THE REFORMER.

MAN of the future! on the eager headland standing, Gazing far off into the outer sea,

Thine eye, the darkness and the billows rough commanding,

Beholds a shore, bright as the heaven itself may be; Where temples, cities, homes, and haunts of men, Orchards and fields spread out in orderly array, Invite the yearning soul to thither flee,

And there to spend in boundless peace its happier day.

By passion and the force of earnest thought,
Borne up and platformed at a height,
Where,'gainst thy feet the force of earth and heaven
are brought,

Yet, so into the frame of empire wrought,

Thou, stout man, canst not thence be sever'd, Till ruled and rulers, fiends or men, are taught And feel the truths by thee delivered.

Seize by its horns the shaggy Past,

Full of uncleanness; heave with mountain-cast
Its carcase down the black and wide abyss-
That opens day and night its gulfy precipice,
By faded empires, projects old and dead
Forever in its noisy hunger fed:

But rush not, therefore, with a brutish blindness,
Against the 'stablished bulwarks of the world;
Kind be thyself, although unkindness

Thy race to ruin dark and suffering long has hurl'd. For many days of light, and smooth repose, "Twixt storms and weathery sadness intervene ; Thy course is nature's: on thy triumph flows, Assured, like hers, though noiseless and serene. Wake not at midnight and proclaim it day, When lightning only flashes o'er the way; Pauses and starts, and strivings towards an end, Are not a birth, although a god's birth they portend. Be patient, therefore, like the old broad earth That bears the guilty up, and through the night Conducts them gently to the dawning lightThy silent hours shall have as great a birth.

THE MASSES.

WHEN, wild and high, the uproar swells
From crowds that gather at the set of day,
When square and market roar in stormy play,
And fields of men, like lions, shake their fells
Of savage hair; when, quick and deep call out the
Through all the lower heaven ringing,

As if an earthquake's shock
The city's base should rock,

And set its troubled turrets singing:
Remember, men! on massy strength relying,
There is a heart of right
Not always open to the light,
Secret and still, and force-defying.
in vast assemblies calm let order rule,
And every shout a cadence owning,
Make musical the vex'd wind's moaning,
And be as little children at singing-school.

[bells

But, when thick as night the sky is crusted o'er, Stifling life's pulse, and making heaven an idle dream,

Arise! and cry, up through the dark, to God's ow throne:

Your faces in a furnace-glow,

Your arms uplifted for the deathward blowFiery and prompt as angry angels show; Then draw the brand and fire the thunder gun! Be nothing said and all things done,

Till every cobweb'd corner of the common weal Is shaken free, and, creeping to its scabbard back, the steel,

Lets shine again God's rightful sun.

THE MECHANIC.

Он, when thou walkest by the river's side,
Thy bulky figure outlined in the wave,
Or, on thine adze-staff resting, 'neath the ship
Thy strokes have shaped, or hearest loud and brave
The clangour of the boastful forge, think not
To strength of limb, to sinews large and tough,
Are given rights masterless and vantage-proof,
Which the pale scholar and his puny hand
Writing his thoughts upon the idle sand,
May not possess as full: oh, maddened, drink not
With greedy ear what selfish Passion pours!
His a sway peculiar is, no less than yours.
The inner world is his, the outer thine-
(And both are God's)—a world, maiden and new.
To shape and finish forth, of rock and wood,
Iron and brass, to fashion, mould, and hew-
In countless cunning forms to recreate,
Till the great God of order shall proclaim it
"Good!"

Proportioned fair, as in its first estate.

It consecrates whate'er it strikes-each blow,
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,

Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears

Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teethAnchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow In the First Builder's gracious spirit-workThrough hall, through enginery, and temples meek,

In grandeur towered, or lapsing, bet.uty-sleek, Let order and creative fitness shine:

Though mountains are no more to rear, Though woods may rise again no more, The noble task to reproduce is thine!

The spreading branch, the firm-set peak, may live With thee, and in thy well-sped labours thrive.

The untried forces of the air, the earth, the ses, Wait at thy bidding: oh, compel their powers To uses holy! Let them ever be

Servants to tend and bless these new-found bow

ers,

And make them household-workers, free and swift,
On daily use-on daily service bent:

Her face again old Eden may uplift,
And God look down the open firmament.

A

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

GONE in the flush of youth! Gone ere thy heart had felt earth's withering care; Ere the stern world had soil'd thy spirit's truth, Or sown dark sorrow there.

Fled like a dream away!

But yesterday mid life's auroral bloom-
To-day, sad winter, desolate and gray,

Sighs round thy lonely tomb.

Fond hearts were beating high,

Fond eyes were watching for the loved one gone, And gentle voices, deeming thou wert nigh,

Talk'd of thy glad return.

They watch'd--not all in vain-

Thy form once more the wonted threshold pass'd; But choking sobs, and tears like summer-rain, Welcom'd thee home at last.

Friend of my youth, farewell!

To thee, we trust, a happier life is given;
One tie to earth for us hath loosed its spell,
Another form'd for heaven.

OUR COUNTRY.

OUR country!--'t is a glorious land!

With broad arms stretch'd from shore to shore,

The proud Pacific chafes her strand,

She hears the dark Atlantic roar; And, nurtured on her ample breast, How many a goodly prospect lies In Nature's wildest grandeur drest,

Enamell'd with her loveliest dyes.

Rich prairies, deck'd with flowers of gold,
Like sunlit oceans roll afar;
Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,
Reflecting clear each trembling star,
And mighty rivers, mountain-born,

Go sweeping onward, dark and deep,
Through forests where the bounding fawn
Beneath their sheltering branches leap.
And, cradled mid her clustering hills,
Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,
Where love the air with music fills;
And calm content and peace abide;
For plenty here her fulness pours

In rich profusion o'er the land,
And, sent to seize her generous store,
There prowls no tyrant's hireling band.
Great Gon! we thank thee for this home-
This bounteous birthland of the free;
Where wanderers from afar may come,
And breathe the air of liberty!--
Still may her flowers untrampled spring,
Her harvests wave, her cities rise;
And yet, til! Time shall fold his wing,
Remain Earth's loveliest paradise!

I HEAR THY VOICE, O SPRING!

I HEAR thy voice, O Spring! Its flute-like tones are floating through the air, Winning my soul with their wild ravishing, From earth's heart-wearying care.

Divinely sweet thy song-

But yet, methinks, as near the groves I pass, Low sighs on viewless wings are borne along, Tears gem the springing grass.

For where are they, the young, The loved, the beautiful, who, when thy voice, A year agone, along these valleys rung, Did hear thee and rejoice!

Thou seek'st for them in vainNo more they'll greet thee in thy joyous round; Calmly they sleep beneath the murmuring main Or moulder in the ground.

Yet peace, my heart--be still!

Look upward to yon azure sky and know,
To heavenlier music now their bosoms thrill,
Where balmier breezes blow.

For them hath bloom'd a spring,
Whose flowers perennial deck a holier sod,
Whose music is the song that seraphs sing
Whose light, the smile of GoD!

I STOOD BESIDE HIS GRAVE.

I STOOD beside the grave of him,
Whose heart with mine had fondly beat,
While memories, from their chambers dim,
Throng'd mournful, yet how sadly sweet!
It was a calm September eve,

The stars stole trembling into sight.
Save where the day, as loth to leave,
Still flush'd the heavens with rosy light.
The crickets in the grass were heard,
The city's murmur softly fell,
And scarce the dewy air was stirr'd,
As faintly toll'd the evening-bell.

O Death! had then thy summons come,
To bid me from this world away,-
How gladly had I hail'd the doom
That stretch'd me by his mouldering clay!
And twilight deepen'd into night,

And night itself grew wild and drear,-
For clouds rose darkly on the sight,

And winds sigh'd mournful on the ear:

And yet I linger'd mid the fern,
Though gleam'd no star the eye to bless-
For, O, 't was agony to turn

And leave him to his loneliness!

THE author of Velasco" is a native of Gloucester, a town on the sea-coast of Massachusetts, and was born on the twenty-seventh of September, 1816. His father, a respectable merchant, of the same name, is still living, and resides in Boston. The subject of this sketch was educated in the schools of that city and the neighbourhood, where he lived until his removal to New York, in 1837. His earliest metrical compositions were printed in The Collegian," a monthly miscellany edited by several of the students of Harvard College, of the junior and senior classes of 1830. One of his contributions to that work, entitled "Twilight Sketches," exhibits the grace of style, ease of versification, and variety of description, which are characteristic of his more recent effusions. It was a sketch of the Summer Gardens of St. Petersburg, and was written during a visit to that capital in the spring of 1828.

Mr. SARGENT's reputation rests principally on his dramas, which bear a greater value in the closet than on the stage. His first appearance as a dramatic author was in the winter of 1836, when his "Bride of Genoa" was brought out at the Tremont Theatre, in Boston. This was a five-act play, founded on incidents in the career of ANTONIO MONTALDO, a plebeian, who at the age of twentytwo, made himself doge of Genoa, in 1693, and who is described in the history of the times as a man of "forgiving temper," but daring and ambitious, with a genius adequate to the accomplishment of vast designs. In the delineation of his hero, the author has followed the historical record, though the other characters and incidents of the drama are entirely fictitious. It was successfully

performed in Boston, and since in many of the first theatres of the country. His next production was of a much higher order, and as a specimen of dramatic art, has received warm commendation from the most competent judges. It was the tragedy of "Velasco," first performed at Boston, in November, 1837, Miss ELLEN TREE in the character of IZIDORA, and subsequently at the principal theatres in New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and New Orleans. It was published in New York in 1839. "The general action of the piece," says the author in his preface, "is derived from incidents in the career of RODRIGO DIAZ, the Cid, whose achievements constitute so considerable a portion of the historical and romantic literature of Spain." The subject had been variously treated by French and Spanish dramatists, among others, by CoRNEILLE, but Mr. SARGENT was the first to introduce it successfully upon the English stage. It is a chaste and elegant performance, and probably has not been surpassed by any similar work by so youthful an author. It was written before Mr. SARGENT was twenty-one years of age.

In the beginning of 1847 Mr. SARGENT published in Boston a volume entitled "Songs of the Sea, and other Poems," and a new edition of his plays. The quatorzains written during a voyage to Cuba, in the spring of 1835, appear to be among the most elaborate of his sea pieces, but some of his nautical lyrics are more spirited.

Mr. SARGENT has edited "The Modern Acting Drama," and several modern British poets; and recently has done the public an important service by preparing the best series of reading books, for schools, ever published in this country.

RECORDS OF A SUMMER-VOYAGE TO I

CUBA.

I. THE DEPARTURE.

AGAIN thy winds are pealing in mine ear! A gain thy waves are flashing in my sight! Thy memory-haunting tones again I hear, As through the spray our vessel wings her flight! On thy cerulean breast, now swelling high, Again, thou broad Atlantic, am I cast! Six years, with noiseless tread, have glided by, Since, an adventurous boy, I hail'd thee last, The sea-birds o'er me wheel, as if to greet An old companion; on my naked brow The sparkling foam-drops not unkindly beat; [now Flows through my hair the freshening breeze-and The horizon's ring enclasps me; and I stand Gazing where fades from view, cloud-like, my fatherland!

II. THE GALE.

The night came down in terror. Through the
air
Mountains of clouds, with lurid summits, roll'd ;
The lightning kindling with its vivid glare
Their outlines, as they rose, heap'd fold on fold,
The wind, in fitful sughs, swept o'er the sea;
And then a sudden lull, gentle as sleep,
Soft as an infant's breathing, seem'd to be
Lain, like enchantment, on the throbbing deep.
But, false the calm! for soon the strengthen'd
gale

Burst, in one loud explosion, far and wide,
Drowning the thunder's voice! With every sail
Close-reef'd, our groaning ship heel'd on her side;
The torn waves comb'd the deck; while o'er the
mast

The meteors of the storm a ghastly radiance cast!