Was mated with a dragon's tooth
Whence there sprang up an armëd man.
I shouted, but he could not hear;
Made signs, but these he could not see ;
And still, without a doubt or fear,
Broadcast he scattered anarchy.
Long to my straining ears the blast
Brought faintly back the words he

sung: I sow again the holy Past, The happy days when I was young."

SISTERS two, all praise to you,
With your faces pinched and blue ;
To the poor man you've been true

From of old :
You can speak the keenest word,
You are sure of being heard,
From the point you 're never stirred,

Hunger and Cold !
Let sleek statesmen temporize;
Palsied are their shifts and lies
When they meet your bloodshot eyes,

Grim and bold;
Policy you set at naught,
In their traps you 'll not be caught,
You're too honest to be bought,

Hunger and Cold !
Bolt and bar the palace door ;
While the mass of men are poor,
Naked truth grows more and more

Uncontrolled ;
You had never yet,


guess, Any praise for bashfulness, You can visit sans court-dress,

Hunger and Cold !
While the music fell and rose,
And the dance reeled to its close,
Where her round of costly woes

Fashion strolled,
I beheld with shuddering fear
Wolves' eyes through the windows peer;
Little dream they

you are near, Hunger and Cold !

When the toiler's heart you clutch,
Conscience is not valued much,
He recks not a bloody smutch

On his gold:
Everything to you defers,
You are potent reasoners,
At your whisper Treason stirs,

Hunger and Cold !
Rude comparisons you draw,
Words refuse to sate your maw,
Your gaunt limbs the cobweb law

Cannot hold:
You 're not clogged with foolish pride,
But can seize a right denied :
Somehow God is on your side,

Hunger and Cold !
You respect no hoary wrong,
More for having triumphed long ;
Its past victims, haggard throng,

From the mould
You unbury: swords and spears
Weaker are than poor men's tears,
Weaker than your silent years,

Hunger and Cold !
Let them guard both hall and bower:
Through the window you will glower,
Patient till your reckoning hour

Shall be tolled:
Cheeks are pale, but hands are red,
Guiltless blood may chance be shed,
But ye must and will be fed,

Hunger and Cold!
God has plans man must not spoil,
Some were made to starve and toil,
Some to share the wine and oil,

We are told :
Devil's theories are these,
Stifling hope and love and peace,
Framed your hideous lusts to please,

Hunger and Cold ! Scatter ashes on thy head, Tears of burning sorrow shed, Earth! and be by Pity led

To Love's fold; Ere they block the very door With lean corpses of the poor, And will hush for naught but gore,

Hunger and Coldi 1844.


Like a cloud o'er the lowlands thou

lowerest, That hangs poised on a lull in the


To its fall leaning awful. In the storm, like a prophet o'ermad

dened, Thou singest and tossest thy branch

es; Thy heart with the terror is gladdened. Thou forebodest the dread avalanci

es, When whole mountains swoop


What boot your houses and your lands? In spite of close-drawn deed and

fence, Like water, 'twixt your cheated hands, They slip into the graveyard's sands

And mock your ownership’s pretence. How shall you speak to urge your right, Choked with that soil for which you

lust? The bit of clay, for whose delight You grasp, is mortgaged, too; Death

might Foreclose this very day in dust. Fence as you please, this plain poor

man, Whose only fields are in his wit, Who shapes the world, as best he can, According to God's higher plan,

Owns you, and fences as is fit. Though yours the rents, his incomes

By right of eminent domain ; From factory tall to woodman's axe, All things on earth must pay their tax,

To feed his hungry heart and brain. He takes you from your easy-chair,

And what he plans that you must do ; You sleep in down, eat dainty fare, He mounts his crazy garret-stair

And starves, the landlord over you. Feeding the clods yqur idlesse drains,

You make more green six feet of soil ; His fruitful word, like suns and rains, Partakes the seasons' bounteous pains,

And toils to lighten human toil. Your lands, with force or cunning got,

Shrink to the measure of the grave; But Death himself abridges not The tenures of almighty thought,

The titles of the wise and brave.


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The wild storm makes his lair in thy

branches, Preying thence on the continent un

der ; Like a lion, crouched close on his

haunches, There awaiteth his leap the fierce

thunder, Growling low with impatience.

Far up on Katahdin thou towerest, Purple-blue with the distance and


Spire of winter, thou keep'st thy green

glory, Lusty father of Titans past number! The snow-flakes alone make thee hoary, Nestling close to thy branches in


And thee mantling with silence. Thou alone know'st the splendor of

winter, 'Mid thy snow-silvered, hushed pre

cipices, Hearing crags of geen ice groan and

splinter, And then plunge down the muffled


In the quiet of midnight. ? 'hou alone know'st the glory of sumGazing down on thy broad seas of

forest, l on thy subjects that send a proud murUp to thee, to their sachem, who

towerest From thy bleak throne to heaven.



How far are ye from the innocent, from

those Whose hearts are as a little lane

serene, Smooth-heaped from wall to wall with

unbroke snows, Or in the summer blithe with lamb

cropped green, Save the one track, where naught

more rude is seen

Than the plump wain at even Bringing home four months' sunshine

bound in sheaves ! How far are ye from those ! yet who


That ye can shut out heaven? Your souls partake its influence, not

in vain Nor all unconscious, as that silent lane Its drift of noiseless apple-blooms re

ceives. Looking within myself, I note how thin A plank of station, chance, or pros

perous fate, Doth fence me from the clutching

waves of sin ; In my own heart I find the worst

man's mate, And see not dimly the smooth-hingëd


That opes to those abysses Where ye grope darkly, — ye who never

knew On your young hearts love's consecrat

Or felt a mother's kisses, Or home's restraining tendrils round

you curled; Ah, side by side with heart's-ease in

this world The fatal nightshade grows and bitter

rue ! One band ye cannot break, - the force

that clips And grasps your circles to the central

light; Yours is the prodigal comet's long el

lipse, Self-exiled to the farthest verge of

night; Yet strives with you no less that

inward might
No sin hath e'er imbruted



ing dew,

O, WANDERING dim on the extremest

edge Of God's bright providence, whose

spirits sigh Drearily in you, like the winter sedge That shivers o'er the dead pool stiff

and dry, A thin, sad voice, when the bold wind

roars by

From the clear North of Duty, Still by cracked arch and broken shaft

I trace That here was once a shrine and holy


of the supernal Beauty, A child's play-altar reared of stones

and moss, With wilted flowers for offering laid

across, Muterecognition of the all-ruling Grace.

The god in you the creed-dimmed eye

eludes ; The Law brooks not to have its solitudes

By bigot feet polluted :Yet they who watch your God-com

pelled return May see your happy perihelion burn Where the calm sun his unfledged

planets broods.


WONDROUS and awful are thy silent


O kingdom of the past ! There lie the bygone ages in their palls,

Guarded by shadows vast, There all is hushed and breathless, Save when some image of old error falls

Earth worshipped once as deathless. There sits drear Egypt, 'mid beleaguer

ing sands,

Half woman and half beast, The burnt-out torch within her moul

dering hands That once lit all the East; A dotard bleared and hoary, There Asser crouches o'er the black

ened brands Of Asia's long-quenched glory. Still as a city buried 'neath the sea

Thy courts and temples stand ; Idle as forms on wind-waved tapestry

Of saints and heroes grand, Thy phantasms grope and shiver, Or watch the loose shores crumbling

silently Into Time's gnawing river. Titanic shapes with faces blank and dun, Of their old godhe

lorn, Gaze on the embers of the sunken sun,

Which they misdeem for morn;

yet the eternal sorrow In their unmonarched eyes says day is

done Without the hope of morrow. O realm of silence and of swart eclipse,

The shapes that haunt thy gloom

Make signs to us and move thy with

ered lips Across the gulf of doom; Yet all their sound and motion Bring no more freight to us than wraiths

of ships On the mirage's ocean. And if sometimes a moaning wandereth

From out thy desolate halls, If some grim shadow of thy living death

Across thy sunshine falls And scares the world to error, The eternal life sends forth melodious

breath To chase the misty terror. Thy mighty clamors, wars, and world

noised deeds

Are silent now in dust, Gone like a tremble of the huddling

reeds Beneath some sudden gust; Thy forms and creeds have vanisl.ed, Tossed out to wither like unsightly

weeds From the world's garden banished. Whatever of true life there was in theo

Leaps in our age's veins ; Wield still thy bent and wrinkled em

pery, And shake thine idle chains; To thee thy dross is clinging, For us thy martyrs die, thy prophets see

Thy poets still are singing. Here, 'mid the bleak waves of our strife

and care,

Float the green Fortunate Isles Where all thy hero-spirits dwell, and

share Our martyrdoms and toils; The present moves attended With all of brave and excellent and fair

That made the old time splendid.



O Land of Promise ! from what Pid

gah's height Can I behold thy stretch of reaceful


What promises hast thou for Poets'

eyes, Aweary of the turmoil and the wrong! To all their hopes what overjoyed re.

plies ! What undreamed ecstasies for bliss.

ful song! Thy happy plains no war-trump's brawl

ing clangor Disturbs, and fools the poor to hate The humble glares not on the high with

anger ; Love leaves no grudge at less, no

greed for more ; In vain strives Self the godlike sense to

smother ;
From the soul's deeps

It throbs and leaps ;
The noble 'neath foul rags beholds his

long-lost brother.

the poor;

Thy golden harvests flowing out of sight, Thy nestled homes and sun-illumined

towers ? Gazing upon the sunset's high-heaped

gold, Its crags of opal and of chrysolite, Its deeps on deeps of glory, that un

Still brightening abysses,

And blazing precipices,
Whence but a scanty leap it seems to


Sometimes a glimpse is given Of thy more gorgeous realm, thy more

unstinted blisses. O Land of Quiet! to thy shore the surf Of the perturbed Present rolls and

sleeps; Our storms breathe soft as June upon

thy turf And lure out blossoms ; to thy bosom

leaps, As to a mother's, the o'erwearied heart, Hearing far off and dim the toiling

mart, The hurrying feet, the curses without

number, And, circled with the glow Elysian

Of thine exulting vision, Out of its very cares woos charms for

peace and slumber. To thee the earth lifts up her fettered

hands And cries for vengeance ; with a pity

ing smile Thou blessest her, and she forgets her

bands, And her old woe-worn face a little

while Grows young and noble ; unto thee the

Looks, and is dumb with awe;

The eternal law,
Which makes the crime its own blind-

fold redresser, Shadows his heart with perilous fore

boding, And he can see the grim-eyed


From out the trembling gloom Its silent-footed steeds towards his pal

ace goading.

To thee the Martyr looketh, and his

fires Unlock their fangs and leave his spirit

free; To thee the Poet 'mid his toil aspires, And grief and hunger climb about his

knee, Welcome as children ; thou upholdest The lone Inventor by his demon

haunted; The Prophet cries to thee when hearts

are coldest, And gazing o'er the midnight's

bleak abyss, Sees the drowsed soul awaken at

thy kiss, And stretch its happy arms and leap up


Thou bringest vengeance, but so lov.

ing-kindly The guilty thinks it pity; taught by

thee, Fierce tyrants drop the scourges where

with blindly Their own souls they were scarring;

conquerors see With horror in their hands the accursed

spear That tore the meek One's side on


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