Rise up, FREMONT! and go before;

The Hour must have its Man; Put on the hunting-shirt once more, And lead in Freedom's van ! 8th mo., 1856.

THE CONQUEST OF FINLAND.65

ACROSS the frozen marshes

The winds of autumn blow, And the fen-lands of the Wetter Are white with early snow.

But where the low, gray headlands
Look o'er the Baltic brine,
A bark is sailing in the track
Of England's battle-line.

No wares hath she to barter
For Bothnia's fish and grain;
She saileth not for pleasure,
She saileth not for gain.

But still by isle or main-land

She drops her anchor down, Where'er the British cannon Rained fire on tower and town.

Outspake the ancient Amtman,
At the gate of Helsingfors:
"Why comes this ship a-spying
In the track of England's wars?"

"Godbless her," said the coast-guard,—
"God bless the ship, I say.
The holy angels trim the sails
That speed her on her way!

"Where'er she drops her anchor,
The peasant's heart is glad;
Where'er she spreads her parting sail,
The peasant's heart is sad.

"Each wasted town and hamlet
She visits to restore;
To roof the shattered cabin,
And feed the starving poor.

"The sunken boats of fishers,
The foraged beeves and grain,
The spoil of flake and storehouse,
The good ship brings again.

"And so to Finland's sorrow
The sweet amend is made,
As if the healing hand of Christ
Upon her wounds were laid!"

Then said the gray old Amtman,
"The will of God be done!
The battle lost by England's hate,
By England's love is won!

"We braved the iron tempest

That thundered on our shore: But when did kindness fail to find The key to Finland's door?

"No more from Aland's ramparts
Shall warning signal come,
Nor startled Sweaborg hear again
The roll of midnight drum.

"Beside our fierce Black Eagle
The Dove of Peace shall rest;
And in the mouths of cannon
The sea-bird make her nest.

"For Finland, looking seaward, No coming foe shall scan; And the holy bells of Abo

Shall ring, Good-will to man!'

259

"Then row thy boat, O fisher!
In peace on lake and bay;
And thou, young maiden, dance again
Around the poles of May !

"Sit down, old men, together,
Old wives, in quiet spin;
Henceforth the Anglo-Saxon
Is the brother of the Finn!"

A LAY OF OLD TIME.

WRITTEN FOR THE ESSEX COUNTY AGRICULTURAL FAIR.

ONE morning of the first sad Fall, Poor Adam and his bride

Sat in the shade of Eden's wallBut on the outer side.

She, blushing in her fig-leaf suit For the chaste garb of old;

WHAT OF THE DAY?

A SOUND of tumult troubles all the air, Like the low thunders of a sultry

sky Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings glare;

The hills blaze red with warnings; foes draw nigh,

Treading the dark with challenge and reply.

Behold the burden of the prophet's vision,

The gathering hosts, the Valley of Decision,

Dusk with the wings of eagles wheeling o'er.

Day of the Lord, of darkness and not light!

It breaks in thunder and the whirlwind's roar !

Even so, Father! Let thy will be done,

Turn and o'erturn, end what thou hast begun

In judgment or in mercy: as for me,
If but the least and frailest, let me be
Evermore numbered with the truly free
Who find thy service perfect liberty!
I fain would thank Thee that my mor-
tal life

Has reached the hour (albeit through
care and pain)

When Good and Evil, as for final strife, Close dim and vast on Armageddon's plain :

And Michael and his angels once again Drive howling back the Spirits of the Night.

O for the faith to read the signs aright And, from the angle of thy perfect sight, See Truth's white banner floating on

before;