The bells went wild, and the black smoke piled Its pillars against the night, Till I gathered them, like flocks defiled, And scattered them left and right, While the holocaust's red tresses tossed As a maddened Fury's might. "Ye overthrown!" did I jeer and groan-- "Ho! who is your master?--say!-- Ye shapes that writhe in the slag and moan Your slow-charred souls away-- Ye worse than worst of things accurst-- Ye dead leaves of a day!" I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, And I hold a sovereign reign Over the lands, as God designed, And the waters they contain: Lo! the bound of the wide world round Falleth in my domain! . . . . . . . 'I wake, as one from a dream half done, And gaze with a dazzled eye On an autumn leaf like a scrap of sun That the wind goes whirling by, While afar I hear, with a chill of fear, The winter storm-king sigh.' MORTON The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill; The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell, Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will Wrought every mission well. Whose glowing reason towered above the sea Of dark disaster like a beacon light, And led the Ship of State, unscathed and free, Out of the gulfs of night. When Treason, rabid-mouthed, and fanged with steel, Lay growling o'er the bones of fallen braves, And when beneath the tyrant's iron heel Were ground the hearts of slaves, And War, with all his train of horrors, leapt Across the fortress-walls of Liberty With havoc e'en the marble goddess wept With tears of blood to see. Throughout it all his brave and kingly mind Kept loyal vigil o'er the patriot's vow, And yet the flag he lifted to the wind Is drooping o'er him now. And Peace--all pallid from the battle-field When first again it hovered o'er the land And found his voice above it like a shield, Had nestled in his hand. . . . . . . . . O throne of State and gilded Senate halls-- Though thousands throng your aisles and galleries-- How empty are ye! and what silence falls On your hilarities! And yet, though great the loss to us appears, The consolation sweetens all our pain-- Though hushed the voice, through all the coming years Its echoes will remain. AN AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA With a sweeter voice than birds Dare to twitter in their sleep, Pipe for me a tune of words, Till my dancing fancies leap Into freedom vaster far Than the realms of Reason are! Sing for me with wilder fire Than the lover ever sung, From the time he twanged the lyre When the world was baby-young.