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Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossom'd thorn!
Wake, buried lily! spirit, quit thy tomb?

And thou, shade-loving hyacinth, be born!

Then, haste, sweet rose ! sweet woodbine, hymn the

morn,

Whose dew-drops shall illume with pearly light
Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands
From sea to sea, while daisies infinite

Uplift in praise their little glowing hands,
O'er every hill that under heav'n expands.

A SHADOW.

A POOR affrighted worm,
Where sky and mountain meet,

I stood before the storm,

And heard his strong heart beat.
He drew his black brows down-
My knees each other smote:
The mountains felt his frown,

His dark unutter'd thought.
The mountains, at his scowl,
Pray'd mutely to the skies:
He spoke, and shook my soul;
He scorch'd me with his
eyes.

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,
The Power that made thee, God-hail, Holy Light!
I come, I come.

PRESTON MILLS.

THE day was fair, the cannon roar'd,
Cold blew the bracing north,

And Preston's Mills, by thousands, pour'd
Their little captives forth.

All in their best they paced the street,

All glad that they were free;

And sung a song with voices sweet---
They sung of Liberty!

But from their lips the rose had fled,
Like "death-in-life" they smiled;
And still, as each pass'd by, I said,
Alas! is that a child?

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
Too sadly beautiful!

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,
A sudden blasting gale,

O'er fields of bloom had rudely rush'd,
And turn'd the roses pale.

It was as if, in glen and grove,
The wild birds sadly sung;
And every linnet mourn'd its love,
And every thrush its young.

It was as if, in dungeon gloom,
Where chain'd despair reclined,

A sound came from the living tomb,
And hymn'd the passing wind.

And while they sang, and though they smiled,
My soul groan'd heavily-

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;

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