Mourner of Israel ! take thy stand
Upon that height, and there command

All Sharon's vale and Bashan's plain,
Where once a blooming surface smild,
And summer spread his banquet wild,

And autumn stretch'd his golden reign.

There from those cedars might be seen
Unnumber'd rills and forests green,

And cities in the distant blue;
With terrac'd Tabor's beamy crest,
And Carmel for her vintage dressid,

All bursting on the conscious view.

What hand hath laid that circuit bare,
And scatter'd thorns and thistles there -

Apostate earth's too natural dress?
What spell upon that scenery
Hath made it interdicted lie,

Mock'd by its claims to fruitfulness?

The dread anathema of God
Hath struck the vales and curs’d the clod;

They lie in blank astonishment :
Ages of barrenness attest
The sentence which has all un bless'd

The blessings to his chosen sent.

Mourner of Israel! turn thine eye
Towards that prophetic mystery,

Which offers comfort to the soul;
See, in the treasure of God's word,
For thee, ev’n thee, rich blessings stor’d,

And healing grace that “maketh whole.”

Again shall Sharon's roses bloom,
And Salem rise amid the gloom,


More great and glorious to behold;
When God shall make his promise good,
And give the conquest of his blood
To the lost sheep of Israel's fuld.



He left his home with a bounding heart,

For the world was all before him; And felt it scarce a pain to part,

Such sun-bright beams came o'er him. He turn'd him to visions of future years,

The rainbow's hues were round him; And a father's bodings- a mother's tears Might not weigh with the hopes that crown'd


That mother's cheek is far paler now

Than when she last caress'd him;
There's an added gloom on that father's brow

Since the hour when last he bless'd him.
Oh! that all human hopes should prove

Like the flowers that will fade to-morrow; And the cankering fears of anxious love

Ever end in truth and sorrow.

He left his home with a swelling sail,

Of fame and fortune dreaming, -
With a spirit as free as the vernal gale,

Or the pennon above him streaming.
He hath reach'd his goal;— by a distant wave,

’Neath a sultry sun they ’ve laid him ; And stranger-forms bent o'er his grave,

When the last sad rites were paid him.

· Funeral hymn - verses in praise of the dead.

He should have died in his own lov'd land,

With friends and kinsmen near him:
Not have wither'd thus on a foreign strand,

With no thought, save heaven, to cheer him.
But what recks it now? Is his sleep less sound

In the port where the wild winds swept him, Than if home's green turf his grave had bound,

Or the hearts he lov'd had wept him?

Then why repine? Can he feel the rays

That pestilent sun sheds o'er him?
Or share the grief that may cloud the days

Of the friends who now deplore him?
No - his bark's at anchor - its sails are furld -

It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding;
And, safe from the buffeting waves of the world,
In a haven of peace is riding.



Out spoke the Consull roundly:

“ The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum ? is lost,

Nought else can save the town.”


1 Valerius Publicola.

• One of the hills of Rome, from which it was separated by the Tiber. The fort of Janiculum was the first post attacked by Porsena, and having made himself master of the hill, he compelled the Romans to retire across the bridge into the city. This bridge, the first thrown across the Tiber, formed the passage from the Aventine Mount to the Janiculum. It was the work of Ancus Martius, and acquired the name of Sublicius from the wooden piles which supported it. After the achievement of Cocles, the planks were laid across, without being fixed with nails, that they might be removed, in case of sudden danger. When the Tiber is low, the remains of the foundation of the Pons Sublicius are still to be seen.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

“ Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,

With all the speed you may; I, with two more to help me,

Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand

May well be stopp'd by three; Now who will stand on either hand,

And keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius;

A Ramnian ' proud was he: “ Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,

And keep the bridge with thee.” And out spake strong Herminius;

Of Tatian blood was he: “ I will abide on thy left side,

And keep the bridge with thee."

| Romulus divided the people into three tribes, called Rhamnenses, from himself; Tatienses, from Tatius; and Lucerenses, from the lucus, or grove, where stood the asylum or place of refuge opened by Romulus for the reception of fugitives of every description, whom he afterwards admitted as citizens of Rome.

“ Horatius,” quoth the Consul,

As thou say’st, so let it be.” And straight against that great array

Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel

Spar'd neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,

In the brave days of old.
Then none was for a party ;

Then all were for the state ;
Then the great man help'd the poor,

And the poor man lov’d the great:
Then lands were fairly portion’d;

Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers

In the brave days of old.

[blocks in formation]

Now while the Three were tightening

Their harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man

To take in hand an axe;
And Fathers mix'd with Commons,
Seiz'd hatchet, bar, and

crow, And smote upon the planks above,

And loos’d the props below.
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,

Right glorious to behold,
Came, flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright

Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded

A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measur'd tread,
And spears advanc'd, and ensigns spread,
Rolld slowly towards the bridge's head,

Where stood the dauntless Three.

« VorigeDoorgaan »