THE DESTINY OF NATIONS.

A VISION.

AUSPICIOUS Reverence! Hush all meaner song,
Ere we the deep preluding strain have pour'd
To the Great Father, only Rightful King,
Eternal Father! King Omnipotent!

The Will, the Word, the Breath,-the Living God.

Such symphony requires best instrument. Seize, then! my soul! from Freedom's trophied dome, The Harp which hangeth high between the Shields Of Brutus and Leonidas! With that Strong music, that soliciting spell, force back Earth's free and stirring spirit that lies entranc'd.

For what is Freedom, but the unfetter'd use Of all the powers which God for use had given? But chiefly this, him First, him Last to view Through meaner powers and secondary things Effulgent, as through clouds that veil his blaze. For all that meets the bodily sense I deem Symbolical, one mighty alphabet For infant minds; and we in this low world Placed with our backs to bright Reality,

That we may learn with young unwounded ken
The substance from its shadow. Infinite Love,

Whose latence is the plenitude of All,
Thou with retracted Beams, and Self-eclipse
Veiling, revealest thine eternal Son.

But some there are who deem themselves most free When they within this gross and visible sphere Chain down the winged thought, scoffing ascent, Proud in their meanness: and themselves they cheat With noisy emptiness of learned phrase, Their subtle fluids, impacts, essences, Self-working tools, uncaus'd effects, and all Those blind Omniscients, those Almighty Slaves, Untenanting creation of its God.

But properties are God: the naked mass
(If mass there be, fantastic Guess or Ghost)
Acts only by its inactivity.

Here we pause humbly. Others boldlier think
That as one body seems the aggregate
Of Atoms numberless, each organized;
So, by a strange and dim similitude,
Infinite myriads of self-conscious minds
Are one all-conscious Spirit, which informs
With absolute ubiquity of thought
(His one eternal self-affirming Act!)
All his involved Monads, that yet seem
With various province and apt agency
Each to pursue its own self-centering end.
Some nurse the infant diamond in the mine;
Some roll the genial juices through the oak;
Some drive the mutinous clouds to clash in air,
And rushing on the storm with whirlwind speed,
Yoke the red lightning to their volleying car.
Thus these pursue their never-varying course,
No eddy in their stream. Others, more wild,
With complex interests weaving human fates,
Duteous or proud, alike obedient all,
Evolve the process of eternal good.

And what if some rebellious, o'er dark realms Arrogate power? yet these train up to God, And on the rude eye, unconfirm'd for day, Flash meteor-lights better than total gloom. As ere from Lieule-Oaive's vapory head The Laplander beholds the far-off Sun Dart his slant beam on unobeying snows, While yet the stern and solitary Night Brooks no alternate sway, the Boreal Morn With mimic lustre substitutes its gleam, Guiding his course or by Niemi lake Or Balda-Zhiok,* or the mossy stone Of Solfar-kapper,† while the snowy blast Drifts arrowy by, or eddies round his sledge, Making the poor babe at its mother's back Scream in its scanty cradle: he the while Wins gentle solace as with upward eye He marks the streamy banners of the North, Thinking himself those happy spirits shall join Who there in floating robes of rosy light Dance sportively. For Fancy is the Power That first unsensualizes the dark mind, Giving it new delights; and bids it swell With wild activity; and peopling air, By obscure fears of Beings invisible, Emancipates it from the grosser thrall Of the present impulse, teaching Self-control, Till Superstition with unconscious hand

Seat Reason on her throne. Wherefore not vain,
Nor yet without permitted power impress'd,
I deem'd those legends terrible, with which
The polar ancient thrills his uncouth throng;
Whether of pitying Spirits that make their moan
O'er slaughter'd infants, or that Giant Bird
Vuokho, of whose rushing wings the noise
Is Tempest, when the unutterable shapes
Speeds from the mother of Death, and utters once
That shriek, which never Murderer heard and lived.
Or if the Greenland Wizard in strange trance
Pierces the untravell'd realms of Ocean's bed
(Where live the innocent, as far from cares
As from the storms and overwhelming waves
Dark tumbling on the surface of the deep),
Over the abysm, even to that uttermost cave
By misshaped prodigies beleaguer'd, such
As Earth ne'er bred, nor Air, nor the upper Sea.
There dwells the Fury Form, whose unheard

name

With eager eye, pale cheek, suspended breath,

Balda Zhiok; i. e. mons altitudinis, the highest mountain in Lapland.

† Solfar Kapper; capitium Solfar, hic locus omnium quotquot veterum Lapponum superstitio sacrificiis religiosoque cultui dedicavit, celebratissimus erat, in parte sinus australis situs semimilliaris spatio a mari distans. Ipse locus, quem curiositatis gratia aliquando me invisisse memini, duabus prealtis lapidibus, sibi invicem oppositis, quorum alter musco circumdatus erat, constabat.-Leemius De Lapponibus.

The Lapland Women carry their infants at their back in a piece of excavated wood, which serves them for a cradle. Opposite to the infant's mouth there is a hole for it to breathe through.-Mirandum prorsus est et vix credibile nisi cui vidisset contigit. Lappones hyeme iter facientes per vastas montes, perque horrida et invia tesqua, eo presertim tempore quo omnia perpetuis nivibus obtecta sunt et nives ventis agitantur et in gyros aguntur, viam ad destinata loca absque errore invenire posse, lactantem autem infantem si quem habeat, ipsa mater in dorso bajulat, in excavato ligno (Gieed'k ipsi vocant) quod pro cunis utuntur: in hoc infans pannis et pellibus convolutus colligatus jacet.-Leemius De Lapponibus.

Jaibme Aibmo.

And lips half-opening with the dread of sound,
Unsleeping Silence guards, worn out with fear,
Lest, haply escaping on some treacherous blast,
The fateful word let slip the Elements,
And frenzy Nature. Yet the wizard her,

Was moulded to such features as declared That Pity there had oft and strongly work'd, And sometimes Indignation. Bold her mien, And like a haughty Huntress of the woods She mov'd: yet sure she was a gentle maid!

Forces to unchain the foodful progeny

Till from Bethabra northward, heavenly Truth, With gradual steps winning her difficult way, Transfer their rude Faith perfected and pure.

If there be Beings of higher class than Man,
I deem no nobler province they possess,
Than by disposal of apt circumstance

To rear up Kingdoms: and the deeds they prompt,
Distinguishing from mortal agency,

They choose their human ministers from such states
As still the Epic song half fears to name,
Repell'd from all the Minstrelsies that strike
The Palace-roof and soothe the Monarch's pride.

And such, perhaps, the Spirit, who (if words Witness'd by answering deeds may claim our Faith) Held commune with that warrior-maid of France

Who scourged the Invader. From her infant days,

With Wisdom, Mother of retired Thoughts,
Her soul had dwelt; and she was quick to mark
The good and evil thing, in human lore
Undisciplined. For lowly was her Birth,
And Heaven had doom'd her early years to Toil,
That pure from Tyranny's least deed, herself
Unfear'd by Fellow-natures, she might wait
On the poor Laboring man with kindly looks,
And minister refreshment to the tired

Way-wanderer, when along the rough-hewn Bench
The sweltry man had stretch'd him, and aloft
Vacantly watch'd the rudely pictured board
Which on the Mulberry-bough with welcome creak
Swung to the pleasant breeze. Here, too, the

Maid

Learnt more than Schools could teach: Man's shifting mind,

His Vices and his Sorrows! And full oft
At Tales of cruel Wrong and strange Distress
Had wept and shiver'd. To the tottering Eld
Still as a Daughter would she run: she placed
His cold Limbs at the sunny Door, and loved
To hear him story, in his garrulous sort,
Of his eventful years, all come and gone.

So twenty seasons past. The Virgin's Form,
Active and tall, nor Sloth nor Luxury

Had shrunk or paled. Her front sublime and broad,
Her flexile eye-brows wildly hair'd and low,
And her full eye, now bright, now unillum'd,

In this bad World as in a place of Tombs, And touch'd not the pollutions of the Dead.

"Twas the cold season, when the Rustic's eye
From the drear desolate whiteness of his fields
Rolls for relief to watch the skiey tints
And clouds slow varying their huge imagery;
When now, as she was wont, the healthful Maid
Had left her pallet ere one beam of day
Slanted the fog-smoke. She went forth alone,
Urged by the indwelling angel-guide, that oft,
With dim inexplicable sympathies

Disquieting the Heart, shapes out Man's course
To the predoom'd adventure. Now the ascent
She climbs of that steep upland, on whose top
The Pilgrim-Man, who long since eve had watch'd
The alien shine of unconcerning Stars,
Shouts to himself, there first the Abbey-lights
The winding sheep-track vale-ward: when, behold
Seen in Neufchatel's vale; now slopes adown

In the first entrance of the level road

An unattended Team! The foremost horse
Lay with stretch'd limbs; the others, yet alive,
But stiff and cold, stood motionless, their manes
Hoar with the frozen night-dews. Dismally
The dark-red down now glimmer'd; but its gleams
Disclosed no face of man. The Maiden paused,
Then hail'd who might be near. No voice replied.
From the thwart wain at length there reach'd her

ear

A sound so feeble that it almost seem'd

Distant: and feebly, with slow effort push'd, A miserable man crept forth: his limbs

The silent frost had eat, scathing like fire.

Faint on the shafts he rested. She, meantime,
Saw crowded close beneath the coverture
A mother and her children-lifeless all,
Yet lovely! not a lineament was marr'd-
Death had put on so slumber-like a form!
It was a piteous sight; and one, a babe,
The crisp milk frozen on its innocent lips,
Lay on the woman's arm, its little hand
Stretch'd on her bosom.

Mutely questioning, The Maid gazed wildly at the living wretch. He, his head feebly turning, on the group Look'd with a vacant stare, and his eye spoke

face

They call the Good Spirit Torngarsuck. The other great but malignant spirit is a nameless Female; she dwells under the sea in a great house, where she can detain in captivity all the animals of the ocean by her magic power. When a dearth

befalls the Greenlanders, an Angekok or magician must undertake a journey thither. He passes through the kingdom of ouls, over an horrible abyss into the Palace of this phantom, and by his enchantments causes the captive creatures to ascend

directly to the surface of the ocean.-See Crantz' Hist. of Greenland, vol. i. 206.

She shudder'd: but, each vainer pang subdued,
Quick disentangling from the foremost horse
The rustic bands, with difficulty and toil
The stiff cramp'd team forced homeward. There
arrived,

Anxiously tends him she with healing herbs,
And weeps and prays-but the numb power of Death
Spreads o'er his limbs; and ere the noontide hour,
The hovering spirits of his Wife and Babes
Hail him immortal! Yet amid his pangs,

The Plow-man, following sad his meagre team,
Turn'd up
fresh sculls unstartled, and the bones
Of fierce hate-breathing combatants, who there
All mingled lay beneath the common earth,
Death's gloomy reconcilement! O'er the Fields
Stept a fair form, repairing all she might,
Her temples olive-wreathed; and where she trod
Fresh flowerets rose, and many a foodful herb.
But wan her cheek, her footsteps insecure,
And anxious pleasure beam'd in her faint eye,
As she had newly left a couch of pain,
Pale Convalescent! (yet some time to rule
With power exclusive o'er the willing world,
That bless'd prophetic mandate then fulfill'd,
Peace be on Earth!) A happy while, but brief,
She seem'd to wander with assiduous feet,
And heal'd the recent harm of chill and blight,
And nursed each plant that fair and virtuous grew.

Gazed through her tears, then in sad tones exclaim'd, "Thou mild-eyed Form! wherefore, ah! wherefore fled?

The power of Justice, like a name all Light,
Shone from thy brow; but all they, who unblamed
Dwelt in thy dwellings, call thee Happiness.
Ah! why, uninjured and unprofited,
Should multitudes against their brethren rush?
Why sow they guilt, still reaping Misery?
Lenient of care, thy songs, O Peace! are sweet,
As after showers the perfumed gale of eve,
That flings the cool drops on a feverous cheek:
And gay the grassy altar piled with fruits.
But boasts the shrine of Dæmon War one charm,
Save that with many an orgie strange and foul,
Dancing around with interwoven arms,
The Maniac Suicide and Giant Murder
Exult in their fierce union? I am sad,
And know not why the simple Peasants crowd
Beneath the Chieftains' standard!" Thus the Maid.

To her the tutelary Spirit replied: When Luxury and Lust's exhausted stores No more can rouse the appetitos of Kings; When the low flattery of their reptile Lords Falls flat and heavy on the accustom'd ear; When Eunuchs sing, and Fools buffoonery make, And Dancers writhe their harlot-limbs in vain; Then War and all its dread vicissitudes Pleasingly agitate their stagnant Hearts; Its hopes, its fears, its victories, its defeats, Insipid Royalty's keen condiment ! Therefore uninjured and unprofited

(Victims at once and Executioners),

The congregated Husbandmen lay waste
The Vineyard and the Harvest. As long
The Bothnic coast, or southward of the Line,
Though hush'd the Winds and cloudless the high
Noon,

Yet if Leviathan, weary of ease,

In sports unwieldy toss his Island-bulk,
Ocean behind him billows, and before

A storm of waves breaks, foamy on the strand.
And hence, for times and seasons bloody and dark,
Short Peace shall skin the wounds of causeless War
And War, his strained sinews knit anew,
Still violate the unfinish'd works of Peace.
But yonder look! for more demands thy view!"
He said: and straightway from the opposite Isle
A Vapor sailed, as when a cloud, exhaled
From Egypt's fields that steam hot pestilence,
Travels the sky for many a trackless league,
Till o'er some Death-doom'd land, distant in vain,

It broods incumbent. Forthwith from the Plain,

Facing the Isle, a brighter cloud arose,
And steer'd its course which way the Vapor went.
The Maiden paused, musing what this might mean.
But long time pass'd not, ere that brighter cloud
Return'd more bright; along the plain it swept
And soon from forth its bursting sides emerged
A dazzling form, broad-bosom'd, bold of eye,
And wild her hair, save where with laurels bound.
Not more majestic stood the healing God,
When from his bow the arrow sped that slew
Huge Python. Shriek'd Ambition's giant throng,
And with them hiss'd the Locust-fiends that crawl'd
And glitter'd in Corruption's slimy track.
Great was their wrath, for short they knew their
reign;

And such commotion made they, and uproar,
As when the mad Tornado bellows through
The guilty islands of the western main,
What time departing from their native shores,
Eboe, or Koromantyn's* plain of Palms,

The slaves in the West-Indies consider death as a passport to their native country. This sentiment is thus expressed in the introduction to a Greek Prize-Ode on the Slave-Trade, of which the ideas are better than the language in which they are conveyed.

Ω σκότου πύλας, Θάνατε, προλείπων
Ες γενος σπευδοις υποζευχθεν Ατα
Ου ξενισθή σῃ γεννων σπαραγμοι;
Ουδ' ολολυγμω,

Αλλα και κυκλοισι χοροιτυποισι
Κ' ασματων χαρα φοβερος μεν εσσι
Αλλ' όμως Ελευθερια συνοικεῖς,
Στυγνε Τυραννε!

Δασκίοις έπει πτερύγεσσι σησι
Α! Θαλασσιον καθορώντες οι μα
Αιθερόπλαντοις υπό ποσσ' άνεισι
Πατριδ ἐπ' αιαν.

Ενθα μαν Ερασαι Ερωμένησιν
Αμφι πηγησιν κιτρινων υπ' αλσών,
Οσσ'υπο βροτοις επαθον βροτσι, τα
Δεινα λεγοναι.

LITERAL TRANSLATION.

Leaving the Gates of Darkness, O Death! hasten thou to a Race yoked with Misery! Thou wilt not be received with