Then, withered as my heart had been, I could not but rejoice

To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice,

Now echoing in the careless laugh, now melting down to tears:

'T was like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier years.

And, when I could not keep the tear from gathering in my eye,

Thy little hand pressed gently mine in token of reply;

To ask one more exchange of love thy look was upward cast,

And in that long and burning kiss thy happy spirit passed.

little boy!

"Tis all remains of former bliss that care cannot destroy;

I listened, as the mariner suspends the outbound oar

To taste the farewell gale that blows from off his native shore.

I loved thee, and my heart was blessed; but ere the day was spent,

I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent,

And shuddered as I cast a look upon the fainting head,

For all the glow of health was gone, and life was almost fled.

One glance upon thy marble brow made known that hope was vain;

I knew the swiftly wasting lamp would never light again;

Thy cheek was pale, thy snow-white lips were gently thrown apart,

And life in every passing breath seemed gushing from the heart.

farewell to thee,

To life its consequence and propriety.
Thy fellowship was my culture, noble

friend:

By the hand thou took'st me, and did'st condescend

To bring me straightway into thy fair guild; And life-long hath it been high compliment By that to have been known, and thy friend styled,

Given to rare thought and to good learning bent;

Whilst in my straits an angel on me smiled. Permit me, then, thus honored, still to be A scholar in thy university.

MARGARET FULLER

THOU, Sibyl rapt! whose sympathetic soul Infused the myst'ries thy tongue failed to tell;

Though from thy lips the marvellous accents fell,

And weird wise meanings o'er the senses stole,

Through those rare cadences, with winsome spell;

Yet even in such refrainings of thy voice There struggled up a wailing undertone, That spoke thee victim of the Sisters' choice,

Charming all others, dwelling still alone. They left thee thus disconsolate to roam, And scorned thy dear, devoted life to spare. Around the storm-tost vessel sinking there The wild waves chant thy dirge and welcome home;

Survives alone thy sex's valiant plea, And the great heart that loved the brave and free.

Then household charities by the friendly fire

Of home, soothe all to fellowship and good cheer!

No sin escapes thy fervent eloquence, Yet, touching with compassion the true word,

Thou leavest the trembling culprit's dark offence

To the mediation of his gracious Lord. To noble thought and deep dost thou dispense

Due meed of praise, strict in thy just award Can other pulpits with this preacher cope? I glory in thy genius, and take hope!

WENDELL PHILLIPS

GARRISON

FREEDOM's first champion in our fettered land!

Nor politician nor base citizen

Could gibbet thee, nor silence, nor withstand.

Thy trenchant and emancipating pen

The patriot Lincoln snatched with steady hand,

Writing his name and thine on parchment white,

'Midst war's resistless and ensanguined flood;

Then held that proclamation high in sight Before his fratricidal countrymen,"Freedom henceforth throughout the land for all,❞—

And sealed the instrument with his own biood,

Bowing his mighty strength for slavery's fall;

Whilst thou, stanch friend of largest liberty, Survived, its ruin and our peace to see.

THE ECLIPSE OF FAITH

THE shapes that frowned before the eyes
Of the early world have fled,
And all the life of earth and skies,
Of streams and seas, is dead.

Forgotten is the Titan's fame,
The dread Chimera now
Is but a mild innocuous flame

Upon a mountain's brow,
Around whose warmth its strawberry red
The arbutus hangs and goatherds tread.

And now has Typho spent his rage,
The Sirens now no more
Entice the song-struck mariner
To give his voyage o'er.
The sailor past Messina hies,

And scorns the den where Scylla lies.

Leda's twin sons no more are seen
In battle's hottest press,

Nor shine the wind-tost waves between
To seamen in distress.

The muse is but the poet's soul, That looked towards Helicon, And for its living thought divine Raised up a mountain throne.

But ah! is nought save fable slain
In this new realm of thought?
Or has the shaft Primeval Truth

And Truth's great Author sought?

Yes, wisdom now is built on sense;
We measure and we weigh,

We break and join, make rare and dense,
And reason God away.

The wise have probed this wondrous world,

And searched the stars, and find All curious facts and laws revealed, But not Almighty mind.

From thinking dust we mould the spheres, And shape earth's wondrous frame :

If God had slept a million years,

All things would be the same.