THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA. BY EPES SARGENT. Narrated in Gibbon's Roman Empire. Honour'd be the hero evermore, Who at mercy's call has nobly died! Echoed be his name from shore to shore, With immortal chronicles allied! Verdant be the turf upon his dust, Bright the sky above, and soft the air! In the grove set up his marble bust, And with garlands crown it, fresh and fair. In melodious numbers, that shall live His eulogium to the future years! Not the victor in his country's cause, Shall deserve a greater fame than he ! Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day, How a youth, by Christian zeal impell'd, Swept the sanguinary games away, Which the Coliseum once beheld? Fill'd with gazing thousands were the tiers, Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long, Was there no one in that eager throng To denounce the spectacle of blood? Ay, Telemachus, with swelling frame, Saw the inhuman sport renew'd once more: Few among the crowd could tell his nameFor a cross was all the badge he wore! Yet with brow elate and God-like mien, Stepped he forth upon the circling sand; And, while all were wondering at the scene, Check'd the encounter with a daring hand. "Romans!" cried he- Let this reeking sod Never more with human blood be stained! Let no image of the living God In unhallowed combat be profaned! Ah! too long has this colossal dome Now to swear, they shall forever close!" Parted thus, the combatants, with joy, Mid the tumult, found the means to fly; In the arena stood the undaunted boy, And, with looks adoring, gazed on high. Peal'd the shout of wrath on every side; Strains celestial, that the menace drown? Then and there he crush'd a bloody creed! And his high example shall impel Future heroes to as great a deed! Stony answers yet remain for those Who would question and precede the time! In their season may they meet their foes, Like TELEMACHUS, with front sublime. SONNET. The Anniversary of Lovejoy's Martyrdom. BY MARIA WESTON CHAPMAN. No tears to-day! a lofty joy should crown We will not water it with griefs and tears; But, o'er its harvest in the future years Rejoice, as those before whose gaze hath shone A vision of the faithful, girt to die 'Mid hostile crowds, in darkness for the right; Yet may we mourn that, ringing through the night, Sharply to theirs thine answering shots reply. Tears for the blood of others shed by thee;— Joy for thy blood poured forth so joyously and free. THE STREET. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds, And conquered-and their spirits turned to clay: Lo! how they wander round the world, their grave, Whose ever-gaping maw by such is fed, Gibbering at living men, and idly rave, "We only truly live, but ye are dead." Alas, poor fools! the anointed eye may trace A dead soul's epitaph in every face. VOICES OF THE TRUE HEARTED. No. 4. "FOR BEHOLD THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU." BY HARRIET WINSLOW. Pilgrim to the heavenly city, Groping wildered on thy way Look not to the outward landmark, List not what the blind guides say. For long years thou hast been seeking Lured thee from the path away. On the outward world relying, Earthly treasures thou wouldst heap; Titled friends and lofty honors Lull thy higher hopes to sleep. Thou art stored with worldly wisdom, Brightly sparkle wit and wine. Richly droop the silken curtains, Round those high and mirrored halls; And on mossy Persian carpets, Silently thy proud step falls. Not the gentlest wind of heaven Dares too roughly fan thy brow, Nor the morning's blessed sunbeams Tinge thy cheek with ruddy glow. Yet midst all these outward riches, Has thy heart no void confessed— Whispering, though each wish be granted, Still, oh still I am not blessed? And when happy, careless children, Lured thee with their winning ways— Thou hast sighed in vain contrition, Give me back those golden days. Hadst thou stooped to learn their lesson, Truthful preachers—they had told Thou thy kingdom hast forsaken, Thou hast thy own birthright sold. Thou art heir to vast possessions, Up, and boldly claim thine own: Seize the crown-that waits thy wearingLeap at once into thy throne. Look not to some cloudy mansion, 'Mong the planets far away; Trust not to the distant future, Let thy Heaven begin to-day. When thy struggling soul hath conquered,- When thou art prepared for Heaven, THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. The population of Lowell is constituted mainly of New Englanders, but there are representatives here of almost every part of the civilized world. The good-humored face of the Milesian meets one at al. most every turn, -the shrewdly solemn Scotchman, the trans-Atlantic Yankee, blending the crafty thrift of Bryce Snails foot with the stern religious heroism of Cameron, the blue-eyed, fair-haired German, from the towered hills which overlook the Rhine, slow, heavy, and unpromising in his exterior, yet of the same mould and mettle of the men who rallied for "Father-Land" at the Tyrtean call of Korner, and beat back the chivalry of France from the banks of the Katzbach-the countryman of Ritcher, and Goethe, and our sainted Follen. Here, too, are pedlars from Hamburgh, and Bavaria, and Poland, with their sharp Jewish faces and black keen eyes. At this moment, beneath my window, are two sturdy, sun-browned Swiss maidens, grinding music for a livelihood, rehearsing in a strange Yankee land the simple songs of their old mountain home, reminding me by their foreign garb and language, of "Lauterbrunnen's peasant girl." Poor wanderers!-I love not their music; but now as the notes die away, and, to use the words of Dr. Holmes, "silence comes like a poultice to heal the wounded ear," I feel grateful for their visitation.Away from the crowded thoroughfare, from brick walls and dusty avenues, at the sight of these poor peasants I have gone in thought to the vale of Chaumony, and seen, with Coleridge, the Morning Star pausing on the "bald awful head of Sovran Blanc," and the sunrise and the sunset glorious upon snowy. crested mountains, down in whose vallies the night still lingers-and following in the track of Byron and Rousseau, have watched the lengthening shadows "Fee-faw fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman, of the hills on the beautiful waters of the Genevan ple of England as my enemies, nor sympathize with lake. Blessings, then, upon these young wayfarers, that blustering sham-patriotism, which is ever exfor they have blessed me unawares.” In an hour claiming, like the giant of the nursery tale: of sickness and lassitude, they have wrought for me the miracle of Lorretto's chapel, and borne me away from the scenes around me and the sense of personal suffering, to that wonderful land where Nature seems still uttering, from lake and valley and mountains whose eternal snows lean on the hard blue heaven, the echoes of that mighty hymn of a new-created world, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy!" I remember that the same sun which shines upon England's royalty and priestcraft, streams also into the dusty workshop of Ebenezer Elliot-rests on the drab coat of the Birmingham Quaker Reformergreets O Connell through the grates of his prison -glorifies the grey locks of Clarkson, and gladdens the heroic-hearted Harriet Martineau, in her sick ings have beguiled my solitary hours, and given life to my intellect and best affections. I love this nation: its men and women are my brothers and sisters." But of all classes of foreigners the Irish are by far the most numerous. They constitute a quiet and in-chamber at the mouth of the Tyne. With heart and dustrious portion of the population; and are conse- soul I respond to the sentiments of Channing, when quently respected by their Yankee neighbors. For speaking of a foreign nation: "That nation is not myself, I confess I feel a sympathy for the Irishman. an abstraction to me; it is no longer a vague mass; I see him as the representative of a generous, warm- it spreads out before me into individuals, in a thouhearted and cruelly oppressed people. That he loves sand interesting forms and relations; it consists of his native land-that his patriotism is divided-that husbands and wives, parents and children, who love he cannot forget the claims of his mother island- one another as I love my own home; it consists of that his religion, with all its abuses, is dear to him- affectionate women and sweet children; it consists does not decrease my estimation of him. A stran- of Christians, united with me to the common Savior, ger in a stange land, he is to me always an object and in whose spirit I reverence the likeness of his of interest. The poorest and rudest has a romance divine virtue; it consists of a vast multitude of laborin his history. Amidst all his apparent gayety of ers at the plough and in the workshop, whose toils I heart, and national drollery and wit, the poor emi-sympathize with, whose burden I should rejoice to grant has sad thoughts of the "ould mother of him," lighten, and for whose elevation I have pleaded; it sitting lonely in her solitary cabin by the bog-side-consists of men of science, taste, genius, whose writrecollections of a father's blessing, and a sister's farewell are haunting him-a grave-mound in a distant churchyard, far beyond the wide wathers," has an eternal greenness in his memory-for there perhaps lies a darlint child," or a "swate crather" who once loved him,-the New World is forgotten for the moment-blue Killarney and the Liffy sparkle before him-Glendalough stretches beneath him its dark still mirror-he sees the same evening sunshine rest upon and hallow alike with Nature's blessing the ruins of the Seven Churches of Ireland's apostolic age, the broken mound of the Druids, and the Round Towers of the Phenician sun-worshippers,beautiful and mournful recollections of his home waken within him-and the rough and seemingly careless and light-hearted laborer melts into tears. It is no light thing to abandon one's own country and household gods. Touching and beautiful was the injunction of the Prophet of the Hebrews: "Ye shall not oppress the stranger, for ye know the heart of the stranger, seeing that ye were strangers in the land of Egypt." I love my own country-I have a strong New England feeling: but I am no friend of that narrow spirit of mingled national vanity and religious intolerance, which, under the name of « Native Americanism," has made its appearance among us. I reverence man, as man. Be he Irish or Spanish, black or white, he is my brother man. I have no prejudices against other nations-I cannot regard the peo THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. BY CHARLES MACKAY. If thou wouldst win a lasting fame; Begin thy perilous career, Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear, If thou canst struggle day and night, If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn: If thou canst dine upon a crust, If thou canst see with tranquil breast, The knave or fool in purple dress'd, While thou must walk in tatter'd vest: If thou canst rise ere break of day, And toil and moil till evening gray, At thankless work, for scanty pay: If, in thy progress to renown, Thou canst endure the scoff and frown Of those who strive to pull thee down: If thou canst bear th' averted face, If thou in darkest days canst find An inner brightness in thy mind, To reconcile thee to thy kind: Whatever obstacles control, Thine hour will come-go on-true soul ! Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal! If not-what matters? tried by fire, Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy Thy secret peace, thy inward joy. But if so bent on worldly fame, And hast not strength to watch and pray, If failure might thy soul oppress, Thy fame might rivalry forestal, Pause ere thou tempt the hard career, Content thee with a meaner lot; SONG OF THE FREE. On Freedom's holy altar-stone O, not alone our vows we pay; From Maine to Huron's prairie flowers, Nor hate, nor wrath, nor evil deed, In joy and faith the seeds we cast, Hurrah for Freedom's rising sun! THE POET. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. Poet! who sittest in thy pleasant room, Come down then to the hot and dusky way, 52 THE MAN OUT OF THE MOON. The man of the moon Came down at noon. tesy they received unquestioned the remarkable more common than bliss, that quiet was more fregent than joy; but hitherto I have investigated at a disadvantageous distance, and here I find that my ignorance was proverbial. Nevertheless, I have the will and capacity to learn, and the duke himself shall not know more of his neighbors than I will as certain." He bounded over a sweet-briar hedge, and wended his way to a little hamlet, which nestled between the grove and upland at a short distance. He entered the nearest cot, and the first sound which reached his ears was a cry for bread. Perhaps these lines occurred to some of the indi-dren. Before I came here I thought that peace was viduals who witnessed the disappearance of the man from the moon one balmy summer evening. There must have been at least one astronomer, poet, lunatic, and pair of lovers; and how many more may not easily be ascertained. But the moonshine still came down so gently, and the space vacated by that ancient man was filled with such calm brightness, that little was said and no commotion caused by his withdrawal from that place where he had been an admired fixture. Had he dropped down among any of the evening watchers, doubtless there would have been a great excitement-especially among children and nurses, with whom this man had been an object "Bread-BREAD!" repeated he, "I saw it given of greater interest than any other class. And, as to the dogs this morning. Bread! there is enough every body was once a boy or girl, there might have at the castle. Go to the duchess, my child, she will been a revival of affection which would have mani-give you enough of bread." The child ceased her fested itself in waving of handkerchiefs, loud huzzas, and clapping of hands, perhaps in ringing of bells, and firing of cannon; and who knows what fine dinners might have been given him, and concerts, also, in which a few particular nursery rhymes might have been set to music by Vieux Temps, or Ole Bull, and the stranger almost paralysed by the excess of joyous sensibility. But those, who knew that he was gone, could not of course tell whether he had started upon a journey to the Sun, or to Venus, or to Herschel, or to some other place among the stars; and perhaps a few of them dreamed that he had come on a pilgrimage of love to the Moon's great satellite, EARTH. But, upon the same principle that "little boats should keep near the shore," the inexperienced traveller had wisely resolved that his first voyage should terminate at the first landing place. Whether those were moonstruck who first saw him "Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Where a fair lady throned by the west," held state upon a little island--whether they were moonstruck or not, matters little; but certainly no skylark ever fluttered into nest more unregarded, no eagle ever descended into its nest more untroubled, no snow-flake ever fell into its deep dingle more unnoticed, and no leaflet ever nestled under its shadowing rock more quietly, than the man from the moon came down, when he alighted under the broad shadow of a noble elm, in a ducal park. The deer turned upon him their large lustrous eyes, and darted away to their leafy converts; the rooks slowly wheeled around above his head, and sailed upon the breezes of their leafy homes; and the watch.dog met him at the portal with a fawn of affection. At the porter's lodge had gathered some of the juvenile nobility, and with the utmost cour cry, but looked at him wonderingly, and an elderly sister shook her head, yet said nothing. Then the man heard a moan from a low pallet, and looking into the dark recess, he saw stretched upon it the She called the girl to emaciated form of a woman. her side. "Is there not a little more wine in the phial?" she asked. "Not one drop," was the reply. The woman moaned more faintly. Wine! wine!" repeated the man; we drank last night at the castle until our heads ached, and some of the company were carried away drowned by it. Wine and bread;" he repeated, as he turned upon his heel, and flew towards the castle. He entered the drawing room, and a servant passed him with a silver salver, upon which were refreshments for the ladies, and the sideboard was covered with various wines. He grasped a bottle, and snatching the salver from the waiter, he turned to go. But the astonished domestic made such an outcry, and vociferated, "Thief! Robber!" so lustily that he was soon overtaken. The duke came to learn the cause of the tumult. |