In the changed world below; and finds alone
Their graven semblance in the eternal stone.
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A gold fringe on the purpling hem
As down its long, green valley fallsThe last of summer’s suns.Along its tawny gravel-bedBroad-flowing, swift, and still,As if its meadow levels feltThe hurry of the hill,Noiseless between its banks of greenFrom curve to curve it slips;The drowsy maple-shadows restLike fingers on its lips.A waif from Carroll’s wildest hills,Unstoried and unknown;The ursine legend of its nameProwls…
‘TIS over, Moses! All is lost!
Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea hostI hear the Free-Wills singing.*We’re routed, Moses, horse and foot,If there be truth in figures,With Federal Whigs in hot pursuit,And Hale, and all the ‘niggers.’Alack! alas! this month or moreWe’ve felt a sad foreboding;Our very dreams the burden boreOf central cliques exploding;Before our eyes a furnace shone,Where heads of…
WHEN Freedom, on her natal day,
An iron race around her stood,Baptized her infant brow in blood;And, through the storm which round her swept,Their constant ward and watching kept.Then, where our quiet herds repose,The roar of baleful battle rose,And brethren of a common tongueTo mortal strife as tigers sprung,And every gift on Freedom’s shrineWas man for beast, and blood for wine!Our…
Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines,
As if beneath the whispering pinesAnd maple shadows of the West.Ye mourn, O hearts of home! for him,But, haply, mourn ye not alone;For him shall far-off eyes be dim,And pity speak in tongues unknown.There needs no graven line to giveThe story of his blameless youth;All hearts shall throb intuitive,And nature guess the simple truth.The very…
So, this is all, — the utmost reach
When laymen think, when women preach,A war of words, a ‘Pastoral Letter!’Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!Was it thus with those, your predecessors,Who sealed with racks, and fire, and ropesTheir loving-kindness to transgressors?A ‘Pastoral Letter,’ grave and dull;Alas! in hoof and horns and features,How different is your Brookfield bullFrom him who bellows from St. Peter’s!Your…
LAST week — the Lord be praised for all His mercies
Safe at the Mission, via Westport; whereI tarried over night, to aid in formingA Vigilance Committee, to send back,In shirts of tar, and feather-doublets quiltedWith forty stripes save one, all Yankee comers,Uncircumcised and Gentile, aliens fromThe Commonwealth of Israel, who despiseThe prize of the high calling of the saints,Who plant amidst this heathen wildernessPure gospel…