Tis strange that I recall it at this time;
But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight
Even at the moment when they should array
Themselves in pensive order.
Immortality.-R. H. DANA, SEN.
Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love?
And doth Death cancel the great bond that holds
Commingling spirits? Are thoughts that know no bounds,
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out
The Eternal Mind, the Father of all thought,
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb? -
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms
Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? —
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne,
Which One, with gentle hand, the veil of flesh
Lifting that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed
In glory?-throne, before which, even now,
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down,
Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed?
Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense,
Thou awful, unseen Presence! are they quenched?
Or borne they on, hid from our mortal eyes
By that bright day which ends not; as the sun
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars?
And with our frames do perish all our loves?
Do those that took their root, and put forth buds,
And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,
Then fade and fall like fair unconscious flowers?
Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give speech.
And make it send forth winning harmonies,
That to the cheek do give its living glow,
And vision in the eye the soul intense
With that for which there is no utterance,
Are these the body's accidents?. -no more?
To live in it, and, when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame?
A voice within us speaks that startling word,
"Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls; according harps,
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality:
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in the solemn, universal song.
Oh! listen, ye, our spirits: drink it in
From all the air. 'Tis in the gentle moonlight;
'Tis floating midst Day's setting glories; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears:
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.
The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
Speech of Moloch.-MILTON.
My sentence is for open war: of wiles,
More unexpert, I boast not; them let those
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now.
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest,
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend, sit lingering here
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place
Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his tyranny who reigns
By our delay? No! let us rather choose,
Armed with hell-flames and fury, all at once
The way seems difficult and steep to scale
With upright wing against a higher foe.
Let such bethink them, (if the sleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,)
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native seat: descent and fall
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep,
With what compulsion and laborious flight
We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy then;
The event is feared; should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may
To our destruction; (if there be in hell
Fear to be worse destroyed.) What can be worse
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire
Must exercise us without hope of end,
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorable, and the torturing hour,
Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus,
We should be quite abolished, and expire.
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense
His utmost ire? which, to the height enraged,
Will either quite consume us, and reduce
To nothing this essential; happier far,
Than miserable to have eternal being:
Or, if our substance be indeed divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven,
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne;
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
To the Ursa Major.-H. WARE, JR.
With what a stately and majestic step
That glorious Constellation of the North
Treads its eternal circle! going forth
Its princely way amongst the stars in slow
And silent brightness. Mighty one! all hail!
I joy to see thee, on thy glowing path
Walk, like some stout and girded giant―stern,
Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot
Disdains to loiter on its destined way.
The other tribes forsake their midnight track,
And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave;
But thou dost never close thy burning eye,
Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on,
While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds
Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.
The near horizon tempts to rest in vain.
Thou, faithful Sentinel, dost never quit
Thy long-appointed watch; but, sleepless still,
Dost guard the fixed light of the universe,
And bid the North for ever know its place.
Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust,
Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God
Sent forth that shout of joy, which rang through heaven,
And echoed from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, thy voice
Joined the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise,
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd
Of splendors that enrich his firmament.
As thou art now, so wast thou then, the same.
Ages have rolled their course, and Time grown grav;
The earth has gathered to her womb again,
And yet again, the myriads, that were born
Of her,
- uncounted, unremembered tribes.
The seas have changed their beds, the solid continents
Have left their banks, — and man's imperial works,
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung
Their haughty honors in the face of heaven,
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