n, league-wide at first,
But, with still swiftness lessening on and on,
Till cloud and shadow meet and mingle where
The gray horizon fades into the sky,
Far, far to northward. Yes, for ages yet
Must I lie here upon my altar huge,
A sacrifice for man.'

'A sacrifice for man.' The theme has won a high significance with time.
One more passage, and we are done--a passage which rivals Shakspeare in
its startling vividness, as it whispers with awful power close to our
ears. All night had the prisoned god heard voices,--

'Deeper yet
The deep, low breathings of the silence grew

* * * * *

And then toward me came
A shape as of a woman; very pale
It was, and calm; its cold eyes did not move,
And mine moved not, but only stared on them.
Their fixed awe went through my brain like ice;
A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my heart,
And a sharp chill, as if a dank night-fog
Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt.
And then, methought, I heard a freezing sigh,
A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue lips
Stiffening in death, close to mine ear. I thought
Some doom was close upon me, and I looked
And saw the red morn, through the heavy mist,
Just setting, and it seemed as it were falling,
Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead
And palsy-struck it looked. Then all sounds merged
Into the rising surges of the pines,
Which, leagues below me, clothing the gaunt loins
Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength,
Sent up a murmur in the morning wind,
Sad as the wail that from the populous earth
All day and night to high Olympus soars,
Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove!'

Mr. Lowell is no fine dreamer, no enthusiast in the filmy questions of
some cloud-land of poetry: the sword of power is in his hand, and the
stern teachings of Right and Justice ring through his heart. To such
men, Destiny looks for her unfolding. Woe to them, if upon their
silence, inaction or irresolution in these great days, the steadfast
gaze of her high expectation falls unheeded.

* * * * *

RESURGAMUS.

Go where the sunlight brightly falls,
Through tangled grass too thick to wave;
Where silence, save the cricket's calls,
Reigns o'er a patriot's grave;
And you shall see Faith's violets spring
From whence his soul on heavenward wing
Rose to the realms where heroes dwell:
Her