Deep within my inmost breast, Hushed and holy dwells it there - 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; Glanced through the dark the coarse white sheet - "What only one!" The brutal hackman said, As, with an oath, he spurned away the dead. How sunk the inmost hearts of all, As rolled that dead-cart slowly by, With creaking wheel and harsh hoof-fall! The dying turned him to the wall, To hear it and to die! Onward it rolled; while oft its driver stayed, And hoarsely clamored, "Ho! - bring out your dead." 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 Nor flower, nor cross, nor hallowed taper gave Yet, gentle sufferer! there shall be, In every heart of kindly feeling, A rite as holy paid to thee As if beneath the convent-tree Thy sisterhood were kneeling, At vesper hours, like sorrowing angels, keeping Their tearful watch around thy place of sleeping. For thou wast one in whom the light Of Heaven's own love was kindled well, Enduring with a martyr's might, Through weary day and wakeful night, Far more than words may tell : Gentle, and meek, and lowly, and unknownThy mercies measured by thy God alone! 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! Pointing the spirit, in its dark dismay, 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, Giving to God her beauty and her youth, 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; Yea, and when thrones shall crumble down, And human pride and grandeur fall, The herald's line of long renown The mitre and the kingly crown — Perishing glories all ! The pure devotion of thy generous heart Shall live in Heaven, of which it was a part t! 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 grow! He comes - he comes the Frost Spirit comes !—on the rushing 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 lake shall feel the Frost Spirit comes! and the quiet 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 pass. 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 by! |