0 Roanoke, Va. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. MOTHER EARTH! upon thy lap And o'er them, silent as a dream, Shut out from him the bitter word Of all save deeds of kindness, There, where with living ear and eye He sleeps, still looking to the west, Beneath the dark wood shadow, As if he still would see the sun Sink down on wave and meadow. Bard, Sage, and Tribune! — in himself Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, All parties feared him: each in turn As right or left his fatal glance Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand Too honest or too proud to feign While others hailed in distant skies Still through each change of fortune strange, Knew never shade of turning; He held his slaves, yet made withal His harshest words of proud rebuke, He held his slaves; yet kept the while In the dark vassals of his will He saw but Man and Woman! Across his threshold ventured. And when the old and wearied man His brother-man stood weeping, Oh, never bore his ancient State A truer son or braver! None trampling with a calmer scorn On foreign hate or favor. He knew her faults, yet never stooped But none beheld with clearer eye The plague-spot o'er her spreading, None heard more sure the steps of Doom Along her future treading. For her as for himself he spake, When, his gaunt frame upbracing, As from the grave where Henry sleeps, So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone Of Randolph's lowly dwelling, Virginia! o'er thy land of slaves And hark! from thy deserted fields From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons The curse is on thee, wolves for men, And briers for corn-sheaves giving! On, more than all thy dead renown Were now one hero living! John Greenleaf Whittier. L Rodman's Point, N. C. READY. OADED with gallant soldiers, A boat shot in to the land, And lay at the right of Rodman's Point, Lightly, gayly, they came to shore, When sudden the enemy opened fire, Each man fell flat on the bottom Of the boat; and the captain said: "If we lie here, we all are captured, And the first who moves is dead!" |