Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/190

Thy name is mention'd where the merchants meet,
And Commerce loves thee well. Yea, thou dost make
Much clamour in the world, with thundering crash
Of water-wheel, and loom, and steaming smoke
From coal-fed chimneys, fusing to the skies
With blacken'd breath. Yet mid thy vassal throng
Of toiling artisans, 'tis sad to see
Such troops of little ones, with pallid cheek,
Yielding their joyous birthright at thy shrine,
And all sweet intercourse with fields and flowers,
That glads the peasant's child.
                                                 'Twere hard to count
Thy many transmigrations, or to keep
Tithe of the dramas where thou dost enact
Most changeful parts. Thou in the vessel's hold
Dost slumber heavily, in ponderous bales,
Like precious ingots, or with winged sail
Impel its trackless journey o'er the deep,
Or, closely furl'd, embrace the groaning mast
That crouches to the tempest. Thou dost stoop,
With garment coarse, to wrap the labouring kind,
And deck the country-dame in Sunday-gown
Of ample-flower'd and many-colour’d chints,
Or, slow emerging from the Indian loom,
Light as the texture of a dreamy thought,
Veil the fair bride, and drape the throned queen.
With man thou art when to the dust he goes,
And in thy snowy shroud dost fold his brow
When friend and lover have forsaken him.

But yet thou hast a higher ministry
Of kindliness, and, when thou well hast served