OCCASIONAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. IF BRAHMA. F the red slayer think he slays, Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same ; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; But thou, meek lover of the good! A NEMESIS. LREADY blushes on thy cheek The bosom-thought which thou must speak; The bird, how far it haply roam By cloud or isle, is flying home; Will a woman's fan the ocean smooth? And all our struggles and our toils FATE. EEP in the man sits fast his fate DE To mould his fortunes mean or great: Unknown to Cromwell as to me Was Cromwell's measure or degree; If he than his groom be better or worse. The Genius from its cloudy throne. Unto the thing so signified; Or say, the foresight that awaits Is the same Genius that creates. Ο FREEDOM. NCE I wished I might rehearse Freedom's pæan in my verse, That the slave who caught the strain Should throb until he snapped his chain. But the Spirit said, "Not so; Speak it not, or speak it low; ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL. 151 Name not lightly to be said, Yet, wouldst thou the mountain find Who gives to seas and sunset skies ODE SUNG IN THE TOWN HALL, CONCORD, JULY 4, 1857. TENDERLY the haughty day One morn is in the mighty heaven, The cannon booms from town to town, The joy-bells chime their tidings down, For He that flung the broad blue fold One third part of the sky unrolled The men are ripe of Saxon kind To take the statute from the mind, - United States! the ages plead,- For sea and land don't understand, See rights for which the one hand fights Be just at home; then write your scroll And bid the broad Atlantic roll, And henceforth there shall be no chain, Save underneath the sea The wires shall murmur through the main Sweet songs of Liberty. The conscious stars accord above, And under, through the cable wove, For He that worketh high and wise, Will take the sun out of the skies BOSTON HYMN. READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863. T HE word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame. God said, I am tired of kings, Up to my ear the morning brings Think ye I made this ball Where tyrants great and tyrants small My angel, his name is Freedom,- He shall cut pathways east and west, Lo! I uncover the land Which I hid of old time in the West, I show Columbia, of the rocks I will divide my goods; |