eres, rejoice,
The rhythmic rule of earth and sky.

We saw his great powers misapplied
To poor ambitions; yet, through all,
We saw him take the weaker side,
And right the wronged, and free the thrall.

Now, looking o'er the frozen North,
For one like him in word and act,
To call her old, free spirit forth,
And give her faith the life of fact,--

To break her party bonds of shame,
And labor with the zeal of him
To make the Democratic name
Of Liberty the synonyme,--

We sweep the land from hill to strand,
We seek the strong, the wise, the brave,
And, sad of heart, return to stand
In silence by a new-made grave!

There, where his breezy hills of home
Look out upon his sail-white seas,
The sounds of winds and waters come,
And shape themselves to words like these.

"Why, murmuring, mourn that he, whose power
Was lent to Party over-long,
Heard the still whisper at the hour
He set his foot on Party wrong?

"The human life that closed so well
No lapse of folly now can stain
The lips whence Freedom's protest fell
No meaner thought can now profane.

"Mightier than living voice his grave
That lofty protest utters o'er;
Through roaring wind and smiting wave
It speaks his hate of wrong once more.

"Men of the North! your weak regret
Is wasted here; arise and pay
To freedom and to him your debt,
By following where he led the way!"

1853.

WILLIAM FORSTER.

William Forster, of Norwich, England, died in East Tennessee, in the 1st
month, 1854, while engaged in presenting to the governors of the States
of this Union the address of his religious society on the evils of
slavery. He was the relative and coadjutor of the Buxtons, Gurneys, and
Frys; and his whole life, extending al-most to threescore and ten years,
was a pore and beautiful example of Christian benevolence. He had
travelled over Europe, and visited most of its sovereigns, to plead
against the slave-trade and slavery; and had twice before made visits to
this country, under impressions of religious duty. He was the father of
the Right Hon. William Edward Forster. He visited my father's house in
Haverhill during his first tour in the United States.

The years are many since his hand
Was laid upon my head,
Too weak and young to understand