THE PASS OF THE. SIERRA. Rejoice,with me! The chastening rod Blossoms with love; the furnace heat Grows cool beneath His blessed feet Whose form is as the Son of God! Rejoice! Our Marah's bitter springs Rejoice in hope! The day and night Of Judgment fringed with Mercy's light! 67 THE PASS OF THE SIERRA. A LL night above their rocky bed They saw the stars march slow; The wild Sierra overhead, The desert's death below. The Indian from his lodge of bark, Still upward turned, with anxious strain, Where splinters of the mountain chain The night waned slow: at last, a glow, Shot up behind the walls of snow, Up, men!" he cried, "yon rocky cone, And look from Winter's frozen throne They set their faces to the blast, And faint, worn, bleeding, hailed at last THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862. Behind, they saw the snow-cloud tossed Before, warm valleys, wood-embossed, They left the Winter at their backs And downward, with the cataracts, Strong leader of that mountain band To break from Slavery's desert land The winds are wild, the way is drear Yet, flashing through the night, Rise up, FREMONT! and go before; Sth mo., 1856. 69 THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862. HE flags of war like storm-birds fly, THE The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, No earthquake strives below. And, calm and patient, Nature keeps Her ancient promise well, Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps 70 And still she walks in golden hours And still she wears her fruits and flowers What mean the gladness of the plain, The mirth that shakes the beard of grain Ah! eyes may well be full of tears, She meets with smiles our bitter grief, Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear She knows the seed lies safe below She sees with clearer eye than ours The hearts that blossom like her flowers, O, give to us, in times like these, The vision of her eyes; And make her fields and fruited trees Our golden prophecies! MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS. O, give to us her finer ear! We too would hear the bells of cheer MITHRIDATES AT CHIOS. KNOW'ST O land! NOW'ST thou, O slave-cursed land! How, when the Chian's cup of guilt The heavens are still and far; But, not unheard of awful Jove, The sighing of the island slave Was answered, when the Ægean wave The keels of Mithridates clove, And the vines shrivelled in the breath of war. Robbers of Chios! hark," The victor cried, "to Heaven's decree! Then rose the long lament From the hoar sea-god's dusky caves: 71 |