Peace. SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave, Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd if Peace were there: A hollow sound did seem to answer, "No! I did, and going, did a rainbow note. "Surely," thought I, "This is the lace of Peace's coat; 66 66 I will search out the matter." But, while I look'd, the clouds immediately Then went I to a garden, and did spy The Crown-Imperial: "Sure," said I, "Peace at the root must dwell." But, when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour At length, I met a reverend, good old man; I did demand, he thus began: 66 There was a prince of old In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes: But, after death, out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat, Which many, wondering at, got some of those, 'It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtue lies therein, A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, 66 Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you: Make bread of it; and that repose And peace, which every where With so much earnestness you do pursue. You'll find, is there.' George Herbert. The Cross in the Wilderness. SILENT and mournful sat an Indian chief, His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with grief, For a pale Cross above its greensward rose, There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild, And he, too, paused in reverence by that grave, Between the forest and the lake's bright wave; And the grey chieftain, slowly rising, said- "Ask'st thou of him, whose house is lone beneath? When o'er the seas he came with summer's breath Not with the hunter's bow and spear he came, Laying their cedars, like the corn-stalks, low; But to spread tidings of all holy things, Gladdening our souls as with the morning's wings. "Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met, 64 " I and my brethren that from earth are gone, Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone? He told of One, the grave's dark bands who broke, And our hearts burn'd within us as he spoke! He told of far and sunny lands, which lie Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell: Bright must they be! for there are none that die, And none that weep, and none that say Farewell! He came to guide us thither;-but away The happy call'd him, and he might not stay. We saw him slowly fade-athirst, perchance, And on his gleaming hair no touch of time: We gather'd round him in the dewy hour Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree: From his clear voice at first the words of power Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; But swell'd, and shook the wilderness ere long, As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong. 'And then once more they trembled on his tongue, And his white eyelids flutter'd, and his head Fell back, and mists upon his forehead hungKnow'st thou not how we pass to join the dead? It is enough! he sank upon my breast,Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest! "We buried him where he was wont to pray, By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide; Now hath he surely reach'd, o'er mount and wave, That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave! "But I am sad-I mourn the clear light taken Back from my people, o'er whose place it shone, The pathway to the better shore forsaken, And the true words forgotten, save by one, Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast." "Then spoke the wanderer forth, with kindling eye: Son of the wilderness! despair thou not, Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by, "Hope on, hope ever!-by the sudden springing Of green leaves, which the winter hid so long; "Deem not the words of light, that here were spoken, But as a lively song, to leave no trace! Yet shall the gloom, which wraps thy hills, be broken Mrs. Hemans. 325 BLANK VERSE. Satan to Beelzebub. IF thou beest he-but oh, how fallen! how changed In equal ruin: into what pit thou seest, From what height fallen; so much the stronger proved Can else inflict, do I repent, or change Though changed in outward lustre that fix'd mind, That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring, In dubious battle on the plains of heaven, And shook his throne! What though the field be lost? |