Whittiers Complete Poems, vol 4 | Page 5

coloring of its own,
And kindled up,
intense and warm,
A life in every rite and form,
As. when on
Chebar's banks of old,
The Hebrew's gorgeous vision rolled,
A

spirit filled the vast machine,
A life, "within the wheels" was seen.
Farewell! A little time, and we
Who knew thee well, and loved thee
here,
One after one shall follow thee
As pilgrims through the gate
of fear,
Which opens on eternity.
Yet shall we cherish not the less

All that is left our hearts meanwhile;
The memory of thy loveliness

Shall round our weary pathway smile,
Like moonlight when the
sun has set,
A sweet and tender radiance yet.
Thoughts of thy
clear-eyed sense of duty,
Thy generous scorn of all things wrong,

The truth, the strength, the graceful beauty
Which blended in thy
song.
All lovely things, by thee beloved,
Shall whisper to our hearts
of thee;
These green hills, where thy childhood roved,
Yon river
winding to the sea,
The sunset light of autumn eves
Reflecting on
the deep, still floods,
Cloud, crimson sky, and trembling leaves
Of
rainbow-tinted woods,
These, in our view, shall henceforth take
A
tenderer meaning for thy sake;
And all thou lovedst of earth and sky,

Seem sacred to thy memory.
1841.
FOLLEN.
ON READING HIS ESSAY ON THE "FUTURE STATE."
Charles Follen, one of the noblest contributions of Germany to
American citizenship, was at an early age driven from his professorship
in the University of Jena, and compelled to seek shelter from official
prosecution in Switzerland, on account of his liberal political opinions.
He became Professor of Civil Law in the University of Basle. The
governments of Prussia, Austria, and Russia united in demanding his
delivery as a political offender; and, in consequence, he left
Switzerland, and came to the United States. At the time of the
formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society he was a Professor in
Harvard University, honored for his genius, learning, and estimable
character. His love of liberty and hatred of oppression led him to seek
an interview with Garrison and express his sympathy with him. Soon
after, he attended a meeting of the New England Anti-Slavery Society.
An able speech was made by Rev. A. A. Phelps, and a letter of mine

addressed to the Secretary of the Society was read. Whereupon he rose
and stated that his views were in unison with those of the Society, and
that after hearing the speech and the letter, he was ready to join it, and
abide the probable consequences of such an unpopular act. He lost by
so doing his professorship. He was an able member of the Executive
Committee of the American Anti-Slavery Society. He perished in the
ill-fated steamer Lexington, which was burned on its passage from New
York, January 13, 1840. The few writings left behind him show him to
have been a profound thinker of rare spiritual insight.
Friend of my soul! as with moist eye
I look up from this page of thine,

Is it a dream that thou art nigh,
Thy mild face gazing into mine?
That presence seems before me now,
A placid heaven of sweet
moonrise,
When, dew-like, on the earth below
Descends the quiet
of the skies.
The calm brow through the parted hair,
The gentle lips which knew
no guile,
Softening the blue eye's thoughtful care
With the bland
beauty of their smile.
Ah me! at times that last dread scene
Of Frost and Fire and moaning
Sea
Will cast its shade of doubt between
The failing eyes of Faith
and thee.
Yet, lingering o'er thy charmed page,
Where through the twilight air
of earth,
Alike enthusiast and sage,
Prophet and bard, thou gazest
forth,
Lifting the Future's solemn veil;
The reaching of a mortal hand
To
put aside the cold and pale
Cloud-curtains of the Unseen Land;
Shall these poor elements outlive
The mind whose kingly will, they
wrought?
Their gross unconsciousness survive
Thy godlike energy
of thought?

In thoughts which answer to my own,
In words which reach my
inward ear,
Like whispers from the void Unknown,
I feel thy living
presence here.
The waves which lull thy body's rest,
The dust thy pilgrim footsteps
trod,
Unwasted, through each change, attest
The fixed economy of
God.
Thou livest, Follen! not in vain
Hath thy fine spirit meekly borne

The burthen of Life's cross of pain,
And the thorned crown of
suffering worn.
Oh, while Life's solemn mystery glooms
Around us like a dungeon's
wall,
Silent earth's pale and crowded tombs,
Silent the heaven
which bends o'er all!
While day by day our loved ones glide
In spectral silence, hushed and
lone,
To the cold shadows which divide
The living from the dread
Unknown;
While even on the closing eye,
And on the lip which moves in vain,

The seals of that stern mystery
Their undiscovered trust retain;
And only midst the gloom of death,
Its mournful doubts and haunting
fears,
Two pale, sweet angels, Hope and Faith,
Smile dimly on us
through their tears;
'T is something to a heart like mine
To think of thee as living yet;

To feel that such a light as thine
Could not in utter darkness set.
Less dreary seems the untried way
Since thou hast left thy footprints
there,
And beams