Dost thou show forth Heaven's justice, when thy shafts Drink up the ebbing spirit-then the hard
Of heart and violent of hand restores
The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck The guilty secret; lips, for ages sealed, Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length, And give it up; the felon's latest breath Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime; The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged
To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make Thy penitent victim utter to the air The dark conspiracy that strikes at life,
And aims to whelm the laws; ere yet the hour Is come, and the dread sign of murder given.
Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found On virtue's side; the wicked, but for thee, Had been too strong for the good; the great of earth Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile For ages, while each passing year had brought Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world With their abominations; while its tribes, Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled, Had knelt to them in worship; sacrifice Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs
Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn: But thou, the great reformer of the world, Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud
In their green pupilage, their lore half learned- Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart God gave them at their birth, and blotted out His image. Thou dost mark them flushed with hope, As on the threshold of their vast designs
Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them down.
Alas! I little thought that the stern power Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus
Before the strain was ended. It must cease- For he is in his grave who taught my youth The art of verse, and in the bud of life Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off Untimely when thy reason in its strength, Ripened by years of toil and studious search, And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught Thy hand to practise best the lenient art To which thou gavest thy laborious days, And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes
And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thou Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have To offer at thy grave-this-and the hope To copy thy example, and to leave
A name of which the wretched shall not think As of an enemy's, whom they forgive
As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou Whose early guidance trained my infant steps-- Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep Of death is over, and a happier life
Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust.
Now thou art not-and yet the men whose guilt Has wearied Heaven for vengeance he who bears 161 False witness-he who takes the orphan's bread, And robs the widow-he who spreads abroad Polluted hands in mockery of prayer,
Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look On what is written, yet I blot not out The desultory numbers; let them stand, The record of an idle reverie.
WEEP not for Scio's children slain; Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed, Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain
For vengeance on the murderer's head.
Though high the warm red torrent ran Between the flames that lit the sky, Yet, for each drop, an armèd man
Shall rise, to free the land, or die.
And for each corpse, that in the sea Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, A hundred of the foe shall be
A banquet for the mountain birds.
Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain To keep that day, along her shore, Till the last link of Slavery's chain Is shivered, to be worn no more.
AN Indian girl was sitting where Her lover, slain in battle, slept; Her maiden veil, her own black hair, Came down o'er eyes that wept ; And wildly, in her woodland tongue, This sad and simple lay she sung:
'I've pulled away the shrubs that grew Too close above thy sleeping head, And broke the forest boughs that threw Their shadows o'er thy bed,
That, shining from the sweet south-west, The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest.
'It was a weary, weary road That led thee to the pleasant coast, Where thou, in his serene abode, Hast met thy father's ghost; Where everlasting autumn lies On yellow woods and sunny skies.
"Twas I the broidered mocsen made,
That shod thee for that distant land; 'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid
Beside thy still cold hand; Thy bow in many a battle bent, Thy arrows never vainly sent.
'With wampum belts I crossed thy breast, And wrapped thee in the bison's hide, And laid the food that pleased thee best, In plenty, by thy side,
And decked thee bravely, as became
A warrior of illustrious name.
Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed The long dark journey of the grave,
And in the land of light, at last, Hast joined the good and brave; Amid the flushed and balmy air, The bravest and the loveliest there.
'Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid
Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray, To her who sits where thou wert laid, And weeps the hours away,
Yet almost can her grief forget, To think that thou dost love her yet.
'And thou, by one of those still lakes That in a shining cluster lie,
On which the south wind scarcely breaks The image of the sky,
A bower for thee and me hast made
Beneath the many-coloured shade.
'And thou dost wait and watch to meet My spirit sent to join the blest,
And, wondering what detains my feet
From the bright land of rest,
Dost seem, in every sound, to hear The rustling of my footsteps near.'
ODE FOR AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION
FAR back in the ages,
The plough with wreaths was crowned; The hands of kings and sages Entwined the chaplet round;
Till men of spoil disdained the toil
By which the world was nourished, And dews of blood enriched the soil Where green their laurels flourished: -Now the world her fault repairs-
The guilt that stains her story; And weeps her crimes amid the cares That formed her earliest glory.
The proud throne shall crumble, The diadem shall wane,
The tribes of earth shall humble The pride of those who reign; And War shall lay his pomp away;- The fame that heroes cherish, The glory earned in deadly fray Shall fade, decay, and perish. Honour waits, o'er all the earth, Through endless generations,
The art that calls her harvests forth, And feeds the expectant nations.
« PreviousContinue » |