Beauty and Truth, and all that these contain, Drop not like ripened fruit about our feet; We climb to them through years of sweat and pain ;' Without long struggle, none did e er attain The downward look from Quiet's blissful seat: Though present loss may be the hero's part, Yet none can rob him of the victor heart Whereby the broad-realmed future is subdued, And Wrong, which now insults from triumph's car, Sending her vulture hope to raven far, Is made unwilling tributary of Good. O Mother State, how quenched thy Sinai fires! Is there none left of thy stanch Mayflower breed? No spark among the ashes of thy sires, Of Virtue's altar-flame the kindling TO W. L. GARRISON. "Some time afterward, it was reported to me by the city officers that they had ferreted out the paper and its editor; that his office was an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his supporters a few very insignificant persons of all colors."-Letter of H. G. Otis. In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young man ; The place was dark, unfurnitured, and mean: Yet there the freedom of a race began. Help came but slowly; surely no man yet Put lever to the heavy world with less : He knew how What need of help? types were set, He had a dauntless spirit, and a press. Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, The compact nucleus, round which systems grow ! Mass after mass becomes inspired therewith, And whirls impregnate with the central glow. O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born In the rude stable, in the manger nursed ! What humble hands unbar those gates of morn Through which the splendors of the What! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell, Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her frown? Brave Luther answered YES; that thunder's swell Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple crown. Whatever can be known of earth we know, Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells curled; ; The hand of God sows not in vain Long sleeps the darkling seed below, The seasons come, and change, and go, And all the fields are deep with grain. Although our brother lie asleep, Man's heart still struggles, still aspires; His grave shall quiver yet, while deep Through the brave Bay State's pulses leap Her ancient energies and fires. When hours like this the senses' gush Have stilled, and left the spirit room, It hears amid the eternal hush The swooping pinions' dreadful rush, "That bring the vengeance and the doom; Not man's brute vengeance, such as rends What rivets man to man apart,God doth not so bring round his ends, But waits the ripened time, and sends His mercy to the oppressor's heart. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF DR. CHANNING. I Do not come to weep above thy pall, And mourn the dying-out of noble powers; The prodigal soul from want and sorrow home, And Eden ope her gates to Adam's seed. Farewell! good man, good angel now! this hand Soon, like thine own, shall lose its cunning too; Soon shall this soul, like thine, bewildered stand, Then leap to thread the free, unfathomed blue: When that day comes, O, may this hand grow cold, Busy, like thine, for Freedom and the Right; O, may this soul, like thine, be ever bold To face dark Slavery's encroaching blight! This laurel-leaf I cast upon thy bier; Let worthier hands than these thy wreath intwine; Upon thy hearse I shed no useless tear, For us weep rather thou in calm divine ! |