The weak should always yield to might, The simple to the wise, The spider, therefore, deems it right To trap defenseless flies. Let those whom nature's hand hath fitted To serve this humble end, Be not by fiery zealots pitted To impiously contend Against ther fate, in bold defiance Worthies refrain from all alliance Shine 'e our paths, where'er we run And rule our destiny." Thus spake this cow'ring, servile crew, 'Gainst freedom's holy cause; And then exultingly withdrew, 'Mid rapturous applause. Resistless roll'd this mighty flood Of suasive eloquence, While from the assembled multitude, May gentle peace, while yonder sun, "Twas plain the wind had tuned her pipes To quite a different air; And they who would not dance to stripes, E'en liberty's most ardent friends, And at last, to gain some private end, The public weal demands," said they, "Some honorable concession: Let's give at least to tyranny A peaceable possession. A weak and worthless tribe, And by this compromise, you see, Without respect to grade or caste : Its tendency has ever been, The captive's bonds to tighten. By precept we may hope to win,— Let each discordant note be tuned, Time oft hath healed a deeper wound- A FRAGMENT. There is a time, when yet the mind is new, That thoughts half-fledged go forth on feeble wing And poised in ether, much bewildered, view Through fancy's glass, the gliding forms that spring From unseen hands, to float awhile in air, Then like the melting mists at early dawn, Give place to brighter forms of beauty rare, That ages past from mystery have drawn. Oh, faithful time! what progeny is thine! The universe appeared at thy decree; But who made thee, thou Artisan divine! Self-made, thou art, from all eternity. Presumptuous thoughts, abortions of the mind, Of sickly birth, and creatures of a day. How vain, to scan what God himself designed, And call his perfect work Time's progeny. Blind Fate did'st thou, through ever-during dark, Grope o'er the elements that formed this world, And strike from chaos first the electric spark, That lit up space where mad confusion whirled! Crude matter sublimed, and rolling nebulæ Which time hath since reduced to radiant suns, And from the foam, hath formed a galaxy, REFLECTIONS IN YOUTH. One summer's morn, as I strolled along, Of love, and deep humility. Through every fabric that Nature weaves And made of this bright fair earth a hell. Busy and bright, 'neath a glorious sun. From age remote, o'er a boundless waste, THE VOYAGE OF LIFE-A SONG. How rights the ship, when the world goes merrily, How rights the ship, as her sails catch greedily Night holds his watch 'neath a cloudless canopy,With hanging lamps o'er the bright sea's crest, Till young morning spreads, like a golden panoply, A flood of day o'er its glassy breast. Sparkling like dew-drops distilled on sweet violets, Life's sea of light unruffled lies; Away darts the ship o'er the silvery breast of it, Her white sails spread to the breeze, she flies. Morning hath op'd those golden eyes of hers, But scarce one glance o'er the world hath shone When far to the west a gathering cloud appears. Gleaning the darkness that night had strown. How tosses the ship when the world goes crabbedly Loud shrieks the blast as the waves roll rapidly, |