ON READING

‘ Mid the august and never-dying light

Of constellated spirits, who have gain'd

A throne in heaven, by power of heavenly acts,

And leave their names immortal and unchanged

On earth, even as the names of Sun and Moon,

See'st thou, my soul!‘ mid all that radiant host

One worthier of thy love and reverence,

Than He, the fearless spirit, who went forth,

Mail'd in the armour of invincible faith,

And bearing in his grasp the spear of truth,

Fit to destroy and save,— went forth to wage,

Against the fierce array of bloody men,

Avarice and ignorance, cruelty and hate,

A holy warfare! Deep within his soul,

The groans of anguish, and the clank of chains,

Dwelt ceaseless as a cataract, and fill'd

The secret haunts of meditative prayer.

Encircled by the silence of the hearth,

The evening-silence of a happy home;

Upon his midnight bed, when working soul

Turns inward, and the steady flow of thought

Is all we feel of life; in crowded rooms,

Where mere sensation oft takes place of mind,

And all time seems the present; in the sun,

The joyful splendour of a summer-day;

Or‘ neath the moon, the calm and gentle night;

Where'er he moved, one vision ever fill'd

His restless spirit.‘ Twas a vision bright

With colours born in Heaven, yet oh! bedimm'd

With breath of sorrow, sighs, and tears, and blood!

Before him lay a quarter of the world,

A Mighty Land, wash'd by unnumber'd floods,

Born in her bosom,— floods that to the sea

Roll ocean-like, or in the central wilds

Fade like the dim day melting into night;

A land all teeming with the gorgeous shew

Of Nature in profuse magnificence!

Vallies and groves, where untamed herds have ranged

Without a master since the birth of time!

Fountains and caves fill'd with the hidden light

Of diamond and of ruby, only view'd

With admiration by the unenvying sun!

Millions of beings like himself he sees

In stature and in soul,— the sons of God,

Destined to do him homage, and to lift

Their fearless brows unto the burning sky,

Stamp'd with his holy image! Noble shapes,

Kings of the desert, men whose stately tread

Brings from the dust the sound of liberty!

The vision fades not here; he sees the gloom

That lies upon these kingdoms of the sun,

And makes them darker than the dreary realms,

Scarce-moving at the pole.— A sluggish flow

Attends those floods so great and beautiful,

Rolling in majesty that none adores!

And lo! the faces of those stately men,

Silent as death, or changed to ghastly shapes

By madness and despair! His ears are torn

By shrieks and ravings, loud, and long, and wild,

Or the deep-mutter'd curse of sullen hearts,

Scorning in bitter woe their gnawing chains!

He sees, and shuddering feels the vision true,

A pale-faced band, who in his mother-isle

First look'd upon the day, beneath its light

Dare to be tyrants, and with coward deeds

Sullying the glory of the Queen of Waves!

He sees that famous Isle, whose very winds

Dissolve like icicles the tyrant's chains,

On Afric bind them firm as adamant,

Yet boast, with false and hollow gratitude,

Of all the troubled nations of the earth

That she alone is free! The awful sight

Appals not him; he draws his lonely breath

Without a tremor; for a voice is heard

Breathed by no human lips,— heard by his soul,—

That he by Heaven is chosen to restore

Mercy on earth, a mighty conqueror

Over the sins and miseries of man.

The work is done! the Niger's sullen waves

Have heard the tidings,— and the orient Sun

Beholds them rolling on to meet his light

In joyful beauty.— Tombut's spiry towers

Are bright without the brightness of the day,

And Houssa wakening from his age-long trance

Of woe, amid the desert, smiles to hear

The last faint echo of the blissful sound.—