O, that dew, like balm, shall steal And that smile, like sunshine, dart For a smile of God thou art. EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath, In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; "Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! "O stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! At break of day, as heavenward A traveller, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, [The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of October. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING. THE pages of thy book I read, Well done! Thy words are great and bold; Go on, until this land revokes The old and chartered Lie, The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes Insult humanity. A voice is ever at thy side Speaking in tones of might, Like the prophetic voice, that cried Write! and tell out this bloody tale; This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, |