The inevitable result of this spirit of the age begins already to be seen. The philosophy of a cold, blank, calculating materialism has taken possession of all the avenues of learning. Epicurus is worshiped instead of Christ. Mammon is considered as the only true savior. Dum Vivimus Vivamus, is the maxim we live by, and the creed we die by. We are all iconoclasts. St. Paul has been superseded by St. Fulton; St John by St. Colt; St. James by St. Morse; St. Mark by St. Manry; and St. Peter has surrendered his keys to that great incarnate representative of this age, St. Alexandre Von Humboldt.
XXIV.
THE ENROBING OF LIBERTY.
The war-drum was silent, the cannon was mute,
The sword in its scabbard lay still,
And battle had gathered the last autumn fruit
That crimson-dyed river and rill,
When a Goddess came down from her mansion on high,
To gladden the world with her smile,
Leaving only her robes in the realm of the sky,
That their sheen might no mortal beguile.
As she lit on the earth she was welcomed by Peace,
Twin sisters in Eden of yore—
But parted forever when fetter-bound Greece
Drove her exiled and chained from her shore;
Never since had the angel of Liberty trod
In virginal beauty below;
But, chased from the earth, she had mounted to God,
Despoiled of her raiment of snow.
Our sires gathered round her, entranced by her smile,
Remembering the footprints of old
She had graven on grottoes, in Scio's sweet Isle,
Ere the doom of fair Athens was told.
"I am naked," she cried; "I am homeless on earth;
Kings, Princes, and Lords are my foes,
But I stand undismayed, though an orphan by birth,
And condemned to the region of snows."