Wan, lingering foxglove! you, ye trees! Thou wood of Tinsley! tell the breeze That hell's dark cheek turns pale;

For Mind shall conquer time and space; Bid East and West shake hands! Bring, over Ocean, face to face,

Earth's ocean-sever'd strands;

And, on his path of iron, bear
Words that shall wither, in despair,
The tyrants of all lands.

Eternal River!-roaring still,

As roar'd thy foamy wave
When first each wild-rose-skirted rill
Heard moorland echoes rave;—

Thou seest, amid thy meadows green,
The goodliest sight that earth hath seen
Since man made fire his slave.

Fire-kindling Man! how weak wast thou
Ere thou hadst conquer'd fire!
How like a worm, on Canklow's brow,
Thou shrank'st from winter's ire!
Or heard'st the torrent-gathering night
Awake the wolf, with thee to fight,
Where these broad shades aspire!

How dismal was thy airy hall,

Thy throne for hearthless kings!
But glorious was thy funeral pall;
And there are direr things

Than thy red-rule of forest law,
Thy last home in the raven's maw,
Thy hearse of living wings.

Yes he whom scorn and hunger ban,
Whom ease and law belie,

Who vainly asks his fellow man
For "leave to toil” and die,
Is sadder, weaker, than wast thou,
When naked here, on Winco's brow,
Thou didst the wolf defy.

In vain tho mak'st the air a slave

That works and will not tire; And burn'st the flame-destroying wave, And rid'st on harness'd fire;

In vain-if millions toil half-fed,

And Crompton's children, begging bread, Wealth-hated, curse their sire.

Fire-kindling man! thy life-stream runs, Even yet, through sighs and groans: Too long thy Watts and Stephensons, With brains have fatten'd drones;

O Genius! all too long, too oft,

At thee the souls of clay have scoff'd,
And sold thy little ones!

Sold them to Misery's dungeon gloom;
To Rapine's menial blow;

To beggary's brawl-fill'd lodging-room,
Where Famine curses woe;

Then to the death-den's workhouse floor,
To which good Christians bring the poor,
By stages sure and slow.

But, lo! the train !-On! onward !—still
Loud shrieks the kindled wave;
And back fly hamlet, tree, and hill,
White steam, and banners brave;

And thoughts on vapoury wings are hurl'd,
To shake old thrones and change a world,
And dig Abaddon's grave.

Mountains, that were when graves were not!
Time-humbled Templestowe,*

Thou tell'st of eagled Rome and Scott,

What dateless years shall know!

Lo! Mind prepares the final fall;

The many-nation'd funeral

Of law-created woe!

* The remains of a fortification at the Ickles, near Rotherham. See Scott's novel of "Ivanhoe."

Ere grief began, with youthful brow,

To live an age of tears;

Thou hear'st, beneath this brightening sky,

A voice of Power that will not die

While man hath hopes and fears.

He, (conquering fire, and time, and space,)
Bids East and West shake hands ;
Brings, over ocean, face to face,

Earth's ocean-sever'd strands;

And, on his iron road, will bear
Words that shall wither, in despair,
The tyrants of all lands.

HYMN.

ANOTHER wave is swallow'd by the sea
Of sumless waves!

Another year, thou past Eternity,

Hath roll'd o'er new-made graves!

They open yet to bid the living weep,
Where tears are vain;

While I, unswept into the ruthless deep,
Storm-tried and sad, remain.

Why am I spared? Surely to wear away,
By useful deeds,

Vile traces, left beneath th' upbraiding spray,
Of empty shells and weeds.

If there are deeds, which no repentance need,
And all can do,

Why should one heart with vain contrition bleed, Self-tried, and found untrue?

But there are things which time devoureth not; Thoughts, whose green youth

Flowers o'er the ashes of the unforgot,

And words, whose fruit is truth.

Are ye not imaged in the eternal sea,
Things of to-day?

Deeds which are harvest for Eternity!
Ye cannot pass away.

TRAFALGAR.

ABOVE the howl of ocean

And frowning Trafalgar,

From bursting cloud, went forth the voice

Of elemental war;