If Honor, Justice, Truth, had not forsaken The place long hallowed as their bright abode, The faith of treaties never had been shaken, Our country would have kept the trust she owed; Nor Violence nor Treachery had taken Away those rights which nature's God bestowed. Fruitless thy mighty efforts-vain appealing Our land-once green as Paradise-is hoary, Whose wrongs eternity can tell-not time; Yet, FRELINGHUYSEN, gratitude is due thee, Be not dismayed. On God's own strength relying, For thee, ten thousand prayers are heavenward flying; Genius Slumbering.—PERCIVAL. HE sleeps, forgetful of his once bright fame; And yet not all forgotten sleeps he there; There are who still remember how he bore Seemed living with the crown of light he wore ; He sleeps, and yet, around the sightless eye He will not sleep for ever, but will rise Fresh to more daring labors; now, even now, The gathered slumber leaves his lifted brow; Yes, he will break his sleep; the spell is gone; Keen as the famished eagle darts her wing; He rushes forth to conquer: shall they take They, who, with feebler pace, still kept their way, When he forgot the contest-shall they take, Now he renews the race, the victor's bay? Still let them strive-when he collects his might, He will assert his right. The spirit cannot always sleep in dust, Whose essence is ethereal; they may try To darken and degrade it; it may rust Dimly awhile, but cannot wholly die; And, when it wakens, it will send its fire Intenser forth and higher. Genius Waking.—PERCIVAL. SLUMBER'S heavy chain hath bound theeWhere is now thy fire? Feebler wings are gathering round theeShall they hover higher? Can no power, no spell, recall thee From inglorious dreams? O, could glory so appal thee, Thine was once the highest pinion With a proud and sure dominion, Like the herald, winged with lightning, From the Olympian throne, Ever mounting, ever brightening, Where the pillared props of heaven O, what rare and heavenly brightness Wheeling through the shadowy ocean, * With serene and placid motion, From that cloudless region stooping, Up again undaunted soaring, Thou didst pierce the cloud, When the warring winds were roaring Where is now that restless longing Come they not, like visions, thronging Why should not their glow enchant thee Surely danger cannot daunt thee From a heaven like this. But thou slumberest; faint and quivering Hangs thy ruffled wing; Like a dove tu winter shivering, Or a feebler thing. Where is now thy might and motion, Where is now thy heart's devotion? Where thy spirit's light? Hark! his rustling plumage gathers Closer to his side, Close, as when the storm-bird weathers Ocean's hurrying tide. Now his nodding beak is steady Wide his burning eye Now his opening wings are ready, And his aim-how high! Now he curves his neck, and proudly Now, like sunset over fountains, Glorious bird, thy dream has left thee- Of the glory given. With a bold, a fearless pinion, On thy starry road, None, to fame's supreme dominion, The Spirit of Poetry.-LONGFELLOW. THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where'er the gentle south wind blows- Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure bright air Their tops the green trees lift. -Hence gifted bards Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, My busy fancy oft imbodies it, As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature-of the heavenly forms |