SUMNER. "I am not one who has disgraced beauty of sentiment by deformity of conduct, or the max ims of a freeman by the actions of a slave; but, by the grace of God, I have kept my life unsullied." MILTON'S Defence of the People of England. O MOTHER STATE!- the winds of March Blew chill o'er Auburn's Field of Where, slow, beneath a leaden arch And now, with all thy woods in leaf, Thy fields in flower, beside thy dead Thou sittest, in thy robes of grief, A Rachel yet uncomforted! And once again the organ swells, In all thy steeple-towers are rung. And I, obedient to thy will, Have come a simple wreath to lay, Superfluous, on a grave that still Is sweet with all the flowers of May. I take, with awe, the task assigned; It may be that my friend might miss, In his new sphere of heart and mind, Some token from my hand in this. By many a tender memory moved, Along the past my thought I send; The record of the cause he loved Is the best record of its friend. No trumpet sounded in his ear, He saw not Sinai's cloud and flame, But never yet to Hebrew seer A clearer voice of duty came. God said: "Break thou these yokes; undo These heavy burdens. I ordain A work to last thy whole life through, A ministry of strife and pain. "Forego thy dreams of lettered ease, Put thou the scholar's promise by, The rights of man are more than these." He heard, and answered: "Here am I!" He set his face against the blast, His feet against the flinty shard, Till the hard service grew, at last, Its own exceeding great reward. Lifted like Saul's above the crowd, Upon his kingly forehead fell The first, sharp bolt of Slavery's cloud, Launched at the truth he urged so well. Ah! never yet, at rack or stake, Was sorer loss made Freedom's gain, Than his, who suffered for her sake The beak-torn Titan's lingering pain! The fixed star of his faith, through all Loss, doubt, and peril, shone the same; As through a night of storm, some tall, Strong lighthouse lifts its steady flame. Beyond the dust and smoke he saw The sheaves of freedom's large in crease, The holy fanes of equal law, The New Jerusalem of peace. The weak might fear, the worldling mock, The faint and blind of heart regret ; All knew at last th' eternal rock On which his forward feet were set. The subtlest scheme of compromise Weak to the simplest truth he told. One language held his heart and lip, Straight onward to his goal he trod, SUMNER. And proved the highest statesmanship Obedience to the voice of God. No wail was in his voice, -none heard, When treason's storm-cloud blackest grew, The weakness of a doubtful word; The first to smite, the first to spare; When once the hostile ensigns fell, He stretched out hands of generous care To lift the foe he fought so well. For there was nothing base or small Or craven in his soul's broad plan; Forgiving all things personal, He hated only wrong to man. The old traditions of his State, The memories of her great and good, Took from his life a fresher date, And in himself embodied stood. How felt the greed of gold and place, The venal crew that schemed and planned, The fine scorn of that haughty face, If than Rome's tribunes statelier The one dear spot on all the globe. gave If to the master's plea he With man as equal man he dealt. Proud was he? If his presence kept Its grandeur wheresoe'er he trod, As if from Plutarch's gallery stepped The hero and the demigod, None failed, at least, to reach his ear, Safely his dearest friends may own The surface-blemish in the stone Of the tall, stately pyramid. Suffice it that he never brought 469 His conscience to the public mart; But lived himself the truth he taught, White-souled, clean-handed, pure of heart. What if he felt the natural pride Of power in noble use, too true With thin humilities to hide The work he did, the lore he knew? Was he not just? Was any wronged Well might he heed the words he spake, And scan with care the written page Through which he still shall warm and wake The hearts of men from age to age. Ah! who shall blame him now because He solaced thus his hours of pain! Should not the o'erworn thresher pause, And hold to light his golden grain? No sense of humor dropped its oil He spake alone the thing he meant. stone. He cherished, void of selfish ends, The social courtesies that bless And sweeten life, and loved his friends With most unworldly tenderness. But still his tired eyes rarely learned The glad relief by Nature brought; Her mountain ranges never turned His current of persistent thought. The sea rolled chorus to his speech Three-banked like Latium's tall tri reme, THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. 471 HAZEL BLOSSOMS. THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ. On the isle of Penikese, Wooed the west-wind's steady strain, Of the waves they stooped to skim, Said the Master to the youth: Then the Master in his place As, in life's best hours, we hear Even the careless heart was moved, In the lap of sheltering seas |