ON THE DEATH OF S. MARGARET FULLER.
BY G.F.R. JAMES
High hopes and bright thine early path
And aspirations beautiful, though wild,
A heart too strong, a powerful will unchecked,
A dream that earth-things could be undefiled.
But soon, around thee, grew a golden chain,
That bound the woman to more human things,
And taught with joy—and, it may be, with pain—
That there are limits e’en to Spirits’ wings.
Husband and child—the loving
Won, from the vast of thought, a mortal part,
The empassioned wife and mother, yielding, proved
Mind has, itself, a master—in the heart.
In distant lands enhaloed by old fame
Thou found’st the only chain the spirit knew,
But, captive, led’st thy captors from the shame
Of ancient freedom, to the pride of new.
And loved hearts clung around thee on
Welling with sunny hopes ’neath sunny skies;
The wide horizon round thee had no speck;
E’en Doubt herself could see no cloud arise.
The loved ones clung around thee, when
O’er wide Atlantic billows, onward bore
Thy freight of joys, and the expanding gale
Pressed the glad bark toward thy native shore.
The loved ones clung around thee still,
Was darkness, tempest, terror, and dismay—
More closely clung around thee, when the pall
Of fate was falling o’er the mortal clay.
With them to live—with them,
with them to die—
Sublime of human love intense and fine!
Was thy last prayer unto the Deity,
And it was granted thee by love divine.
In the same billow—in the same
Mother, and child, and husband find their rest.
The dream is ended; and the solemn wave
Gives back the gifted to her country’s breast.
* * * * *
An Illustration of the high prices paid to fortunate artists in these times may be found in the fact that Alboni, the famous contralto singer, has been engaged to sing at Madrid, at the enormous rate of $400 dollars per day, while Roger, the tenor, who used to sing at the Comic Opera at Paris, and who was transplanted to the Grand Opera to assist in the production of Meyerbeer’s “Prophet,” has been engaged to sing with her at the more moderate salary of $8000 a month. This is almost equal to the extravagant sum guaranteed to Jenny Lind for performing in this country. It would be a curious inquiry why singers and dancers are always paid so much more exorbitantly than painters, sculptors or musical composers, especially as the pleasure they confer is of a merely evanescent character, while the works of the latter remain a perpetual source of delight and refinement to all generations.