“A thundering wail is heard.”

Eurip. Phaen. e. 1054

            I dreamed that on a western hill I stood—

A hill that watches where the sun goes down—

And saw the giant of the skies retiring

In glory to his bed‚ the western wave.

And, as he passed, I hailed the aged monarch,

And said, “O sun, what hast thou seen to-day?

What signs of happiness—of mis’ry what?”

And he, replying, said—(I stood and wondered,

Not daring on his heavenly face to look,)

“I’ve seen much happiness for God is gracious:

He ‘on the just’ his choicest blessings pours,

And even ‘on the unjust’ sends, benignant,

Full many showers of mercies. I have seen

The husbandman go out to labor, singing

Contentment’s song. I’ve seen the smiling harvest

Rising to meet his hopes and pay his toils.

I’ve seen his home—like Paradise, when first

The morn of Adam’s happiness beamed on it—

A wife so lovely, babes so innocent,

That earth’s best blessings seemed to centre there.

I’ve seen the busy village, and the city,

Where gathered wealth finds by a thousand channels

New means to bless mankind. I’ve also seen,”

(And angry clouds, from up the west arising,

Proclaimed a tempest near,) “I’ve also seen

Much misery.—The armies joined in battle,

The shock, the falling ranks, the vict’ry won,

The battle field, where, satiate with the carnage,

Death’s dreadful angel had retired awhile.

The widow and the widow’s boy were there,

Searching, among the mangled flesh and bones,

For what they once had husband called, and father.

The frantic maid was there, whose blue eyes streamed

Love’s last but bitterest flood, while on the clay

That once had been her lover, she arranged

The vestment, taken from a neighb’ring corpse.

True, this was sad, but far more sad the sight

Of those who sought their friends among the living,

Where liquid death mocks at the play of battle.

I saw the more than widow seek her husband

Among the bacchanals: she found him out,

And said, ‘when will you come and visit us—

Your wife and daughter—for we have no bread.’

He turned and looked a look that froze her heart,

And then, relenting, offered her the glass

To cheer her spirits! I have also seen”—

(And on his face he drew a veil of clouds,

And in the rolling thunder told the story,)

“I’ve seen the manacled and wretched slave

Lie down to take his punishment: The scourge,

Made at the shop where Patience, wearied sat,

And told Invention how ti braid the thongs,

Was brandished in the air; The slave cried out,

‘Good master spare, O! am I not a man?

But cried in vain, the whip went gaily round

‘Till ‘forty stripes save one’ were fully told.

A woman came:—They heard the earnest prayer

That nature prompted. O, stupendous mercy!

They stripped her not; but well the lashing to’d

That not gratuitous might she preserve

Her last remains of right.”

                                    “He said, and sunk

Beneath the troubled waves. The storm passed on,

And silence reigned, and heaven seemed to hold

A consultation on the affairs of men.

And gazing upward, at the bright expanse,

I heard a voice—“when that fair moon is turned

To blood, when yonder stars have dropped, like figs

Before the time;—the sons of Africa

Shall be remembered, and their might wrongs

Shall be redressed.”

*M.*