Part 6

Bear on the Hero to his resting place, The tomb of honour that his deeds have won; His glorious obsequies the nations grace, And million hearts are beating now as one. Hark! to the trumpets’ sound! Hark! to the muffled drum! The dead-march pealing its deep notes around Proclaims—his ashes come! High on a trophied car, Beneath a gorgeous canopy, Behold the coffin borne; And glittering bright afar, His mighty sword of victory, Reminds how deep we mourn! No more that dauntless hand and heart Will wield its lightning-blade; No more that warrior’s thunder-voice Will marshall hosts arrayed, In Battle’s iron panoply, To fight for freedom and the free! Age was upon his brow, The glory of white hairs; ’Twas for our fathers that he fought, And to the lasting peace he bought We long have been the heirs! We were but children when His mightier deeds were done; The rising greatness of his name, His Indian glory, Spanish fame, Through mists of time, so distant gleam, They seem of th’ ages gone! Yet will those deeds survive— The glorious combats of Assaye, Of Badajos, Vittoria, And more as bright, in long array, By Fame he kept alive. But that, the greatest and the best, Which bade mankind with peace be blest. As in the earth’s young prime— The crown of all, great Waterloo— A sound to make the heart rejoice, Shall with a mighty prophet-voice Go sweeping on through time!— The warrior sheathed his sword, But loved his country still, And sought by statesman-skill, Diplomacy and counsel sage, To aid her in a peaceful age, And with determined will A patriots love fulfil. Oh hear him lift his voice, War’s horrors to proclaim, And speak the words of peace! A man denouncing war That gave him gorgeous fame? Ye Kings and Emperors hear! Then bid your jarrings cease, And learn how greater far To bind your aweful brows With olive crown of peace, Than the laurel wreath of war! Oh, world! this lesson learn, Let this holier truth prevail, Till amidst each teeming vale, And along each fertile plain, The accursed sound of war Shall be never heard again!— But the cavalcade comes on, The great hero on his car, With the trumpet and the muffled drum, And the death-march pealing far. Where shall we find a grave For this king of warrior-men; Where, amidst the great and brave Of the land, he fought to save, His mighty dust may mingle, With its kindred dust again? In the Nation’s greatest temple, Beneath her highest dome, Let the hero, sage, and statesman There find a fitting tomb. Let the warrior of the earth, And the warrior of the sea, Slumber calmly side by side, ’Neath that gorgeous canopy. Let Wellington and Nelson, Unite and mingle dust, As in Britain’s glorious story Their bright fames for ever must. In death they lie together— Yea bone to bone is nigh! Oh have their glorious spirits met In the living world on high? For there each noble feeling, That fills our earthly hearts From fetters free, more full in strength To higher being starts. May not the hero-sages, Who’ve loved their native land, E’en to the death, in yon bright realm, Compose one radiant band. We dare not limit Mercy— Truth’s power to purify— Nor judge the heart—which none can know But the Omnipresent eye.— Oh have their mighty spirits met In the living world on high?— Hark! in solemn music stealing Through the sable-curtained pile, Loudly swells the mournful anthem Down each broad-arched, columned aisle. ’Tis a requiem for the dead, To his dark tomb onward lead, Whilst a nation bows the head With a heart-consuming sorrow, That no forms of grief need borrow, Bending o’er the sacred bier, There heaving forth the sigh, and there letting fall the tear. Amid an aweful silence The priestly voice hath said, Now “Ashes unto ashes, And dust to kindred dust,” Whilst on the coffin dashes, With dull sound, the crumbled mould, But strikes the heart more strongly Than if a knell had tolled. Then prayers and hymns and anthems Again from thousands rise, Loud sounding through that mighty dome And seem to pierce the skies! Farewell, then, noble Hero, The last tribute we can pay Above thy once commanding form, We’ve offered thee this day, The witness of a nation’s love, Esteem for thy desert, And promise to remember thee All uttered from the heart. We ne’er shall see this noble dome, Ascend gigantic to the clouds, But deem it as the monument Of that great hero it enshrouds. Our thoughts will often on thy virtues dwell, Thy dauntless courage, and puissant arm. We will thy glories to our children tell, And they to theirs, to bind them as a charm To love the bold, the noble, and the free, And every virtue bright, the world was taught by thee!

Sonnet to Harriet Beecher Stowe.

O Lady! heiress to a living fame, Most loving, pious, pure, and true of heart, Whose mighty pen hath made the whole world start Aghast and wond’ring that the blighting shame Of slavery should blot the earth; and claim Her advocates in men, who to the mart Drag on their fellows, groning ’neath the smart Of blasted hopes, divided loves, and aim Their manhood to crush out, and bow them down Like soul-less brutes by torture and the lash! Oh! noble is thine end! and may God crown The work with rich success, and swiftly dash Such yokes in twain, till men shout “Victory! A Jubilee on earth! all slaves are free!”

Night Musings.

The sun’s keen rays are hidden by the hills, But golden glories flame along the sky, Shooting their radiance to the lofty crown Of heaven’s bright vault. Unnumbered floating clouds Skirt the horizon, and their crimson folds Burn like a furnace in the glowing light, Yet softly, gently; no fierce earthly fire Is passing on them, but they calmly rest As in the warmth and lustre of some sphere By spirits tenanted; and gazing deep Through yon refulgent vistas of the west, The heart is ’wakened to immortal thoughts Of higher beings, or of purer worlds; To contemplations fitted to receive The starry lessons of the coming night. More soft and pure, more varied and serene, The rainbow hues of fading twilight grow. Above the summit of yon mountain peak, The glittering star of evening sparkles fair With gem-like radiance. O’er the darkening earth The warm mists hover, and on buds and bells Distil their fragrant life-inspiring dews. Sweet flowers send forth their incense of perfume, And fill the air with odour, breathing round

A rich refreshment, grateful to the heart. Deep shadows spread, as if from heaven’s high arch, Night, like a purple curtain, slowly fell, Enfringed with gold, and richly ’broidered o’er With sparkling gems, all scintillating bright. The purple deepens, and one star-filled dome, Circles with lustre all the earth around So calm and peaceful, so serenely fair, That earth’s wild passions at the glorious sight Seem awed into repose; and man, brought forth Amid a solitude sublime, to muse With elevated thoughts, and higher aims, Infused from heaven, and kindled by the glance Of those far orbs, so lucid soft and clear, Till all his soul in humble worship melts, And holy reverence before the high, Majestic presence of the starry worlds. Ye gleaming lights, how beautiful ye shine, Filling the night with loveliness. Not one, Of all your myriads, but reveals a tale Of ages so remote and vast, they seem As an eternity to short-lived man. Thus calmly shone ye when the formless deep Heaved with the birth-throes of this present world, And mountain summits forced their jagged heads Through the dark surges of the boiling main. Slow spread the continents beneath your light In fearful desolation. Turbid flowed

The new-born rivers through the wilderness, Herbless and treeless their wild, dreary banks. But soon the life-touch of Creative breath Passed o’er this desert, and it swiftly bloomed, In verdant beauty. Herb and fruit and flower Mingled their loveliness beneath the shade Of trees umbrageous. The wide waters teemed With pregnant life, the groves were filled with song, And hill and valley echoed to the cry Of new-formed creatures sporting in delight. When earth was fitted to receive her guest, After long ages of successive change And wondrous preparation, man appeared, Creation’s crown, the culminating point Where finite and where infinite unite; Where thought could dwell, and with sublime ascent, Rise from all creatures to their Living Cause. How fearful and how wonderful is mind! A mystic mirror, fitted to reflect The universe with all its varied forms, In pure unsullied beauty; thence to pierce Through the rich vision, and the fair array, And deeply search each hidden spring and cause Till, link by link, the golden chain is found That binds creation to the Throne of Power. How full of wonder man’s first ardent gaze Around the earth, in daylight beauty bright; But higher wonder must have stirred his soul—

More deep religious awe—when first the night Revealed the glories of her ebon shade, With thousand lamps attendant. Soon his mind Would strive to learn the mystery immense Of all their fair array. “Are ye mere lights Amid the azure canopy of heaven, In order marshalled, to redeem the night From utter desolation? Oh! ye move In wondrous sequence, and keep up a march O’er the same pathway that the sun hath trod. How godlike is your aspect, ye must rule The destinies of man. Your varied fires Control the life within him and around, And make the kingdoms of the earth your own.” Thus, in the infancy of mind, the stars, Bright realms of light, by erring thought, were made To shed a darkness on the human soul, And bind its free-born energies. But now, When thought, through centuries its march sublime Hath onward held, and Science hath enlarged Her bounds as ocean: to man’s questionings The heavens unfold their secrets, and send down Their revelations to astound his soul. Her magic tube Astronomy hath held With power aloft, and pierced the hidden depths, Then turned to earth again, and told the tale, The mighty tale, most wonderful yet true— That yon bright specks are gorgeous worlds and suns, In countless millions, far apart and spread Throughout immensity, in ordered clans, Harmonious systems, moving swiftly on With power past utt’rance, through the aweful, vast, Infinitude of space, and had their birth Or first commenced their race sublime amid Such deep profundity of ancient Time It seems Eternity. Ye mighty worlds, Like them of old, still would I fondly think That on your orbs man’s destiny is writ In brighter, fairer characters than e’er Chaldean sage decyphered. Tell ye not The greatness of that essence that can link Itself by thought with ye? And are ye not The cradles of his being, the primal worlds Where his immortal destiny begins, From whence ascending, into higher spheres, His growing spirit may at length find rest In spiritual realms? Your numbers tell Of “numbers numberless” of finite minds, Created likenesses of God most High, In whose full myriads he may image forth His own infinity, and fill their souls With heavenly goodness, wisdom high and pure, That thus receiving from the fount of Life The living stream, their natures may become Divine, angelical, prepared to form A still increasing universe of bliss.

Oh thought ennobling, destiny sublime! Happy the man who marks the canons writ On his own being, on the sacred page Of revelation, and the ordered frame Of this fair world, and with an effort firm And persevering, strives to win the prize! How grand the lessons of creation’s book, How mighty every page, when read aright, To teach humility to man, and fill His breast with sacred confidence and love And holy fear. Then, bow ye, and adore, The infinite of Love whence all things are, The infinite of Truth that gave them frame, The infinite of Power wherein they dwell, The one Creating and Redeeming God!

The Sailor’s Bride.

The stars they shone keen in the deep blue sky, And the moonlight softly slept O’er the frozen earth, and the pale cold snow That chirped as the traveller stept.

Poor Mary sat chilled by her lonely fire, Her babe in its cradle lay, As she watched its slumbers with cheerless breast, On the eve of Christmas day.

“Thy father is yet on the wide, wide sea,”— Her mournful heart thus sung,— “I hoped he’d have been in our home, baby, Ere the Christmas bells had rung.

“This time, so full of affection’s delights, Of pure and innocent mirth, Is lonely and sad, since he is not here To joy with me o’er thy birth.

“When last he sailed forth, all the bright green buds Just peeped on the branches bare; And thou, my child, like the beautiful flowers, Hadst breathed not the spring’s sweet air.

“Since then, fearful storms have darkened the sky, And tempests disturbed the main, And the sprightly glance of his loving eye I ne’er may behold again!

“He never has looked on thy cherub form, Or seen thy soft curling hair; Or watched the quick smile, on thy rosy cheek, Like a bright wave rippling there.

“To place thee, with joy, in thy father’s arms, How my ardent soul doth yearn; But still disappointed, each anxious day, In solitude drear I mourn.

“But hark! do I dream? or a sharp quick step Approaches our cottage door? A well-known hand, lifts the opening latch,— I clasp thee, my husband, once more!”

She’s pressed to the heart, of her sailor bold, Their child in his arms he rears; The sound of his kiss on its pure soft cheek, Like a spell dispersed her tears!

The gloom from that dwelling hath passed away; The hearth hath a glow more bright; And the glorious sun next morning shone For them with a richer light.

They love the sweet sounds from yon grey church tower, Recalling their bridal day; And thither they wend, with most grateful hearts, Their tribute of thanks to pay.

Then in their own home, with its glowing fire, And neighbours and friends around, That loving pair hark with intense delight To the Christmas bells’ glad sound.

Birth of the First-Born.

Beloved Eva! fain would I impart The fervent feelings of a poet’s heart, And in sweet-numbered melody make known How glad I hail thee, and thy first-born son! Thou art a mother! and thou now wilt share All the rich pleasures of a mother’s care; Wilt clasp thine infant to thy raptured breast, And know on earth the feelings of the blest. How kindly has the Author of our frame Lit in our souls affection’s holy flame; Bound heart to heart by kindred’s golden ties, Fond links of love, delightful sympathies, Whence deeper, richer, purer pleasures flow Than all but those celestial joys bestow. Of all deep chords within the human breast One sounds with harmonies beyond the rest, In sweeter music, more ecstatic tone, And dwells in woman’s gentle heart alone. Then first its thrilling melody was heard, Surpassing Eden’s most enchanting bird, When loving Eve, with silent rapture smiled, On smiles returned her by her infant child. Since that sweet hour what myriad hearts have glowed With like soft gladness, and what eyes have flowed With sparkling tears, that were by joy distilled, From minds maternal happiness hath filled. Such be thine ecstacy, such be thy joy, Thy tender pleasure o’er thine infant boy; Be it thy rich felicity to prove The deepest raptures of maternal love. ’Tis sweet to cultivate some simple flower, And watch its form expanding every hour, From the green bud that swells upon the spray Till full-blown petals meet the sunny ray, Unfold bright tints, disclose surpassing bloom, And shed around their delicate perfume. But higher, nobler is the task assigned To tend the first unfoldings of the mind, And cultivate the young expanding heart, The task which falls to every mother’s part. Such sacred duty thou canst well fulfil, Wake softest feeling, richest truth instil, Raise latent thought, and evil’s growth arrest Within thine infant’s slowly opening breast; And as a flower erects its head on high To meet the bright refulgence of the sky, And gain refreshment from the dewy morn, That fairer beauties may its form adorn, So wilt thou teach, unceasingly, thy child With gentle precept and instruction mild, To look to heaven, fix its affections there, And raise the incense of aspiring prayer. From thy kind hand I know he will receive All that a mother’s tenderness can give, A ready help preventing every need, The fond intention, and the kindly deed; The watchful eye, the prompt protection share, And constant efforts of unwearied care. Thus taught by thee, to manhood may he rise, Through childhood’s innocent and simple guise; Through virtuous youth, improving year by year, In all perfections which the heart endear; Till strong in truth, of every good possessed, A generous spirit and a candid breast, A soul enlarged, a great and noble mind; With feelings fervent, delicate, refined, And that unspotted purity of heart Which Heavenly blessing can alone impart, He shall thy cares abundantly repay, A constant solace to thy latest day: Yielding rich happiness, like grateful soil Returning harvest for the tillers toil, Fruitful and rich, inviting to his hand, In golden ripeness teeming o’er the land.

Lines to a Great Philanthropist.