Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt. 
And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh,
A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips
Stiffening in death, close to mine ear.  I thought
Some doom was close upon me, and I looked
And saw the red morn, through the heavy mist,
Just setting, and it seemed as it were falling,
Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead
And palsy-struck it looked.  Then all sounds merged
Into the rising surges of the pines,
Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loins
Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength,
Sent up a murmur in the morning wind,
Sad as the wail that from the populous earth
All day and night to high Olympus soars,
Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove!’

Mr. Lowell is no fine dreamer, no enthusiast in the filmy questions of some cloud-land of poetry:  the sword of power is in his hand, and the stern teachings of Right and Justice ring through his heart.  To such men, Destiny looks for her unfolding.  Woe to them, if upon their silence, inaction or irresolution in these great days, the steadfast gaze of her high expectation falls unheeded.

* * * * *

RESURGAMUS.

  Go where the sunlight brightly falls,
    Through tangled grass too thick to wave;
  Where silence, save the cricket’s calls,
    Reigns o’er a patriot’s grave;
  And you shall see Faith’s violets spring
  From whence his soul on heavenward wing
    Rose to the realms where heroes dwell: 
    Heroes who for their country fell;
    Heroes for whom our bosoms swell;
      Heroes in battle slain. 
  God of the just! they are not dead,—­
  Those who have erst for freedom bled;—­
  Their every deed has boldly said
      We all shall rise again.

  A patriot’s deeds can never die,—­
    Time’s noblest heritage are they,—­
  Though countless aeons pass them by,
    They rise at last to day. 
  The spirits of our fathers rise
  Triumphant through the starry skies;
    And we may hear their choral song,—­
    The firm in faith, the noble throng,—­
    It bids us crush a deadly wrong,
      Wrought by red-handed Cain. 
  AND WE SHALL CONQUER! for the Right
  Goes onward with resistless might: 
  His hand shall win for us the fight. 
      WE, too, shall rise again!

* * * * *

AMONG THE PINES.

My last article left the reader in the doorway of the Colonel’s mansion.  Before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey the outside of the premises.