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THE ^OLIAN HARP 
 
 v 
 
J 
 
 s 
 
'm 
 
 THE 
 
 iE L I A N HA R P ; 
 
 R , 
 
 M I S C K L L A N 1^. O U S P () I^ A! S 
 
 H Y 
 
 SARAH AND MARY E. HERfUMlT 
 
 
 
 FT A L I F A X , N . S 
 
 O. FUT.T.KI 
 
 AND C'()MI>ANY 
 
 M DCCC T.vir, 
 
>.-o;,,^ 
 
 p'.vii /^ 
 
 h /3 f^f:l 
 
 70275 
 
 1 
 
 ■^Bf^Bef^l^ 
 
 7 
 
 Kntcrerl .'iccdnliiit.' to Act nf ('f.ii;_'r<'ss, in tlic year lh5T, I'.V 
 
 WM ITTKMOKi;, NIIJ;*^, .VXD 1[\LL, 
 
 Til tlie (-'lerk'ti Oilice of the Mstricl ('Miu-t mC i\w IHstrirt of Massiirhusctts 
 
 (' A M II u I I) '•. r. : 
 
 TIII'K^TmV and TU«KV, nUSTKRH. 
 
 J 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I'OEMS BY SAIIAII TlERliERT. 
 
 pa(;k. 
 
 TlloCCHT^ AM) WnRDS OF TIIK RF.TUHNrNG KMICFIANT , 3 
 
 WKLCOMi; TO STRING . . . . 9 
 
 DVf.N'G ULIM) liov'.S ADDRESS TO lUS MOTHER . 11 
 
 TO A\ ABSENT FRIEND . . . . .14 
 
 ADIEU TO THE CITV . . . . . IJ 
 
 THE iJAUV's GRAVE . . . , .18 
 
 I \ VOCATION' ...... 23 
 
 THE LAST LOOK . . . . . .25 
 
 THE VICTIM OF CONSUMPTION' ... 29 
 
 SAV NOT "we I'ART FOR EVER I " . . ,33 
 
 THE FADED LEAF ..... 35 
 
 WHV WEEP WE FOR THE DEAD? . . . .38 
 
 TO MV BROTHER, ON THE THIRD ANNIVERSARY OF IIIS BIRTH- 
 DAY ...... 41 
 
 TOE missionary's DEPARTURE . . . .44 
 
 THE SEA ...... 47 
 
 SKETCHES. NO. I. . . . . .54 
 
 SKETCHES. NO. II. . . . , . Gl 
 
 ( 1 
 
 
VI 
 
 cox TENTS. 
 
 
 LAM) or MV lilinil .... 
 
 THE LOST JtKIDK 
 
 • • • • « 
 
 SONG OV TIIK STKKAM .... 
 
 LINKS TO THE .MK.MoKV Ol THE LATK JIHS. E. H V. 
 
 THE OI,I) OAK TRKK .... 
 
 THE LOST AT SKA . . . . . 
 
 LINES I.N MKMOKV (»K THE LAMENTED M THEKSON . 
 INSCKU'TION IN A lUliKK . . . . 
 
 TO CHILDUKN AT I'LAV 
 
 * • • 
 
 TO A Kin KM) ON HKS DKl'AItTLKE 
 
 I'RESKNTIMKNTS ..... 
 
 RETURNLNG SIMtLNG .... 
 
 VAc-r.. 
 
 00 
 GU 
 
 72 
 
 74 
 
 mm 
 
 1 1 
 70 
 83 
 80 
 88 
 90 
 92 
 94 
 
 PAKT IT. 
 
 rOEMS JiY ^LVllY E. lIEliBEllT. 
 
 # 
 
 ACADIA S FLOWKU 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SOUL 
 
 DREAMS .... 
 
 SATURDAY EVE . . . . 
 
 NAY, DROOr NOT DESUONDINGLY 
 
 ON AN OLD DWELLING 
 
 TO THE MEMORV OK A BELOVED ONE 
 
 "SHALL AULD Aa^UAlNTANCE BE FORGOT?" 
 
 101 
 
 101) 
 
 114 
 118 
 
 121 
 123 
 127 
 
 129 
 
1 
 
 rAf;r;. 
 lit". 
 
 72 
 
 1 1 
 
 7'.» 
 
 88 
 90 
 02 
 94 
 
 101 
 100 
 114 
 118 
 121 
 123 
 127 
 120 
 
 roVTEXTS. 
 A DAlCHTKU's TKII'.rTF, 
 
 Tin-: .MKi;Ti.\(i ((F FruKNr>s .... 
 rnK i:.mi(;i:a\t ..... 
 TJIK ciiiustfan's kkftck .... 
 
 TIIK .maiden's COMri.AINT 
 
 i)V A fa VI )K UK ArAHTMKNT .... 
 
 TIIK CUT ..... 
 
 VALKDK TOUV ADDRKSS TO SIMMKU . 
 
 TO A MOI ItSKU IV A ClIlULTl VAl! I) 
 
 KVKNI\(; SKKVICKS . . . . 
 
 THE DKAF man's LAMENT 
 
 TO AN AI5SKNT FIUKNI) .... 
 
 ON VISITINC; TIIK CKMKTKRV AT KAilLV MOIJN 
 
 TIIK E-TIIANGKD ..... 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 TO TIIK MEMORY OF A VOl NO LADV . 
 
 THE MARRIAGE VoW .... 
 
 ■WINTER ...... 
 
 ON SEEING TUK CoKl'SK OF AN A(;KI) MANIAC 
 
 THE WIFE ...... 
 
 TO TIIK MEMORY OF MRS. A. W. ML. 
 
 THE SABHATH 
 
 THE RAIN HOW ..... 
 
 THE PARTING OF MARY OF MODKNA WITH HER BROTHER 
 ON THE DEATH OF A RELATIVE'S ONLY CHILD 
 CHRISTMAS ODE ..... 
 
 Vll 
 
 r \r,K. 
 
 \:v2 
 
 [:\r> 
 
 i;;s 
 
 140 
 142 
 145 
 140 
 153 
 155 
 158 
 
 i(;2 
 it;4 
 
 jtiS 
 
 171 
 
 174 
 
 170 
 
 170 
 
 ISl 
 
 180 
 
 188 
 
 102 
 
 105 
 
 107 
 
 100 
 
 203 
 
 20G 
 
 
 : i 
 
 •i 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTKNXS. 
 
 liLKGIAC .STANZAS 
 
 ON THK IIK-OJ-KNING or 
 
 LOUD, RKMKMUKli 51 K 
 
 ciiriu II 
 
 ON SAILING DOWN THK LAIIAVK UiV'KU 
 
 TU MV MUTIIKU J\ IIKAVKN 
 
 " IT IS I.U.HT, MV DAKillTKli" 
 
 SONG 
 
 • # 
 
 TUK savage's IN'JKKKOGATION 
 A SONG or TllANK?«(iIVlNG 
 
 FAtiK. 
 
 211 
 214 
 21 (> 
 220 
 224 
 227 
 
 2:]3 
 
(■A(iR. 
 
 . 20'.) 
 
 211 
 . 214 
 
 210 
 . 220 
 
 224 
 . 227 
 
 22'J 
 
 
 2;]3 
 
 TAUT I. 
 
 POEMS BY S All AH IIEllBERT 
 
 > 
 
 -hi 
 
■f 
 

 M^. 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 
 
 THOUGHTS AXD WOKDS OF THE RETURNING 
 
 EMIGRANT. 
 
 .-t 
 
 I. 
 
 I STAND, as once before I stood, 
 
 Where nothing moots my glancing eye, 
 Save, round my bark, the rolling flood, 
 
 And, overhead, the evening sky ; 
 And now, as tlicn, the moonlight streams 
 
 Upon the vcsseFs foamy track, 
 While, clear as those unclouded beams. 
 
 The memory of the past comes back. 
 
 n. 
 
 Long, anxious years have flown, and yet 
 It scemoth but as yesterday, — 
 
 But ilien my plenteous locks were jet, 
 And now my scanty hair is gray : 
 
 '■>. 
 
 ■% 
 
^EOLIAN IIAlir. 
 
 And tlicn my eyes were keenly brij^ht, 
 ]\Iy vig'rous frame erect and proud, — 
 
 Those eyes have lost their youthful light, 
 That form by age and toil is bowed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then, too, I trod the deck in pain, 
 
 And Avliere the sky and ocean meet, 
 Sought, vainly sought, to catch again 
 
 A glimpse of childhood's dear retreat ; 
 But now my heart is filled with joy, 
 
 And every object wears a smile. 
 While fancy doth the hours employ 
 
 In visions of my native isle. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And Mary, though thine eye of blue 
 
 Has grown less bright through lapse of years, 
 Thy heart remains as fond and true. 
 
 Dear partner of my hopes and fca' 3, 
 As when, with youth and beauty dowered, 
 
 I brought thee to my humble cot, — 
 The star which, though affliction lowered, 
 
 Shed ceaseless radiance on my lot. 
 
 J 
 
THE RETURNING EMIGRANT. 
 
 I, 
 
 Y. 
 
 I know that in tliy memory dwell 
 
 The charms our homestead used to wear, — 
 The daisied <;rccn, the mossy well, 
 
 The elms that cast hroad shadows there, — 
 The roof of tliatch, beneath -whose shade 
 Our time, love-brightened, pass'd away, — 
 (^ The grove, where we so often strayed, 
 L ..To hear the blackbird's merry lay. 
 
 y\ 
 
 VH 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 And thou remembcrest, whcr. wc gained 
 
 The summit of the hill, hard by, 
 Just as the summer day had waned, 
 
 And sunset glories filled the skv, — 
 How swelled our hearts with inournful pride. 
 
 While ga;ang on the scene below, — 
 A verdant landscape, spreading avicIo, 
 
 And sparkling m the crimson glow. 
 
 
 4 
 
 4^ 
 
 
 VII. 
 
 Cities, where domes and towers were rear'd, 
 
 jNIajcstic, o'er the busy scene, 
 And village fanes, whose turrets peered, 
 
 Heaven pointing, from embow'ring green. 
 
 k 
 
-a:oLiAx iiAiir. 
 
 Bright streamlets, which, like silver, flowed 
 Through cm'rahl slope and cultured plain. 
 
 And rivers, on wliose currents rode 
 Tall, white-sailed vessels to the main. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Fields ripe for harvest, — forests old, — 
 
 And ivied piles of ancient time, 
 Broad lakes, and mountains rising bold, 
 
 As if to guard the favored clime. 
 We saw our country's loveliness, — 
 
 Our brows, her balmy zephyrs fann'd, 
 And then we raised our voice to bless* 
 
 The beauty of our Mother-land. 
 
 IX. 
 
 One moment triumph swelled our breast, 
 
 The feeling of the next was pain, 
 For, glittering 'neath the golden west, 
 
 We marked the far-extending main ; 
 Wc felt how soon its floods would rise 
 
 Between us and our native shore, — 
 Then viewed the scene with tearful eyes, 
 
 As one wc should behold no more. 
 
THE IlETURNIXG EMIGllANT 
 
 
 The pomp of mountain, lake, and stream. 
 
 And gorgeous skies, and forest old, 
 All glorious as a poet's dream. 
 
 Around our western home is rolled : 
 Yet -svliere the ancient pine-trees threw 
 
 Their shadow o'er the flowery grass ; 
 Or the red Indian's frail canoe 
 
 Doth o'er the rapid waters pass : 
 
 ^■1. 
 
 I* 
 
 ^ 'I 
 
 XI. 
 
 Or where Niagara's torrents rush, 
 
 Impetuous, from the di/zy height ; 
 At husy noon, or in the hush 
 
 Of rosy morn, or starry night : — 
 Still to that scene our mem'ries turned, 
 
 In weal and woe, in joy and pain. 
 And still our hearts, impatient, yearned 
 
 To tread our native soil again. 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 XII. 
 
 We know that time its change hath shed 
 Upon the cherished friends of yore ; 
 
 Laid low full many a stately head. 
 And many a bright one silvered u"er ; 
 
 I 
 
ii:OLIAN HAUr. 
 
 Vet, tlioiif;h each old-acciistomcd place 
 
 Familiar forms no loiin;cr fill, 
 How sweet, though mournful, to retrace 
 
 The liaunts their memory hallows still ! 
 
 xiir. 
 How Rweet to hear the JSabhath chime, 
 
 Call to the well-known house of ])rayer, 
 And Avorship, as in by-gone time, 
 
 The God of our forefathers, there. 
 The fruit of toilsome years to reap. 
 
 To realize youth's yisions blest. 
 And lay us down, at last, to sleep, 
 
 Beside our kindred's place of rest I 
 
 xiy. 
 Oh, Thou I who, many a toilsome road, 
 
 Our feet hath safe conducted o'er, — 
 Comfort in every grief bestowed, 
 
 And blcss'd in basket and in store ; 
 If priy'leged, by Thy gracious will. 
 
 To see, once more, the land we loye. 
 In joy, may we remember still, 
 
 The HOME Thou hast prepared above ! 
 
> M 
 
 WKLCOMK TO SPRING. 
 
 9 
 
 f% 
 
 AVEr.COME TO SITJXC;. 
 
 Oir, hail to thcc, hall to thee, Sprini^ of the year ; 
 Already thy heralds, the ^May-flowers, appear : 
 llie stream, lately ice-bound, is daneiiiir in udee. 
 And the leaves are put forth from tlie winter-nipt tree ! 
 
 
 The farmer walks out in his new springing field, 
 He thinks of the harvest which soon it will yield : 
 And the invalid's casement is oped, to allow 
 Thy soft breath to visit his feverish brow. 
 
 The yoiccs of children are ringing in mirth, 
 They joy in the beauty which glows o'er the earth; 
 And the buzz of the flics, just awaked from their sleep, 
 nd the song of the birds, a sweet harmony keep. 
 
 
 V 
 
 A 
 
 Thou tellest, sweet Spring, of bright Sum.mcr, a tale, 
 When the odors of roses arc borne on each gale ; 
 15ut thy modest young buds to my heart are more dear, 
 Than the gaudiest flow'rs which in Summer appear. 
 
 It 
 
 
 
10 
 
 ^OLIAX HARP. 
 
 Then hail to tlicc ! hail to thoo, mirth-giving Spring ; 
 Oh, well, of thy hcauty, the poet may sing ; 
 Now the stream, lately ice-bound, is dancing in glee. 
 And the leaves are put forth from the winter-nipt tree. 
 
 'i'--\ 
 
 I 
 
 til 
 
 f. 
 
DYING liLINI) hoy's ADDRESS TO HIS MOTllEll. 11 
 
 
 THE DYING BLLNI) liOY'S ADDllESS TO HIS 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Mother, my motlicr, thou liast fondly soothed, 
 Through hjiig, \o\v^ days, my fret fulness and pain, 
 
 By thine own liand has been my pillow smoothed. 
 And thou hast lulled mc to my rest again; 
 
 Now that the hour has come when we must part, 
 
 Mem'ry recalls thy kindness to my heart. 
 
 
 
 Oft hast thou, in some momentary rest. 
 
 Placed me beside thee on the grassy sod, — 
 
 Pillowed my aching head upon thy breast. 
 And read to mc the precious Word of God ; 
 
 Taught me, though fatherless and blind ^\•as T, 
 
 I had a holy Father in the sky ! 
 
 I have not looked upon the glad, green earth, 
 When Nature wakens at the call of Spring, 
 
 Nor when the summer birds send forth their mirth, 
 While through the groves the brooks run murmuring ; 
 
 I have not looked upon the sunset sky, 
 
 Nor have the tints of autumn pleased my eye. 
 
 fi 
 
 h 
 
 >■ 
 
 V 
 
^ 
 
 
 12 
 
 yTOLTAX irAKP. 
 
 !' 
 i I 
 
 Yet, well I know, all these arc bri^^ht and fair, — 
 I know that ])leasant are the summer hours ; 
 
 For o'er my brow has passed the (gentle air, 
 
 And to my lips I've pressed the frai^rant flowers ; 
 
 And heard the murmurs of the gladsome stream. 
 
 Like the soft voices of some pleasant dream ! 
 
 Yet, dearest mother, still thy accents mild. 
 
 Thy soft and tender, sweet and soothing word, 
 
 Have been more music to thy sightless child. 
 Than all the blightsome songs of happy birds ; 
 
 And when I know that thou beside me knelt, 
 
 It was the greatest bliss I ever felt ! 
 
 I 
 
 To 
 
 Thd 
 
 Yet 
 
 Tlu 
 
 What, though all deeply veiled my sight has been, 
 What, though I ne'er have looked upon thy face, 
 
 "What, though this pleasant world I have not seen. 
 Yet in that brighter, better, happier place. 
 
 Shall I not ga/c with ravished eyes, on Ilim, 
 
 Before whose throne low bend the Seraphim ? 
 
 For well I know our parting hour is nigh. 
 
 And I no more may hear thy much-loved voice ; 
 
 Yet if I go to dwell above the sky, 
 
 Say, dearest mother, wilt thou not rejoice 
 
 ■' ' ., 
 
'Si 
 
 DYING ULIM* I;()Y's AI)I)lii;s,s TO IllS MOTIILK. 13 
 
 To know tliy child from sin and pain is free, 
 lliough care and sorrow still arc left to tlioc ? 
 
 Yet left not loni;, — I know thon soon wilt sliarc 
 Tlic holy joys that for the righteous wait, — 
 
 8oon shall thy spirit seek those rej^ions fair. 
 And angels hail thee to that happy state ; 
 
 Then, when on earth tolls out thy funeral knell, 
 
 Mother, we then shall meet — Farewell, farewell ! 
 
 K 
 
 (i.. 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
14 
 
 JF.OJ.lXy II A UP. 
 
 TO AN ABSENT ITUKXD. 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 ^ 
 
 Say, loved ono, can tliy heart all trace 
 Have lost of pleasant moments past ; 
 
 And hast thon from its wonted j^laco 
 Tlie memory of our fondness cast ! 
 
 For surely time had never flown 
 
 Thus lon^% witliout a word from thee, 
 
 Iladst thou, by thine own feelings, known 
 
 I How glad received that word would be. 
 \ 
 
 Dost thou forget the merry throng. 
 
 That loved to gather round thy knees, 
 And hear the simple tale or song, 
 
 Which from t/u/ lips was sure to please ? 
 Dost thou forget the childish race, 
 
 "When shadows fdl the landscape o'er. 
 And glcesomc shout and smiling face, 
 
 To happy hearts a witness bore ? 
 
 i. 
 
lO AN AH^KNT ITvir.ND. 
 
 The frnL^ranro of Acadia's flowers, 
 
 Tlic Inics that summor sunset ^'ave, 
 ^ The ramble thr()U<;li the fore^^t bowers, 
 
 The rest l)csi(lc ('liebucto*H wave ; 
 The llowcrv fiehl our eut before. 
 
 Its many-blossomed hawthor/» trees, 
 The willow, waving at our door, 
 
 O say, hast thou forgotten these ? 
 
 llast thou forgotten each dear form 
 That gathered round the evening light. 
 
 Unheeding of the gloom or storm. 
 
 While all witliin was calm and bright ! 
 
 When soul with soul would sweetlv blend. 
 And tender words of love be spoken. 
 
 While beaming eyes to speech would lend 
 \ A charm, that now, alas, is broken ! 
 
 And still thy name is breathed in love, 
 When we have met at day's decline. 
 
 And still our prayer ascend above. 
 For peace and joy to thee and tliinc : 
 
 By all that inarked thy presence brief. 
 The fount of our affections stirred, 
 
 15 
 
 i 
 
 I 'I 
 
 f S'i\ 
 
 i\ 
 
 
 \ 
 
 '> 
 
 I.' 
 
16 
 
 ^EOLIAN IIAUr. 
 
 ill' 
 
 / 
 
 And Memory dwells with pleasing grief, 
 
 ) Upon tliv every look and word I 
 
 ■4 
 
 I' •! 
 
 •m 
 
 Oil, pass away may many a year, 
 
 Before thy presence, with the light 
 It shed npon x)iir sojourn here, 
 
 May make again our pathway bright ; 
 We may not hear each other's voice, 
 
 Or clasp each other's hand again, 
 But make once more our hearts rejoice, 
 
 By thy affection-breathing pen. 
 
 1 
 
ADIEU TO THE CITY. 
 
 17 
 
 S 
 
 (t.i 
 
 ADIEU TO THE CITY. 
 
 AuiEC to the city I tlic summer is nigli, 
 
 And 1 kiiuv,' that the flowers are in bloom, — 
 I have had a glimpse of the brij^ht blue sky, 
 As it shone o'er the house-tops, all dark and high, 
 Like the sunlight over the tomb ! 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 Ht.« 
 
 ^^ 
 
 •:* 
 
 t 
 V 
 
 Oh I long to roam the wild wood free, 
 
 And to list to the birds' gay song, 
 As they flit in their freedom from tree to tree, 
 Or to gaze on the waves of the billowing sea, 
 As proudly it dashes along I 
 
 t 
 
 4 
 
 r *^*l 
 
 Oh gladly I leave thee, thou city street, 
 
 AVith thy dull and smoky air. 
 For the home where the loved will my coming greet, 
 And my welcome be spoken in accents sweet, — 
 
 I long, — Oh I long to be there ! 
 
 K^ 
 
 
 s 
 

 s 
 
 ji:oLiAN iiAiir. 
 
 THE BABY'S GRAVE. 
 
 It was a spot of calm and shade. 
 
 Far down the garden side, 
 Where the mihl summer breezes strayed, 
 
 'Mid wiUows, hranching wide; 
 The blue sky ghmced with soften'd light, 
 
 Down through each trembling sprav. 
 And the sweet sunbeams seemed less bright, 
 
 When on that grave they lay. 
 
 'lii:'- 
 
 ; jir.i. 
 
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 Ii::lll' 
 
 \d 
 
 The earliest vernal blossoms there, 
 
 Their gentle perfume gave, — 
 'Twas meet that flowers so frail and fair 
 
 Should deck the l)aby's grave ; 
 In turn would primrose, snow-drop, pale, 
 
 With summer fav'rites shine — 
 Moss-rose and lilv of the vale. 
 
 And fragrant eglantine. 
 
4 
 
 THE HAI3Y S GRAVE. 
 
 Not far away, a streamlet kept 
 
 Its course, Avith murmuring sound — 
 A rc(juiem to the one who slept 
 
 Beneath the grassy mound ; 
 And standing near that lowly grave. 
 
 The presence of the dead 
 A calm and holy feeling gave, 
 
 Before which passion fled. 
 
 There from their play, with step subdued, 
 
 Two little ones would steal, 
 Tlieir young hearts with deep thought imbued, 
 
 Beside the grave to kneel ; 
 Would speak of him, their brother dear. 
 
 Who slept the sods below — 
 Wond'ring if he their words could hear. 
 
 Or of their presence know. 
 
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 To them it was a fearful thing — 
 
 A thing of mvsterv. 
 That their free steps coidd cease to spring. 
 
 At will, o'er lawn and lea ; 
 That all unheeded on their ear 
 
 Their mother's voice might fall. 
 
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 20 
 
 iEOLIAX IIAIir. 
 
 iin; 
 
 And Llrds, sweet flow'rs, and streamlet clear. 
 Be hid in darkness all. 
 
 And yet a holy, " high helief," 
 
 Dwelt in each youthful heart — 
 Faith in a world where nought but grief, 
 
 Of sin or pain has part ; 
 A happy home, the stars among. 
 
 Where God is ever praised, 
 xVnd their young brother swells the song 
 
 Seraphie voices raised. 
 
 But when the grateful twilight dews 
 
 Refreshed the thirsty flower. 
 The mother bent her steps to muse 
 
 Within that trancpiil bower ; 
 It was her first-born son, above 
 
 Whose head the trees did wave — 
 The earliest pledge of nuptial love. 
 
 Now slumb'ring in the grave. 
 
 
 
 ■With mournful pleasure she would dwell 
 
 Upon liis form and face ; 
 His soft blue eyes, the hair that fell 
 
 In curls with so much grace ; 
 
THE IIABY S GTI.VVr. 
 
 21 
 
 
 His clicriil) smilo, the tott'ring feet 
 
 That oft to Tuoct her came, 
 The voice, than music far more sweet, 
 
 That lisped his mother's name ! 
 
 Ah I she that infant one had made 
 
 Tlie idol of her soul ; 
 Nor dreamed that clouds her star could shade, 
 
 Or darkness o'er it roll. 
 But lie who rightly claims our all, 
 
 And knew his erring- child. 
 In mercy did the gift recall, 
 
 That had her heart beguiled. 
 
 It was a fearful stroke — she bowed 
 
 At first in mute despair. 
 Then faith unveiled her eyes and showed 
 
 Her Father's hand was there ; 
 Despair and weak repining fled, 
 
 And faith the triumph won — 
 She kissed the chast'ning rod, and said — 
 
 " Thy will, O Lord, be done ! " 
 
 Oft at that grave for grace she sought. 
 And grace to her was given. 
 
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 •^'?, 
 
 iEOLIAX IIAKP. 
 
 Safe tlirou^^h a path with dan^^an- fraught 
 To guide her babes to Heaven. 
 
 And though remembrance of the past, 
 At times her breast might wring — 
 
 The hope of meeting there at hist, 
 Would ever comfort bring. 
 
 '■1 . 
 
 O I holy hope, thou art a ray 
 
 Sent fi'om a brighter clime. 
 And shedding o'er the mourner's way 
 
 A brilliancy sublime ! 
 A rainbow, rich with hues more fair 
 
 Than ever spann'd the sky, 
 And which a dearer pledge declare — 
 
 " The loved shall meet on high ! " 
 
 
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 INVOC.VTIOX. 
 
 2.) 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 SriRiT of Li<j:lit ! thy beams divine, 
 
 Difrusc uj)oii this sacred pa^^e, 
 And let this Holv \'oliimc shine 
 
 My guiding star, through youth and age ; 
 My beacon to point out the way, 
 Lest from the path of life I stray. 
 
 Erring, Thou know'st I am, and blind. 
 And ever prone to turn from Thee ; 
 
 My feet unto thy precepts bind ; 
 O let Thy laws my counsel be, 
 
 And make Thy gospel my delight, 
 
 My thoughts by day — my dreams by night. 
 
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 I come not to Thy sacred Word 
 With worldly reasonings and vain ; 
 
 Be Thou my Teacher, gracious Lord ! 
 Thy hidden mysteries explain ; 
 
 And with a child's simplicity. 
 
 Help me to bow my heart to Thee. 
 
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 24 
 
 7i:0LI.VN IIATir. 
 
 nil- 
 
 If Thou bcstowcst length of years, 
 Still be this i)rccious ]?ook my guide, 
 
 While travelling througli tlie " vale of tears," 
 Whate'er or joy or grief betide ; 
 
 Till, led by it to realms above, . 
 
 I bless Thy condescending love ! 
 
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 I'll 
 
 it.!"'' 
 
 ii.;.if ■ 
 
THE L.VST LOOK. 
 
 THE LAST LOOK. 
 
 TiiK earth is glowing in the light 
 
 Of an autumnal day, 
 And gaily dance the waves which bear, 
 
 Swiftly, my bark away. 
 How calmly rest the gentle sheep 
 
 L'pon that verdant shore, 
 The call of birds methought I heard, 
 
 Despite the breaker's roar. 
 
 The woods, the ancient woods, arc robed 
 
 In crimson, gold, and green, 
 Where, almost hidden by their leaves, 
 
 The village church is seen : 
 And, close beside its holy walls. 
 
 They sleep, the young and fair ; — 
 The old man with his hoary head. 
 
 The blooming maid, rest there. 
 
 25 
 
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 Ay, there they lie, around whose knees 
 
 I've phiyM in childhood's hours; 
 The sister, wlio was wont with mc 
 
 To twine tlie summer flowers. 
 And one fair form, with glowing cheek, 
 
 ]iright brow, and flashing eyes, — 
 Even now, methought, upon the brcezo 
 
 I heard her accents rise. 
 
 And I have lived to hear no more 
 
 Those voices in their mirth ; 
 To lay all that my soul held dear 
 
 Beneath the dull cold earth : — 
 To know that skies are bright above, 
 
 That flow'rs arc in their bloom ; 
 But they who would have joy'd to view 
 
 All these — arc in the tomb ! 
 
 The pride of manhood from my step, 
 
 Has now for ever fled ; 
 My hopes, the buoyant hopes of youth, 
 
 Host with the dreamless dead ; 
 There is a gloom upon my brow. 
 
 And in my aching heart 
 
 1, 
 
 1 
 
 '■lit; 
 
 fi ! 
 
Tin; L.V^T LOOK. 
 
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 A fearful sonsc of loneliness, 
 Which \vill not thence depart. 
 
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 1 leave, yc scenes of happiness, 
 
 Tor there, where'er I treail. 
 Each shady walk, each sunny spot, 
 
 llecalls the loved — the dead ; 
 The flowers, planted hy their hands, 
 
 The arbor's grassy seat, 
 The elm, beiieatli whose spreading boughs, 
 
 AVe loved at eve to meet. 
 
 Soon, desolate home, my voice shall sound 
 
 Upon a distant shore ; 
 And I may view thy groves, and streams, 
 
 Antl village graves, no more : 
 But though I mingle with the crowd. 
 
 Upon that stranger land. 
 My heart shall ever be with you, 
 
 Departed household band ! 
 
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 A.r. 
 
 And oh, my childhood's friends, methinks 
 
 That ye are near me still, 
 To guide my wayward steps aright, 
 
 My soul with hope to fill. 
 
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28 
 
 ^■oT.r.w ir A ur. 
 
 
 
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 P'ii. 
 
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 By Avhisj/rin;^ of tlio day when I 
 
 With you atrain sliall meot. 
 And, in the re.^ions ol' the hlcst, 
 
 Your sainted spirits greet. 
 
 Swift S2)0cds my bark, — the glorious sun 
 
 Has gained liis mid-day height, 
 And full upon your place of rest 
 
 lie pours his golden light ; 
 But ere his orb has left the skies, 
 
 I far away shall be, 
 I have taken my last look, — farewell. 
 
 Home of my heart — to thee ! 
 
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Tin: VICTIM OF CONSUMrTlOX. 
 
 THE VICTIM OF COX.SLMI'TIOX. 
 
 Siir, fadotl slowly f'om us: <lay hy day 
 "\Vc felt some foiul clepcndciicc torn away; 
 There came new symptoms of lu?r early doom, 
 To shroud some liiii^crlug ray of hope in ^loom, 
 And force conviction on the achin,^' heart, 
 That soon the cherished object nuist depart. 
 
 She had been ever lovely, — but there now 
 "Was sucli meek resignation on her brow, 
 Such faith and hope reflected in her face, 
 As gave eacli feature more than mortal grace, 
 And the soft radiance of her cheek and eye 
 Were as a glory lent her from the sky ! 
 
 29 
 
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 One day comes back to mind with mournful power 
 
 "We sat around her at its closing hour ; 
 
 The Bible open lay upon her knee, 
 
 And vet she seemed not reading, but to be 
 
 In pleasant meditation, by the smile 
 
 That played around her parted lips the while. 
 
 
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 30 
 
 JEOLIAX II.VRr. 
 
 \iMl 
 
 II ■ 
 
 ''ill., 
 
 We gazed with Ioa'c upon her; ulicn. a ray 
 Forced tlir()u;j;li tlie sliadinu; drapery its way 
 Into the sick girl's darkened room, and tlicre 
 Slied its hrig'ht beauty o'er her gh)ssy luiir, — 
 And on the I5ook by inspiration given, 
 Lay, lighting up the promises of Heaven. 
 
 ,Shc raised her eyes, and marked the sunbeam fall 
 
 In wavy, golden chequers on the wall ; 
 
 Then, turning to us with a gentle sigh. 
 
 Said, in her low clear tones, " I soon sliali die : 
 
 And, ere for me earth's fleeting joys are o'er, 
 
 Let me behold the sunset sky once more ! " 
 
 Wc raised and led her to the casement side, — 
 Drew back the curtain — placed, the light to hide 
 From eyes, though bright, yet weak — and bade her gaze 
 Upon the landscape bathed in Sol's last rays : 
 'Twas a familiar scene, and yet I deemed, 
 To her it never more enchanting seemed. 
 
 She looked upon the garden, gay with flowers, — 
 The arbor, fav'rite in health's by-gone hours, — 
 The smooth '•roen lawn, where 'neath the summer shade 
 Of spreading beech trees, she had often played, — 
 
 And tl 
 Kadiai] 
 
 The he 
 Upon 1 
 The dii 
 Its cas( 
 And 'n 
 Wc fan 
 
 Gay wi 
 I5y Ant 
 And ]ia 
 ^Vhere 
 And lo 
 Mosf hn 
 
 We tur 
 ^Vllcre, 
 And gc 
 So soon 
 And cal 
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 her ga/.c 
 
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 shade 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 THE A'ICTIM OF CONSUMPTIOX. .'] 1 
 
 And tlic fair lakelet, — its blue, ti-emhliii;^^ breast, 
 Iv.idiant with shadows from the erimson west. 
 
 The home-bent reaper's song, the evening bell, 
 
 Upon her ear with soften'd cadenee fell, — 
 
 The distant eity faintly met her sight, 
 
 Its casements flashing with reflected light ; 
 
 And 'mid its piles, the grave-girt house of ])rayer, — 
 
 AVc fancied that her ga/.c dwelt longest there. 
 
 Gav with unnumbered tints the forest shone, 
 15v Autumn decked as for a statelv throne ; 
 And past expression glorious looked the skies, 
 "Where the pale moonbeams blent with sunset dyes, — 
 And lovely she who view'd them — she and they, 
 Most lovely as their beauty passed away. 
 
 ^Ve turned and saw that her last look was cast 
 ^Vhere, from the west, the orb of day had passed, 
 And gently whispered ; — Say, dost thou not grieve 
 
 So soon this world of loveliness to leave ? 
 
 i 
 
 I And can'st thou, without yearning tear-drops part 
 
 I From scenes which held such influence o'er thy heart: "' 
 
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 I Her kindling glance wc never shall forget, — 
 
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 I We seem to hear the words of rapture yet ; 
 
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 32 
 
 JEOLIAX IIAIir. 
 
 "Earth's cliarms arc many, but liow short their stay! 
 Her brightest beauties murmur of decay ! 
 Sec, round yon tree its crimson foliage lies, 
 And night already gathers o'er the skies." 
 
 " And if our Father's footstool thus be fair, 
 If hues &j briglit these transient scenes can wear, 
 How far more great the glory of that place 
 Which gains its sunlight from the Saviour's face ; 
 Wherever hath the Godhead's splendor shone. 
 And sinless hosts surround the dazzling throne ! " 
 
 
 liiiii.iM 
 
 " I leave ye for a season ; — from my eyes 
 The veil of death will shut out earth and skies ; 
 But when with autumn tints the woods arc red, 
 When glows the west above my grassy bed, — 
 Let nature's radiant features to your heart 
 A shadow of my blissful home impart." 
 
 We do not hear that voice of music now, 
 We gaze no more upon the heaven-turned brow ; 
 Her ashes have to native dust been borne, i 
 And wait in hope the resurrection morn ; 
 And her pure soul, escaped from sin and woe, 
 Enjoys the bliss by faith descried below. 
 
SAY NOT 
 
 ^vl; iwuT roil evi:u I '* 
 
 SAY i\UT — " WE TAKT FOR EVEll ! " 
 
 33 
 
 
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 S.\AL not — •• We part for ever I " 
 
 It must not, cannot be, 
 That those who love thee, never 
 
 Again thy face shall see. 
 Wlien ocean rolled between, us. 
 
 Had hope thy bosom fled ? 
 And no\v, that thou hast scon us, 
 
 It still its light shall shed, — 
 0"er__tlie dark future throwing 
 
 Its heart-reviving rays. 
 And, in perspective, showing 
 
 Yet many happy days ! 
 
 Say not — " Wc part for ever ! " 
 For still to mc the past 
 
 AVhispcrs, though now we sever, 
 It cannot be to last ; 
 
 And mem'ry of this greeting, 
 Shall in our hearts remain 
 
 The faithful pled_gaQiLmcetiiigj_ 
 X, y^^'o long, with joy agaiii._ 
 
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31 
 
 ^OLIAN IIAKl'. 
 
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 vSay not — " AVc part for ever 
 
 There is a better land ; 
 There may we se})*rate never, 
 
 From tliat beloved band, 
 Who, from this world of grieving, 
 
 To that blest home have past, 
 And who are now receiving- 
 
 Their long- sought pri/.e at last. 
 Oh ! partnig cometli never, 
 
 To mar that heavenly rest, — 
 And this be our endeavor. 
 
 To meet — anioug the llesl ! 
 
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 hill 
 
 n ; [111, 
 
 ii>;|" 
 
 |i"*il!, 
 
THE I'ADEl) LEAF. 
 
 35 
 
 
 THE FADED LEAF. 
 
 " AVo all do fade us a loaf." — I.s.viAir. 
 
 Ay, cv'n as tliiiic, tliou AvItlierM leaf, 
 
 Dotli liiuuau life 2)ass by, 
 A season short — a ])crio(l brief — 
 
 A blooming, but to die. 
 
 I gaze upon thy pallid form, 
 
 And there engraven see. 
 In lines which chill the life-blood warm, 
 
 " Thou too must fade like me." 
 
 Emblem of life ! when hailed we first 
 The Spring's rejoicing hours, 
 
 Thou from the leafless tree didst burst, 
 A bud, amid the bowers. 
 
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 And when her vernal season run, 
 Earth grew more brightly fair — 
 
 Wert gladden' d by the summer sun, 
 And waved in summer air. 
 
 
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 36 
 
 -IK) I- IAN IIAUr. 
 
 A sluji't livM bcaiily I scarce thy form 
 
 Did its perfection j^aiu, 
 Krc the inisp;u'in_;- Autumn storm 
 
 Swept v.'ihlly o'er the phiin. 
 
 I' ■ 
 
 iiit, I •„ 
 
 I'l' "ili 
 
 
 And on the busy city street 
 It flung thee down to die ; 
 
 To wither, 'neath the passer's feet, 
 As leaves of years gone by. 
 
 And quickly too is childlu)od's bloom 
 
 Exchanged for manhood's stage ; 
 Which hastens onward to the irloom 
 
 Of chill'd and faded age 
 
 O 
 
 
 One generation passcth by, 
 Almost without a trace, — 
 
 Their vacant places to supply, 
 There springs another race. 
 
 ji'f' 1 
 
 1,1' ■!■ 
 
 But, fragile glory of the bowers, 
 
 Ye fall no more to rise ; 
 A bright and glorious hope is ours, 
 
 A hope beyond the skies. 
 
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Tin: T.VDKi) Li;\r. 
 
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 AVc trust, Avlicn fades this feeble form, 
 
 And low our bodies rest, 
 Beyond the reach of hli^ht or storm, 
 
 To bloom among the blest. 
 
 lie, who bestowed npon the tree 
 The leaves that irailv wave, 
 
 To man a noble d-r^stiiiy, 
 A part inmiortal gave. 
 
 Then he, with faith's aspiring eye, 
 Firm fixed on things above, 
 
 ]\IiL!:ht u:ain at last a home on lii'j'li. 
 Through his Kcdeemer's love. 
 
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 38 
 
 iEOLTAN TIAIir. 
 
 'hil^'!. 
 
 Pii'Mii 
 
 WHY AVEEP AVE FOR TILE DEAD? 
 
 AVjiy weep we for tiic dead ? 
 
 — Oh, is it strange we mourn, 
 Strange that our tears are shed, 
 ]'\)r h)v'd ones from us torn ? 
 For friends, whose sympatliy and worth 
 No more shall cheer our hearts on earth? 
 
 They that were wont to bend 
 AVith us at time of prayer ; 
 AVhose presence seemed to lend 
 Hope to the heart's despair ; 
 And whose fond accents brought relief, 
 Ev'n in the darkest hour of <rricf. 
 
 I 
 
 t .■,!■ 
 
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 •iipijij .n- 
 
 
 111 
 
 Silence is in the hall, 
 
 AVhicli echoed to their mirth, — 
 AVe meet at eve — but all 
 
 Sit not beside the hearth ; 
 
wiiv WLKP wi: loll Tin: dkad? 
 
 Oh, vainly do wc gaze around, 
 
 Thoso forms no more on earth arc found ! 
 
 Sad, sad indeed, were life, 
 
 "Without love's cheerin^i^ lio^it, 
 "Which in this world of strife, 
 Still shines most purely l)rii;'lit; 
 And when the friends we lov'd are fled, 
 Oh, is it strange we mourn the dead ? 
 
 Yet still we have a hope, 
 
 "Which bids our tears be dry ; 
 AVe trustingly look up 
 To tlie eternal sky, 
 And long to gain that brighter shore, 
 "Where grief and partings are no more. 
 
 There, there wc hope to meet 
 The friends of early days ; 
 There, their lov'd forms to greet, 
 And swell the song of praise 
 To Ilim, the Blessed One, who gave 
 For us his body to the grave ! 
 
 39 
 
 
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 jr,0LiA\ Ti A ur. 
 
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 Wc joy in tlicir rclf-aso 
 
 From sorrow, cure, and pain ; 
 Tlicy have found pt'rll'ct peace ; 
 Our loss, to tlifm is ^^ain ; 
 But nature cannot cl.cck li''r tears, 
 When memory speaks of l)y-<;()ne years. 
 
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TO MY I!K()THi:U. 
 
 11 
 
 
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 TO >rY r.r.oTiiKK, 
 
 ON' THE THIRD AXNIVKRSAUV OF HIS lilRTIIDAV 
 
 Dear Willie, on tliv natal dav, 
 I would a simple tribute j)ay, 
 And wish niv brother ev'rv i<)V, 
 That life can give thee, dearest boy I 
 
 Few years have passed since first thy birth, 
 
 Gave a new playmate to our hearth, — 
 
 And since the hour that we did hail 
 
 Thv infant smile, thv feeble wail, 
 
 Xo trace of care has dimmed tlvy brow ; 
 
 Would it mii^'ht ever be as now I 
 
 Would that thy life might be a day, 
 
 As vernal as thy native ^lay ; 
 
 And when the shades of night should fall, 
 
 — For night, on earth, must come to all, 
 
 Amidst the golden hues of even, 
 
 Thy sun should set, — to rise in Heaven I 
 
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x.()iA\s ii.vur. 
 
 |i;:, 
 
 It may not bo — for cure and strife 
 Are woven villi tlie web of life ; 
 Short is the pleasure aiul the joy, 
 A\'hl(h man may meet, without alloy ; 
 And thou, dear child, must have Ihv share, 
 
 If 
 
 years 
 
 are th 
 
 »f 
 
 line, ot Liriet and care 
 
 f 
 
 Nor mav tliv sister's humble muse 
 
 ror thee m lite a ])athway choose ; 
 Or else, perchance, her wish mij^ht bo 
 Beyond, all possibility. 
 
 I wouUl not that the victor's wreath, 
 Should deck, in after years, thy bnnv, 
 
 — Its leaves arc "dewed with blood and death, 
 And tears from broken hearts that How. 
 
 Nor would I that the voice of fame 
 
 Should loudly shout abroad thy name. 
 
 iJ!!' 
 
 
 No, brother ; where, amid the wild, 
 Dwells nature's uninstructed child, 
 On Afric's burning sands, and where 
 Indostan's breezes scent the air ; 
 On Lapland's dreary plains of snow, 
 And where Pacific breezes blow ; 
 
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 \iid 
 
TO MV nUOTIItli. 
 
 43 
 
 v-i 
 
 On ferule land, and desert sod, 
 (m) thou, and prcacli a savini; (iod ! 
 Tills be thy task, — to teach the heart, 
 Xow rude and wild, the better part ; 
 To distant regions to proclaim 
 A Maker's cind a Saviour's name. 
 
 Thy glorious banner be the cross, 
 Thv armor be thy trust in (iod ; 
 
 And, counting all things else but loss, 
 in) tread tin.' path thy Saviour trod ! 
 Then, though thy name may not bo fouml 
 On hist'ry's page, with laurels crowned, — 
 
 r> 
 
 '•f 
 
 riiough by no proud recording stone 
 Thy '' narrow place of rest " be known, 
 Yet oil I thy bright reward shall 1)C 
 Lasting to all ctcrni'Ly ! 
 
 A truce to thought ; thy voice I hear, 
 Its merry tones ring on mine car ; 
 And now I sec thy laughing eye. 
 Thy lightsome step goes bounding by ; 
 — "Whatever thy lot, may God, dear child, 
 Bo M'ith thee through life's stormy wild, 
 That lie may keep thee 'neath Ilis care, 
 Shall ever be thy sister's prayer ! 
 
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 44 
 
 .t:oliax II a 11 p. 
 
 THE MLSSioxARY's depahthm:. 
 
 The vessel waltcth that sliall bear tlice from thy native 
 
 shore, — 
 And thine eye, ere long, shall -wistful tiu'n, yet sec her 
 
 hills no more, — 
 Yet sec no more her pine-clad hills, her scenes of peace 
 
 and love ; 
 Or aught hut the \vaters vide around, — the a/Aire vault 
 
 above. 
 
 
 '■'I'll ''!'■! I 
 
 If 
 
 ill) 'p!' •' 
 
 •illlll,!!^ 
 
 Thou hast stood amid thy childhood's haunts, thy moun- 
 tain home beside, 
 
 And looked on each familiar spot, vith mingled love 
 and pride ; 
 
 Hast given and received again, affection's warm em- 
 brace, 
 
 And art bearing hence a message fraught with hope fur 
 a fallen race. 
 
 I' 
 
^M 
 
 Tin: >rissiON'ARY S nEP.VTlTUIlE. 
 
 {3 
 
 They say those Ishmcls of the West, have bny;htcr skies 
 
 than ours ; 
 That gayer plumag-ed arc iheir birds, and riehcr hucd 
 
 their flowers ; 
 That the orange and the lime send forth sweet fragranc: 
 
 on the breeze, 
 And an llden seems overshadowed by their stately forest 
 
 trees. 
 
 
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 Dutovor all tlie loveliness hath gloom been shed by Sin ; 
 And dcatli hatli found a fearful feast that l^iradisc within ; 
 And the Prince of Darkness reign?th there, a scarce 
 
 resisted lord, — 
 Thou goest to wage war witli him, — God give thee 
 
 great reward ! 
 
 Men praise the conqueror's mighty deeds, they trumpet 
 forth his name ; 
 
 They place upon his haughty brow the laurel wreath of 
 fame ; 
 
 Eut ah ! the triumph- shout is swelled by many an or- 
 phan's cry, 
 
 And the jrarland is bedewed with tears from the lonelv 
 widow's eye ! 
 
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 Oh, faithful soklicr of the Cross, more great, beyond 
 
 compare, 
 The fickl thou gocst forth to Avin, the banner thou dost 
 
 bear ; 
 And not as liis poor fading M-reath, his perishing renown, 
 Shall be the glory gained by thee, shall be thy glittering 
 
 crown : 
 
 The Lord of Hosts be thy defence in every trying hour, 
 Strengthen thy frame, increase thy faith, and clothe thy 
 
 words with power ; — 
 Give peaceful skies and speeding winds, along the 
 
 treacherous main. 
 And to thv own Acadian home return thee safe again. 
 
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THE SEA. 
 
 47 
 
 
 
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 THE SEA. 
 
 Tjie Sea, the Sea, the deep, hluc Sea, 
 With its varied scenes, is most dear to me : 
 AVhcther it fhish 'neath the day-<^od bright, 
 Or shine in the moonbeams silv'ry lii^ht, — 
 Or the sunset liues of a summer sky. 
 Are tinging its waves with a crimson dye, — 
 "Whetlier it wake with a lion's roar, 
 And foannng d^slj^onarocky shore, 
 While the w m' v \n high and the white-caps' ride 
 Over the bhick uud boisterous tide, — 
 Or cabn as a mirror, its waters lie. 
 Reflecting each shadow that flitteth by ! 
 
 In all it is lovelv, — the eye might rest 
 For ever untircd on its changeful breast j 
 But it is not for this, that, by that word — 
 The Sea ! arc my heart's deepest feelings stirr'd ; 
 Xor is it the treasures of silver and gold, 
 AVhich its dark and unpierccd caverns hold, — 
 
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 Nor yet for tlie gems tliat beneath it lie, 
 
 Tliou;^li tli?y e([ual tlie stars of the midiiiglit sky ; 
 
 For it liatli treasures of far more worth 
 
 Thau tlio precious stones and the gohl of earth, 
 
 The loved and tlic loving, the free and brave, 
 
 That slumber beneatli the restless -wave ! 
 
 — Oh, if a voice from the sea arose, 
 
 What tales of woe might it not disclose, — 
 
 From the hour that the small and tlie frail canoe, 
 
 First ventured forth on the placid blue, — 
 
 Till the stately frigate was seen to glide, 
 
 As conscious of majesty, over the tide! 
 
 How many forms 'neath its waters rest. 
 
 Whose presence made home and the hearth-stone blest, — 
 
 Who a lingering look on the loved ones cast, 
 
 Yet thought not, believed not, that look was the last, — 
 
 Who left them with hearts, which with hopes beat high. 
 
 But returned not again, they had left them — to die ! 
 
 A mighty bark from Columbia's strand. 
 Set sail for Ih'itannia's sea-girt land; 
 A miu'htv bark, for scarce before. 
 The foaming waves such a burden bore. 
 She had a hardy and gallant crew. 
 Who well the path to their haven knew ; 
 

 THE SEA. 
 
 49 
 
 i \ 
 
 Who in scenes of peril liad often shared, 
 
 And boldly the waves and the tempest dared, — 
 
 And those were in her who longed to sec 
 
 Again tlie Isle of the brave and free ; 
 
 For it was their home, and they knew that there 
 
 For them ascended the fervent prayer, 
 
 From hearts of love, that the bark might gain 
 
 A passage safe o'er tlie boisterous main ! 
 
 And those were in lier who ne'er had seen 
 
 The chalky cliffs of the ocean's Queen, 
 
 But were wont, on fancy's wing, to roam 
 
 Through the glorious scenes of tluxt Island-home, 
 
 And trusted, e'er long, their perils o'er, 
 
 To be landed safe on her far-famed shore ! 
 
 She left the po:-t. Days, weeks, had pass'd. 
 And anxious looks o'er the waves were cast ; 
 While many a fond heart throbb'd with fear. 
 As time sped by, yet she drew not near ! 
 She was seen no more ! though laden with life, 
 And formed to dare the ocean's strife, 
 She vanished away from every eye, 
 As the dew from the leaf, as a star from the sky ! 
 
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 Answer, O Sea ! for thou canst toll, 
 What fearful doom the lost befell ; 
 From the frozen North did the icebergs rush. 
 And to atoms the helpless victim crush ? 
 Did drownin;^ fire round her bulwarks cling, 
 And leave lier a blackened and shapeless thing ? 
 Or did thi/ treacherous waves arise, 
 * And foaming dash to the angry skies. 
 While the gloom of despair each heart o'erspread, 
 As the storm burst forth on the shelterless head ? 
 W^hat was their fate ? Oh, question vain ! 
 There comes no response from the sullen main ; 
 No sound is heard, save a murmur low. 
 As waves on waves unceasingly flow ! 
 — Of the human forms that vessel bore. 
 And who shall be named with the living no more. 
 The Sea hath not left a single traee. 
 To mark their fate, or their resting place ! 
 Some should have slumbered where banners wave, 
 Some in the lowly village grave ; 
 But the daisied sod and the 'scutcheoned dome, 
 Shall never afford them a final home ! — 
 What thought must have rushed thro' the fever' d brain, 
 And filled them with agonizing pain, 
 
 I f '! 
 
THE SEA. 
 
 51 
 
 I I, 
 
 I brain, 
 
 When tossVl on the far and lone mi(l,-sea, 
 
 They stood on the brink of Eternity ! 
 
 Of the distant home, of the cheerful hearth, 
 
 Of the grouping around in social mirth, 
 
 Of the whispered prayer, if tJicir names were 
 
 heard, 
 Which rose at the dear familiar word, — 
 All these, and more with o'erwhelming power. 
 Must have deepened the gloom of that fearful 
 
 hour ! 
 — But was there none at that moment nigh, 
 When the shriek of despair went up to the sky ? 
 No eye to pity, no arm to save, 
 Xo power to snatch from a watery grave ? 
 There was ! Our Father's tender care. 
 Of all His works, was not wanting there ; 
 AVho said, when on earth, to the storm, " Be peace ! " 
 And thj waves did subside, and the tempest cease, — 
 Had power when all lio[)e of earth was Hed, 
 To cheer the heart and raise the head. 
 O'er their mortal parts the deep sea rolls, 
 But it hath not power o'er undying souls, 
 And we humbly bow to the wise behest, 
 "Which gave their forms 'neath the waves to rest. 
 
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 Then is it strange tliat the dec]), dark Sea, 
 In briglitncss or gloom hatli a charm for mc ? 
 
 — Do not our hearts to the church yard cling, 
 And think of its earth as a sacred thing? — 
 Why tread we with awe the hallowed ground ? 
 AVhy gaze we with love on each turf-heaped mound ? 
 Does the Spirit of lieauty linger there, 
 
 Is its grass most green, or its flowers most fair r 
 Is it that pomp and renown are spread 
 O'er the silent mansion of the dead ? 
 
 — Ah! no, it is that, beneath its shade. 
 Those whom we loved, who loved us, are laid I 
 'Tis sweet to the tomb of our friends to bring 
 The snu])lc flowery offering : 
 
 'Tis soothing to know, " the loved lies here,"' 
 And to shed o'er the spot affection's tear ; 
 But the Sea, alas ! hath nought to mark, 
 Where its victims lie, in its caverns dark, 
 And we only know that beneath the wave 
 They found a still, an untrodden grave. 
 Yet, oh, what boots it whether the breast 
 By the Sea, or the flowery turf be prest ? 
 Calmly they lie, till the trumpet's call. 
 At the last great day, shall awaken all ! 
 
THK SEA. 
 
 Still unheeding those that beneath thee sleep. 
 Oh, treacherous Sea, thou tliy course doth keep I 
 — Yet why call thee treacherous r iu)t a wave 
 Whether it dash o'er the mariner's grave, 
 Or swiftly speed the good ship away, 
 Or fling on the shore its glittering spray, — 
 From the hour that first on thy breast it rolled. 
 But hath been by thy Maker's hand controlled ! 
 
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 It was a cold December niglit, 
 
 The snow fell thick and fast, 
 And my heart was sad for all exposed 
 
 To that keen, wintry blast ! 
 But I looked into a pleasant homo, 
 
 "Well sheltered from the breeze ; 
 It was not the abode of state, 
 
 But that of wealth and case. 
 The eve's re2:)ast was on the board. 
 
 The fire was glowing bright. 
 And round the crimson drap'ried walls. 
 
 It shed a cheerful light. 
 A lovely woman I beheld, 
 
 And, seated by her side, 
 Was he, who, happy years ago. 
 
 Had claimed her as his bride ; 
 The merry tones of children there, 
 
 Were ringing, glad and free, 
 As they clung unto their father's arm, 
 
 Or sported round his knee ; 
 
SKKTCHKS. XO. T. 
 
 
 
 And as he viewed their happy play, 
 And press'd cacli dimpled cheek, 
 
 The ])arcnt's and the husband's pride, 
 Were more than words couhl speak 
 
 pe! 
 One thing ah)ne I saw, that eaus(3 
 
 For sorrow couUl afford. 
 The wine cup, like a scrjtenfs eye, 
 
 Was gleaming on the hoard ! 
 As niy-ht drew on, the sounds of praise 
 
 prj 
 
 Ascended sweetly there, 
 
 And then each little hand was clasped, 
 Each bright head bowed in prayer ; 
 
 I saw the parents bless their babes, 
 I heard the fond " Good-night," 
 
 And soon those happy forms were wrapt 
 
 In 
 
 soon 
 
 slumbers, calm and liy-ht. 
 
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 Again had Winter bared the trees. 
 
 And robed the fields in snow. 
 The sky was dark with heavy clouds, 
 
 A piercing wind did blow. 
 In a small room, around a fire. 
 
 Which threatened soon to fail, 
 A little group of children stood. 
 
 With hollow cheeks and pale : 
 
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 Tlio Joyous, hounding' heart of youth, 
 
 hlc'cmcMl to liuvL' left each form, 
 As ever and anon thov h)okc'd 
 
 Out on the drivin;^ storm ! 
 Their heart-sick mother s;it Ix-sidc 
 
 Her infant's little hed, 
 It turned its little eyes to hers. 
 
 And feebly asked for bread ; 
 She raised it in her arms, and clasped 
 
 It closely to her breast, 
 "While o'er it fell the bitter tears, 
 
 Which long had been repressed. 
 She was the once fair, happy wife, 
 
 But, oh, how alter'd now ! 
 The rose had left her cheek, and care 
 
 "Was written on her brow. 
 "What wonder if, while roved her eyes, 
 
 Around that cheerless scene. 
 And mem'ry conjured up the thoughts 
 
 Of what she once had been, — 
 In the recesses of her heart. 
 
 The fatal cause slie cursed, 
 Which robb'd of every comfort those 
 
 In luxury once nursed. 
 
SKKTCirKS. NO. I. 
 
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 Piiit not for her own ])uln or care, 
 
 Did tluit sad woman mourn; 
 IFardsliip and toll, witliout a sigh, 
 
 She cheerfully had borne ! 
 IJiit tliiis to sec the hlii^lit of ^hamo 
 
 I'pon her children cast; 
 To sec, into a drunkard's f^ravc, 
 
 Her husband siukin;^' fast : 
 Oh, tliis it was tliat urum,^ lun* heart 
 
 With deepest, direst woe : 
 This caused, when all around was still, 
 
 The bitter tears to flow ! 
 ]jut hark ! her husband's step, — poor babes, 
 
 Why run ye not to greet 
 Your father's form ? why jdacc ye not 
 
 Ilis old accustomed scat ? 
 Is it a dream, or standeth he 
 
 Indeed before mc now ? 
 Gone is the proud and stately step. 
 
 The high, commanding brow ! 
 And althongli altered be his form, 
 
 By that debasing sin ; 
 Yet oh, more strangely, sadly changed. 
 
 The mind, the man within ! 
 
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 The joys of home, of love, afford 
 
 No pleasure to his soul ; 
 Beast like, he turns from them, to seek, 
 
 To drain the madd'ning howl. 
 Ascended once within his home. 
 
 The sound of praise and prayer ; 
 Ah, now the drunkard's song alone. 
 
 The drunkard's oath, are there ! 
 Ask ye what wrought this Tearful change ? 
 
 He loved to see the wine 
 Upon his hospitable hoard, 
 
 With ruby lustre shine. 
 He knew the mischief it had wrought, 
 
 Yet, futile boast and vain ! 
 "The weak may fall," lie proudly cried, 
 
 *' I can myself restrain ! " 
 And sleeping thus in fancied strength, 
 
 On ruin's verge he ran. 
 He woke, to find himself, alas ! 
 
 A fallen, fettered man ! 
 Remorse is gnawing at his heart, 
 
 While ever to his eye. 
 When reason reigns, present themselves 
 
 The scenes of days gone by. 
 
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SKETCHES. 
 
 >'0. I. 
 
 And when their stinp^ing memory 
 
 To still, he vainly tries, 
 Back to the baneful cause ox' all, 
 
 Dcsjiairingly he flics. 
 
 Curse of mankind ! thou fruitful source 
 
 Of 
 
 )ain, ana crime, ? 
 
 and 
 
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 "When shall thy pois'nous Avaters cease 
 
 O'er this fair earth to flow ? 
 Pleasant and beautiful it is 
 
 AVhcn round the graceful vine, 
 In rich luxuriance, we sec 
 
 The purple clusters twine ; 
 But when the gift, which God bestowed, 
 
 The fevered lip to cool, 
 Is wrought, by demon art, to turn 
 
 A man into a fool ! 
 Xay ! worse than fool, a very brute ! 
 
 To drown in sensual joy. 
 The gifts of soul, he should, to serve 
 
 His fellow men, employ ; 
 To close his breast to sympathy. 
 
 To turn into a hell, 
 
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 The homo where peace and comfort ought, 
 
 Alone, for ever dwell, — 
 Howc'er enticingly and bright 
 
 The treacherous cup may flow, 
 Sick'ning, we turn from thee, and loathe, 
 
 The source of sin and Avoe. 
 
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SKETCHES. 
 
 NO. II. 
 
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 SKETCHES. — No. II. 
 
 I SAW him at the festive board, 
 
 When mirth grew loud and high, 
 When joy was heard in ev'ry tone, 
 
 And beamed from ev'ry eye. 
 His form was in its manly prime ; 
 
 Health mantled on his cheek ; 
 His ample, curl-encircled brow, 
 
 Did intellect bespeak ; 
 Genius ilium' d his eyes, and wit 
 
 Flowed frequent from his tongue. 
 While all around, applaudingly. 
 
 Upon his accents hung. 
 He raised his voice and lauded high 
 
 The use of madd'ning wine, 
 And bade them fill a bumper, free 
 
 And flowing, to the Vine ; 
 And in its praise his words were strong. 
 
 His thoughts were gay and bright, — 
 Alas ! a false, delusive strength, 
 
 An " ignis fatuus " light ! 
 
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 62 iEOLIAN IIAIIP. 
 
 lie laiiglieel to scorn the dastard soul, 
 
 Who feared its power to test, 
 While those who freely drank, he named 
 
 The bravest and the best ; 
 And they who marked his eloquence, 
 
 His kindling eye and hue. 
 Were, while they listened, fain to think 
 
 His boastful words were true. 
 
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 I stood beneath a lowly roof, 
 
 Whence sounds of praise arose, 
 From lips that long had deeply drank 
 
 The cup of human woes. 
 And, sadly, as I gazed around, 
 
 I marked how idiot stare. 
 And shaking head, and doubled form. 
 
 And sightless eyes were there. 
 It was a day of festival, — 
 
 Some gen'rous friends had made 
 A feast for the poor babes of want, 
 
 That well their smiles repaid. 
 But ere the kind repast began. 
 
 Were summoned young and old. 
 And unto all, a man of God 
 
 His heavenly message told. 
 
 
SKETCHES. NO. IT. 
 
 And as I viewed the motley throng 
 
 That filled the narrow place, 
 One caught my shudd'ring glance, alas ! 
 
 I knew that form and face ; — 
 Though a strange look was in his eye, 
 
 And from his pallid brow 
 The shining curls, that graced it once, 
 
 Were all dissevcr'd now ! 
 Forgotten was the ground I trod, 
 
 Unheard the voice of praise ; 
 And mem'ry brought, with lightning speed, 
 
 The scenes of other days ! 
 I saw again his form, that seemed 
 
 To scoff at wan disease ; 
 I heard his careless laughter ring, 
 
 As from a heart at ease ; 
 I brought to mind his proud, high thoughts, 
 
 His longing after fame ; 
 His certainty that he should make 
 
 Himself a lofty name ! 
 And he was here I — how would his eye 
 
 Have flashed with scorn and ire. 
 At thought, that, from this home for want, 
 
 He succor should rui^uirc ! 
 
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 Alas ! in poverty and shame, 
 
 "With shattered health and brain, 
 They l)rou;^-ht him to tlicsc shclt'ring walls, 
 
 Ilis madness to restrain ; 
 And still, too well mi^ht he perceived, 
 
 In his dark eyes' wild roll. 
 That reason had not vet regained 
 
 Ilcr empire o'er his soul. 
 Where arc they now, with whom he loved 
 
 The midnight hours to spend 
 AVith song and wine, and who, perchance. 
 
 "Were proud to call him friend ? 
 When in delirious agony 
 
 He tossed upon his bed, 
 Say, were they there to soothe his pain, 
 
 Or raise his aching head ? 
 Ah, no I not one came nigh, that liim 
 
 In happier days had known ; 
 They left the victim of debauch. 
 
 To perish, and alone ! 
 The holy service ceased, and some 
 
 That his sad history knew, 
 Around tlie wreck of noble gifts. 
 
 With mournful int'rest drew ; 
 
SKETCHES. NO. IT. 
 
 65 
 
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 He called tlicin by tlieir names, for lost 
 
 To him were shame and pride, 
 And spoke of what was now his home, 
 
 Witli air well satisfied. 
 Ah, Wine had done its demon work, 
 
 The strong- man's form had bowed. 
 And, grovelling in the dust, had laid 
 
 The spirit high and proud ; 
 Had cliillcd the warm and feeling heart. 
 
 And o'er the glorious light 
 Of Intellect, for ever drawn 
 
 Insanity's dread nitxht ! 
 "What could it more : — I turned away 
 
 In sadness from the scene, 
 And longed to lose the memory 
 
 That he had ever been ! 
 
 
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 LAND OF MY BIRTH. 
 
 Land of mv Lirtli, t]\ou Em'rald Isle ! 
 Though fortune may not on thee smile, 
 Though all degraded he thy sons, 
 Uncarcd for be thy noblest ones ; 
 Yet still my heart must fondly turn 
 To thee ; for thcc mv bosom burn ! 
 While poets write of happier isles. 
 On which more brightly fortune smiles ; 
 Of England's dales, of Scotland's hills, 
 Or heath'ry brakes, or murmuring rills, 
 ]5ards, Senators, and Warriors name. 
 And patriots of undying fame, — 
 ]ie mine the task, though weak my strains, 
 To sing thy green and fertile plains ; 
 *' Thine Abbeys georgeously old ; " 
 Thy Ciiants' Causeway, frowning bold; 
 Thine ancient mounds, and castles hoar, 
 llecalling tales of davs of vorc, 
 ^Vheu superstition held her sway, 
 Where now has dawned a brighter day. 
 
 ..-•II 
 
LAM) OF MY ItlKTir. 
 
 Killarncy's lake, on whose clear breast 
 The fairest sceii'ry seems iinpressM, 
 That Fancy e'er in visions wihl, 
 Presented to her fav'rite cliild. 
 Xot these alone, to thee belon^^ 
 Thou land of ehxiuencc and sonu:! 
 Who dare deny thy poets' fire. 
 When by thy Moore is toucliM the lyre? 
 A Wellington is also thine, 
 In council and in field to shine ; 
 And many patriots, fam'd on earth, 
 From tliv y;reen hills deriv'd their birtli. 
 Yet, 'mongst them all, to none can fame 
 With greater justice give a name, 
 Matliew I than unto thee, who first 
 Tiie chains of vile intemp'raiice burst ; 
 And plentv brought to niauv a hearth. 
 That lately knew the drunkaril's dearth. 
 Still onward, onward, be thy course, 
 Let Temp* ranee speed with all her force, 
 And may the God of righteousness 
 Thy life preserve, thine efforts bless ! 
 
 3^^or me, my country, though no more 
 I may behold thy much lov'd shore ; 
 
 67 
 
 
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 Tliouc,'li stormy oceans roll between 
 Acadi.'i and tliy valleys green, 
 Yet still remembrance speaks of tlicc, 
 In fancy still thy plains I sec. 
 I bend with pleasure o'er the page, 
 lirst written by some Irish sage ; 
 "With ra[)turc did my bosom swell, 
 AVlien, from a son of l^riii, fell 
 Heart stirring eloquence and fire, 
 That might the dullest clods inspire ! 
 Amongst the nations, I would claim 
 For thee a proud and glorious name ; 
 That, as of old, thy land be found 
 With piety and learning crown'd ; 
 Thy sons be lauded through the earth, 
 For honor, industry, and worth ; 
 While noblest men exult to claim 
 An interest in the Irish name ; 
 And peace and plenty on thee smile. 
 Land of mv birth, thou Fm'rald Isle ! 
 
 *f ' II 
 
 
THE LOST BUIDE. 
 
 Till-: LOST UKIDK. 
 
 SiiK left her loved, her early home, 
 
 To seek a distant shore ; 
 Nor ft-ared the ocean's stormy foam, 
 
 Tlic billows' threat' nhiLi; roar. 
 She fondly deein'd that by his sule, 
 
 To whom her vows were given. 
 Nor ills noY danirer nii^ht bitide, — 
 
 And ])laced her trust in Heaven ! 
 
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 Few days had passed since low she knelt 
 
 Before the holy throne. 
 And pledijed the love she truly felt, 
 
 For him, and him alone. 
 He bravely could the tem})est dare. 
 
 Oft had he stemmed the tide ; 
 And she, beneath her husband's care, 
 
 Felt ev'ry fear subside. 
 
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 She left her home. The storm burst forth ; 
 With devastating sweep, 
 
 
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 To tlic fierce re;^'l()ns of tlie Xurtli, 
 
 It ruslicd alon;,^ tlio deep! 
 Nor loii^ tliclr l);irk', tliouj^di strong and bravo, 
 
 'Vhr f( aiTuI contest l)orc, 
 I'ut, vainly strivini^, 'neadi the wave 
 
 It sank, to rise no more. 
 
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 All! wlio tlie fearful scene can paint 
 
 Of tliat tremendous hour, — 
 When bravest hearts fjrew sick and faint, 
 
 And stroni; m(>n h)st their power? 
 "When thouL^hts of home, and friends most dear, 
 
 IvnshM througli the shiv'rin;:; lieart, — 
 Now tliat the fearful liour was near, 
 
 That it from life must part I 
 
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 They sank, tlic brldey;room and the bride, 
 
 Ijeneath the o'erwhelmimx wave ; 
 The deep and ever rolling tide 
 
 Flows o'er their common grave ; 
 In vain shall friends with straining eves. 
 
 The distant deep descry ; 
 No more the TiUna's sails shall rise 
 
 Beneath the azure sky. 
 
THK L()*<T TiUTUr. 
 
 XoNV, In hor much-loved homc^. Is fo'.iutl 
 
 Mourning, wlioro hito was mirtli, 
 I'or licr, wli(jso voice's gentle sountl, 
 
 Xo mure shall glad Its hearth. 
 Slu) resteth not 'ivatli summt-r howers, 
 
 Xo tears her corpse may lave, 
 Xor fond Allection strew the flowers 
 
 O'er her untimely grave. 
 
 71 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 t»\ 
 
 \f 
 
 bi 
 
 9 r 
 
 Above her youthful head, the sea 
 
 Its spraying surges Hung, — 
 And the wild wind's deep melody, 
 
 A funeral anthem sung ! 
 Xor till the Arehangers trump shall sound. 
 
 The sea give np Its dead. 
 Shall she, o'er whom its waves resound, 
 
 ]llsc from her ocean bed! 
 
 \ 
 
 f-* 
 
 ^■^■f. 
 
 t% 
 
u 
 
 i ^• 
 
 
 72 
 
 ^OLIAX HARP. 
 
 Iirl.^> 
 
 SOXG OF THE STREAM. 
 
 i 1^"' * 
 
 * J 
 
 » On, licard yc the sound of the fast-flowing stream, 
 
 As it I'lislicd from the m.Mnitains and sped o'er the plain, 
 Lii:.c a voice to mine ear did its niurmurings seem, 
 And mcthoii'dit that I heard from its waters a strain ! 
 
 s^.T 
 
 1; 
 
 " I have been where the eagle looks down from its nest, 
 And cold was my pathway, and chilly the air, 
 As 1 rolled d' wn the mountain's old snow-coverod brca-^t, 
 And dashed o'er the shingles, all jagged and bare. 
 
 
 lf;si 
 
 4 '!».;, 
 
 " Then w ild was my glory, and mighty my pride, 
 
 As I covered the rocks with the foam of my wave, — 
 
 And the fooi of no mortal e'er stood by my side. 
 
 Or the stream of the mountain had swept o'er his grave ! 
 
 "• Now rejoicing 1 go through a beautiful mead. 
 Where the flowers on my banks give perfume to the air, 
 While many a willow bends o'er me its head, 
 And all things around me more verdant appear. 
 
 .^. 
 
SONG or THE STIlFA.Nr. 
 
 73 
 
 "And children oft come, with their tresses of gokl, 
 To play on niy l)anks, or to ga/,c on my stream, 
 And a peal of wild laughter their pleasure lias told, 
 As they saw their own forms from my clear waters gleam ! 
 
 "Yet onward I haste, for I dare not to star, 
 Though fain would I linger where all is so bright, 
 'J'ill I mingle with many more streams on my way, 
 And we roll on together, rejoicing in might. 
 
 
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 Si ■ 
 
 ■ v 
 
 " And by cities of fame sliall our pathway be found, 
 O'er our waves the tall frigate in safety shall glide. 
 Till the roar of the ocean our murmur has drowned, 
 And the river is lost in its deep rolling tide I " 7- 
 
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 ;T:or,[.vv H Ml p. 
 
 .■^^.8'• 
 
 L [ N E S 
 
 TO Tlir, MF.MORV (»l' THK LATE MRS. Ft 
 
 lii : 
 
 A 
 
 i;, 
 
 i .Hj« 
 
 '!,"tl»i ,. 
 
 (If! 
 
 Vy.," 
 
 Tiiv form, vouiiLT iviothcr, from our ovcs 
 
 III bloom of litb has pass'd ; 
 But thou hast found a shelter now 
 
 From every earthlv Lhist. 
 Thou;j;h no more in thy homo Is lieard 
 
 Tliy well rememhercd voice. 
 Thou dost before the throne of Ciod 
 In coral strains rejoice. 
 
 Oh, who W()uld mourn thv bll'^sful chanuio ? 
 
 — From pain and sorrow here, 
 
 Translated to a brighter world, 
 
 A lu/iler, happier sphere : 
 Thy form, by sickness worn, is now 
 
 In robes of white arrayed, 
 And glorious is the cn)wn which rests 
 
 Upon thy sainted ht ad ! 
 
1 ]s\:^. 
 
 < •) 
 
 ¥ ' 
 
 ■%"■( 
 
 «.j 
 
 ]jut not, yoiiii,:^' iiiotlicr, not for lliee, 
 
 The bittLT tears arc shed, — 
 Not that thy nineh-hjvM nanip so soon 
 
 Is niuuhcrM witli the lU'ad : — 
 They fall for him who lioped, with tliec 
 
 To tread th'' path of llf\ 
 He who liatli eall'd tliee hy tlir name, 
 
 Tlio tender name of wife. 
 
 
 lledl miss tliee from his side, wliat time 
 
 The Sabl)ath bells we hear, — 
 He'll miss thy soft responsive voice, 
 
 When bow"d in household prayer; 
 And when at twiliuht hour, voumr forms 
 
 Arc clustering round his knee, 
 And eyes of love look up to his — 
 
 He will remember thee ! 
 
 1 ' 
 
 And for the bri^^ht-haired boy, to whom 
 
 Thy memory will seem 
 J'lv'ji as the almost faded trace 
 
 Of some deliirlitful dream. — 
 And for the infant (jnes, who lie 
 
 WrapjX'd in their tran([uil sleep, 
 
 J 
 
 
 

 1 1 
 
 1 i 
 
 
 'in**' 
 
 76 ji:o7,TAx iiAitr. 
 
 And who shall never know thy love, — 
 — lliive we not cause to wee})? 
 
 Oil, One alone can lieal the wound, 
 
 Wliich thy untimely death 
 lias made within the hearts of those 
 
 AVlio eaiij^ht thine earliest breath. 
 And lie will teach tliy friends, tliouL;li hard, 
 
 The trial to sustain ; 
 ''God is his own interjjreter, 
 
 And he will make it plain." 
 
 t 
 
 j|h||' 
 
 Perhaps, loved saint, ev*n now tliine eyes, 
 
 M'iiieli beam with purest love, 
 View those who sojourn yet on earth, 
 
 From thv blest seat above : 
 And aic bright hope is theirs, a hope 
 
 ^Vhieh can their peace restore, — 
 That they may meet thee in that world, 
 
 \\'hero parting is no more. 
 
 4 
 
 'ill,, .ifr 
 
 ■ ii-i: 
 
THE OLD O.VK TRKK. 
 
 77 
 
 4 
 
 4"^ A 
 
 i 
 
 Tlir: OLD OAK TllKi:. 
 
 "^f- Frr.L many a tree the forest hath 
 
 Of broad, luxurious shade, — 
 J)y whicli, for travellers' nooii-day path, 
 
 Cool canopy is made ; — 
 The Willow, waving hy tho stream, 
 
 The Ik'cch o'er moss\ dell, — 
 And 1^1 in, that long in poets' dream, 
 
 ITath been distinguished well. 
 
 t 
 
 t» 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■if . 
 
 I love to view in still warm hour, 
 
 The Aspen's trembling spray, — 
 And sweet to me the hawthorn ])owcr 
 
 In vernal June's array, — 
 Or Ash, amid whose leafy braid, 
 
 The scarlet berries shine, — 
 Or, statelier far, in tangled glade, 
 
 The dark, yet hoary Pine. 
 
 f\ 
 
 
 But best of all the Oak I love, 
 And proudest form it wears 
 
 x 
 
 \ 
 
78 
 
 ii:OIJAN JIAKP 
 
 '> 
 
 
 1*1 M"*^ 
 
 • ... 
 
 ,in- 
 
 t, •% 
 
 III. 
 
 AVlit'U waviii;:^ sucli a home ubovo, 
 
 As that Armena shares; 
 The flowers form their gayest wreatli, 
 
 The baby j^Mmbols free, 
 For nought of harm is feared beiieatli 
 
 Tlie liomestead"s sheltering tree. 
 
 And sweet! V when at eve and morn, 
 
 The faitliful })rayer ascends, 
 The soh^mn soiiiul is thith( r I)ornc, 
 
 And with its ru-;tling blends; 
 And sweetlv wlien some holy son;;', 
 
 The maiden's li])s essay, 
 The brueze tliat dwells its leaves among, 
 
 Doth mingle uith her lay. 
 
 13 
 
 
 
 Long may tluu stately tree retain 
 
 Its spread and length of i)ough; 
 Long til that household band remain 
 
 As dear a sign as now ; 
 A sign that still — though time may part, 
 
 Though far its members roam — 
 Shall ever to the constant heart 
 
 lictokeu love and home. 
 
^' 
 
 Tin: 1,0 sr AT SKA. 
 
 7;) 
 
 
 Till-: LOST AT SKA 
 
 > 
 
 
 Tlio sc;i, tlio liliU' line soa, liatli tiiio, 
 
 He lies wIiLTf ji« ail< lie <lrcji ; 
 ]Io 'was tlio Iiivc'l of all. vet none 
 
 U'cr his; Inuo licil may ww^ 1 " 
 
 Mas. IflMA.NS. 
 
 4 
 
 Wl looked for liini, wlvn Spriiii; cuIIchI I'ovtli 
 
 Tlie voices of bird and stream ; 
 \Vu looked for him, \slien llowers spraiiL,^ up, 
 
 'Neutli the Summer's fervid beam ; 
 When the forest Avore its richest dress, 
 
 And reaped ^vas the bciuliii_«; corn; 
 And Avhcn, on the ])iercing wintry blast, 
 
 The drifted snow was borne. 
 
 lie had been the ^'cntlest in ]i'>urs of grief, 
 The gladdest in hours (>f glee ; 
 
 And to us it was almost death to think 
 That his face we no more should see ! 
 
 
 
 
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 I ff 
 
 80 iF:oMA.v ji.viir. 
 
 AVo brouglit to roinomln-anrc cacli oft- told tale 
 
 Of delay on tlio mighty deep, 
 And banisheil far from our liearts the thoimht. 
 
 That he slept his long, last sleep. 
 
 In dreams of the night we would rovi> with him 
 
 Through the seciies (jf childish hours, — 
 Wonld the pebble fling in the narrow stream, 
 
 Or gather the dewy ih)wers ; 
 lie would sit by the side of the winter liearth, 
 
 AVlien the i'amily group met there, 
 And bend, as he ever was wont to do. 
 
 At the hour of household prayer. 
 
 i" 
 
 ,^'. 
 
 '11! 
 
 But in his glance there was somethiijig strange, 
 
 And we never heard his voice, 
 "Whose gentle and loving tones had made. 
 
 So often, our hearts lejoice. 
 And when once he came in a dripping shroud, 
 
 As if from the green sea wave. 
 We felt it an omen, alas ! too sure. 
 
 That our loved one had found a grave ! 
 
 There would be sorrow in ev'ry tone. 
 And tears each eye would dim, 
 
 'I 
 
Tin: LOST AT SI •A. 
 
 81 
 
 When wo u'.'itlicretl tou-ctliiT iit twili'rlit hotu 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 And lli(5ULjht and spoke of him ; 
 Yet wc never breathed to eaeh otlier the fears, 
 
 \\'lii(li wriintj^ our hreasts \vitl\ pai 
 
 n, 
 
 ]hit .'••trove our desponding hearts to cheer, 
 AVith the hone of his eominij a^'ain. 
 
 o "o" 
 
 V 
 
 tt- 
 
 % 
 
 And, oil, \\c h)nL;cd and })rayed to know 
 
 The fate of our early lost, 
 Fur we felt it were better than thus to be, 
 
 'Mid doubt and conjecture, tost; 
 Our prayer was heard, and by stranger lips 
 
 Were the fearful tidings told. 
 That o'er the form wc looked to sec, 
 
 The sounding billows rolled ! 
 
 They said that the good ship swiftly sped 
 
 Ijefore a fiivoring breeze. 
 When, sudden and wild, the northern blast 
 
 Swept o'er the foaming seas ; 
 And cacli crested wave, like a giant form, 
 
 O'er the vessel's bulwarks past, 
 Till our sailor boy by their might was torn 
 
 From his hold on the bending mast ! 
 6 
 
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82 
 
 jIKi; [AN ha;; I" 
 
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 Years has'c f^'oiio hy, and gfntlc ]x>aro 
 
 In our breasts hatli regaincil ]uv sway, 
 And Ills name lias scMum passed our lips, 
 
 Since the talc of that fatal day : 
 l>nt on our hr^arts it is ^Tavcn d(>ep. 
 
 And never erased shall he, 
 Till sunimoiicd hcnec hy the voicf of D' atli. 
 
 To join our Lost at Sea. 
 
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LINKS. 
 
 83 
 
 
 LTXKS 
 
 1\ MKMORV or Tin; I.ATK I.AMKNTKI) M IMIKn^nV 
 
 TiTi: rarlv dead \v(> nionr 
 
 n. 
 
 Tlioy of tlu> hlooniiiitj; check and liopcfiil lioart, 
 r'allcMl, in (li(> noontide of llicir life, to ])art 
 AVith the bridit snnsliino, for death's s]iaih)\vv 1 
 
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 I'artli liatli so niudi of ])li 
 
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 So much of beauty — luinj^dedjwitli its ills, 
 Tiiat the youni,' soul w ith <^]ad e]n(^tion thrills, 
 And asks no better happiness than this. 
 
 So, ^vhen the solemn tread 
 Of tlic pale nionarcli soundetli at the door, 
 And the delusive dream Tuay cliarni no more, 
 
 What wonder if his e:\ll Ije licard with dread I 
 
 ,^ 
 
 lUit wherefore weep for those 
 Whoso joys fled fast, an.d sorrows thickly came, 
 And pinini;' ^Melancholy seemed to claim, ■"'' 
 
 From life's dull opening, to its ;j,loomy close ? 
 * " And Melauclioly nunked him fla- li(.'r dwii." 
 
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 The grave hath ([uict sleep ; 
 And blissful treasures, high in heaven, remain 
 For those who, struggling through their lot of pain, 
 
 Their faith and hope in God unwavering keep. 
 
 And he, we trust, was such, 
 O'er wlicse untimely fate Acadia sighs ; 
 He, from wliose lyre such sweet sad tones wonld rise, 
 
 When woke the strings beneath his gentle touch. 
 
 Life's flowers but thinly grew 
 Around his pathway, and the sunbeams bright 
 Too seldom cheered him with their clear warm light, 
 
 But rather, cloud-obscured, faint radiance threw. 
 
 And the desire of fame, 
 To which his nature did so fondly cling, — 
 The hope that death should not oblivion bring. 
 
 But in his country's pride should live his name, — 
 
 Burned with a flame too strong — 
 Too ardent — for his mind's abode of clay. 
 And joined with dark ads'crsity, to weigh 
 
 His soul to earth, and sadden all his song. 
 
T.TXES. 
 
 Then let the tear of grief 
 Bo dried, from joy tliat he lias gained, at last, 
 The haven where the ills of Time arc past. 
 
 And the tried spirit hath most sure relief. 
 
 The lyre we hear no more, 
 He, douhtless, tuneth to a loftier strain ; 
 And its soft music swells, unmixed witli pain. 
 
 In hymns triumphal, on the heavenly shore. 
 
 8,5 
 
 It 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 So, Friendship smiles to see 
 That his loved land his name in memory hoars : 
 P>ut Faith rcy'oiceth more to know he si i arcs 
 
 The Life, all-hlissful, of j-^ternity. 
 
 
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 iEOLTAX IIAIir. 
 
 
 INSCRirXION IN A BIBLE. 
 
 WiiKX the blasts of sorrow rise, 
 Heavy clouds o"crsprcad the skies, 
 When the loved are lost to view, 
 Or the trusted prove untrue ; 
 To tills ])Ook for comfort flee, 
 It hath promises for thee ! 
 
 When the world would claim thy love, 
 Draw thy thoughts from things above, 
 Lure with many a specious art, 
 From thy hope, thy God to part ; 
 ^ To this ]>ook for counsel flee, j 
 , It hath warninGj words for thee ! 
 
 In temptation's trying hour, 
 "When the Evil One hath power, 
 WouhVst thou all his rage restrain, 
 ' Make his fiercest onsets vain ? 
 To this Book for succor liee. 
 It hath sword and shield for thee ! 
 
 / 
 
INSCUirTIOX IX A UIIJLE. 
 
 8' 
 
 
 ^ AVlicn upon tlie bed of pain, 
 Fever scorching every vein, 
 Heavy eye and aching brow. 
 All thy frame Avith anguish bow, 
 Here for balm of Gilead fiee, 
 , It hath healing words for thee. 
 
 ; ,^f.M,, 
 
 ml 
 H 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 yl When the hour of death is near. 
 It shall soothe each lingering fear. 
 Cheer thee with a Saviour's love. 
 Whisper of thy home above. 
 And, to thy last moment, be 
 , Friend and comforter to thee ! 
 
 ^•' 
 
 
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88 
 
 iF:OLTAN IIAlir. 
 
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 TO CHILDREN AT PLAY. 
 
 Little ones, whose tiny feet, 
 "With the butterfly compete, — 
 Gathering through the morning hours. 
 Childish store of fruits and flowers ; 
 Bright your eyes, and pure your glee ; 
 What hatli care to do with yc ? 
 
 Yet I marked, by yonder glen, 
 Sunburnt groups of toiling men ; 
 Swiftly fell each reaper's stroke, 
 Not a word the stillness broke, — 
 Checked seemed every sigh of glee, 
 Yet they once w^ere young as ye. 
 
 if'- 
 
 1- 
 
 On your cheeks a tint there glows, 
 Such as only Health bestows ; 
 Thick your sands, and slow to pass 
 Through the ancient mower's glass ; 
 Years before you seem to be, — 
 What hath Death to do with ye ? 
 
TO CirrLDTlEX AT TLA Y . 
 
 Yet, tlirougli yonder sluuly lane, 
 See a melanclioly train : 
 Now, with solemn stc2)s they bear 
 To his rest a man of care ; 
 Life hath nought for sucli as lie, 
 Yet he once was young as ye. 
 
 89 
 
 
 ■W 
 
 ""k '"'1 
 
 r 'N 
 
 ■ if 
 
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 But I wouhl not have you trace 
 Thoughts like these iiix)n my l\icc ; 
 Innocent and happy tilings. 
 Seize the joy each moment brings ; 
 Many may those moments be. 
 Ere life's shadows fliU on ye ! 
 
 ■^ ^> -' 
 
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90 
 
 .T.oi.iA.v ii.vur 
 
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 I 
 
 ll 
 
 TO A riuKNi; OX ms departure. 
 
 YiAV (lays luivo seen tliy presence here. 
 
 Anil now, w Itli mournful spell, 
 Tlicre comes, to Avring tlie parting* tear, 
 
 The Liter word — "Farewell." 
 We scarce liave time to clasp thy hand, 
 
 Thy voice, and step to learn, — 
 Before, to thy own household l)and, 
 
 Thou dost a:i-ain return. 
 
 M > 
 
 '»• 
 
 /■»-'■■ 
 
 j*^v\ 
 
 
 Alas ! since last wc saw thy face, 
 
 The loved have lefi our side ; 
 Our circle hath a vacant place, 
 
 That ne'er can he supplied : 
 Our aged Sire, hencath the earth, 
 
 Is laid in (piiet sleep. 
 And memory of his love and worth 
 
 Is all we have to keep. 
 
 fil 
 
 But who, Beloved, who shall live. 
 Thee here again to view. 
 
A 
 
 TO A rRlEX]) OX HIS dkpautuub. 
 
 AVho, at tliy coining Lack, shall give 
 The welcome warm and true : 
 
 Some form, that now in health is found, 
 The grass may si)ring above, 
 
 Some voice may cease in mirth to sound, 
 Some eye to beam with love. 
 
 91 
 
 '* *■ ■•. 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 Ah ! it is this that M'rings tlie heart 
 
 Witli agonizing pain, 
 'Tis this t hat ma kes it h ard to par t. 
 
 We may n ot meet again. 
 We feel, while sad farewell we say, 
 
 And lingering glances cast, 
 This parting word may be for aye, 
 
 This look may be the last. 
 
 But let these vain misgivings cease. 
 And raise our dioughts on high, - 
 So live, that we may join in peace. 
 Above this cliangeful sky ; 
 y- The songs of Zion, gladly sweet, 
 ^ Shall not of parting tell, 
 If not on earth, in heaven to meet, 
 ^ God bless thee, — fiirc thee well. 
 
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 92 
 
 iEOLlAN UAIir. 
 
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 rRESENTIMKXTS. 
 
 IV ,.' <: ■ 
 
 M:U' yea 11 S DAY. 
 
 I kj. 
 
 ,u * 
 
 Yes, I am here, — 
 
 I mingle with your smiling throng to-diiy, 
 But, when returns tlie next rejoicing year, 
 
 I shall bo far away. 
 
 Ye shall not hear my voice, 
 
 Your eyes shall not meet mine in answering mirth, 
 And yet I would not have it chock your joys, 
 
 To know me cold in earth. 
 
 For though upon my bed — 
 
 My lowly bed — the snowy covering lies. 
 My soul, ye shall remember, is not dead, 
 
 But dwelleth in the skies. 
 
 And ye shall smile to know, 
 
 That my weak spirit hath no more to bear 
 The burden of temptation, sin, and woe. 
 
 Which all the livinnc share. 
 
•A 
 
 PllESENTlMHNTS. 
 
 93 
 
 te ' 
 
 Joy for the quiet dead ! 
 
 IJliss for the early siiminoncd to the skies ; 
 Let not, above lier grave, your tears bo jslied, 
 
 Or selfish sorrow rise. 
 
 But faithful wait your time, 
 
 And, living, bear in mind the dying hour ; 
 Then, dear ones, meet me in the happy clime, 
 
 Where death no more has power. 
 
 
 V^^, 
 
 
 ^' ^ff"' 
 
 i 
 
 
 Tho above lines were composca by the writer a year previous to 
 her death. She was then in tho possession of hei- u.sual liealth 
 but the ensuing New Year's day Ibund lier an inmate of the 
 'Mianw house, appointed for all living;" while in exact fulfil, 
 ment of her remarkable "Presentiments," the first snow of the 
 season fell just in thue to cover her " lowly tomb." 
 
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94 
 
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 nHTL'KXiNc; h^rinxc;. 
 
 i# 
 
 IvETUTiNixr; Spring ! tlie very sound 
 
 Is fraiight willi joy to all. 
 And man, like nature, seems nnljound 
 
 From some soul-chilling tlirall ; 
 Even hoyliood, that in Autumn pined 
 
 For Winter's gloomv skies, 
 And longed to see the streams confined, 
 
 The fleecy storms arise, — 
 Now weary of his icy toys, 
 
 His snow house, slide, aud hall, 
 Begins to think the coming joys 
 
 Arc better than them all. 
 
 ti 
 
 
 E'en unto him, who, day by day, 
 
 Toils on in cit^y street, 
 The general gladness finds its way, 
 
 And yields its influence sweet; 
 
IIKTUIINIXG SI'KlNfJ. 
 
 05 
 
 -i' ' 
 
 Jlis path may still hv. dry and hiiiv, 
 
 'J'lio liouscs dark and Iii-li, — 
 T>iit ho can sco tluit cvcrywhc>ro 
 
 Is spread a smiling- shy ; 
 llu may not tread tlio irosli, <.';Y(}vn sward, 
 
 Or hear young Nature's voiee, 
 But lie ean know the Spriug ahroad, 
 
 Can feel it, and rejoice. 
 
 '■' ^i' 
 
 V ^fv' 
 
 Thit oil ! more ]n-eeious still to those, 
 Who levered couch have ])ressed, 
 
 The promise which the Spring bestovrs, 
 Of health's refreshiii;'- rest : 
 ow quaff they, with impaMoiit breath, 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 er pure am 
 
 I balmy 
 
 air, 
 
 As it liad power to snatch from death 
 
 And ^vasted strength repair. 
 They go to seek her on the hills. 
 
 And in the woodland wild. 
 
 And as new ho])e their b 
 
 They bless her pi 
 
 osom 
 esence 
 
 thrilL 
 
 Id. 
 
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 So sought I, in the early morn, 
 A favorite haunt of old : 
 
 
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Mr:. 
 
 96 
 
 iEOLIAN IIARr, 
 
 
 I .. 
 
 Yet, wearied, when I rcuclied my bourne, 
 
 Could scarce its charms behokl ; 
 For sickness, late, had made mc v. eak, 
 
 My buoyancy had fled ; 
 And there was paleness on my cheek, 
 
 And languor in my tread. 
 But who could feel so soft a breeze. 
 
 Or look on such a scene. 
 And not obtain a sense of case, 
 
 A spirit more serene ? 
 
 1 
 
 There was no cloud upon the sky. 
 
 No ripple on the wave. 
 That came in slow and sileiitlv. 
 
 The pebbly beach to lave ; 
 While on the water's tranquil breast 
 
 The hills their shadow threw. 
 The deep green of their " piney crest" 
 
 Blending with heavenly blue. 
 New grace did every object gain, 
 
 Beflected calmly there. 
 The mirror, fair itself, would fain 
 
 Like love, show all things fair. 
 
KETURXTXG SPRING. 
 
 97 
 
 w " \ 
 
 The Spring's fresh, dewy robe was spread, 
 
 O'er many a goodly field, 
 Which, when the farmer's toil is sped, 
 
 His rich reward shall yield. 
 I marked the pines, a stately range. 
 
 And prized the hue they wore. 
 Which, like true friendship, knows no change, 
 
 When wintry tempests roar ; — 
 And there were songs from every spray. 
 
 Where sweet birds homes had found, 
 And made, with many a joyous lay. 
 
 The quiet woods resound. 
 
 
 Then I bethought me of a song, 
 
 Earth shall not hear again, — 
 Though once it gush'd forth pure and strong. 
 
 In most melodious strain ; 
 He sleepcth now, a cpuet sleep, 
 
 Unwaked by grief or love, 
 Who longed where Spring's fresh breezes sweep, 
 
 Her flow'ret bed, to rove ; 
 And though the " genial May" is near, 
 
 Thou;T;h earth of charms hath store. 
 
 i 
 
 
 
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 Mi: 
 
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98 
 
 -a:oLiAN HARP. 
 
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 Dimmed is his eye, and dulled liis ear, 
 The Poet^' heeds no more. 
 
 Where rests the Bard ? his grave beside. 
 
 Hushed should be noisy life ; 
 He could not bear its scorn and pride. 
 
 He sickened at its strife ; 
 But earliest birds should warble there, 
 
 And earliest flowers arise — 
 Vain thought ! how void of such a care. 
 
 The dust that mouldering lies ! 
 To him who loved these earthly things. 
 
 Are lofter visions given, 
 And now the raj^tured Poet sings 
 
 Eternal Sjn-ing, in Heaven. 
 
 My heart was sad when first I gained 
 My mimic journey's close ; 
 
 And melancholy fancies reigned, 
 And mournful thoughts arose ; 
 
 But now, the gladness, fresh and free. 
 Which Heaven around had shed, 
 
 * M' Pherson. 
 
KETUIINING SrRIXG. 
 
 99 
 
 ., ■ f* I 
 
 i': 
 
 i' I 
 
 Its cheering influence had on me, 
 
 And care and sorrow fled ; 
 So, thankful, I my steps retraced, 
 
 Nor failed with me to bring 
 Sweet memory of the charms that graced 
 
 That morning in the Spring. 
 
 'i. 
 
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PART II. 
 
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 POEMS BY MARY E. HERBERT. 
 
 
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 ^p .^1 
 
 ACADIA'S FLOWER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 She stood within a lofty hall, 
 
 A maiden young and fair ; 
 But pallid was her cheek, her brow 
 
 Had caught the tints of care. 
 
 Lustrous her dark eyes shone, — and yet 
 
 They wore a softened light, 
 As though their lustre had been dimmed 
 
 By sorrow's gloomy night. 
 
 Around her young mouth played a smile, 
 
 Of rare and touching grace, 
 That, like a sunbeam, lighted up 
 
 Her sweetly pensive face. 
 
 
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 And yet, of joys, that lent their ray 
 
 To cheer life's early morn, 
 Then vanished, like the sparkling dew, 
 
 Leaving her heart forlorn ; 
 
 
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 104 JEOLTAN TIARr. 
 
 Of blij^htod hopes, that once had made 
 Her future pathway bright ; 
 
 Of faded ])]easures, — seemed to speak 
 The step subdued, though light. 
 
 Oh, Sorrow, in thy school is trained 
 Full many a noble heart ; 
 
 Meek resignation, patient faith, 
 To such thou dost impart : 
 
 The sympathy, that knows full well 
 A brother's grief to share, — 
 
 That listens to the tale of woe, 
 And wipes the falling tear : 
 
 That bids the bowed-down form arise. 
 No more enwrapt in gloom ; 
 
 And marks the radiant path that leads 
 To glory through the tomb : 
 
 
 These -svere the arts thy pupil learned, 
 
 A pupil apt was she. 
 Who never murmured at the rule 
 
 Of stern adversity. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ir 
 
 
ACADIA S F I.OWER. 
 
 10.1 
 
 She stood alone ; though near her thronged 
 
 The heautifiil and gay, 
 A stranger, from Acadia's shores. 
 
 She tarried but a day. 
 
 r 
 
 ' Sweet voices fell upon her ear, 
 And streams of laughter glad ; 
 Music, and light, and love, were there, 
 Ah, she alone was sad. 
 
 V 
 
 Yet one there was, who marked the maid, 
 
 Unnoticed by the throng. 
 And strove her loneliness to cheer. 
 
 With pleasant tale and song. 
 
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 And from a glittering vase he brought 
 
 Exotics rich and rare, 
 *' To deck," he said, with playful smile, 
 Her dark and glossy hair. 
 
 (; 
 
 9» 
 
 " Most beautiful these flowers," she cried, 
 
 " But one is here, to me. 
 Ah dearer far than all the rest. 
 
 What can that flower be ? 
 
 
 
 
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 I 
 
 106 JJ'.OLIAN' HARP. 
 
 " Half hidden by its rivals fair, 
 It shrinks with modest grace, 
 As though amid those gorgeous tints, 
 It felt how strange its place. 
 
 i 
 
 ')« 
 
 " It wears no flush of loveliness, 
 A jDallid, simple flower, 
 Yet never half so fair it seemed 
 To me, as at this hour. 
 
 " For oh, its perfume bears my soul 
 To other scenes away. 
 Banish the music and the song. 
 This spacious hall and gay. 
 
 " And once more in my native land, 
 AVithin its grand old woods, 
 I listen to the streams that wind 
 Amid their solitudes. 
 
 " Oh childhood's flower, * first loved and best,' 
 I seem again to be. 
 Forgetful of the lapse of time, 
 A child, in search of thee. 
 
ACADIA S FLOWETl. 
 
 " I feel the balmy brciith of May, 
 I mark the brightening sky, 
 While sweet familiar voices seem 
 In melody to vie. 
 
 " For they, whom long ago the grave 
 Snatched from my fond embrace. 
 Return, in beauty all renewed. 
 Those greenwood bowers to grace. 
 
 107 
 
 •M! 
 
 ■^ 
 
 
 " And kneeling on the mossy sod, 
 Beneath the dark green pine. 
 With eager hands we pluck the flowers. 
 And round our brows entwine." 
 
 i 
 
 
 She ceased, — but eyes that shone through tears, 
 
 And quivering lips all told. 
 What cherished memories of the past 
 
 The Mayflower might unfold. 
 
 And he, who sat beside her then. 
 And gazed in that fair face, — 
 
 Within his heart, for evermore, 
 Her image found a place. 
 
 ... • 4 
 
 
V 
 
 .^^ 
 
 108 
 
 JI^OLIAN lIAUr. 
 
 4 ' 
 
 - I 
 
 TAUT II. 
 
 Three years had passed; and Spring had decked 
 
 Acadia's bowers anew, 
 When, gliding o'er Chebucto's waves, 
 
 A bark appeared in view. 
 
 li- 
 
 The stranger to her native land, 
 
 The gallant vessel bore. 
 Perchance its health-inspiring breeze 
 
 Might faded bloom restore. 
 
 With wasted frame and hectic cheek, 
 She came, once more, to sec 
 
 The sunny haunts of early years, 
 How dear to memory. 
 
 *i 
 
 Upon the vessel's deck she stood. 
 With eager outstretched hand. 
 
 What wonder that her eyes were dim, 
 It was her native land. 
 
ACA-BTA H FLOWKR. 
 
 Slio marked again its glistening spires, 
 
 Its forts, its islands fair; 
 She listened to its Sabbath bells. 
 
 Whose music filled the air : 
 
 101) 
 
 1 
 
 1. 
 
 And then, Avith eager glance, she turned 
 
 To where, in lofty pride, 
 Iler native forests, circling stood, 
 
 And time and change defied. 
 
 Few days had passed, ere she reposed 
 Beneath their grateful shade ; 
 
 And listened to the robins' chirp. 
 And by the streamlets strayed. 
 
 ■H'' 
 
 Again the pink-hued Mayflower plucked. 
 While to her check tiierc came 
 
 A tint, that seemed to promise health, 
 And brighter burned life's flame. 
 
 And he, — withhi whose soid she dwelt. 
 
 As in a sacred shrine. 
 Who for her love, with joyful heart. 
 
 Could home and friends resign, — 
 
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110 
 
 -SOLIAN HARP. 
 
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 1 
 
 4 
 
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 • 5/ 
 
 "While gazing on her glowing cheek, 
 
 And brightly kindling eye, 
 Too fondly deemed the bitterness 
 
 Of death had all passed by. 
 
 Ah, Love, thy sweetest draughts are drugged 
 
 With sorrow, pain, and tears. 
 Thy hours of rapture but enhance 
 
 The misery of years. 
 
 And when again the Mayflower came. 
 
 To glad Acadia's bowers ; 
 When laughing Spring, wdth footsteps light, 
 
 Led on the joyous hours ; 
 
 She paused beside a narrow mound, 
 
 And tears of pity shed, " 
 Then gently o'er her favorite's grave 
 
 An emerald carpet spread. 
 
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 i';' A'i 
 
 And these, obedient to her call. 
 The fairest Mayflowers bloom, 
 
 Bright emblems of a life renewed. 
 In bliss beyond the tomb. 
 
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ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 
 
 Ill 
 
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 ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 
 
 Oh, slumbering Soul, arise to sec 
 How quick the precious moments flee ; 
 Awake from dreams of earthly fame, 
 To win thyself a glorious name, — 
 Enrolled within the Book of Life, 
 One with immortal honors rife. 
 
 Linger not now, where Fancy gay 
 Bedecks with flowers the smiling way ; 
 Listen no more to Hope's sweet song, 
 Her strains thy slumbers but prolong ; 
 But haste thee Duty's steps to mark 
 Where paths are steep, and skies are dark. 
 What though no longer by thy side 
 The forms of Love and Joy abide ; 
 Though Friendship's smiles beam fainter now, 
 And cares the buoyant spirit bow ; 
 Still onward press, before thee lies 
 The distant, radiant Paradise. 
 
 
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112 
 
 iEOLIAN HARP. 
 
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 Nor fear, tliou comfortless slialt be, 
 For Peace lier balm sball shed for thee ; 
 Her smiles can cheer the saddest heart, 
 And to the fainting, strength impart ; 
 While Faith, with calm, abiding trust, 
 Shall tell of joys that wait the just. 
 And heavenly Hope, on pinions fleet. 
 Shall soar thy future home to greet. 
 
 I to. 
 
 
 ■*1i 
 
 Is *:-i •: 
 
 What, lingering yet, earth's toys to clasp, 
 Which still elude thine eager grasp ? 
 Ah, vainly those the spirit bind, 
 They may not satisfy the mind ; 
 Then onward haste, yon distant goal 
 Is worthy the immortal soul. 
 
 There knowledge spreads her oddest page. 
 And amplest powers of thought engage ; 
 There, on the vision beauties beam. 
 Such as ne'er gladdened fancy's dream ; 
 While on the balmy atmosphere 
 Float notes of music, soft and clear. 
 The victor's glistening crown to win, 
 And far from sorrow, care, and sin, 
 
sp, 
 
 ADDRESS TO THE SOUL. 
 
 To gain a mansion bright above, 
 Prc2)ared for thee by Heavenly Love ; 
 Ah, these are objects worthy thought, 
 Worthy with ardor to be sought ; 
 Then oh, let these thine hours employ, 
 ^ Fling from thy grasp each earth-born toy, 
 And onward haste, yon distant goal 
 Is worthy the immortal soul. 
 
 113 
 
 
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 114 
 
 ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
 
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 DRExVMS. 
 
 I DREAMED I stiaycd in a garden fair, 
 Where clioicest flowers were found ; 
 
 And I plucked one brightly damask rose^ 
 But it withered and fell on the ground. 
 
 In purple and gold, their regal robes, 
 Heart's Ease invitingly shone, 
 
 With trembling haste my hand assayed 
 To claim them as my own. 
 
 'It '.: ; 
 
 I gathered, and in my girdle placed, 
 But no longer seemed they fair, — 
 
 For the purple and golden tints had fled, 
 And I flung them away in despair. 
 
 f - J 
 
 
 I dreamed I walked in a shady grove, 
 Where the blue and sunny sky. 
 
 As it bent in tender and winning love, 
 Was the only canopy. 
 
 ;iai 
 

 DEEAMS. 115 
 
 But a moment past, and thick darkness spread 
 
 O'er the horizon's smiling face ; 
 And the angry clouds, as they gathered fast, 
 
 Seemed the thunder's path to trace. 
 
 Again I dreamed, in my childhood's liome 
 
 I looked on the faces dear, — 
 And the forms, that the turf hath gently pressed. 
 
 For many a weary year. 
 
 
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 .1.. I 
 si 
 
 But they vanished away from my longing eyes, 
 
 And sadly I woke to see 
 The pale, gray light of the early morn. 
 
 With its cold reality. 
 
 •■'I •' ! 
 
 li 
 
 .^-'5. 
 
 But oh, is it only when sleep enwraps 
 The frame, with its soothing spell, 
 
 That visions, the tender, the blissful and fond, 
 Our bosoms with rapture swell ? 
 
 Nay, nay, as the golden light of morn 
 
 Is bathing the eastern hills. 
 What glittering fancies, attendant, throng. 
 
 And the spirit Avith hope still thrills. 
 
 
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116 
 
 JEOLIAX IIARr. 
 
 ,i^^_ |; 
 
 
 AVith eager haste life's roses we pluck, 
 
 But quickly they fade away ; 
 And joys which we fancied Heart's Ease would yield, 
 
 With anguish our trust repay. 
 
 And soon is the cloudless sky o'ercast, 
 
 Which, in childhood, promised fair, 
 For a long, blest, sunny summer's day, 
 
 And an evening calm and clear. 
 
 While, one by one, from the household band, 
 
 The cherished ties depart. 
 And from dreams of earthly happiness. 
 
 Sadly awakens the heart. 
 
 But oh, I have heard of a happier land, 
 
 Whore flowers profusely bloom ; 
 But they never fade in that balmy clime. 
 
 Or arc scattered over a tomb. 
 
 Then the parted-long, with rapture meet, 
 
 Forgotten forever their fears ; 
 And the bliss of that moment must surely repay 
 
 The woes of unnumbered years. 
 
 t'ii 
 
DREAMS. 
 
 11 
 
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 d yield, 
 
 There no tempest of grief the soul assails, 
 By despair, on quicksands driven, 
 
 But each face reflects unbroken joy. 
 And that blissful land is heaven. 
 
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 118 
 
 JKOLTAN HAHP. 
 
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 I 
 
 SATURDAY EVE. 
 
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 Hi 
 
 :? iM, 
 
 I'm glad the M'cary week is done, 
 Is vanished with the setting sun ; 
 My heart is sick of noisy mirth, 
 Of all the vain concerns of earth ; 
 And joyful is the day that brings 
 Such blissful healing on its wings. 
 
 For then my thoughts are free to stray, 
 Where hallowed Fancy leads the way ; 
 No longer bound, they gladly soar 
 AVhere raptured cherubim adore ; 
 And pausing at the gates of light, 
 Entrancing visions greet my sight. 
 
 ^1 
 
 Oh, Sabbath-day, at thy return, 
 Hope, Faith, and Joy more brightly burn 
 Life's weary ones, awhile forget 
 The snares that all their path beset ; 
 In musings on that happier day, 
 Which shall for all their griefs repay. 
 
S.VTURD.VY EVK. 
 
 Ill) 
 
 While Mcmoi*}', that faithful friend, 
 That loves the pilgrim's steps to tend, 
 Invokes, from out the dreamy past, 
 Those blissful hours too bright to last ; 
 When they, the earliest loved and best, 
 Enjoyed with us the day of rest. 
 
 Divided, some by mountain wave, 
 Some sleeping in a nameless grave ; 
 Others have worldly grown, and cold, 
 The Sabbath charms not as of old ; 
 Yet precious as in by-gone years. 
 Unchanged by time each form appears. 
 
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 What though to many cares a prey. 
 We mark the six days glide away ; 
 More fondly prized the hour of peace, 
 That brings the spirit sweet release ; 
 And, loosening chains that bind to earth, 
 Reminds it of its loftier birth. 
 
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 Oh, Sabbath-day, uncheercd by thee, 
 A worthless thing this life would be ; 
 
 H. 
 
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 it 
 
120 
 
 iLOLIAX IIAUr. 
 
 ^ ' '• 
 
 liiicrustcd with a worldly mould, 
 Imbued with sordid tliirst for gold ; 
 Devotion's fires would soon decay, 
 And purest friendships pass away. 
 
 t ^ I 
 
 i.: i! 
 
 
 Therefore with joy I hail again. 
 The hour that speeds thy gentle reign ; 
 Memento of a Father's care. 
 Whose value time may ne'er declare ; 
 Type of existence yet to be, 
 Forerunner of Eternity. 
 
NAY, DUUO'*' V'' |)ESrOXJ)IN(;LY. 
 
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 NAY, DROOP NOT DESroXDfN' ' i. 
 
 Nay, droop not dcspondingly; bri^^lit days arc near, 
 The darkness will vanish, and sunshine appear ; 
 Give not place to repining, for, even now, fly 
 The clouds that so lon<^ have o'ershadowed the sky ; 
 And quickly the dawnin;^' of Heaven's own light, 
 Shall dispel the deep gloom, and the sadness of night. 
 
 Oh say not life's thorns Lave exceeded its flowers. 
 Or its moments of sorrow, its happiest hours ; 
 Look back on the past ; doth thy vision not rest 
 On the green paths thy wilderness journey that blest? 
 On the fountain, refreshing, that sprang in the glade ? 
 On the tree, whose broad branches gave shelter and 
 shade. 
 
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 <*< 
 
 Of the days of thy childhood, oh, think for awhile. 
 When thy tears were all chased by a fond mother's smile ; 
 Of the charms of thy home and its fireside dear, 
 And the circle that loved in its pleasures to share ; 
 Of the glorious and golden enchantments of youth. 
 When earth seemed the blest habitation of truth. 
 
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 ii:OLIAN iiAur. 
 
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 And oh, if while tiirninj,^ thy thoughts on tlic past, 
 Tliou mourn tliat its h)VclinL'ss i\u\cd so fast ; 
 Ronicmhcr tlio prosont, what hk>ssings arc thine, 
 Above, and around thee, then scorn to repine ; 
 Still clicers doth the sunshine, uU nature is glad, 
 The streams sing contentment, thou only art sad. 
 
 What though penury's blast may have chilled the warm 
 
 heart, 
 Though friends that caressed thee, now haste to depart ; 
 Though vanished arc glances, that blest thee of yore, 
 Which time, ever changing, may never restore ; 
 Still, still let Hope whisper, the future hath cheer, 
 Hath scenes of enjoyment, as well as of care. 
 
 Then oh, like the willow-tree, bend to the blast, 
 Nor fear that the temjiest forever shall last; 
 Forget not whose gracious Hand gently doth guide, 
 Through life's thorny mazes, — then faithful abide; 
 And soon shall Heaven's sunshine more radiant appear, 
 As it chases away all the shadows of care. 
 
0\ AX Oil) DWllLMN'O. 
 
 \j:.\ 
 
 ON AN OLD DWEIJJN^;. 
 
 '*■»; 
 
 The in; arc some who fondly love to dwell 
 
 On their old ancestral lialls ; 
 Who speak of the glory that even now 
 
 Seems to halo then* sacred walls ; 
 While others delight in the rnral cot. 
 
 Where their childhood's days were spent ; 
 And the daisied field, and the ivied spire, 
 
 With life's gayest hours are blent. 
 
 *lf 
 
 
 But, oh! to the citv-child, is there not 
 
 A charm, too, encircling his home ; 
 Doth not bright remembrance turn to it, 
 
 Though afar his steps may roam r 
 Yes, yes ! for the heart will fondly cling 
 
 To that spot, though rude it be, 
 Where first, in spirit, he learned to soar 
 
 To the heaven he seemed to see. 
 
 r" 
 
 Therefore, old dwelling, I joy to gaze 
 On thy smoke-stained roof again. 
 
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121 
 
 -a:oLiAX iiAiiP. 
 
 V 
 
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 And mark the gleam of the setting sun 
 
 lUum'ning each window pane ; 
 lUit oh, on thy tlireshold, a stranger I stand', 
 
 And tlie doors are closed to mo, 
 That once, at mv touch, flew onen wide, 
 
 And gave nie a welcome free. 
 
 %■¥' 
 
 \ ■> 
 
 Fain would I enter, hut hetter thus, 
 
 For my heart M'onld he filled with gloom, 
 As I trod thy narrow-winding stairs, 
 
 And "azed in each A-acant room. 
 1 would pine for voices I might not hear, 
 
 I would ask for the clasping hand, 
 And hitter yearnings wonld pierce my soul, 
 
 As I miss'd the household hand. 
 
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 For I know that silence has hrooded long 
 
 On each once familiar name ; 
 Gone are the flowers the casement graced, 
 
 And extinguished the hearth's hriu'ht flame. 
 But fancy is ever whispering to me, 
 
 Tha^their tones again I should hear ; 
 And if I entered, to meet me would come. 
 
 The forms that mv soul held dear. 
 
ox AN OLD DWELLING. 
 
 12.) 
 
 And oh, when weary and worn with care, 
 
 In spirit I Hy to theo ; 
 I sit again in the parU)r small, 
 
 In tlie arm-chair, sacred to me ; 
 I mark on the gaily-papered walls, 
 
 The flickering fire-light gleam ; 
 And over my spirit a quiet steals, 
 
 Like the halm of a pleasant dream. 
 
 And oft en, ho w often, I love to recall 
 
 Each long and delightful night, 
 AVlicn the well-read hook, and the converse sweet. 
 
 ]Made the winter's gloom seem hright ; 
 For oh, though dwelling in noisy site, 
 
 ']\rid the city's traffic rude, 
 The Poet's lays were as dear to us, 
 
 As in rural solitude. 
 
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 And, as a picture, the hcauty retains 
 Of the face it rcs cmhl cs no more. 
 
 For time has stolen the hloom from the cheek, 
 And the eye's hrilliant sunshine is o'er. 
 
 So,^lecp in nryhc art is th y image portrayed, 
 With the brightness and beauty of yore, 
 
 \ 
 
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 V.' 
 
126 
 
 JEOLIAX lIAlir. 
 
 ,^,. 
 
 I'or with tlicc life's tcndcrcst tliouglits are linked, 
 And come thronging to vision once more. 
 
 ■■'i'.i 
 
 
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 Therefore, old dwelling, I joy to gaze 
 
 On thy smoke-stained roof again, 
 \nd mark the gleams of the setting sun, 
 
 Illum'ning each narrow pane. 
 And though on thy threshold a stranger I stand, 
 
 And thy doors are closed to me, 
 In memory's tahlets I have thee still. 
 
 Thou my home wilt continue to he. 
 
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linked, 
 
 c. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF A I]EL 
 
 OVED ONE. 
 
 127 
 
 ^' 
 
 I stand, 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED OXE. 
 
 O J 
 
 Tears, bring your ofrerin<,r 
 See where she lieth. 
 
 List, for the breezes 
 Her requiem sigheth. 
 
 Tears, bring your offeri 
 Beauty has fled. 
 
 The rose and the lily 
 Forsaken the dead. 
 
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 Tears, bring your offering ; 
 
 For lofty the mind. 
 Sparkling the genius. 
 
 This dust once enshrined. 
 
 ■n 
 
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 Tears, bring your offering ; 
 
 For gentle her heart, 
 Faithful in friendship. 
 
 Death only could part. 
 
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 128 
 
 J50LTAX IIAIir. 
 
 Smiles, bring your offering ; 
 
 Earth's turmoil and care 
 Disturbs not the sleeper, 
 
 Sweet rest hath she here. 
 
 
 
 u -^r: s 
 
 i, i,H- 
 
 "Weary her journey, 
 But soon was it o'er; 
 
 Joy, bring your offering, 
 She sorrows no more. 
 
 ITcavcn hath our loved one 
 Received to its rest ; 
 
 Praise, brlnu: vour offcrimx, 
 Wc mourn not the blest. 
 
 ■■A-^ 
 
 V 
 
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" SHALL AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOllGOT." 129 
 
 
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 SHALL AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOIIGOT!" 
 
 V '-''S\' 
 
 \ FoEGOTTEN ! iicver, banlslied bo the thought, 
 .' Foi^hard indeed must be that heart and cokl, 
 
 That lingers not on memories of the past, 
 \ Of smiles that cheered him in the days of old. 
 / What though by mount and sea we severed are, 
 
 What though the forms, familiar, haste no more 
 ' With kindly greeting, and with outstretched hand. 
 To cheer our hearts as in the days of yore ; 
 What thou .gh w e list for well-remembered tones. 
 
 And vainly sigh each accent sweet to hear. 
 The heart still hoards among its precious things. 
 The memory of these "auld acquaintance" dear. 
 
 ,'i ■ 
 
 
 4' 
 
 
 ''^L 
 
 It may be, many years have past since first. 
 
 With friendship kind, they cheered our rugged way ; 
 
 But gay and smiling, as in by-gone scenes, 
 We can recall their images to-day. 
 
 Time niay not steal those relics of the past. 
 Imperishable they shall still remain. 
 
 ,4 
 
 *1. 
 
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130 
 
 iEOLIAN IIAKP, 
 
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 While hope, and memory, and love_sliall Jast, 
 
 Ere dust return unto its dust aii'ain. 
 Rear witness waves, tliat bathe our rock-bound coast, 
 
 Have not your sparkling surface mirrored eyes, 
 All dim with tears, while the sweet summer's breeze 
 
 Bore on its wings to those unnumbered sighs ? 
 The loved ye severed from us, cruel waves, 
 
 Whose distant course our vision failed to trace ; 
 But in_our liearts their mQiiioi;^^ still remains, 
 
 Nor time nor cha nge thailm^iDress^can^efFace . 
 
 / Forget us not, dear friends of by-gone days, 
 
 Think kindly of the hearts that think of ye ; 
 Amid life's changing scenes, oh, still revert 
 
 To hours, portrayed by faithful memory ; 
 Those happy hours, in social converse spent, 
 
 From cold and worldly glances far removed ; 
 Unmarred by selfishness or treachery. 
 
 Our friendship blest, kind heaven with smiles approved. 
 
 May God be with you in your sojournings, 
 
 Our "auld accpuiintance," — may his love be still 
 
 By day a cloud, o'ershadowing your heads, 
 A fire by night, protecting from all ill. 
 
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 SHALL AULD ACQUAI.-^TANCE BE FORGOT." 131 
 
 Daily for you our furvciit prayers ascend, 
 With many a wish your forms again to view, 
 
 To hear the voice, to clasp the friendly hand, 
 And " auld acquaintance " once again renew. 
 
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 iEOLIAN IIAUr. 
 
 A DAUGHTER'S TRIBUTE 
 
 TO TUE MEMORY OF A BELOVED MOTUER. 
 
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 No clioral aiitlicms pealed for llicc a dirge ; 
 
 N"o marble monument records thy name, 
 But little eulogized, thy spotless life 
 
 Has now, in Heaven's archives, eternal fame. 
 
 Yet oh, blest Spirit, from yon glorious heights. 
 Filial affection's simple tribute hear, 
 
 Afar be flattery's strain, this artless lay, 
 
 Asks for thy memory only Friendship's tear. 
 
 Not for the vig'rous mind, and skilful hand, 
 Not for the woman's gentleness and grace, 
 
 All these were thine, but more resplendent shone 
 The modest virtues that adorn the race. 
 
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 Devoted love, that asks no selfish boon, 
 Rejoiced to share a dear one's weal or woe. 
 
 Still to the sinking spirit whisp'ring hope. 
 And smilingly doth fortune's gifts forego. 
 
A DAUGIITEU S TIUBUTE. 133 
 
 Thine was the trusting confidence tluit bows 
 In meek snbniission and in silent joy ; 
 
 In seeming ills, a Father's hand can trace, 
 And in His service life's best gifts employ. 
 
 Small was thy store, yet never vainly came 
 To thee the suppliants of want and care, 
 
 No harsh rebuke they feared, for gentle words 
 Of sympathy made all thy gifts more dear. 
 
 liike some fair flo\vcr that, in secluded nook. 
 Send forth its grateful fragrance on the air, 
 
 Untold, thy charity no plaudits asked, 
 
 Enough, the widow's blessing and her prayer. 
 
 And still, embalmed with many tears, must dwell 
 
 The memory of parental tenderness ; 
 The heart that soothed each grief, the loving glance, 
 
 The lips that never opened but to bless. 
 
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 Those gentle hands shall press no moi-e the brow% 
 Or smooth the pillow for the throbbing head ; 
 
 Dimmed are the eyes, the voice is silent now ; 
 Oh, can it be, thou dwellest with the dead ? 
 
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 -fliOLIAN lIAIir. 
 
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 Not often do wc breathe tliy mucli-lovcd name, 
 
 Too sacred is it for a stranger's car ; 
 Bnt, in tlie deep recesses of our hearts 
 
 Wc mourn, Avith love unceasing and sincere. 
 
 Yet, when too bitter grow the pangs of grief, 
 
 When the weak frame would gladly sink and die, 
 
 Methinks thy Spirit gently doth reprove, 
 
 Point to thy bliss, and check each sinful sigh. 
 
 Oh, to tlic mourner's heart, how fraught with joy 
 Is the firm hope that wc again shall meet. 
 
 That, where no farewell words are ever breathed. 
 If faithful, we our mother dear shall greet. 
 
 
 Yet, from yon glorious heights, one moment bend, 
 
 Filial aflection's simple tribute hear ; 
 Afar be flattery's strain, this artless lay, 
 
 Asks for thy memory naught but Friendship's tear. 
 
 t:!^.; 
 
 .«■ 
 
Tin: MEETING 01' 1' III ENDS. 
 
 135 
 
 Till*: MFirriXG of FijrioxDS. 
 
 „. » 
 
 Tune — " Arahy's DauKhUT 
 
 On, dear to tlic soul is that moment of rapture 
 
 "When friends, the long-parted, again re-unite, 
 When warm-gushing tears blend with heart-felt caresses. 
 
 And words are too poor to express the delight. 
 Forgotten the liour of sorrowful parting. 
 
 Or only remembered to heighten the joy, 
 Thougli earth may have seasons of bitterest anguisli. 
 
 This suruly is bliss without any alloy. 
 
 With eyes fondly beaming, each speaks of the yearning, 
 
 That has burned unextinguished for many a year, 
 To see the dear face, that with smiles now is lighted, 
 
 And tell to that cherished companion each care, 
 Each jo^ and each sorro\\%__that_ marked that long 
 absence. 
 
 When far, far away from the friend of our heart, 
 And the fondly-breathed vow that, if once more united, 
 
 No power but death from each other should part. 
 
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 JEOLIAN JtAUr. 
 
 But Death, all, the monarch, in secret exultcth, 
 
 To hcai hapless mortals acknowledge his sway, 
 Ilis power hearts closely united to sever. 
 
 And vain is their frenzied a])pcal for delay; 
 His presence can chill the warm fount of affection, 
 
 And hands that in friendship we clasped hccome cold ; 
 While voices that greeted our presence with rapture, 
 
 Now silent, forget that glad welcome of old. 
 
 But a meeting there is, wheix3 his presence can never 
 
 Disturb, for_a moment, the loving and true. 
 In the " Land of the Blest," with what hallowed 
 emotion. 
 
 Earthly friendship each spirit again shall renew. 
 Escaped from a world full of sorrow and trial, 
 
 Our loving companions, with eagerness, wait 
 To hail us God's victors, the chosen and ransomed. 
 
 And the glories unfold of that heavenly state. 
 
 Then raised be the heart, now despondent and drooping, 
 Comj)lain not of dangers and toils of the way ; 
 
 But_wj^_couragc and faith, and love that endureth. 
 Those trusty companions no longer delay. 
 

 ay, 
 
 l;ion, 
 
 3mc cold ; 
 pturc, 
 
 THE MEETING OF lElENDS. 
 
 To hastcrnvt ho jour iioyJ_W, sooner or later, 
 Shal^[ _brin,ir tl iccjnsafcty and peace, to abide 
 
 Wlierc DeathTiiTioTTO^wcrtrue hearts to divide. 
 
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 138 
 
 iEOLIAN HAEr. 
 
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 THE Ei^IIGRANT. 
 
 Pale Emigrant, a busy throng arc near tlice ; 
 
 Yet all unheeding thou the while dost stand, 
 Child, to its mother prattling, passcth by thee. 
 
 And cherished links of many a household band. 
 
 Yet I can well divine why so uncaring 
 
 For the gay, busy, jostling crowd art thou ; 
 
 Visions of native land and home are glancing, 
 Before thy memory's faithful mirror now. 
 
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 Far, far away, across the ocean lying, 
 
 In placid beauty those green hills of thine ; 
 
 Brings not their image to thee saddening feelings, 
 Saddening, and yet possessing balm benign ? 
 
 In that embowered cottage, oft times sighing, 
 Dwells not the chosen of thy bosom there ? 
 
 At morning, noon, and eve, for thee ascendeth 
 From her pale lips, the meek, yet ardent prayer. 
 
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 1 "I 
 
 THE EMIGllAXT. 
 
 130 
 
 And thy fair boys : tlic eldest with his lovely 
 
 And thoughtful brow, — and eyes that scorn to toll 
 
 Of deep, deep feelings, in his bosom hidden. 
 And holy thoughts that yet are treasured well. 
 
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 Another, manly in eacli word and bearing, 
 His every glance doth intellect bespeak ; 
 
 And oh ! thy darling, how shall I describe him, 
 With his dark flashing eye, and rosy clicek. 
 
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 [prayer. 
 
 For well I know their images are near thee, 
 I know it by thy sad yet hopeless smile. 
 
 Yet, homesick stranger, though thy heart seems breaking, 
 Would that I could thee of thy woes beguile. 
 
 Heaven soothe thee in thy grief, for man is heedless, 
 And cares not for his brother's lonely lot; 
 
 And oh ! remember, though afar divided. 
 Thou, in tliy home, can'st never be forgot. 
 
 C'lieer up, cheer up, thy heavenly Father careth 
 For thee, alike where'er thy steps may roam. 
 
 He watcheth o'er thy path, that lonely secmcth. 
 And will, in His good time, restore thee home. 
 
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 140 
 
 ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
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 THE CHRISTIAN'S REFUGE. 
 
 DisTiiACTED by imnumbered cares and sorrows, 
 By wild conflicting feelings sore distressed ; 
 
 All earthly liope, all earthly refuge failing, 
 
 To Thee, blest Lord, the Christian turns for rest. 
 
 As flies the bird, when evening shadows gather. 
 
 With weary pinions gladly to its nest ; 
 So his worn spirit, from the world retreating, 
 
 Flies back to Thee, its never failing rest. 
 
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 Here, and here only, can he comfort gather. 
 Here, and here only, peace awaits the heart ; 
 
 "When life's dark shadows, like a pall, surround him, 
 'Tis Thou alone canst bid their gloom depart. 
 
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 For Thine is love that neither faints nor falters. 
 
 Though earthly friendship may grow cold and change, 
 There is no hand of treachery can, ever. 
 
 Thee from the meanest of Thy flock estrange. 
 
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art ; 
 
 )iincl liim, 
 )art. 
 
 Again returns the angel Peace to bless him, — 
 To lighten with her smiles his gloomy way ; 
 
 While Hope, with strength renewed, all fears disdaining, 
 Cheers his sad heart with many a joyous lay. 
 
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 THE CHRISTIAN S REFUGE. 
 
 And Thine the ear that never yet was weary, 
 In listening to the stricken mourner's cry ; 
 
 Divine and human tenderness combining, 
 Pierces Thy loving heart the secret sigh. 
 
 Oh, refuge blest, amid a world of sorrows ; 
 
 Bright oasis in a weary desert found ; 
 Oh, rock, that from the noontide heat o'ershadows. 
 
 Oh, water-springs, that cheer the thirsty ground. 
 
 Here may he rest in peace and conscious safety ; 
 
 For sin or sorrow dare not enter here ; 
 And sweetly in his Father's love confiding. 
 
 On Ilim, with gladness, cast his every care. 
 
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 142 
 
 -EOLIAX IIAEP. 
 
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 THE MAIDEN'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 A poor pirl was takoTi from licv home to be the companion and 
 daughter of a I'ich hidy. Surrounded by every luxury, slie yet 
 pined in their midst; for while tlie hearts slie loved were in pov- 
 erty, tiie blessings of "wealtii, of Avliicli thoy might not partake, 
 were valueless to lier. 'J'he fuHowing lines were suggested by the 
 above incident, as expressive of her sentiments. 
 
 I PixE within these stately halls, 
 
 Those halls of lofty pride, 
 To me they are but prison walls, 
 
 That from my home divide. 
 
 
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 These costly robes yield no delight ; 
 
 These jewels I despise ; 
 The banquet palls upon my taste, 
 
 It fills with tears my eyes. 
 
 For ever rising, pale and sad, 
 
 My mother's face I sec ; 
 My brother's eyes, no longer bright. 
 
 Look mournfully on me. 
 
TlIK MAIDEN S COMPLAINT. 
 
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 panion and 
 y, she yet 
 ere in pov- 
 ot partake, 
 stcd by the 
 
 I know that haggard poverty, 
 
 And cankcrhin; care abide 
 In that dear home, where, cheerfully. 
 
 My wants were once supplied. 
 
 I know that scanty is their fare. 
 
 Scanty and hardly won ; 
 The cup of water, crust of bread. 
 
 And then the meal is done. 
 
 
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 They shrink from winter's icy touch, — 
 And shivering draw more near 
 
 The embers, whose pale, flickering light 
 Yields little heat or cheer. 
 
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 Yet deem me not ungrateful, though 
 Where plenty smiles, I pine ; 
 
 It is because the hearts I prize. 
 Possess no gifts like mine. 
 
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 Far happier, could I share their griefs. 
 
 Not penury I'd fear ; 
 From morn till eve for them I'd toil, — 
 
 And soothe the brow of care. 
 
 
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 144 
 
 ^OLIAN HAKP. 
 
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 My lips no murmuring word should breathe. 
 
 But blest their smiles to see ; 
 Enough, enough, the coarsest fare, 
 
 And rustic garb would be. 
 
 Then let me go ; I cannot dwoU 
 Within these lofty halls, — 
 
 For while I pine for home and friends, 
 They seem but prison walls. 
 
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ON A FAVOTIITE ArARTMKXT. 
 
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 ON A FAVORITE APARTMENT. 
 
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 It is a room, a simi:)lG room, 
 
 The subject of my song ; 
 And yet for me it lias a charm, 
 
 That to none else bclonnf. 
 
 It boasts no costly furniture, 
 
 Adornments rich or rare. 
 From India's looms, or Persia's store, 
 
 No resting place find there. 
 
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 Nor from its casement can be seen 
 
 A single charm, to win 
 The lover of the beautiful 
 
 To linger long within. 
 
 Yet, sanctified by cherished friends, 
 
 It is a holy place ; 
 In each familiar object still. 
 
 Their images I trace. 
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 146 ^.OLIAN IlARr. 
 
 I sec a form, a gentle form, 
 In blusliing womanhood, — 
 
 Her features wear unearthly light ; 
 Each moYcmcnt speaks her good. 
 
 Flushed is her cheek with hectic bloom, 
 And in her soft, dark eyes. 
 
 The light of intellect doth beam, 
 Alas, too early wise. 
 
 Transplanted from earth's gloomy waste, 
 
 To amaranthine bower, 
 Secure from blight, from chilling blast, 
 
 Blooms evermore our flower. 
 
 Those deep blue eyes, so full of joy, 
 Those ringlets' shining gold. 
 
 That buoyant step, and graceful form, 
 Seem of no common mould. 
 
 Oh, well I know thee, brother dear, 
 Though years have passed away. 
 
 Since, from our frenzied grasp, death tore 
 Ilelentlessly his prey. 
 
ON A FAVOllITE ArAIlTMKNT, 
 
 117 
 
 And now an aged man appears, 
 With faltering step and slow ; 
 
 But in the path of life he walked, 
 Nor did the prize forego. 
 
 Patient, through years of toil and strife, 
 
 At last he gained the goal ; 
 And Heaven with plaudits loudly rang 
 
 To hail his ransomed soul. 
 
 
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 The manly form, the generous heart. 
 That noble actions planned. 
 
 Have passed, as passes fancy's dreams, 
 Touched by stern reason's wand. 
 
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 Diminished is the circle now. 
 That met around the hearth. 
 
 Nor do these walls re-echo with 
 Their unreproved mirth. 
 
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 Yet wonder not that still this room 
 
 Is dear unto my heart. 
 For of the loved and lovely ones 
 
 It seems to form a part. 
 
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 il'.OLT.VX IIAlir. 
 
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 For hallowed is tlic spot where once 
 A treasured friend has been ; 
 
 More dear unto Affection's eye, 
 Than art or nature's scene. 
 
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THE Girx. 
 
 149 
 
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 FOR MY COUSIN S INl'ANT DAUGUTER. 
 
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 *" it. 
 
 Oh, were I a fairy, dear Cousin, to-day. 
 
 And had but the power to command 
 A blessing to rest on the chihl of tliy love. 
 
 By a touch of my magical wand; 
 I wonder Avhat gift would a fond parent crave, 
 
 For the infant, whose presence, I know. 
 Brings joy to the dwelling, and bids each glad heart 
 
 With grateful emotions o'erflow. 
 
 The worldling would tell me of beauty, or grace, 
 
 Or wealth ; oh, how glorious the dower, — 
 For loveliness bows every heart to its sway, 
 
 And gold has a magical power. 
 Another might whisper tliat genius would be, 
 
 A gift far more rare to bestow, 
 And one which would surely confer upon her. 
 
 The happiness sought for below. 
 
 
 
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150 
 
 ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
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 But sorrow, and sickness, and age, liavc strange power 
 
 Youth's roses to steal from the face, — 
 To quench the bright lustre that gleams in the eye, 
 
 And to rob the slight form of its grace ; 
 And riches may prove hut a treacherous snare, 
 
 Or else may take wings and depart, — 
 While genius, the rarest, though crowned with bright 
 bays, 
 
 Is no stranger to anguish of heart. 
 
 Ah me, I would slirink, if the power were mine. 
 
 On thy darling such gifts to confer ; 
 But something more worthy, and durable far, 
 
 I would gladly bestow upon her. 
 It is not a pearl from the deep sparkling wave. 
 
 It is not a gem from the mine, — 
 To procure it, earth's riches were utterly vain, 
 
 For its value no tongue can define. 
 
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 And yot it is wealth, that will never depart; 
 
 It is beauty, that never will fade [_ 
 It is mind, holding commune with loftiest themes ; 
 
 Jftjs^unshine, unmingled with shade. 
 
 .%. 
 
THE GIFT. 
 
 l.il 
 
 To cuithly ciijoymonts it yicldotli a /r\st, 
 A]i(l axhajm}_lluit_nono else can bestow ; 
 
 And ill sorrow, by extracting its sting, 
 
 It gives peace, tbough surrounded by woe. 
 
 V44 
 
 
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 Tt is 1q\:p tbat will never grow weary or cold ; 
 
 Ijb js Jjnci idsbij^) in good or in illj 
 
 Tlic nearest, the dearest, may leave us to mourn. 
 
 This will linger unchangeable still. 
 No matter how tlujrny the path we may tread, 
 
 It will prove an infallible guide ; 
 And though distance may sever from country and home. 
 
 It will faithful and constant abide. 
 
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 vrf. 
 
 To youth, lovely youth, it imparteth new charms, 
 
 And a glory bestows upon age ; 
 It succors, defends, and protects those through life. 
 
 Who young in its service engage; 
 And when to the vision earth's glories are dim, 
 
 When ended its conflicts and woes, — 
 The freed spirit conducted by it shall escape 
 
 To the land of eternal repose. 
 
 
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 14 
 
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152 
 
 iEOLIAN HAEP. 
 
 
 
 
 Dost thou ask what this blessing so wo' idrous can be r 
 
 It is Wisdom, of heavenly birth, 
 Whose kind invitations, too often, are scorned, 
 
 By the foolish and erring of earth. 
 And though I have no power such boon to confer, 
 
 To thy child is the blest promise given ; 
 " The little ones suffer to come unto me. 
 
 For of such is the kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 (4 ■■■ 
 
VALEDIGTOllY ADDEESS TO SUMMER. 
 
 153 
 
 
 VxVLEDICTOHY ADDRESS TO SUxAIMER. 
 
 I Once more, sweet Summer, once, before we part, 
 Let us renew those golden, balmy hours, 
 We spent together in the forests old ; 
 
 Or in the shadow of the greenwood bowers. 
 
 Come, let us stray beside the glassy stream. 
 Fit home for Avatcr-lily, fair and pure ; 
 
 And listen to the warbling choir, whose songs 
 Might well from sadness saddest hearts allure. 
 
 Say, shall we gather the wild woodhmd flowers ; 
 
 Or WTave a garhmd from the garden's pride? 
 The snowy blossoms of the myrtle twine, 
 
 With blushing roses springing by its side ? 
 
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 Or, shall we gaze upon the sunset hues, — 
 Or the mild radiance of the evening sky. 
 
 When, thro' the trees, the moon's soft, silv'ry beams, 
 Steal like the glances of an angel's eye. 
 
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154 
 
 iEOLIAN IIAKF. 
 
 
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 All, wherefore linger, Summer, for my feet 
 Impatient arc familiar paths to tread ; 
 
 To mark thy bounteous hand dispensing gifts, 
 As when, from thee, the frowning Winter fled I 
 
 I pause : an awful silence rests around, 
 Silence that seems of coming ills to tell ; 
 
 But hark, methinks September breezes bear, 
 In faintest accents, Summer's last farewell. 
 
 
 Yet oh, one moment. Summer, stay, to hear 
 The simple tribute of a grateful heart ; 
 
 For saddest thoughts thy presence sweet beguiled. 
 For joyous moments that with thee depart. 
 
 Nay, I forbear. Speed onward in thy flight. 
 Not unto tlicc are my best praises due : 
 
 But unto Ilim whose " goodness crowns the year," 
 And doth thy brief, but sunny reign renew. 
 
 Therefore, to Ilim, my thanks I offer up. 
 
 For all the gifts Ilis gracious hand luith given ; 
 
 And for the prospect bright. Ills love affords 
 Of a perpetual Summer, spent in Heaven. 
 
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 TO A MOURXEB, IX A CHURCHY AllD. 
 
 155 
 
 h 
 
 TO A MOURNER IN A CHURCH YARD 
 
 
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 They li ,e, they greatly live, a life on eartli 
 Unkindlccl, unconccivcd, — and from an eye 
 Of tenderness, let pity fall 
 On us, more justly numbered ■with the dead." 
 
 Young. 
 
 Not hero, not here ; 
 
 Oh pale yoiin^' mourner, Lending o'er the (load, 
 
 Bathing witli hitter tears each lowly hcd. 
 
 Not here, not here ; 
 
 Those whom thy fond arms vainly strove to save, 
 
 O'er whose fair forms soon closed the insatiate grave. 
 
 They dwell not liere : 
 
 What though deserted seems thy fireside now ; 
 
 Though dust he written on each sunny hrow ; 
 
 Though quenched the eye, in whose soft living fire, 
 
 Thy heart could read each fervent, fond desire ; 
 
 Mortality is stamped on things of earth, 
 
 Yet lives there all that gave that mortal worth ; 
 
 The grave conceals the casket, hut the rare, 
 
 The priceless jewel, is not huried there. 
 
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 iliOLIAN HARP. 
 
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 The active spirit mocks at time's decay ; 
 It spurns its fragile tenement of clay : 
 Awhile, like 'prisoned bird, it sweetly sings, 
 Then plumes for flight its heaven-inspired wings ; 
 Snapt are the bars, and lo, in glorious light, 
 The captive freed, soon soars from longing sight ! 
 
 And yet, it may be, hovering still around, 
 The spirits of the loved with thee are found ; 
 j\Iay they not, gliding on the midnight air. 
 To thy sad couch some words of comfort bear ; 
 From happy dreams say, dost thou never start, 
 To clasp some image to thy bleeding heart ; 
 Then chide the morning light that brake the spell, 
 And banished forms thy spirit pri/ed too well ? 
 
 Yes, yes, believe it, though thine eyes of clay 
 !May not behold, they hover round thy way ; 
 They haunt the bowers their memory dearer made, 
 The sunny paths, the pleasant forest shade ; 
 With stronger love and holier than thine. 
 They all the spirit's finer powers combine ; 
 Watching to shield from harm the loved one's form, 
 And nearer press when loudest howls the storm ; 
 Then oh, no more, within the churchyard's gloom, 
 I'athe thou, with bitter tears, each lowly tomb ; 
 
TO A MOURXEH IX A CHURCHYARD. 
 
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 But, with frcsli courage, earthly toils renew. 
 Gird for the conflict, glorious goal in view ; 
 And soon the sjiirit shall assert its sway, 
 And darkness end where dawns eternal day. 
 
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 44'. 
 
 
158 
 
 -aLOLIAX IIAEP. 
 
 
 4 
 
 •I ' ■■^. 
 
 EVENING SERVICES. 
 
 I LOVE tlic twilight hour, that calls 
 My footsteps to the House of Prayer : 
 
 I love the sacred awe that steals 
 Upon my spirit, bowed down there. 
 
 ^^'hcn hushed the busy hum of life, 
 And silence, brooding' like a dove, 
 
 All earthly passions lulls to rest. 
 And lifts the heart to things above. 
 
 "What though the busy day hath brought 
 The bitter pangs of hope deferred ; 
 
 What though the vain concerns of earth, 
 The spirit's inmost founts have stirred ? 
 
 Its hopes and fears, Its joys and griefs, 
 Are all forgotten, as I tread 
 
 That place of blest Sabbatic peace. 
 Beside the mansions of the dead. 
 
EVENING SERVICES. 
 
 159 
 
 Upon their graves the sun's last rays 
 A golden flood of glory shed, 
 
 "While softly sighs the evening breeze, 
 Hustling the grass that waves o'erhoad. 
 
 And through tlie open casement floats 
 The solemn notes of praise and prayer ; 
 
 Ah, all unheeded are those strains, 
 By those who sweetly slumber there. 
 
 t 
 
 -'Ml 
 
 .,-*'• 
 -."1" 
 
 
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 Yet, who can say, their spirits blest, 
 Unseen, may not be hov'ring near ? 
 
 May in the song of praise unite, 
 
 And, bending, list the voice of prayer ? 
 
 Mi 
 
 For memories o£ thc^'^ lovedand lost," 
 
 Come then, witli strangely thrilling power ; 
 
 Their holy lives of faith and prayer. 
 Their triumph in the final hour. 
 
 r 
 
 H Tl 
 
 Earth fades away ; its din and strife, 
 Its mad ambition, come not here ; 
 
 Thcij love the noisy walks of life, — 
 And shun the quiet Flouse of Prayer. 
 
 -4 
 
 ll 
 
 &' 
 
 -.4 
 
 
160 iEOLIAN IlARr. 
 
 But here the secret grief is found, 
 
 That sohace seeks from Pleav'n alone ; 
 
 The burden of the tender heart 
 Is, to our pitying Father, known. 
 
 Nor all its own, for others weal 
 The lifted hand, the tearful eye; 
 
 The absent, or, the erring, claim 
 
 The fervent prayer, the pitying sigh. 
 
 Here the faint soul renews its strength, 
 The weary spirit finds repose ; 
 
 The tempted, courage to withstand. 
 And power to meet its wily foes. 
 
 And, from this hallowed place, the soul 
 Kefreshed, as with a victor's might, 
 
 Strong in the strength of grace, alone, 
 Goes forth to combat for the right. 
 
 Nor shall the bloodless warfare cease, 
 Till Death the victory attest ; 
 
 Till, sweetly from its toils released, 
 The Christian finds a blissful rest. 
 
 i 
 
EVENING SERVICES. 
 
 IGl 
 
 Oh, House of Prayer, wliilc others love 
 To haunt the gay and festive hall ; 
 
 For mo, I'll turn aside, and seek 
 Sweet solace, here, at evening's fall. 
 
 '^i 
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 11 
 
 
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 "4 
 
 
102 
 
 iT.OLIAX IIAUr. 
 
 I * 
 
 TIIR DKAF MAX'S LAMKNT. 
 
 SUGGESTED IIV THE EXCLAMATION, " I CANNOT HEAR 
 
 I MOVE amid those busy streets, 
 
 Tccining with life and varied sound, 
 
 Yet not the dwellings of the dead 
 To mc bear stillness more profound ; 
 
 No voice, no tone, salutes mine car, 
 
 Alas for me, I cannot hear ! 
 
 1 enter halls, where Eloquence, 
 
 In brcatliless stillness chains the throng, 
 Antl oft each fkishing eye reveals 
 
 "What powerful thoughts are borne along ; 
 But Elociuence may never cheer 
 My longing heart, — I cannot hear. 
 
 . - *:* 
 
 When shadows of the evening fall, 
 I sit beside the quiet hearth ; 
 
 Yet though 1 know the loved arc near, 
 To me how vain their tones of mirth ; 
 
 Affection's language, fond and dear, 
 
 Oh, could I for a moment hear ! 
 
TIIK DKAF MAN S LAMKXT. 
 
 The zopliyr luitli no voice for mo, 
 The liowling storm may wildly riivo 
 
 I liccd it not — and on the sea 
 I calmly mark eacli <i:iant wave; 
 
 No terror unto me they bear, 
 
 Their solemn sounds I may not hear. 
 
 1G;3 
 
 
 ^ ■'' 
 
 
 Yet to my Father's will I bow, 
 
 Adoringly His hand I see, 
 Who not amid the tempest speaks. 
 
 But in the " still, small voice " to me. 
 My throbbing- heart, my inward car, 
 Those gracious tones rejoice to hear. 
 
 And oh, I trust, when life has fled, 
 To join the happy choir above, 
 
 "Who still in hymns unceasing sing 
 The praises of Almighty love ; 
 
 Each sound shall thrill my wakened ear, 
 
 For oh, in Heaven, I too shall hear. 
 
 
 '^1 
 
lOi 
 
 JEOLIAX IIAIir. 
 
 *^ - • : 
 
 TO AX AliSRNT I'lUEND. 
 
 ^^ ; 
 
 <it 
 
 1. 1 
 
 A CAi.ist sweet summer's eve it ^vas, tluit eve ^vhcn first 
 
 \\c met, 
 And fondly cherished in my heart, lingers its memory 
 
 yet ; 
 Like some sweet, touching melody, that tells of days 
 
 gone by, 
 And wakens, by its mystic spell, sad recollection's sigh. 
 
 Oh ! many months have passed since then, aad Summer's 
 
 reign is o'er, 
 
 The woodland and the shady grove, her presence cheers 
 
 no more ; 
 
 Silent the merry stream that ran with tripping steps 
 
 along. 
 For AVinter's frowns and furious vjice have banished 
 
 nature's sont;. 
 
 o 
 
 ^16 
 
 And thou, beyond the deep, blue sea, again within thy 
 
 home, 
 Ilast found the peace too oft denied to those who idly 
 
 roam, 
 
TO AX AUSKN'T I'UrEXD. 
 
 1 r,:. 
 
 And while tlio olnllirig nortli wiiul sweeps, witli fitful 
 
 wail along, 
 Seated beside thy clieerful lioartli, doth list to Jessie's 
 
 song. 
 
 ^i 
 
 
 mcmorv 
 
 summer s 
 
 For, mo, as twlllnlK steals apace, and deeper sliadoAvs 
 
 AiU, 
 Alike upon the gloomy street, and on the papered wall. 
 With absent ga/c I watch the liglit, the ruddy embers 
 
 cast, 
 For Fancy, truant, loves to dwell upon the pleasing past. 
 
 *' The memory of sweet summer eves," she brin-'-s a"'nin 
 
 to me. 
 Of balmy skies, and fragrant flowers, and woodhuid 
 
 melody : 
 
 And, for the tempest's voice, T hear the zephyr's gentle 
 
 sigh. 
 As, laden with unnumbered sweets, it passeth swiftly by. 
 
 
 Nor yet, forgotten, are the friends, who shared those 
 
 hours with me, 
 For, without Friendship's cheering light, how dreary 
 
 earth would be ; 
 
 
 -4^'* 
 
IGG 
 
 i^:OLIAN HARP. 
 
 1 
 
 .....j 
 
 For kindly words liavc magic power, to dwell within 
 the heart, 
 
 And as they come forth, one by one, what warm emo- 
 tions start. 
 
 1 
 
 
 f '\ ; 
 
 I think of tones I may not hear, of forms I may not sec, 
 
 Aia\ fill the silent, vacant room with their hlest com- 
 pany ; 
 
 Mirth that can hlend with sober thonLiht, and warm 
 affection's smile, 
 
 And sacred sonijj, and converse sweet, the linj^crinp; 
 hours beguile. 
 
 ] V 
 
 ■¥ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 But all I such moments (piickly pass ; like all earth's 
 
 charms thoy fly, 
 Each has gone forth to struggle with life's cold reality; 
 Stern duty heeds not Friendsliip's tears, but ])oints to 
 
 rugged height. 
 Where few and far the sunny spots that cheer the 
 
 traveller's sight. 
 
 But oh ! though life has divers paths, though wide apart 
 
 we roam. 
 It matters little, if at last, we reach our Father's home ; 
 
iriu cmo- 
 
 TO AN AlJSENi IKIK.M). 
 
 l()7 
 
 There shall our wamlerliig feet be stayed, and hi those 
 
 bowers of rest, 
 Xo thought of parting shall disturb the meeting of the 
 
 Blest. 
 
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 ON \JSIT1N(; Till-: CIOIKTKIIY AT KAllLY MOKN. 
 
 A\'jLV wake ye not, beloved ones, 
 
 The morn is duwnin;^- calm and clear ; 
 And sweetly, on the balmy air, 
 Is wafted song- of birds. 
 Why haste ye not, with buoyant feet, 
 (iladly the Spring's return to greet? 
 
 What, loitering still, while o'er your beds, 
 \()UY narrow beds, the sunbeams play? 
 Will ye not wake, and Avith me stray 
 Through pleasant haunts of old ? 
 
 "Where ?^ravfk)wers ;dl their charms disclose. 
 
 And vie, in perfume, with the rose. 
 
 Conu', for the; blushing ^Nlay is here, 
 I marked her trippiug o'er the glade, 
 And l^arth, in mantle green arrayed, 
 Smlletl on her as she passed ; 
 
 '\\']iil(\ stealing through each ([uiet nook. 
 
 Its welcome murmured, low, tlie brook. 
 
VISITING THE CEMETEllY AT EAIILY MoKX. 109 
 
 Aids, yo licod inc not ; to you 
 
 III vain tho balmy bivatli of morn, 
 111 vain tliL' cluirins the Sprinn- adorn, 
 They may not rouse ye more ; 
 
 Through ([uiet dell, and -'lady giove, 
 
 Yc never more with me may rove. 
 
 And thou, dear, gentle ehild of song, 
 On whom tlie I\Iuses fondly smiled, 
 'Whose sweet and artless notes heuMiiled 
 Full many a weary heart ; 
 
 " Returning Spring "' •" awaits thy Uiy, 
 
 lUit silent is thy harp to-day. 
 
 
 J* 
 
 1;^ 
 
 And ^-et, metliinlvs, had I the power. 
 As standing hy your gra\'es, I wee]). 
 To hid ye shake oiT death's dull sleep, 
 And wake to light and life, 
 I dare not summon von aiiain 
 Life's ills and burden to sustain. 
 
 Yours is tlie Christian's hallowed rest. 
 And angels wateli the nneonseions elay, 
 
 *Alhiiling to a poem, ontided " lU'tin-iiiiiL^ Spi'inu'," by Sar.ih 
 llcrl.i'rt. 
 
 I'" 
 
' ♦ 
 
 V 
 
 n 
 
 170 ilLOLIAX IIAUr. 
 
 But, not f(n- ever, sluill yc stay 
 
 In the cold, silent tomb ; 
 Your Lord, liiniself, shall bid you rise, 
 And join your spirits in the skies. 
 
 ,;{w» . I 
 
 * : „/' 
 
THE ESTllANGEI). 
 
 171 
 
 siiii* 
 
 ,», ^i'" ' 
 
 
 THE ESTRANGED. 
 
 We met as strangers ; wc, who once, 
 
 Had distance severed but one dav. 
 Had sprung witli joy to greet, 
 
 And fondly chid the long delay ; 
 "No-'.'r, measured ^vcre our steps and slow, 
 
 And frigid was each outstretched liand ; 
 While icy words were all that spoke, 
 
 A welcome to our native land. 
 
 ,'<^\ 
 
 
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 t » It 
 
 > /•;•;. 
 
 m; 
 
 Wc coldly listened to the voice, 
 
 Our heart once wildly leapt to hear ; 
 And, with a stoic's calmness, gazed 
 
 On features memory counted dear ; 
 And little tliought tlie gay who viewed 
 
 Our meeting, we had ever been 
 Friends, bosom-friends, ere traitor tongues. 
 
 And pride and absence ca ... L^i->,'een. 
 
 t 
 
 With them wc talked of worldly tilings ; 
 And smiling, dwelt on days gone past : — 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
172 
 
 iEOLIAX IIATir. 
 
 .. 'i 
 
 ,1^ '■'"■: 
 
 
 
 " All, ours were cliildish liopcs," wc said, 
 " Wliicli foolishly we tli()u<;'lit might last. 
 
 But wc had M'iser ^rown since then 
 
 j» 
 
 And while our hearts our lips belied, 
 Repressed each word of tenderness, 
 And called \iY)on our prompter, pride. 
 
 And then we parted as we met. 
 
 With unmoved tones and placid smile ; 
 But oh, the phantoms of the past, 
 
 Beproached us, hitterly, the while : 
 Those hours of youth together spent ; 
 
 Our (hiily converse, heart with heart ; 
 The walks, the llowers, the s})()rts wc loved, 
 
 In viviil color seemed to start ; 
 And, at each image, sorely wrung, 
 
 Our anguished souls would fain have cried, 
 " Forgotten he each fancied wrong. 
 
 Let naught hut death our hearts divide." 
 
 Oh, had we tlius all ])ri(le subdued. 
 
 How blooming now afibction's flowers ; 
 
 A\'hile withered hopes and vain regrets 
 Would cast no gloom on future hours. 
 
I* 
 
 Till:: i:sTRAXr!i:D. 
 
 17.3 
 
 xVlas, remorse is all too late. 
 
 Yet, severed by the ocean, we 
 In solitude and silence mourn, 
 
 That Friendship's joys should bliglited be. 
 
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 ,1.--. 
 
174 
 
 7i:oLiAN iiAiir. 
 
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 STANZAS. 
 
 "ypeak, I.onl, fdr tliy siTvaiil limiH'tli." 
 
 Steak, gracious Lord, for my sad heart 
 llcfuscs every voice but tliiue ; 
 
 Descend, and heavenly hahn impart, 
 Oh, Comforter divine ! 
 
 This solemn night, those glittering stars, 
 Tell of Thy majesty and power; 
 
 But something more I ask, I crave, 
 At this deep midnight hour. 
 
 I ask a token of Thy love, — 
 
 The " still, small voice " I wait to hear, 
 Oh, speak,- — and hope and joy shall spring, 
 
 My fainting heart to cheer. 
 
 Emblem of death, its sombre peace. 
 This gloom, this silence, seems to me ; 
 
 How shrink life's vanities before 
 Awful eternity ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 175 
 
 While from the "Letter hmd " mcthinks, 
 Sweet, eiirnest voiees call me, 
 
 Solemn their tones, yet full of love, 
 They hreuthc alone of Thee. 
 
 4[ 
 
 
 And countless memories of the past, 
 
 Strengthen my faith and nerve my heart ; 
 
 The mercy Thou to them hast shown, 
 Shall ne'er from me depart. 
 
 I* 
 
 y ' 
 
 Therefore, confiding in Thy love. 
 In sleep, my weary eyes I close, 
 
 Lulled hy the gentle voice of peace, 
 Into a deep repose. 
 
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 17G 
 
 ^oi,i\y jiAur 
 
 TO TllK Ml!:.MOUV UF A VOUXCI LADY. 
 
 Guxr,, in the bloom of youth, 
 Its beauty luantliiig on thy chuck and brow ; 
 Tlic roseate tint, that decked that fair young face, 
 
 Is all departed now. 
 
 Gone, from the household band, 
 Friendship's endearments, and Love's fond embrace : 
 But, ah ! from stricken hearts, nor time, nor change, 
 
 Thy memory shall erase. 
 
 For they shall yearn for thee, 
 When vacant is thy scat at board and hearth ; 
 And tears will fall, — and sighs of agony 
 
 Suppress the tones of mirth. 
 
 :*'■■ 
 
 And, in the twilight hour. 
 When dreamy thought delights the past to trace, 
 It shall restore thine image as of yore, 
 
 Replete with youthful grace. 
 
TO Tin: MKMORY OF A YoI'Sc r.ADV. 177 
 
 All I SuinnuT sluiU return ; 
 Tlio forests with tho voice of music riiiL? ; 
 111 Held, in {^aiden, and in woodland wild. 
 
 Shall flowers, the fairest, s[)rin;^. 
 
 I>ut Suninier's sylvan haunts, 
 Shall never more l)e visited hy thee ; 
 (Jhained is thy step, — and hushed the ringiii,:^- laugh, 
 
 That filled its woods with glee. 
 
 Oh! life to thee v,-as fair. 
 For Hope the future tinged with radiant light, 
 While all unknown the cares of riper years, 
 
 Or Disappointment's Lliglit. 
 
 And hard it seemed to die. 
 When Karth's enchantments glittered in lliv view ; 
 The golden links of love to burst aside, 
 
 And bid to all adieu. 
 
 1 . 
 
 But oh, when we recall 
 What bitter griefs maturer ago must know ; 
 IIow much of woe must mingle with life's eu]). 
 
 We gladly let thee go. 
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 -i:oLiAx iiAur. 
 
 So early called from earth. 
 Immortal bliss wo fondly trust to share ; 
 Wc may not, dare not, hopeless, mourn for tlice, 
 
 ]kit clicck the rising tear. 
 
 And ^vlule, above thy o-rave. 
 Affection breathes in mournful tones, farewell ; 
 In ln-l,i:;'hter scenes wc hope once more to meet. 
 
 And M'ith thee ever dwell. 
 
 «''■■ 
 
'■■It- 
 
 THE M.VRRIAGE VOW. 
 
 170 
 
 THE mapjua(;e vow 
 
 " Until deatli do us part " 
 
 Not only for youth's prime, 
 
 Or its bright summer time, 
 
 Our vows we pli^^'lit ; 
 But for those riper years, 
 
 When life grave aspect wears, 
 
 Love shall yield light. 
 
 Not for the blooming cheek, 
 Or the bright eyes that speak, 
 
 Thoughts fond and dear ; 
 But when the glow has fled, 
 And si^rkling glances dead, 
 
 Love still shall cheer. 
 
 Not when, with buoyant health, 
 Thrills the glad heart, — or wealth 
 
 Pours in its store ; 
 But if sharp pain should wear, 
 And j)cnury bring care, 
 
 Love we the more. 
 
 I ;!•* 
 
 I m 
 
 k. i^>$. 
 
'Mi 
 
 180 
 
 .i::oLiAx iiAiir. 
 
 .j^r" 
 
 
 
 ■I: ,, 
 
 And thus, together led 
 
 By kind lieuven, we'll tread 
 
 Life's thorny way ; 
 And when Death, drawing near, 
 Bids farewells wring the tear, — 
 
 Yet, not for aye, 
 
 ■ . I, • 
 
 
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 ■ . n '■■■ ' 'i^ 
 
 ! l;i 
 
 Shall the sad ^^arting he, 
 Oh, not eternally, 
 
 Hearts are riven ; 
 For faith, in accents sweet, 
 Tells we again shall meet. 
 
 Meet in Heaven. 
 
 >' I 
 
WTXTER. 
 
 181 
 
 AYTXTER. 
 
 " Freely ye have received, freely give." 
 
 Pleasaxt the gathering round the social hearth, 
 
 Pleasant the sweet communing, heart with heart, 
 Pleasant the hooks, that happiest thoughts inspire, 
 
 Pleasant the blest appliances of art ; 
 The carpet, soft, where aching feet repose, 
 
 The arm-chair, soothing to the ^vearied fiame, 
 The damask curtains, whose rich, ample folds 
 
 Screen from keen night air, and kind mention claim. 
 
 And now the fire sends forth a brighter blaze, 
 
 And still the merry circle draws more near, 
 While th3 north wind, impetuous, hurries past. 
 
 As if to o'ertake the fleeting year. 
 Without, no star peeps through the leaden sky, 
 
 The frosty ground re-echoes back the tread. 
 Quick, eager, of some lonely passer-by. 
 
 Who hastes to screen, from biting blast, his head. 
 
 ill ' 
 
 
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 tF i' 
 
 
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 'II 
 
 if..>*i 
 
 ■h'*>- 
 
 182 
 
 ^OLIAN IIAIir. 
 
 Within, the walls reflect the cheerful light, 
 
 And the hright flame reveals each happy face ; 
 Youth's sparkling eye, and glowing cheek is there, 
 
 And manhood's strength contrasts with woman's grace. 
 And now, harmoniously, sweet voices blend, 
 
 And well-timed mirth the evening hours prolong. 
 Knowledge and virtue, hand in hand, arc seen, 
 
 Nor absent is the jest or simple song. 
 
 ifij 
 
 
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 t^ 
 
 ■k_, 
 
 ■i: 
 
 f- 
 
 K 
 
 ...■; 
 
 Hark, for a voice repeats the Poet's lay. 
 
 And oh, mcthinks, were but that Poet here, 
 With rapture would he list each thrilling strain, 
 
 Breathed forth in woman's accents, soft and clear. 
 And now another swells the holy hymn, 
 
 Or carols sweetly some dear, ancient rhyme, 
 And eyes are glistening with, unbidden tears, 
 
 And thoughts spring back to greet tlie olden time. 
 
 Some sweet " Forget mc not," she warbles low, 
 And buried loved ones seem by us to stand ; 
 
 Some " Auld lang sync," and absent friends appear, 
 And warmly clasp each eager, outstretched hand. 
 
 Thus, all too quickly wears the night away, 
 
 And now ascends the voice of praise and prayer 
 
"VV I NT Ell. 
 
 is;; 
 
 Tlicn, to calm slumbors, innocent and deep, 
 With grateful hearts the happy oToup rq)air, 
 
 Oh, would that ever in this fiivorcd land, 
 
 Eacli home were thus with peace and plenty bhst, 
 That beggared famine, stalking through our eartli, 
 
 Could here obtain no sjiot on which to rest. 
 But ah, the huts of poverty are near, 
 
 Beside the stately dwelling oft they stand, 
 And claim from Sympathy a pitying tear, 
 
 And ask from Charity a liljeral hand. 
 
 .4,,u 
 
 God help the poor ! My eyes with tears are dim ; 
 
 I see a woman's meagre, shrunken form, 
 Ilalf-clad, and crouching from the bitter blast, 
 
 What wonder that she dreads the gathering storm ? 
 Where is her home ? Within those dreary walls 
 
 Through whose broad chinks the wihl winds tna;lly 
 play, 
 Howl to each other through the gloomy night. 
 
 While drifting snows their mandates fierce obev. 
 
 
 f ' 
 
 Look at yon group that by the embers kneel. 
 Striving with purple lips to fan the flame, 
 
 "a 
 
.*; 
 
 181 
 
 .EOLIAX IIAlir. 
 
 J*- 
 
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 Unheard from tlicni is cliildliootrs ringlnj^- lciiii;li, 
 Alas, tlicy cliildrcn arc, alone in name. 
 
 On their young brows are hues of suffering traced. 
 Such as the hrow of age should never wear ; 
 
 Their pallid cheeks, and sunken eyes, disclose 
 Sad tales of ceaseless penury and care. 
 
 No young foot dances o'er the cold, damp floor, 
 
 For the light step a lighter heart reveals ; 
 No merry voice makes glad the evening hour, 
 
 But, to their cheerless rest, each, shivering, steals. 
 There, restless, tossing on their pallets hard. 
 
 From broken slumbers oft they sadly start ; 
 And scarcely could the biting frost without, 
 
 More icy dullness to their limbs imjiart. 
 
 The dreary night, how long, how long, they cry, 
 
 While from their trembling lips ascends a prayer ; 
 Oh, can it be that Mercy passes by. 
 
 Nor stops that voice of misery to hear ! 
 Think not, ye gay, by fancy drawn the scene, 
 
 Nor coldly from the simple picture turn ; 
 But oh, go forth among the sons of want. 
 
 And let your hearts with sacred pity burn. 
 
^,1 
 
 'WINTER. 
 
 185 
 
 All, freely give, as God hath given to yon, 
 
 And He, who views alike the rieli and poor, 
 Our gracious Fatlier sliall with smiles behold, 
 
 And with rich blessings shall increase your store. 
 For ye are doubly blest, wlioni He permits 
 
 Tlie blissful oflice witli himself to share ; 
 To wipe the fldling tears from pallid cheeks, 
 
 " And gently smooth the rufHed brow of care. 
 
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ISP) 
 
 .Tloltan ii;Viir. 
 
 ON sicEixr; Tii!<: coim'SK of an A(;r:D maxlu 
 
 
 ^¥^ 
 
 I"" 
 
 J 
 
 On, who cuuld mourn for tlioc, so calmly sleeping, — 
 Who wcop to think thy pilgrima;j;c was o'er r 
 
 For, from thy soul, long since was banished reason, 
 And time and change could ne'er its reign restore. 
 
 And years have vanished by thee, all unheeding, 
 They woke no sigh in thy unechoing heart ; 
 
 Youth, beauty, friendship, all that eartli deems precious. 
 Thou could'st behold, without a pang, depart. 
 
 For strange have been the changes since sad darkness, 
 A midnight darkness settled o'er thy mind ; 
 
 The loved and lovely from thy side have vanished, 
 The household links that once to eartli could bind. 
 
 
 i - ■ 
 
 
 ,1 '■■>■■■" 
 
 
 The young companions of those happy hours, 
 Ere from thy spirit hope and reason fled, — 
 
 A few still linger like thee, but more careworn. 
 The many rest beside the quiet dead. 
 
 i 
 
Tin: coiii'SK OK ax agkd maniac. 
 
 187 
 
 ) MANIAC 
 
 And Hiou<,-li, to us, tlic lot how bitter sccmotli, 
 That caused thee, from thy youtli, lilb's paths to tread, 
 
 With placid brow, and stop tliat faltered never. 
 Though joy forever from thy path had fled. 
 
 Was it no blessing to be spared the anguish, 
 That many of earth's weary [)ilgrims know ? 
 
 Tlic cankering care that racks the tortured spirit, 
 The thousand bitter forms of human v,'oe ? 
 
 Hi 
 
 One only grief was thine, one bitter wailing 
 For lum, whose requiem ^vas the bilIov,'"s roar; 
 
 And then, from thy true heart, all crushed and bleeding. 
 Reason departed, — to return no more. 
 
 No more ! no more ! Ah, yes, may we believe not, 
 
 That now thy spirit hails a purer ray ; 
 No longer by the mists of earth enslirouded. 
 
 The darkness from thy soul hath passed away. 
 
 On thee, we trust. Heaven's sunshine now is dawning, 
 And thou the loved one of thy youth hath met, 
 
 AVhere no sad parting shall disturb thy s])irit, 
 Nor light of reason on thy soul sliall set. 
 
 M 
 
 ■ V 
 
 
 
 Ol (• 
 
IRR 
 
 yTOLTAN HAKP. 
 
 TJIM WIFI-:. 
 
 t" 
 
 M*' 
 
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 My licart keeps tiiuo to but one voice, 
 
 I hear its music now; 
 I sec the form of manly <;racc, 
 
 The frank and nohl(> hrow ; 
 Witliin tlic p^arden, h), lie stands, 
 
 To gather for my liair, 
 The openln;,^ hh^ssoms of the rose, 
 
 Tliat scent tlic balmy air. 
 
 :1, |vf . 
 
 •A- 
 
 A warm and generous soul is his, 
 
 A gifted, ardent mind ; 
 A heart to plan, — a skilful hand. 
 
 And feelings, how refined ; 
 His words of gentlest sympathy. 
 
 The monrner loyes to hear ; 
 For smiling Charity attends. 
 
 The friendless poor to cheer. 
 
 
 ■ -.#■;■■ 
 
 My foolish eyes with tears are filled, 
 Earth seems too full of bliss ; 
 
 R'« 
 
Tin: win;. 
 
 189 
 
 I sometimes wonder lleuven can know, 
 
 More happiness than this ; 
 Be checked vain thoughts, a Fatlicr's hand. 
 
 Those precious <,^lfts hestow ; 
 And lh\ aU)nc, can make the cup 
 
 or life, wltli lovo o'erflow. 
 
 M 
 
 Mine is, indeed, a ])loasant home, 
 
 ^^'ith many comforts crowned : 
 A cottage, shaded from the road, 
 
 On gently sloping ground ; 
 Before it smiles, in summer bloom. 
 
 My fondly cherished flowers. 
 That claim my watchful, guardian care. 
 
 At early morning hours. 
 
 And, near at hand, a sheltered lake 
 
 Sends forth its murmurs low. 
 How often, mingling with my dreams, 
 
 I hear its small waves flow ; 
 "While, through an opening in the woods, 
 
 I catch a transient sight 
 Of towering masts, and snowy sails. 
 
 That glisten in the light. 
 
 uv.i 
 
 n 
 
 
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 ',m: 
 
 
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 M^' 
 
 190 
 
 JEOLTAX HAEr. 
 
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 ■ ; ■ '1 
 
 Oh well I know, within each bark, 
 
 Arc forms to some how dear ; 
 For whom is heaved the lon^:injj sii^h. 
 
 And breathed the ardent prayer ; 
 Alas, how many anxious looks 
 
 Will scan the distant main, 
 In search of those, whose presence ne'er 
 
 May gladden home again. 
 
 Some mother's eyes, perhaps, grow dim, 
 
 In watching for her son ; 
 Some sister wakes, from happy dreams, 
 
 To miss the absent one. 
 And oh, not blest like me, perchance, 
 
 Some fond and faithful wife. 
 In cruel fancy, views the wreck. 
 
 Amid the ocean's strife. 
 
 They near me dwell, the friends I prize, 
 
 A few, but kindly band, 
 I joy to meet their smiling looks. 
 
 And clasp each loving hand ; 
 And often, when the storm without. 
 
 Makes all within more bright, 
 
 i i 
 
THE Win:. 
 
 191 
 
 We gather round the social fire, 
 And bless its ruddy light. 
 
 In converse, innocent and gay, 
 
 The happy hours pass on ; 
 Oft varied by the Poet's lay, 
 
 Or sweetly soothing song : 
 And sometimes with the wise wo hold 
 
 Communion, deep and true ; 
 Or, breathless, hear the traveller's tale, 
 
 And feel his fears anew. 
 
 'tfiiil 
 
 'ii;' 
 
 Yet, oh, we would not place our hopes 
 
 Too much on things of earth ; 
 They bear Mortality's broad stamp, 
 
 And fleeting is their worth ; 
 But even the damp, cold dews of death, 
 
 Shall quench not friendship's flame, 
 Amid the joys of Heaven, we trust, 
 
 Each kindred heart to claim. 
 
 
 -: > 
 
 
 H 
 
 . * 
 

 102 
 
 -EOLI.VX ii.viir. 
 
 TO THE M[<]MOKY OF MRS. A. ^y. McL. 
 
 % 
 
 * 
 
 #*■*•■, 
 1 ' 
 
 M?'» :■■:)-.. 
 
 As a familiar star, tliat, for awhile, 
 
 Blesses the Exile's longin*^", tearful eyes, — 
 
 Who, journeying far away, rejoicing grccis 
 Some bright memento of his native skies : 
 
 So thou, dear friend, wert lent, life's paths to cheer. 
 
 Dwelling on earth, — yet of a purer sphere. 
 
 I 
 ■Mi 
 
 4 
 
 Dwelling among us ; yet so gently good. 
 
 With brow, on which heaven's sunshine seemed to rest, 
 With voice of music, whose low, winning words, 
 
 AN^ere ever breathed to counsel and to bless : 
 An angel tarrying in a form of clay — 
 Spirits, like thine, how soon they pass away ! 
 
 .4" ■■ 
 
 Yes, we beheld thy fragile, wasting form, 
 
 Disease wore on with stealthy step and slow ; 
 
 Yet oh, fond hearts with feverish hope still beat, 
 How could they yield thee up, who loved thee so? 
 
 Thougli hope, like lamp amid the midnight's gloom. 
 
 But served to light thy passage to the tomb. 
 
 \K 
 
TO THE MEISlOllY OF MRS. M'L. 
 
 103 
 
 Vainly fond arms arouiKl thy form M'cre clasped, 
 A'ainly arose to Heaven the pleading prayer ; 
 
 They might not stay thy flight, too long exiled, 
 Thy spirit longed the joys of home to share ; 
 
 Yet lingered for awhile, for dearest tics 
 
 Delayed its passage to its native skies. 
 
 For yearned thy soul, as prattling voices fell, 
 
 How tenderly upon a mother's ear ; 
 And oh, for him whose heart Love hound to thine, 
 
 How often gushed the agonizing tear ; 
 Thy parents' smile, thy sisters' fond caress ; 
 Strong were those links of earthly happiness ! 
 
 These, for a moment, chained thy spirit's fli<'-hf, 
 But oh, not longer might they keep thee here ; 
 
 Hope, in the distance, saw her native home, 
 And bright-eyed Faith was ever hovering near, — 
 
 Unfolding to thy view a brigliter land. 
 
 Where thou shalt greet, ere long, the household band. 
 
 "4A\ 
 
 
 ■M'\ 
 
 
 ri 
 
 i I: 
 
 ^N-^i- 
 
 Life passed so gently, they who sadly watched. 
 Could scarcely deem that it, indeed, was death 
 
 13 
 
 
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 A. 
 
1* 
 
 p ■■■■ ^ ^:^ , • 
 
 191 
 
 ^OLTAN IIAHP. 
 
 *#i 
 
 Lilt all, our eyes of clay might not behold, 
 
 Angelic bauds receive thy parting breath ; 
 Dark was the valley to the mourners' sight, 
 To thee, effulgent, with celestial light. 
 
 -!• «-.! 
 
 (-1 
 
 . t. 
 
 Thou, like thy risen Lord, hast soared away, — 
 And we, A\hilc gazing on thine upward track, 
 
 ]]y faith beheld thee enter Paradise, 
 
 Its gates are chased, we may not wish thee back ; 
 
 Then hail, lov'd S})irit, numbered with tlic Blest, 
 
 AVe joy that thou hast entered into rest ! 
 
 
 A 
 
 \4 
 
 %-■ .;■ 
 
Tin: .s.il!iL\TlI, 
 
 195 
 
 If.'. 
 
 THR SABBATir. 
 
 i.ii,il{ 
 
 .Rest for the toil-worn hands, the Sabbath day 
 Appcars, to banish gloomy labor's sway ; 
 To bid the world, awhile, from tumult cease. 
 And noisy strife subdue in gentle peace. 
 
 Rest for the troubled mind, harassed with care, 
 For six days tortured almost to despair ; 
 Let high-born thoughts again resume their power, 
 And bless the calm that waits the Sabbath hour. 
 
 % 
 
 ■J' ; 
 
 
 Rest for the weary heart, by sorrow bowed, 
 That, struggling with temptation's eager crowd. 
 Though concpieror in the fight, now, longing, faint, 
 Hastes to God's temple, there to pour its plaint. 
 
 Chase, hallowed day, with thy all-cheering light. 
 The glittering phantoms that still mock the siglif, 
 Afar be banished earthly hope and fear. 
 And drooping souls let thy blest presence cheer. 
 
 iP i 'i 
 
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 i 
 
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 190 
 
 yEOLTAX HARP. 
 
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 For oh, thou cmhlcm of eternal rest, 
 Thou type of all the Christian holds most hlost ! 
 A scene of ceaseless toil this ^vorld would be. 
 Of deeji, dense gloom, if not made glad by thee. 
 
 ■*. I;;:; 
 
THE IIAIX350W. 
 
 10' 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 " At evcn-tiino it sluill l)e li-lit." 
 
 v'lil 
 
 
 It shall bo light ; nay, doubt it not, 
 Behold the clouds disperse and fly, 
 
 And, mingling with the sunset hues, 
 A gorgeous rainbow spans the sky. 
 
 ■«:!!' 
 
 The howling winds this morning swept 
 O'er fading field, through city street; 
 
 And, copiously, the autumn-showers 
 Upon the stony pavement beat. 
 
 But now the winds have died awav. 
 And holy calmness seems to reign, 
 
 Alike, within the noisy mart. 
 
 And on the green and sloping plain. 
 
 And scarcely shall the rainbow tints 
 Have faded from the glowing sky, 
 
 Than, one by one, will stars peep out. 
 And the bright moon " sail gaily by." 
 
 
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 198 JEOLIAN IIARr. 
 
 Omen of happier days, I liail, 
 
 Sweet Nature, thy reviving smile, 
 
 AVhieii Lids the downcast heart look up, 
 And well miu'ht sorrow's self he2;uilc ! 
 
 
 To earthward l)0\\'cd, Mith folded wings, 
 Hope, drooping, all day long hath been ; 
 
 Faith, faltering in the rugged path. 
 And courage -svith dejected mien. 
 
 r'. '■', 
 
 ■jj, 
 
 liifc's horizon, o'ersprcad M'ith clouds, 
 Dreary and endless seemed to sweep ; 
 
 AVhilc, guardian of the toilsome way, 
 Did care unceasing vigils keep. 
 
 But now my fainting strength revives, 
 For Nature whispers, sweet, to me, 
 
 '• Not always shall the darkness last. 
 Nor thorny path shall endless he. 
 
 W^ 
 
 ^'h 
 
 " But, as succeeds to gloomy morn, 
 A glowing eve, a sunset bright. 
 Life will again be glad to thee, 
 
 At even-time it shall be light. 
 
 »> 
 
THE PARTING OF MAllY OT MODHNA, ETC. 199 
 
 .f^> 
 
 THE PARTING OF MARY* OF IMODFNA WITH 
 
 HER IJROTIIER. 
 
 Mi>' 
 
 4i! 
 
 Brother, I go; my lot is cast 
 
 Beneath a sterner slcy ; 
 The sunny plains of Italy 
 
 No more shall charm my eye ; 
 I leave thee, brother, best-beloved, 
 
 Companion of my heart ; 
 Oh, words are powerless to convey 
 
 My grief, with thee to part. 
 
 i •; 
 
 (''.; 'i 
 
 How has our happy childhood sped. 
 
 Like some bright dream away ; 
 It seems but yesterday we reamed, 
 
 Amid those flowers at play ; 
 It seems but yesterday wc chased 
 
 The gorgeous butterfly. 
 Or stood, with parted lips, to mark 
 
 The glowing sunset sky. 
 
 * Wife of James the Second, King of England, 
 
200 
 
 JEOLIAX IIAIir. 
 
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 1 . 
 
 \ 
 
 Oil, were I but a peasant girl, 
 
 I need not thus depart ; 
 A diadem upon my brow, 
 
 And anguish in my lieart : 
 From homo and friends for ever torn, 
 
 A stranger's bride to be ; 
 "Wliat wonder that these royal robes 
 
 Are mockery to me ! 
 
 ■:% 
 
 It may be, he is good and kind ; 
 
 But once I marked his face, 
 As by the artist's hand portrayed. 
 
 Bereft of youthful grace ; 
 The lofty brow was marked with care. 
 
 The eye had lost its fire : 
 Those lineaments, so cold and stern, 
 
 Could naught but fear inspire. 
 
 
 But wdiat avail my sighs and tears ? 
 
 They tell me, I should be 
 Enchanted at the lofty fate, 
 
 That yields a crown to me : 
 The happiest lady in the land. 
 
 They name me with a smile ; 
 
1 1 
 
 THE rAllTING OF MARY O r MOBKXA, ETC. 201 
 
 ]Uit never lieedhi'.;-, tluit my lie;irt 
 Is brealdiig all the while. 
 
 A Queen 1 \\\ rather Lc to-day 
 
 The lowliest in the land, 
 And earn my bread, Avlth servile toil, 
 
 Than England's crown eomniand. 
 The poorest peasant girl is free, 
 
 V)\\t mine are glittering chains ; 
 For conrtly pomp and pageantry, 
 
 My soul with scorn disdains. 
 
 Forgive me, brother, for tliese words. 
 
 So passionate and weak ; 
 Forgive me, for these gushing tears, 
 
 That anguish sore bespeak : 
 Think of me still at matin chime, 
 
 Or the sweet vesper hour ; 
 Or when, in solitude, you tread 
 
 Our loved Italian bower. 
 
 !*'• 
 
 (■'> 
 
 ■"II 
 
 ' 41' 
 
 ■\ 
 
 
 Dear classic shores, a long adieu, 
 Land of my f'^ther's pride! 
 
 Ah, better far, than thus depart, 
 Had I in childhood died ; 
 
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4 
 
 1 . 
 
 -% 
 
 ^ I':' 
 
 »¥■ 
 
 if. 
 
 202 ^:oLiAN HAur. 
 
 For never moro iny feet shall trend 
 
 Kacli loved, faniiliar spot ; 
 Yet, think not, 'midst the pomp of courts, 
 
 My home shall be forgot. 
 
 And tlien, my childhood's dearest friend, 
 
 How shall I miss thy smile, 
 Thy voice, whose winning music once 
 
 Could all mv 'n'lch heii;uile ; 
 One last embrace, one fond adieu ; 
 
 ]\iy prayer shall Avaftcd be 
 To llim, who marks the sparrow's fall, 
 
 That lie may comfort thee. 
 
 ■# 
 

 DilATlL OF A I11:LAT1VK's ONLY CJIILI). 2()a 
 
 •I 
 
 , II. , 
 
 ON Tin: DEATir or a ri:lativi:'s oxly ciiii,!). 
 
 With tli'- (>arlicst flowers of Sprhiji,^ slio camo, 
 
 To gl.'uldcn youY (|ulet lieurlh ; 
 And like them, licr presence seemed to flln,; 
 
 A cluirm o'er the sombre earth. 
 
 irr 
 
 ■ti 
 
 
 For never were summer skies more bright, 
 Than her tearless orbs of blue ; 
 
 Her cheeks outrivalled the rose's flusli. 
 And her lips the coral's hue. 
 
 And oh, unto fond parental ears, 
 
 Xo sweeter music came ; 
 Than when, in accents of tenderness, 
 
 She gently lisped each name. 
 
 With what jealous care yc daily marked, 
 Your llower more brightly bloom ; 
 
 Nor dreamed that the spoiler, Death, was near, 
 That prepared was her early tomb. 
 
.J'- ■•■-*■ 
 
 '% 
 
 204 
 
 ^OLIAN IIAlir. 
 
 .f 
 
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 i" ^■' 
 
 
 A*it -^r : 
 
 
 
 For with radiant hues was the future decked ; 
 
 And in fancy yo loved to view 
 Your darling, when years but increased each grace, 
 
 And fresli charms on your pathway threw. 
 
 Alas, that the hopes of the heart, so entwined, 
 
 Should be rudely snapt away ; 
 That the idol of many, the loved of all, 
 
 On earth might no longer stay. 
 
 With the earliest flowers of Spring she came, 
 
 And blossomed but one short year ; 
 Ere the Autumn breezes, sighing, breathed 
 
 Their requiem over her bier. 
 
 Too fragile the winter of life to endure. 
 
 With the summer's glory she past ; 
 Like a vision of beauty, she gladden' d our sight, 
 
 Then vanished, too lovely to last. 
 
 #4 
 
 But oh, ye weeping and stricken ones, 
 Mourn not for your faded flower ; 
 
 Too fair for earth, it bloomcth now 
 In an amaranthine bower. 
 
,> 
 
 DEATH OF A TtELATlVE'S ONLY CIITLD. 205 
 
 From tlic cliilling blasts of time secure, 
 From tho tempests of sorrow and care, 
 
 The blossom now opens to clearer light, 
 And inhales a balmier air. 
 
 tk 
 
 'I" Mi, 
 
 " Gone, but not lost," is your cherub child; 
 
 For she bendeth with looks of love. 
 From her mansions bright, your steps to greet, 
 
 To a happier home above. 
 
 
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 ii 
 
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 VI 
 
 20G 
 
 -T:oLrAX II A 11 r. 
 
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 CIUUSniAS ODE. 
 
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 " Glory tj (!inl in tlie liiglR'St, — and on earth, peace, good will toward men.'' 
 
 Look up, O J-larth, and celebrate with joy, 
 
 That haUowcd morn that once, on Shinar's plains, 
 
 Greeted the Shepherds, who in spirit rapt, 
 ]>reathlcss and silent, heard celestial strains. 
 
 -5 ^! 
 
 4''>- 
 
 
 ■ :tP . • *> 
 
 ..A- 
 
 *' ', 
 
 Not heralded hy l^ingly pomp lie came. 
 
 He in whose sight the jewelled crown is dim; 
 
 Nor flaming messenger, in thunder loud, 
 
 Bade nations tremble as they welcomed liim. 
 
 But in the calm and silent midnight air, 
 
 Heaven's chosen minstrelsy poured forth the song, 
 
 " Glory to God, peace and good will toward men," 
 Ye hills and valleys still those notes prolong. 
 
 
 Guilt hid its face ; envy and hatred shrank 
 
 From the bright heralds of the Prince of Peace ; 
 
 "While trembling hearts, too long by sin enthralled. 
 Blest the glad words that told their swift release. 
 
■ \ 
 
 CHRISTMAS ODE. 
 
 207 
 
 II toward men.' 
 
 Nor huslicd tliat song ro-day, tlio' from Ilcavcn s courts 
 No more the whitc-robod messengers appear ; 
 
 But thougli unseen, are ye not hovering round, 
 Bright spirits sent our drooping hearts to cheer ? 
 
 Lingers not Love, a heavcrdy sojourner. 
 
 For ever pointing to its blissful Home ; 
 And Faith and Hope the Pilgrim's footsteps clieck, 
 
 When in sin's flowery paths he fLiin would roam ? 
 
 II 
 
 These echo back the sweet, harmonious song ; 
 
 And many voices catch the joyful strain, — 
 Tlie dwellers in the city's crowded haunts, 
 
 And those who stray in Nature's wide domain. 
 
 i.i 
 
 And shall our lips be silent ? we, for whom 
 The Lord of Glory stooped to guilty earth ? 
 
 While Heaven's glad arches ring, shall we refuse 
 To celebrate the great Lnmanucrs ])irth ? 
 
 No, blest Iledeemer, on this hallowed morn. 
 
 Touch Thou our hearts witli coals of living fire ; 
 
 So shall our lips delight to sing Thy praise, 
 Thy love, our every thought and act inspire. 
 
 
 V-' !■ 
 
t'* 
 
 
 208 
 
 iEOLIAN HARP. 
 
 likOP* :V'-!.7 .V' 
 
 iT if, 
 
 No longer, swept by every passinij^ Lreeze, 
 Our harps in ])laintIvo melodies shall sound ; 
 
 ]3ut, tuned hy joy, sliall wake their liveliest chords, 
 And notes of gladness blend witli awe profound. 
 
 .^, 
 
 
 
 Oh, let our lips assay the song of praise, 
 
 While slowly travelling through the vale of tears ; 
 
 So ^ve, at last, shall join the nobler choir, 
 And swell the anthem through eternal years. 
 
 '*' '#■■* 
 
 .% 
 
 
 m 
 
 
ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 209 
 
 ELKCIAC STANZAS, 
 
 ox THE DEATU OF W. S. B. 
 
 AxD art thou gone, — tlioii ^vllom wc late beheld. 
 In all the freshness of tliino early years ; 
 
 Thy open, sunny hro\y, unmarked by care, 
 
 And thy clear eyes undunmed by gathhing tears 
 
 Gone ! could not Death, the stroke awhile delay, 
 
 Nor summon the beloyed so soon a\yay ! 
 
 .1 
 
 ft 
 
 Ah, little thouglit thy parents, when they bade, 
 In flilt'ring tones, their darling son adieu ; 
 
 Sisters and brothers dreamt not, as they gazed 
 Upon the bark that bore thee from their yie\y ; 
 
 The last farewell was said, — that neyer more 
 
 Thy bounding steps should press thy natiye shore. 
 
 Who, who can paint the bitter jiang that wrung 
 Thy manly heart, when, struggling all in yain. 
 
 To reach thy home, the sad conyiction da^yned, 
 For thee its portals ne'er should ope again ; 
 
 How hard it seemed, beneath a stranger sky. 
 
 Far from the household band, to droop and die ! 
 14 
 
 
 ■ M I 
 
210 
 
 ^OLIAX IIARr. 
 
 ,r- ^--K 
 
 
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 ) 
 
 '•V 
 
 n 
 
 ' :\ ^ 
 
 IM ! ■ * 
 
 Weeps now tliy motlier, for licr son is not ; 
 
 Laments a fatlier for his mucli-lovcd child ; 
 The phiyniatcs of thy boyhood shall recall 
 
 Thy generous deeds, thy accents ever mild ; 
 And while in memory come they back to view, 
 The fount of grief, unchecked, bursts forth anew. 
 
 They mourn, yet wherefore ? Blessed is thy lot, 
 
 So early taken from a world of care ; 
 Xot thine to watch beside the dying couch. 
 
 Where lie the friends thy soul hath held most dear ; 
 Nor shall thou mark youth's glowing visions fade, 
 Love scorned, hopes blighted, gen'rous trust betrayed ; 
 
 :% 
 
 Then rather let the song of praise ascend. 
 
 That thou so soon, heaven's joys art called to share ; 
 
 And let us patiently "our cross sustain," 
 LTntil we too a crown of glory wear ; 
 
 Until we, in our Father's House, shall tell 
 
 Of trials past; till then, farewell, farewell ! 
 
ox THE RE-OT'EXrXd OE 
 
 ciiURru. 
 
 211 
 
 ON THE RE-OPEXrXG OF 
 
 CIILIICII. 
 
 " Be not slotliful, but followers of lliriii, v/lio, tlirouvh failli and iiiUienco, now 
 
 inherit the ifroniises." 
 
 ill.; 
 
 OxcTi more within thy sacred walls T stand. 
 Dear, dear old temple ; where my childish foot 
 First learned to tread with reverential awe. 
 And liallowed recollections, as I gaze, 
 Unhidden throng, and till my eyes witli tear-- ; 
 For here, a mother's gentle hand was wont 
 To lead her children with parental care ; — 
 Thon too, my childhood's dear companion, thou, 
 With whom I took sweet counsel once, when wc 
 Together went up to the house of God. 
 Dear youthful saint, methinks I see thee now 
 Kneeling in meek simplicity heforc thy Lord. 
 ]Methinks I hear thy voice, as, mingling sweet, 
 In songs of worshippers, it swelled on higli. 
 And, musing thus, I for a time forget 
 That Heaven has long ago reclaimed its own. 
 
 Beloved ones, your vacant seats, to me 
 Have a strange eloquence, for they recall 
 
 ;-•' i 
 
212 
 
 -T.OLIAN IIAHr. 
 
 I 
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 '^~ ! 
 
 
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 ^ 
 
 .4 
 
 « 
 
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 ^«'' 
 
 * .V' 
 
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 m 
 
 Your earnest piety, your fervent zeal, 
 Your daily lives of faith, and love, and joraycr. 
 And ye are not alone. From tliis blest place 
 How many souls have winged their flight to ] leaven. 
 The blooming youth, and hoary patriarch, 
 Whose path was as the pathway of the just, tliat shines 
 Bright and more bright unto the perfect day ! 
 These have escaped from earth, and now, with joy, 
 Bask in the sunshine of Immanuers face. 
 But, sainted spirits, do ye ne'er return 
 To visit this dear place, so loved of yore, 
 Made holy by the presence of your God ? 
 May it not be ye hover round to-night 
 Unseen, but joyful witnesses. Unheard, 
 Respond to every sigh from penitential hearts ; 
 AYith whispered words, infusing in the soul 
 Fresh courage for its conflicts and its toils ; 
 Ilepelling Satan's darts, and bidding us. 
 By the blest memory of your happy lives, — 
 By that dread hour of sorrow and of joy, 
 When from your dying eyes, the last fond glance. 
 Weeping survivors caught, and wondering, viewed 
 Your peace untroubled, and unshaken trust, — 
 By all your love, immortal made in Heaven, — 
 
 m 
 
ON Tlii; RE-orE\IXG OF 
 
 ciiuiicir. 213 
 
 To follow on, to souk that gracu (Uvino, 
 By which your tromblhig stops wore Ilouvonward led, 
 That so, whoa fought the Christian's fight, wo may 
 Embrace each other in tiie realms of bliss. 
 
 :A 
 
2H 
 
 AEOLIAN lIAIiP. 
 
 
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 LOiu>, RF.MioriJMR :\ii<:. 
 
 Wji):\ green grows the turf o'er a dear one's head, 
 And I weep in vain for tlie early dead ; 
 "When eh)sed are the eyes that heam with h)vc, 
 And silent the voiee once soft as a dove ; 
 This the prayer of my stricken heart shall be, 
 Jesus, in pity, " llemember me." 
 
 .1^- 
 
 M V ■ "J 
 
 Fif 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ; ■ f 
 
 r 
 
 When the friends of my youth grow strangely cold, 
 And the hand warndy protfer'd relaxes its hold, 
 When I yearn in vain lor the kindly word — 
 Once often spoken, now seldom heard ; 
 How sweet, how consoling the thought shall be, 
 That still my Saviour " llemembers me." 
 
 When the cares of life on my spirit press, 
 And waves of sorrow my soul distress ; 
 Or in hours of joy when my heart beats high, 
 With hopes that perchance are doom'd to die ; 
 In weal or in woe, to thy side, Jjord, I floe. 
 Rejoicing that Jesus " Remembers me." 
 
LORD, RrMrMnm me. 
 
 215 
 
 When my form is Lowed by a w*. ;ht'i; 'i yoatN*, 
 And my forehead no h)np;er unwri^ kled ap ars ; 
 When my footstcj)s falter, my liair turns griiy. 
 And my failin<^ sii^ht tells of swift decay ; 
 As ever, O Lord ! let my comf(n-t be, 
 That Jesus, in Heaven, " ilemenibers me." 
 
 And when pale on a lowly couch I lie, 
 
 Beholding the " King of Terrors" draw nigh; 
 
 Though short grows my breath, and my voice more weak, 
 
 Still of Thy goodness my soul shall speak ; 
 
 And the last words of prayer on my lips shall be, 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour, " llemcmber me." 
 
\4 
 
 itlil 
 
 IT' 
 
 A- 
 
 21G 
 
 uKOLIA.V JIAlir. 
 
 ON SAILING DOWN TUT-: LAIIAVM 
 laVMU. 
 
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 ) 
 
 ':v. ^1 
 
 1 , '• 
 
 i 
 
 A sTiiANGEU to these shores I ciunc, 
 "With scarce a hope, desire, or aim ; 
 No more a stranger, I depart 
 With tearful eyes and saddened heart. 
 Fair river, gliding from my view, 
 Ye green and sloping banks, adieu ! 
 Each wooded cliff, each sunny glade, 
 Each cot emhowered in rural shade ; 
 Ye waving Melds, ye orchards fair, 
 Whose fruits perfume the balmy air. 
 
 m 
 
 r- 
 
 1' 
 
 Yet not with these I mourn to part. 
 Though dear is nature to my heart ; 
 Though every flower and every tree 
 Yields food for happy memory ; 
 And often, midst the scenes of art, 
 And often, in the crowded mart, 
 Shall pictures of the past arise. 
 These waving woods, these genial skies ; 
 
 '■''!•■*. 
 
l^rJ 
 
 SAILINC; DOWN TKK LAILVVK IirVKU. 
 
 217 
 
 And I shall vainly pine to bo 
 Once more, with Nature gaily free, 
 Once more, o'er liill and dale, to rove, 
 Or wander through the moon-lit grovo; 
 Beneath the spreading oak to rest, 
 When by the noontide heat (Oppressed, 
 And ga/e, until the vision tires. 
 On all the soul with rapture lires ; 
 And feel my heart within me swell. 
 And cry, " He doeth all things Avell I " 
 
 But thou hast other charms than these. 
 Oh, land of pleasant memories ! 
 Can 1 forget each kindly heart, 
 From whom, to-day, I mourn to part ; 
 Can I forget each gifted mind, 
 Each soul exalted and refined ; 
 With whom the hours so (quickly fled, 
 Wc scarcely marked how time had sped ? 
 When Nature's charms lent added grace, 
 To friendship's fair and glowing face ; 
 When the frank smile, and kindly word, 
 The soul's best, purest feeling stirred, 
 And, unrestrained by chilling art, 
 
218 
 
 iEOLIAN JIAIir. 
 
 i\.'u,i, • 'i 
 
 ) 
 
 Each heart communed with kindred heart ; 
 
 Together viewed the sunset shies, 
 
 Or the pale moon in ghn'y rise ; 
 
 Marked how tlie solemn woods grew hright, 
 
 Beneath her pure and peerless light ; 
 
 Or paused to watch, reflected clear, 
 
 Her image in the lake appear. 
 
 
 
 '•X 
 
 t'y - 
 
 
 j»i«.»*. 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 Sometimes in silence we pursued 
 
 Our ramhles through each solitude, 
 
 For language seemed too poor and weak, 
 
 Our rapture and delight to speak ; 
 
 Or, lower then our voices f(dl. 
 
 As though afraid to hrcak the spell, 
 
 The charm that reigned o'er all that hour, 
 
 And swayed our soids with magic power. 
 
 These scones are past, though never more 
 
 May I behold thee, much-loved shore : 
 
 Yet still, in fancv, I shall he 
 
 A wanderer again on thee ; 
 
 Shall hear, once more, the welcome true, 
 
 And kindly friendships glad renew. 
 
 ^- 
 
SAlJ.INCi DOWN THE LAIIAYE 1MV..1J. 
 
 219 
 
 r»iit, must it fancy only be, 
 That can restore my friends to me ? 
 All, I will liope, Avc yet may meet, 
 And, even here, each other greet, 
 And our long parting only seem 
 The memory of some sombre dream. 
 From which we, starting, wake at last, 
 Joyful to find the vision past. 
 
 Thus may it be ; dear friends, and true, 
 Once more, I bid a fond adieu ! 
 And pray, that choicest blessings be 
 Tlic lot of those, whose care for me, 
 AVithin my heart shall ever dwell. 
 Till memory falls, — farewell, farewell. 
 
9 >0 
 
 .EOLIAX IIAIIP. 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 "F^ .. 
 
 \ 
 
 ^'A^L- 
 
 
 TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 
 
 " Tliey sin who tell us love can die, 
 
 ***** 
 
 Its holy iliuue for ever burnetii, 
 
 From lleavt'u it came, to Heaven returneth." 
 
 Hast tliou forgotten mo, mother ? Hast thou forgotten 
 
 h- \ 
 
 !? ' \ 
 
 ":il 
 
 Dost thou remember not, in Heaven, the love I bore to 
 
 thee ? 
 Thy tender care, thy thrilling smile, I muse on fondly 
 
 yet. 
 
 And oh, I cannot boar to think that thou dost me for- 
 get. 
 
 I know, surrounded by the blest, that thou art happy 
 now; 
 
 I know a wreath of victory encircles thy glad brow ; 
 
 I joy to think that from eartli's toils forever thou dost 
 rest. 
 
 That care and sorrow cannot find an entrance in thy 
 breast. 
 
TO MY MOTIIETl IN IIEAYEN. 
 
 221 
 
 But is tli( 
 
 of the 
 
 IS tiic memory ol the past to thee but as a dream, 
 That quickly vanishes, before the sun's enlivening 
 
 beam, — 
 The home of which thou wert the light, our happy home 
 
 of yore, 
 Tlie hills whose greenness may not tempt thy feet to 
 
 wander more, 
 The voices 
 
 thy 
 
 'J 
 
 s loviufj; 
 
 smih 
 
 The intercourse of heart with heart, that could life's toils 
 
 beguile ; 
 Oh, tell me, did these memories fade, e'en ,vith thy 
 
 dying breath ? 
 And are the holiest tics of earth dissolved, indeed, by 
 
 death ? 
 
 If this ^^ ere so, from haunts of men far ratlier would I 
 
 dwell 
 In some secluded forest home, or hermit's lonely cell, 
 Than live, by many hearts beloved, and fondly love 
 
 again, 
 Yet weep, in bitterness, to know affection's wealth is 
 
 vain ; 
 
222 
 
 JEOLIAN IIAIir. 
 
 ■I,,. I ' 
 
 
 i' r •« 
 
 -I ' 
 
 ♦ ... ^ 
 
 That those Avhosc words of sym])athy could hope and 
 
 strength impart, 
 On whom, with warm, implicit faith, fondly reposed my 
 
 heart, 
 When passed from earthly "scenes away, cotdd all my 
 
 love forget, 
 And mingling with the hosts ahove, be as we ne'er had 
 
 met. 
 
 J ■ .!• 
 
 ■t 
 
 .4' ''-i- 
 
 I)iit oh, forgive the cruel doubt, scarce breathed ere it 
 
 is fled. 
 The tliouu'ht unworthy of the heart tliat mourns the 
 
 sainted dead. 
 I will not deem that time or death a mother's love can 
 
 chill. 
 Affection's fountain, waked l)y God, pours forth its 
 
 waters still. 
 And oh, methinks that God hath ii'ivcn thv heart's desire 
 
 to thee, 
 The prayer thy dying lips breathed forth, that thou per- 
 mitted be 
 To watch above thy children dear, their waywardness to 
 
 chide. 
 
 i]!^- 
 
 m- 
 
TO MY MOTHER IN HE.IYEX. 
 
 223 
 
 By visions of that liappy land, wlierc thou dost blest 
 abide, 
 
 Life's snares and quicksands safe to guide their wander- 
 ing footsteps through, 
 
 Until, in Heaven, with joy they share a mother's love 
 anew. 
 
224 
 
 iEOLIAJf HAEr. 
 
 i: 
 
 
 n ■'• 
 
 .,>,■ 
 
 ) 
 
 
 -4« 
 
 ''TT IS LTCaiT, MY DATGIITER." 
 
 [Suggested on rcii<llng nil affecting incident of a cliild, belonging 
 to one of tlio niannfaetovies in England, avIio, being aroiiscd 
 by her mother's exdaniation, " Tt is light," gently lifted lier 
 head, and exclaiming, — "// is light, motlier," fell back and 
 expired.] 
 
 " It is light, my daiiglilcr. arouse tlicc quick, 
 
 For the day is just begun. 
 Though many liours must pass before 
 
 Its weary toil is done ; 
 It is light, my daughter. She heeds me not, 
 She dreams, perchance, of some brighter lot. 
 
 .jl. 
 
 
 " For over her pallid features a smile 
 
 Of unearthly beauty plays ; 
 As though her spirit had caught a glimj)se. 
 
 In the future, of happier days ; 
 How bitter, from dreams of bliss, to be 
 Awakened to sad reality. 
 
 M 
 
 " To awaken to labor, unchcercd by love, 
 To meet with harshness and scorn. 
 
 t'.. 
 
li 
 
 IT IS LIGHT, M0T1I1:R. 
 
 225 
 
 I, 
 
 lild, belonging 
 being firouiscd 
 itly lifted her 
 fell back and 
 
 quick. 
 
 To cat thy bread with bitterness 
 
 Is the lot to which thou wast born ; 
 Ah, surely it would not be a sin to crave 
 For thee, my darling, an early grave. 
 
 ^' Fain would I bid thee slumber on. 
 And forget awhile the care. 
 That has left its trace on thy sunny brow, 
 
 And shadowed thy face so fair, — 
 But it may not be; my daughter, arise. 
 For the sun is gilding the eastern skies." 
 
 me not, 
 ;er lot. 
 
 tnpse. 
 
 (( 
 
 Aroused by her call w^as the slumbering child ; 
 
 And unclosing her soft, blue eyes. 
 She lifted them up to her mother's face, 
 
 With a look of glad surprise ; 
 Then, slightly raising her fair young head, 
 I/, is light, my mother," she gently said. 
 
 le 
 
 r'C, 
 
 u 
 
 It is light, my mother," then falling back 
 
 On her pallet hard, she lay 
 With clasped hands, and upturned gaze, 
 
 That heeded not the day ; 
 
 15 
 

 
 
 2'2G 
 
 iEOLIAN HARP. 
 
 i 
 
 For her spirit beheld a brighter light 
 
 Than that which had chased the shadows of night. 
 
 "A 
 
 n,. 
 
 ^• ^ 
 
 »*, . •- 
 
 V 
 
 y^ 
 
 
 
 
 1.. M^.A^ 
 
 Oh, surely unto that gentle heart 
 
 Were glimpses of glory given, 
 Which brighter grew as the toils of earth 
 
 Were exchanged for the bliss of heaven : 
 For commissioned, the angel of death had come. 
 On ^vings of love to convey htr home. 
 
 nv 
 
 % -■' 
 
 % 
 
 I .> ■ ' 
 
 ■1 
 
 " t 
 
 \ 
 
SONG. 
 
 007 
 
 SONG. 
 
 To the tune of " Butial of Sir John Moore." 
 
 WiiEX the gay and the thoiif^^litlcss arc tlironging around, 
 
 And Beauty's cncliantmcnt is near; 
 When eyes, brightly beaming, respond unto thine, 
 
 And voices fall soft on thy car ; 
 In those seasons of mirth, when each rainbow-hucd hour 
 
 Sheds light on the heart, ere it flee ; 
 Oh, tell me if ever, amid the gay throng, 
 
 There comes stealing remembrance of me. 
 
 On some bright summer's day, when all nature seems 
 glad; 
 
 While pacing the sand-beaten shore. 
 Thine eye marks the heave of the billows that late. 
 
 Thy form from my tearful sight bore ; 
 ■VVli_en^far in the distance, gleam faintly the hills, 
 
 Where together we sported in glee, — 
 Ah, with the bright visions of days that are past^ 
 
 Comes there stealing remembrance of me ? 
 
99ft 
 
 4tml md yj 
 
 -a^-OLIAN HATir. 
 
 
 % 
 
 \- 
 
 ''i 
 
 
 When sobcr-cyod twilight licr manllo of dews, 
 On the "wcary eiirth softly bestows ; 
 / When leaden care flies, and the aii^'(d of peace 
 
 Sings the tunnoils of life to repose; 
 \ Then, if through thy cascancnt the evening-star beam, 
 Perchance it may whisper to tliec, 
 Of one who afar is behcdding its light, 
 Then will steal the remembrance of me. 
 
 ^•i 
 
 A- 
 
 And oh, shoidd thy path be enshrouded with gloom, 
 
 And the joys that have cheered thee depart, 
 Forget not that I in thy sorrows partake. 
 
 That still dearer art thou to this heart ; 
 Though vainly I pine for the well-known voice, 
 
 Though banished thy footstep may be, 
 What a balm does the hojDe tqjny spirit afford. 
 
 That thy thoughtsj;onictinics wander Jo_ me. 
 
 #■ - 
 
 
TIIK S.VVA(ii: S IXTKlUKXiATlON. 
 
 0>U) 
 
 A« M 1/ 
 
 r beam, 
 
 THE SAVACiE'S INTKRROGATIOX. 
 
 ;-loom, 
 
 " Wn.VT brought thco horc," the savage cried, 
 With aspect iiercc and utterance rude. 
 And sternly eyed the Man of (jod, 
 
 "Who, calm, unmoved, before him stood ; 
 " Why came ye here, unarmed and weak ? 
 Tell mc what boon from us you seek?" 
 
 " I nothing ask," and soft and low, 
 
 Fell those clear tones on savage ear ; 
 The spear dropped from the nplifted hand. 
 As strangely moved, he paused to hear ; 
 "• To tell of Jesus' love I came. 
 To distant climes to bear his name." 
 
 " Nay, nay," and sterner than before 
 
 The warrior spake, resumed his spear ; 
 
 '' Your country small, your people great. 
 You come our wide domains to share ; 
 
•1. 
 
 "t 
 
 \. ■ 
 
 230 
 
 -fliOLIAN IIAlir. 
 
 And horo will soon your warriors stand. 
 And drive ns from our native land." 
 
 " Xo, Lrotlicr, no," ho mild replied, 
 " Not yours, but you, I seek alone ; 
 Salvation is tlic news I bring. 
 
 The love that did for sin atone, 
 To teach you how that washed, forgiven, 
 Yc all may seek, and enter, Heaven." 
 
 1^ 
 
 ,j 
 
 
 (( 
 
 Light o'er the swarthy features stole, 
 And milder grew the savage voice : 
 Strange, wondrous tidings these," he said, 
 " They make my inmost heart rejoice ; 
 But who, this message to proclaim, 
 Hath sent you, quickly speak his name? " 
 
 
 *' The Lord, the great and mighty God, 
 
 Creator of all worlds alone ; 
 Yet stooped He to our guilty earth, 
 
 That wc might share His glorious throne : 
 * Go preach my Word,' was His command. 
 
 And thus I left my native land." 
 
Tirr, ravaok's txtkhuogatiox. 
 
 " But how lonj,' since lie bade you come? 
 Such l)lissful news shouhl quickly fly ; " 
 The Missionary paused, his lips 
 
 Couhl scarcely frame a meet reply; 
 At length he answered, sad and low, 
 *' Some eighteen luindred years ago." 
 
 Forth flashed the fire from savage eyes, 
 As, in a thunder tone, he cried, 
 " Why, years ago, came you not here, 
 Ere millions of our people died ? 
 My parents, brethren, kindred dear, 
 Not one, this joyful news may hear?" 
 
 "What wonder, then, that INIan of Cod, 
 Slowly and sadly turned away ; 
 
 He thought of home, of native land. 
 Of those, immersed in pleasures gay, 
 
 Wlio, reckless of their Lord's command, 
 
 Wasted His gifts with lavish hand. 
 
 201 
 
 The pomp, the pageantry and pride, 
 The marble domes, the rich array ; 
 
<-i.. 
 
 i ;•' 
 
 . ^i 
 
 .. ^ 
 
 ' ' 1 
 
 1 
 
 r ' 
 
 
 %:' 
 
 I't 
 
 232 ^OLIAN HARP. 
 
 Wealth lavisliod on some glittering gem, 
 
 Scarce gained, ere idly cast away ; 
 While, from far distant lands, the cry 
 Of dying millions pierced the sky. 
 
 Oh, Christian, blush, and shrink to liear, 
 Thy languid zeal the savage chide ; 
 
 And bid thy soul with pity yearn. 
 
 O'er those for whom the Saviour died ; 
 
 Then, with a willing heart and hand. 
 
 Go spread His Word in every land. 
 
 ' y'^ ■■■: -■ 
 
 rl 
 
 
 fl • .,:. 
 
 .-p 
 
 ! 
 r 
 
 ..■ '1 
 
 t 
 
A SONG OF TIIANKSGIYING. 
 
 233 
 
 A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 
 
 COMPOSED ON A REVIEW OF TUE PAST. 
 
 " Hitherto h;itli the Lord lieliJCd us,"— 1 Sam. vii. 12. 
 
 " Anil he led thein forth by a ri;,'ht way, tliat they miglit go to a city of 
 liubitatiou." — Psalms, cvii. 7. 
 
 I STAND upon a mountain height to-day, 
 And with a searching- glance the past sur\ cy ; 
 The past, that stretches back to chihlliood's hours. 
 Its sunny spots, its gardens gay with flowers ! 
 Oh, days of innocence and calm delight. 
 When peaceful slumbers blest each blissful niglit ; 
 When tears fell only as the sparkling dew, 
 That bids each drooping plant revive anew ; 
 And Hope walked gaily with me, hand in hand, 
 While airy castles sprang at her command. 
 Your reign is past, your blest enchantment o'er. 
 Earth is to me a Paradise no more. 
 I mark her beauties with a chastened smile, 
 They still have power from sadness to beguile ; 
 

 234 
 
 ^OLIAN IIAUr. 
 
 ^' 
 
 \ 
 
 
 •i^ 
 
 \ 
 
 «** • . . 
 
 
 But, like the haze that steals o'er autumn skies, 
 Obscures their brightness but a charm supplies, 
 Lending to every scene a dreamy grace. 
 While yet each object we distinctly trace; 
 So early grief hath but obscured the rays 
 That dazzled, with their brightness, vanished days ; 
 The varied charms of earth, and sea, and sky, 
 Now raise my thoughts to Ilim wlio dwells on high 
 And, for the noisy joy that sjnirned control. 
 There reigns a hallowed peace within the soul. 
 
 D" 5 
 
 .^■•\ 
 
 U^ ' 
 
 f > 
 
 *'. 
 
 ^%. 
 
 ^ 
 
 s 
 
 Oh, Thou, whose goodness I delight to trace, 
 In the vast works of nature and of grace ; 
 Whose hand hath gently led me to this day. 
 Through many a devious wild and weary way ; 
 Guide of my childhood. Thou art still the same. 
 As when my childish voice first breathed Thy name ; 
 Touch Thou my lips, I pray, with hallowed fire ; 
 Teach me to tune aright my fitful lyre. 
 Earth's welkin then with joyful songs shall ring, 
 And Heaven shall list the praises of her King. 
 
 Again, as on the past I turn my eyes. 
 How strange, how varied are the scenes that rise ; 
 
A SONG OF TIIANKSGIYIXG. 
 
 
 ;s, 
 
 days ; 
 
 )n liigli ; 
 
 1. 
 
 lCC, 
 
 y; 
 
 ime, 
 
 y name ; 
 
 fire ; 
 
 ring, 
 
 1"". 
 
 I 
 
 t rise : 
 
 There, for awhile I roamed in pleasant bowers. 
 
 In friendship blest, how sped the happy hours. 
 
 Each green and flowery path beguiled my feet, 
 
 While smiling Hope, in many an accent sweet, 
 
 Told of the joys that were for mo in store, 
 
 Surpassing all that I had known before. 
 
 But, ah, I found her flattering words were vain, 
 
 For that which promised pleasure, gave but pain ; 
 
 Hugged and steep became the dreary way. 
 
 And thorns sprang up and choked the verdure gay ; 
 
 Some cherished forms that ever by my side, 
 
 In weal or woe, did faithfully abide ; 
 
 I marked them droop and sicken day by day, 
 
 And watched, with beating heart, each flickering ra} , 
 
 That seemed to promise health's returning glow. 
 
 Until the Spoiler laid the loved ones low. 
 
 Ah, then the path was watered with my tears, 
 
 I felt at once the ills of riper years : 
 
 My heart grew heavy and my step less light, 
 
 And day seemed shaded by the gloom of night ; 
 
 But Thou didst not forsake me : Thou, whose love 
 
 Taught me to seek enduring joys above; 
 
 Showed me that earth, though but a nigged road, 
 
 AYas yet the way that led to thine abode. 
 

 236 
 
 JEOHAN IIAIir. 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 VI , i 
 
 .•H 
 
 ".■■f 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 . i^'' ■ 
 
 r/' 
 
 »S 
 
 ?-■ ^ 
 
 l:' 
 
 1 sipped from fountains of immortal light, 
 
 And straight new beauties charmed my dazzled sight ; 
 
 Hope still stood by me, but her smile subdued. 
 
 Told of a heart, at last, by grace renewed ; 
 
 And Faith, "with many a sweet and cheering strain. 
 
 Beguiled the pilgrimage of half its pain. 
 
 And now, to-day, as on this mount I stand, 
 
 And mark how gently Thy protecting hand 
 
 Hath led me on, from childhood's thoughtless years. 
 
 Cheered my sad heart, and wiped away my tears ; 
 
 From snares and quicksands, often, set jne free. 
 
 And bid me nothing fear, but follow Thee : — 
 
 I would, this day, with grateful heart, upraise 
 
 A monument, recording here thy praise ; 
 
 But oh. Archangel's loftiest song could ne'er 
 
 Praise Thee enough, for love bejond compare. 
 
 Then what am I, or what my feeble strain ; 
 
 But, if the poorest offering be not vain, 
 
 When prompted by a heart, whose one desire 
 
 Is, that Thyself my song of praise inspire ; 
 
 For mercies past, my grateful thanks I pour, 
 
 For mercies Thou hast yet for me in store ; 
 
 For all the joys that make my pathway bright, 
 
 Days of contentment, slumbers calm and light ; 
 
A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 
 
 
 For hours that s(3em a foretaste of tlio joy 
 I shall possess, in Heaven, wilhout alloy ; 
 For kindred hearts, that tarry for a\vlnh% 
 And sweet communion doth our way heguilo ; 
 For kindly words, and loving smiles, that shed 
 A holy charm where'er my footsteps tread ; 
 For all the joys of life, hut more for grace, 
 That hath provided still a resting place, 
 Where the worn pilgrim shall at last repose. 
 And find the bliss that Heaven alone hestows.