« 前へ次へ »
self to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the union should be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people, when it shall be broken up and destroyed.
While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant, that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre; not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly: Liberty fir:t, and union afterwards; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable!
oh, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,
The infant a mother attended and loved ;
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne;
The peasant whose lot to sow and to reap;
The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven,
So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed
For we are the same our fathers have been;
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking our fathers would
shrink, To the life we are clinging they also would cling; But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.
They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;
come; They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.
They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now,
Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath; From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroudOh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?
BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
Weary of breath,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;-
Young, and so fair!
Look at her garments,
Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.
Touch her not scornfully
Gently and humanly;
Now, is pure womanly.
Make no deep scrutiny
Rash and undutiful;
Death has left on her Only the beautiful.
Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's familyWipe those poor lips of hers,
Oozing so clammily;
Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?
Who was her father?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other?
Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Near a whole city full,
Feelings were changed ;
Thrown from its eminence Even God's providence
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river, With many a light
From window and casement, .From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night.
The bleak winds of March
Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Swift to be hurl'd
Out of the world!
In she plunged boldly,
The rough river ran,-
Dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it
Then, if you can !