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Deep within my inmost breast,
In the secret place of mind,
Like an awful presence shrined,
THE FEMALE MARTYR.
[MARY G- aged 18, a “SISTER OF CHARITY," died in one of our Atlantic cities, during the prevalence of the Indian Cholera, while in voluntary attendance upon the sick.)
“BRING out your dead !” the midnight street
Heard and gave back the hoarse, low call ;
Her coffin and her pall.
How sunk the inmost hearts of all,
As rolled that dead-cart slowly by,
To hear it and to die !-
It paused beside the burial-place ;
“ Toss in your load !” — and it was done. —
With quick hand and averted face,
They cast them, one by one —
And thou, young martyr !- thou wast there
No white-robed sisters round thee trod -
Giving thee to thy God ;
Yet, gentle sufferer ! — there shall be,
In every heart of kindly feeling,
Thy sisterhood were kneeling,
For thou wast one in whom the light
Of Heaven's own love was kindled well,
Far more than words may tell :
Where manly hearts were failing, — where
The throngful street grew foul with death, O high souled martyr ! — thou wast there, Inhaling from the loathsome air,
Poison with every breath. Yet shrinking not from offices of dread For the wrung dying, and the unconscious dead.
And, where the sickly taper shed
Its light through vapors, damp, confined,
Hushed as a seraph’s fell thy tread —
Of suffering human-kind !
Innocent teacher of the high
And holy mysteries of Heaven ! How turned to thee each glazing eye, In mute and awful sympathy,
As thy low prayers were given ; And the o'er-hovering Spoiler wore, the while, An angel's features — a deliverer's smile !
A blessed task ! -- and worthy one
Who, turning from the world, as thou,
Had sealed her early vow;
Earth may not claim thee. Nothing here
Could be for thee a meet reward ; Thine is a treasure far more dear Eye hath not seen it, nor the ear
Of living mortal heard, — The joys prepared — the promised bliss aboveThe holy presence of Eternal Love ! Sleep on in peace. The earth has not
A nobler name than thine shall be. The deeds by martial manhood wrought, The lofty energies of thought,
The fire of poesy These have but frail and fading honors ; — thine Shall Time unto Eternity consign.
Yea, and when thrones shall crumble down,
And human pride and grandeur fall, —
The herald's line of long renown —
Perishing glories all !
THE FROST SPIRIT.
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! You may
trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the brown hill's
withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the grey old trees where their
pleasant green came forth, And the winds, which follow wherever he goes, have shaken
them down to earth.
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! — from the
frozen Labrador — From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear
wanders o'er — Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless
forms below In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble statues
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes !--- on the rush
ing Northern blast, And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fearful breath
went past. With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the fires of
Hecla glow On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice below.
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! -- and the quiet
lake shall feel The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's
heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to
the leaning grass, Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence
He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! — let us meet
him as we may, And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away ; And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight dances
high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding
wing goes bv !