in vain ; 
 
174 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Aiid hope's soft strain (hat cheered your prison horn's, 
 Poured its full music there in Eden's bowers. 
 
 The crowd depart ; the guarding band has crossed ; 
 
 In the vast city's tumult all are lost : 
 
 And friendship now may come with pious care, 
 
 And to the graves those honored relics bear ; 
 
 The nameless graves, where o'er their still repose'^' 
 
 No hand as yet may drop the palm or rose, 
 
 But where the breeze that comes from ocean sighs, 
 
 And the lone fountain's murm'ring fall replies. 
 
 The crowd depart ; each goes his sev'ral way ; 
 
 The night may hide the mem'ry of the day . 
 
 Some seek, with equal eye, the shouting ring, 
 
 "Where o'er the sands the rival coursers spring ; 
 
 Some gaze where one who bears a Roman name 
 
 Wastes in wild pomp the wealth he bought with shame ; 
 
 Some track the milk-white victim to the fane ; 
 
 Some join the revel's loudest, meanest strain ; 
 
 Some win with sluggish toil a scanty bread. 
 
 For forced content by timorous tyrants fed ; 
 
 Some rush where wants, and some where pleasures call, 
 
 And some to darker deeds . and is this all ? 
 
 Note 31. 
 
 The nameless grave where o'er their still repose, 
 No hand as yet may drop the palm or rose 
 
 This may he imagined to have been '' ad Aquas Salvias, "' three miles from Rome, 
 where St Paul was said to have been buried The graves of the martyrs were cer- 
 tainly honored at a very early period ; at first, without any superstitious rever- 
 ence . out it was a practice that led to some of the earliest superstitions. 
 
 Prudentius says. Hy7nn, cle Defunct 
 
 Nos tuta fov.'bimus ossa 
 Tiolis ac froude frequenti, 
 Titulumqueet frigida saxa 
 Liquido spargemus odore 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 175 
 
 No ! for the dying martyrs' every word, 
 
 Some breast was there where fires unconscious stirred ; 
 
 And, for each drop that stained the groaning earth, 
 
 Some phoenix spirit rose in heav'nlier birth. 
 
 A soldier stood, to view th' unwonted sight ;"■' 
 
 A soldier, worn with many a distant fight ; 
 
 One of the hard, stem hearts, whom marshaled forth 
 
 The world's proud queen to bend the stubborn North ; 
 
 A stranger long to pain's or pity's tear, 
 
 The shuddering pause of conscience as of fear ; 
 
 Who all of vice, except its softness, tried, 
 
 And all of battles, but their patriot pride : 
 
 With his sharp sword, in Rome's degen'rate age, 
 
 He hewed his way from war's ignoblest stage ; 
 
 Till o'er his forehead blazed a tribune's casque. 
 
 And here he ruled the scene, nor shunned his task. 
 
 Death he had marked in many a form of dread, 
 
 On the red field, and on the dungeon bed. 
 
 Sulking with doubts, with woes, with terror's groan, 
 
 But ne'er till now with that victorious tone : 
 
 O'er his dark soul an unknown light was flung. 
 
 Like that which first on formless chaos sprung ; 
 
 The vulture trembled like the gentle dove. 
 
 While lx)ding thunders murmured far above. 
 
 'T was a new world, whose distant voice he felt ; 
 
 He sought th' assemblies where the pious knelt ; 
 
 He prayed, he wept ; and ere its earliest bloom 
 
 Spread the green sod around yon humble tomb, 
 
 NOTB 32. 
 
 A soldier stood to view th' unwonted sight. 
 
 The tradition says that three of the guards of St. Paul, whom it names Longi- 
 nus, Acastus, and Megistus, were converted on this occasion. 
 
17G THE MARTYKDOM OF 
 
 They saw the chief mid veteran followers bow, 
 And mystic waters signed each warrior brow. 
 Drawn by that thirst of Athens' sagest sage,^^ 
 Which breathes along his Plato's silveiy page, 
 That thirst, which, panting for the fuller flow 
 Of all that wisdom knew or longed to know, 
 From breast to breast, while nations lived and died, 
 Burned, till it drank at truth's eternal tide ; 
 Drawn by the spreading doctrine's various fame. 
 Amidst the thi-ong a bearded scholar came. 
 His search was o'er. When half a century's flight 
 Had found him faithful in his Master's sight, 
 While his loved truth sustained her steadfast friend. 
 And those his life had won beheld his end. 
 Thinking on yon bright martyr forms he slept, 
 And the vast flock their blameless bishop wept. 
 
 From a fair house on Marius' northern side,^* 
 Mornuig's soft breeze alluring to the ride, 
 Yet by the hand on high in secret led. 
 Towards the long Appian Way a chariot sped. 
 There sat a maiden, one who.-e high-born line 
 In the sad tale of struggling freedom shine ; 
 
 Note £3. 
 
 Which breathes along his Plato's silvery page. 
 
 That there was a greater affinity between the sentiments of the Platonists and 
 Ohristiauity, than between the latter and any other of the philosophical systems, 
 is as little to be doubted, as that thetittenipt to unite Platonism with Cbristiar.itx , 
 brought much evil into the church. 
 
 Note 34. 
 From a fair house on Marius' northern side. 
 Mount Marius, immediately to the north of the city. 
 
ST. PKTEIi AND ST. PAUL. 177 
 
 One who had seen whate'er of pleasures sport, 
 Hand linked in hand with guilt, at slavery's court. 
 Gazed with a Roman virgin's redd'ning mien, 
 And turned to nature, sick'ning from the scene. 
 Sick of a world, where, tainting every clime. 
 Rolled high the whelming floorl of lordly crime ; 
 Sick of a heaven, that, playful fancy's birth. 
 But clothed in light the false, frail joy of earth. 
 Must the soft heart that inly weeps and bleeds. 
 Silent and lone, and feels how much it needs. 
 Then drinks the cup immortal nature gives. 
 And beats in swelling love for all that lives. 
 Oh, must it come wheie slaughter's work is done 
 By man on man, beneath yon glorious sun ? 
 Enough, enough ! the words have caught her ear : 
 'T is bliss to speak, 't is life, 't is heaven to hear ! 
 Lo, years have fled ; behold her sit and smile. 
 Where the blue waters gird that narrow isle,'^* 
 On whose low shore Vespasian's hard award 
 Bound to his grave her heart's still youthful lord : 
 The treacherous gale has fxjison in its breath, 
 Th' envenomed exile is but tardier death ; 
 Yet she is there : they walk the sandy beach. 
 O'er wave and sky she bids his spirit reach. 
 Stays his weak frame, his weary sufTrings cheers. 
 And if he weeps, oh, those are joyful tears ; 
 
 Note 35. 
 
 WTiere the blue waters gird that narrow Ule. 
 
 The practice, under the Emperom, cf sending political exiles to islands in the 
 Mediterranean, was fo common, that Tacitus, defcribing the unhappy times with 
 which his History begins, uses the strongest expression : •• plenum exUiis mare."— 
 Hist. Lib. i, Cap. 2. 
 
178 TUB MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 In their poor tent she reads from that dear scroll, 
 Of faith, and gloiy, and the deathless soul : 
 Swift and more swift his brightened days dechne, 
 Louo- won and proved, he hopes the sacred sign ; 
 Alone, she must, she may ; behold her there, 
 Like a fair angel trampling on despair, 
 With her pale hand his paler forehead lave, 
 And point and follow o'er the conquered gi-ave. 
 So speeds the work of God. From son to sire, 
 From spouse to spouse, it spreads th' immortal fire. 
 Friend teaches friend ; age leads the eyes of youth 
 The path is op'd, the path of grace and truth ; 
 Op'd for the broken heart, the longing breast, 
 The searching spirit, happy here to rest. 
 O'er earth, o'er sea, on love's untii-ing wing, 
 Their call of peace, the bride, the Spirit bring ; 
 And he who hears repeats the glorious sound ; 
 And he who thirsts that living stream has found : 
 In vain the steel, in vain the monster's den. 
 Pride's impious scoff, and error's pois'ning pen ; 
 Springs from the martyr's blood the seed divine ; 
 The exile's joy lights up his dreary mine : ® 
 The wise has armed him for the holy strife ; 
 The humbler champion gives liis death or life ; 
 
 Note 36. 
 
 The exile's joy lights up his dreary mine. 
 
 To be condemned to perpetual labor in the mines was one of the most common- 
 and not ope of the lightest punishments, inflicted on the persecuted Christians. 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 179 
 
 Village and town and camp and court obey ; 
 And the fierce tyrant owns his baffled sway." 
 By Sion's dust the spreading flock remains ; 
 High Antioch sees them round her subject plains ; 
 In Egypt's schools the depths of truth are read ; 
 And ancient Carthage rears a hallowed head : 
 An empire's idols fall from every dome, 
 An hundred crosses rise o'er Christian Rome. 
 Earth reels beneath the rough barbarians' flood ; 
 Still shines the day above that sea of blood : 
 Scourges of God, they know the hand that wields ; 
 To Caesar's faith, see, Cajsar's conqueror yields ; 
 And still that day, with pale and ti'oubled beams, 
 O'er each wild land a hope, a glory streams. 
 Such was the sight that fired the seraph gaze ; 
 So spread the church her march of future days : 
 Alas, not so alone ! with wasting sweep 
 Came night, came midnight, long and dark and deep ; 
 How fades the twilight, sinks each nobler star ; 
 The watchman shouts, but still the mom is far ; 
 High and more high, the waves of falsehood dash , 
 In warring din impetuous passions clash ; 
 Now, all is hush'd, the spirit's silent tomb. 
 Save yon high temple flashing through the gloom ; 
 For there, ten thousand torches blazing round. 
 Mid banners spread, and music's magic sound. 
 Pride rears his throne, his trampled captives bring-, 
 Beneath his footstool binds the necks of kings ; 
 
 NoTr. 87. 
 
 And the fierce tyrant owns his baffled sway. 
 
 The edict of the cruel Galerius, issued A. D. 311, seems to acknowledge that he 
 gaye up the persecution, because he found it impossible to check the progress of 
 Christianity. 
 
180 THE MARTYRDOM OF 
 
 Seals the bless'd page that heaven has oped for all, 
 Obedient error hast'ning at his call ; 
 Frames for his countless hosts their wily plan ; 
 Spurns the free heart and soul of struggling man ; 
 Drives still devotion from her household shrine, 
 In cells, in wastes, without a sigh to pine ; 
 From mercy's stream, so rich, so deep, po wide, 
 Gives, drop by drop, a stained and mingled tide ; 
 In God's own seat aspires his pomp to hold, 
 Awards each realm redemption bought and i old, 
 With gilded state his idol pageant bears. 
 And bids the throng adore, and mocks their prayers. 
 Yet might e'en then the apostle's piercing eye 
 The heavenly walk of faith's meek step descry ; 
 Where, on the deeper heart that mused alone, 
 Through the thin veil bright gleams of glory shone ; 
 Where, to the truth of elder ages true. 
 From that pure source the patient student drew, 
 Where in the wild th' undaunted preacher trod. 
 And list'ning nations blessed the man of God ; 
 Where the mild prelate stood mid ravaged lands. 
 Peace on his lips, and bounty in his hands ; 
 Where, glad a world of storms and snares to shun. 
 Plied her still work of love the sainted nun ; 
 Where the true champion, battling for the Cross, 
 Laid down his life, nor felt that life a loss ; 
 Where many^ many, scorn'd and driv'n of men. 
 Woke the free hymn along some rocky glen ; • 
 And many, many, trod the ancient fane, 
 And trembling, erring knelt, nor knelt in vain. 
 
 And lo ! it comes, it comes, th' appointed hour : 
 Who, who shall stay the word's own living power ? 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 181 
 
 The prayer of anguish rises from the stake ; 
 
 From troubled sleep the swords of empires wake; 
 
 The banished household seek a kindlier air ; 
 
 The work must tarry : but the work is there. 
 
 Long bleeds the church, by struggling factions rent ; 
 
 Long sleeps the church, in slothful peace content ; 
 
 Long ; but perhaps not always : unforgot 
 
 Springs to her inmost soul her destined lot, 
 
 Li the white robes that pour resplendent light, 
 
 From Calvary's crimson stream forever white, 
 
 Love in her eye's high sweetness beaming fair. 
 
 And hope's fresh wreath twined round her golden hair, 
 
 In the pure beauty of a virgin bride, 
 
 To win the nations to her Saviour's side, 
 
 Till earth once more its pristine life begin, 
 
 This glorious earth, so glorious e'en in sin ! 
 
 Perhaps, the years of darker conflict past. 
 
 Came yet a scene, the brightest, longest, last ; 
 
 Its dawning told by yon prophetic ray. 
 
 Its close dissolving in eternal day. 
 
 Perhaps they saw, and earth such sight shall see. 
 
 All realms, all princes, bend the willing knee, 
 
 And, like Arabia's guided sages, bring 
 
 Their gifts, their treasures, to the promised King ; 
 
 Gifts, where the sov'reign Father's image rests. 
 
 And for that image, dear to filial breasts. 
 
 The hallowed genius, knowledge, fancy, art, 
 
 The hallowed land, and throne, and hearth, and heart. 
 
 Perhaps they saw th' imperial city tower 
 
 In other splendor than her crowns of power ; 
 
 To all her temples poured the pious throng. 
 
 Pure swelled to heaven Italia's melting song ; 
 
 13 
 
182 THE MAKTYKDOM OP 
 
 In Christ's pure truth, his brethren's saintly guide, 
 
 Stood the meek follower of those men of pride ; 
 
 Where soft Campania's shore the zephyrs kiss. 
 
 Spread a bright landscape of untainted bliss ; 
 
 And thou, loved Venice, with thy smiling train, 
 
 How bless'd, how peerless, look'd'st thou o'er the main ! 
 
 On golden isles and sunny hills of Greece 
 
 The oKve rose, of wisdom and of peace ; 
 
 The churches, watered by apostles' tears, 
 
 Bloomed up in freshness from their lonely years 
 
 On Nubian altars woke forgotten fire ; 
 
 Lived in the Arab's breast his patriarch sire 
 
 Mid Indian palms, from Tigris' ancient side, 
 
 Where China flung her thousand portals wide, 
 
 Where hardy virtue towered o'er Northern snows. 
 
 Where desert Afric blossomed like the rose. 
 
 Where, soaring on^ Teutonia's eagle mind 
 
 Still grasped some loftier wisdom for mankind, 
 
 Where Britain's fleets all scattered o'er the deep, 
 
 Found none but brethren, far as sail could sweep, 
 
 Where in wide lands, beyond the Roman's dream, 
 
 Nations on nations poured their happy stream. 
 
 Where Sion's wand'rers yet once more were won, 
 
 And heaven's glad household hailed the rescued son. 
 
 From scenes of thought and sport, of toil and rest. 
 
 Of joy and grief, but grief was joy more blessed. 
 
 Like the high praise that all the rolling spheres 
 
 Send in still music to immortal ears, 
 
 A breath, a voice, a chorus passed above. 
 
 And all the burthen of its song was love. 
 
 No worthy deed for one alone is done ; 
 
 No hallowed life may bloom alone for one ; 
 
ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL. 183 
 
 The humblest good man works on later times ; 
 The loneliest virtue spreads to distant climes : 
 Through rolling ages winds the heavenly chain, 
 Where all are links, and not a link is vain • 
 And happy spirits, watching from on high 
 The coming kingdom nigher and more nigh. 
 See where their labor scooped some bubbling well, 
 A mighty stream along the desert swell ; 
 Till earth's last hour its sacred flow endures : 
 Firstlings of faith, how rich a tide was yours ! 
 
 But thou, who com'st from thine own Northern land 
 On Roman dust in memory's trance to stand. 
 When thine enchanted feet have learned to stray 
 Through all this classic waste of old decay. 
 Imperial halls half hid mid lowly vines. 
 Fair imaged saints that smile o'er conquered shrines ; 
 Arch far o'er arch, where moss and ivy grow. 
 Columns that stood while empires died below, 
 The walks where fable's morning shadows spread, 
 The graves and trophies of the mighty dead ; 
 When thou hast wandered, art's impassioned slave, 
 And owned what might to man the Maker gave 
 When o'er thy soul the spirit of the past 
 All its thick cloud of solemn dreams hath cast , 
 Then seek, with me, some spot where fancy's ear 
 Th' apostle martyr's echoing voice may hear ; 
 And from that spot behold, behind, before. 
 As round a rock, the sea of ages roar. 
 Thou hast a bark to cross the stormy tide ; 
 Thou too must follow, and perchance may'st guide : 
 
184 THE MARTYRDOM OF, ETC. 
 
 From first to last one sovereign power extends, 
 
 And all the light, the worth, the glory blends ; 
 
 It filled those breasts, it centered in that hour, 
 
 It crowned that spot : know'st thou that sov'reign power ? 
 
 Hast thou not felt, oh, feel its presence now : 
 
 And hast thou felt, in meek devotion bow : 
 
 And when thy words, in home's delighted hall, 
 
 The tale, the scenes, the dreams of Rome recall. 
 
 Then be thou strong to walk where such have led ; 
 
 Arm for the field where worthier bosoms bled ; 
 
 And find thy bliss to see amidst thy sphere. 
 
 In life, in death, the closing conquest near. 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHK.* 
 
 Fair, fair old man ! the gentle breezes play 
 Mid thy bright crown of locks so silvery gray ; 
 Drink the blue depths of thine unbroken eye 
 The kindred azure of yon orient sky ; 
 And the broad palm, beneath whose stately shade 
 Long honoring hands thy sylvan seat have made. 
 Is emblem meet how on thy reverend grace 
 Fourscore and ten have left no blighting trace. 
 The winds, the opening heavens, the living tree. 
 All have a voice, a sweet, clear voice for thee : 
 Calm in thy soul a lucid mirror lies, 
 And there the forms of earth and heaven arise, 
 Each in the lines creative wisdom drew, 
 Each as it springs in truth's unfolding view, 
 Each as thy Saviour's breast could all impart 
 To thee, the nearest to His arms and heart. 
 
 Thou art the last : Maria stood beside 
 "When there he named thee brother, named and died ; 
 Long, long the rock-hewn tomb its charge hath kept, 
 "Where Jesus slumbered, and where Mart slept. 
 
 * The main foundation of this poem is pursly fencjful ; although several partic- 
 ulars are incidentally introduced from the few remains of early tradition. 
 
 185 
 
186 THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 When round that mount descending glory blazed, 
 
 "When on that garden angels faltering gazed, 
 
 When three alone His secret hoiu's could see, 
 
 Thou wast the chosen midst those chosen tliree : 
 
 The sword in Salem and the cross of Rome 
 
 Left but for thee a peaceful age and home. 
 
 Crowned with their thorns, the scattered twelve are dead ; 
 
 Low is the priest's and low the tyi-ant's head ; 
 
 Few are the tears for Zion's daughter given, 
 
 But o'er her dust the gory share is di'iven ; 
 
 And o'er that dust, and o'er a lovelier shrine, 
 
 Towers the fair tree whose leaves are all divine ; 
 
 Amidst its boughs each voice of music sings ; 
 
 Around its shade each bloom of beauty springs ; 
 
 The sun, the shower, refine its golden fruit ; 
 
 Man mai'S the rind, but nought can harm the root ; 
 
 Oh, thou hast watered, thou hast guarded long ; 
 
 Loving and loved, thou eyest th' enjoying throng ; 
 
 But they who planted rest beside the stem ; 
 
 'T is time for thee to lay thee down with them. 
 
 From the high city comes a far-off din, 
 Chariots, and arms, and sports, and toils within ; 
 Yet not as once its temples' sinking ciy 
 Chants the pale queen who rules the midnight sky ; 
 Though there she rides in Summer beauty drest, 
 Pointing her brother downward to the West. 
 Pure as the kindred orbs' comminghng ray. 
 Soft as the murmurs of departing day. 
 Rich as the breeze that shakes its load of balm, 
 Flows their deep speech beneath th' embowering palm, 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 187 
 
 \v'hen yet ouee more a favored few may meet, 
 
 And sit with him who sat at Jesus' feet. 
 
 Th' Ephesian bishop bows his charge before 
 
 That worthier pastor of the Asian shore ; 
 
 The youth is there, who yet in hoary years 
 
 Shall kiss the stake mid Smyrna's honoring tears ; 
 
 And he whom once, a wanderer far and wild, 
 
 Th' apostle sought and clasped, once more his child ; 
 
 Beside her noble lord a noble dame. 
 
 And two fair daughters of their line of fame, 
 
 This, with her hand on one beloved arm, 
 
 Whose guardian might her gentlest touch can charm ; 
 
 And the brave youth's fond mother too is nigh, 
 
 And joy is weeping in her lifted eye ; 
 
 Three humbler forms, for naught of lord and slave 
 
 Knows the high life that reaches o'er the grave ; 
 
 And a sweet boy, whose locks of glist'ning gold 
 
 Fall on yon reverend hands' embracing fold ; 
 
 Oh, union deep of Faith's and Childhood's truth, 
 
 Alike in both the same eternal youth ! 
 
 Not chance alone hath brought the circle there : 
 So smile but those who bless a nuptial pair. 
 Well deemed the Church that more than meets the eye 
 Marks the bright bands that soul with soul ally, 
 Hold for its future race its mystic doom, 
 And bind as cannot bind the severing tomb. 
 Therefore she laid, and knew it sealed above, 
 Her blessing hand on hands that clasped in love ; 
 Twined with the bridal wreath her iris fair ; 
 Joined to the bridal song her voice of prayer ; 
 
188 THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 And, like her Lokd, to grace the festal board, 
 The heavenly wine of sacred gladness poured. 
 And therefore came they in their beauty now, 
 The youthful twain espoused in heart and vow, 
 As to a fane that yet once more shall raise 
 From many a lip the strain of wonted praise, 
 Then see its altar's flames ascend its wall, 
 And in that blaze a hallowed ruin fall. 
 
 Amidst the trees the feast of peace was spread ; 
 They poured the cup, they broke the votive bread : 
 They spoke of Jesus, and of words that ne'er 
 From mortal's tale again shall mortal hear ; 
 They spoke of faith, the sovereign stamp impressed, 
 A child's high birthright, on a child's fond breast, 
 Seal of the conqueror mid his prostrate foes. 
 Pledge of a likeness more than now he knows : 
 They spoke of love, the power whose genial sway 
 Finds, like the light, through all its piercing way ; 
 Source, essence, end ; of all the first, the last ; 
 Soul of the Future, promise of the Past ; 
 The kindling spark where aught is warmed to life, 
 The melting touch, where aught dissolves from strife ; 
 The same when morn its sportive fetters breaks, 
 And to her race rejoicing nature wakes. 
 As when a world, while meaner worlds expire, 
 Soars, like the Phoenix, from their sea of fire ; 
 The same, when cowering in her lonely nest, 
 The parent sparrow opes the sheltering breast, 
 As when the fields a nation's harvests crown. 
 And God's own Heaven sends wealth and blessing down. 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 189 
 
 " Yes, God is love," he said ; " and all He made 
 Bore of His love the image and the shade ; 
 Earth, ocean, sky, the spotless frame and mind, 
 Heart formed for heart, and kind reflecting kind. 
 The world was darkness, darkness born of sin. 
 One field of hopeless strife without, within ; 
 Few, scattered links alone were sparkling here. 
 While kindred, friendship, country, still were dear. 
 In love, in love, the Word amidst us dwelt ; 
 Our eyes have seen, our throbbing hands have felt ! 
 Love joined the soul of man, the soul divine ; 
 Love reared for guilt the pure atoning shrine. 
 Itself the victim, and itself the prize, 
 Itself the fragrant flame that filled the skies ; 
 So on its course th' eternal Wisdom goes, 
 Creates, and blends, and sulBTers, and bestows ; 
 Through Him we were, in Him to God we live, 
 And all He gives who all has died to give, 
 In love amidst the saints the Spirit reigns ; 
 One blood, one life is warm in all the veins : 
 Who loves the Father must the children love ; 
 Who loves not here no part can taste above ; 
 But they who, passed from death to life, are born 
 To the pure glories of the inner morn. 
 For them the blackened sky has radiance sweet. 
 And earth's rough paths spread flowers beneath their feet : 
 In light and love they walk along the way 
 That brightens onward to the perfect day." 
 
 He paused, exhausted ; and his musing eye 
 With feebler motion followed through the sky, 
 
190 THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 "Where tow'rd the sea the sinking glory rolled, 
 And the fair West threw wide its gates of gold. 
 Was it that time, through every faltering limb, 
 The chill, faint pulse, the look a moment dim, 
 Poured m that hour the signs so long delayed, 
 Like his whose last, firm glance from Pisgah strayed ? 
 Was it that deeper tones than earth can hear, 
 The tones of Patmos, woke the hoary seer, 
 And their sweet call from finished toils to part 
 Came gently o'er the last apostle's heart ? 
 In his high smile they saw a heavenlier charm. 
 And awe and praise o'ercame their love's alarm. 
 When now he blessed the wine and blessed the bread, 
 And, as they praised, in meek remembrance said, 
 " No more I deem this fruit to drink with you. 
 Till in our Father's house we drink it new." 
 Then o'er the kneeling twain he stretched his hands. 
 And clasped once more his children's hallowed bands : 
 " Champion of God, be thine a victor's crest ; 
 Daughter of Heaven, preserve thy virgin vest ; 
 Go to the field, and combat, side by side. 
 Nor there in death can vanquished death divide ; 
 As Christ in both, so both in Christ are one ; 
 Give back His light, as gold the noonday sun ; 
 Strive, each for each, as Christ for each hath striven. 
 And each forgive, as Christ hath each forgiven ; 
 In love be patient, then when love is need ; 
 In love be generous, e'en for love to bleed : 
 The Lord defend you with His arm of might ; 
 The Lord behold you with His smile of light ; 
 And give His peace on all your paths to shine : 
 Peace in your walls, and peace beneath your vine : 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 191 
 
 Peace in the flowers whose tender youth ye rear ; 
 Peace mid the waves of sorrow and of fear ; 
 Peace in the hour when earthly troubles cease, 
 Peace in the world that calls me now to peace." 
 
 Their tears were mingling, fast as summer rain. 
 And vows were breathed, that were not breathed in vain : 
 Around the seer th' adoring circle stand, 
 Like voy'gers gazing toward his parent land ; 
 Of comfort naught, and naught of hope they give. 
 Comfort and hope are here for them that live ; 
 For see, as now reclines his weary head. 
 O'er all his face the radiant glory spread. 
 As the thin clouds of earth would backward roll. 
 And ope the heaven so long within his soul. 
 Serene, he bade the choral hymn ascend ; 
 Still loved the Chiu-ch her hearts and songs to blend : 
 "With upward gaze, and high, but trembling fire. 
 That virgin sister touched the sounding lyre : 
 Low o'er the waves the day's red chariot hung, 
 And nature seemed to hear as thus they sung : 
 
 " Thou, who didst choose the Church, thy mystic bride, 
 And hallow in that love all love beside 
 Friend, Monarch, Brother, all of near and dear, 
 Redeemer, Saviour, bend in blessing here : 
 Thine are the joys whose fragrant buds we twine : 
 Fair be our nuptial garland, fair like Thine ! 
 
 "A crown of grace, a crown of Peace hast Thou : 
 E'en such must gird Thy spouse's virgin brow : 
 
192 THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Emerald and gold around its circlet gleam, 
 Truth's burnished gold, and Mercy's emerald stream : 
 The robes Thou giv'st in spotless glory sliine ; 
 Pure be our nuptial vestments, pure like Thine ! 
 
 " Gently Thou lead's! the Bride's long, devious way ; 
 Fondly she leans on that beloved stay ; 
 Well has she proved His conquering, sheltering arm, 
 And well His bosom throbs to her alarm : 
 Sealed were their vows when blood bedewed the shrine 
 True be our nuptial faith, ah ! trae like Thine ! 
 
 " When dying earth gives up her holy dead, 
 And the fan* Church to share Thy throne is led. 
 When myriad myriads round the kingly seat 
 Th' anointed Bride, with harp and anthem greet, 
 When mortal joys come forth in joys divine, 
 Then be our nuptial feast revived in Thine !" 
 
 The lyre had ceased ; the echoes died away : 
 On his loved scholar's breast the Apostle lay : 
 He, too, had sung, but ere the chant was o'er 
 He sang with faltering, and he sang no more. 
 Again the warrior reared his banner white. 
 Looked in high triumph o'er the world of fight, 
 Caught on the winds the rescue's nearer cry. 
 And spoke once more the watchword of the sky ; 
 " Love one another : to the churches bear 
 One closing wish ; let love be constant there !" 
 A tranquil motion murmured through the trees ; 
 A bird's faint notes came falling with the breeze ; 
 The day's last beams o'er towers and mountains sped ; 
 The sun was sunk, the last Apostle dead. 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 193 
 
 They made his grave amidst the laurels near, 
 And Asia wept above her Patriarch's bier : 
 The child and grand-child in that blessing blessed, 
 Sought in their age his place of holy rest ; 
 There oft Ephesian maids and mothers stood, 
 And love's first vows or plighted or renewed ; 
 Friends spoke of Heaven, and knelt beside the spot ; 
 Foes clasped the burning hand, and all forgot ; 
 Youth polished there the arms of sacred strife ; 
 Age laid them by, to reach the palm of life ; 
 There loved the Church on that returning day, 
 For all he was and left her praise to pay ; 
 And still to him a martyr's chaplet bore. 
 Who, not a maityr, was mid martyrs more ; 
 Not yet she deemed alone on holy place 
 To meet her Lord in glory and in grace ; 
 Nor yet her hand enshrined the worshipped dust, 
 Nor poured its incense to th' ascended just ; 
 But simpler, purer, warmer, on she trod. 
 Remembering him who so had walked with God. 
 
 Is it some sport of Fancy's silver light, 
 That darts along the shades of scattering night, 
 Or gleams from spot to spot on mortal ground 
 The mystic web through time and nature wound ? 
 Three holy graces came from Heaven to man ; 
 Three great Apostles led their peaceful van ; 
 Three lengthened ages, blended each with each, 
 From truth's first blaze to earth's last glory reach : 
 . And each Apostle wears one holy gi-ace, 
 And each long age is one Apostle's trace. 
 
194 THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 The age of faith, it leaned on Peter's name, 
 
 And stood, a rock mid seas of mounting flame : 
 
 Its youthful strength th' assailants' fury broke. 
 
 And error crouched beneath its scourging stroke : 
 
 It held the cross with zeal's impetuous hand, 
 
 And won and blessed and swayed each savage land ; 
 
 Chose for itself the lonely cell and cave, 
 
 But reared for Heaven the minster's glorious nave : 
 
 It left to doubt nor good nor ill to teU ; 
 
 As one it stood, so one awhile it fell ; 
 
 Fell, for it lost the law that binds the free, 
 
 Grace for the heart, not fetters for the knee. 
 
 And, fixing fast its slavery's iron chain. 
 
 Bowed the fair frame, and rent the ruddy vein. 
 
 The age of hope, it heard the Conqueror's caU, 
 
 And girt the shield and grasped the sword of Paul ; 
 
 It strove for truth, and truth in strife it won. 
 
 Strong in the Word, th' immortal cause went on ; 
 
 Foiled, and still foiled, the hostile armies swell, 
 
 Long is the work, yet toil the champions well ; 
 
 Ranged for the last, the fierce opposer stands. 
 
 And doubt and discord tear the faithful bands ; 
 
 An hundred winds their hundred banners blow, 
 
 Yet beams on each defiance to the foe : 
 
 From victory rings their clarion's mingling tone ; 
 
 We hear their peal, but hear in hope alone. 
 
 The age of love, oh, who its light shall see ? 
 
 Beloved Apostle, tells it not of thee ? 
 
 The strife is o'er, the day of triumph nigh : 
 
 In palmy groves the shields are hung on high ; 
 
 For every band its destined place is there. 
 
 And everv brow its worthv wreath must wear : 
 
THE DEATH OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 195 
 
 A blooming garden rises o'er the waste, 
 Amidst its walks they rove and till and taste, 
 The playt'ul lyre in smiling circles sweep, 
 Or speak or sing of wisdom high and deep ; 
 Then sit them down and watch the fading ray ; 
 Their eve is mom, their morn is endless day ! 
 
PSALM XXY. 
 
 TRANSLATED IN 1840. 
 
 Aspires my soul to Thee, O Lord ; 
 
 My hopes on Thee, my God, repose : 
 Be never shame those hopes' reward ; 
 
 Nor give the triumph to my foes. 
 
 Come shame on none that wait on Thee, 
 But on the crowds that joy in ill : 
 
 Direct me Thy just ways to see, 
 And lead me in Thy perfect will. 
 
 Expecting Thy delivering feet, 
 
 My God, I hark from morn till eve : 
 
 Forget not Thou Thy mercies sweet. 
 Nor e'er Thine ancient favor leave. 
 
 Grace is Thine own ; in grace forget 
 My rebel steps, my wand'ring youth ; 
 
 Hold me in kind remembrance yet, 
 And lead a sinner in Thy truth. 
 
 19.6 
 
PSALM XXV. 197 
 
 Just is the Lord ; in judgment's hour 
 His hand shall guard th' afflicted cause : 
 
 Kind is the Loul; and kind His power 
 Enfolds the heart that loves His laws. 
 
 Lord, for Thy sake blot out my shame, 
 Though broad and deep its blackness be : 
 
 Mine be his lot who fears Thy name, 
 And free and peaceful walks with Thee. 
 
 No ill shall shake his household shrine ; 
 
 His seed their own fair land shall hold ; 
 On such the faithful Lord shall shine, 
 
 Till all His secret truth be told. 
 
 Patient, I keep my Lord in sight ; 
 
 He from the snare my feet shall free : 
 Return with Thy bright mercy's light. 
 
 And all my dark'ning troubles see. 
 
 See how my heart's sad path they crowd ; 
 
 See all my foes array'd for strife : 
 They hate with hatred fierce and loud : 
 
 Forgive ray sin ; redeem my life ! 
 
 Up to Thy throne my hopes arise ; 
 
 Thy truth and grace my shield bestow ; 
 Waiting on Thee, my spirit cries. 
 
 Redeem thine Israel, Lord from woe ! 
 
 Notes. — ''A Psalm of David." This isthe first of the acrostical or alphabetic 
 Psalms. In these, the verses are made to begin with the letters of the Hebrew 
 alphabet in their succession. It has seemed to me that the spirit of the original 
 14 
 
198 PSALM XXV. 
 
 would best be preserved, by adhering to the same rule in the translation. There 
 is, occasionally, in the Hebrew, an omission of a single letter in its order. The 
 writer allowed himself this latitude ; and the same liberty is found convenient in 
 transferring the acrostic into our own language. 
 
 " My rebel steps, my wand'ring youth." How few are there who are not con- 
 strained, in remembrance of the thoughtlessness and ingratitude of their early 
 days, to feel the peculiar emphasis of prayers like these. 
 
 " Till all His secret truth be told." Secrecy is the sure mark of close intimacy ; 
 and the secret of the Lord is Uis most endearicg evidence of favor. 
 
PSALM CXLYIII. 
 
 FROM THE BOOK OF PSALMS, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH TERSE. 
 
 Praise the Lord ! 
 
 Praise the Lord from Heav'n on high ; 
 Praise Him in the lofty sky ; 
 Praise Him, all his angels bright ; 
 Praise Him, all His hosts of light ; 
 Praise Him, sun and moon afar ; 
 Praise Him, ev'ry radiant star. 
 
 Praise Him, heav'ns that heav'n upbear 
 Waters, higher hung in air ; 
 Let them praise their sov'reign Lord, 
 For they rose beneath His word ; 
 He hath fixed their places fast, 
 With a bound that ne'er was past. 
 
 Praise the Lord from earth beloAV ; 
 Monsters of the ocean's flow ; 
 Fire and cloud, and snow and hail. 
 And the storm's obedient gale ; 
 Mountains, and their highlands all ; 
 Fruitful groves, and cedars tall ; 
 
200 PSALM CXLVIII. 
 
 Beasts that field or forest bore ; 
 Worms that creep, and birds that soar ; 
 Kings, and men of lowly birth ; 
 Chiefs and judges, thron'd on earth ; 
 Youths and maids in blooming choirs ; 
 SmiUng babes, and hoary sires : 
 
 All, your Lord's high name proclaim ; 
 High and bright o'er every name ; 
 Heaven and earth His glory spread, 
 While He lifts His people's head, 
 Lifts the seed that own His fear, 
 Israel, to the Lord so dear. 
 Praise the Lord ! 
 
The Poem was delivered before the House of Convocation of Trinity College, in 
 Christ Church, Hartford, August 4th, 1847. 
 
 Nothing but the desire to advance in any manner the interests of an endeared 
 institution, and a wish to cherish, amongst our educated men, the honor and the 
 love of sacred and generous poetry, persuaded the writer to undertake the task 
 of delivering a poem before the Convocation of Trinity College, Hartford. 
 Nothing else has induced him to consent to its publication. In both instances, 
 his refusal was sincere and earnest, and was only overcome by considerations which 
 were not personal. 
 
 201 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Remonstrance. Spenserian Poets. Ministry. Recollections. Claims. Scene. 
 Vision. Human History, Agencies. Agency of the Poet. Poetry th« Music of 
 History. Moses. Miriam. Deborah. Job. David. Solomon. Asaph. Jere- 
 miah. Isaiah. The Nativity. The Last Supper. The Cross. The Ascension. 
 Psamiody of the Church. Early Christian Hymns. Gregory Nazianzen. Pru- 
 dentius. Alfred. Dark Ages. Dante. Tasso. Filicaia. Manzoni. Luther. 
 German Hymns. Gellert. Klopstock. Herder. Novalis. Claudius. Stilling. 
 Stolberg. Schubert. Franzen. Tegner. Manrique. Lamertine. British Poets. 
 Spenser. jNIilton. Pope. Addison. Young. Herbert. 'Walton. Kenn. Bun- 
 yan. Quarles. Crashaw. King. Marvell Hervey. Mrs. Rowe. Doddridge. 
 "Watts. Johnson. Goldsmith. Methodist and Moravian Hymns. Blair Gra- 
 hame. Cowper. Montgomery. Coleridge. Southey. Wordsworth Kirke 
 White. Charles and Robert Grant. Heber. Milman. Mrs. Hemans. Pollok. 
 Keble. Universal Power of Poetry Return. Poets of the I and. Poets of 
 the Spot. Value and Dignity of Poetry. Apology. Aim. Consecration. 
 
 202 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 As mid the strings an answering note I souglit, 
 " Tempt not the lyre !" a genius seemed to say ; 
 " If once thy youth the spell one moment caught, 
 Content thee still to wear thy sprig of bay : 
 Eve has its ease, and morn its hour of play ; 
 For sterner toil was given the noonday fire ; 
 Bear yet a little while thy dusty way, 
 Nor pause for fancy, nor in bold desire 
 Of wreaths thou canst not reach, tempt thou the lofty lyre 
 
 The Faiiy Queen forbids the Fairy rhyme ; 
 The bard of Idlesse warns thee from his towers ; 
 The Minstrel sings, ' how hard it is to climb ;' 
 And Harold's brow beneath its laurel lowers ; 
 The virgin's gates are fenced by jealous powers ; 
 Who fails to win must perish at their feet : 
 Then flee, light pilgrim, flee th' enchanted bowers 
 Rest, if thou must, on some green wayside beat ; 
 Ikit haste to find afar thy safe and still retreat. 
 
 As yet, nor safe nor still ! In fields of fight 
 A spotless banner thou wert pledged to bear : 
 The Red Cross streams along its folds of white, 
 And pours defiance on the hosts of air : 
 
 2: 3 
 
204 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 They threat the leaguered camp : thy place is there !. 
 On wings of wind the fiends of battle hie, 
 And all thou dar'st, the time draws near to dare ; 
 Oh, who shall stand, if standard-bearers fly, 
 Or change for sportive tilt the conflicts of the sky ! 
 
 Those solemn arches heard thy pastoral vow ; 
 
 To guard that board no hand is charged but thine 
 
 And forms beloved around thee seem to bow. 
 
 Who live and worship near a happier shrine ; 
 
 Seem their kind eyes along those aisles to shine, 
 
 As when thy voice their mounting fervor led ; 
 
 That voice whose prayer could soothe their pale 
 
 decline ; 
 That voice which rose above their clay-cold bed ; 
 And has that voice a strain less sacred than the dead ?" 
 
 I paused and turned ; again the call came near 
 From those fair walks that love their holiest name ; 
 It spoke of song to youth and genius dear, 
 Song that may die, yet dying may inflame : 
 And with it hopes, and with it memories came ; 
 Hopes that must soar with yon yet dawning sun, 
 And grateful memories with their gentle claim, 
 Binding the scholar when his race is run, 
 To hang the chaplet high, where first the flowers are won. 
 
 While thus I mused, light breezes from the West 
 Swept the thin clouds that spread their fleecy trail 
 Where like a conquerer in his gorgeous vest. 
 The reddening day rode downward o'er the vale , 
 
THK POETS OF RELIGION. 205 
 
 On the broad river swelled the transient sail, ' 
 And silver ripples caught the beams of gold ; 
 Beyond, green hills, a vast, encircling pale, 
 Clasped the sweet meadows like some peaceful fold ; 
 And in the North, tar, far, the long, low thunder rolled. 
 
 To fancy's glass, that all things dreams to life. 
 Earth lay within that narrow scene outspread : 
 Clouds hung above, the clouds of woe and strife, 
 But all the higher heaven rich glory shed : 
 On its calm course, time's sweeping current sped. 
 Its banks resounding with the toilsome throng ; 
 And judgment pealed afar its trumpet dread. 
 And guilt recoiled, amidst its march of wrong. 
 And the earth travailing groaned, " why wait His wheels so 
 long !" 
 
 The dream grew stronger, and the scene more vast ; 
 Those distant hills like Alps or Andes frowned ; 
 While o'er the plain the mighty ages past ; 
 And nations' voices swelled the rushing sound . 
 Tall cities rose, with fanes and castles crowned ; 
 The wealth of realms in yellow harvests sprung ; 
 The step of armies shook the blood-stained ground ; 
 Fleets to the wind their venturous streamers flung ; 
 And round their thrones and laws embattled millions clung. 
 
 The reverend senate sat in halls of state ; 
 Down the plumed ranks I saw the chieftain dart ; 
 Held the wise judge the impartial scales of fate ; 
 Hurried the keen-eyed merchant in the mart ; 
 
206 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Bright figures grew beneath the touch of art ; 
 I saw the sage amidst his listening ring ; 
 I saw the patient scholar toil apart ; 
 I saw the priest his living censer bring : 
 1 saw not yet the bard, nor heard th' impassioned string. 
 
 At length it came ; it came ! As when at morn 
 From the thick grove a thousand voices float ; 
 As when the clash of cymbal, fife and horn 
 Swells through some mountain gorge's iron throat ; 
 \ So on my soul the sti-ains of glory smote ; 
 So streamed the varied lays in one high chime ; 
 The lover's plaint, the minstrel's jocund note, 
 The ode's wild thrill, the drama's pomp sublime, 
 The flood of epic song, the hymns of every clime. 
 
 Mingled they came ; and all that breathing scene 
 To careless glance had seemed a troubled maze ; 
 But ever a soft sunlight fell between. 
 And beauteous order shone beneath its rays ; 
 The comet is not lost, though far it strays ; 
 The spheres have music such as seraphs hear; 
 So the full torrent of ten thousand lays 
 EoUed an harmonious measure o'er mine ear ; 
 Song Avas the pulse of life, and song to heaven was dear. 
 
 In ancient lands where springs the day to birth, 
 I saw a chosen shepherd as he sang, 
 " In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
 Rose out of chaos :" then with timbrel's clang 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 207 
 
 On the seashore the song of freedom rang ; 
 
 Then fought the stars fiom heaven with Barak's 
 
 thrust ; 
 Then, pierced by wounded friendship's sternest pang, 
 The patient patriarch, seated in the dust, 
 Sang to the Arab winds, his sad, victorious trust. 
 
 A ruddy boy sang carols by his flock ; 
 Their stripling champion sang a maiden train ; 
 A hunted exile trod the desert rock ; 
 A generous mourner wept the kingly slain ; 
 A warrior bard liad triumph on his strain ; 
 A harper bowed where that dread ark abode ; 
 A crownless father fled across the plain ! 
 So passed a prince along his woundrous road. 
 And ever where he passed, a psalm's sweet echoes flowed. 
 
 A son's calm forehead wore his sacred crown ; 
 A son's rich hand his sacred harp-strings tried ; 
 He sang in peaceful days of wise renown, 
 The heavenly bridegroom and the mystic bride ; 
 But from his own bright shrine he trod aside, 
 And idol sorceries stole his grayer years ; 
 1 hen, loished the solemn lay that wailed his pride 
 And told how vain the joys, or cares, or fears, 
 That fill the golden cup where guilt shaU leave but tears. 
 
 Then, in that temple's halls the priestly saint 
 To awful hymns the choral psaltery sweeps : 
 Then on the gale is borne the tuneful plaint 
 Where by the willowed streams the captive weeps : 
 
208 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Then, while on ruined towers the moonbeam sleeps,. 
 The patriot seer tells o'er his scroll of woes : 
 Then, his lone watch a loftier Avai-der keeps, 
 The blood-red vision forth from Bozrah goes, 
 And far the desert smiles, and blossoms as the rose. 
 
 A psalm from heaven along the pastures fell. 
 Fast by a city slumbering deep in night : 
 The King of kings had come with men to dwell ; 
 And the glad skies burst forth in song and light : 
 A holy song was heard, when, meek in might. 
 To the last strife for man's dear sake He bowed ; 
 Hymns were His ci-ies, while hung his soul in flight ; 
 And when He passed by yon blue archway proud. 
 Followed the songs of earth, beyond the eniolding cloud. 
 
 They pierced the lattice from those upper rooms^ 
 Where in rapt love the cup of grace was poured ; 
 They swelled victorious o'er the place of tombs ; 
 Up from the nuptial train in joy they soared ; 
 They cheered the bench of toil, the homely board, 
 The lonesome exile's desert way beguiled ; 
 To their soft fall his oar the boatman lowered ; 
 And where the mother lulled her listeniug child. 
 She sang of Jesus' love, and angels stooped and smiled. 
 
 O names most bless'd, though all on earth unknown ! 
 There is a page where all resplendent stand ! 
 Ye whom I saw where, in your chambers lone. 
 Ye touched the chords that thrilled from land to land ; 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 209 
 
 Till where the Atlantic kissed the Culdees' strand, 
 And where the morn broke purpling o'er the Nile, 
 That " holy, holy," met the seraph band. 
 That first with earthly notes in IMilan's aisle 
 Shook all th' adoring throng, and shook the echoing pile. 
 
 Him, who, with hot Byzantium's mitre tired, 
 Longed for his Nazianzum's lowly cell. 
 Though his rich lips the vast assembly fired, 
 And princes hung entranced within the spell ; 
 Him who had loved not wisely yet too well, 
 I saw where, hid from men, he strove to sing : 
 Faint was the flame, and rough the numbers fell ; 
 Yet his own soul was on the bird's light wing. 
 And caught, above the whirl, sweet gales of balmy spring. 
 
 In the red sunset of her Pagan fame, 
 When o'er her plains the Gothic vultures hung, 
 Eome held Prudentius : his the foremost name 
 That bound to Christian strains that classic tongue : 
 He on the martyrs' graves his lilies flung ; 
 He rushed from prostrate shrines, too long adored. 
 And fast to Caesar's knees a supphant clung, 
 And for the captive, Eome's new grace implored : 
 Th' arena rang with hymns, and sank the brutal sword. 
 
 Alaric, Theodoric, Clovis, Charlemagne, 
 Ye long-haired kings that walk on Roman dust, 
 Who treads so bright amidst your iron train ? 
 Alfred, the wise, the brave, the pure, the just ; 
 
210 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Alfred, who chased the fiends of war and lust ; 
 Alfied, who spoils from fifty battles bore ; 
 Alfred, who bung the victor's blade to rust ; 
 Then sang, a psalmist, with a sage's lore. 
 And fenced with royal prayers, his Albion's well won 
 shore. 
 
 Now on the hills and plains and streams came down 
 A mist that heaved like billows on the deep : 
 It breaks by gleams, and here a bannei-ed town, 
 And there a castle nodding o'er the steep : 
 On Eastern plains the knightly chargers leap : 
 Grey convent turrets rise in pensive vales : 
 And solemn strains round ancient ruins sweep, 
 Blending for man's sad state their plaintive wails 
 With strong, heroic deeds that live in minstrel tales. 
 
 Lo, from the screen emerged to clearer light, 
 Florence, the land where freedom blooms or bleeds ! 
 And exiled Dante dares the gates of night. 
 Mounts the dread car that owns no mortal steeds ; 
 Scowls o'er the abyss, its direful secret reads ; 
 Then, crag by crag, ascends the toilsome way ; 
 On ! on ! 'tis thine own Beatrice that leads ! 
 Soon shalt thou tread the heights of upper day, 
 And heaven and hell shall gleam from one wild, wondrous 
 lay. 
 
 As softly rich as when a tender flute 
 Melodious steals across some orange grove, 
 While eve descends, and stars seem listening mute, 
 Of Godfrey's triumph and Erminia's love 
 
T H !■: POETS OF RELIGION. 211 
 
 Was Tasso's tale ; then far it swept aljove ; 
 And dazzling armies bung in Salem's sky : 
 Th' enthusiast lyre was crushed ; but like the dove, 
 Sweet peace came ansv\ering to his contrite cry, 
 And in his convent cell he died as breezes die. 
 
 But now, no arms of song assail mine ear ; 
 No fabled chiefs yon turbaned hosts control : 
 O for a shout to bring all Europe near. 
 Where leaguered Austria waits the royal Pole ! 
 As from the cliff the broken billows roll, 
 Fled from Vienna's wall the Moslem trains ; 
 
 for a song for every Christian f-oul ! 
 Then itjlled the pomp of Filicaia's strains, 
 
 And throbbed with Europe's joy through all her swelling 
 veins ! 
 
 Sad to my heart that o'er each Southern throne 
 In jeweled falsehood towers the Roman shrine ; 
 Yet shall that heart the hallowed music own, 
 That breathes along the sweet Italian line ; 
 Thine, Filicaia ! and Manzoni, thine ! 
 Thou, purest of all pencils of romance ! 
 Thou, who-e bright song its flowers disdained to twine 
 Around the reveler's cup, or conqueror's lance. 
 But built the cross of love o'er fields of change and chance. 
 
 1 pass the Alps ; along their Switzer side. 
 Hark, like the wind that scales the icy steeps ! 
 It is the hymn of Luther ! Far and wide 
 From old Germanian towns the tempest sweeps ; 
 
212 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 O'er the broad oaken forests on it leaps : 
 He wields the axe ; and Babel's pillars fall ; 
 Then in his Catharine's arms, he smiles or weeps ; 
 And lifts in sacred song his clarion call ; 
 Oh, bravest heart ou earth, since heaven unclosed for Paul ! 
 
 Oh, rich and dear the good Teutonic tongue ! 
 And rich and dear its thousand holy lays ; 
 By humble hearths, in solemn church-yards sung. 
 Where the green lindens hide the grassy ways : 
 Rist, Gerhard, Angelus, from elder days, 
 These are the voices of the German's home. 
 Where by the broad Missouri now he strays. 
 Where Elbe spreads onward to the ocean foam, 
 Or where with thunder bursts fair Bremen's ancient dome. 
 
 Wlien royal Frederick and Theresa strove, 
 And blazed on Saxon heights the camp-fire red, 
 Day after day through Leipsic's murmuring grove. 
 Repose and health a gentle student led : 
 His name was Gellert, and his fancy fed 
 On no light splendors of a poet's dream. 
 But in the region of pure joy and dread : 
 Goodness he loved, and goodness was his theme. 
 And his calm verse flowed on, a bright and nurturing 
 stream. 
 
 Not such the torrent of deep song that gushed 
 Over the harp of Klopstock : on the air 
 The pinions of bright angels round him rushed, 
 And all creation's voice was praise and prayer : 
 
Tllli POETS OF RELIGION. 213 
 
 He sang Messiah ; from this vale of care 
 As high his heart, his numbers soared as hio'h, 
 As when a spirit mounts the heavenly stair, 
 Casts, with a song, its mortal vestments by, 
 And sees th' eternal gates with meek, undazzled eye. 
 
 The courtly prophet of a doubting age. 
 Who leaned in Weimar's park on Wieland's arm, . 
 I cannot praise ; yet, Herder, on thy page 
 The patriarch's word has left its hoary chai-m : 
 Genius was thine : if faith, with quick alarm. 
 Shall bid thee think thou tread'st on holy ground. 
 And put thy sandals off, yet, safe from harm. 
 She loves thy Syrian plains, with dew-drops crown'd, 
 And joys to hear thy hymn through Mamre's oaks resound. 
 
 Nor all unmixed the praise that waits on thee, 
 O young Novalis, with thine azure glance. 
 Following the changeful lights thou may'st not see, 
 And bathing in the heaven's bright blue expanse, 
 Where thou, with Plato, knew'st the mystic dance ! 
 In deepest hearts thy thoughts had readiest room : 
 But thy Moravian parents, in thy trance. 
 Were with thee still : and amaranth flowers shall 
 bloom, 
 By Christian fingers set, round thy too early tomb. 
 
 And bards, I deem, and faithful bards were they, 
 Though oft the rhyme to lofty periods change ; 
 Claudius, who trilled his playful, tender lay 
 From the green covert of his village grange ; 
 15 
 
21.4: THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Stillijag, strange walker in a world more strange ; 
 Stolberg, jthe noblest name an age enrolled ; 
 Schubert, who lives the soul's wide world to range, 
 And truths like gems to fix in words like gold, 
 And tell what saints have been, and be what saints have 
 told. 
 
 I saw two poet prelates of the clime 
 Which that brave Charles and each Gustavus bred ; 
 Stars of the North, thej cheered this latter time ; 
 Franzen was one, a pure and honored head ; 
 And one was he Avho Frithiof's legend said. 
 And sang the lands his pastoral hand had blessed ; 
 Once at his side, so strange our destined thread, 
 I sat, a youthful wanderer from the West, 
 And listened with fond ear, the brightest German's guest. 
 
 Another age ! Along a Spanish plain 
 Chargers and knights bestrewed the bloody ground : 
 They searched a warrior, foremost of the slain, 
 And on his breast a bloody scroll they found ; 
 There, his own death-song George Manrique bound, 
 Those solemn couplets, made so lately ours. 
 That, age by age, o'er pomp and greatness sound, 
 Like the deep knell from some old, cloistered toweri, 
 Then roll away, away, to rest's eternal bowers. 
 
 Another scene ! Emerging from wild Avars, 
 France for her struggling freedom sues release : 
 Dinted her helm, her bosom seamed with sears. 
 She longs for exiled faith and law and peace : 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 21 i 
 
 Hark ! Lamertine's high numbers roll and cease ; 
 Blending the ancient fire, the modern thought, 
 The song of Sion and the harp of Greece, 
 "What Charles had planned, or Fenelon had taught, 
 Or good Saint Louis prayed, or strong Napoleon wrought. 
 
 Now the sweet accents of our father's land, 
 The glorious accents of the wise and free, 
 Came to my ear from many a silver strand, 
 Mingling their voices with the conquered sea ! 
 England, mother, burns our heart for thee ! 
 For truth has made thee sacred ; and so long 
 As from thy rocks the baffled waves shall flee, 
 Shall he who thinks what thou hast been be strong. 
 Nerved for his saintly war by thy religious song ! 
 
 The master of my lyre, apart, alone. 
 On Mulla's bank his mighty fable wove ; 
 Untired he watched, and saw the elfin throne. 
 The cave, the castle, the enchanted grove : 
 The champion knight the cowering monsters drove. 
 The self-same knight with many a shield and name ; 
 For faith, for love, for temperance still he strove. 
 Still strove the hallowed warrior and o'ercame ; 
 And the bright queen's reward was virtue's peerless fame. 
 
 And yet a greater ! old, and blind, and poor, 
 A father sits, and bending daughters w^rite ; 
 A while the song shall seek its way obscure, 
 Then roll in floods of everlasting light ; 
 
216 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 The song of Milton ! up the starry height, 
 Where Uriel stands, bright regent of the sun, 
 The soul with him shall wing his Raphael's flight, 
 And look o'er Eden lost and Eden won, 
 And, yet a pilgrim, hear the strains of home begun. 
 
 And noble was his verse, whose lofty plan 
 From link to link th' eternal chain pursued : 
 " The proper study of mankind is man," 
 He said, and sang of man's supremest good : 
 On the low meads of earth-born taste he stood, 
 Yet with calm skill could point the adorer's eye. 
 Till nature's God in nature's face it viewed, 
 While the charmed rhyme, that flowed unruffled b}-, 
 In memory still must flow, till memory's self shall die. 
 
 Near him was one, who brought his fresh, fair youth 
 From the good lessons of a pastor's hearth, 
 To gild his native tongue with beauteous truth. 
 With graceful rhetoric, and with blameless mirth ; 
 All palms he bore o'er wealth and power and birih ; 
 But crowned his Christian deathbed best the lays. 
 Where chant the spangled heavens all round the eartl 
 Where mercies past the rising soul surveys. 
 Or where the peaceful flock mid verdant pastures strays. 
 
 E'en mightier thoughts from spangled night came 
 
 down 
 On him whose harp the night's lone musing chose : 
 The dark hours fled, and each with heavier frown. 
 The sad reflection of his inward woes ; 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 217 
 
 Then, with the midnight stars on stars he rose ; 
 Not smooth the strain, but grand and strong and deep ; 
 And there the mourners of all lands repose, 
 And still, with Young, their thoughtful vigils keep, 
 And at Narcissa's grave their own loved lost ones weep. 
 
 I saw a courteous shepherd, as he pass'd, 
 
 The chimes of Salisbury floating to his ear ; 
 
 The garb of highborn state aside he cast, 
 
 And sought the rural pastor's modest sphere. 
 
 And trod the house of prayer with reverent fear ; 
 
 The saintly Herbert ! From his tranquil cot 
 
 Came the quaint song that makes the church-porch 
 
 dear. 
 And binds the country priest to love his lot, 
 "While peace with calm, white wings bends o'er the fragrant 
 spot. 
 
 His tale was told by one whom next I spied. 
 The gentle angler singing in the glen : 
 A poet he, in heart and blood allied 
 To that thrice reverend name of holy Kcnn ; 
 Kenn, who returning from the strife of men, 
 Found m his lowlier walks no time to grieve. 
 But from the labors of a cheerful pen, 
 Left the dear hymns that yet at morn and eve 
 O'er countless Christian beds their balmy blessing leave. 
 
 A dreamer lighted on a den, and slept. 
 And when he woke, the pilgrim's progress told : 
 In every tongue, though scarce the lyre he swept, 
 His pictured page its poetry unrolled : 
 
218 THE POETS OF EELIGION. 
 
 Song of the young, and solace of the old ! 
 Oh, matchless guide along th' eternal way, 
 Whose fable's robes so light the truth enfold, 
 Each graceful line in all its form display, 
 And melt beneath the gaze as twilight melts to da}% 
 
 And there was earnest Quarks, whose moral line 
 So well could preach o'er man's terrestrial doom ; 
 And fervent Crashaw, rapt in hopes divine 
 Till his heart soared as on an angel's plume ; 
 And mitred King, who mourned in radiant gloom ; 
 And patriot Marvel, with his moonlight flow ; 
 And pious Hervey, musing o'er a tomb ; 
 And the veiled tresses of seraphic Rowe ; 
 And Doddridge, when from heaven he caught th' inspiring 
 glow ; 
 
 And one whose head with better wreaths was bound 
 Than all that rovers to Parnassus gain, 
 And yet no stranger on Parnassian ground : 
 Though now, perhaps, on thoughtless lips and vain. 
 The songs of Watts be coupled with disdain. 
 Yet oft to hear shall taste delighted bend ; 
 Yet shall they sound from many a heaving fane ; 
 Yet infant tones with angel themes shall blend ; 
 And with th' expiring saint to one bright home ascend. 
 
 Nor e'er rose England's loftiest sage so high. 
 As when, all vainer wishes cast behind. 
 He bade thee, when thou liftst the suppliant cry, 
 " Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind, 
 
THK POETS OF RELIGION. 219 
 
 Obedient passions, and a will resigned :'' 
 Nor spot more loved could Auburn's bard portray. 
 Than where the village preacher stands enshrined, 
 '" Truth from his lips prevails with double sway. 
 And fools that came to scoff, remain in tears to pray." 
 
 And lo, with downcast eyes, and souls above. 
 Of pilgrims of plain garb yon swelling host ! 
 And lo, another band, whose burning love 
 Bears the dear name of Christ, their only boast. 
 From Afric's cape to Greenland's icebound coast ! 
 With each the tide of song and music went ; 
 Humble the best, and all unskilled the most ; 
 Yet myriads of strong hearts the chorus sent. 
 That rose with Wesley's fire, or Gambold's bless'd content. 
 
 Forth from the casement of a Lowland manse, 
 Blair looked on graves that sparkled in the dew ; 
 The Grave his theme, the faithful poet's glance 
 Passed upward from the shades of solemn yew. 
 And life in death burst glorious on the view : 
 From such a scene, with memory's fondest skill, 
 The Sabbath's bard his holy picture drew, 
 Where flocks and clouds slept tranquil on the hill. 
 And rose the Avide earth's prayers, like smoke-wreaths 
 calm and still. 
 
 Who yonder walks, his playmates at his feet. 
 Lingering at sunset by the winding Ouse ; 
 Then, home returning, draws his fireside seat, 
 And sheltered safely from the evening dews, 
 
220 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 Looks from his loophole o'er the world of news, 
 And sings his morning song, that, upward nursed, 
 Climbed from the Sofa to the heavenliest muse ? 
 He sang of comfort while his heart-strings burst, 
 And poured the stream of life, and died in fancied thirst. 
 
 A happier fate, nor less renowned a song. 
 Was his, who still his life's long honors wears ! 
 Still may Montgomery stay to wear them long ; 
 They blend no stain amid his hoary hairs ! 
 And when to that departed train he fares. 
 Whose tender forms he oft beheld so near. 
 Shall thousands of sweet voices bless with theirs, 
 The harp that woke and dried the sacred tear. 
 And bless the gentle eye they loved yet knew not here. 
 
 From a wild land of lefty floods and lakes. 
 Three mighty streams of song come side by side ; 
 The strain of Coleridge like a cataract breaks. 
 Then through the plain its waves refreshing glide 
 As vast is Southey as his Severn's tide ; 
 As deep is Wordsworth as his lake's deep blue, 
 Whose breast, alone with heaven, the mountains hide ' 
 Oh, happy then was Britain when she knew 
 Her three divinest sonss to British faith so true ! 
 
 And next I looked where Gray's once favorite bowers 
 To sacred strains the lyre of genius strung: 
 From toils and victories of his midnight hours, 
 White to the tomb passed beautiful and young, 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 221 
 
 For his own dirge his own sad verse had sung : 
 But to the heirs of Grant's true worth and name, 
 Was given the brilliant mind, th' enchainmg tongue. 
 The soft rich hymn, so various, yet the same, 
 That bears to coming saints their undivided fame. 
 
 Best of the bright, aud brightest of the good, 
 Before me, graceful in the scholar's gown, 
 Next, mid applauding scholars, Heber stood, 
 And wore unmatched the youthful laureate's crown. 
 Then, trod the radiant paths of pure renown : 
 His song, his heart, his life, to Christ he bore ; 
 And, when, beneath the palms he laid them down. 
 His glorious chant of One who passed before, 
 Died o'er his grave, and came, returned from every shore. 
 
 The meet companion of his lyre I spied 
 In the robed student of that stately fane 
 Whose Gothic towers look down on London's pride : 
 And grand and gorgeous as an Eastern train 
 Floats the majestic pomp of Milman's strain ! 
 Master of words, like orient pearls that fall, 
 When in the dust sad Zion wails her slain. 
 Or the wild shout goes up from Babel's hall, 
 Or the glad martyr hastes to heaven's high festival. 
 
 Like mellow tints that end th' autumnal day. 
 Like fragrant blushes of the moss-girt rose, 
 Fehcia bloomed, Felicia passed away, 
 The song still deepening to the heavenly close ; 
 
222 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 But, where in love the household altar glows, 
 Or patriot freedom lifts the steady spear, 
 Or on in teai's the way-worn pilgrim goes, 
 That bird-like, woodland note shall still be near, 
 And gushing sounds of home the wandering heart shall 
 hear. 
 
 On Scottish moors, in humble labors bred, 
 In the kind rigors of his faith and clime, 
 The Bible and the sky young Pollok read, 
 And the old tales of conscience and of crime, 
 And chose in lonely hours his theme sublime : 
 Far on, beyond the mortal mists he pass'd, 
 And backward glancing, told the course of time. 
 Its wondrous coui'se, so wondious till the last. 
 In numbers bold and harsh, like the strong pibroch's blast. 
 
 Once more, once more ! How^ sweet a note was 
 
 there ! 
 From oriels of high Oxford forth it steals, 
 And all the gales the gentle echoes bear, 
 Where'er the Sabbath bell of England peals ! 
 On rolls the sacred Year its awful wheels ; 
 And every sacred theme has dear regard : 
 He sings so sweetly that so true he feels : 
 Oh, though a thousand colder strains be mai-r'd. 
 Still clasp the purer chui-ch her tenderest, holiest bard ! 
 
 So, raid earth's many voices, passed the voice 
 Of hallowed song, far up th' eternal hill : 
 I saw the nations tremble, and rejoice, 
 And weep, and rally, at its mighty thrill ; 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 223 
 
 Lord of the fancy, o'er the realms of will, 
 Th' anointed poet fixed his welcome throne : 
 And my fuil soul bowed down and blessed the skill 
 That wakes in human hearts their deepest tone, 
 And lifts them high as heaven, and clasps them for its own. 
 
 Meanwhile mine eye had crossed the Western ma!n. 
 And a fair spot its gaze in passing drew ; 
 And while I caught no unfamiliar strain. 
 That little spot to fill the vision grew ; 
 The fancied scene was yielding to the true : 
 Our own broad river in the svmset glowed ; 
 Our own green hills shut in the fading view ; 
 It was the valley of my dear abode, 
 And my own city's chimes along the breezes flowed. 
 
 And here, I said, where once my country's mom 
 Saw her young bards attempt the epic height, 
 Saw her own song in infant beauty bom, 
 With Bailow, Trumbull, Hopkins, Humphreys 
 
 Dwight ; 
 Here, where the church whose very prayers are bright 
 With all that poets love, her watch-tower rears. 
 And calls the Muses to her sacred light ; 
 Here should the hallowed veise find eager ears, 
 And pour its burning swell far o'er perpetual years. 
 
 Such strains have floated round those walks and walls. 
 From one who changed the youthful harpstring bold 
 For every task whose urgent labor calls 
 The pastors' pastor to his well-watched fold ; 
 
 Bishop Doane Dr Croswell, Bishop Coxe, and Mrs. Sigourney. 
 
224 THE POETS OF RELIGION. 
 
 And one, whose strength his lyre but half has told. 
 And half concealed ; and one whose brilliant way 
 A brother's heart in silence fond may hold ; 
 And one whose gentler praise I must not say, 
 But the wide English world gives back that kindliest lay. 
 
 Oh precious, precious, be the warbled charm 
 Within whose flow such might of sweetness lies ; 
 Might, to high deeds that lifts the strenuous arm, 
 And draws high thoughts, the wisest from the wise ; 
 That lures the fount of tears from hardiest eyes ; 
 And sways all souls with love's divinest art : 
 Sing he who may : if loftier bards despise. 
 Sing like the songsters of the grove apart. 
 And trust to every wind the numbers of the heart. 
 
 • So wooed the Muse, and so the Muse has won ; 
 And half in shame, and half in pensive joy. 
 Through one bright hour the man has lingered on, 
 In shades that once could chain the ardent boy : 
 Oh, but too happy in his light employ. 
 Might but his verse some youthful bosom lure 
 From sloth that taints, and trifles that destroy 
 To love the flowers whose vernal hues endure, 
 To court the glowing harp, and let that harp be pure. 
 
 Not in brief play the earnest mind to waste, 
 Not from stern tasks life's little space to rend ; 
 But truth's firm pile to twine with wreaths of taste, 
 And man's deep strength with woman's grace to blend ; 
 
THE POETS OF RELIGION. 225 
 
 O'er storms of care a rainbow arch to bend ; 
 With bounding step the hidden snare to spurn, 
 Then on, far on, th' exploring pinion send, 
 Till faith to sight, and praise to rapture burn, 
 And with one swan-like hymn the spirit home return. 
 
 Thou, on whose altar all ray toils are laid, 
 Accept e'en this ; e'en this beseems thy shrine 
 Thy children come, nor thankless nor afraid : 
 For all they have, and all they are, is thine ! 
 Song is thy gift : be here that gift divine 
 Winged by thy love, and chastened by thy fear 
 And while, like setting stars, our lives decline, 
 Still in the East let purer orbs appear. 
 And strains that seraphs sing find answering accents here I 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF RHODE ISLAND IN 1842. 
 
 [This spirited and much admired poem was written and set to music and sung 
 throughout Rhode Island at the time of the rebellion in that State in 1842 
 Khode Island had continued till that year under the original charter from Charles 
 II A minority of the people, without authority from the State government, pro- 
 claimed a constitution, and with armed force, attempted to inaugurate officers 
 The prompt rush to arms, described in the poem, with the favor of God, prevented 
 prolonged fighting, and much bloodshed ] 
 
 O GALLANT land of spirits true, 
 
 Still bear that stainless shield : 
 That anchor clung, the tempest through ; 
 
 That hope, untaught to yield ! 
 Fair city, " all thy banners wave," 
 
 And high thy trumpets sound ! 
 The name thy righteous father gave 
 
 Still guards thee round and round ! 
 
 No thirst for war's wild joy was thine. 
 
 Nor flashed an hireling sword ; 
 Fortli, for their own dear household shrine. 
 
 The patriot yeomen poured ; 
 
 2-26 
 
THE SPIRIT OF RHODE ISLAND 22i 
 
 Then, rank to rank, liku brethren stood, 
 
 One heart, and step, and hand ; 
 And crushed the robbers' stranger brood, 
 
 And kept their fathers' land ! 
 
 High hung the rusting scythe awhile. 
 
 And ceased the spindle's roar ; 
 The boat rocked idly by the isle, 
 
 And on the seagirt shore ; 
 The belted bui'gher paced his street ; 
 
 The seaman wheeled his gun ; 
 Steel gleamed along the ruler's seat, 
 
 And study's task was done. 
 
 Old Narragansett rang with arms, 
 
 And rang the silver bay ; 
 And that sweet coast whose girdled charms 
 
 Were Philip's ancient sway ; 
 And our own island's halcyon scene 
 
 The black artillery rent ; 
 And answered from the home of Greenej 
 
 The men of dauntless Kent. 
 
 Can freedom's truth endure the shock, 
 
 That comes in freedom's name ? 
 Rhode Island, like a Spartan rock, 
 
 Upheld her country's fame ; 
 The land that first threw wide its gates, 
 
 And gave the exile rest. 
 First arms to save the strength of states, 
 
 And guards her freedom best. 
 
228 VIEGINIA TO THE NORTH. 
 
 Oh, ever thus, dear land of ours. 
 
 Be nurse of steadfast men, 
 A firmer fort than hills and towers, 
 
 Or rocky pass and glen ! 
 For peace alone, so dare the fight, 
 
 The soldier for the laws ; 
 Thine anchor fast in heavenly might, 
 
 Thy hope, a holy cause ! 
 
 VIRGINIA TO THE NORTH IN 186L 
 
 Thus speaks the sovereign Old Dominion 
 To Northern States her frank opinion : 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 Move not a finger : 't is coercion. 
 The signal for our prompt dispersion. 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 Wait, till I make my full decision. 
 Be it for union or division. 
 
 THIRD. 
 
 If I declare my ultimatum. 
 
 Accept my terms as I shall state 'em. 
 
 FOURTH. 
 
 Then, I' 11 remain, while I'm inclined to, 
 Seceding when I have a mind to. 
 
THE CONFEDERACY OF TREASON 221' 
 
 THE CONFEDERACY OF TREASON. 
 
 June 15, 1861. 
 
 The thrice accursed blade 
 
 South Carolina drew, 
 On the white breasts her hand she laid 
 And thrust them through and through ; 
 
 With gore her arms were red, 
 
 "With gore her robes were dyed, 
 "While mid her slaves she crowned her head. 
 Imperial matricide. 
 
 Next from his marshes dank, 
 
 The Mississippian came : 
 At the world's gaze a moment shrank, 
 Awed by an ancient shame ; 
 
 Then to the stirrup sprang, 
 
 The trampling steed bestrode ; 
 And out the tremulous trumpets rang 
 
 Along the usurper's road. 
 
 Crouched by the footstool near. 
 
 The Spaniard's Land of Flowers ; 
 Little had she, but bought so dear. 
 That little all was ours ; 
 
 Let the loud sea still moan 
 
 On Tampa's desert sand, 
 And wash the prints of faith o'erthrown 
 
 Smooth as the moistened sand. 
 
 16 
 
230 THE CONFEDEEACT OF TREASON. 
 
 Fourth, where the blood was spih, 
 
 Glided a bright form in, 
 And Alabama, hand on hilt, 
 Swore to the league of sin : 
 
 Far down the cotton plains 
 
 Floated an awful wail ; 
 Th' avenging bondman clanked his chains ; 
 
 The blushing bride grew pale. 
 
 Heavy, and strong, and vast, 
 
 Her Georgian brother lay ; 
 And dreams across his slumbers passed. 
 Of broad and golden sway : 
 
 A fiend was at his ear, 
 
 And vainly wrestled long 
 Conscience, and honorable fear, 
 
 And lordly scorn to wrong. 
 
 And she who kept the gates, 
 
 "Where the great flood rolls free. 
 The queenliest of a hundred states. 
 Betrayed the trusted key ; 
 
 Her orange crown she tore 
 
 In bitterest wanton mood : 
 Oh, if upon her field once more 
 
 Her dead Deliverer stood ! 
 
 Woe ror the guest accursed ! 
 
 Woe for the curse that clings ! 
 By fraud and rapine brought at first, 
 Rapine and fraud she brings ! 
 
THE CONFEDERACY OF TREASON. 231 
 
 Woe for the Texan land, 
 For gallant warriors sold ! 
 Woe for the traitor's vile right hand, 
 With banners in its hold ! 
 
 A mother's blame be hid ; 
 
 Virginia 's, old and frail ; 
 Tottering, she knew not what she did ; 
 Hide, hide the thankless tale ! 
 
 Waste not the once proud shore ; 
 
 Spoil not the place of graves ; 
 Heroes and sages once she bore, 
 
 Now hireling nurse of slaves. 
 
 But for the North State mourn ; 
 
 Where dim the sunbeam shines. 
 And winds from shallow ocean borne. 
 Sigh through the tx-anquil pines ! 
 
 By restless neighbors cowed, 
 
 A load on either side. 
 Like the strong ass, her back she bowed, 
 
 And ministered to pride. 
 
 And for Arkansas mourn ! 
 
 Yet, huntsmen of the West, 
 If from the chain one link be torn. 
 You could we spare the best ; 
 
 Yours was the reddest scourge. 
 
 And yours the readiest knife ; 
 We mourn : but never fainter dirge 
 
 Wailed a departing life. 
 
232 THE OLD BLUE COAT. 
 
 And mourn for Tennessee ! 
 
 For in her bosom still, 
 Struggle bold truth and loyalty, 
 And valor's stubborn will ; 
 
 Land of hot hearts and stern, 
 
 Home once of victor men, 
 Oh, might thy mountain forests learn 
 
 The shouts they echoed then! 
 
 SONG. "THE OLD BLUE COAT." 
 
 1864. 
 
 You asked me, little one, why I bowed. 
 
 Though never I passed the man before ? 
 Because my heart was full and proud 
 When I saw the old blue coat he wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 I know not, I, what weapon he chose, 
 
 What chief he followed, what badge he bore ; 
 Enough that in the front of foes 
 
 His country's blue great-coat he wore : 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 Perhaps he was bom in a forest hut. 
 
 Perhaps he had danced on a palace floor : 
 
THE OLD BLUE COAT. 233 
 
 To Avant or wealth my eyes Avere shut, 
 I only marked the coat he wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 It mattered not much if he drew his line 
 
 From Shem or Ham in the days of yore ; 
 For surely he was a brother of mine. 
 Who for my sake the war-coat wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 He might have no skiU to read or write. 
 
 Or he might be rich in learned lore ; 
 But I knew he could make his mark in fight. 
 And nobler gown no scholar wore 
 
 Than the blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 It may be he could plunder and prowl, 
 
 And perhaps in his mood he scoffed and swore. 
 But I would not guess a spot so foul 
 On the honored coat he bravely wore ; 
 
 The blue greatcoat, the sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 He had worn it long, and borne it far ; 
 
 And perhaps on the red Virginian shore. 
 From midnight chill till the morning star. 
 That warm great-coat the sentry wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
234 THE OLD BLUE COAT. 
 
 When hardy Butler reined his steed 
 
 Through the streets of proud, proud BakimorCv 
 Perhaps behind him, at his need. 
 
 Marched he who yonder blue coat wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 Perhaps it was seen in Burnside's ranks, 
 
 "When Rappahannock ran dark with gore ; 
 Perhaps on the mountain-side with Banks, 
 In the burning sun, no more he wore 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 Th-e old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 Perhaps in the swamps 't was a bed for his form, 
 
 From the seven days' battling and marching sore, 
 Or with Kearney and Pope, 'mid the steely storm, 
 As the night closed in that coat he wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 Or when right over him Jackson dashed. 
 
 That collar or cape some bullet tore ; 
 Or when far ahead Antietam flashed ; 
 
 He flung to the ground the coat that he wore ; 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 Or stood at Gettysburgh, where the graves 
 Rang deep to Howard's cannon roar : 
 
THE OLD BLUE COAT. 235 
 
 Or saw with Grant the unchained waves 
 Where conquering hosts the blue coat wore ; 
 The blue great- coat, the sky blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 That garb of honor tells enough, 
 
 Though I its story guess no more ; 
 The heart it covers is made of such stuff. 
 
 That the coat is mail which that soldier wore ; 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 He may hang it up when the peace shall come. 
 
 And the moths may find it behind the door ; 
 But his children will point when they hear a drum, 
 To the proud old coat their father wore ; 
 
 The blue great-coat, the sky-blue coat, 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
 And so, my child, will you and I, 
 
 For whose fair home their blood they pour. 
 Still bow the head, as one goes by 
 
 "Who wears the coat that soldier wore ; 
 
 That blue great-coat, tlie sky-blue coat. 
 The old blue coat the soldier wore. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ONE OF THE NOBLE ARMY. 
 
 [The story of the young Ensign Cheek, who perished during the Sepoy revolt, in 
 India, in 1857, in joining " the noble army of Martyrs," has come under the eye 
 of every reader.] 
 
 A BRIGHT-HAIRED, blue-ejcd English boy, 
 Mid black and murdering bands ; 
 
 A distant household's proudest joy, 
 A captive here, he stands. 
 
 'Tis scarce three months since on his cheek 
 His mother's lips were pressed, 
 
 While her young soldier strove to speak 
 His farewell on her breast. 
 
 He came, and looked with wondering dream 
 
 On Ganges' ancient wave ; 
 But on the winds was woman's scream. 
 
 And cowards slew the brave. 
 
 236 
 
ONE OF THE NOBLE ARMY. 237 
 
 E'en where they slew them, round the feast, 
 
 The naked slain they piled ; 
 Captain and soldier, scribe and priest, 
 
 Mother, and maid, and child. 
 
 His desperate duty vainly done. 
 Through shot and flame he sped. 
 
 Escaped, though harmed, the Indian gun. 
 And in the jungle bled. 
 
 His Httle sister cried at home 
 
 Amid her evening prayer, 
 " Oh, may to-night my brother roam 
 
 Near no fierce tiger's lair !" 
 
 But while on cradling boughs he slept, 
 
 The tigers howled below ; 
 And on his track of blood-drops crept 
 
 A steal thier, fiercer foe. 
 
 Now pale, and worn, and sick, and bound, 
 
 He leaves his cell alone. 
 Nor hears, though thousands shout around. 
 
 One kindly British tone. 
 
 They spurn the flag which late he bore ; 
 
 They taunt his country's shame ; 
 And now, amidst the surging roar. 
 
 They curse his Saviour's name. 
 
238 ONE OF THE NOBLE ARMY. 
 
 Then near him rose a famt reply 
 
 In trembling accents low ; 
 " I cannot curse ; 1 would not die ; 
 
 Have pity on my woe !" 
 
 It was a tortured teacher's prayer, 
 
 In his own Indian tongue, 
 While o'er his head, unwont to spare. 
 
 The Sepoy falchion hung. 
 
 Faltering he seemed, but only seemed ; 
 
 Then spoke the Saxon youth, 
 " Deny Him not thou soul redeemed 1 
 
 Die rather for His truth !" 
 
 Tlie falchion fell. A cry ! a crash ! 
 
 The shock of men and steel ! 
 The British lancers' headlong dash ! 
 
 The charging shout of Neill ! 
 
 Down knelt the teacher, while they whirled, 
 
 Victors and vanquished by : 
 But hymns that spoke a warless world 
 
 His comrade heard on high. 
 
 Oh, choose for him the greenest grave. 
 Where British flowers may bloom ! 
 
 Let Western winds the palm-leaves wave 
 Above the martyr's tomb ! 
 
THE I'RINCE OF WALES. 239 
 
 Though not in England's churchyards dear, 
 
 A bed for fhee is found, 
 Yet England's praise and England's tear 
 
 Shall reach this holy ground. 
 
 And when o'er every Indian vale, 
 
 Shall Christian crosses shine, 
 Dark youths and maids shall tell thy tale, 
 
 And long for crowns like thine. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE PRINCE 
 OF WALES FROM AMERICA. 
 
 Old England's cross o'er autumn seas 
 Floats homeward on our western breeze ; 
 While last the white peaks fade from sight. 
 He bids the sunset coasts good night ; 
 And guarded by ten thousand prayers, 
 The stately fleet its treasure bears. 
 Till Britain's prince on Bi-itain's shore 
 Shall press his mother's lip once more. 
 
 God speed the keel that homeward brings 
 The heir of all our ancient kings ! 
 
240 THE HOURS. 
 
 THE HOUES. 
 
 I.^A. M. 
 
 ONE ! Lord, whose daily mercies number 
 My waking hours and hours of slumber, 
 Launched on life's everlasting sea, 
 I ask the gales that waft to Thee ! 
 
 TWO ! 'T is the watcher's loneliest hour ; 
 The realm of night has darkest power ; 
 O Father, let Thine angels keep 
 Kind watches o'er a world asleep ! 
 
 HI. 
 
 THREE ! Ere the dawn's first infant breath, 
 Floats o'er the vales a chill of death ; 
 Oh, drive these murky shades afar. 
 And come, thou bright and morning Star ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 FOUR ! And the early laborer wakes ; 
 Gray o'er the hills the day-dawn breaks : 
 Oh, warm my heart, celestial ray. 
 And shine, and mount, till all be day ! 
 
 FIVE ! And beside their peaceful beds 
 Bow golden locks and hoary heads ; 
 And blessings load the balmy air, 
 And strew the way of praise and prayei-. 
 
THE HOURS. 241 
 
 VI. 
 
 SIX ! Night is past, and day is here ; 
 Its voices murmur to my ear — 
 " Twelve hours the great Taskmaster gave ; 
 Work, and Be mindful op thy grave !" 
 
 VII. 
 
 SEVEN ! Give this day our daily bread ! 
 'T is Thou the countless boards hast spread 
 Where households meet, and kneel, and part, 
 For hall and chamber, field and mart. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 EIGHT ! And the hours are swift of flight, 
 Where love, and home, and young delight. 
 And hope, and cheerful labor, leave 
 No spectres for the distant eve. 
 
 IX. 
 
 NINE ! Blessings, blessings on the sound 
 Of humble school-bells, clashing round ! 
 The merry sowers forth they ring. 
 And gray-haired men the sheaves shall bring. 
 
 TEN ! Here we till no Eden's soil ; 
 All worthy gain is wrung by toil ; 
 The world's vast toil, Father, guide 
 Thy kingdom first, then all beside ! 
 
242 THE HOURS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 ELEVEN ! And morn has sped so soon ; 
 Haste, or the journey stays till noon : 
 Woe, if the joyous noonday sun 
 Look down, and naught be yet begun ! 
 
 TWELVE ! Heaven puts on its dazzling robe, 
 And festal pomp girds round the globe ; 
 For God is love, and life, and light, 
 And joy, and majesty, and right. 
 
 I. — p. M. 
 
 ONE ! One step downward ! Oh, be mine 
 The fruitful morning's rich decline. 
 And faith's calm vision clear and clearer, 
 As hope's bright shore grows near and nearer ! 
 
 II. 
 
 TWO ! Victory hovering in the West, 
 The soldier craves not soon to rest ; 
 With wiser heart and cooler nerve, 
 Content to suiFer and to serve. 
 
 THREE ! Shadowing clouds course o'er the plain. 
 And gentle breezes curl the main : 
 And sober toil is half repose. 
 While day sinks lovelier than it rose. 
 
THE HOURS. 
 IV. 
 
 243 
 
 FOUR ! If a'.ong life's dusty street 
 A moment pause my way-worn feet, 
 May some kind Angel stoop and smile, 
 And whisper sweet, "A little while !" 
 
 FIVE ! The long shadows of the hills, 
 A pensive pleasing music fills, 
 Where Nature, with all sounds of peace, 
 Gives the kind signal of release. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SIX ! And the twelve hours' toil is past ! 
 O Father, bring us home at last ! 
 Home, as at eve we love to meet ; 
 No clouded eye, no vacant seat ! 
 
 vn. 
 SEVEN ! And as star by star appears, 
 AH heaven the desert wanderer cheers, 
 Maps the dark pathway o'er the billow. 
 And smiles on childhood's weary pillow. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 EIGHT ! Now the moon with silver shield, 
 Pale splendor pours o'er wave and fi^ld : 
 Oh thus, when brighter joys depart. 
 Let soothing peace still foM my heart ! 
 
244 THE HOURS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 NINE ! And our curfew ! Bending low, 
 " Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ;" 
 And Thou, whose love the long day gave, 
 Still pardon, succor, guide, and save ! 
 
 TEN ! Who would loiter in the dance, 
 Where pleasure hangs on folly's glance, 
 While night sits throned in starry blaze, 
 And tells us more than all our days ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 ELEVEN ! The sentry walks the camp ; 
 The student lingers o'er the lamp ; 
 The world may sleep, but I would wake, 
 And watch, and toil, for love's sweet sake. 
 
 TWELVE ! Echoing through the midnight halls. 
 The knell of time to judgment calls : 
 O, Saviour, write my daily story, 
 TiU I shall sleep, and wake in glory ! 
 
 [Servant of God! thine "hour" has come, 
 The knell of time has called thee home : 
 While angels chant the written story, 
 Thy sleep is but the way to glory. 
 
 A. D. E.] 
 
THE CHRISTIAN TRAVELER. 245 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN TRAVELER. 
 
 MAY 30, 1836. 
 
 The fair spring morn is fresh and gay ; 
 
 We feel the balmy breath of May : 
 
 And if some clouds have crossed the sky, 
 
 Yet towers the rainbow arch on high : 
 
 Thy choice is fixed : thy journey goes 
 
 Where heaven's bright gates the pathway clo?e ;. 
 
 And I am given to be thy guide, 
 
 Myself a pilgrim at thy side. 
 
 A still and narrow way is ours : 
 It will not pass by beauty's bowers ; 
 The pomp of cities shines not there, 
 Nor mirth's wild echoes load the air ; 
 But sometimes through the valleys deep, 
 And sometimes up the craggy steep. 
 Or where the troubled waters run, 
 Or savage woods shut out the sun. 
 Still on we press with weary feet. 
 Still waiting for our blissful seat. 
 
 And darker scenes the path must show. 
 The path of perU, pain and woe ; 
 The swelling floods, the lurid storm, 
 The baleful serpent's lurking form, 
 The lonely desert circling round 
 Without one stirring sight or sound, 
 
246 THE CHKISTIAN TRAVELER. 
 
 And last, the chill and shadowy vale, 
 Where e'en the dearest arm shall fail. 
 And, left with viewless guides alone, 
 We cross the bound of worlds unknown. 
 
 Yet courage ! from th' eternal hills 
 Come trickling down a thousand rills ; 
 And many a green and grassy mead 
 Thy peaceful step awhile shall lead. 
 While pleasant words the toil beguile. 
 And loved companions round thee smile ; 
 And still the road, where'er it bends, 
 Still onward, upward, heavenward tends ; 
 And all behind is softly bright. 
 And all before is lost in light. 
 
 Oh, come the day on pinions fleet. 
 When o'er yon parting ridge we meet ! 
 How short the toil, how light the care, 
 This little life shall seem to bear. 
 As on our ear the music falls. 
 That streams from Sion's golden Avails ; 
 As, kneeling at the fount of truth. 
 We feel the joy of endless youth. 
 And grasp again the friendly hand, 
 And tread our Father's glorious land ! 
 
THE UNBROKEN BOND. 247 
 
 THE UNBROKEN BOND. 
 
 "We rode where Tunxis' gentle flow 
 
 Spreads its bright bosom wide, 
 A valley current, smooth and slow, 
 Though far above, and close below 
 The mountain-pine and hemlock throw 
 
 Black shadows down its side ; 
 And crag and forest bending o'er 
 Re-echo to a torrent's roar. 
 
 Here on their narrow native plain, 
 
 Three youths espied we now ; 
 Two toiled amid the early grain. 
 
 One guided well the plow ; 
 And fast beside the pleasant road. 
 The school its humble portal showed, 
 And rose beyond, one plain abode. 
 Beneath the maple bough. 
 
 "'Tis little, yet perhaps 't is well," 
 
 Thus my companion spoke — 
 ". Of yonder house a tale to tell, 
 
 That just in memory woke ; 
 For sure in this Avild world of change, 
 Somewhat the sight is sweet and strange. 
 When wedlock's mystic chain can range 
 From birth to death unbroke. 
 
248 THE UNBROKEN BOND. 
 
 " Within those walls fulfilled their span 
 
 A husband and his spouse : 
 The self-same morn their lives began, 
 
 Their birth-day sealed their vows ; 
 That day, their one-and-twentieth sped ; 
 And thirty still and six had fled. 
 When low they bowed each parent head. 
 
 As when the ripe fruit bows ; 
 One day beheld them with the dead. 
 One coffin bore them to the bed 
 
 That Christ alone shall rouse." 
 
 More knew I nought of them or theirs 
 
 Than these few words had told, 
 But these, amidst a thousand cares, 
 
 Remembrance fast shall hold ; 
 Nor asks my heart a farther proof 
 That Love rejoiced beneath that roof, 
 And demon passions fled aloof, 
 While all those summers rolled. 
 
 Soft seems the breeze, and soft the stream, 
 
 Whose murmurs mingle there ; 
 And balmy flowers yet balmier seem, 
 
 Beneath that peaceful air ; 
 For Peace is thine, thou blessed spot. 
 And were such home the lowliest cot, 
 Yet should the scene be unforgot, 
 Where Heaven, but once, had given a lot 
 So wondrous and so fair ! 
 
CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION 249 
 
 ODE FOR THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION 
 OF BROWN UNIVERSITY. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 6, 1864. 
 
 Glory to God on high, 
 
 Who gave the nations rest, 
 When Albion's red cross swept the sky 
 
 O'er all the open West ; 
 Then from the battle plain, 
 
 Men o'er their plowshares breathed, 
 And swords which fiercer strife must stain. 
 
 Through twelve calm years were sheathed. 
 
 Bless we the patriot band 
 
 Who spoke, in council sage, 
 With thought that grasped th' expanding land. 
 
 And pierced the coming age ; 
 " The Crown of realms and hosts 
 
 For other brows must shine ; 
 The Attic tastes, the Switzer's boasts, 
 
 Rhode Islander, be thine !" 
 
 Praise for the bounteous dead. 
 
 The bounty still that lives ! 
 The whirling wheel, the broad sail spread. 
 
 That gathers and that gives ! 
 The lineage good and old, 
 
 Blazoned with generous arts. 
 Graven in characters of gold, 
 
 On grateful human hearts ! 
 
250 CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. 
 
 Lord of the ages, thanks 
 
 For every pure career 
 Of champions, in a hundred ranks, 
 
 Who girt their armor here ; 
 Then bore the day's long toil, 
 
 Or laid a young life down, 
 For duty, the dear natal soil, 
 
 And the celestial Crown. 
 
 Glide back, ye waves of time. 
 
 To yon soft gales of Spring ; 
 Bring, half unveiled, truth's brow sublime. 
 
 Life's dawning landscape bring : 
 Th' awaking classic lyre, 
 
 The tale forever new ; 
 Heroes, and muses, and the fire 
 
 Of friends as lovers true ! 
 
 Thou Century dead ! with thee 
 
 Must all that treasure sleep, 
 Save that which opes to memory's key. 
 
 And that which heaven shall keep ! 
 Closed is thy solemn arch. 
 
 And Autumn winds sigh low ; 
 Our lessening lines resume their march. 
 
 And onward, onward go. 
 
 Kind mother of our mind, 
 
 For thee fresh centuries wait ; 
 
 Then leave thine honored past behind 
 And meet them at the gate ! 
 
LETTER TO MRS. SIGOURNEY. 251 
 
 Lo ! from a land afar 
 
 The stately train draws nigh ; 
 While Freedom wears her every star : 
 
 Glory to God on high ! 
 
 LETTER TO MRS. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 [In 1848, Miss Ellen G. when on a visit to Bishop Burgess' family, found the 
 ladies of his parish engaged in preparing for a fair, and proposed to interest his 
 former parishionfrs, and with their aid, to contribute a box of fancy articles. 
 Very soon after her return to Hartford, when her project was scarcely more than 
 announced, her sudden death took place. But the plan was not abandoned : it 
 was adopted by Mrs. Sigourney, and through her the contributions were sent which 
 were acknowledged in these verses.] 
 
 Dear friends, sweet friends, as one by one 
 
 Your little treasures strew the floor 
 How fast and far my memories run, 
 
 Till heart and eyes are brimming o'er ; 
 That hand beloved Avhose eager touch 
 
 Unrolls the fold, or breaks the tie. 
 Can scarcely dream, she thrills so much 
 
 The sober idler leaning by. 
 
 At many a hearth where we were loved, 
 
 In many a room where I have knelt, 
 O'er these the busy needle moved, 
 
 And fingers light their message spelt : 
 Our names were household words once more, 
 
 We crossed anew your bounteous track. 
 And forms half seen new semblance wore, 
 
 As lovely fancy called us back. 
 
252 LETTER TO MRS. SIGODRNEV. 
 
 This golden thread a maiden drew. 
 
 O'er that fond track a mourner bent ; 
 And here a bride's gay labor liew : 
 
 Here changeful childhood came and went ; 
 Here yon old home's remembered ring ; 
 
 Here sisters at a mother's knee ; 
 So all here come, their shifts to bring, 
 
 Sweet songstress of our shrine, to thee ; 
 
 And thou to us ; and we are bless'd. 
 
 Yet not with joy that lingers here ! 
 Dear Ellen, to thy land of rest 
 
 Must each soft message waft us near ; 
 So bright thy farewell glance was cast ; 
 
 So kindly of these gifts it told ; 
 And thou -within the veil hast passed, 
 
 And o'er our hearts thy gifts we fold ! 
 
 Though early called, far earlier thou 
 
 Hadst knelt alone at Jesus' wave : 
 The hand that sealed thy virgin brow 
 
 The parting cup of blessing gave: 
 That fairy tread, that blameless mirth, 
 
 "Were heard beneath our distant eaves ; 
 And heaven seems bending down to earth 
 
 Wliere youthful faith its footstep leaves. 
 
 Oh clasped below, but called above. 
 
 Pilgrims of God. be glad, be strong, 
 For here in many a prayer is love, 
 
 And there is love in many a song. 
 
PRESENTATION LINES. 253 
 
 And ever may the gentlest gift 
 
 Which love to bear its errand sends, 
 Some plume on faith's weak pinion lift, 
 
 And aid us to the world of friends. 
 
 PRESENTATION LINES. 
 
 [Written for two little girls who wished some verses to send with a pair of 
 slippers.] 
 
 This little gift two sister hearts 
 
 Afar, in secret planned ; 
 You guess in vain the separate parts, 
 
 Which came from which fair hand. 
 
 Enough for you, with ea<y tread. 
 
 And gently guarded heel. 
 From hall to stair, from board to bed, 
 
 Their skill's soft touch to feel. 
 
 So, think and thank, and go your way ; 
 
 And, while all else must vary, 
 Still with a brother's love repay 
 
 Elisabeth and Mary. 
 
254 LINES WRITTEN IN A BIBLE. 
 
 SONG FOR A SEWING SCHOOL. 
 
 Oh, work, work away, the careful needle plying, 
 
 Thimble and spool, 
 
 All round the school, 
 
 Through the busy day ; 
 "With spotless hands, in cleanly row, 
 We'll make the careful needle go. 
 Till fast the garments grow : 
 
 Oh, work, work away ! 
 
 Oh, work, work away, with cheerful needle flying. 
 
 Still as a mouse, 
 
 In the still house, 
 
 At the close of day. 
 Our fathers' coats no rents shall show ; 
 Our brothers' shirts be white as snow ; 
 Our mothers, rest shall know : 
 
 Oh, work, w^ork away ! 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A BIBLE. 
 
 APRIL 16, 1861. 
 
 Be this 
 Companion of thy secret room ; 
 True guardian of thy joy and bloom ; 
 Sweet solace for thy toil and gloom ; 
 Guide, through His might who burst the tomb, 
 To bliss. 
 
CLOSE OF GENERAL CONVENTION. 255 
 
 LINES ON THE CLOSE OF THE GENERAL 
 CONVENTION OF 1850. 
 
 The midnight bright with lightnings, closed 
 
 Round that fair city of the West ; 
 A hundred thousand heads reposed, 
 
 And street and hall had timely rest ; 
 But still a scarce diminished band 
 
 Sat hushed beneath the sacred dome ; 
 Ere, lost like streamlets o'er the land. 
 
 They hail the lights of many a home. 
 
 Those homes how wide ! Autumnal woods, 
 
 High marts beside the Atlantic Main, 
 Vales, washed by Appalachian floods, 
 
 The lake's smooth shore, the prairie plain, 
 The pine-crowned height, the orange bower, 
 
 Hamlet and waste, and school and tomb. 
 O'er all the temple's bulwarks tower, 
 
 And guard the holy household's bloom. 
 
 Nor priest's nor prelate's robe was there ; 
 
 The fading light but gleamed below 
 On foreheads pale, and hoary hair. 
 
 And earnest eyes of eager glow ; 
 The thoughtful scholar's bended head, 
 
 The missioned herald's open brow. 
 And sages from the senate led. 
 
 And noble yeomen from the plow. 
 
256 CLOSE OF GENERAL CONVENTION. 
 
 Then spoke the veteran of the host, 
 
 Spoke from the seat of veteran years ; 
 Whom shrine by shrine, from coast to coast 
 
 The founder of its fold reveres ; 
 Where Hartford smiles, where Mohawk glides, 
 
 Where Kenyon lifts its cloistered shade. 
 Where Southward rolls yon tide of tides. 
 
 And where the Northern sunsets fade. 
 
 Unbroke the trumpet voice of old, 
 
 Undimmed the eye of inward health, 
 While like those answering thunders, rolled 
 
 His words of doom o'er guilty wealth ; 
 Or while through pleasure's blinding screen, 
 
 He sought the heedless lambs astray, 
 And guided to the pastures green, 
 
 And cried, " beware the flowery way !" 
 
 Now deeper, sterner accents flow, 
 
 And Zion's rocky ramparts steep 
 Seem quivering at the impending woe. 
 
 That bids her wake, and watch, and weep, 
 And dash to earth the wildering cup 
 
 Of mingled sorceries from afar ; 
 And raise the eternal standard up, 
 
 And wage th' unconquerable war. 
 
 O soul of Ridley, wert thou near ? 
 
 And thou, companion of his throne. 
 The flame ye lit was blazing here ; 
 
 The voice and witness all your own ! 
 
CLOSE OF GENERAL CONVENTION. 257 
 
 Then for the martyr's honored strife 
 
 Beat many a bosom mailed anew, 
 And they who bear the palms of life 
 
 Might wave them, that their sons were true ! 
 
 Then up the song of angels burst, 
 
 The hymn with which all hymns began ; 
 " Glory to God," it mounted first, 
 
 Then floated broad with " peace to man." 
 From every manly lip it rose 
 
 One wish, one throb, the best, the last ; 
 And blessings lingering round the close, 
 
 In silent midnight forth we passed. 
 
 Oh dear, dear Church ! our heart, our lot 
 
 On earth, in heaven, is linked with thine : 
 Oh keep thy vesture pure from spot, 
 
 And let thy bridal jewels shine ! 
 While thine own Priest presents th}' prayer, 
 
 And thou unroll'st his promise free, 
 For thee to toil, is all we dare. 
 
 And all we hope, to rest in thee. 
 
258 THE serpent's hiss. 
 
 THE SERPENT'S HISS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 A STORM of wild voices comes near and more near ; 
 But hark ! for the hiss of the serpent I hear ; 
 It shoots, like a dart, through the shout of the throng, 
 "Who sing what they know not, though loud is the song. 
 
 " Come, scatter the seedling, and scatter it wide, 
 Confusion, and anger, and falsehood and pride : 
 It springs in the moonbeams, at morning it bears ; 
 And wise be the reaper who cuts down the tares ! 
 
 " Come, bring while the earth is yet buried in night, 
 The pen that can poison, the speech that shall bite ; 
 The arrogant prelate, the turbulent priest. 
 The corpse where the eagles shall hasten to feast : 
 
 (' The war-cry of hosts that in panic awake ; 
 The medley of ccimrades in gory mistake ; 
 The sorceress that wiles the crusaders astray. 
 While Sion is captive, and souls are a prey ! 
 
 " Yon temple is old, and its base is the rock ; 
 But ply the dark mine, and then wait for the shock ! 
 Threescore are the sects, all afloat on the sea 
 Oh, triumph to render them threescore and three ! 
 
 " Then say that the Church has no shelter or spot 
 For Newton, or Richmond, or Martyn, or Scott ; 
 And pluck uj) false Simeon and perjured Bedell, 
 And wish all who love them as rude a farewell. 
 
A FAREWELL TO A TEACHER. 259 
 
 " Then, dig where the ashes of Laud have found rest, 
 And Ken, who would muigle the East and the West, 
 And bid all the waverers of Oxford hie home, 
 To cling where their mother sits empress at Rome. 
 
 " Then, see that no heretic cumber the ground. 
 But look for the mantle of Chillingworth round. 
 And if yet a Paley or Arnold remain, 
 Drive, drive out the doubters : flee, flee, ye profane ! 
 
 A FAREWELL TO A TEACHER. 
 
 WRITTEN TO BE SUNG AT THE CLOSE OP THE TERM. 
 
 Autumn and winter, spring and summer, 
 
 One happy year is gone : 
 Pleasant, to greet the welcome comer ! 
 
 Sad, when he journeys on ! 
 
 Teacher and friend, no more thou hearest 
 
 The echoes of our song ; 
 But still for us, mid memories dearest. 
 
 Thy notes shall linger long ! 
 
 Farewell ! The hard, hard word is spoken, 
 
 With many a smile and tear ! 
 The- staff, but not the tie, is broken. 
 
 Thou guide of this bright year ! 
 
260 TO GOD BE ENDLESS GLORT GIVEN. 
 
 There is a land where never slumbers 
 
 The harp of golden string ; 
 Oh, there, with undiminished numbers, 
 
 There may we meet, and sing ! 
 
 TO GOD BE ENDLESS GLORY GIVEN. 
 
 O Father of eternal days, 
 
 From whose kind hand all creatures came ; 
 Whom with ten thousand songs of praise 
 
 Father of all they all proclaim ; 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 Oh God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thou who thine everlasting Son, 
 
 From everlasting born alone, 
 When ancient years their course had run, 
 
 Didst send us from thy heavenly throne, 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thou who didst choose us heirs of light, 
 Before thy hands had framed the earth, 
 
 And gav'st as our immortal right, 
 The covenant of our second birth ; 
 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
TO GOD BE ENDLESS GLORY GIVEN. 2G1 
 
 Thou by whose light all glories glow, 
 
 As sunbeams from the parent sun ; 
 Thou from whose love all mercies flow, 
 
 As rivers from their fountains run ; 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thou who thy sunshine pour'st alike 
 
 On men who work or good or ill, 
 And when thy rod is raised to strike, 
 
 Yet stay'st it in long-suffering stUl ; 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thou who the heavenly kingdom's seat, 
 When earth was founded, did'st prepare, 
 
 And now compell'st with force most sweet, 
 The guests thy marriage feast to share ; 
 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thou to whose depths no line can sink, 
 Whose might no numbers can declare, 
 
 Thou whose beginning none can think, 
 Whose majesty can none compare. 
 
 To Thee be endless glory given, 
 
 O God our Father, throned in heaven. 
 
 Thy name be hallowed far and near. 
 
 And let thy kingdom come in love. 
 And let thy will be done e'en here 
 
 As in the heavenly home above ; 
 
 18 
 
262 THE GREAT PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Now let our daily bread be given ; 
 And give us, Lord, thyself in heaven. 
 
 Forgive our guilt, as we forgive i 
 
 From strong temptation hold us free ; 
 
 Safe from all evil let us live, 
 
 And bring us, Lord, thy light to see. 
 
 That so to Thee be ever given, 
 
 Our praises and our thanks in heaven. 
 
 THE GREAT PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Saviour, when thy beauteous feet 
 Were heard in Salem's ancient street. 
 Far rang the joyful tidings fleet, 
 And Zion's song once more was sweet. 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 The sick came forth with tottering tread, 
 Kind brethren bore the cripple's bed ; 
 Some gentle hand the blind man led : 
 And loved ones called Thee to their dead, 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 Still stood the maniac's quivering frame. 
 Beside thy path lay down the lame ; 
 Near and yet near the leper came ; 
 Nor shrank the weeping child of shame ; 
 Hosanna ! 
 
FUNERAL HYMN. 263 
 
 And all were healed ! they rose ; they ran ; 
 They lived anew time's little span ; 
 The life of heaven on earth began, 
 And God and angels walked with man : 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 Healer of souls, oh, heal thou me ! 
 And ope mine eyes thy face to see ; 
 And bend the grateful leper's knee ; 
 And let me live, and live for Thee ! 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 Then, I will journey on in light ; 
 And thy dear steps shall guide me right. 
 Till I shall trail my robes of white* 
 On thy pure city's pavement bright : 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 FUNERAL HYMN. 
 
 CHOIIf. 
 
 Blessed are the heirs of heaven ! 
 
 Blessed are the dead that die 
 In the Lord, whose seal has given 
 
 Resurrection and the sky ! 
 First, the final, mortal slumber ; 
 Come, the years that know no number ; 
 
 * The thought is from Leighton. 
 
264 FUNERAL HYMN. 
 
 And they rest in blissful peace, 
 And the earth's long labors cease ! 
 
 Hosanna ! 
 Their works go with them to the throne, 
 Of God the everlasting Son. 
 
 CONGREGATION. 
 
 Dust to dust repose ye now 
 In the peaceful, peaceful grave. 
 
 Oh, like you, could we but bow 
 To the peaceful, peaceful grave ! 
 
 From the world already freed, 
 
 Ye have reached the blissful meed ! 
 
 Yet, at Jesus' blessed will. 
 
 We, like all who wore the crown, 
 
 Here as pilgrims, sojourn still. 
 Carrying still our burden down ! 
 
 Comes at last the peaceful sod : 
 
 Death conducts us home to God ! 
 
 Jesus on this earthly road 
 
 Pitched awhile his pilgrim tent : 
 
 "Wearier, wearier far the load. 
 
 Where the world's Redeemer bent. 
 
 Firmly would we fight and see, 
 
 Author, Finisher, but Thee ! 
 
 What is all this mortal strife. 
 All the sultry noonday race, 
 
 What to yonder, yonder life ! 
 
 Yet, God, whom none can trace, 
 
FUNERAL HYMN. 265 
 
 Yet from this short hour must flow " 
 Life and death, and bliss and woe. 
 
 Lord, our spirits' only hope, 
 
 Still we look e'en then to live : 
 When these eyes no more shall ope, 
 
 Thou, Redeemer, life shalt give ; 
 Thou, whose peace e'en here began, 
 Son of God and Son of Man ! 
 
 Here, e'en here, we once were thine. 
 Thou shalt speak, and we shall wake. 
 
 Oh, this power of worlds divine, 
 Let our dying hour partake : 
 
 Give us more than now we pray. 
 
 More than human thoughts can say ! 
 
 When like these we go to rest. 
 
 To the dead in Jesus go, 
 Grant us gifts, the last and best, 
 
 More than all we ask or know ! 
 Thou hast finished all, and cried, 
 " It is finished," bowed, and died ! 
 
 CHOIR. 
 
 Thanks and honor, praise and glory, 
 Might and wisdom, endless glory, 
 
 Saviour, be to Thee our strain ! 
 Victor choirs, to Christ your King 
 Praise and thanks, and glory bring, 
 
 To the Lamb that once was slain ! 
 
266 FUNERAL HYMN. 
 
 In the grave, like us, he lay : 
 Wipe your every tear away : 
 He has finished : day nor night 
 Comes, for there the Lamb is light. 
 
 CONGREGATION. 
 
 There, nor sun nor moon shall brighten ; 
 One, our Sun, shall all things lighten, 
 
 With the glory of the Lord : 
 For salvation wrestling, weeping 
 Once, but now salvation reaping, 
 
 In the day of high reward. 
 See we now no more from far, 
 Weep no more ; the morning star 
 
 Comes, and comes the shining day. 
 
 Old things all are passed away. 
 Hallelujah ! He to die 
 Bowed, like us, entombed to lie, 
 Then, He rose to God on high ; 
 We shall follow to the sky ! 
 
WHO WILL SAY PRATERS. 267 
 
 "WHO WILL SAY PRAYERS, WHEN FATHER 
 IS GONE?' 
 
 Written to his little (laughter on her third birthday, in answer to Ler ques- 
 tion at parting. 
 
 " Who will say prayers, when Father is gone ?" 
 
 Dear little sweet one, thy Mother will say them , 
 Late in the night-watches, up with the dawn, 
 
 Close at thy bedside, she'll kneel down and pray them ; 
 Yes, and her bosom will leap to remember 
 How in this twilight of sober September, 
 Thou, like a nestling, wast laid on her heart, 
 Then might we pray but a moment and part.* 
 
 Lone were the hours while thy mother sat pondering, 
 
 Here in her far-away home at the East, 
 While o'er the pastures the shepherd was wandering, 
 
 Lone till she looked on thee, loveliest and least : 
 Now on the staircase a little foot patters ; 
 Now in the parlor a little tongue chatters ; 
 And when the household are bending in prayer, 
 Still little lips are pressed low on her chair. 
 
 " Who will say prayers when Father is gone ?" 
 Dear little Mary, that hour too must come ; 
 
 Then let thy prayers and thy praises flow on. 
 When thou shalt dwell in a fatherless home • 
 
 * The Bishop was obli.r;cd to leave home to attend a General Convention a few 
 d.iys after the birth of his daughter. 
 
268 ON SAILING. 
 
 Though to the mercy-seat we may not guide thee, 
 Yet may some dear one kneel fondly beside thee ; 
 Till we remember iti mansions of light 
 -All which we asked for our Mary to-night. 
 
 HTMisrs. 
 
 ON SAILING. 
 
 Lord, in thy name we spread the sail, 
 And ask from Thee the prosperous gale ; 
 And on our hearts, where'er we go. 
 Oh, let thy Spirit's wind but blow ! 
 
 If on the morning's wings we fly, 
 "We shall not pass beyond thine eye ; 
 The wand'rer's prayer thou bend'st to hear. 
 And faith exults to know Thee near. 
 
 When tempests rock the groaning bark, 
 Oh, hide us safe in Jesus' ark : 
 When in the tempting port we ride. 
 Oh, keep us safe at Jesus' side. 
 
 If life's wide ocean smile or roar, 
 StiU guide us to the heavenly shore ; 
 And grant our dust in Christ to sleep, 
 Far, or at home, or in the deep ! 
 
ON COMING IN SIGHT OF LAND 269 
 
 ON COMING IN SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
 O welcome hills, that far away, 
 
 Skirt the wild billows' foam, 
 And clasp, with many a shining bay, 
 
 My country and my home ! 
 
 O blessed, blessed love that led 
 
 Our steady keel so far ; 
 By day the sunbeam o'er our head. 
 
 By night the guiding star ! 
 
 Father in heaven, if joy alone 
 
 For me shall yonder shine, 
 Oh, lift my praises to thy throne. 
 
 And let my life be thine ! 
 
 If trembling lips, and tears that start. 
 
 Their tidings sad disclose. 
 Yet arm with strength my bursting heai'i. 
 
 And bless my cup of woes ! 
 
 Soon, soon shall loftier hills appear. 
 
 And life's long wanderings o'er, 
 A chillier breeze shall waft me near. 
 
 To touch the eternal shore. 
 
 God of my days, I trust in Thee ! 
 
 O, guide me with thy hand, 
 Till gladlier that dim shore I see, 
 
 Than this dear native land. 
 
270 ON ARRIVING IN PORT. 
 
 ON ARRIVING IN PORT. 
 
 Mt God, whose arm Omnipotent 
 
 Its buckler o'er me cast, 
 And stilled, on all the way I went. 
 
 The billows and the blast. 
 
 Oh, save me now from fiercest storms, 
 
 From rocks more fatal save ; 
 From guilt that wears a hundred forms 
 
 To tempt me to the grave ! 
 
 Oh, wilder than the tumult loud 
 
 Of tempests sweeping by, 
 The curses of the raging crowd. 
 
 The bold blasphemer's cry ! 
 
 And better far to tread the deck 
 When masts and helm are gone, 
 
 Than reel, the drunkard's living wreck. 
 And still to death reel on ! 
 
 And softer bed for mortal men. 
 Where breakers meet the swell. 
 
 Than the foul harlot's loathsome den. 
 Whose doors lead down to hell ! 
 
 Oh, cleanse my hands, and cleanse my heart. 
 
 And guard me well within. 
 Lest, while the ocean storms depart, 
 
 I sink, the slave of sin ! 
 
THE christian's DREAM. 271 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S DREAM. 
 
 Tired with the suhiy noonday toil, 
 I laid me on the grassy soil, 
 
 Where stately o'er my head, 
 An oak's broad branches, with the sound 
 Of winds on distant errand bound, 
 
 Their fanning coolness spread, 
 And, glistening through them, far on high. 
 The summer sun went down the sky. 
 The strange, low notes that nature blenaSj 
 Like soothing words of ancient friends. 
 
 Came gently on my soul : 
 A child once more, I heard the bee. 
 The bird, the wind, the whispering tree, 
 And that unearthly harmony 
 
 O'er all my senses stole ; 
 Till, stretched along the hillock's side, 
 I dreamed, and in my dream I died. 
 
 With one short moment's bursting strife. 
 
 My spirit upward sprung ; 
 But on the verge of either life 
 
 Yet one short moment hung : 
 Above the dead I seemed to bow, 
 I seemed to touch the clay-cold brow, 
 
 And close the fading eye, 
 And still the murmuring branches stirred, 
 And, soaring still, the forest bird 
 
 Sent out its joyous cry. 
 
272 THE christian's dream. 
 
 But these were like the scenes of night, 
 While I awoke, and bathed in light 
 That round me far unveiled to sight 
 
 A world all dim before : 
 And life, as if an inward fount, 
 
 O'erflowed me and upbore. 
 As on light plumes of love to mount. 
 
 And journey and adore. 
 I was as one who on the main, 
 Has caught and lost a landward strain, 
 That came, and broke, and came again. 
 
 Mid the hoarse billows' roar. 
 But near as now his vessel floats, 
 Sound matched with sound, the choral notes 
 
 Pour AN'arbling from the shore : 
 So all which e'er to joy or prayer 
 
 Had moved my grateful heart. 
 Seemed in one glorious hymn to bear 
 
 Its own melodious part. 
 The solemn voice of woods and streams ; 
 The song of evening's fading beams ; 
 
 The ocean's swell and fall ; 
 And this fair chain of living things, 
 From glittering clouds of insect wings. 
 To nations rallying round their kings ; 
 As from ten thousand thousand strings. 
 
 One music spread from all : 
 A strain of glory, heard above ; 
 And heard on earth, a strain of love. 
 
 But oh, with what a bounding thrill 
 I felt the airs that never chill, 
 
THE christian's DREAM. 
 
 The strength that knows not years ! 
 No cloud in all the heaven's sweet blue ; 
 No more of doubt, where all was true ; 
 No death, to close the longing view ; 
 
 No dream of future tears ! 
 The way was passed ; and I could stand, 
 As if on Jordan's farther strand ; 
 As if, the palm -branch in my hand. 
 
 The chaplet on my brow, 
 A wanderer resting at his home, 
 A pilgrim at the holy dome. 
 To Zion's mountain I Avere come 
 
 Eternity was now ! 
 Oh joy, beneath the gathered sail, 
 To hear from far the hoAvling gale, 
 
 And feel the haven won ! 
 Oh joy, along the well-fought field, 
 To see the conqueror's spear and shield 
 
 Give back the setting sun ! 
 All, all wa=! mine, and battle's din. 
 And the wild sea of grief and sin. 
 No more with morn should yet begin ; 
 For all their work was done. 
 
 I took no note of earthly hours ; 
 
 Alike if months or moments sped : 
 I stretched the wing of inward powers 
 
 And far or near might tread : 
 And now it seemed as I had bowed, 
 "Where rides in heaven some Sabbath cloud. 
 And still a lingering gaze had cast 
 On those green vales whose woes were past. 
 
 273 
 
274 THE christian's dream. 
 
 Then forth the fire of gladness broke, 
 And all my new-born memory spoke, 
 And all its raptures rushed to meet 
 
 In yon best psalm of happiest days, 
 " My thought on God shall still be sweet. 
 
 And all my being shall be praise." 
 I praised the Maker's breath that gave 
 A life that bloomed not for the grave : 
 I praised the Saviour, that to save 
 
 From more than mortal loss, 
 He was the brother of the slave, 
 And drank the deep and bitter wave, 
 
 And triumphed by the cross : 
 I praised the Spirit's sevenfold flame, 
 That now from all my spirit's frame. 
 With might that last in death o'ercame, 
 
 Had melted all its dross. 
 "And now, O Lord of life," I cried, 
 "Around me spread, unknown and wide 
 
 Thy ways, a pathless sea ; 
 But thy dear love till now is tried. 
 And I will go where Thon wilt guide, 
 And where Thou art I dare abide, 
 
 For ever safe in Thee !" 
 
I PUT AAVAY CHILDISH THINGS. 275 
 
 "I PUT AWAY CHILDISH THINGS." 
 
 WRITTEN AT PORT-AU PRINCE, APRIL, 1866. 
 
 [* The Bishop conceiyed the idea of writing a series of short poems expressing 
 religious feelings at different ages, and within a few days of his death, finished the 
 
 first.] ' ' 
 
 A shadow as of evening seems 
 To close around a day of dreams : 
 I feel a call I cannot shun, 
 I travel with the rising sun : 
 These manlier limbs, all strung to go 
 Whither I know not but shall know, 
 Speak what is writ on yon young brow, 
 '' Childhood and I are parting now !" 
 
 My father's hand, my mother's knee. 
 My little brother's face of glee. 
 Stair, gallery, chamber, and sweet bed 
 For the tired wanderer softly spread. 
 Our household board, our household shrine. 
 All that till now of home was mine ; 
 It was of childhood ; and I start 
 To think how soon from these I part. 
 
 The lays that charm the childish ear ; 
 The tales that childhood needs must hear ; 
 Scarce from my riper mood beguile 
 A languid or impatient smile ; 
 Pausing and lingering, half ashamed 
 When elder names with mine are named ; 
 Yet I have knocked at learning's door. 
 And childish tasks are mine no more. 
 
276 I PUT AWAY CHILDISH THINGS. 
 
 But, oh, mj Father in the skies. 
 My eyes for Thee are childhood's eyes ; 
 E'en to thy finger would I cling, 
 And, like a babe, my arms would fling 
 Upward to heaven : for I must be 
 Ever a little one to Thee ! 
 
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