Page images
PDF
EPUB

It rises, roars, rends all outright-O Vulcan, what a glow!

'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright, the high sun shines not so!

The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fear

ful show;

The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row

Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe;

As quivering through his fleece of flame the sailing monster slow

Sinks on the anvil-all about the faces fiery grow"Hurrah!" they shout; "leap out-leap out:" bang, bang, the sledges go;

Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low;

Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red!

Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped;

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array,

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay;

Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here,

For the Yo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the sighing seaman's cheer;

When weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home,

And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.

A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squash- In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last, ing blow;

The leathern mail rebounds the hail; the rattling cinders strow

The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow,

And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, pant "Ho!"

Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out and lay on load!

Let's forge a goodly Anchor, a bower thick and broad;

A shapely one he is and strong as c'er from cat was cast.

O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me,

What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!

O deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou?

The hoary monsters' palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now

To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales,

For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road;

The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poured

From stem to stern, sea after sea, the main-mast by the board;

The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains!

But courage still, brave mariners, the bower still remains,

And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky high,

Then moves his head, as though he said, “Fear nothing-here am I!"

Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time,

Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime!

But while ye swing your sledges, sing; and let the burden be,

"The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal craftsmen we;"

their scourging tails!

Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce seaunicorn,

And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horif;

To leave the subtle sworder-fish, of bony blade forlorn, And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn;

To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles

He lies, a lubber anchorage, for sudden shallowed miles;

Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls; Meanwhile to swing, a buffeting the far-astonished shoals

Of his back-browsing ocean calves; or haply in a

cove,

Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love,

To find the long-haired mermaidens; or, hard by

icy lands,

To wrestle with the sea-serpent upon cerulean sands.

O broad-armed Fisher of the deep, whose sports can

equal thine?

Absorb me in thine own immensity,

And raise me far my finite self above! The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy Purge vanity away, and the weak care

cable line:

And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,

That name or fame of me may widely spread;
And the deep wish keep burning in their stead,
Thy blissful influence afar to bear,-

Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant Or see it borne! Let no desire of ease,

game to play;—

But, shamer of our little sports! forgive the name
I gave,

A fisher's joy is to destroy,-thine office is to save.

O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but understand

Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band,

Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend,

No lack of courage, faith, or love, delay
Mine own steps on that high thought-paven way
In which my soul her clear commission sees:
Yet with an equal joy let me behold
Thy chariot o'er that way by others rolled!

TO ADAMS,

DISCOVERER OF THE PLANET NEPTUNE.

When Vulcan cleft the laboring brain of Jove
With his keen axe, and set Minerva free,

With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their The unimprisoned maid, exultingly,

ancient friend

Bounded aloft, and to the Heaven above

Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger | Turned her clear eyes, while the grim workman steps round thee,

Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou'dst

leap within the sea!

strove

To claim the virgin Wisdom for his fee,
His private wealth, his property to be,
And hide in Lemnian cave her light of love.

Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant If some new truth, oh friend, thy toil discover,

strand,

To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland

Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy church

yard grave

So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave—
Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly

sung,

Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!

William Rowan Hamilton.

Hamilton (1805-1865), Astronomer Royal of Dublin, was also a poet. George Ticknor (Boston, U. S. A., 1791– 1871), in his "Life, Letters, etc." (1870), speaks of the following sonnet as "one of the finest in the English language." Wordsworth once said to Mr. Aubrey de Vere: "I have known many that might be called very clever men, and a good many of real and vigorous abilities, but few of genius; and only one whom I should call wonderful. That one was Coleridge. *** The only man like Coleridge whom I have known is Sir William Hamilton, Astronomer Royal of Dublin."

A PRAYER.

O brooding Spirit of Wisdom and of Love,
Whose mighty wings even now o'ershadow me,

If thine eyes first by some fair form be blessed,
Love it for what it is, and as a lover

Gaze, or with joy receive thine honored guest :
The new-found Thought, set free, awhile may hover
Gratefully near thee, but it cannot rest.

William Parsons Lunt.

AMERICAN.

Lunt was born at Newburyport, Mass., in 1805, and died at Akbar, in Arabia Petræa, March 20th, 1857. He was graduated at Harvard College in 1823; studied law for a time, then divinity. He officiated in 1828 as pastor of the Second Unitarian Church in New York, but in 1835 took charge of the church in Quincy, Mass., and retained it up to the time of his death. His writings, both in prose and verse, give evidence of a clear, highly cultivated intellect and of an emotional nature, quick to sympathize with the good, beautiful, and true.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

Flag of my country! in thy folds

Are wrapped the treasures of the heart; Where'er that waving sheet is fanned

By breezes of the sea or land,

It bids the life-blood start.

It is not that among those stars

The fiery crest of Mars shines out; It is not that on battle-plain, 'Mid heaps of harnessed warriors slain, It flaps triumphant o'er the rout.

Short-lived the joy that conquest yields;
Flushed victory is bathed in tears;
The burden of that bloody fame
Which shouting myriads proclaim
Sounds sad to widowed ears

Thou hast a deeper, stronger hold,

Flag of my country! on the heart,

Than when o'er mustered hosts unfurled, Thou art a signal to the world,

At which the nations start.

Thou art a symbol of the power

Whose sheltering wings our homes surround; Guarded by thee was childhood's morn, And where thy cheering folds are borne, Order and Peace are found.

Flag of our mighty Union, hail!

Blessings abound where thou dost float; Best robe for living Freedom's form, Fit pall to spread upon her tomb, Should Heaven to death devote.

Wave over us in glory still,

And be our guardian as now!

Each wind of heaven salute thy streaks!
And withered be the arm that seeks
To bring that banner low!

William Lloyd Garrison.

AMERICAN.

Garrison was born in Newburyport, Mass., December 10th, 1805, and died in the city of New York, May 24th, 1879. His mother was a woman of rare good sense and strong religious convictions. The family were poor, and William had few advantages. He began early to learn the trade of a shoemaker, but left it for the printingoffice. This led to his becoming associated in an editorial capacity with various journals. In 1829 he joined Benjamin Lundy in starting The Genius of Universal Emancipation in Baltimore, and was imprisoned some thirty days for his attacks on the slave system. In 1831 appeared the Liberator, published in Boston. Thenceforward he devoted himself strenuously to the eradication of slavery from the land. Political developments, attended by the estrangement of the South, gradually led to the

conflict which ended in the fulfilment of his life-long endeavors. Two of the subjoined sonnets were traced in pencil on the walls of the cell where he was imprisoned. He published a volume of ninety-six pages in 1843, entitled "Sonnets, and other Poems."

THE GUILTLESS PRISONER.

Prisoner! within these gloomy walls close pent,
Guiltless of horrid crime or venal wrong—
Bear nobly up against thy punishment,
And in thy innocence be great and strong!
Perchance thy fault was love to all mankind;
Thou didst oppose some vile, oppressive law,
Or strive all human fetters to unbind;
Or wouldst not bear the implements of war:
What then? Dost thon so soon repent the deed?
A martyr's crown is richer than a king's!
Think it an honor with thy Lord to bleed,
And glory 'mid intensest sufferings!
Though beat, imprisoned, put to open shame,
Time shall embalm and magnify thy name!

FREEDOM OF THE MIND.

High walls and huge the body may confine,
And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze,
And massive bolts may baffle his design,
And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways;
Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control!
No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose:
Swifter than light it flies from pole to pole,
And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes!
It leaps from mount to mount-from vale to vale
It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers;
It visits home, to hear the fireside tale,-
Or in sweet converse pass the joyous hours;
"Tis up before the sun, roaming afar,
And in its watches wearies every star!

TO BENJAMIN LUNDY.

Self-taught, unaided, poor, reviled, contemned,
Beset with enemies, by friends betrayed;
As madman and fanatic oft condemned,
Yet in thy noble cause still undismayed;
Leonidas could not thy courage boast;
Less numerous were his foes, his band more strong;
Alone unto a more than Persian host,
Thou hast undauntedly given battle long.
Nor shalt thou singly wage the unequal strife;

Unto thy aid, with spear and shield, I rush,
And freely do I offer up my life,

And bid my heart's-blood find a wound to gush!
New volunteers are trooping to the field;

To die we are prepared, but not an inch to yield.

SONNET.

How shall my love to God be clearest shown?
He nothing needs of all that I possess ;
Nothing it costs lip homage to express,
In sackcloth and in ashes to lie prone,
Sin in the abstract loudly to bemoan!
Easy it is religion to profess,

And praise and magnify Christ's righteousness;
For this requires but empty breath alone.
By cleaving to the truth when under ban,
Striving to break Oppression's iron rod,
Bearing the cross where freedom leads the van,
Shunning no path by faithful martyrs trod,
And loving as myself my fellow-man,-
Thus clearest shall I show my love to God.

Conscious of the deed unholy,
Nature's pulses beat more slowly,
And the sun his light denied ;
Darkness wrapped the sacred city,
And the earth with fear and pity

Trembled when the Just One died.

It is finished, Man of sorrows!
From thy cross our nature borrows

Strength to bear and conquer thus. While exalted there we view thee, Mighty sufferer, draw us to thee, Sufferer victorious!

Not in vain for us uplifted,
Man of sorrows, wonder-gifted!

May that sacred symbol be.
Eminent amid the ages,
Guide of heroes and of sages,

May it guide us still to thee!

Still to thee, whose love unbounded Sorrow's deep for us has sounded,

Perfected by sorrows sore.

Glory to thy cross forever!
Star that points our high endeavor
Whither thou hast gone before.

Frederic Henry Hedge.

AMERICAN.

Hedge was born in Cambridge, Mass., in 1805-the son of Levi Hedge, teacher of Logic, etc., at Harvard College. In 1818 he accompanied George Bancroft to Germany, and studied there for some time. Returning to America, he graduated at Harvard in 1825, and studied for the ministry. In 1856 he took charge of the parish in Brookline, Mass.; but in 1872 removed to Cambridge, and was appointed Professor of German Literature. Dr. Hedge has been a voluminous author, has published various translations from the German, and written some excellent hymns.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

'Twas the day when God's Anointed
Died for us the death appointed,
Bleeding on the guilty cross;
Day of darkness, day of terror,
Deadly fruit of ancient error,

Nature's fall, and Eden's loss.

Haste, prepare the bitter chalice! Gentile hate and Jewish malice

Lift the royal victim highLike the serpent, wonder-gifted, Which the Prophet once upliftedFor a sinful world to die.

QUESTIONINGS.

Hath this world without me wrought
Other substance than my thought?
Lives it by my sense alone,
Or by essence of its own?
Will its life, with mine begun,
Cease to be when that is done,
Or another consciousness
With the self-same forms impress?

Doth yon fire-ball, poised in air,
Hang by my permission there?
Are the clouds that wander by
But the offspring of mine eye,
Born with every glance I cast,
Perishing when that is past?
And those thousand, thousand eyes,
Scattered through the twinkling skies,
Do they draw their life from mine,
Or of their own beauty shine?

Now I close my eyes, my ears, And creation disappears;

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »