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THE PILGRIMS OF THE WORLD.
I SEE a city of the East,
A city great and wide ;
On its pinnacles of pride.
Its marble founts and porticoes,
Its towers and temples vast, And its pillars of memorial tall,
Shadows of beauty cast.
The murmur of its multitudes
Is like the ocean's voice; Yet may'st thou hear the children's cries,
That in streets and squares rejoice.
How glorious looks that antique town!
How pleasant is its din! But the evening falls—the gates are closed,
And have shut three strangers in.
Their steps are faint, their garbs are quaint,
Their travel has been sore :
They stalk by every door!
On goes the first-What cries are those ?
I seem at once to hear
Rebellious shouts, despairing rage,
Wo, agony, and fear.
The second, with a mutter'd curse,
Down tower and house has hurl'd; And the third has left a silence there,
That shall outlast the world.
Mine eye is on a broad, rich realm,
On pleasant fields and downs-
Unto a thousand towns.
What green and cattle-traversed hills !
What old majestic woods !
Along the gleaming floods !
But that pilgrim three !that fearful three !
Again I see them, there!
And darkness, and despair.
What cursed vision have I seen ?
Is this the land they paced ?
Along the wormwood waste ?
This—where the wild ass souffs the wind,
The silent ostrich stands;
Frowns proudly on the sands ?
A home! there is a happy home!
An old, ancestral tower ; And blessed is the family
That peoples it this hour.
Honours their valiant fathers won, .
Fair are their lands and wide ;
That is their wealth and pride.
Now vengeance on the wandering fiends!
Hither, too, are they come!
And a shadow wraps that home.
Oh! there are tears-wild, burning tears,
Terror, and scorn, and hate ; Mad words, dark looks, sad breaking hearts,
And partings desperate.
Can no one stop those wizards curst?
Can no one break their power ?
Their footsteps scorch the flower.
Stand back! stand back! thou desperate man!
Wouldst thou their progress thwart? Those feet have stood in Adam's bower ;
Those hands laid waste his heart.
Those gaunt forms round the world have gone,
Through centuries of guilt,
Pulling down what the wise have framed,
And what the mighty built.
Children of boary Eld, they hold
This groaning earth in fee,
Towards the timeless sea.
Stand back! for who may cross the path
Of creatures void of breath?
Of Sin, Decay, and Death?
THE TWO VOICES.
Death and its twofold aspect:-Wintry, one,
Meet in the sky : “Thou art gone hence!" one sang—“our light is flown, Our Beautiful, that seem'd too much our own,
Ever to die!
" Thou art gone hence ! Our joyous hills among Never again to pour thy soul in song,
When spring-flowers rise ! Never thy friend's familiar step to meet, With loving laughter, and the welcome sweet
Of thy glad eyes.
“Thou art gone home, gone home !" then high and
Again to shed !
To bow thy head.
“Thou art gone homel-Oh! early crown'd and blest ! Where could the love of that deep heart find rest
With aught below?
Thrice blest to go !”.
Yet sigh'd again that breeze-like voice of grief-
So loved should be !
tone, The music of our being, all in one
Depart with thee!
"Fair form, young spirit, morning-vision fled !
The dark unknown ?
Thy smile is gone !"
“Home, home !" once more th' exulting voice arose : “Thou art gone homel from that divine repose
Never to roam!