good and patriotic reasons for what they did; when the heart of Massachusetts came back to him full of the old love and confidence, assuring him that he would again be her chosen son for her representative seat in the House of States; when the lawgivers of the old Commonwealth, obeying an irresistible impulse of justice, wiped away from the records of the Legislature, and from the fair name of the State, that resolution of censure which had stung him so deeply; and when returning vigor lifted him up, and a new sunburst of hope illumined his life! How thankful we all are that he lived that one year longer! And yet, have you thought of it? if he had died in those dark days, when so many clouds hung over him, would not then the much-villified man have been the same Charles Sumner, whose death but one year later afflicted millions of hearts with a pang of bereavement, whose praise is now on every lip for the purity of his life, for his fidelity to great principles, and for the loftiness of his patriotism? Was he not a year ago the same, - the same in purpose, the same in principle, the same in character? What had he done then that so many who praise him to-day should have then disowned him? See what he had done. He had simply been true to his convictions of duty. He had approved and urged what he thought right; he had attacked and opposed what he thought wrong. To his convictions of duty he had sacrificed political associations most dear to him, the security of his position of which he was proud. For his convictions of duty he had stood up against those more powerful than he; he had exposed himself to reproach, obloquy, and persecution. Had he not done so, he would not have been the man you praise today; and yet for doing so he was cried down but yesterday. He had lived up to the great word he spoke when he entered the Senate, - "The slave of principle, I call no party master." That declaration was greeted with applause; and when, true to his word, he refused to call a party master, the act was covered with reproach. CARL SCHURZ. ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. "MOVE my arm-chair, faithful Pompey, "Mournful though the ripples murmur, I shall listen to their music, Dreaming that again I see Stars and Stripes on sloop and shallop, "And, Pompey, while old Massa's waiting For Death's last despatch to come, If that exiled starry banner Should come proudly sailing home, You shall greet it, slave no longer, Voice and hand shall both be free, That shout and point to Union colors, On the waves of Tennessee.” "Massa's berry kind to Pompey ; No one tends her grave like me; "'Pears like she was watching, Massa, If Pompey should beside him stay; Mebbe she'd remember better How for him she used to pray ; Telling him that way up yonder White as snow his soul would be, If he served the Lord of heaven While he lived in Tennessee." Silently the tears were rolling Down the poor old dusky face, Where he fought by Marion's side, Still the south wind fondly lingers Thus he watches cloud-born shadows Softly creeping, aye and ever, To the river's yielding breast. Ha! above the foliage yonder The flag's come back to Tennessee!' "Pompey, hold me on your shoulder, As they pass my cabin door. Here's the paper signed that frees you; Then the trembling voice grew fainter, And the limbs refused to stand; One prayer to Jesus and the soldier Glided to that better land. When the flag went down the river, While the ring-dove's note was mingled E. S. BEERS. PRESS ON. PRESS ON; there's no such word as fail; Serenely o'er life's shadowed scene. Press on! surmount the rocky steeps, He wins who dares the hero's march. Tramp on eternal snows its way, And through the ebon walls of night, Hew down a passage unto day. Press on! if once, and twice thy feet Press on if fortune play thee false Makes up for follies past and gone; Press on what though upon the ground That happiness is always found The sweetest that is born of pain. |