To the means only, not the righteous | Her natural home-born right to Freedom ends; give, Nor fail to weigh the scruples and the And leave her foe his robber-right, — to fears Of milder natures and serener years. In the long strife with evil which began With the first lapse of new-created man, Wisely and well has Providence assigned To each his part, some forward, some behind; And they, too, serve who temper and restrain The o'erwarm heart that sets on fire the brain. True to yourselves, feed Freedom's altarflame With what you have; let others do the same. Spare timid doubters; set like flint your face Against the self-sold knaves of gain and place: Pity the weak; but with unsparing hand Cast out the traitors who infest the land, From bar, press, pulpit, cast them everywhere, By dint of fasting, if you fail by prayer. And in their place bring men of antique mould, Like the grave fathers of your Age of Gold, Statesmen like those who sought the primal fount Of righteous law, the Sermon on the Mount; Lawyers who prize, like Quincy, (to our day Still spared, Heaven bless him!) honor more than pay, And Christian jurists, starry-pure, like Jay; Preachers like Woolman, or like them who bore The faith of Wesley to our Western shore, And held no convert genuine till he broke Alike his servants' and the Devil's yoke; And priests like him who Newport's market trod, And o'er its slave-ships shook the bolts of God! So shall your power, with a wise prudence used, Strong but forbearing, firm but not abused, In kindly keeping with the good of all, The nobler maxims of the past recall, Its widening circles to the South or North, Where'er our banner flaunts beneath the stars Its mimic splendors and its cloudlike bars, There shall Free Labor's hardy children stand The equal sovereigns of a slaveless land. And when at last the hunted bison tires, And dies o'ertaken by the squatter's fires; And westward, wave on wave, the living flood Breaks on the snow-line of majestic Hood; And lonely Shasta listening hears the tread Of Europe's fair-haired children, Hesper-led ; And, gazing downward through his hoar-locks, sees The tawny Asian climb his giant knees, The Eastern sea shall hush his waves to hear Pacific's surf-beat answer Freedom's cheer, And one long rolling fire of triumph run Between the sunrise and the sunset gun!" SUMMER BY THE LAKESIDE. 183 My task is done. The Showman and | Some homely idyl of my native North, Some summer pastoral of her inland his show, Themselves but shadows, into shadows go; And, if no song of idlesse I have sung, Nor tints of beauty on the canvas flung, If the harsh numbers grate on tender ears, And the rough picture overwrought appears, With deeper coloring, with a sterner blast, Before my soul a voice and vision passed, Such as might Milton's jarring trump require, Or glooms of Dante fringed with lurid fire. O, not of choice, for themes of public wrong I leave the green and pleasant paths of song, The mild, sweet words which soften and adorn, For griding taunt and bitter laugh of scorn. More dear to me some song of private worth, vales This western wind hath Lethean powers, | Are silent, save the cricket's wail, Yon noonday cloud nepenthe showers, And low response of leaf and wave. Fair scenes! whereto the Day and Night Shall hide behind yon rocky spines, And the young archer, Morn, shall break His arrows on the mountain pines, And, golden-sandalled, walk the lake! Farewell around this smiling bay Gay-hearted Health, and Life in bloom, With lighter steps than mine, may stray In radiant summers yet to come. But none shall more regretful leave These waters and these hills than I : Or, distant, fonder dream how eve Or dawn is painting wave and sky; How rising moons shine sad and mild Nor laughing girl, nor bearding boy, Nor full-pulsed manhood, lingering here, Shall add, to life's abounding joy, The charmed repose to suffering dear. Still waits kind Nature to impart One blessing from us others fall; O, watched by Silence and the Night, And folded in the strong embrace Lake of the Northland! keep thy dower THE HERMIT OF THE THEBAID. 185 THE HERMIT OF THE THEBAID. Nor corn, nor vines." The hermit said: "With God I dwell. "Alone with Him in this great calm, The child gazed round him. Is with "Does Here only?- where the desert's rim "My brother tills beside the Nile "And when the millet's ripe heads fall, "And when to share our evening meal, She calls the stranger at the door, She says God fills the hands that deal Food to the poor." Adown the hermit's wasted cheeks Glistened the flow of human tears; "Dear Lord!" he said, "thy angel speaks, Thy servant hears." Within his arms the child he took, men; And all his pilgrim feet forsook The palmy shadows cool and long, Home's cradle-hymn and harvest-song, And bleat of flocks. "O child!" he said, "thou teachest me He rose from off the desert sand, And, leaning on his staff of thorn, Went, with the young child, hand-inhand, Like night with morn. The deathless singer and the flowers Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns ! The gray sky wears again its gold And manhood's noonday shadows hold The dews that washed the dust and soil From off the wings of pleasure, The sky, that flecked the ground of toil With golden threads of leisure. I call to mind the summer day, |