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Their own peculiar music on the air,
And glancing in the sunshine radiantly. " Like thee, oh stream! to glide in solitude
Now their clear tones are hushed--for the Frost-King Noiselessly on, reflecting sun or star,
Hath thrown his fetter on them, and evoked Unseen by man, and from the great world's jar
The voice of melody that dwelt with them Kept evermore aloof-methinks 'twere good
In the bright sunny hours, and they are staid io live thus lonely through the silent lapse
In their free current, frozen, murmurless. Of my appointed time.” Not wisely said,
Unthinking Quietist! The brook hath sped Where stays the sunshine ? Hath it learned that Its course for ages through the narrow gaps
Earth Of rifted hills and o'er the reedy plain,
Is chilled through all her veins, and for some grudge Or 'mid the eternal forests, not in vain
That seemed forgotten long ago, resolved The grass more greenly groweth on its brink, To let it freeze for ever? Or, perchance,
And lovelier flowers and richer fruits are there, The sun himself is frozen. If that cloud,
That hangs so like a pall along the sky,
Back to his ocean-mansion, we might learn
Whether the sun be dead or slumbering. Inaction now is crime. The old earth reels
Inebriate with guilt ; and Vice, grown bold, Ho! bring my cloak, Katurah! Heap the wood
Laughs Innocence to scorn. The thirst for gold On the hot hearth-draw up the high-backed screen : Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels
Let the winds whistle now, if so they willThe impulse of impartial love, nor kneels
I care but little for their minstrelsy, In worship foul to Mammon, is conternned.
So I can shut from me their freezing breath. He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemmed Well--I am warm and quiet ; but, i' faith, Corruption's tide, and from the ruffian heels
I pity the poor wight that's forced to face Of impious tramplers rescued periled Right, Old Boreas to-day. Necessity
Is called fanatic, and with scoffs and jeers Alone will call forth travellers, and—ugh! ugh! Maliciously assailed. The poor man's tears
This cough-ugh! ugh!-will kill me presently, Are unregarded the oppressor's might
An' I am not more careful. Oh, the seams Revered as law-and he whose righteous way Around the doors and windows are unclosed. Departs from evil, makes himself a prey.
List !-List !-a roll of list! I will not freeze
In my own domicil. Heap on the wood,
Hark! as I live, I hear the ringing sound
And see how merrily they wheel away
In swift gyrations o’er the glassy ice, 6. Ho! to the rescue!” from the hills hath rung,
As if a power were given them to fly! And men have heard and to the combat sprung
The happy dogs !-Heaven grant they may not freeze. Strong for the right, to conquer or to die!
I thought no boy would venture out to-day l'p, Loiterer! for on the winds are flung
For sport or labor, an' he were not flogged
For tarrying within. Well, after all,
It may not be so very cold for them,
How little cared I for the biting frost,
So I might whirl upon the ringing steel
As happy as myself, all life and joy!
But s’death: a few short years will make a change
In a man's ser sitiveness, 'specially (The middle of December, Thermometer at Zero.)
When they bring with them gout and rheumatism, This feels like winter! Ugh! how bitterly Toothachs and agues, fevers and catarrhsCometh the keen northwester! In the west And worse, far worse than aught, ay, than all else, Dark clouds are piled in gloomy masses up, Dread hypochondria! They will find it soAnd from their folds comes freezingly the breath Those merry boys now skating on the lakeof the Storm-Spirit, couched and shrouded there. If they, like me, indulge in turtle-soup, But yestermorn the streams were mur
ruces, and pies, and cakes, and whole round With their low, silvery voices, pouring forth Of eatables and drinkables which load
We kissed her cheek, and kissed her brow;
And if aright we read the smile That lingered on her pallid lips,
It told of Heaven the while !
Their glutton-feeding table, who, like me,
She lived--a radiant Presence, lent
To bless our hearts and glad our hearth; She died-oh, bitter was the cup
To wean us from the earth! Dear God! Thy name be praised for her
For sweetest memories of our childThe angel called from earth to heaven
A spirit undefiled!
Oh, Bessie was a bonny girl
As ever happy mother kissed-
How sadly was she missed!
She had a thousand winning ways,
In all her tasks and plays.
Which played around the sweetest mouth That ever fashioned infant-words
The sunshine of the South, Mellowed and soft, was in her eye,
And gleamed its brightness o'er her hairAll creatures that had life, I ween,
Did her affections share.
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
In Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands, Lie skeletons in chains,
With shackled feet and hands.
Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies, Float ships with all their crews,
No more to sink or rise.
There the black slave-ship swims,
Freighted with human forms, Whose fettered fleshless limbs
Are not the sport of storms.
These are the bones of slaves ;
They gleam from the abyss ; They cry, from yawning waves,
"We are the Witnesses !'
With reverent voice she breathed her prayer,
With gentlest tones she sang her hymnAnd when she talked of heaven, our eyes
With tears of joy were dim; Yet in our selfish grief we wept
When last her lips upon us smiledOh, could we, when our Father called,
Detain the happy child ?
Within Earth's wide domains
Are markets for men's lives ; Their necks are galled with chains,
Their wrists are cramped with gyves. Dead bodies, that the kite.
In deserts makes its prey ; Murders, that with affright
Scare schoolboys from their play!
Our home is poor, and cold our clime,
And misery mingles with our mirth'Twas meet our Bessie should depart
From such a weary earth!
The brightness of her ransomed soul! No trials vex, no tempter lure
Her spirit from its goal! We wrapt her in her snow-white shroud
We smoothed again her sunny hair, And crossed her hands upon her breast
Oh! she was wondrous fair !
All evil thoughts and deeds,
Anger, and lust, and pride ; The foulest, rankest weeds,
That choke Life's groaning tide!
These are the woes of slaves;
They glare from the abyss; They cry, from unknown graves,
"We are the Witnesses!'
SONNETS BY HENRY ELLISON. To do his work of love, to bind and free,
Who like Saint Peter hold the mystic key;
Who work his miracles, but words instead
Of spells make use of, quickening the dead,
The dead in soul, who deadest of all be ! To the great God, and, shining every one,
Dearer to me your good opinion is Make up the glorious harmony, led on
Than the poor plaudits of the ignorant crowd, By Hesperus, their chorister : each plays
Groundless as hasty, brief as they are loud ; A part in the great concert with its rays,
For Conscience, which but echoes Him in this, And yet so stilly, modestly, as none
Who lists the meek up, and puts down the proud, Claimed to himself aught of the good thus done
Approves your sentence, and confirms it His !
And yet I am awake, or, waking, dream
Things truer, or which so unto me seem, Shall move as surely as those stars on high! Than those who wake o' nights and no rest know,
Till they get rich, and life for money throw
Away : and Love, its crowning grace supreme, THOUGHT.
And God (Love's essence,) openly blaspheme, What is the Warrior's sword compared with thee?
Mocking him in his temple with vain show! A brittle reed against a giant's might!
Perhaps I dream-I dream the world is fair,
Fairer than heart can know or tongue can say ! What are the Tyrant's countless hosts? as light As chaff before the tempest! though he be
That Love doth greater treasures with it bear
Than wealth - and that no wealth were thrown Shut in with guards, and by the bended knee Be-worshipped, like a God, thou still canst smite,
But of a flower's beauty for one day !
Thou art the truest poet, Keats, for thou
And is, and ever will be, still as now,
Upconscious of an effort, as the bough
Is of its perfume-but the world doth pass
Such by : 'tis hard of hearing, and, alas ! Beyond all other music 'neath the sky,
Harder of heart, and takes no count of how The deep sweet music of Humanity ;
A poet lives and dies, till he be gone ; Falling for ever on mine inward ear,
Still, when he asks for bread, it gives a stone! From ages past, and choristers now here
And accurate biographers search out
His life's least details, when his name has grown No longer, yet whose voices, sweet and high, Like a « Te Deum” to the Deity,
A word of power, and a light about
It gathered, that attends not a King's throne !
HOW TO SEEK TRUTH.
Before a daisy in the grass I bend Have entered in at last, and with them sing
My head in awe : I could not pluck it thence
Without a feeling of deep reverence,
My whole mind it requires to comprehend
The least work of Divine Intelligence,
But not so is it with the works of Man
On these I boldly lay my hand, on creeds
AMBITION And dogmas, for these come within my span
Glory enough 'twere for the greatest man Therefore with these articulate blasts I fan
To write what men should in their mouths still have, The chaff of Custom from Truth's genuine seeds,
Day after day, when he is in his grave-
To be identified with things of span
The world high mention of mankind still crave :
Things with a soul of good in them to save E'en in my boyish days, ere yet a cloud
Them from oblivion, which nonght else canOf sadness rested on my path, except
Aye, glory twere enough to write a song,
That e'en the child upon its mother's knee
And which to mind recalling, he feels strong, The heart's diviner beatings, and have wept
Within, the heart of his Humanitie.
HOPES OF THE FUTURE.
We do not work our wonders with the sword, That I allegiance only would avow
Dear Countrymen, nor claim aught on such plea, – To him who wears upon his head the crown With mothers and with children on their knee, or genuine Manhood, be he king or clown!
With patient Thought, and Love, that can afford
His power to achieve all victorie ;
With these, and with whatever else may be
Gentlest, and with the power of the Word, Than the king's sceptre! higher empire far,
We work our wonders which none can gainsay! Far nobler subjects- his own thoughts, which are
Unfailingly, as from the grass the flower, Best ministers of good from day to day !
The seed divine we scatter by the way, Content with these, still ready to obey,
Shall spring, and ripen in its destined hour-He in his sphere moves stilly, like a star
Then shout, ye Nations, for the harvest-day Which makes all light about it, ’bove the jar
Is coming, and the Sun of Truth gains power! Of earth's vain cares, on his eternal way. Till, thus become a spirit, spirits wait
ON SOME FLOWERS ABOUT A COTTAGE. Upon him, ever round that viewless throne, Which He, on passions, early taught to own Oh sight beyond all others passing.dear! Wisdom's supremacy, has raised : a state
The love of Nature is the love of all Wherein celestial powers have sway alone ;
That's good, and beautiful, and rational--
And he, who has but taken pains to rear
Of being and enjoyment-he a call
Which speaks through all her lovely works so clear.
And by that rose she leads, in gentle guise,
Him, by the hand, as 't were, upon the way,
1 he heart that trusts her, but, with closer ties, Received the benefit, not 1! what bad,
Towards her draws, nor lets it go astray!
MEANS OF CIVILIZATION.
With things of little cost, of every day,
And daily greetings, and familiar books,
That teach us wisdom while it seems but play: Thanks me still! see! how gently is man led With means at hand still by life's daily way, To Good, thus more than all he gave to get ! As natural as flowers by the brooks,
As pleasant as field-paths thro' sylvan nooks, and rival of France. The celebrated Dr. Price of And so cheap that the poorest can defray
London, and the still more distinguished Priestley The expense thereof: with these and things like these, of Birmingham, spoke out boldly in defence of the We work our wonders by the fireside :
great principles of the Revolution. A London club Our magic-charms, the kiss of love and peace; of reformers, reckoning among its members such Our magic-circles, small at first, but wide
men as Sir William Jones, Earl Grey, Samuel Enough at last to grasp the world with ease, Whitebread and Sir James Mackintosh, was estaHomes, where God, as in temples, doth reside! blished for the purpose of disseminating demo
cratic appeals and arguments throughout the United
Kingdom THE HEART'S PLACES OF WORSHIP.
In Scotland an auxiliary society was formed, under How many shrines, for its affections there
the name of « Friends of the People." Thomas To dwell, as in a temple, can the heart
Muir, young in years, yet an elder in the Scottish Of man for itself make, with little art,
kirk, a successful advocate at the bar, talented, affaE’en of the simplest things! how passing fair
ble, eloquent, and distinguished for the purity of his Seem to us all the spots, so cherished, where
life, and his enthusiasm in the cause of Freedom, We passed our boyish days : ere sorrow's smart was its principal originator. In the 12th month of Had touched, or we had bartered in life's mart,
1792, a Convention of Reformers was held at EdinOur heart's affections for a paltry share
burgh. The government became alarmed, and a Of the world's gold or favour-e'en the stone
warrant was issued for the arrest of Muir. He es. We sat on by the stream-side, in our bliss
caped to France, but soon after, venturing to return Far richer than we since through gold have grown,
to his native land, was recognized and imprisoned. Seeins to us in our inmost hearts all this
He was tried upon the charge of lending books of Revolving, far far better than a throne,
republican tendency, and reading an address from Whose feet, not innocent brooks, but false lips kiss! Theobald Wolf Tone and the United Irishmen before
the society of which he was a member. He defended himself in a long and eloquent address, which concluded in the following noble and manly strain.
What, then, has been my crime? Not the lend. THE SCOTTISH REFORMERS.
ing to a relation a copy of Thomas Paine's worksnot the giving away to another a few numbers of an
innocent and constitutional publication—but my I have just been conversing with an aged gentle crime is for having dared to be, according to the man, who has called my attention to the details measure of my feeble abilities, a strenuous and an furnished by late British papers, of the laying of the active advocate for an equal representation of the corner-stone of a monument in honor of the politi- people in the House of the People-for having dared cal reformers, who were banished in 1793 to the to accomplish a measure, by legal means, which was convict-colony of Botany Bay. My friend was in to diminish the weight of their taxes, and to put an Edinburgh at the end of their trial; and, although end to the profusion of their blood. Gentlemen, quite young at that period, distinctly remembers from my infancy to this moment, I have devoted their appearance, and the circumstances preceding myself to the cause of the people. It is a good their arrest. I know not that I can occupy a leisure cause--it shall ultimately prevail-it shall finally evening better, than in compiling a brief account of triumph.” the character and fate of these men, whose names He was sentenced to transportation for fourteen even are unknown to the present generation in this years, and was removed to the Edinburgh jail, from country.
thence to the hulks, and lastly to the transport ship, The impulse of the French Revolution was not containing eighty-three convicts, which conveyed confined by geographical boundaries. Flashing hope him to Botany Bay. into the dark places of the earth, far. down among The next victim was Palmer, a learned and high the poor and long oppressed, or startling the oppres- ly accomplished Unitarian minister in Dundee. He sor in his guarded chambers, like that mountain of was greatly beloved and respected as a polished genfire which fell into the sea at the sound of the Apo- tleman and sincere friend the people. He was calyptic trumpet, it agitated the world.
charged with circulating a republican tract, and was The arguments of Condorcet, the battle-words of sentenced to seven years' transportation. Mirabeau, the indomitable zeal of St. Just, the iron But the friends of the people were not quelled by energy of Danton, the caustic wit of Camille Des- this summary punishment of two of their devoted moulins and Gaudet, and the sweet eloquence of leaders. In the 10th month, 1793, delegates were Vergniaud, found echoes in all lands; and nowhere called together from various towns in Scotland, as more readily than in Great Britain, the ancient foel well as from Birmingham, Sheffield, and other places
BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.