‘ Mid the august and never-dying light Of constellated spirits, who have gain'd A throne in heaven, by power of heavenly acts, And leave their names immortal and unchanged
On earth, even as the names of Sun and Moon, See'st thou, my soul!‘ mid all that radiant host One worthier of thy love and reverence, Than He, the fearless spirit, who went forth,
Mail'd in the armour of invincible faith, And bearing in his grasp the spear of truth, Fit to destroy and save,— went forth to wage, Against the fierce array of bloody men,
Avarice and ignorance, cruelty and hate, A holy warfare! Deep within his soul, The groans of anguish, and the clank of chains, Dwelt ceaseless as a cataract, and fill'd
The secret haunts of meditative prayer. Encircled by the silence of the hearth, The evening-silence of a happy home; Upon his midnight bed, when working soul
Turns inward, and the steady flow of thought Is all we feel of life; in crowded rooms, Where mere sensation oft takes place of mind, And all time seems the present; in the sun,
The joyful splendour of a summer-day; Or‘ neath the moon, the calm and gentle night; Where'er he moved, one vision ever fill'd His restless spirit.‘ Twas a vision bright
With colours born in Heaven, yet oh! bedimm'd With breath of sorrow, sighs, and tears, and blood! Before him lay a quarter of the world, A Mighty Land, wash'd by unnumber'd floods,
Born in her bosom,— floods that to the sea Roll ocean-like, or in the central wilds Fade like the dim day melting into night; A land all teeming with the gorgeous shew
Of Nature in profuse magnificence! Vallies and groves, where untamed herds have ranged Without a master since the birth of time! Fountains and caves fill'd with the hidden light
Of diamond and of ruby, only view'd With admiration by the unenvying sun! Millions of beings like himself he sees In stature and in soul,— the sons of God,
Destined to do him homage, and to lift Their fearless brows unto the burning sky, Stamp'd with his holy image! Noble shapes, Kings of the desert, men whose stately tread
Brings from the dust the sound of liberty! The vision fades not here; he sees the gloom That lies upon these kingdoms of the sun, And makes them darker than the dreary realms,
Scarce-moving at the pole.— A sluggish flow Attends those floods so great and beautiful, Rolling in majesty that none adores! And lo! the faces of those stately men,
Silent as death, or changed to ghastly shapes By madness and despair! His ears are torn By shrieks and ravings, loud, and long, and wild, Or the deep-mutter'd curse of sullen hearts,
Scorning in bitter woe their gnawing chains! He sees, and shuddering feels the vision true, A pale-faced band, who in his mother-isle First look'd upon the day, beneath its light
Dare to be tyrants, and with coward deeds Sullying the glory of the Queen of Waves! He sees that famous Isle, whose very winds Dissolve like icicles the tyrant's chains,
On Afric bind them firm as adamant, Yet boast, with false and hollow gratitude, Of all the troubled nations of the earth That she alone is free! The awful sight
Appals not him; he draws his lonely breath Without a tremor; for a voice is heard Breathed by no human lips,— heard by his soul,— That he by Heaven is chosen to restore
Mercy on earth, a mighty conqueror Over the sins and miseries of man. The work is done! the Niger's sullen waves Have heard the tidings,— and the orient Sun
Beholds them rolling on to meet his light In joyful beauty.— Tombut's spiry towers Are bright without the brightness of the day, And Houssa wakening from his age-long trance
Of woe, amid the desert, smiles to hear The last faint echo of the blissful sound.—
Cookies on Poetry Cove