Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossom'd thorn! And thou, shade-loving hyacinth, be born! Then, haste, sweet rose ! sweet woodbine, hymn the morn, Whose dew-drops shall illume with pearly light Uplift in praise their little glowing hands, A SHADOW. A POOR affrighted worm, I stood before the storm, And heard his strong heart beat. His dark unutter'd thought. Alone, beneath the sky, I stood the storm before : No! God, the Storm, and IWe trode the desert floor; High on the mountain sod, The whirlwind's dwellingplace, The Worm, the Storm, and God Were present, face to face. From earth a shadow brake, E'en where my feet had trode; The shadow laugh'd and spake And shook his hand at God. Then up it rear'd its head, Beneath the lightning's blaze; "Omnipotent!" it said, "Bring back my yesterdays." God smiled the gloom away; Wide earth and heav'n were bright; In light my shadow lay, I stood with God in light; With Him who wings the storm, Or bids the storm be still, The shadow of a worm Held converse on the hill. ANTICIPATION. HAIL, Realm of gloom! whose clouds are ice! whose air Is made of thought-sick sighs! Whose fields are dead men's dust, from which despair Shrinks as he dies! Though on thee, and within (sad Infinite!) Are darkness, death, and doom; Beyond thee shines the sun of mind and might, PRESTON MILLS. THE day was fair, the cannon roar'd, And Preston's Mills, by thousands, pour'd All in their best they paced the street, All glad that they were free; And sung a song with voices sweet--- But from their lips the rose had fled, Flags waved, and men-a ghastly crewMarch'd with them, side by side: While, hand in hand, and two by two, They moved a living tide. Thousands and thousands-all so white ! With eyes so glazed and dull! O God! it was indeed a sight And, oh, the pang their voices gave Refuses to depart! This is a wailing for the grave! I whisper'd to my heart. It was as if, where roses blush'd, O'er fields of bloom had rudely rush'd, It was as if, in glen and grove, It was as if, in dungeon gloom, A sound came from the living tomb, And while they sang, and though they smiled, O who would be or have a child? A mother who would be? FAMINE IN A SLAVE SHIP. THEY stood on the deck of the slave-freighted barque, All hopeless, all dying, while waited the shark; Sons, Fathers, and Mothers, who shriek'd as they press'd The infants that pined till they died on the breast— A crowd of sad mourners, who sigh'd to the gale, While on all their dark faces the darkness grew pale. White demons beheld them, with curse and with frown, And cursed them, from morn till the darkness came down; |