100 Warm noon brims full the valley's cup, Climbing the loose-piled wall that hems The road along the mill-pond's brink, Beneath a bony buttonwood The mill's red door lets forth the din; The whitened miller, dust-imbued, Flits past the square of dark within. No mountain torrent's strength is here; And gently waits the miller's will. Swift slips Undine along the race Unheard, and then, with flashing bound, Floods the dull wheel with light and grace, And, laughing, hunts the loath drudge round. The miller dreams not at what cost The quivering millstones hum and whirl, Nor how for every turn are tost But Summer cleared my happier eyes Forevermore each form of use. And more; methought I saw that flood, No more than doth the miller there, Surely the wiser time shall come When this fine overplus of might, In that new childhood of the Earth And labor meet delight half-way. KOSSUTH MEMORIAL VERSES A RACE of nobles may die out, But they fail not, the kinglier breed, The zeal of Nature never cools, Nor is she thwarted of her ends; Land of the Magyars! though it be As the just Future measures gain. Thou hast succeeded, thou hast won And he, let come what will of woe, Hath saved the land he strove to save; "I Kossuth am: O Future, thou That clear'st the just and blott'st the vile, "I was the chosen trump wherethrough Sounds on, outliving chains and death.” This incident called out the fourth of the first Drop not like ripened fruit about our feet; series of Biglow Papers. We climb to them through years of sweat and pain; THERE are who triumph in a losing cause, Who can put on defeat, as 't were a wreath Unwithering in the adverse popular breath, Safe from the blasting demagogue's applause; 'Tis they who stand for Freedom and God's laws. O utter degradation! Freedom turned Slavery's vile bawd, to cozen and betray To the old lecher's clutch a maiden prey, If so a loathsome pander's fee be earned ! And we are silent, - we who daily tread A soil sublime, at least, with heroes' graves! Beckon no more, shades of the noble dead! Be dumb, ye heaven-touched lips of winds and waves! Or hope to rouse some Coptic dullard, Ages ago, wrapt stiffly, fold on fold, Beauty and Truth, and all that these contain, Without long struggle, none did e'er at tain The downward look from Quiet's blissful seat: Though present loss may be the hero's part, Yet none can rob him of the victor heart Whereby the broad-realmed future is subdued, And Wrong, which now insults from triumph's car, Sending her vulture hope to raven far, Is made unwilling tributary of Good. O Mother State, how quenched thy Sinai fires! Is there none left of thy stanch Mayflower breed? No spark among the ashes of thy sires, Of Virtue's altar-flame the kindling seed? Are these thy great men, these that cringe and creep, And writhe through slimy ways to place and power? How long, O Lord, before thy wrath shall Oh for a whiff of Naseby, that would sweep, With its stern Puritan besom, all this chaff From the Lord's threshing-floor! Yet more than half The victory is attained, when one or two, Through the fool's laughter and the traitor's scorn, Beside thy sepulchre can bide the morn, Crucified Truth, when thou shalt rise anew. 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. This significant sentence printed at its head gave the key-note to the following poem, but it is interesting to read the characterization of Garrison drawn by Mr. Lowell at this same time, in a letter to C. F. Briggs dated March 26, 1848. "I do not agree with the abolitionists in their disunion and non-voting theories. They treat ideas as ignorant persons do cherries. They think them unwholesome unless they are swallowed, stones and all. Garrison is so used to standing alone that, like Daniel Boone, he moves away as the world creeps up to him, and goes farther into the wilderness. He considers every step a step forward, though it be over the edge of a precipice. But, with all his faults (and they are the faults of his position) he is a great and extraordinary man. His work may be over, but it has been a great work. . . . Ï respect Garrison (respect does not include love). Remember that Garrison was so long in a position where he alone was right and all the world wrong, that such a position has created in him a habit of mind which may remain, though circumstances have wholly changed. Indeed a mind of that cast is essential to a Reformer. Luther was as infallible as any man that ever held St. Peter's keys." Letters I. 125, 126. IN a small chamber, friendless and unseen, Toiled o'er his types one poor, unlearned young man; The place was dark, unfurnitured, and ON THE DEATH OF CHARLES TURNER TORREY con The Martyr Torrey was the name applied to this clergyman, who gave up his professional life in order to devote himself to the antislavery cause in Maryland. He was demned to long imprisonment for aiding in the escape of slaves, but died in the penitentiary, May, 1846, of disease brought on by ill usage. His body was taken to Boston, and the funeral made a profound impression on the community. 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! |