Imatges de pàgina
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CHARLES B. STORRS.

And the long suspended thunder
Falls terribly from Heaven,-
When a new and fearful freedom
Is proffered of the Lord
To the slow consuming Famine-
The Pestilence and Sword !——-

When the refuges of Falsehood
Shall be swept away in wrath,
And the temple shall be shaken,
With its idol, to the earth,-
Shall not thy words of warning
Be all remembered then?
And thy now unheeded message
Burn in the hearts of men?

Oppression's hand may scatter
Its nettles on thy tomb,
And even Christian bosoms
Deny thy memory room;
For lying lips shall torture
Thy mercy into crime,
And the slanderer shall flourish
As the bay-tree for a time.

But, where the south wind lingers
On Carolina's pines,

Or, falls the careless sunbeam
Down Georgia's golden mines,--
Where now beneath his burthen
The toiling slave is driven,-
Where now a tyrant's mockery
Is offered unto Heaven,-

Where Mammon hath its altars
Wet o'er with human blood,
And pride and lust debases
The workmanship of God-
There shall thy praise be spoken,

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65

Redeemed from Falsehood's ban When the fetters shall be broken, And the slave shall be a man!

Joy to thy spirit, brother!

A thousand hearts are warm-
A thousand kindred bosoms
Are baring to the storm.
What though red-handed Violence
With secret Fraud combine,
The wall of fire is round us-
Our Present Help was thine

Lo-the waking up of nations,
From Slavery's fatal sleep-
The murmur of a Universe-
Deep calling unto Deep!
Joy to thy spirit, brother I
On every wind of heaven
The onward cheer and summons
Of FREEDOM'S VOICE is given

Glory to God forever!

Beyond the despot's will

The soul of Freedom liveth

Imperishable still.

The words which thou hast uttered
Are of that soul a part,

And the good seed thou hast scattered
Is springing from the heart.

In the evil days before us,

And the trials yet to come-
In the shadow of the prison,
Or the cruel martyrdom--
We will think of thee, O brother }
And thy sainted name shall be
In the blessing of the captive,
And the anthem of the free.

1834

LINES.

LINES,

ON THE DEATH OF S. o. TORREY.

GONE before us, O our brother,
To the spirit-land!
Vainly look we for another
In thy place to stand.

Who shall offer youth and beauty

On the wasting shrine

Of a stern and lofty duty,

With a faith like thine?

Oh! thy gentle smile of greeting
Who again shall see ?

Who amidst the solemn meeting
Gaze again on thee ?-

Who, when peril gathers o'er us,
Wear so calm a brow?

Who, with evil men before us,
So serene as thou?

Early hath the spoiler found thee,
Brother of our love!

Autumn's faded earth around thee,
And its storms above!
Evermore that turf lie lightly,

And, with future showers,
O'er thy slumbers fresh and brightly
Blow the summer flowers!

In the locks thy forehead gracing,
Not a silvery streak

Nor a line of sorrow's tracing

On thy fair young cheek;
Eyes of light and lips of roses,
Such as Hylas wore-
Over all that curtain closes,
Which shall rise no more!

67

Will the vigil Love is keeping
Round that grave of thine,
Mournfully, like Jazer weeping
Over Sibmah's vine 5-

Will the pleasant memories, swelling
Gentle hearts, of thee,
In the spirit's distant dwelling
All unheeded be?

If the spirit ever gazes,
From its journeyings, back;
If the immortal ever traces
O'er its mortal track;

Wilt thou not, O brother, meet us
Sometimes on our way,

And, in hours of sadness, greet us
As a spirit may?

Peace be with thee, O our brother,
In the spirit-land!
Vainly look we for another

In thy place to stand.

Unto Truth and Freedom giving

All thy early powers,
Be thy virtues with the living,
And thy spirit ours!

A LAMENT.

"The parted spirit,

Knoweth it not our sorrow? Answereth not
Its blessing to our tears?"

THE circle is broken-one seat is forsaken,—
One bud from the tree of our friendship is

shaken

One heart from among us no longer shall thrill
With joy in our gladness, or grief in our ill.

A LAMENT.

Weep!-lonely and lowly, are slumbering now The light of her glances, the pride of her brow, Weep-sadly and long shall we listen in vain To hear the soft tones of her welcome again.

69

Give our tears to the dead! For humanity's claim

From its silence and darkness is ever the same; The hope of that World whose existence is bliss

May not stifle the tears of the mourners of this.

For, oh! if one glance the freed spirit can throw
On the scene of its troubled probation below,
Than the pride of the marble-the pomp of the
dead-

To that glance will be dearer the tears which we shed.

Oh, who can forget the mild light of her smile, Over lips moved with music and feeling the whileThe eye's deep enchantment, dark, dream-like, and clear,

In the glow of its gladness-the shade of its tear.

And the charm of her features, while over the whole

Played the hues of the heart and the sunshine of soul,

And the tones of her voice, like the music which

seems

Murmured low in our ears by the Angel of dreams!

But holier and dearer our memories hold

Those treasures of feeling, more precious than gold

The love and the kindness and pity which gave Fresh flowers for the bridal, green wreaths for the grave!

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