And sow'd corruption in those fairy bowers?
Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?
And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and Hate,
And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,

Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth,
And scatter'd wo where Heaven had planted joy?
Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen

And uncorrupt; existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin
Upon the heart, or weariness of life;
Hope never quench'd, and age unknown,

And death unfear'd; while fresh and fadeless youth
Glows in the light from God's near throne of love?
Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!

Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds
Unfold! No language? Everlasting light
And everlasting silence? Yet the eye
May read and understand. The hand of God
Has written legibly what man may know,
THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,

Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,
May know and ask no more. In other days,
When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings,
Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,
Perchance, among those vast mysterious spheres,
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each,
Familiar with its children; learn their laws,
And share their state, and study and adore
The infinite varieties of bliss

And beauty, by the hand of Power divine
Lavish'd on all its works. Eternity
Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight;
No pause of pleasure or improvement; world
On world still opening to the instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time

But adding to its glories. While the soul,
Advancing ever to the Source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.

THE VISION OF LIBERTY.

THE evening heavens were calm and bright; No dimness rested on the glittering light, [high; That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on Those distant suns burn'd on in quiet ray;

The placid planets held their modest way; [sky. And silence reign'd profound o'er earth, and sea, and

Oh what an hour for lofty thought! My spirit burn'd within; I caught A holy inspiration from the hour. Around me man and nature slept; Alone my solemn watch I kept,

Till morning dawn'd, and sleep resumed her power. A vision pass'd upon my soul.

I still was gazing up to heaven, As in the early hours of even; I still beheld the planets roll,

And all those countless sons of light

[less night.

Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moon

When lo, upon the plain,

Just where it skirts the swelling main,

A massive castle, far and high,

In towering grandeur broke upon my eye.

Proud in its strength and years, the pond'rous pile
Flung up its time-defying towers;

Its lofty gates seem'd scornfully to smile
At vain assault of human powers,
And threats and arms deride.

Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride

In giant masses graced the walls above,

And dungeons yawn'd below.

Yet ivy there and moss their garlands wove, Grave, silent chroniclers of time's protracted flow.

Bursting on my steadfast gaze,

See, within, a sudden blaze!

So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell,
That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top,
Nor makes the wither'd leaf to drop,

The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell.

But soon it spread

Waving, rushing, fierce, and red

From wall to wall, from tower to tower,
Raging with resistless power;

Till every fervent pillar glow'd,

And every stone seem'd burning coal,

Instinct with living heat, that flow'd

Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole.

Beautiful, fearful, grand,

Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand.
At length a crackling sound began;

From side to side, throughout the pile it ran ;
And louder yet and louder grew,

Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew;
Huge shiver'd fragments from the pillars broke,
Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke.
The shatter'd walls were rent and riven,
And piecemeal driven

Like blazing comets through the troubled sky.
'Tis done; what centuries had rear'd,
In quick explosion disappear'd,

Nor even its ruins met my wondering eye.

But in their place

Bright with more than human grace,

Robed in more than mortal seeming,

Radiant glory in her face,

[ing

And eyes with heaven's own brightness beam

Rose a fair majestic form,

As the mild rainbow from the storm.

I mark'd her smile, I knew her eye;
And when, with gesture of command,
She waved aloft the cap-crown'd wand,
My slumbers fled mid shouts of "Liberty!"

Read ye the dream? and know ye not

How truly it unlock'd the world of fate? Went not the flame from this illustrious spot, And spreads it not, and burns in every state? And when their old and cumbrous walls, Fill'd with this spirit, glow intense,

Vainly they rear'd their impotent defence: The fabric falls!

That fervent energy must spread,

Till despotism's towers be overthrown; And in their stead,

Liberty stands alone!

Hasten the day, just Heaven!
Accomplish thy design;

And let the blessings thou hast freely given,
Freely on all men shine;

Till equal rights be equally enjoy'd,

And human power for human good employ'd;
Till law, not, the sovereign rule sustain,
And peace and virtue undisputed reign.

W. E. GALLAUDET.

LINES TO THE WESTERN MUMMY.

Oн, stranger, whose repose profound
These latter ages dare to break,
And call thee from beneath the ground
Ere nature did thy slumber shake!

What wonders of the secret earth
Thy lip, too silent, might reveal!
Of tribes round whose mysterious birth
A thousand envious ages wheel!
Ꮓ

Thy race, by savage war o'errun,
Sunk down, their very name forgot;
But, ere those fearful times begun,
Perhaps, in this sequester'd spot,

By Friendship's hand thine eyelids closed, By Friendship's hand the turf was laid; And Friendship here, perhaps, reposed, With moonlight vigils in the shade.

The stars have run their nightly round, The sun look'd out and pass'd his way, And many a season o'er the ground

Has trod where thou so softly lay.

And wilt thou not one moment raise
Thy weary head, a while to see
The later sports of earthly days,

How like what once enchanted thee?

Thy name, thy date, thy life declare ;
Perhaps a queen, whose feathery band
A thousand maids have sigh'd to wear,
The brightest in thy beauteous land;

Perhaps a Helen, from whose eye
Love kindled up the flames of war:
Ah, me! do thus thy graces lie

A faded phantom, and no more?

Oh, not like thee would I remain,
But o'er the earth my ashes strew,
And in some rising bud regain

The freshness that my childhood knew.

But has thy soul, oh maid! so long
Around this mournful relic dwelt?
Or burst away, with pinion strong,
And at the foot of Mercy knelt ?