God’s love and peace be with thee, where
Soe’er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair.
Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,
It freshens o’er thy thoughtful face,
Imparting, in its glad embrace,
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace!
Fair Nature’s book together read,
The old wood-paths that knew our tread,
The maple shadows overhead,—
The hills we climbed, the river seen
By gleams along its deep ravine,—
All keep thy memory fresh and green.
Where’er I look, where’er I stray,
Thy thought goes with me on my way,
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day;
O’er lapse of time and change of scene,
The weary waste which lies between
Thyself and me, my heart I lean.
Thou lack’st not Friendship’s spell-word,
nor
The half-unconscious power to draw
All hearts to thine by Love’s sweet law.
With these good gifts of God is cast
Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast
To hold the blessed angels fast.
If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The gracious heavens will heed from me,
What should, dear heart, its burden be?
The sighing of a shaken reed,—
What can I more than meekly plead
The greatness of our common need?
God’s love,—unchanging, pure, and
true,—
The Paraclete white-shining through
His peace,—the fall of Hermon’s dew!
With such a prayer, on this sweet day,
As thou mayst hear and I may say,
I greet thee, dearest, far away!
1851.
It can scarcely be necessary to say
that there are elements in the character and
passages in the history of the great Hungarian statesman
and orator, which necessarily command the admiration
of those, even, who believe that no political
revolution was ever worth the price of human
blood.
Type of two mighty continents!—combining
The strength of Europe with the warmth and glow
Of Asian song and prophecy,—the shining
Of Orient splendors over Northern snow!
Who shall receive him? Who, unblushing, speak
Welcome to him, who, while he strove to break
The Austrian yoke from Magyar necks, smote off
At the same blow the fetters of the serf,
Rearing the altar of his Fatherland
On the firm base of freedom, and thereby
Lifting to Heaven a patriot’s stainless hand,
Mocked not the God of Justice with a lie!
Who shall be Freedom’s mouthpiece? Who
shall give
Her welcoming cheer to the great fugitive?
Not he who, all her sacred trusts betraying,
Is scourging back to slavery’s hell of pain
The swarthy Kossuths of our land again!
Not he whose utterance now from lips designed
