Come to me, gentle Muse ! hast thou forsaken
The heart that trembled in thy smile so long ?
Come! touch my spirit harp-string, and awaken
The spell, the soul, the witchery of song.
Too long have I been bound in Care's dominion ;
Thou, only thou, canst break the strong control.
Come, with thy radiant brow and starry pinion,
And bring, again, the sunlight to my soul.
I met thee, fairest one, in childhood's hours,
And wandered with thee over dale and hill,
Conversing with the stars, the streams, the flowers ;
I loved thee then, and oh ! I love thee still.
Come to me ! Life is all too dark and dreary
When thou, my guiding spirit, art not near ;
Come ! I have sought thee till my heart is weary,
And still I watch and wait. Appear ! appear !
Breezes from the land of Eden,
Come and fan me with their wing.
Till my soul is full of music,
And I cannot choose but sing.
When a sparkling fount is brimming,
Let a tiiry cloud bestow
But another drop of water,
And a wave will overflow.
When a thirsty flower has taken
All the dew its heart can bear,
It distributes the remainder
To the sunbeam and the air.
And hast thou striven, with might and mind in vain?
In vain ? ah ! no, the bread thy deeds have cast
Upon the waters will be found again ;
The seed thy thoughts have sown will ripen fast,
Dewed by a nation's tears, and when at last
The harvest whitens, until all are free,
True hearts will turn with reverence to the past.
And from the countless millions yet to be.
Will rise a pa3an song, brave, true Kossuth, for thee.
AWAKE TO EFFORT.
Awake to effort, while the day is shining.
The time to labor will not always last,
And no regret, repentance or repining
Can bring to us again the buried past.
The silent sands of life are falling fast;
Time tells our busy pulses, one by one,
And shall our work, so needful and so vast,
Be all completed, or but just begun
When twilight shadows vail life's dim, departing sun?
What duties have our idle hands neglected?
What useful lessons have we learned and taught?
What warmth, what radiance have our hearts reflected;
What rich and rare materials have we brought
For deep investigation, earnest thought;
Concealed within the soul's unfathomed mine,
How many a sparkling gem remains un-wrought,
That industry might place on learning's shrine,
Or lavish on the world, to further God's design.
To effort! ye whom God has nobly gifted
With that prevailing power, undying song.
For human good let every pen be lifted,
For human good let every heart be strong.
Is there no crying sin, no grievous wrong
That ye may help to weaken or repress.
In wayside hut and hovel, midst the throng,
Downtrodden by privation and distress,
Is there no stricken heart that ye can cheer and bless?
Sing idle lays to idle harps no longer,
Go!peal an anthem at the gate of Heaven;
Exertion makes the fainting spirit stronger.
Sing, till the bonds of ignorance are riven,
Till dark oppression from the earth is driven.
Sing, till from every land and every sea
One universal ti'iumph song is given,
To hail the long-expected jubilee,
When every bond is broke and every vassal free.
And ye, whose birthright is the glorious dower
Of eloquence to thrill the immortal soul,
Use not unwisely the transcendant power.
To waken, guide, restrain, direct, control
The heart's deep, deep emotions ; let the goal
Of your ambition be a mind enshrined
By love and gratitude within the scroll,
"Where generations yet unborn shall find
The deathless deeds of those who loved and blessed mankind.
Go ! use the weighty energies that slumber
Unknown, unnumber'd in the world's great heart ;
Remove the stubborn errors that encumber
The fields of science, literature and art.
E-end superstition's darkening vail apart.
And hurl to earth blind bigotry, the ban
From which a thousand grievous evils start
To thwart and mar the great Creator's plan,
And break the ties that bind the brotherhood of man.
And ye who sit aloft in earth's high places
Perchance, amid your wealth, you scarcely know
That want and woe are leaving fearful traces
Upon the toiling multitude below.
From your abundance can ye not bestow
A mite to smooth the thorny paths they tread ?
Have ye no sympathy with human woe?
No ray of blessed hope and joy to shed
Upon the weary hearts that pine and toil for bread ?
Amid the gorgeous splendor that bedizens
Your palaces, no longer idly stand.
While dens of wickedness and loathsome prisons
Arise, like blighting plague-spots, o'er the land.
Go ! speak a word and lend a helping hand
To rescue men from degradation's thrall.
Nor deem a just and righteous God hath banned
The toiling millions, while the rain-drops fall,
And blessed sunbeams shine alike from heaven for all.
The smallest bark, on life's tempestuous ocean.
Will leave a track behind, forevermore ;
The lightest wave of influence, set in motion.
Extends and widens to the eternal shore.
We should be wary, then, who go before
A myriad yet to be, and we should take
Our bearing carefully, where breakers roar
And fearful tempests gather ; one mistake
May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake.
Voyager upon life's sea,
To yourself be true,
And where'er your lot may be,
Paddle your own canoe.
Never, though the winds may rave,
Falter nor look back;
But upon the darkest wave
Leave a shining track.
Nobly dare the wildest storm,
Stem the hardest gale,
Brave of heart and strong of arm,
You will never fail.
When the world is cold and dark,
Keep an aim in view;
And toward the beacon-mark
Paddle your own canoe.
Every wave that bears you on
To the silent shore,
From its sunny source has gone
To return no more.
Then let not an hour's delay
Cheat you of your due;
But, while it is called to-day.
Paddle your own canoe.
If your birth denies you wealth,
Lofty state and power.
Honest fame and hardy health
Are a better dower.
But if these will not sufiice,
Golden gain pursue;
And to gain the glittering prize,
Paddle your own canoe.
Would you wrest the wreath of fame
From the hand of fate?
Would you write a deathless name
With the good and great?
Would you bless your fellow-men?
Heart and soul imbue
With the holy task, and then
Paddle your own canoe.
Would you crush the tyrant wrong,
In the world's free fight?
With a spirit brave and strong.
Battle for the right.
And to break the chains that bind
The many to the few —
To enfranchise slavish mind —
Paddle your own canoe.
Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost;
Every good deed, nobly done.
Will repay the cost.
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust,
All you will to do;
But if you succeed, you must
Paddle your own canoe.
Who is ready for the onset —
Who with helmet, sword and shield.
Will go forth to conquer Erroi',
On life's battle-field?
Who will strike at Superstition,
In his goblin-haunted cell,
And unloose the myriad victims
Fettered by his spell?
Call the roll.
Who will strive, on God relying.
With unwav'riug faith and hope,
To pull down the gory scafibld.
And the gallows-rope?
Who will break the yoke of bondage.
And unbar the prison door,
Saying to the trembling sirmer,
"Go and sin no more?"
Call the roll.
Who, forgetting self, will listen
To sweet charity's appeal —
Who will labor for the lowly
With untiring zeal?
Casting bread upon the waters,
Not for human praise,
Trusting heaven again to find it.
After many days?
Call the roll.
Who will put what God has given
Wisely to the noblest use;
Who will clothe the homeless orphan,
Fill the widow's cruse,
And, like him of old Samaria,
Help the stranger in his need.
Reckless of his name and nation,
Reckless of his creed?
Call the roll.
Who, that finds a child of sorrow,
Heir to penury and woe,
Will not tarry to inquire
What has made them so,
Ere he freely shares a pittance
From his meager, hard-earned store.
Or bestows a cup of water,
If he can no more?
Call the roll.
Who, when slander's tongue is busy
With an absent neighbor's name.
Will excuse the faults and failings,
And defend his fame?
Who will view poor human nature
Only on the brighest side,
Leaving God to judge the evil
Charity would hide?
Call the roll.
Where is thy home? Where summer
skies are flinging
Rich, mellow light o'er some sea-girded
isle —
Where, in the orange-groves, bright birds
are singing,
And stars are wooing the flowers with
their smile;
Where the soft south wind strays
And palm-leaves quiver,
Through the long pleasant days,
By some bright river —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home ? Where gallant men
are braving
Danger and death on the red battle-
plain —
Where, in the cannon's smoke, banners
are waving,
And the wild war-horse is trampling
the slain;
Where the dead soldier sleeps —
Wrapped in his glory;
Where the cold night dew steeps
Faces all gory —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home? Where ivy-wreaths
are climbing
Over old ruins all moss-grown and
gray-
Where, at the vesper hour, deep bells
a-chiming,
Summon the toil-weary spirit to pray —
Where, as the darkness falls.
Over the gloaming,
Through the dim cloister halls
Pale ghosts are roaming —
Is thy home there?
Where is thy home? Where mountain
waves are swelling.
Over the caves of the fathomless deep —
Where, in their coral bowers, Nereids are
knelling
Dirges where beauty and chivalry
sleep —
Where the storm's lurid light.
Fitfully gleaming.
Startles at dead of night,
Men from their dreaming —
Is thy home there ?
No, dearest, no — Where pleasant words
are spoken,
In a sweet cottage half hidden by
flowers,
Where the dear household band never is
broken.
Where hope and happiness wing the
glad hours —
From care and strife apart,
Never more roving,
In my adoring heart.
Faithful and loving —
There is thy home.
If I were the light of the brightest star,
That burns in the zenith now,
I would tremble down from my home afar,
To kiss thy radiant brow.
If I were the breath of a fragrant flower,
With a viewless wing and free,
I would steal away from the fairest bower,
And live, love, but for thee.
If I were the soul of bewitching song,
With a moving, melting tone,
I would float from the gay and thoughtless
throng,
And soothe thy soul alone.
If I were a charm, by fairy wrought,
I would bind thee with a sign ;
And never again should a gloomy thought
O'ershadow thy spirit's shrine.
If I were a memory, past alloy,
I would linger where thou art ;
If I were a thought of abiding joy,
I would nestle in thy heart.
If I were a hope, with the magic light
That makes the future fair,
I would make thy path on the earth as
bright
As the paths of angels are.
From its home on high, to a gentle flower
That bloomed in a lonely grove,
The starlight came at the twilight hour,
And whispered a tale of love.
Then the blossom's heart so still and cold,
Grew warm to its silent core,
And gave out perfume, from its inmost fold,
It never exhaled before.
And the blossom slept through the summer night,
In the smile of the angel-ray,
And the morn arose with its garish light,
And the soft one stole away.
Then the zephyr w^ooed, as he wandered by
Where the gentle floweret grew,
But she gave no heed to his- plaintive sigh;
Her heart to its love was true.
And the sunbeam came, with a lover's art.
To caress the flower in vain ;
She folded her sweets in her thrilling heart
Till the starlight came again.
Toll, toll, toll.
Where the winter winds are sighing ;
Toll, toll, toll.
Where the somber clouds are flying ;
Toll, toll, toll,
A deeper, sadder knoll, —
Than sounds for a passing soul, —
Should tell of the Old Year, dying.
Spirits of beauty and light.
Goblins of darkness and night,
From your sunny paths, in the azure sky.
From the Stygian shores, where the shadows lie,
From your co)'al homes, in the ocean caves.
From the frigid north, where the tempest raves,
Come to the pale one dying.
Hark ! to the faUing of phantom feet,
Beat, beat, beat, beat.
Like the solemn sounds, when the surges meet.
On the shores of a mighty river —
They are folding the dead in his winding-sheet.
To bear him away forever.
A rush of wings on the midnight wind —
The fall of a shadowy portal —
And the good Old Year, so true and kind,
Passed to his rest, but left behind
The record of deeds immortal.
In my sleep I had a vision,
Of a brighter world than this ;
Of a realm, whose vales Elysian,
Wooed the soul to endless bliss.
Hope could sing of nothing fairer
Than this soft, bewitching isle ;
Fancy dreamed of nothing rarer,
And she furled her wings awhile.
It had crystal streams and fountains,
Glens and grottos, cool and deep.
Where the shadows of the mountains
Lay on violets, asleep.
It had labyrinths of flowers.
Arching 'neath a summer sky,
And to tread those fairy bowers
There were only thou and I —
Thou and I together straying
Through each shady glen and grove ;
Two enraptured souls a-Maying,
In the Eden-land of love.
Then our hearts forgot the sorrow,
Toil and care of by-gone years,
And the prospect of the morrow
Brought us neither doubts nor fears.
If a memory came to darken
Those bright moments all our own,
Trusting love refused to hearken
To the Sybil's chiding tone.
Joy that would not brook concealing,
From thine eyes like sunlight stole,
And the iris wreath of feeling
Was the cestus of my soul.
Words of love, though wild and burning,
Seemed but trite and feeble things,
And I learned thy fond heart's yeai'ning,
By the trembling of its strings.
Never can our -waking senses
Such ecstatic joy receive,
For an hour like this condenses
All the pleasure life can give.
O WORSHIPER in heaven's far courts ! sublime
Gleams thy white forehead, bound with purple air.
Thou art coeval with old gray-haired Time,
Yet thy colossal features are as fair
As when the Omniscient set his signet there.
Wrapped in a royal robe, that human art
Could never weave, nor mortal monarch wear,
Thou sitt'st enthroned in majesty apart,
Folding eternal rest and silence in thy heart.
When the Almighty Mind went forth, and wrought
Upon the formless waters; when he hung
New worlds on their mysterious paths, and brought
Light out of brooding darkness; when the young,
Fair earth at his command from chaos sprung
To join the universal jubilee ;
When all the hosts of heaven his triumphs sung,
God left his footsteps on the sounding sea,
And wrote his glorious name, proud monument, on thee :
Tell us, earth-born companion of the stars,
Hast thou beheld when worlds were wrecked and riven ?
Hast seen wild comets in their red simars
O'er the far fields of space at random driven ?
Seest thou the angels at the gate of heaven ?
Perchance they lend that glory to thy brow,
Which burns and sparkles there this summer even !
Perchance their anthems float around thee now —
They worship God alway, and so, Mont Blanc, dost thou.
Solemn evangel of almighty power.
The pillars of the earth support thy throne ;
Ages unknown, unnumbered, are thy dower.
Sunlight thy crown, the clouds of heaven thy zone.
Spires, columns, turrets, lofty and alone ;
Snow-fields, where never bird nor beast abode ;
Caverns unmeasured, fastnesses unknown ;
Glaciers where human feet have never trod —
Ye are the visible throne, the dwelling-place of God.
What is the measure of our threescore years —
What the duration of our toil and care ?
What are our aspirations, hopes, and fears,
The joys we prize, the ills we needs must bear —
The earthly goals we win, the deeds we dare ?
Our life is but a breath, a smile, a sigh ;
We go, and Time records not that we were ;
But thou will lift thy giant brow on high,
Till Time's last hour is knolled, lost in eternity.
And we, beholding thee, do turn aside
From all the little idols we have wrought ;
Self-love, ambition, wealth, fame, power and pride
Keep silence before thee ; and we are taught
A nobler aim, a more enduring thought.
Our souls are touched by the celestial fire
That glows on holier altars; what we sought
With thought, heart, mind, seems dust, and we aspire
To win some sure good, some guerdon holier, higher.
Thou art an altar, where the human soul
Pays God the tribute of its prayer and praise ;
Feelings, emotions, passing all control
Ai-e born of thee ; wondering, subdued, we gaze.
Till soul and sense are lost in still amaze,
And the full-gushing heart forgets to beat.
We feel the invisible, we seem to raise
The inner vail, to stand where two worlds meet.
Entranced, bewildered, rapt, adoring at thy feet.
Thou art beautiful, Lake Leman,
When thy starry waves are sleeping,
Sleeping in the fond embraces
Of the summer moon's soft light ;
When thy waters seem to listen
To the blue Rhone, sadly weeping
As she parts from thee forever,
Murmuring tenderly. Good-night !
Thou art glorious, when the morning,
Nature's radiant evangel,
Lays her cheek upon thy bosom,
With her tresses all undone ;
When the snowy mists that bound thee
Like the drapery of an angel,
Are woven into rainbows,
In the pathway of the sun.
Thou art peerless, when the twilight
Of a quiet summer even
Binds the eastern sky with shadows,
As the day goes doAvn to rest ;
When the gold and crimson curtains,
Looped around the gates of heaven,
And the pathway of the angels
Are painted on thy breast.
Thou art lovely, when the vine-hills
Are pictured in thy waters ;
Or when storm-winds from the Jura
Crown thy waves with starry foam ;
And the children of thy valleys,
Helvetia's sons and daughters.
When they leave thee, lake of beauty.
Never find another home.
But I dwell by thee a stranger,
Of my exile grown so weary
That my soul is sick with sighing,
Waiting, longing to depart ;
And the music of thy voices
Makes me homesick, makes me dreary ;
! I cannot learn to love thee.
While my own land fills my heart.
I have climbed the snow-capped mountains.
Sailed on many a storied river,
And brushed the dust of ages
From gray monuments sublime ;
I have seen the grand old pictures
That the world enshrines forever,
And the statues that the masters
Left along the paths of Time.
But my pilgrim feet are weary.
And my spirit dim with dreaming
Where the long, dead Past has wi-itten
Misty, hieroglyphic lore ;
In a land whose pulses slumber,
Or only beat in seeming.
And the pathway of the Caesars
Is a ruin evermore.
Bear me back, O mighty ocean !
From this Old World, gray and gory,
To the forests and the prairies.
Far beyond thy stormy waves;
To the land that Freedom fostered
To gigantic strength and gloi-y,
To my home-land, with its loved ones.
And its unforgotten graves.
Give me back my little cottage.
And the dear old trees I planted,
And the common, simple blossoms
That bloomed around my door ;
And the old, familiar home-songs
That my children's voices chanted.
And the few who used to love me.
And my heart will ask no more.
Hope on, hope ever ; if thy lot
Be forlorn and lowly,
Thou mayst gain a brighter spot.
Though thy steps move slowly.
Reckless of the rich man's scorn,
On thyself relying,
Strive to win, though lowly born.
Name, renown undying.
In the path that heaven assigned.
Rest thee idly never ;
Work with might and soul and mind.
And hope on, hope ever.
Hope on, hope ever, while the day
On thy path is shining ;
Let no moment bear away
Murmurs of repining.