LINES. IV. 127 Thank God! that I have lived to see the time When the great truth begins at last to find An utterance from the deep heart of mankind, Earnest and clear, that ALL Revenge IS CRIME! That man is holier than a creed, that all Restraint upon him must consult his good, Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall, And Love look in upon his solitude. The beautiful lesson which our Saviour taught Through long, dark centuries its way hath wrought Into the common mind and popular thought; And words, to which by Galilee's lake shore The humble fishers listened with hushed oar, Have found an echo in the general heart, And of the public faith become a living part. Again he felt the western breeze, With scent of flowers ard crisping hay; And down again through wind-stirred trees He saw the quivering sunlight play. Upon his mother's knees was laid, II. He woke. At once on heart and brain A blackness in his morning light,Like some foul devil-altar there Built up by demon hands at night. And, maddened by that evil sight, Dark, horrible, confused, and strange, A chaos of wild, weltering change, All power of check and guidance gone, Dizzy and blind, his mind swept on. In vain he strove to breathe a prayer, In vain he turned the Holy Book, He only heard the gallows-stair Creak as the wind its timbers shook. No dream for him of sin forgiven, While still that baleful spectre stood, With its hoarse murmur, "Blood for Blood!" Between him and the pitying Heaven! III. Low on his dungeon floor he knelt, His hot tears fell like rain; THE HUMAN SACRIFICE. Unwarmed, unsoftened of the heart, Is measured out by rule and book, With placid lip and tranquil blood, The hangman's ghostly ally stood, Blessing with solemn text and word The gallows-drop and strangling cord; Lending the sacred Gospel's awe And sanction to the crime of Law. IV. He saw the victim's tortured brow, The sweat of anguish starting there,The record of a nameless woe In the dim eye's imploring stare, Seen hideous through the long, damp hair, Fingers of ghastly skin and bone Working and writhing on the stone ! And heard, by mortal terror wrung From heaving breast and stiffened tongue, The choking sob and low hoarse The vengeful terrors of God's law, 129 The kindlings of Eternal hate, The first drops of that fiery rain Which beats the dark red realm of pain, Did he uplift his earnest cries Against the crime of Law, which gave His brother to that fearful grave, Whereon Hope's moonlight never lies, And Faith's white blossoms never With which he saw the victim led Beneath the dark veil which divides Ever the living from the dead, And Nature's solemn secret hides, The man of prayer can only draw New reasons for his bloody law; New faith in staying Murder's hand By murder at that Law's command; New reverence for the gallows-rope, As human Nature's latest hope; Last relic of the good old time, When Power found license for its crime, And held a writhing world in check By that fell cord about its neck; Stifled Sedition's rising shout, Choked the young breath of Freedom out, And timely checked the words which sprung From Heresy's forbidden tongue; VI. O, Thou! at whose rebuke the grave Back to warm life its sleeper gave, Beneath whose sad and tearful glance The cold and changed countenance Broke the still horror of its trance, And, waking, saw with joy above A brother's face of tenderest love; The fiends of his revenge were sent From thy pure Gospel's element To their dark home again. Thy name is Love! What, then, is he, Who in that name the gallows rears, An awful altar built to thee, With sacrifice of blood and tears? O, once again thy healing lay On the blind eyes which knew thee not RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE O MOTHER EARTH! upon thy lap That heart so worn and broker, Shut out from him the bitter word And serpent hiss of scorning; Nor let the storms of yesterday Disturb his quiet morning. Breathe over him forgetfulness Of all save deeds of kindness, And, save to smiles of grateful eyes, Press down his lids in blindness. There, where with living ear and ey He heard Potomac's flowing, And, through his tall ancestral trees, Saw autumn's sunset glowing, 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 The scorn-like lightning blasting; Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, Her storied pages showing. All parties feared him: each in turn Too honest or too proud to feign A love he never cherished, Beyond Virginia's border line His patriotism perished. DEMOCRACY. While others hailed in distant skies, Still through each change of fortune strange, Racked nerve, and brain all burning, His loving faith in Mother-land Knew never shade of turning; He held his slaves, yet made withal He held his slaves: yet kept the while He saw but Man and Woman! Across his threshold ventured. And when the old and wearied man His brother-man stood weeping, O, never bore his ancient State He knew her faults, yet never stooped 131 But none beheld with clearer eye For her as for himself he spake, As from the grave where Henry sleeps, So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone And hark! from thy deserted fields Their household gods have broken. |