1830-40.] JAMBS W. WARD. 261 Whirleth the poet's spinning brain, in- cessantly ; Often, poor brain, dashed round on waves tempestuous. Cometh an end ere long to toil and mock- ery ; Enemies, cares and shows, and juggling fripperies, Tinsel enticements, masks, and life-worn vanities — What hath the waking soul, redeemed, re- generate, Whisp'ring with death, to do with these im- pediments ? E'en as thy waters, here, in calm transpa- rency. Bend o'er the brink of this abyss precipi- tous. Shimmering foam, and froth, and flashing jewelry, Scattered behind thee — so, in sweet seren- ity, Freed from its clogs, the soul puts on eter- nity. Haste there is none, but only strength and readiness ; Baubles and shams are put aside disdain- fully; Nothing beyond can pass but truth and purity ; So on thy breast is nothing seen, Niagara, Save the blue image of the deep sky over thee. Note. — The versification of this poem, which is now first published, is peculiar, and perhaps new ; so far as the author is concerned, it is quite so. It was constructed incidentally to a defense of the English hexameter, as es- pecially exemplified in " Evangeline," the most charming and musical poem of American origin. The English language is manifestly capable of rich, fluent, and har- monious expression, not only in hexameters and pen- tameters, but in other as j'et unusual, and perhaps unconstructed, meters. It is believed there is no varia- tion or fault in the above verses (or lines) ; each one is like any and every other, and consists of five feet ; a dactyl, three trochees (one of which may be a spondee), and a dactyl. In reading, the peculiar accent of the dac- tyl should be regularly observed. CHILDISH WISDOM. 'TwAS the hour of prayer ; and the farmer stood, With a thankful heart and a lowly mind, And prayed to the Author of every good, That the Father of all would be very kind, And bless His creatures with raiment and food ; That the blessing each day might be re- newed. That every want might find relief, And plenty for hunger, joy for grief, Be measured out by the merciful One, To all who suffered beneath the sun. The prayer concluded, the godly man Went forth in peace to inspect his farm ; And by his side, dehghted ran, Glowing with every healthful charm. His little son, a sprightly boy. Whose home was love, and whose life was joy- And they rambled over the golden fields ; And the father said, " The harvest yields A plentiful crop, my son, this year ; My bams are too small for the grain, I fear." And they wandered on, through row upon row Of plumy sheaves, and at length the child. With earnest look, and a rosy glow On his shining cheek, looked up and smiled. And said, " My father, do you not pray For the poor and needy day by day. That God the good would the hungry feed.?" " I do, my son." " Well I think, as you plead"— His eye waxed bright, for his soul shone through it — " That God, if he had your wheat, would do it."
