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554    ALICE AND PHEBE CAREY.

As feathers wafted from the eagle's wings
Lie bright among the rocks they cannot warm,
So lie the flowery lays that Genius brings,
In the cold turf that wraps his honour'd form.

A practical rebuker of vain strife,
Bolder in deeds than words, from beardless youth
To the white hairs of age, he made his life
A beautiful consecration to the Truth.

Virtue, neglected long, and trampled down,
Grew stronger in the echo of his name;
And, shrinking self-condemn'd beneath his frown,
The cheek of harlotry grew red with shame.

Serene with conscious peace, he strew'd his way
With sweet humanities, the growth of love;
Shaping to right his actions, day by day,
Faithful to this world and to that above.

The ghosts of blind belief and hideous crime,
Of spirit-broken loves, and hopes betray'd,
That flit among the broken walls of Time,
Are by the True Man's exorcisms laid

Blest is his life, who to himself is true,
And blest his death–for memory, when he dies,
Comes, with a lover's eloquence, to renew
Our faith in manhood's upward tendencies.

Weep for the self-abased, and for the slave,
And for God's children, darken'd with the smoke
Of the red altar–not for him whose grave
Is greener than the mistletoe of the oak.

ALICE AND PHEBE CAREY.    555

VISIONS OF LIGHT.

THE moon is rising in beauty,
The sky is solemn and bright,
And the waters are singing like lovers
That walk in the valleys at night.

Like the towers of an ancient city,
That darken against the sky,
Seems the blue mist of the river
O'er the hill-tops far and high.

I see through the gathering darkness
The spire of the village church,
And the pale white tombs, half hidden
By the tasseled willow and birch.

Vain is the golden drifting
Of morning light on the hill;
No white hand opens the windows
Of those chambers low and still.

But their dwellers were all my kindred,
Whatever their lives might be,
And their sufferings and achievements
Have recorded lessons for me.

Not one of the countless voyagers
Of life's mysterious main,
Has laid down his burden of sorrows,
Who hath lived and loved in vain.

From the bards of the elder ages
Fragments of song float by,
Like flowers in the streams of summer,
Or stars in the midnight sky.

Transcription Notes:
He had white hair and is getting old ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 15:56:55