When the roused popular ocean foamed France is too poor to pay alone and chafed, And vulture War from his Imaus Snuffed blood, to summon homely Peace, And show that only order is release. To carve thy fullest thought, what though Time was not granted? Aye in history, Like that Dawn's face which baffled Angelo Left shapeless, grander for its mystery, Thy great Design shall stand, and day Flood its blind front from Orients far away. Who says thy day is o'er? Control, My heart, that bitter first emotion; While men shall reverence the steadfast soul, The heart in silent self-devotion Breaking, the mild, heroic mien, Thou 'lt need no prop of marble, Lamartine. If France reject thee, 't is not thine, But her own, exile that she utters ; Ideal France, the deathless, the divine, Will be where thy white pennon flutters, As once the nobler Athens went With Aristides into banishment. No fitting metewand hath To-day ure; Only the Future can reach up to lay Swept by thy hand, the gladdened chords, Crashed now in discords fierce by others, Gave forth one note beyond all skill of words, And chimed together, We are broth ers. O poem unsurpassed! it ran The service of that ample spirit; Paltry seem low dictatorship and throne, Weighed with thy self-renouncing merit; They had to thee been rust and loss; Thy aim was higher, - thou hast climbed a Cross! TO JOHN G. PALFREY. THERE are who triumph in a losing cause, Who can put on defeat, as 't were a wreath Unwithering in the adverse popular breath, Safe from the blasting demagogue's applause; 'Tis they who stand for Freedom and God's laws. And so stands Palfrey now, as Marvell stood, Loyal to Truth dethroned, nor could be wooed To trust the playful tiger's velvet paws: And if the second Charles brought in decay Of ancient virtue, if it well might wring Souls that had broadened 'neath a nobler day, To see a losel, marketable king Fearfully watering with his realm's best blood Cromwell's quenched bolts, that erst had cracked and flamed, Scaring, through all their depths of courtier mud, Europe's crowned bloodsuckers, how more ashamed Ought we to be, who see Corruption's flood Still rise o'er last year's mark, to mine away Our brazen idol's feet of treacherous clay! O utter degradation! Freedom turned Slavery's vile bawd, to cozen and bctray All round the world, unlocking man to If man. To the old lecher's clutch a maiden prey, SO a loathsome pander's fee be earned! What! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell, Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her frown? Brave Luther answered YES; that thunder's swell ON THE DEATH OF C. T. TORREY. WOE worth the hour when it is crime To plead the poor dumb bondman's cause, When all that makes the heart sublime, Rocked Europe, and discharmed the The glorious throbs that conquer time, triple crown. Whatever can be known of earth we know, Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells curled; No! said one man in Genoa, and that No Out of the darkness summoned this New World. Who is it will not dare himself to trust? Who is it hath not strength to stand alone? Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward MUST? Are traitors to our cruel laws! He and his works, like sand, from Must it be thus forever? No! earth are blown. The hand of God sows not in vain ; The seasons come, and change, and go, Long sleeps the darkling seed below, And all the fields are deep with grain. Although our brother lie asleep, Man's heart still struggles, still aspires; His grave shall quiver yet, while deep Through the brave Bay State's pulses leap Her ancient energies and fires. When hours like this the senses' gush Have stilled, and left the spirit room, Not man's brute vengeance, such as rends His mercy to the oppressor's heart. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF DR. I Do not come to weep above thy pall, powers; |