THY error, Fremont, simply was to act 1 A brave man's part, without the states

man's tact, And, taking counsel but of common sense, To strike at cause as well as consequence. 0, never yet since Roland wound his horn At Roncesvalles, has a blast been blown Far-heard, wide-echoed, startling as thine own, Heard from the van of freedom's hope forlorn! It had been safer, doubtless, for the time, To flatter treason, and avoid offence To that Dark Power whose underlying crime Heaves upward its perpetual turbulence.

But, if thine be the fate of all who break
The ground for truth's seed, or forerun their

years
Till lost in distance, or with stout hearts make
A lane for freedom through the level spears,
Still take thou courage ! God has spoken

through thee, Irrevocable, the mighty words, Be free! The land shakes with them, and the slave's

dull ear
Turns from the rice-swamp stealthily to hear.
Who would recall them now must first arrest
The winds that blow down from the free North-

west,
Ruffling the Gulf; or like a scroll roll back
The Mississippi to its upper springs.
Such words fulfil their prophecy, and lack
But the full time to harden into things.

D ESIDE a stricken field I stood ;

On the torn turf, on grass and wood, Hung heavily the dew of blood.

Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain,
But all the air was quick with pain
And gusty sighs and tearful rain.

Two angels, each with drooping head
And folded wings and noiseless tread,
Watched by that valley of the dead.

The one, with forehead saintly bland
And lips of blessing, not command,
Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand.

The other's brows were scarred and knit,
His restless eyes were watch-fires lit,
His hands for battle-gauntlets fit.

“ How long !”– I knew the voice of Peace, “ Is there no respite ? — no release ? When shall the hopeless quarrel cease?

“ O Lord, how long ! — One human soul
Is more than any parchment scroll,
Or any flag thy winds unroll.

“What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave ?

“O brother! if thine eye can see,
Tell how and when the end shall be.
What hope remains for thee and me.”

Then Freedom sternly said: “I shun
No strife nor pang beneath the sun,
When human rights are staked and won.

“ I knelt with Ziska’s hunted flock,
I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock,
I walked with Sidney to the block.

“ The moor of Marston felt my tread,

Through Jersey snows the march I led, My voice Magenta's charges sped.

“But now, through weary day and night, I watch a vague and aimless fight For leave to strike one blow aright.