Come to the bridal chamber, Death!
Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;—
Come when the blesséd seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;-
Come in Consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;-
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet song, and dance, and wine,—
And thou art terrible;-the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,
Of agony, are thine!
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee; there is no prouder grave
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,-
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
28. THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.
Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines,
That stream with gray-green mosses; here the ground
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades-
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old—
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of liberty.
Oh Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crowned his slave
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Armed to the teeth, art thou; one mailéd hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword; thy brow,
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred
With tokens of old wars; thy massive limbs
Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee;
They could not quench the life thou hast froin heaven. Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain; yet, while he deems thee bound,
The links are shivered, and the prison walls
Fall outward; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile,
And shoutest to the nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.
Thy birthright was not given by human hands:
Thou wert twin born with man. In pleasant fields,
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him,
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars,
And teach the reed to utter simple airs.
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood,
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf,
His only foes; and thou with him didst draw
The earliest furrows on the mountain side,
Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself,
Thy enemy, although of reverend look,
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed,
Is later born than thou; and as he meets
The grave defiance of thine elder eye,
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.
Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,
But he shall fade into a feebler age;
Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares,
And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap
His withered hands, and from their ambush call
His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send
Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms,
To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words
To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth,
Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread
That grow to fetters; or bind down thy arms
With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh! not yet
Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by
Thy sword; nor yet, O Freedom! close thy lids
In slumber; for thine enemy never sleeps,
And thou must watch and combat till the day
Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men,
These old and friendly solitudes invite
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees
Were young upon the unviolated earth,
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.
29.-THE CITY OF THE LIVING.
In a long vanished age, whose varied story
No record has to-day-
So long ago expired its grief and glory—
There flourished, far away,
In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure,
A city fair and wide,
Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure, And never any died.
Disease, and pain, and death, those stern marauders,
Who mar our world's fair face,
Never encroached upon the pleasant borders
Of that bright dwelling-place:
No fear of parting and no dread of dying
Could ever enter there-
No mourning for the lost, no anguish'd crying,
Made any face less fair.
Without the city walls death reigned as ever,
And graves rose side by side;
Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor,
And never any died.
Oh, happiest of all earth's favored places!
Oh, bliss to dwell therein!
To live in the sweet light of loving faces,
And fear no grave between!
To feel no death-damp, gathering cold and colder
Disputing life's warm truth!
To live on, never lonelier or older,
Radiant in deathless youth!
And, hurrying from the world's remotest quarters,
A tide of pilgrims flowed
Across broad plains and over mighty waters,
To find that blest abode,
Where never death should come between, and sever Them from their loved apart—
Where they might work, and will, and live forever, Still holding heart to heart.
And so they lived, in happiness and pleasure,
And grew in power and pride,
And did great deeds, and laid up stores of treasure,
And never any died.
And many years rolled on, and saw them striving,
With unabated breath;
And other years still found and left them living,
And gave no hope of death.
Yet listen, hapless soul, whom angels pity,
Craving a boon like this;
Mark how the dwellers in the wondrous city
Grew weary of their bliss.
One and another, who had been concealing
The pain of life's long thrall,
Forsook their pleasant places, and came stealing
Outside the city wall,
Craving, with wish that brooked no more denying,
So long had it been crossed,
The blessed possibility of dying
The treasure they had lost.
Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals
Swelled to a broader tide,
Till none were left within the city's portals,
And graves grew green outside.
Would it be worth the having or the giving-
The boon of endless breath?
Ah, for the weariness that comes of living
There is no cure but death.
Ours were indeed a fate deserving pity,
Were that sweet rest denied;
And few, methinks, would care to find the city
Where never any died!
30.-CATO'S SOLILOQUY.
JOSEPH ADDISON.
It must be so.-Plato, thou reasonest well :
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us,
'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter
And intimates eternity to man.
Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us,—
And that there is all Nature cries aloud
Through all her works,-He must delight in virtue;
And that which He delights in must be happy.
But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar.
I'm weary of conjectures,-this must end them.
Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to my end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point
The stars shall fade away, the sun himsel
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years,
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
31.-POEMS FROM LONGFELLOW.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent's deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"O stay," the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
|