served his fortitude; he grasped the trunk of a tree with his left hand, to steady and support himself, while, with his right, he wrenched and violently turned the sword, that was still in the breast of the tiger. All this was the work of an instant. The Indians, Frank and myself, hastened to his assistance; but Lincoln, who was already at his side, had seized Wharton's gun, which lay near upon the ground, and struck so powerful a blow with the butt end upon the head of the tiger, that the animal, stunned and overpowered, let go his hold, and fell back into the abyss.
"Twas the battle field; and the cold, pale moon
Looked down on the dead and dying;
And the wind passed o'er, with a dirge and a wail,
Where the young and the brave were lying.
With his father's sword in his red right hand,
And the hostile dead around him,
Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground,
And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.
A reckless rover, mid death and doom,
Passed a soldier, his plunder seeking;
Careless he stepped where friend and foe
Lay alike in their life-blood reeking.
Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword,
The soldier paused beside it;
He wrenched the hand with a giant's strength,
But the grasp of the dead defied it.
He loosed his hold, and his noble heart
Took part with the dead before him;
And he honored the brave who died sword in hand,
As with softened brow he leaned o'er him.
"A soldier's death thou hast boldly died,
A soldier's grave won by it;
Before I would take that sword from thine hand,
My own life's blood should dye it.
"Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow,
Or the wolf to batten o'er thee;
Or the coward insult the gallant dead,
Who in life had trembled before thee."
Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth,
Where his warrior foe was sleeping;
And he laid him there, in honor and rest,
With his sword in his own brave keeping.
Address to the Deity.-MRS. BArbauld.
GOD of my life, and Author of my days
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise,
And, trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallowed name, to harps of seraphs sung:
Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more
Than vail their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere,
Are equal all; for all are nothing here.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works, through all their parts, proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts control,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul :
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside;
Impetuous passion stops her headlong tide.
At thy felt presence, all emotions cease,
And my hushed spirit finds a sudden peace;
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay păgeants vanish from my eyes;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke ;
My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke;
With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain,
And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But he, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust.
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame.
His ears are open to the softest cry,
His
grace descends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.
Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give ;
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live;
From each terrestrial bondage set me free;
Still every wish that centres not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leads
By living waters, and through flowery meads,
When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,-
Oh! teach me to elude each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart, "Beware!"
With caution let me hear the Siren's voice,
And, doubtful, with a trembling heart rejoice.
If, friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briers wound, and thorns perplex my way,—
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
With equal eye, my various lot receive,
Resigned to die, or resolute to live;
Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.
I read his awful name, emblazoned high, With golden letters, on the illumined sky; Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscribed on every tree:
In every leaf, that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees.
With thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With thee in busy, crowded cities talk;
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore :
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control.
Thus shall I rest unmoved by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms,
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.
Then, when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes before my swimming eye;
When, trembling, on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state ;—
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With decent triumph, and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having lived to thee, in thee to die.
[Translated from the Russian of DErzhavin.]
O THOU Eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth оссиру, all motion guide ;
Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside! Being above all beings! Mighty One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore; Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone: Embracing all,-supporting,-ruling o'er,
Being, whom we call GOD!-and know no more.
In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean-deep; may count The sands, or the sun's rays; but, God! for thee There is no weight nor measure:-none can mount Up to thy mysteries., Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark;
And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity.
Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence. Lord, on thee
Eternity had its foundation: all
Sprung forth from thee of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin;-all life, all beauty thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create ;
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!
Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround;
Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath.
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death.
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee
And, as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shine round the silver snow, the păgeantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise.
A million torches, lighted by thy hand,
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own thy power, accomplish thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light?
A glorious company of golden streams?
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright?
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But thou to these art as the noon to night.
|