O, that dew, like balm, shall steal And that smile, like sunshine, dart EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath, The accents of that unknown tongue, In happy homes he saw the light "Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! "O stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! At break of day, as heavenward A traveller, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, [The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter part of October. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate I have decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, a feeble testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING. THE pages of thy book I read, Well done! Thy words are great and bold; Half-battles for the free. Go on, until this land revokes The old and chartered Lie, The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes Insult humanity. A voice is ever at thy side Speaking in tones of might, Write! and tell out this bloody tale; This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, |