Such as of old made pale the As- Claim more God's care than all of England here?

Girt with his satraps in the blaz- No: when He moves his arm, it

His doom part from him, but must Being yet a boy, did cast this puny

He loved to hear beneath his very That he can wrestle with an anhearth. Why should we fly? Nay, why And throw the brawned Antæus of men's rights.

And rear again our Zion's crum- No, Hampden! they have half-way conquered Fate

Not, as of old the walls of Thebes Who go half-way to meet her, -as

By minstrel twanging, but, if need Freedom hath yet a work for me

Think'st thou that score of men Spake falsely, when it urged the

To noble emprise for country and Than the great chance of setting

England free?

Not there, amid the stormy wilderness,

180

mankind. And, for success, I ask no more than this, To bear unflinching witness to the Should we learn wisdom; or if truth. learned, what room

All true whole men succeed; for To put it into act, else worse

than naught?

what is worth Success's name, unless it be the We learn our souls more, tossing thought,

for an hour

The inward surety, to have carried Upon this huge and ever-vexèd

block?

sea

to a noble Of human thought, where kingdoms go to wreck

160

Although it be the gallows or the Like fragile bubbles yonder in the

stream,

'Tis only Falsehood that doth Than in a cycle of New England

'What should we do in that Is not born with him; there is

small colony

rather choose

always work,

Of pinched fanatics, who would And tools to work withal, for those

who will;

Freedom to clip an inch more from And blessed are the horny hands

The busy world shoves angrily Then let it come: I have no dread

aside

The man who stands with arms

akimbo set,

of what 230 Is called for by the instinct of mankind;

Until occasion tells him what to Nor think I that God's world will

fall apart

do; And he who waits to have his task Because we tear a parchment

marked out

Shall die and leave his errand un

fulfilled.

210

Our time is one that calls for
earnest deeds:
Reason and Government, like two
broad seas,

Yearn for each other with out-
stretched arms

Across this narrow isthmus of the

more or less.

Truth is eternal, but her effluence, With endless change, is fitted to the hour;

Her mirror is turned forward to reflect

The promise of the future, not the past.

He who would win the name of truly great

Must understand his own age and the next,

And

make the present ready to fulfil

240

Its prophecy, and with the future merge

Gently and peacefully, as wave with wave.

The future works out great men's purposes;

The present is enough for common souls,

Who, never looking forward, are indeed

Mere clay, wherein the footprints of their age

Are petrified forever; better those

Ours is the harder task, yet not Who lead the blind old giant by the less

the hand

Shall we receive the blessing for From out the pathless desert our toil

From the choice spirits of the

aftertime.

My soul is not a palace of the I do not fear to follow out the truth, past,

Where outworn creeds, like
Rome's gray senate, quake,
Hearing afar the Vandal's trum-
pet hoarse,

That shakes old systems with a

thunder-fit.

Albeit along the precipice's edge. Let us speak plain: there is more force in names

Than most men dream of; and a lie may keep

Its throne a whole age longer, if it skulk

The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, Behind the shield of some fair

for change;

seeming name.

Let us call tyrants tyrants, and Where it doth lie in state within maintain the Church, That only freedom comes by grace Striving to cover up the mighty of God, And all that comes not by his With a man's palm, and making grace must fall; even the truth

ocean

For men in earnest have no time Lie for them, holding up the glass

Earth's rudder, and to steer the I had great dreams of mighty

The petty martyrdoms, wherewith Or else swift death: now wiser

Sin strives

To weary out the tethered hope of

Faith?

The sneers,

grown in years,

I find youth's dreams are but the flutterings

the unrecognizing look of those strong wings whereon the

Who worship the dead corpse of In after time to win a starry

of friends,

And so I cherish them, for they were lots,

Which I, a boy, cast in the helm

of Fate.

Now will I draw them, since a man's right hand,

310

A right hand guided by an earnest
soul,
With a true instinct, takes the
golden prize

From out a thousand blanks.
What men call luck

Is the prerogative of valiant souls,
The fealty life pays its rightful
kings.

A CHIPPEWA LEGEND

ἀλγεινὰ μέν μοι καὶ λέγειν ἐστὶν τάδε, ἄλγος δὲ σιγᾶν.

ESCHYLUS, Prom. Vinct. 197, 198.

For the leading incidents in this tale I am indebted to the very valuable Algic Researches of Henry R. Schoolcraft, Esq. J. R. L.

THE old Chief, feeling now well

nigh his end,

Called his two eldest children to his side,

And gave them, in few words, his parting charge!

The helm is shaking now, and I'My son and daughter, me ye see

no more;

The happy hunting-grounds await

me, green

With change of spring and sum-
mer through the year :
But, for remembrance, after I am
gone,

Be kind to little Sheemah for my
sake:

Weakling he is and young, and knows not yet

320 To set the trap, or draw the seasoned bow;

One of the few that have a right to rank

With the true Makers: for his

demands

ΙΟ

Therefore of both your loves he hath more need,

And he, who needeth love, to love hath right;

It is not like our furs and stores of corn,

Whereto we claim sole title by our toil,

But the Great Spirit plants it in our hearts,

And waters it, and gives it sun, to be

The common stock and heritage of
all:

Therefore be kind to Sheemah,
that yourselves
May not be left deserted in your
need.'

Alone, beside a lake, their wigwam stood,

20

An arm of tougher sinew than the Far from the other dwellings of

sword.

their tribe;