Зображення сторінки

POEMS. The noble horse, That, in his fiery youth, from his wide nostrils Neighed courage to his rider, and brake through Groves of opposed pikes, bearing his lord Safe to triumphant victory, old or wounded, Was set at liberty and freed from service. The Athenian mules, that from the quarry drew Marble, hewed for the Temple of the Gods, The great work ended, were dismissed and fed At the public cost; nay, faithful dogs have found Their sepulchres; but man, to man more cruel, Appoints no end to the sufferings of his slave.



The pages of thy book I read,

And as I closed each one,
My heart, responding, ever said,

“Servant of God! well done!”

Well done! Thy words are great and bold;

At times they seem to me,
Like Luther's, in the days of old,

Half-battles for the free.

Go on, until this land revokes

The old and chartered Lie, The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes

Insult humanity.

A voice is ever at thy side

Speaking in tones of might,
Like the prophetic voice, that cried

To John in Patmos, “Write !"

Write! and tell out this bloody tale ;

Record this dire eclipse, This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail,

This dread Apocalypse !


Beside the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;
His breast was bare, his matted hair

Was buried in the sand.

Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,

He saw his Native Land.

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