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But the voice of Nature was too weak;
He took the glittering gold !
Her hands as icy cold.
He led her by the hand,
In a strange and distant land!
In Ocean's wide domains,
Half buried in the sands,
With shackled feet and hands.
Beyond the fall of dews,
Deeper than plummet lies,
No more to sink nor rise.
There the black Slave-ship swims,
Freighted with human forms,
Are not the sport of storms.
They gleam from the abyss;
“We are the Witnesses!"
Within Earth's wide domains
Are markets for men's lives;
Their wrists are cramped with gyves.
Dead bodies, that the kite
In deserts makes its prey;
Scare schoolboys from their play.
Anger, and lust, and pride;
That choke Life's groaning tide!
They glare from the abyss;
“We are the Witnesses!'
THE WARNING. Beware! The Israelite of old, who tore
The lion in his path,—when, poor and blind,
Shorn of his noble strength and force to grind
His desperate hands, and in its overthrow Destroyed himself, and with him those who made
A cruel mockery of his sightless woe; The
poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all,
in some grim revel, raise his hand,
SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE.
Hears round about him voices as it darkens,
Pauses from time to time, and turns and hearkens;
So walking here in twilight, O my friends!
I hear your voices, softened by the distance, And pause, and turn to listen, as each sends
His words of friendship, comfort, and assistance.
If any thought of mine, or sung or told,
Has ever given delight or consolation, Ye have repaid me back a thousand fold,
By every friendly sign and salutation.
Thanks for the sympathies that ye have shown!
Thanks for each kindly word, each silent token, That teaches me, when seeming most alone,
Friends are around us, though no word be spoken.
Kind messages that pass from land to land;
Kind letters, that betray the heart's deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand,
One touch of fire,-and all the rest is mystery:
The pleasant books, that silently among
Our household treasures take familiar places, And are to us as if a living tongue
Spake from the printed leaves or pictured faces :
Perhaps on earth I never shall behold,
sense, your outward form and semblance; Therefore to me ye never will grow old,
But live for ever young in my remembrance.
Never grow old, nor change, nor pass away!
Your gentle voices will flow on for ever, When life grows bare and tarnished with decay,
As through a leafless landscape flows a river.
Not chance of birth or place has made us friends,
Being oftentimes of different tongues and nations, But the endeavour for the selfsame ends,
With the same hopes, and fears, and aspirations.
Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk,
Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion; Not interrupting with intrusive talk
The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean.
Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome guest,
At your warm fireside, when the lamps are lighted, To have my place reserved among the rest,
Nor stand as one unsought and uninvited!
By the Seaside.
THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. “Build me straight, O worthy Master !
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!”
The merchant's word
And first with nicest skill and art,