Part 7

We leave all behind, That a warm heart can bind, In home, love, and friendship endearing; While hope flies before, For a far, foreign shore, As the hand at the rudder is steering.

And well do we know The proud waters below, That hence are by us to be ridden; 'Mid the corals and caves There are mariners' graves, Dark wrecks, and lost treasures deep hidden.

Yet, before our frail bark, Be the way light or dark, Our Sun, and the Star that we follow, Is He, who unbinds Or enchains the strong winds; Whose hand holds the seas in its hollow.

If o'er the bright skies The wild storm-spirit rise, And spread his black wings full of thunder, Our canvass we 'll reef, Or heave-to for relief, And safely his pinions pass under.

And so, 'mid the strife On the flood-waves of life, To Heaven in our ark lowly bending For help would we cry, Till the dove, from on high, Appears with the peace-branch descending.

Thus, we've friend, love, and home, Wheresoe'er we may roam The wide seas, from pole to equator-- We 've a light, and high-tower, In the name and the power Of him, who is ocean's Creator.

THE SEA-EAGLE'S FALL.

An Eagle, on his towering wing, Hung o'er the summer sea; And ne'er did airy, feathered king Look prouder there than he.

He spied the finny tribes below, Amid the limpid brine; And felt it now was time to know Whereon he was to dine.

He saw a noble, shining fish So near the surface swim, He felt at once a hungry wish To make a feast of him.

Then straight he took his downward course; A sudden plunge he gave; And pouncing, seized, with murderous force, His tempter in the wave.

He struck his talons firm and deep, Within the slippery prize, In hope his ruffian grasp to keep; And high and dry to rise.

But ah! it was a fatal stoop, As ever monarch made; And, for that rash--that cruel swoop, He soon most dearly paid!

The fish had too much gravity To yield to this attack. His feet the eagle could not free From off the scaly back.

He 'd seized on one too strong and great; His mastery now was gone! And on, by that prepondering weight, And downward, he was drawn.

Nor found he here the element Where he could move with grace; And flap, and dash, his pinions went, In ocean's wrinkled face.

They could not bring his talons out, His forfeit life to save; And planted thus, he writhed about Upon his gaping grave.

He raised his head, and gave a shriek, To bid adieu to light: The water bubbled in his beak-- He sank from human sight!

The children of the sea came round, The foreigner to view. To see an airy monarch drowned, To them was something new!

Some gave a quick, astonished look, And darted swift away; While some his parting plumage shook, And nibbled him for prey.

O! who that saw that bird at noon So high and proudly soar, Could think how awkwardly--how soon, He 'd fall to rise no more?

Though glory, majesty, and pride Were his an hour ago, Deprived of all, that eagle died, For stooping once too low!

Now, have you ever known or heard Of biped, from his sphere Descending, like that silly bird, To buy a fish so dear?

THE CAGED LION.

Lion, like a captive king, Sad behind thy prison grate, Monarch, how I long to bring Back to thee thy lost estate!

Where thy royal kindred live-- Where thy native sky is warm, Sufferer, how I long to give Freedom to that noble form!

Gladly would I know thee there, Bounding over Afric's plain, Wildly, with the desert air Wafting wide thy flowing mane.

Are there words that can describe What thou wast, at liberty, When "The Lion of the tribe Of Judah" names his type in thee?

Here, beneath thy keeper's hand, Where the blasts of winter freeze, Think'st thou of that palmy land, Thy mild country o'er the seas?

Seen but through thy prison bars, Round thee set so strong and thick, Do not sun, and moon, and stars Make thy cowering spirit sick?

Grace, and majesty, and power Were thy gifts by nature made; Yet, in one unhappy hour, All to lose, wast thou betrayed.

When thou first was snared and caught, Never after to be free, How thy mighty spirit wrought In thee, like a troubled sea!

But thou didst not, couldst not think Of the deep indignity, To which thou then wast doomed to sink-- Of the exile thou must be.

Oh! that quenched and languid eye Tells me of a pining heart: Homesick prisoner, sooner die Than remain the thing thou art.

Liberty to me and mine-- Liberty is life and breath! So no less to thee and thine-- Bonds to both but lingering death.

THE TRAVELLER AT THE RED SEA.

At last have I found thee, thou dark, rolling sea! I gaze on thy face, and I listen to thee, With spirit o'erawed by the sight and the sound, While mountain and desert frown gloomy around.

And thee, mighty deep, from afar I behold, Which God swept apart for his people of old-- That Egypt's proud army, unstained by their blood, Received on thy bed, to entomb in thy flood.

I cast my eye out, where the cohorts went down: A throng of pale spectres, no waters can drown, With banner and blades, seem to rise on the waves, As Pharaoh's bold hosts rushed in arms to their graves.

But quick from the light of the skies they withdraw, At silent Omnipotence shrinking with awe; And each sinks away in his billowy shroud, From him who walked here, clothed in fire and a cloud.

I stand by the pass, the freed Hebrews then trod, Sustained by the hand of Jehovah, dry-shod; And think how the song of salvation, they sang, With praise to his name, through the wilderness rang.

Our Father, who then didst thine Israel guide, Console, and rebuke in their wanderings wide, From these gloomy waters, through this desert drear, O still in life's maze, to thy pilgrim be near!

Let sins, that would hold in their service, or slay The soul, that would break from their bondage away, Forever be drowned in the blood of thy Son, Who o'er sin and death hath the victory won.

Whilst thou, day by day, wilt thy manna bestow, And give, for my thirst, the Rock-fountain to flow, Refreshed by the way, will I speed to the clime Of rest for the weary, beyond earth and time.

THE HEBREW CAPTIVES.

Our altars they razed, and our temples profaned! The blood of our prophets and kindred they drained! And us, from our desolate homes did they bear Afar, the cold chains of the Painim to wear.

And they, who had carried us captive, drew nigh; They looked on our woes with an insolent eye; Our burdens were heavy, our fetters were strong; And then, they required of us mirth and a song!

We hung up our harps on the willows to sleep; By Babylon's rivers we sat down to weep; The song of the Lord, as too holy to sound, We shut in our souls, on that dark heathen ground.

We thought of our Zion, and sent her a sigh By each gentle breeze, that went silently by; But poured not the strains in the proud Painim's ear, That God and his angels will hearken to hear!

FRAGMENTS FROM "ESTHER," A POEM.

The monarch of Persia has wrapped o'er his breast The vesture, whose jewels emblazoned the throne: His lovely young queen, who in sackcloth is dressed, Is far from his presence, and weeping alone.

* * * * *

And who in behalf of her people shall sue For mercy? To whom will the sovereign give ear? 'T is death now to be, in his kingdom, a Jew-- 'T is death in his presence uncalled to appear.

The wife of his bosom that peril will take! The helpless young Jewess, so gentle and fair, To live with her people, or die for their sake, Will go to her lord, and her nation declare.

For little he deems that his idolized bride, The joy of his heart--the delight of his eyes, Is born of that race whom the Persians deride-- A people, his nation oppress and despise.

There 's wine at the palace, and feasting, and mirth; In Esther's still chamber there 's fasting, and prayer; While he with the crown, has the homage of earth, She calls on her God her doomed people to spare.

She thinks of her fathers in Egypt's dark land-- She thinks of the bush, as in Horeb it burned; She knows who the hearts of the kings hath in hand, To turn them, as rivers of water are turned.

To him, for support, and for light to her mind, She sends up the cries of her soul from the dust; Then, rising to go to the king, is resigned To do this and perish, if perish she must.

* * * * *

With fasting and tears she is languid and pale; But o'er her young face beams the sunrise of soul; And flesh, though but feeble, and ready to fail, Is urged to its point by the spirit's control.

The _woman_ within her is timid and faint; The _holy believer_, unawed and serene; She goes to the presence, adorned as a _saint_, With power that has never invested the _queen_.

* * * * *

And now are her people to safety restored-- To peace, and their rights, when resistance had failed: A woman in weakness, who drew on the Lord For strength, o'er the mighty of earth hath prevailed.

Fair Jewess, the tears thou hast dropped in the dust, As pearls, to Jehovah are precious and bright. The hand, that in sorrow has here been thy trust, Will crown thee with joy in the kingdom of light.

GONE IN HER BEAUTY.

O! she is gone! the wintry blasts, that sweep Wild round her mansion, trouble not her sleep: Gone in her beauty! Fast the drifting snows Fall cold, but harmless, o'er her deep repose!

Here, in her circle of its gem bereft, Love hath but tears to fill the place she left. Sigh calls to sigh, from aching bosoms drawn. Void gives to void the mournful echo, "_gone!_"

Spring will return, and bring around her door Sweet opening flowers, their odors there to pour, Striving to win her forth, who planted them, Once more to smile that they adorn the stem.

Yet, must they wait her, till they die away: She was a fairer, lovelier flower than they, Snapped off in blooming! ere a leaf could fade, Cast into darkness! wrapped in silent shade!

O! she is gone; and where shall burdened grief Pour forth her fountains for the soul's relief? Not to the dust to nourish earthly weeds: They yield no balsam while the spirit bleeds!

Not unto death let sorrow's waters flow, But to death's victor may the weeper go! His risen glory, chasing mortal gloom, Shows grief a rainbow, bending o'er the tomb.

THE NUN.

Fair penitent, with rosary, And cross and veil, in gloomy cell, What guilty deed was done by thee, To cause thee here immured to dwell?

Come forward, and present thy cause; That we may clearly judge, and know If violated human laws Imprison and afflict thee so:

Or if it be some secret sin, That haunts thy contrite soul with fears; And here sequesters thee within The place of fasting, gloom, and tears?

Art thou the guiltiest of thy race? Why, thou art human, it is true; Which is alone enough for grace To have renewing work to do.

But, can devotion, warm and deep, Thy duty's bounds so closely set, That faith may plough, and sow, and reap By trials shunned, instead of met?

What ray of truth, revealed, would thus Make of a tender opening soul A close, dark blue convolvulus, And give its bloom this inward roll?

Dost thou the never-fading crown Of life and joy intend to win, By here supinely sitting down, Where others but the race begin?

And dost thou think to gain the palm By hiding from thy Saviour's foes; Or hope in Gilead's sacred balm A cure for self-inflicted woes?

I never saw a Nun before; And therefore claim indulgence now, If I presume to question more Than courtesy might, else, allow:

As one, then, who in darkness pleads, For light, I ask to be informed How, by a string of pegs and beads, A soul is raised, or fed, or warmed.

Tell me, thou sober _cabalist_, What is the potent, hidden charm Hung on that string, or in its twist Contorted, for repelling harm?

And is thy spirit kept so faint, It cannot mount to God above; But here must substitute a saint, In image, for a heavenly love?

Has He, who lived and died for us-- Whose gifts are light and liberty, Left in his Word the _mitimus_ That here confines and fetters thee?

Does He assign a living tomb For souls, endowed with vital grace; Or need surrounding convent gloom, To show the radiance of his face?

And, pensive Nun, now what 's the chart That he has drawn, and left below, That by it every pious heart May follow on the Lord to know?

Far from temptation, in retreat, Did he consume his earthly days? With houseless head, and weary feet, What were his works? and where his ways?

O! get thy spirit's wings unfurled! Hide not thy candle, if 't is lit: Be _in_, but be not _of_ the world, If thou wouldst shine to lighten it.

Come out, and show that face demure; And see, if, smit on either cheek, Thy righteous soul would then endure To turn the other, and be meek.

For, let me tell thee, coy recluse, If we are gold, we must be tried; If stones, we must be hewn for use, Or by the builder cast aside.

The axe and chisel, we must bear, To give us smoothness, shape, and size, Are in the world--the furnace there; For Heaven the gold and silver tries.

If we are salt to salt the earth, Ah, then, our savor, to be known, Must be diffused; for what 's the worth Of salt _en masse_, boxed up alone?

The touchstone, where we must inquire If we have safely hid our life, Is found in pitfall, flood, and fire, Allurements sweet, and bitter strife.

Come out! behold the billowy seas, The flowery earth, and shining skies: Say wherefore God created these; And then, fair Nun, thy beauteous eyes.

Was it for thee to turn and slight The glorious things he spread to view-- To give earth, ocean, air, and light, And freedom, for a dismal mew?

O! if beneath some lawless vow To man, in self-delusion made, An heir of heaven is brought to bow, That vow were better broke than paid.

What binds thee here? or who shall set His name endorsed a pledge for thee, When Christ has died to pay thy debt, And burst the tomb to make thee free?

The world's the great arena, where The fight of faith must well be fought, And each good warrior seen to wear The armor for the victory wrought.

How dost thou know but it may be Thy foe, thy tempter, who has found This cunning way to corner thee, To keep thee from the battle-ground?

Come forth, thou timid, hampered one, And doff that outward, odd disguise, That cumbers thee, if thou wouldst run, Or fight the fight, to win the prize.

Come! from the bushel take thy light, And give its radiance room to play; Bind on thy shoes and armor tight, And up, and to the field away!

TREES FOR THE PILGRIM'S WREATH.

Knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope; and hope maketh not ashamed.

ROMANS v. 3-5.

Tribulation, if by loss, Or by thorny gain, the cross, Thou art not a barren tree; Seeds of Patience drop from thee.

Patience, bitter from thy root Upward, till we reach the fruit, Thou hast golden grains to sow, Whence Experience full shall grow.

Broad Experience, rank and dark; Thick in leaves, and rough in bark; Through thy dubious shade we grope, Till we grasp the bough of Hope.

Hope, we 're not ashamed, with thee Showered by drops from Calvary, When thy branches shoot and bloom Through a Saviour's broken tomb.

Trees, whereof the pilgrim weaves For his crown the mingled leaves, Wreaths of you are rich and bright; Earth 's the shade, and heaven 's the light.

THE MUSHROOM'S SOLILOQUY.

O what, and whence am I, 'mid damps and dust, And darkness, into sudden being thrust? What was I yesterday? and what will be, Perchance, to-morrow, seen or heard of me?

Poor, lone, unfriended, ignorant, forlorn, To bear the new, full glory of the morn, Beneath the garden wall I stand aside, With all before me, beauty, show, and pride.

Ah! why did nature shoot me up to light, A thing unfit for use--unfit for sight; Less like her work, than like a piece of art, Whirled out and trimmed exact in every part?

Unlike the graceful shrub and flexile vine, No fruit, nor branch, nor leaf, nor bud is mine. No humming-bird, nor butterfly, nor bee Will come to cheer, caress or flatter me.

No beauteous flower adorns my humble head, No spicy odors on the air I shed; But here I 'm stationed in my sober suit, With only top and stem--I 've scarce a root.

Untaught of my beginning and my end, I know not whence I sprang, or where I tend; Yet, I will wait and trust, and ne'er presume To question JUSTICE--I, a frail Mushroom!

THE SPIRIT AND THE MOUNTAIN.

Mountain, with thy firm old foot Fast beside the sea, What was in thy keeping put, Prisoned under thee?

"Hark, and hear the shuddering ground! Feel it rock and quake! Struggling fires, beneath me bound, Strive their chains to break."

Mountain, with a cloudy vest Girded o'er thy heart, Does it pierce thine aged breast, When its lightnings dart?

"No:--beneath me far, the crash Of the bolt is felt: Here, the fiery chain and flash But adorn my belt."

Mountain, with a snowy crown Stainless on thy brow, Wilt thou never cast it down-- Never, never bow?

"When the mandate I shall hear From my Maker's throne, I will bow and disappear, Hence to be unknown."

Mountain, holding proud and high Thine old hoary head, What is written on the sky, Thou so long hast read?

"Brighter than the stars and sun Shining over me, I behold the name of ONE Thou must die to see!"

Mountain, bold thine eloquence-- Glowing is thy speech; Mighty import flashes thence; What is it to teach?

"Thoughts of Him, before whose breath I shall melt away; While of thee, soul--spirit, death Ne'er shall quench a ray!"

THE FALL OF THE STATUE.

A SCENE OF THE REVOLUTION.

This declaration [of Independence] was received by the people with transports of joy. Public rejoicings took place in various parts of the Union. In New York, the statue of George III. was taken down; and the lead, of which it was composed, was converted into musket-balls.

GOODRICH'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES.

There stood in New York, when, the times growing warm, All o'er our fair country had gathered the storm, Which wore in its coming, so fearful a form, But left us the rainbow of peace, An image of royalty, stately and proud-- A leaden old king, where his votaries bowed; While true friends of Liberty marked it, and vowed That its honors should speedily cease.

And when our brave statesmen the article signed, Declaring us free, with pure freedom of mind, Columbia's true sons, feeling strongly inclined To learn how the statue was based, Assembled forthwith; and, besieging it, found That the king in head, body and limb was quite sound, And had of good lead in him many a pound, Which might be more usefully placed.

Then, "Down with the ponderous George the Third!" From a mingling of voices together, was heard, With shoutings aloud, as they gave out the word, "Down with it! let it come down! We 'll soon transform his grave highness of lead, And turn him to balls from the feet to the head; And then shall the mouths of our muskets be fed With him of the throne and the crown.

"So now for the fall! for our Sages have met, And their names to a broad Declaration have set, That they are resolved, from this moment, to get Of the king independent and free; And to give by their valor a nation her birth, Or to empty their veins, a free gift to the earth, In Liberty's name, to betoken her worth To us and the millions to be.

"Columbia's wrongs have gone to the skies; 'T is time that her blood and her spirit should rise Above her oppressors, till tyranny flies, And leaves her unfettered, to bear The flag of a nation instead of a chain-- The palm of her triumph, 'mid weakness and pain, O'er them that were mighty, but struggled in vain To force her their shackles to wear.

"And, no leaden monarch will we have to stand Proclaiming our vassalage here, in the land Of lovely Manhattan! We 'll each lend a hand To give him a jerk or a pull, And flat to the ground, in a trice, as we bring His dignified form, it shall merrily ding, To sound all around how we honor the king, And pay our respects to John Bull.

"This, this is the season for trying men's souls, The nerves of their arms, and the worth of their polls! So, we 'll have his Majesty _over the coals_, And make him the first that shall _run_: When, heated to melting, he hides in the mould, We 'll hold him there still, till new-shapen and cold; Then, off he shall go, like a tale that is told, In the voice of the thundering gun!