Within sits Another,
      The thrifty Housewife;
    The mild one, the mother—
      Her home is her life.
    In its circle she rules,
    And the daughters she schools,
      And she cautions the boys,
    With a bustling command,
    And a diligent hand
      Employed she employs;
        Gives order to store,
        And the much makes the more;
  Locks the chest and the wardrobe, with lavender smelling,
  And the hum of the spindle goes quick through the dwelling,
  And she hoards in the presses, well polished and full,
  The snow of the linen, the shine of the wool;
  Blends the sweet with the good, and from care and endeavor
  Rests never!
        Blithe the Master (where the while
        From his roof he sees them smile)
          Eyes the lands, and counts the gain;
        There, the beams projecting far,
        And the laden store-house are,
        And the granaries bowed beneath
          The blessèd golden grain;
        There, in undulating motion,
        Wave the corn-fields like an ocean.
        Proud the boast the proud lips breathe:—
        "My house is built upon a rock,
        And sees unmoved the stormy shock
          Of waves that fret below!"
        What chain so strong, what girth so great,
        To bind the giant form of Fate?—
          Swift are the steps of Woe.
 

V

 
        Now the casting may begin;
          See the breach indented there:
        Ere we run the fusion in,
          Halt—and speed the pious prayer!
            Pull the bung out—
            See around and about
  What vapor, what vapor—God help us!—has risen?—
  Ha! the flame like a torrent leaps forth from its prison!
          What friend is like the might of fire
          When man can watch and wield the ire?
          Whate'er we shape or work, we owe
          Still to that heaven-descended glow.
  But dread the heaven-descended glow,
  When from their chain its wild wings go,
  When, where it listeth, wide and wild
  Sweeps the Free Nature's free-born Child!
  When the Frantic One fleets,
   While no force can withstand,
  Through the populous streets
   Whirling ghastly the brand;
  For the Element hates
  What man's labor creates,
   And the work of his hand!
  Impartially out from the cloud,
  Or the curse or the blessing may fall!
  Benignantly out from the cloud,
   Come the dews, the revivers of all!
  Avengingly out from the cloud
   Come the levin, the bolt, and the ball!
  Hark—a wail from the steeple!—aloud
  The bell shrills its voice to the crowd!
      Look—look—red as blood
         All on high!
  It is not the daylight that fills with its flood
   The sky!
  What a clamor awaking
   Roars up through the street!
  What a hell-vapor breaking
   Rolls on through the street!
   And higher and higher
   Aloft moves the Column of Fire!
   Through the vistas and rows
   Like a whirlwind it goes,
   And the air like the steam from a furnace glows.
  Beams are crackling—posts are shrinking—
  Walls are sinking—windows clinking
    Children crying—
    Mothers flying—
  And the beast (the black ruin yet smoldering under)
  Yells the howl of its pain and its ghastly wonder!
  Hurry and skurry—away—away,
  The face of the night is as clear as day!
          As the links in a chain,
          Again and again
        Flies the bucket from hand to hand;
          High in arches up-rushing
          The engines are gushing,
  And the flood, as a beast on the prey that it hounds,
  With a roar on the breast of the element bounds.
          To the grain and the fruits,
          Through the rafters and beams,
  Through the barns and the garners it crackles and streams!
  As if they would rend up the earth from its roots,
          Rush the flames to the sky
          Giant-high;
  And at length,
  Wearied out and despairing, man bows to their strength!
  With an idle gaze sees their wrath consume,
  And submits to his doom!
    Desolate
  The place, and dread
  For storms the barren bed!
  In the blank voids that cheerful casements were,
  Comes to and fro the melancholy air,
    And sits despair;
  And through the ruin, blackening in its shroud,
  Peers, as it flits, the melancholy cloud.
    One human glance of grief upon the grave
    Of all that Fortune gave
    The loiterer takes—then turns him to depart,
    And grasps the wanderer's staff and mans his heart:
    Whatever else the element bereaves
    One blessing more than all it reft—it leaves
    The face that he loves!—He counts them o'er,
    See—not one look is missing from that store!
 

VI

 
    Now clasped the bell within the clay—
      The mold the mingled metals fill—
    Oh, may it, sparkling into day,
    Reward the labor and the skill!
      Alas! should it fail,
      For the mold may be frail—
  And still with our hope must be mingled the fear—
  And, ev'n now, while we speak, the mishap may be near!
    To the dark womb of sacred earth
      This labor of our hands is given,
    As seeds that wait the second birth,
      And turn to blessings watched by heaven!
    Ah seeds, how dearer far than they
      We bury in the dismal tomb,
    Where Hope and Sorrow bend to pray
    That suns beyond the realm of day
      May warm them into bloom!
            From the steeple
              Tolls the bell,
            Deep and heavy,
              The death-knell,
  Guiding with dirge-note—solemn, sad, and slow,
  To the last home earth's weary wanderers know.
    It is that worshipped wife—
    It is that faithful mother![14]
  Whom the dark Prince of Shadows leads benighted,
  From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted.
  Far from those blithe companions, born
  Of her, and blooming in their morn;
  On whom, when couched her heart above,
  So often looked the Mother-Love!
    Ah! rent the sweet Home's union-band,
      And never, never more to come—
    She dwells within the shadowy land,
      Who was the Mother of that Home!
    How oft they miss that tender guide,
      The care—the watch—the face—the MOTHER—
  And where she sate the babes beside,
    Sits with unloving looks—ANOTHER!
 

VII

 
  While the mass is cooling now,
    Let the labor yield to leisure,
  As the bird upon the bough,
    Loose the travail to the pleasure.
      When the soft stars awaken!
      Each task be forsaken!
  And the vesper-bell, lulling the earth into peace,
  If the master still toil, chimes the workman's release!
  Homeward from the tasks of day,
  Through the greenwood's welcome way
  Wends the wanderer, blithe and cheerily,
  To the cottage loved so dearly!
  And the eye and ear are meeting,
  Now, the slow sheep homeward bleating;
  Now, the wonted shelter near,
  Lowing the lusty-fronted steer
  Creaking now the heavy wain,
  Reels with the happy harvest grain;
  While, with many-colored leaves,
  Glitters the garland on the sheaves;
  For the mower's work is done,
  And the young folks' dance begun!
  Desert street, and quiet mart;—
  Silence is in the city's heart;
  And the social taper lighteth
  Each dear face that HOME uniteth;
  While the gate the town before
  Heavily swings with sullen roar!
  Though darkness is spreading
  O'er earth—the Upright
  And the Honest, undreading,
  Look safe on the night
  Which the evil man watches in awe,
  For the eye of the Night is the Law!
  Bliss-dowered! O daughter of the skies,
  Hail, holy ORDER, whose employ
  Blends like to like in light and joy—
  Builder of cities, who of old
  Called the wild man from waste and wold,
  And, in his but thy presence stealing,
  Roused each familiar household feeling,
  And, best of all, the happy ties,
  The centre of the social band—
  The Instinct of the Fatherland!
  United thus—each helping each,
  Brisk work the countless hands forever;
  For naught its power to Strength can teach,
  Like Emulation and Endeavor!
  Thus linked the master with the man,
  Each in his rights can each revere,
  And while they march in freedom's van,
  Scorn the lewd rout that dogs the rear!
  To freemen labor is renown!
  Who works—gives blessings and commands;
  Kings glory in the orb and crown—
  Be ours the glory of our hands,
  Long in these walls—long may we greet
  Your footfalls, Peace and Concord sweet!
  Distant the day, oh! distant far,
  When the rude hordes of trampling War
  Shall scare the silent vale—
  The where
  Now the sweet heaven, when day doth leave
  The air,
  Limns its soft rose-hues on the veil of Eve—
  Shall the fierce war-brand, tossing in the gale,
  From town and hamlet shake the horrent glare!
 

VIII

 
  Now, its destined task fulfilled,
  Asunder break the prison-mold;
  Let the goodly Bell we build,
      Eye and heart alike behold.
        The hammer down heave,
        Till the cover it cleave:—
  For not till we shatter the wall of its cell
  Can we lift from its darkness and bondage the Bell.
    To break the mold the master may,
      If skilled the hand and ripe the hour;
    But woe, when on its fiery way
      The metal seeks itself to pour,
    Frantic and blind, with thunder-knell,
      Exploding from its shattered home,
    And glaring forth, as from a hell,
      Behold the red Destruction come!
    When rages strength that has no reason,
    There breaks the mold before the season;
    When numbers burst what bound before,
    Woe to the State that thrives no more!
    Yea, woe, when in the City's heart,
      The latent spark to flame is blown,
   "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood
    And Millions from their silence start,
      To claim, without a guide, their own!
    Discordant howls the warning Bell,
      Proclaiming discord wide and far,
    And, born but things of peace to tell,
      Becomes the ghastliest voice of war:
   "Freedom! Equality!"—to blood
      Rush the roused people at the sound!
    Through street, hall, palace, roars the flood,
      And banded murder closes round!
    The hyena-shapes (that women were!)
      Jest with the horrors they survey;
    They hound—they rend—they mangle there,
      As panthers with their prey!
    Naught rests to hallow—burst the ties
      Of life's sublime and reverent awe;
  Before the Vice the Virtue flies,
        And Universal Crime is Law!
      Man fears the lion's kingly tread;
        Man fears the tiger's fangs of terror;
      And still, the dreadliest of the dread,
        Is Man himself in error!
      No torch, though lit from Heaven, illumes
        The Blind!—Why place it in his hands?
      It lights not him—it but consumes
        The City and the Land!
 

IX

 
      Rejoice and laud the prospering skies!
        The kernel bursts its husks—behold
      From the dull clay the metal rise,
        Pure-shining, as a star of gold!
          Neck and lip, but as one beam,
          It laughs like a sunbeam.
  And even the scutcheon, clear-graven, shall tell
  That the art of a master has fashioned the Bell!
      Come in—come in,
      My merry men—we'll form a ring
      The new-born labor christening;
        And "CONCORD" we will name her!
      To union may her heart-felt call
        In brother-love attune us all!
      May she the destined glory win
        For which the master sought to frame her—
      Aloft—(all earth's existence under)
        In blue-pavilioned heaven afar
      To dwell—the Neighbor of the Thunder,
        The borderer of the Star!
      Be hers above a voice to raise
        Like those bright hosts in yonder sphere,
      Who, while they move, their Maker praise,
        And lead around the wreathèd year!
      To solemn and eternal things
        We dedicate her lips sublime,
      As hourly, calmly, on she swings,
        Fanned by the fleeting wings of Time!
      No pulse—no heart—no feeling hers!
        She lends the warning voice to Fate;
      And still companions, while she stirs,
        The changes of the Human State!
      So may she teach us, as her tone
        But now so mighty, melts away—
      That earth no life which earth has known
      From the last silence can delay!
      Slowly now the cords upheave her!
        From her earth-grave soars the Bell;
      'Mid the airs of Heaven we leave her!
        In the Music-Realm to dwell!
          Up—upwards—yet raise—
          She has risen—she sways.
  Fair Bell to our city bode joy and increase,
  And oh, may thy first sound be hallowed to—PEACE.[15]
 

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