Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII No. 6 June 1848

Humble was thy approach, but thou went'st forth
A Mars of the time – thy snorting steed arrayed
And glistering with gold, while at thy heels
A thousand clarions brayed.

Rome from her seven hills looked down with fear,
Appalled and breathless, while her people stood
Like men awoke from sleep, amazed, aghast —
With agues in their blood.

Like an avenging angel with the sword
Of wrath unsheathed, careering toward thy home
Through flame and blood, thou rod'st: thy coming shook
The hundred gates of Rome.

She, who abused, beseeched thee, but in vain —
Humbled herself before thee; yet thy hate
Was unappeased; and, like one stricken dumb,
Rome gazed upon her fate.

But when Volumnia came – thy mother – she
Who bore thee 'neath her heart, and, at her side
The one who, in thy softer hours, with love
Thy trembling lip called bride,

Leading thy child – thy boy – the old hours came
Like south wind over thee; thy icy soul
Dissolved in tears; thy hard – thy iron heart
Acknowledged love's control,

And Rome was saved – Rome, who had wronged, was free!
– Thou lost! –  O, never from the depths of Time
Came sweeter record of the power of love
Than this, in my poor rhyme.

Never was story fuller of the strength
Of love o'er hate: undimmed by age, it breathes
A perfume, and a crown around thy brow,
Coriolanus, wreathes!

LENNARD

A TALE OF MARION'S MEN

BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD

– "Mightier far
Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun or star
Is Love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast."

I

Night o'er the Santee! up the sky
The pale moon went with misty eye;
And in the west a brooding cloud —
Departed day's wind-lifted shroud —
Waved slowly in the depths of blue,
While now and then a world looked through
The broken edge, as from above
Steals down a seraph's glance of love,
Through sorrow's cloud and mortal air,
On breaking hearts or tearful prayer.

II

Within the recess of the wood
That on the river's margin stood,
Encamped beneath the shade
Of solemn pine and cypress tree,
And tulip soaring high and free,
A patriot band had made
Their pillows of the moss and leaves,
Through which the moaning south-wind grieves
When day forsakes the glade.
And all save one slept hushed as night
Beneath the starry Infinite —
That one a boy in years,
Whose daring arm and flashing eye,
When death and danger hovered nigh,
Belied the trembling fears
And shrinking dread that seemed to speak,
From quivering lip and pallid cheek
At sight of war's array;
The first the fearful strife to bide,
Forever at his captain's side,
Was Lennard in the fray;
Yet strange to tell, though oft beside
That captain's form he dared to bide
The cannon's fiery blast,
His hand no human blood had shed,
Beneath his steel no foe had bled,
When in the battle cast.
So said his comrades tried and cold,
Who marveled that a heart so bold,
Should beat in pitying breast.
And now beside the smouldering fire,
He marked its flickering flames expire,
And watched his leader's rest.