Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

mouth, and a bribe in his pocket, a champion against the
rights of America, the only hope of Ireland, and the only
refuge of the liberties of mankind.
every relationship, whether to Constitution, commerce, or
Thus defective in
toleration, I will suppose this man to have added much
private improbity to public crimes; that his probity was
like his patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath.

He loves to deliver panegyrics on himself. I will interrupt him, and say, "Sir, you are mistaken if you think that your talents have been as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your parliamentary career with an acrimony and personality which could have been justified only by a supposition of virtue. After a rank and clamorous opposition you became, on a sudden, silent; you were silent for seven years; you were silent on the greatest questions; and you were silent for money! You supported the unparalleled profusion and jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scandalous ministry-the address to support the American war-the other address to send four thou sand men, which you had yourself declared to be necessa ry for the defence of Ireland, to fight against the liberties of America, to which you had declared yourself a friend. You, sir, who manufacture stage-thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti-American principles-you, sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immortal Hampdenyou, sir, approved of the tyranny exercised against America; and you, sir, voted four thousand Irish troops to cut the throats of the Americans fighting for their freedom, fighting for your freedom, fighting for the great principle, LIBERTY; But you found, at last (and this should be an eternal lesson to men of your craft and cunning), that the King had only dishonored you; the court had bought, but would not trust you; and, having voted for the worst measures, you remained, for seven years, the creature of salary, without the confidence of goverment. at the discovery, and stung by disappointment, you beMortified take yourself to the sad expedients of duplicity. You try the sorry game of a trimmer in your progress to the acts of an incendiary. You give no honest support either to the government or the people; observing, with regard to both prince and people, the most impartial treachery and desertion, you justify the suspicion of your Sovereign, by

betraying the government, as you had sold the people, until, at last, by this hollow conduct, and for some other steps, the result of mortified ambition, being dismissed, and another person put in your place, you fly to the ranks of the Volunteers and canvass for mutiny.

Such has been your conduct; and at such conduct every order of your fellow-subjects have a right to exclaim! The merchant may say to you-the constitutionalist may say to you-the American may say to youand I, I now say, and say to your beard, sir,—“ you are H. Grattan. not an honest man!"

THE MORMON WIDOWER'S LAMENT.
From The Galaxy."

AND she is dead! and she is dead!

My multitudinous bride!

No more my weary head may rest
Her many forms beside.

No more her sixty gentle hands
Shall fondly rest in mine;
No more around her thirty waists
My loving arms shall twine.

For she is dead; and from those eyes
Of black, and blue, and gray,
And various intermediate dyes,
The light has passed away.
The eighty little orphans' tears
Are mingled with my own,
And eighty hearts of tender years
Are motherless and lone.

The fevers seized her all at once,

And apoplexy, too;

With corns, hysterics, and the mumps,
And dread tic doloureux.

A dozen doctors made her worse;

They physic'd and they bled;

And though she lived with thirty lives,
No wonder she is dead!

But ere she died, in countless throngs
Her relatives drew nigh,

And waded through each other's tears
To bid my love good-bye.

And even then she thought of me,
And sought my grief to quell;
And summoned me beside her beds
To say a last farewell.

"Good-by, dear John," she feebly said;
"I'm going soon," said she;
"But, oh! don't marry Widow Smith,
And, oh, don't mourn for me!
For Widow Smith is forty fold-

Too many, far, for you;

And she is artful, sly, and bold,

And quite designing, too.

"And, John, don't leave your flannels off;
And don't catch cold, my dear;
Don't die of grief, but calmly live,-

Your children need you here.

I shall not want you over there,
I'd rather be alone;

I've had you here quite long enough;
You'll stay away, my own?"

And then she closed her eyes in peace,
And fell asleep and died;

And left me here to mourn her loss,
My ten times triple bride.

I know I ought to be resigned-
I know my tears are rude;

But when one's loss is thirty fold,
He can't feel fortitude.

Oh! Mary Anne and so forth Jones,
Thou wert a model wife!

Thy virtues, like thyself, were, too,
Too many for this life!
There's no one now to mend my shirts,

Or hear each other cry;

I sew my buttons on alone,

And sing the lullaby.

I'll have to marry Widow Smith;

I can't get on alone;

The children need a mother's care

You don't know how they've grown!

You left me for a better world,

Your souls are free from pain;

I must relieve my own despair,

And try my luck again.

MAN'S MISSION.

HUMAN lives are silent teaching,
Be they earnest, mild, and true;
Noble deeds are noblest preaching
From the consecrated few.
Poet-Priests their anthems singing,
Hero-swords on corslet ringing,

When Truth's banner is unfurled; Youthful preachers, genius gifted, Pouring forth their souls uplifted,

Till their preaching stirs the world.

Each must work as God has given
Hero hand or poet soul-
Work is duty, while we live in

This weird world of sin and dole.
Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling,

Lift their white hands up appealing,
To the Throne of Heaven's King;
Stronger natures, culminating
In great actions, incarnating
What another can but sing.

Pure and meek-eyed as an angel,
We must strive-must agonize;
We must preach the saint's evangel.
Ere we claim the saintly prize.
Work for all-for work is holy;
We fulfil our mission solely

When, like Heaven's arch above,
Blend our souls in one emblazon,
And the social diapason

Sounds the perfect chord of love.

Life is combat, life is striving,
Such our destiny below-
Like a scythed chariot driving
Through an onward-pressing foe.
Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial
Will but teach us self-denial;
Like the Alchemists of old,

Pass the ore through cleansing fire
If our spirits would aspire

To be God's refined gold.

We are struggling in the morning
With the spirit of the night,
But we trample on its scorning-
Lo! the eastern sky is bright.
We must watch. The day is breaking;
Soon, like Memnon's statue waking
With the sunrise into sound,

We shall raise our voice to Heaven,
Chant a hymn for conquest given,

Seize the palm, nor heed the wound.

We must bend our thoughts to earnest,
Would we strike the Idols down;
With a purpose of the sternest

Take the Cross, and wait the Crown;
Sufferings human life can hallow,
Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla-.
Meekly bear, but nobly try,
Like a man with soft tears flowing,
Like a God with conquest glowing,
So to love, and work, and die!

Speranza (Mrs. W. R. Wilde).

THE BAYONET CHARGE.

Nor a sound, not a breath!
And as still as death,

As we stand on the steep in our bayonets' shine:
All is tumult below,

Surging friend, surging foe;

But not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line,
Waiting so grimly.

The battle smoke lifts

From the valley, and drifts

Round the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world; And a gleam now and then

Shows the billows of men,

In whose black, boiling surge we are soon to be hurled,
Redly and dimly.

There's the word! "Ready all!”
See the serried points fall-

The grim horizontal so bright and so bare.

Then the other word-Ha!

We are moving! Huzza!

We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare,
Rushing to glory!

29*

« ZurückWeiter »