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BY GEO. LANSING TAYLOR.
Kings of the earth, old despots
Who long have bruised mankind,
And long withstood with chains and blood The day of God's great battle
The chainless march of mind; Is breaking on the world ;
And dire, gigantic systems The day when right shall conquer might,
Of error blind and hoar, And wrong to hell be hurled.
On Christian land new-marshalled stand, The storms that shook earth's midnight
And threat the world once more.
For Satan, in great wrath,
From war in heaven by Michael driven, The voice of God Almighty,
Descends in lightning scath; A trumpet-blast sublime,
And all his dragon-angels, Peals out on high through all the sky,
A vengeful cloud and vast, And startles every clime;
In fury fly through all the sky,
And swell the blackening blast.
But short shall be his triumph,
For lo ! heaven's gates unfold, I see the mighty gath’ring
And hosts of light, on steeds of white, Of uncomputed bands ;
March down the streets of gold; Prophet and sage, from every age,
And at their head, o'ercircled The living of all lands;
By million arching wings And glorious hosts of martyrs,
Flaming all sides, majestic rides For God and Freedom slain,
The conquering “King of kings !” From dust revive, start up alive, And mingle on the plain !
And lo! the great archangels,
With cohorts bright and fair The great and good, the heroes
Of cherubim and seraphim, Who toil and die for man,
Come marching down the air ! From every land illustrious stand,
And far o'er plain and mountain, And tower along the van ;
O'er many a field and flood, Not all in earth's high places,
Wide o'er the world now floats unfurled Not all the sons of fame,
The banner stained with blood.
Up! up! ye saints of Jesus,
And make your vestments white; No arms have all these millions,
And girt with fame, in God's great name, No sword, nor spear, nor shield;
Urge on earth's final fight! But mightier far the weapons are
That ensign o'er you flying With which they win the field ;
Must never, never fall, For Truth, and Love, and Labor
Till Christ shall reign o'er carth and main, Are more than shield or sword;
Saviour and Lord of all.
O blissful age! It hastens !
It looms in light afar,
And darts a ray of heavenly day
O'er wrong, and woe, and war.
O joy! O martyred brothers,
Your great reward appears ! And armies of the air,
Up! live ! and reign with Christ again
A thousand golden years !
No. 901.—7 September, 1861.
1. Thomas De Quincey,
PAGE. Quarterly Review,
601 New Quarterly Review, 613 Dublin University Magazine, 621 Punch,
638 Fraser's Magazine,
POETRY. — “Under the Cloud and Through the Sea,” 578. When thou Sleepest, 578. Retirement, 578. Lament for Earl Russell, 600. Kingdom of God, 600. Refuge, 600. The Comet, 620. Frederick Barbarossa, 639. “ E Pluribus Unum,” 640. The Organ, 640. The Living Dead, 640.
SHORT ARTICLES.—Mr. Sheffield's donation to Yale College, 599. English Pensions, 599. Sacred Mysteries, 599. Germany, 636. Recipe for rendering muslin dresses incombustible, 636. Treaties for the surrender of fugitives from justice, 636. First printed copy of Lord Byron's Poems, 636. Christians in posts of honor in Turkey, 638. The noiseless sewing machine, 638.
A South CAROLINA PROTEST AGAINST SLAVERY : Being a Letter from Henry Laurens, dated
Charleston, August, 1776. Now first published from the original. New York : George P. Putnam.
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"UNDER THE CLOUD AND THROUGH Be it dream in haunted sleep, THE SEA."
Be it thought in vigil lone, So moved they, when false Pharaoh's legion
Drink'st thou not a rapture deep pressed,
From the feeling, 'tis thine own? Chariots and horsemen following furiously,–
All thine own; thou need'st not tell Sons of old Israel, at their God's behest,
What bright form thy slumber blest; Under the cloud and through the swelling sea.
All thine own; remember well
Night and shade were round thy rest. So passed they, fearless, where the parted wave,
With cloven crest uprearing from the sand, - Nothing looked upon thy bed, A solemn aisle before, -behind, a grave,
Save the lonely watch-light's gleam; Rolled to the beckoning of Jehovah's hand. Not a whisper, not a tread So led he them, in desert marches grand,
Scared thy spirit's glorious dream. By toils sublime, with test of long delay,
Sometimes, when the midnight gale
Breathed a moan and then was still,
Seemed the spell of thought to fail,
Checked by one ecstatic thrill ;
Robed in moonlight, smote thine eye; Still the same pathway must their footsteps Then thy spirit's waiting wings tread,
Quivered, trembled, spread to fly; Under the cloud and through the threatening
Then th' aspirer wildly swelling
Looked, where mid transcendency
Star to star was mutely telling
Heaven's resolve and fate's decree.
Oh! it longed for holier fire
Than this spark in earthly shrine ; Sons of the saints who faced their Jordan-flood
Oh! it soared, and higher, higher, In fierce Atlantic's unretreating wave,
Sought to reach a home divine. Who by the Red Sea of their glorious blood
Hopeless quest! soon weak and weary Reached to the freedom that your blood shall
Flagged the pinion, drooped the plume, save!
And again in sadness dreary
Came the baffled wanderer home.
And again it turned for soothing
To th' unfinished, broken dream; Beneath the cloud and through the crimson While, the ruffled current smoothing, sea ! -Atlantic Monthly. Thought rolled on her startled stream.
I have felt this cherished feeling,
Sweet and known to none but me;
Still I felt it nightly healing
Each dark day's despondency. Art thou lost in vacancy?
CHARLOTTE BRONTE. Does no silent inward light,
Softly breaking, fall on thee?
A SHADY and sequestered spot,
To meditate alone,
Where foot of man approacheth not,
Untrodden, and unknown;
A little brook to sing to me; Muffled midnight, black and lone;
Some simple flower, to smile; Comes there nothing hovering near,
The shelter of a spreading tree; Thought or half reality,
The gales of heaven the while Whispering marvels in thine
ear, Every word a mystery,
To fan me as they murmur near:
These would I ne'er resign, Chanting low an ancient lay,
To call the proudest portion here,
With all its glory, mine.
Poor world! Thou art a generous soul, Songs forgot, in childhood sung,
All selfish though thou be, Airs in youth beloved and known,
To sip the froth of pleasure's bowl, Whispered by that airy tongue,
And leave the draught to me. Once again are made thine own.
- Chambers's Journal.
From The Quarterly Review. children, and, if his own reminiscences are Selections, Grave and Gay, from Writings to be credited, was a warm-hearted but mus
published and unpublished by Thomas De ing, imaginative, and rather weakly child. Quincey. Edinburgh and London, 1854- The death of two elder sisters before he had 60. 14 vols, 12mo.
completed his sixth year left a lasting imThe position of De Quincey in the litera- pression on his mind; and he has described, ture of the present day is remarkable. We in language of great force and beauty, his might search in vain for a writer who, with sensations at the funeral of one, and the sinequal powers, has made an equally slight im- gular dreams with which his first experience pression upon the general public. His style of death inspired him. His father died when is superb : his powers of reasoning are unsur- Thomas was in his seventh year, leaving passed : his imagination is warm and bril- Greenhays, with a fortune of £1,600 a year, liant, and his humor both masculine and del- to his widow. This father the child had icate. Yet with this singular combination scarcely ever seen. Business kept him conof gifts, he is comparatively little known stantly abroad; and the only means by which outside of that small circle of men who love he contrived to see his family at all was by literature for its own sake, which, in propor- meeting them occasionally at a wateringtion to the population, is not an increasing place, to which Thomas was considered too class. Of the causes which contributed to young to be taken. But Mr. De Quincey's this result, such as depended on his own death brought back another comparative character will develop themselves in the stranger to the family hearth, in the shape course of our remarks. Of the others, it is of the eldest boy, then about twelve years sufficient to point out these two, that he of age, who had been educated at Louth neither completed any one great work, nor Grammar School. The advent of this brother enjoyed the advantage of being represented precipitated De Quincey's “Introduction to by any great periodical ; a circumstance the world of strife,” an initiation which he which has sometimes given permanence and admits was not without considerable advanunity to a writer's reputation as effectively tage both to his moral and physical constias independent authorship. That his essays tution. His natural addiction to loneliness are not, in general, upon popular subjects, is and dreaming, combined with grief for his of course another element in the case ; al sisters' loss, was generating in him an unthough they only require to be read to show wholesome condition of both mind and body, how easily a man of genius can lubricate the which his brother's arrival rudely, but opporgravest topics by his own overflowing humor, tunely, dissipated. De Quincey says himwithout making the slightest approximation self, in reference to this period of his childto either flippancy or coarseness. As we hood, that he thanks Providence for four fancy, however, that even less is known of things~first, that he lived in a rustic solihis birth, parentage, and education, than of tude ; secondly, that the solitude was in his literary remains, we shall endeavor to England ; thirdly, that “his infant feelings make our sketch of him complete by pref- were moulded by the gentlest of sisters," acing our critical remarks with a brief memoir instead of “horrid pugilistic brothers ;” of his earlier career as far as it can be ex- finally, that he and they were members of tracted from the fragmentary materials which "a pure, holy, and magnificent church." he has left us.
But our readers must not suppose that De The subject of this article was born at Quincey had any real doubt about the para“ The Farm,” a country house occupied by mount utility of a public school education ; his father near Manchester, on the 15th of though at the age of six years “the whole August, 1785. But his earliest recollections world of strife,” as opened to him by his were of “Greenhays," a villa near the same elder brother, proved any thing but soothing town, where he was brought up in all the to his feelings. This brother seems, in all comfort and elegance of the household of an respects, to have been a remarkable boy. opulent English merchant. His family was He read lectures on physics to the rest of of Norwegian origin, but, as he assured the nursery. He endeavored to construct George III., had been in England since the an apparatus for walking across the ceiling Conquest. Thomas was the fifth of eight i like a fly, first on the principle of skates,
and subsequently upon that of a humming- / broon, threatened, not remotely, with annes-