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Thou know'st it: and I felt and ever shall.
Yet, in the heat and flagrance of my zeal,

I had spent a hundred thousand loves like thine
To gain but one such man as thou hast gained
On our behalf in noble Linsingen:

So prithee be content."

"

Nay, what thou say'st," The maiden answered him with streaming tears,

"It shows thy spirit's greatness greater yet

And all my baseness baser than before.

Oh! had'st thou been my brother-how blest then
Thy sister."-" Lucy, deem it even so:

I am thy brother, we're twinborn in soul :
What would we more? Only be thou indeed
My own true sister in this enterprize,

So shalt thou have not only a husband's love,
Which was the richest hope I offered thee,
But a brother's also on the top of that,
Crowning the measure: yes, by my faith I think
A sister's name is of the sweeter sound
Purer and chaster; less of earth in it,

And more of heaven. Lucy, 'tis God's grace,
And, for I deem it so, thy forehead I kiss

For a most holy and baptismal sign,

That thou art sistered to me.

This is good:

Never was I a brother yet before,

And now I feel the spirit in my heart

As a new born angel. Is it so with thee?
Prithee, believe no less-we must part now-
A longer stay might not beseem us well;
But there's a word I'd say: haply thou knowest
There is a force of soldiers here hard by

In Salberg-Soldiers, but yet men no less :
And not mere stocks for muskets as some are.
There hath been sown good seed among those men
And it hath taken root. Now in that force
Young Edward Linsingen doth hold a charge,
Being an ensign: what I know of him,
He is a kind of metal might be wrought

To our hottest use-now Lucy, for my sake,
And yours, and Linsingen's, and all of us,

While yet your husband's love holds its first heat,
Fashion it to this end, to work upon

His brother, whose good means may move those men

To join hands with us e'en as their hearts are ;

Wilt thou do this, thou'lt do our utmost aim,

Our foe's destruction-I say, if thou wilt,
For sure the power waits upon thy will:

And never did a woman's will before
Wield a like power to this: hast thou a soul,
To look beyond thine eyes what shall be done
In after-years? Oh thou'lt be honoured,
So high, that she of Orleans, the French maid,
Shall be but a poor wench, what she first was,
By thy comparison ! Yield us thus much,
I do beseech thee, and so bless us all,
Or rather, yield thy own good spirit its way.
"Tis a brave guide ! Lucy, then shall I know
What I do trust thee now, that thou art true;
And leaving me, leavest one thou dost love

But for thy country's sake. O think of it!
And may the act be instant on the thought
Lest some cross chance mar all: and now I go—
Give me thy ambient blessing with me hence-
Thy own true brother!" He kissed her and away;
And she was left in a deep loneliness;

And many thoughts came o'er her, vague and dark,
Till at the last they fell into this frame :

"Did I behold him?

And truly was it he?
All I told him

And all he answered me?
No-for in my blindness

I did him a foul wrong:
Sure such words of kindness
Could ne'er be from his tongue.
Nay-but dearest
Tell me was it thou,
Sure thou hearest-
Or art thou perished now?
Yes, thou'rt parted
Wilt never turn again—
Here lone-hearted
Here must I remain.-
Were I only

A reckless soldier lad!
But thus lonely!
Sure I shall be mad.
Then were anguish
Lost in the stormy strife:
Now I languish
A despairing life.
Oh it doth grieve me
Thou visitest me so,

Only to leave me

Deeper in my woe!

While thou art present

All that we dreamt of yore,

Lovely and pleasant,

-:

I dream it all once more.

Then that old vision

A very truth doth seem:-
Then my ambition
Shows as a foolish dream.
Yes, its high glimmer
More distant doth appear;
Fainter and dimmer,
Whenever thou art near.
There a star lone gleaming
That hath no home on earth,
Here a blaze warm beaming
From our bright household hearth.
Alas! fond hearts are driven
By anger and by scorn,
But so to be forgiven

Is harder to be borne.
Yet thou art vanished!
And my woman weakness too
Hence be it banished-

Lo here I arise anew!
Gone is thy loved feature-
But others I see there;

Many a grim stature

All armed round thy chair;

Or is it but a vision

So troubles my poor brain?

I'll dream no more; then back, thou

stern Decision,

Thus am I thine again."

She rose; and as she rose her mother came

To comfort her-but what we bear in the hand

We may not always lay it on the heart

No-'tis the various spirit makes it balm

Or gall and nettles. Lucy started up

As she heard the door a-hinge-lest some strange soul
In a familiar form should come to ask

Merciless questions in another tone

Than she must answer them. Who feels with us,
He is our friend, our father and mother too,
In the heart's affliction; and all else soe'er,
Though 'twere all our familiars met in one
Are but cold hands of clay: so she came in,
That tender mother, and spake kind to her;
But 'tis the season brings the flower forth,
The season and conspiring elements,

And not the sun alone.

The lyrical pieces that we have hitherto given have been erotic; but we must, in conscience now, give those of a religio-political character. "Brethren and friends, 'tis well,

Ye've said, and what ye've said, who shall gainsay?

Not all the host of Hell,

Shall now withstand your will or bar your destined way.
We're risen up and where's the mighty hand

Shall smite us down?

We're risen up to win unto this land
Her old renown-

Her ancient high prerogative,

To teach the nations how to live.
Long it was an idle boast,

Least vouchsafed when vaunted most;
But the lie is now made true,

Thanks to ye and honour due.

Due to ye all, and to your patriot worth,
And to the blessed land that sent ye forth.
Yes, hail to thee! my glorious mother-land,
For glorious shalt thou be!

Thou that hast borne this holy-brother band,
All hail to thee!

Men shall look to thee from far,
As to some lone shining star,
Shining in the dead of night,
For a high and guiding light:
Now the patriot glow I feel;
Now I know the fervent zeal,
Never known or felt before,
Vassal'd as thou wert of yore;

For who in his most fond imaginings
Could love thee then?

O'erlorded by all cursed creeping things,
Instead of men?

Things that had crawl'd unto their height,

Thence to rule thee in the right

Of their fangs and poisonous power;

But, thanks to God, they have fulfill'd their hour.
Mother of Freedom, yes, I greet thee now,

Thy travail o'er ;

There beans a high-souled beauty from thy brow,
Was not before.

And ever brighter glance thy fountains,

And ever higher swell thy mountains;
And all for pride that thou art grown
To stand amid the world alone:
Stand alone, while others fall,
Bending to the queen of all.

I greet thee with a kiss; and ye around,
Bare ye your feet, for this is holy ground;
And mark the spot, and set a sign thereon-
A sign of grace, to bide when ye are gone.
Some stone-heaped altar on the lone hill-side,
Young Freedom's monument, and the far pilgrim's guide.
And see, this day, how brightly doth it shine!

A heavenly token-a most gracious sign;
But brighter yet, and yet more heavenly clear,
Its future radiance foredestined for each year.
As now on us, so on our memories then,

A day of thanks to God, of joy among all men :
In holy honour, second but to one,

That blessed day that gave the Saviour Son:
Saviour alike and leveller of man,

Divine reformer, arch-republican.

For what are we but workers of his will?

As he foretold, e'en so do we fulfil.

Then in this surety gird ye each his sword,
And in your swelling souls receive the Lord :
Receive him there; and there he will abide,
A saving power still present on our side.
O'tis a glorious mission that ye claim !
Your scope is high, and be your souls the same!
Fearless of all such fear as worldlings feel,
Each grief, each joy, consumed in blazing zeal;
A blazing zeal, that neither cares nor knows
Of perils swarming on the path it goes;
Looking but to its glorious end on high,
And flashing back that glory from its eye.
Whate'er befall, enduring all alike,
Hardship or ease, to suffer or to strike:
Counting all gain, and careless of all loss,
Save of Christ only, and his holy cross.
Such is the spirit that must speed us on
Another way than other men have gone:
Yes, brethren, mark me this, another way-
And further, straiter, and more sure than they;
Ah, if it were not so, the thought were vain,
But one link more to lengthen out our chain;
Look on that chain, and see how it is made;-
'Tis wrought from many a broken patriot blade,
Shivered against the strength they foolishly assayed.
But what we purpose, none e'er dared it yet,
Then who shall say that we are vainly met?
I tell ye none hath failed where none hath tried;
Others have past away, our counsel shall abide.
The puny traitor-fools this land hath known,
Were frighted at the shadow of the throne,

And fell, uncared of all, who cared but for their own.
So dastard fear is father to its fate,

But rebel greatness must be boldly great:

Brethren, we know it well; and what we know,

Our knowledge in our daring must we show.

No plotting treachery, no courtly lies,

Such puny tricks as suit a puny prize,

And weak hands execute, and slavish souls devise.
No; let the mighty mass display its power,

Broad as the banner o'er some sovereign tower;

The mighty mass that never rais'd its head,

While factions countered, and while nobles bled;

But now, impatient of its stolen right,

Shall brandish its high hand, and burst into the fight. Hark! hear ye not? 'tis the fresh Spirit's sweep, Stooping to stir the fountains of the deep.

And lo! a mighty flood shall level all,

New powers arise, and ancient empires fall.
Joy to ye, brethren, joy; for many are they
Whose livelong spirits yearned to see this day,
And saw it not, but past in frustrate hope away.
That sight-that holy work is all our own,
By God's free grace:

O let us give him honour, kneeling down
Here in this place.

We have been a brotherhood,

True and holy, fast and good;

I your minister, and ye
Children of my ministry,
Hearers of the word I preach,
Livers of the life I teach;
Zealous for the gospel cause,
In despite of worldly laws;
So of late I deemed ye all-
Is it now the time to fall?
Shamefully to fall aloof,

Bidden thus to bide the proof?
No; it would grieve me sore;

Shall this our house so strictly edified,

Fall loosely on the shore,

Impotent of the assailing tide?

And often have I preached and prayed with you,

Communing mind with mind;

And now the time is come that we should do

What we designed.

That which ye did profess,

To be devoted to your Saviour's will,

I deem ye are no less;

We promised then, and now much more fulfil.”

Such is the poet's hatred of infidelity, that he portrays the traitor to the Chartist-cause as an infidel. Having thus exhibited the character and creed of the author in the best and fairest light, we may now proceed to some analysis of his work. His persons are, for the most part, of the middle and lower classes. First of all, there is Frederick Hess, with whom the poem opens, as travelling homeward over the hills, in a stormy night. Having arrived at his cottage, he expresses to his wife and his daughter Lucy, his dissatisfaction at having heard that the pastor of the parish had sent down his mandate to the village, claiming his tithe, and denouncing all who resist payment. Ere long, Arthur Hermann joins the party, the unaccepted lover of Lucy; on account of their mutual poverty, both are sickening with hope deferred. The evil of late marriages rouses, at this point, the poet into a strain of indignant apostrophe. He then relates the early story of Arthur Hermann's life, premising that in his form was neither strength nor comeliness, that he was the son of a peasant (it afterwards turns out, however, that he was a foundling, and his right name, Ernest), who, notwithstanding his subsequent treason, is described as having been one, "not so enslaved unto his toil as to begrudge his spirit," and who, by a perusal of scripture so kindled his mind, as finally to induce him to leave farming and take to pedagogy :

He took on him the rule and mastery
Of village urchins. There in grave estate
Among his rueful scholars he would sit,

But lived among his books; forging quaint forms
In his quick fancy; torturing plain sense

To mystic meanings, as usurpers use,

Unwont to rule, and plagued with ceaseless itch
To prove their power: turning all settlement
To a most troubled stir: old things to new;

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