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Thus, never desperate, muse believing men;
But what, O Power divine! shall men become?
This pale memorial meets my gaze again,

And grief a moment bids my hopes be dumb. Not thus, O God! desert us! Rather I

Should sink at once to unremembering clay, And close my sight on thy translucent sky, Than yield my soul to death a helpless prey; Oh! rather bear beyond the date of stars

All torments heap'd that nerve and soul can feel, Than but one hour believe destruction mars Without a hope the life our breasts reveal. Bold is the life and deep and vast in man, A flood of being pour'd uncheck'd from Thee; To Thee return'd by thine eternal plan,

When tried and train'd thy will unveil'd to see. The spirit leaves the body's wondrous frame, That frame itself a world of strength and skill; The nobler inmate new abodes will claim,

In every change to Thee aspiring still. Although from darkness born, to darkness fled, We know that light beyond surrounds the whole; The man survives, though the weird-corpse be dead, And He who dooms the flesh, redeems the soul.

HYMN IV.

THE stream of life from fountains flows,
Conceal'd by sacred woods and caves:
From crag to dell uncheck'd it goes,
And, hurrying fast from where it rose,
In foam and flash exulting raves.
But straight below the torrent's leap,

Serenely bright its effluence lies,

And waves that thunder'd down the steep
Are hush'd in quiet, mute and deep,

Reflecting rock, and trees, and skies.
And mid the pool, disturb'd yet clear,
The noisy gush that feeds it still
Is seen again descending sheer,
A cataract within the mere,

As bright as down the hill.

A living picture, smooth and true,
Of headlong fight and restless power,
Whose burst for ever feeds anew
The lake of fresh and silver dew

That paints and drinks the stormy shower. So Thought, with crystal mirror, shows

Our human joy, and strife, and pain;
And ghostly dreams, and passion's woes,
The tide of failures, hates, and foes,

Are softly figured there again.
Do Thou, who pourest forth our days,
With all their floods of life divine,
Bestow thy Spirit's peaceful gaze,
To still the surge those tumults raise,
And make thy calm of being mine!
HYMN V.

ETERNAL Mind! Creation's Light and Lord!
Thou trainest man to love thy perfect will,
By love to know thy truth's obscurest word,
And so his years with hallow'd life to fill;

To own in all things round thy law's accord, Which bids all hope be strong to vanquish ill; Illumined thus by thy diffusive ray,

The darken'd world and soul are bright with day. In storm, and flood, and all decays of time,

In hunger, plagues, and man-devouring war; In all the boundless tracts of inward crimeIn selfish hates, and lusts that deepliest mar, In lazy dreams that clog each task sublime, In loveless doubts of truth's unsetting star; In all-thy Spirit will not cease to brood With vital strength, unfolding all to good. The headlong cataract and tempest's roar,

The rage of seas, and earthquake's hoarse dismay, The crush of empire, sapp'd by tears and gore, And shrieks of hearts their own corruption's prey; All sounds of death enforce thy righteous lore, In smoothest flow thy being's truth obey, And, heard in ears from passion's witchery free, One endless music make-a hymn to Thee! But most, O God! the inward eyes of thought Discern thy laws in all that works within; The conscious will, by hard experience taught, Divines thy mercy shown by hate of sin: And hearts whose peace by shame and grief was bought,

Thy blessings praise, that first in wo begin, For still on earthly pain's tormented ground Thy love's immortal flowers and fruits abound. Fair sight it is, and medicinal for man,

To see thy guidance lead the human breast; In life's unopen'd germs behold thy plan,

Till mid the ripen'd soul it stands confest; From impulse too minute for us to scan,

Awakening sense with love and purpose blest; And through confusion, error, trial, grief, Maturing reason, conscience, calm belief. This to have known, my soul, be thankful thou!— This clear, ideal form of endless good, Which casts around the adoring learner's brow The ray that marks man's holiest brotherhood; Thus e'en from guilt's deep curse and slavish vow,

And dreams whereby the light was long withstood, Thee, Lord! whose mind is rule supreme to all, Unveil'd we see, and hail thy wisdom's call.

HYMN VI.

CAN man, O God! the tale of man repeat,

Nor feel his bosom heave with livelier bound? Through all we are the swelling pulse must beat At thought of all we are, of all things round: Our inmost selves the straining vision meet, And memory wakes from slumber's cave proAnd, like a rock upon a sunny plain, [found: The past amid thy light is seen again. Ah! little sphere of rosy childhood's hour, Itself so weak, and yet foreshowing all! Unopen'd world of self-evolving power, That now but hears the instant's tiny call! Within its dewdrop life, its folded flower,

Distress and strife the thoughtless heart enthrall; And stirrings big with man's unmeasured hope Have scarcely strength against one pang to cope.

Bewildering, cloudy dawn! then pass from view The first faint lines of mortal being's course; Then wakes the will, and fiercely grasps a clue, And wondering feels it snapp'd by headlong force, And sad and weeping grows a child anew,

Till joy comes back from life's unfailing sourceNew aims, new thoughts, new passions take their turn,

And still the extinguish'd flame again will burn.
What gropings blind to leave the common way!
What yearnings vain that find no end reveal'd!
What hopeless war, and feeling's idle play!
What wounds that pierce through pride's phan-
tasmal play?

A thousand objects woo'd and thrown away!
And idols dear that no response will yield!
And so within one bosom's living cell
A fiendish foe and helpless victim dwell.
Oh,gorgeous dreams, and wing-borne flight of youth!
That thinks by scorning earth to win the skies;
Forebodings dim of visionary truth,

That like a beast pursued before us flies; Insane delight in monstrous forms uncouth, [rise; That thence perchance some prophet ghost may Blind love of light, and craving hate of rest!How far our strangest world is in the breast! Abounding pictures, bright with morn and joy, Of all the endless beings round us known, Bewilder, vex, intoxicate, and cloy,

A land of bliss how near, yet not our own! All things so fair, each sense they needs employ, Yet mid them all the spirit wastes alone; So many, lovely, large, and sweet they seem. As if to prove the whole is only dream. Fair visions all! and, mid the train of things, How strange the sway the fairest shapes have won! From them distraction, folly, rapture springs,

And life's true rapture seems but now begun, For mad we seek the joy that passion brings

To hearts by inmost treacheries all undone, Though love's concealing veil is dark and stern, Nor e'er did eyes profane its mystery learn. So forward roll the years with wo and bliss, Mid act, and deed, and thought, and lone despair; And 'twixt the arduous That and easy This,

We fain the trial more than man can bear. Still Conscience stabs and bleeds; Temptation's kiss Still sucks our purest life, and taints the air; His feet with blood, his own and others', red, Ambition climbs the unstable mountain-head. But sickening hours and weariness of breath,

And eyes that cannot brook to see the day, And dreams that shuddering hail the name of death, And fancies thin subdued by dull decay,All these, O God! thy servant Conscience saith, Are surely sent by Thee-thy word obey; The world of man so bright, and soul so strong, To man are shown defaced by human wrong. And thus, by inward act and outward led,

We know the things we are if loosed from thee; How blind as rocks, and weak as branches dead, And vain and fierce, to show us nobly free,

To leave thy paths in desert wilds we fled,

And hoped no longer thine-our own to be; So sinking down from fancied all to naught, One grain of dust was left by misery taught. That speck, O Father! still to thee was dearA living relic capable of good; And bruised and crush'd by wo, and shame, and Arose again from earth, and upright stood. Thy spirit still was there, not now severe,

[fear,

And fed the yearning heart with loving food, Till brave and clear, discerning all the past, It knew that peace and hope were gain'd at last. Now all confusion spent, and battles o'er,

Are seen as leading on to endless rest, The world obscure and distant now no more, With sights of truthful gladness fills the breast; And love, so false and foul a name before,

With countless joys the wounded heart has blest: And thus, O God! thy child serene and bold Goes forth to toils heroic manifold!

THE DEAREST.

OH! that from far-away mountains
Over the restless waves,
Where bubble-enchanted fountains,
Rising from jewell'd caves,

I could call a fairy bird,

Who, whene'er thy voice was heard,
Should come to thee, dearest!

He should have violet pinions,

And a beak of silver white,

And should bring from the sun's dominions
Eyes that would give thee light.
Thou should'st see that he was born
In a land of gold and morn,

To be thy servant, dearest !

Oft should he drop on thy tresses
A pearl, or diamond stone,
And would yield to thy light caresses
Blossoms in Eden grown.
Round thy path his wings would shower
Now a gem, and now a flower,

And dewy odours, dearest!

He should fetch from his eastern island
The songs that the Peris sing,
And when evening is clear and silent,
Spells to thy ear would bring,
And with his mysterious strain
Would entrance thy weary brain,
Love's own music, dearest!

No Phoenix, alas! will hover,

Sent from the morning star; And thou must take of thy lover A gift not brought so far: Wanting bird, and gem, and song, Ah! receive and treasure long

A heart that loves thee, dearest !

JOAN D'ARC.

I.

MANY a lucid star sublime
In the vault of earthly time;
Many a deed, and name, and face,
Is a lamp of heavenly grace,
And, to us that walk below,
Cheers with hope the vale of wo.
Lo! the great aerial host,
Whom our bodily eyes have lost,
To the spirit reappear
With their glory shining here;
Bearded saints from holy cell;
Warriors who for duty fell;
Thoughtful devotees, in youth
Spell-bound by a glance of Truth.
And to whom all else has been
But a thin and changeful scene;
All to whom the many shows
That the years of earth disclose,
Are but gleams, for moments given,
Of an ever-present heaven.

II.

High amid the dead who give
Better life to those that live,
See where shines the peasant Maid,
In her hallow'd mail array'd,
Whom the lord of peace and war
Sent as on a flaming car,
From her father's fold afar.
Her's the calm supernal faith,
Braving ghastliest looks of death;
For, O loveliest woodland flower
Ever bruised in stormiest hour!
Guardian saints have nerved thy soul
Battling nations to control;
And the vision-gifted eye,
That, communing with the sky,
Sank when human steps were nigh,
Now, in face of fiend and man,
Must the camp and city scan,
And outspeed the rushing van.

III.

Pause not, gentle maiden, now!
Awful hands have mark'd thy brow;
And, in lonely hours of prayer,
Mid the leafy forest air,
Boundless powers, eternal eyes,
Looks that made old prophets wise,
Have inspired thy solitude
With a rapt, heroic mood,

And have taught thy humble weakness
All the strength that dwells in meekness;
And with how devouring sway,
Right, oppress'd by long delay,
Bursts out in a judgment-day.
Thus thy heart is high and strong,
Swelling like cherubic song,
For thou art so low and small,
It must be the Lord of All
Who can thus a world appal.
Race and country, daily speech,
That makes each man dear to each,

Friends and home, and love of mother, Grandsire's grave, and slaughter'd brother Fields familiar, native sky,

Voices these that on thee cry

Winds pursue with vocal might,
Stars will not be dumb by night,

And the dry leaf on the ground
Has a tongue of pealing sound,
Loud from God commanding thee,
Go, and set thy nation free!

IV.

Battle's blast is fiercely blowing,
Clarions sounding, coursers bounding,
Pennons o'er the tumult flowing,
Host on host the eye astounding
Wave on wave that sea confounding,
And in headlong fury going,
Mounted kingdoms wildly dashing,
Lance to lance, and steed to steed;
Now must haughtiest champions bleed,
And a myriad swords are flashing,
Loud on shield and helmet clashing;
Ne'er had ruin nobler spoil
On this broad and bloody soil.
As the storms a forest crushing,
Oaks of thousand winters grind,
So the iron whirl is rushing,
Shouts before and groans behind.
Still amid the dead and dying,
All in shatter'd ridges lying,
Pride, revenge, and youthful daring,
And their cause and country's name,
Drive them on with sweep unsparing,-
Naught for life, and all for fame!
Still above the surge of battle
Breathes the trump its fatal gale,
And the hollow tambours rattle
Chorus to the deadly tale.
Still is Joan the first in glory,
Still she sways the maddening fight,
Kindling all the flames of story,
With an unimagined might.
Squadrons furious close around her,
Still her blade is waving free;
Sword nor lance avails to wound her
Terror of a host is she.

Heavenly guardian, maiden wonder!
Long shall France resound the day
When thou camest clad in thunder,
Blasting thy tremendous way.

V.

Yet, who closer mark'd the face
That o'erruled the battle place,
Much had marvell'd to discern
Looks more calm and soft than stern.
For no flush of hot ambition
Stain'd her soul's unearthly mission.
Raging hate, and stubborn pride,
Warlike cunning, life-long tried,
Low before that presence died,
For within her sainted heart
Naught of these had formed a part.
God had will'd the land to free;
Handmaiden of God was she.

Ne'er so smooth a brow before Battle's darkening ensign wore; And 'twas still the gentle eye Wont when evening veil'd the sky, In the whispering shade to see Angels haunt the lonely tree.

VI.

Loud o'er Orleans' rampart swells
Music from her steeple bell,
Loud to France the triumph tells;
And the vehement trumpets blending,
With the shouts to heaven ascending,
Hail the maid whom seraphs bless,
Consecrated Championess!

Sound from heart to heart that tingles,
Echoing on without a pause;
While her name like sunshine mingles
With each breath a nation draws.
All the land, with joy on fire,

Blazes round the festal march,
Till they meet the priestly choir

Under Rheims' cathedral arch. Ancient towers, and cloisters hoary, Gleam and thrill above the king; Beauteous rite and blazon'd story

On his crown their lustre fling,
With an old resurgent glory,

Laws and freedom hallowing.
Therefore, baron, count, and peer,
Priest and dame no more in fear,
All assemble wondering here;
And a sea of common men,
Feasting all with greedy ken,
Now behold, in pomp appear,
Smiling, not without a tear,
Joan, the dearest sight to see,
First of all the chivalry,
Bearing low her banner'd spear.

VII.

Dizzy with their full delight,
All disperse ere comes the night.
Charles and all his train are met,
Revelling in royal hall;
Shield and pennon o'er them set,

Many a doubtful fight recall;
And the throng'd and clanging town
For the rescued land's renown,

Keeps a sudden carnival. Ask ye, where the while is Joan? She within the minster lone, To the silent altar steals, And before it trembling kneels; And amid the shadows dim, Faithfully she prays to Him Who his light in dark reveals. Now again her home she sees, Domremy with all its trees, Where the ancient beech is growing, And the haunted fount is flowing, And the Meuse with equal sound Breathes its quiet all around. Won again by weeping prayer, Lo! her loved protectors there, Catherine mild, and Margaret fair.

Over them a light is streaming,
On their gracious foreheads beaming,
Effluence from an orb unseen,
To which heaven is but a screen;
All our human sight above,
Not beyond our human love:
And from thence she hears a voice
That can make the dead rejoice;
-"Give not way to pride or fear,
For the end of all is near!"

VIII.

End with many tears implored!
"Tis the sound of home restored!
And as mounts the angel show,
Gliding with them she would go,
But again to stoop below,
And, return'd to green Lorraine,
Be a shepherd child again.
Now the crown of Charles is won,
Now the work of God is done,
Angel wings, away! away!
Lift her home by close of day,
And upon her mother's breast
Give her weary spirit rest.
Then, with vernal thickets nigh,
And the waters glistening by,
In smooth valleys let her keep
Undescried her quiet sheep.
This the promise to the maid
By the heavenly voice convey'd:
Oh! how differing far the doom;
Oh! how close the bloody tomb;
Thus men hear, but not discern,
What Heaven wills that they should learn;
And the time and deed alone
Make the eternal meaning known.

IX.

Wail, ye fields and woods of France!
Rivers, dim your sunny glance!
All of strong, and fair, and old
That the eyes of men behold,
Mountain gray, and hermit dell,
Sun and stars unquenchable,
Founts whose kisses woo the lea,
Endless, many-flooded sea,
All that witnesses a power
To o'erawe the importunate hour,
Human works devoutly wrought
To unfold enduring thought,
Shrines that seem the reverend birth
Of an elder, holier earth,
Mourn above your altars dear,
Quaking with no godless fear!
And, thou deepest heart of man,
Home of love ere sin began,
Faith prophetic, Mercy mild,
Patriot passion undefiled,
Mourn with righteous grief the day
When was hush'd your choral lay
When the hovering guardian band
Of the liberated land,

Radiant kings, were seen to wane,
And were eyeless cloud again;
When the foe, who far recoil'd,
By a maiden's presence foil'd,

Rush'd again in grim despair
From his burning, bloody lair,
And made prey of her whose word
Was so oft a living sword.

x.

Woful end, and conflict long!
Stress of agonizing wrong!.
In the black and stifling cell,
Watch'd by many a sentinel,
Not a saint is with her now,
Beaming light from locks and brow;
No melodious angel calls

Through the huge unshaken walls;
But the brutal sworder jeers,
Making merry at her tears,
And the priests her faith assail
Till it fears, but cannot fail.
So the hopeful cheer she wore
Like a robe of state before-

Branch, and leaf, and summer flower,
Perish from her hour by hour.
But the firm sustaining root
Dies not with the feathery shoot.
So survives her soul-but oh!
Fierce the closing gust of wo,
When beneath the eyes of day
Thousands gather round her way,
And a host in steel array;
When the captive, wan and lowly,
Walks beside her jailer slowly,
Till before the expectant pile

Weak she stands, with saddest smile;
And her steady tones reply
To the cowl'd tormentor's lie-
"God commanded me to go,
And I went, as well ye know,
To destroy my country's foe!"
While she clasps the saving rood
Fiercer swells the murderers' mood.
Till, through rising smoke and flame
Comes no sound but Jesu's name
Jesu-Jesu-oft renew'd,
Oft by stifling pain subdued.
Soon that cry is heard no more,
And the people, mute before,
Groan to heaven, for all is o'er.

XI.

Word untrue! That All can ne'er
Have its close and destiny here.
All that can be o'er on earth
Is the shifting cloudland's birth;
Dream and shadow, mist and error,
Joy unblest, and nightmare terror—
Passions blent in ghostly play,
Twinkling of a gusty day-
Glittering sights that vaguely roll,
Catch the eye, but mock the soul-
Griefs and hopes ill understood,
Tyrants of man's weaker mood,
Folly's loved, portentous brood-
These, and all the aims they cherish,
In their native tomb may perish.
Phantoms shapeless, huge, and wild,
That beset the gray beard child-

Loud usurpers, fierce and mean,
Ruling an unstable scene;
Blinding hate, and gnawing lust,
Lies that cheat our wiser trust,
These may cleave to formless dust;
But the earth, oppress'd so long
By the heavy steps of wrong,
Sends an awful voice on high
With a keen accusing cry,
And appeals to him whose lore
Tells the All can ne'er be o'er.

XII.

Faithful maiden, gentle heart!
Thus our thoughts of grief depart;
Vanishes the place of death;
Sounds no more thy painful breath;
O'er the unbloody stream of Meuse
Melt the silent evening dews,
And along the banks of Loire
Rides no more the arm'd destroyer.
But thy native waters flow
Through a land unnamed below,
And thy woods their verdure wave
In the vale beyond the grave,
Where the deep-dyed western sky
Looks on all with tranquil eye,
And on distant dateless hills
Each high peak with radiance fills.
There amid the oak-tree shadow,

And o'er all the beech crown'd meadow,
Those for whom the earth must mourn

In their peaceful joy sojourn.
Join'd with fame's selected few,
Those whom rumor never knew,
But no less to conscience true :
Each grave prophet, soul sublime,
Pyramids of elder time;

Bards with hidden fire possess'd,
Flashing from a wo-worn breast;
Builders of man's better lot,
Whom their hour acknowledged not,
Now with strength appeased and pure
Feel whate'er they loved is sure.
These and such as these the train,
Sanctified by former pain.
Mid those softest yellow rays
Sphered afar from mortal praise;
Peasant, matron, monarch, child,
Saint undaunted, hero mild,
Sage whom pride has ne'er beguiled;
And with them the champion maid
Dwells in that serenest glade;
Danger, toil, and grief no more
Fret her life's unearthly shore;
Gentle sounds that will not cease,
Breathe but peace, and ever peace;
While above the immortal trees,
Michael and his host she sees
Clad in diamond panoplies;
And more near, in tenderer light,
Honoured Catherine, Margaret bright,
Agnes whom her loosened hair
Robes like woven amber air-
Sisters of her childhood come
To her last eternal home.

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