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uenched bolts that blazed in Hosea's hand! Not vainly shalt thou cast upon our years The solemn burdens of the Orient seers, And smite with truth a guilty nation's ears. Mightier was Luther's word Than Seckingen's mailed arm or Hutton's sword! 1858. To James T. Fields. On a blank leaf of Poems printed, not published. well thought! who would not rather hear The songs to Love and Friendship sung Than those which move the stranger's tongue, And feed his unselected ear? Our social joys lail-beat chiming far away, The cattle-low, at shut of day, The voice of God in leaf and breeze! Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, And help me to the vales below, (In truth, I have not far to go,) Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. 1858. The memory of Burns. Read at the Boston celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, 25th 1st mo., 1859. In my absence these lines were read by Ralph Waldo Emerson. How sweetly come the holy psalms From saints a
l are ringing; Beneath its smoky veil, Hard by, the city of his love is swinging Its clamorous iron flail. But round his grave are quietude and beauty, And the sweet heaven above,— The fitting symbols of a life of duty Transfigured into love! 1859. Brown of Ossawatomie. John brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day: “I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay. But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free, With her children, from the gallows-stair put uil! So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array; In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay. She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove; And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love! 1859. Naples. Inscribed to Robert C. Waterston, of Boston. Helen Waterston died at Naples in her eighteenth year, and lies buried in the Protestant cemetery there. The stone over her grave bears the lines, Fold her, O Father, in Thine arms,
January 25th, 1859 AD (search for this): chapter 1
For me shall gentler notes suffice,— The valley-song of bird and stream; The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, The flail-beat chiming far away, The cattle-low, at shut of day, The voice of God in leaf and breeze! Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, And help me to the vales below, (In truth, I have not far to go,) Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. 1858. The memory of Burns. Read at the Boston celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, 25th 1st mo., 1859. In my absence these lines were read by Ralph Waldo Emerson. How sweetly come the holy psalms From saints and martyrs down, The waving of triumphal palms Above the thorny crown! The choral praise, the chanted prayers From harps by angels strung, The hunted Cameron's mountain airs, The hymns that Luther sung! Yet, jarring not the heavenly notes, The sounds of earth are heard, As through the open minster floats The song of breeze and bird! Not less the wonder of the sky That daisies
May 24th, 1859 AD (search for this): chapter 1
nce is not blind, but, full of eyes, It searches all the refuges of lies; And in His time and way, the accursed things Before whose evil feet thy battle-gage Has clashed defiance from hot youth to age Shall perish. All men shall be priests and kings, One royal brotherhood, one church made free By love, which is the law of liberty! 1869. To Lydia Maria child, On Reading her Poem in the standard. Mrs. Child wrote her lines, beginning, Again the trees are clothed in vernal green, May 24, 1859, on the first anniversary of Ellis Gray Loring's death, but did not publish them for some years afterward, when I first read them, or I could not have made the reference which I did to the extinction of slavery. the sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain; The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved! I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces The greeting of a soul
ramped limbs to the sun again. Oh, joy for all, who hear her call From gray Camaldoli's convent-wall And Elmo's towers to freedom's carnival! A new life breathes among her vines And olives, like the breath of pines Blown downward from the breezy Apennines. Lean, O my friend, to meet that breath, Rejoice as one who witnesseth Beauty from ashes rise, and life from death! Thy sorrow shall no more be pain, Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers: ‘Arisen again!’ 1860. A Memorial. Moses Austin Cartland, a dear friend and relation, who led a faithful life as a teacher and died in the summer of 1863. Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, The solemn vista to the tomb Must know henceforth another shadow, And give another cypress room. In love surpassing that of brothers, We walked, O friend, from childhood's day; And, looking back o'er fifty summers, Our footprints track a common way. One in our faith, and one our longing To make the world within ou
l no more be pain, Its tears shall fall in sunlit rain, Writing the grave with flowers: ‘Arisen again!’ 1860. A Memorial. Moses Austin Cartland, a dear friend and relation, who led a faithful life as a teacher and died in the summer of 1863. Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, The solemn vista to the tomb Must know henceforth another shadow, And give another cypress room. In love surpassing that of brothers, We walked, O friend, from childhood's day; And, looking back o'er fifty sreen pastures, blossom-sown, And smiles of saintly recognition, As sweet and tenders thy own. Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow To meet us, but to thee we come, With thee we never can be strangers, And where thou art must still be home. 1863. Bryant on his Birthday. Mr. Bryant's seventieth birthday, November 3, 1864, was celebrated by a festival to which these verses were sent. we praise not now the poet's art, The rounded beauty of his song; Who weighs him from his life apa
s at life's full span; But, dimmed and dwarfed, in times like these, The poet seems beside the man! So be it! let the garlands die, The singer's wreath, the painter's meed, Let our names perish, if thereby Our country may be saved and freed! 1864. Thomas Starr King. Published originally as a prelude to the posthumous volume of selections edited by Richard Frothingham. the great work laid upon his twoscore years Is done, and well done. If we drop our tears, Who loved him as few menud sorrow of the land, and tell That the brave sower saw his ripened grain. O East and West! O morn and sunset twain No more forever!—has he lived in vain Who, priest of Freedom, made ye one, and told Your bridal service from his lips of gold? 1864. Lines on a Fly-leaf. I need not ask thee, for my sake, To read a book which well may make Its way by native force of wit Without my manual sign to it. Its piquant writer needs from me No gravely masculine guaranty, And well might laugh her m
November 3rd, 1864 AD (search for this): chapter 1
and sense avail not To know thee henceforth as thou art, That all is well with thee forever I trust the instincts of my heart. Thine be the quiet habitations, Thine the green pastures, blossom-sown, And smiles of saintly recognition, As sweet and tenders thy own. Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow To meet us, but to thee we come, With thee we never can be strangers, And where thou art must still be home. 1863. Bryant on his Birthday. Mr. Bryant's seventieth birthday, November 3, 1864, was celebrated by a festival to which these verses were sent. we praise not now the poet's art, The rounded beauty of his song; Who weighs him from his life apart Must do his nobler nature wrong. Not for the eye, familiar grown With charms to common sight denied,— The marvellous gift he shares alone With him who walked on Rydal-side; Not for rapt hymn nor woodland lay, Too grave for smiles, too sweet for tears; We speak his praise who wears to-day The glory of his seventy years. Wh
d, Counted her life-long losses gain, And made her own her sisters' pain; Or her who, in her greenwood shade, Heard the sharp call that Freedom made, And, answering, struck from Sappho's lyre Of love the Tyrtaean carmen's fire: Or that young girl,—Domremy's maid Revived a nobler cause to aid,— Shaking from warning finger-tips The doom of her apocalypse; Or her, who world-wide entrance gave To the log-cabin of the slave, Made all his want and sorrow known, And all earth's languages his own. 1866. George L. Stearns. No man rendered greater service to the cause of freedom than Major Stearns in the great struggle between invading slaveholders and the free settlers of Kansas. he has done the work of a true man,— Crown him, honor him, love him. Weep over him, tears of woman, Stoop manliest brows above him! O dusky mothers and daughters, Vigils of mourning keep for him! Up in the mountains, and down by the waters, Lift up your voices and weep for him! For the warmest of hearts is <
eaves of the harvest-bringing, And knew while his ear yet hearkened The voice of the reapers singing. Ah, well! The world is discreet; There are plenty to pause and wait; But here was a man who set his feet Sometimes in advance of fate; Plucked off the old bark when the inner Was slow to renew it, And put to the Lord's work the sinner “When saints failed to do it. Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin. Shall he not hear the blessing, ‘Good and faithful, enter in!’ “ 1867. Garibaldi. in trance and dream of old, God's prophet saw The casting down of thrones. Thou, watching lone The hot Sardinian coast-line, hazy-hilled, Where, fringing round Caprera's rocky zone With foam, the slow waves gather and withdraw, Behold'st the vision of the seer fulfilled, And hear'st the sea-winds burdened with a sound Of falling chains, as, one by one, unbound, The nations lift their right hands up and swear Their oath of freedom. From the chalk-white wall Of England, from
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