Caxton's Book: A Collection of Essays, Poems, Tales, and Sketches Part 29

(Correct:) THOS. J. ALWYN, Coroner.

The above doc.u.ments const.i.tute the papers introduced before the coroner. Should anything of further interest occur, I will keep you fully advised.

POWHATTAN JONES.

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Since the above was in type we have received from our esteemed San Francisco correspondent the following letter:

SAN FRANCISCO, June 8, 1871.

MR. EDITOR: On entering my office this morning I found A bundle of MSS. which had been thrown in at the transom over the door, labeled, "The Summerfield MSS." Attached to them was an unsealed note from one Bartholomew Graham, in these words:

DEAR SIR: These are yours: you have earned them. I commend to your especial notice the one styled "_De Mundo Comburendo_."

At a future time you may hear again from

BARTHOLOMEW GRAHAM.

A casual glance at the papers convinces me that they are of great literary value. Summerfield's fame never burned so brightly as it does over this grave. Will you publish the MSS.?

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XXVII.

_THE AVITOR._

Hurrah for the wings that never tire-- For the nerves that never quail; For the heart that beats in a bosom of fire-- For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respire Where the eagle's breath would fail!

As the genii bore Aladdin away, In search of his palace fair, On his magical wings to the land of Cathay, So here I will spread out my pinions to-day On the cloud-borne billows of air.

Up! up! to its home on the mountain crag, Where the condor builds its nest, I mount far fleeter than hunted stag, I float far higher than Switzer flag-- Hurrah for the lightning's guest!

Away, over steeple and cross and tower-- Away, over river and sea; I spurn at my feet the tempests that lower, Like minions base of a vanquished power, And mutter their thunders at me!

Diablo frowns, as above him I pa.s.s, Still loftier heights to attain; Calaveras' groves are but blades of gra.s.s-- Yosemite's sentinel peaks a ma.s.s Of ant-hills dotting a plain!

Sierra Nevada's shroud of snow, And Utah's desert of sand, Shall never again turn backward the flow Of that human tide which may come and go To the vales of the sunset land!

Wherever the coy earth veils her face With tresses of forest hair; Where polar pallors her blushes efface, Or tropical blooms lend her beauty and grace-- I can flutter my plumage there!

Where the Amazon rolls through a mystical land-- Where Chiapas buried her dead-- Where Central Australian deserts expand-- Where Africa seethes in saharas of sand-- Even there shall my pinions spread!

No longer shall earth with her secrets beguile, For I, with undazzled eyes, Will trace to their sources the Niger and Nile, And stand without dread on the boreal isle, The Colon of the skies!

Then hurrah for the wings that never tire-- For the sinews that never quail; For the heart that throbs in a bosom of fire-- For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respire When the eagle's breath would fail!

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XXVIII.

_LOST AND FOUND._

'Twas eventide in Eden. The mortals stood, Watchful and solemn, in speechless sorrow bound.

He was erect, defiant, and unblenched.

Tho' fallen, free--deceived, but not undone.

She leaned on him, and drooped her pensive brow In token of the character she bore-- _The world's first penitent_. Tears, gus.h.i.+ng fast, Streamed from her azure eyes; and as they fled Beyond the eastern gate, where gleamed the swords Of guarding Cherubim, the flowers themselves Bent their sad heads, surcharged with dewy tears, Wept by the stare o'er man's immortal woe.

Far had they wandered, slow had been the pace, Grief at his heart and ruin on her face, Ere Adam turned to contemplate the spot Where Earth began, where Heaven was forgot.

He gazed in silence, till the crystal wall Of Eden trembled, as though doomed to fall: Then bidding Eve direct her tear-dimmed eye To where the foliage kissed the western sky, They saw, with horror mingled with surprise, The wall, the garden, and the foliage rise!

Slowly it mounted to the vaulted dome, And paused as if to beckon mortals home; Then, like a cloud when winds are all at rest, It floated gently to the distant west, And left behind a crimson path of light, By which to track the Garden in its flight!

Day after day, the exiles wandered on, With eyes still fixed, where Eden's smile last shone; Forlorn and friendless through the wilds they trod, Remembering Eden, but forgetting G.o.d, Till far across the sea-washed, arid plain, The billows thundered that the search was vain!

Ah! who can tell how oft at eventide, When the gay west was blus.h.i.+ng like a bride, Fair Eve hath whispered in her children's ear, "Beyond yon cloud will Eden reappear!"

And thus, as slow millenniums rolled away, Each generation, ere it turned to clay, Has with prophetic lore, by nature blest, In search of Eden wandered to the West.

I cast my thoughts far up the stream of time, And catch its murmurs in my careless rhyme.

I hear a footstep tripping o'er the down: Behold! 'tis Athens, in her violet crown.

In fancy now her splendors reappear; Her fleets and phalanxes, her s.h.i.+eld and spear; Her battle-fields, blest ever by the free,-- Proud Marathon, and sad Thermopylae!

Her poet, foremost in the ranks of fame, Homer! a G.o.d--but with a mortal's name; Historians, richest in primeval lore; Orations, sounding yet from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e!

Heroes and statesmen throng the enraptured gaze, Till glory totters 'neath her load of praise.

Surely a clime so rich in old renown Could build an Eden, if not woo one down!

Lo! Plato comes, with wisdom's scroll unfurl'd, The proudest gift of Athens to the world!

Wisest of mortals, say, for thou can'st tell, Thou, whose sweet lips the Muses loved so well, Was Greece the Garden that our fathers trod; When men, like angels, walked the earth with G.o.d?

"Alas!" the great Philosopher replied, "Though I love Athens better than a bride, Her laws are b.l.o.o.d.y and her children slaves; Her sages slumber in empoisoned graves; Her soil is sterile, barren are her seas; Eden still blooms in the Hesperides, Beyond the pillars of far Hercules!

Westward, amid the ocean's blandest smile, Atlantis blossoms, a perennial Isle; A vast Republic stretching far and wide, Greater than Greece and Macedon beside!"

The vision fades. Across the mental screen A mightier spirit stalks upon the scene; His tread shakes empires ancient as the sun; His voice resounds, and nations are undone; War in his tone and battle in his eye, The world in arms, a Roman dare defy!

Throned on the summit of the seven hills, He bathes his gory heel in Tiber's rills; Stretches his arms across a triple zone, And dares be master of mankind, alone!

All peoples send their tribute to his store; Wherever rivers glide or surges roar, Or mountains rise or desert plains expand, His minions sack and pillage every land.

But not alone for rapine and for war The Roman eagle spreads his pinions far; He bears a sceptre in his talons strong, To guard the right, to rectify the wrong, And carries high, in his imperial beak, A s.h.i.+eld armored to protect the weak.

Justice and law are dropping from his wing, Equal alike for consul, serf or king; Daggers for tyrants, for patriot-heroes fame, Attend like menials on the Roman name!