TO W. L. GARRISON. "Some time afterward, it was reported to me by the city officers, that they had ferreted out the paper and its editor; that his office was an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his supporters a few very insignificant persons of all colors."-Letter of H. G. Otis. In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young man; The place was dark, unfurnitured, and mean;— Yet there the freedom of a race began. Help came but slowly; surely no man yet What need of help? He knew how types were set, He had a dauntless spirit, and a press. Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, The compact nucleus round which systems grow! O Truth! O Freedom! how are ye still born What! shall one monk, scarce known beyond his cell, Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and scorn her frown? Brave Luther answered YES; that thunder's swell Rocked Europe, and discharmed the triple crown. Whatever can be known of earth we know, Sneered Europe's wise men, in their snail-shells curled; No! said one man in Genoa, and that No Who is it will not dare himself to trust? Who is it hath not strength to stand alone? Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward MUST ? He and his works, like sand, from earth are blown. pawn Men of a thousand shifts and wiles, look here! Shall we not heed the lesson taught of old, We stride the river daily at its spring, O small beginnings, ye are great and strong, ON THE DEATH OF C. T. TORREY. WOE worth the hour when it is crime To plead the poor dumb bondman's cause, When all that makes the heart sublime, The glorious throbs that conquer time, Are traitors to our cruel laws! He strove among God's suffering poor O Mother State! when this was done, The stranger's charity—a grave. Must it be thus forever? No! The hand of God sows not in vain ; Although our brother lie asleep, Man's heart still struggles, still aspires; His grave shall quiver yet, while deep Through the brave Bay State's pulses leap Her ancient energies and fires. When hours like this the senses' gush The swooping pinions' dreadful rush, That bring the vengeance and the doom; Not man's brute vengeance, such as rends ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF DR. I Do not come to weep above thy pall, Earth's seeming woe, the seed of Heaven's flowers. Truth needs no champions: in the infinite deep Peace is more strong than war, and gentleness, Where force were vain, makes conquest o'er the wave; And love lives on and hath a power to bless, When they who loved are hidden in the grave. The sculptured marble brags of death-strewn fields, Clarkson will stand where Wellington hath stood. I watch the circle of the eternal years, One lengthened roll of blood, and wrong, and tears, One onward step of Truth from age to age. |