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The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its

number, And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a

slumber.

Wild timid hares were drawn from woods to share his

home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses : The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's

ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and

loving.

And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of

that guiding, And things provided came without the sweet sense of

providing, He testified this solemn truth, while phrenzy desolated, - Nor man nor nature satisfies whom only God created.

Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother while she

blesses And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her

kisses, That turns his fevered eyes around—“My mother ! where's

my

mother?" As if such tender words and deeds could come from any

other !

The fever gone, with leaps of heart he sees her bending

o'er him, Her face all pale from watchful love, the unweary love she

bore him !Thus woke the poet from the dream his life's long fever

gave him, Beneath those deep pathetic eyes which closed in death Thus ? oh, not thus ! no type of earth can image that

to save him.

awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seraphs, round

him breaking, Or felt the new immortal throb of soul from body parted, But felt those eyes alone, and knew,--“My Saviour ! not

deserted !"

Deserted ! Who hath dreamt that when the cross in dark

ness rested, Upon the Victim's hidden face no love was manifested ? What frantic hands outstretched have e'er the atoning

drops averted ? What tears have washed them from the soul, that one

should be deserted ?

Deserted ! God could separate from His own essence

rather; And Adam's sins have swept between the righteous Son

and Father : Yea, once, Immanuel's orphaned cry His universe hath

shaken It went up single, echoless, “ My God, I am forsaken !”

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It went up from the Holy's lips amid His lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use those words of deso

lation ! That earth's worst phrenzies, marring hope, should mar

not hope's fruition, And I, on Cowper's grave, should see his rapture in a

vision.

CROWNED AND BURIED.

NAPOLEON !-years ago, and that great word
Compact of human breath in hate and dread
And exultation, skied us overhead-
An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword
Scathing the cedars of the world,-drawn down
In burnings, by the metal of a crown.

Napoleon !-nations, while they cursed that name,
Shook at their own curse ; and while others bore
Its sound, as of a trumpet, on before,
Brass-fronted legions justified its fame;
And dying men on trampled battle-sods
Near their last silence uttered it for God's.

Napoleon !-sages, with high foreheads drooped,
Did use it for a problem; children small
Leapt up to greet it, as at manhood's call;
Priests blessed it from their altars overstooped
By meek-eyed Christs; and widows with a moan
Spake it, when questioned why they sat alone.

That name consumed the silence of the snows
In Alpine keeping, holy and cloud-hid ;
The mimic eagles dared what Nature's did,
And over-rushed her mountainous repose
In search of eyries : and the Egyptian river
Mingled the same word with its grand “For ever.”

That name was shouted near the pyramidal
Nilotic tombs, whose mummied habitants,
Packed to humanity's significance,
Motioned it back with stillness,-shouts as idle
As hireling artists' work of myrrh and spice
Which swathed last glories round the Ptolemies.

The world's face changed to hear it, kingly men
Came down in chidden babes' bewilderment
From autocratic places, each content
With sprinkled ashes for anointing: then
The people laughed or wondered for the nonce,
To see one throne a composite of thrones.
Napoleon !-even the torrid vastitude
Of India felt in throbbings of the air
That name which scattered by disastrous blare
All Europe's bound-lines,-drawn afresh in blood.
Napoleon !—from the Russias west to Spain :
And Austria trembled till ye heard her chain.

And Germany was 'ware; and Italy
Oblivious of old fames-her laurel-locked,
High-ghosted Cæsars passing uninvoked-
Did crumble her own ruins with her knee,
To serve a newer : ay ! but Frenchmen cast
A future from them nobler than her past :

For verily though France augustly rose
With that raised NAME, and did assume by such
The purple of the world, none gave so much
As she in purchase-to speak plain, in loss-
Whose hands, toward freedom stretched, dropped

paralyzed
To wield a sword or fit an undersized

King's crown to a great man's head. And though along
Her Paris streets, did float on frequent streams
Of triumph, pictured or emmarbled dreams
Dreamt right by genius in a world gone wrong,–
No dream of all so won was fair to see
As the lost vision of her liberty.

.

Napoleon !—'t was a high name lifted high :
It met at last God's thunder sent to clear

Our compassing and covering atmosphere
And open a clear sight beyond the sky
Of supreme empire ; this of earth's was done-
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.

The kings crept out—the peoples sat at home,
And finding the long-invocated peace
(A pall embroidered with worn images
Of rights divine) too scant to cover doom
Such as they suffered, cursed the corn that grew
Rankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo.

A deep gloom centered in the deep repose ;
The nations stood up mute to count their dead;
And he who owned the NAME which vibrated
Through silence,– trusting to its noblest foes
When earth was all too grey for chivalry,
Died of their mercies 'mid the desert sea.

O wild St. Helen! very still she kept him,
With a green willow for all pyramid,
Which stirred a little if the low wind did,
A little more, if pilgrims overwept him,
Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay
Which seemed to cover his for ‘udgment-day.

Nay, not so long! France kept her old affection
As deeply as the sepulchre the corse ;
Until, dilated by such love's remorse
To a new angel of the resurrection,
She cried, “ Behold, thou England ! I would have
The dead whereof thou wottest, from that grave."

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And England answered in the courtesy
Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit,-
“Take back thy dead ! and when thou buriest it,
Throw in all former strifes 'twixt thee and me."

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