HOPE, I have seen thee oft by pilgrim hand
Of vagrant artist vividly pourtray'd
In the sweet likeness of a wishing maid,
Content from day to day on ocean strand,
Loving the long-drawn wrinkles of the sand
Wrought by the incessant ingress of the sea,
Because the waves are rolling from the land
Where the dear lad is now, where'er it be.
See how the maid upon the anchor leans,
Gazing beyond the long horizon's bound.
Rude is the picture, but a truth profound
Wakes in the heart to tell you what it means;
For Hope still stands beside the vast dark sea,
Watching the tides of blank futurity.
SAY, what is freedom? What the life of souls
Which all who know are bound to keep, or die,
And who knows not is dead? In vain we pry
In the dark archives and tenacious scrolls
Of written law, tho' Time embrace the rolls
In his lank arms, and shed his yellow light
On every barbarous word. Eternal Right
Works its own way, and evermore controls
Its own free essence. Liberty is duty,
Not license. Every pulse that beats
At the glad summons of imperious beauty
Obeys a law. The very cloud that fleets
Along the dead green surface of the hill
Is ruled and scatter'd by a Godlike will.
IN days of old, if any days be old,
Beneath the shadow of the ancient hill,
We roam'd together by the wandering rill;
Thou a light-footed hunter, free and bold,
And I a straggler from the self-same fold,
Rough, ragged, wild, with haggard looks that still
Dwelt on the ground, as if predestined ill
Blighted the joy of youth. Twelve years are told,
And now we meet again; thou, like the wind
That drives the grey cloud to the infinite sea,
Hast traversed all the world's variety,
From Western Isles to Oriental Ind;
I am the lazy pod among the heather
That slumbers sound in spite of wind and weather.
KINSMAN―yea, more than kinsman-brother, friend,—
O more than kinsman! more than friend or brother!
My sister's spouse, son to my widow'd mother!-
How shall I praise thee right, and not offend?
For thou wert sent a sore heart-ill to mend.
Twin stars were ye, thou and thy wedded love,
Benign of aspect as those imps of Jove,
In antique faith commission'd to portend
To sad sea-wanderers peace; or like the tree
By Moses cast into the bitter pool,
Which made the tear-salt water fresh and cool;
Or even as spring, that sets the boon earth free-
Free to be good, exempt from winter's rule :
Such hast thou been to our poor family.
How much thy Holy Name hath been misused,
Beginner of all good, all-mighty Faith!
Some men thy blessed symbols have abused,
Making them badge or secret shibboleth
For greed accepted, or for spite refused,
Or just endured in fear of pain or death.
To some, by fearful conscience self-accused,
Thou com'st a goblin self, a hideous wraith!
With such as these thou art an inward strife,
A shame, a misery, and a death in life,
A self-asserting, self-disputing lie;
A thing to unbelief so near allied,
That it would gladly be a suicide,
And only lives because it dare not die.
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