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THE 
 
 iBAWHiis m mA®&m^% 
 
 SECOJ\rD EDJTJOJ^-^EJVLJSGEJD.' 
 
 •WtTK 
 
 OTTIEIL POEMS. 
 
 Where the sun travels low in his chariot of light; 
 And the stars and the hills are together at night. 
 
 BY JOHN NEAL. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY N. G. MAXWELL. 
 
 B. EDSS, FBIITTSB. 
 
 1819. 
 
 .M 
 
 sl \\n 
 
 (•:-L<fe':**- ♦a*iJie*^*j 
 
 ..;j?^«*r-^., 
 
r 
 
 fm^m 
 
 •* 
 
 % 
 
 BE IT nEMEMBERED TK 
 
 - ^, PWI-IP MOORE, 
 
 
r: 
 
 •'"'F. in the for- 
 e UnJted Suite, 
 
 lirtrHhathde. 
 't; njfht whereof 
 % to wiw- 
 
 ^'' with other 
 
 DISlDHd^ii^iDSI, 
 
 ted Statei,eii. 
 ■n^theeoiries 
 » inch ooiiiet 
 entitled "An 
 J«»««inei4t of 
 »» to the au- 
 'henein men. 
 
 ORE, 
 
 fMarylara, 
 
 'PERMIT me, my earliest and best friend, to offer 
 you this small acknowledgment of my indebtedness 
 not merely with feelings of affection, gratitude, u,ui 
 friendship, but of veneration. 
 
 Your's,, indeed, 
 
 Jiev. JOHN PIERPONT, 
 
 Pofitor of HoUh-street Church, Boston. 
 
 i^-il 
 
> 
 
 I) 
 
ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 To ttie Second EAitioii. 
 
 THIS volume conUins several small poems, entire- 
 ly new—one larger, of a character peculiar to itself:— 
 part of another, which was begun, as introductory to a 
 regular epick, and abandoned, perhaps forever, from a 
 dread of its interference with numerous and indispensa- 
 ble obligations:— It contains, moreover, enlarged and 
 corrected copies of Niagara, Gomau, and a few lighter 
 pieces, that have already been before the publick in 
 different shapes. 
 
 1 
 
 ■ ■ . »•■.-» 
 

 
 ;j 
 
 'ft. 
 
TO THE BEJiDER, 
 
 IT is customary, after passing the ordeal of criti- 
 cism— no matter how, in the second edition of any book, 
 to make a few civil speeches to the publick. I like the 
 custom—and shall avail myself of it. It will give me an 
 opportunity of telling a long, and I have the conscience 
 to believe, a tolerably interesting story, in a manner, the 
 least embarrassing of any to the modesty of an author. 
 
 That I should have an opportunity to publish a se- 
 cond edition of my mutilated poems— JViog-a'-o and Go!- 
 dau, is a subject of considerable interest to me,— I will 
 not deny it,— of more interest probably, than I shall 
 ever again experience for its iate— be that fate what it 
 may. I speak as I feel— I care but little, very little, 
 whether it overreach a third editipn, but I will not con- 
 ceal, that I have waited in almost feverish anxiety for a 
 decent excuse to publish a second:— by a second, I do 
 not mean such second editions as we sometimes see, 
 struck offsimuhaneously with the first,*— correspond- 
 
 • Tliere is a ridiculous story on this subject, which 
 I must tell— not out of malice to any human being—but 
 because I have some reason to believe it. One of our 
 greatest booksellers, and, by the by, no ordinary wri- 
 ter, having published a book, which— some how or 
 other— reached the tenth or twentieth edition— in his 
 A2 
 

 • •• ^ • 
 
 viu 
 
 ed~and follovnns' the first. ^^^«ed--correct. 
 
 These wore mv rcison«! tk /. 
 
 ffraphical, however- thn„„-, • ^"""-"^h-efly tjrpo. 
 
 nuscript for the prl 1' t"^ '"''; '" »P^'"g '"y «... 
 
 whim seized me the^„ !•. ' ^^'"<:''» the 
 
 -.e about a3„u;etsTrr "' '«"'™^"-' 
 
 -.ethe. i'.a-e..herel:lt^,:;ltoV"'"'^'' 
 ■•"■ opportunity to do ,„v..if a„d 1 ™P»''"'=« ft" 
 Affain -I wanted to ded 1 e1.2 TV^'"^' 
 
 fi«t, though a io„» a„r *" ""« »"" -i^e « 
 
 J-medit^ve :C"~.''^^»*P-"'"- 
 ^ -- ^ther apprCens Lrt^-f 7'"^™'"'' ^''""'^ 
 
 '"volvehis reputation at aS in Tftte ""!■' ""'' '" 
 *«"a:h the book ha, parsed fte Itt ^l t"T ™''' 
 
 ven that, for l„," , "'f '^ '='^'"'"' ^" ' ^ank he., 
 
 W forbearance 'nourt t„'° "'"!\'"'"=^"°"'~"'« ' 
 
 P"Wiok,b,foreIhrX:h - ''"™" """= 
 
 by a deCar,,™ of ^^fte " ^''^^cterof auch aman, 
 
 i-een unfavourable, with tl.,!!!^''. If "'at decision had 
 . with the countenance of such a poet 
 
 edition:- the books were sca,v i T~"'"' "«= ♦«>'«'> 
 fet edition arrived! The wror. s ^ n""?''"' *''^'' the 
 «l"ppcd Cist. ' ^""^^ '^"ndie, it appears, was 
 

 5 table 01' er- 
 JQ. — correct- 
 
 Ets crowded 
 Wefly typo. 
 '^^ole lines 
 •ng" my ma- 
 :ess of con- 
 never the 
 *vagancies 
 ' blunders 
 itience for 
 ustice. 
 rpont; au- 
 t done at 
 >vild have 
 
 because 
 
 felt un- 
 nent, to 
 en now, 
 als, that 
 nk heC" 
 -that I 
 
 of the 
 a man, 
 )n had 
 a poet 
 
 fourth 
 !n the 
 SjWas 
 
 in my favour, I should never have Torgiveh myself or 
 the world. 
 
 It was not dedicated to him, at first, for another rea- 
 son; a trifling one, I grant, but entitled to some consi- 
 deration. Like every young author, who fancies him- 
 self a genius, and where is the author, young or old, 
 that does not?-I felt inclined to be tried exclusively 
 upon my own merits. But that, I have since found, is 
 impossible. A book cannot be judged without a trial. 
 It can hav.i no trial, unless it be read. And who will 
 read a nameless productionr~a poem too, of aU things 
 on earth! to which ^nd for which, a name is eveiy thing 
 For example, how many volumes of spurious trash h?.ve 
 been sold under great names; and how many valuable 
 books have re-appeared from their obscurity, after a 
 laps^ of booksellers' ages, consecrated and gUttering 
 with the name of some au Jxor, whom it has just become 
 fashionable to admire? How many others, at this mo- 
 ment, are awaiting a similai call to a similar resurrec 
 tion? Every bookstore has within it some unknown au- 
 thor, who is sUently, but surely, working himself upward 
 to tile elevation, for which he was created. 
 
 1 do not complain of this, I .should be ungrateful if 
 I did. It is in the nature of things^ it must exist every- 
 where; and it woiUd continue to exist in America long 
 after it had ceased^if it were possible for it to cease- 
 m every other country. We have too little national 
 pride; too litUe of that lofty vanity which rivets the 
 heart of an Englishman, or Frenchman, upon the pro- 
 ductions of his own country. For myself, I do confess, 
 hat I should not bo veiy forward to encounter a vo- 
 A3 
 
 I. 
 
 ^ 
 

 ■i 
 
 / I 
 
 I * 
 
 ii 1 
 
 'd 
 
 pages, like this, without some resnppt»Mo 
 and if. w„„M „„, , a„ „„. M let To- 
 others m this ».oHd, that would "*"^ 
 
 other, under a s lent nretence nf »,■ ■ 
 
 -•eproach, that -two rfa trade 5 * ""''^ "" '"'' 
 
 trade can never aoTP^." k.,* 
 
 so thr h- ^ """^""^ ^^^'^ balanced. At least. 
 
 • -.Che ^ea«,u.anc.rB„rr/reTh:j:^ 
 
 havfdor -t .To^Z " ''"'^' ""'-'^ "-- ""^-^ 
 Another, and a most important cause of my desi,* 
 
 tost. I has been un.versally, indignantly, and I must- 
 «"»• I <"" ashamed of it: I „^ ashamed of i» from the 
 e'terwte're .Tad™:? "' ''"-'^ -— - 
 
 c~es,rhrm:ht-rCd^:'ti:::- 
 
 'i 
 
 u 
 
 ^ 
 
 .4 
 
 fr^ ; 
 
 B'i? 
 
 '. i 
 
 P 
 
 
 1 ^ 
 
i" two hundffed 
 ble guarantee: 
 ere are many 
 
 it, at/w, ttt 
 ibjecting my. 
 Lietish, dandy- 
 nd Hunt, whtf 
 tions at each 
 away the old 
 ' agree;" but 
 ulating- cour- 
 by an inter- 
 :hes— to see 
 ^eatest poet iti 
 ^' At leastj- 
 ■ no inclina- 
 ya easier i'of 
 ve changed 
 nd shall not 
 ause others 
 
 " my desire 
 'age of the 
 and I must 
 2 matter i» 
 , from the 
 sen much 
 inder cir- 
 lis place,* 
 
 ■a of them = 
 ompleted? ' 
 
 1 
 
 —I abandoned my first purpose, which was to print . 
 it with a modest title, under a fictitious name; and 
 adopted Uie rascally burlesque, which now disgraces 
 tie volume. It was severely censured when I began 
 to bluah for it; but then I had too much obstinacy to 
 acknowledge my folly, or to atone for it. 
 
 I have been baited too, for disingenuousness, as 
 others have chosen to callit-but, as it really is. for 
 falsehood-lying-in the prcface.-I deserved it. I 
 did wrong. Yet, as it was anonymous, mostly true, 
 and, as I then thought, though I now think differently, 
 imocS, because not maUcious, my conscience did not 
 reproach me-or I would have burnt the boob, and the 
 
 in secresv. I had good reason to believe that nobody 
 knew of it. It was to have appeared, as I have alrea- 
 ^V said, under an assumed name. One evemng-in a 
 . literary club-a friend of mine palled otit a sheet, pur- 
 porting to be poetry-'twas the Battle of ^^a^-ff-'-T 
 Ft was^n impe^rfect proof-and the form was folded 
 wrong-the beginning of the third canto too, which 
 has been so praised! He wanted my opinion of it. I- 
 Of course-pr»ised it. Some agreed with me. One 
 percon half suspected me-the others did not. One 
 declared it to be «o awash of magnificence! &c. > And 
 in that way, I was roasted, in a manner perfecUy dehght- 
 ful to an author, for about half an hour. After that- 
 I knew the only way to protect the poem from the con- 
 sequences of this precipitate judgment-was to ac- 
 knowledge it, so far as that these genUemen should. 
 • know thi author-while the world would not. 1 or 
 that reason, I printed it under a «clubicula;J name, 
 which had been mischievously assigned me The mot- 
 to was chosen in the same spirit The couphng of "stars 
 and rainbows" appeared too fair ^jnf ^ ^^^''/^^f f""* 
 to escape it, and therefore, I thought it best to set it at 
 
 defiance. 
 
 A4 
 
 MfcMM 
 

 |y>: f 
 
 4 
 
 xii . 
 hand that wroto Jf ♦ 
 
 P-nction, with .he hope ,h h! 7"^"'' "^ ""^ »n,. 
 
 -Wte, at the bottom oVtC'ttri' '" ""* ^-^ 
 J-e»pomi6|e for its truth "''''>'• h"" myself 
 
 'e-.!:r-r:r^rh"r^-'"-^<'-- 
 
 te'feinthelasteantoisfaithfuU * ' '''"^ "■"'-«"« 
 «<> 'he Io„g.talt of our Ctlm' T"™''"' "«'"^"g 
 ™y= and, a, I have kelV^^''^''" """=-^-'" '"' 
 P"en,,ofa„ event, within arm^. f"°* 'V'-ke a 
 The question was sh,, "^^^-f o^eve^^o,,. 
 
 'he sceneo-, or only versiff ,1 / """^"^ *^'»"« «> 
 Mon reti^s, I ehoae ,h fl ""^"'^' """^ -<• '■at. ; 
 because, as yet, we have no i!!'-""" '"'' "•" "an,es 
 
 -*:"•"■"- give dig„:n::r:r'''" ""^-h. 
 
 It IS very possible anrttfc„ ^^ ' '^""■ 
 y»t I would throw byX'^fr^^^'d-tapoIogize, ' 
 *-*^, (because I Sr^^^^ZT ''"""^^' ''»' 
 apologizingandsi„„i„„)_fj,"" ''™<"" "> keep on - 
 «;"^me and uninteresUn ' oa" " "" ™^ •"= ^'T ' 
 «e about the number, orU*!" T' "'"' "^-^ «^ 
 "hioh I ... ostentatiously eXK,""^ "'''"'^■" 
 tlus, and an, q„ite wear/o, s^l I'l'':'^' ' "o "•" "^'ieve 
 and custon., what I do not bThl^' ""^^ "'" "'"^H't, 
 'eeapi.uia.ion. The reas„' , r!.-,' """ ""«■"- .h; 
 «'h; but , have a tale tTtT „ "' ' ""'^ ""^ "one 
 ''ftf-' of al, themes .oal ll "■•"'"■' '"^--tde- 
 .other, may think of i, ij ,"""•' »"""=h, whatever 
 
 '"-- •""■^--hefotro:";!---: 
 
Xlll 
 
 a few moments; ifUe complies, it will be for his advan- 
 tage, I trust; and if he will „ot, he has only to shut up 
 the book; for he can do as he pleases about readin. it 
 It ,s not so with me. , am under the necessity of^in^ 
 ^t. There IS very little of free agency in this part of my 
 busmess. There is a story connected with this poem^ 
 r have promised to tell it-and I will tell it, whateve; 
 be the consequences. "-iievei 
 
 But first it may be well enough to give a sort of 
 
 K,graphicalsketch-aparentage->birth,L. 8cc. of the 
 book, aocordmg to Uie practice of most people about to 
 
 cknowledge their bantlings_or .^as the French dll" 
 dlegxtimates-theirye,,.: cFdpHt* I shall do this-and 
 as I think from a good motive. Perhaps I am mistaken 
 --It may be nothing but vanity: and I dare say it is, al- 
 
 . hnic ,t ,s; because I should call it vanity in another 
 at him make ever so many protestations to the contm y. 
 
 ses as led Rousseau into areiteration ofhis sins, unde 
 pretenceof confessingthem; and yet I do not despair- ' 
 convincing him; by my manner, for I shall make ^ 
 more professions on the subject, that I am actuated by ' 
 
 :o:fe!:i:r^^'^"'^"'^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 I wish it were possible that my readers could forget 
 tor a moment, that the author is addressing them it 
 
 ance of his reflections. But that is impossible. I Lve 
 
 * 
 
 * Lady iMorgan., 
 
 
~_:_««>«»..*5afci 
 
 i 
 
 ' XIV 
 
 t^ien , oiUy one favour to ask-.wli Ar, f I 
 
 sot;«j« * ^"^'"—^at he would first K* 
 
 so kind as to assure himself that it i, egotism iTu 
 first ask himself if ♦»,» u '=«^o«sin. Let hini 
 
 sur^ewouIdZlbl ,U''''":''°" "''"'"^'"» ««- 
 
 would h. . •'^'" *""■ »»*"■' Mid if it 
 
 would-he 19 welcome to rail it eeoU™ ,, • j 
 
 ffmce to be accused of maHn, f """0<1«- 
 
 thoush ,„„elves 1 thel"4rofT "'"'"'«"-'' 
 
 such i, my doctrine, and if itwo„,d 1 h t'* '*'"' 
 
 oiousin a„oU,er. wh,,the„ he i "ll":: r'"'^' 
 
 ™y vanity, the- poem, and whoerrTi . '"^' 
 
 pleaaes-ifsuchh-h-. °. '"•"'« ""kI whatever he 
 
 ■ from hiJrop'm"''":^"'""'"''*''" -''»■''«« 
 
 To make aloLatol^t"'*: »«■■»'»' hypocriay. 
 the hope of beingSo „^' ' ""^""""'■^ » '^' 
 ed with this itch fortfj^" "'■'r *° *""'■''"* '*«'=«■ 
 «ay-My Doem h ^- "»"« P««=«d method!- 
 
 intedout. SrwZm'rf ''*""'"'« """ 
 
 <'««»yyouwiui.„Imi^,r "*'""*"• '""^ • 
 
 •eree with one A<,i/of mv!!.- '"^^'" '"> '^ y™ 
 
 womdnotgivesiin^L., t '*'^— '^"f' honestly, i 
 
 -ered^n'erl onr"""^ OamneA-provided it 
 
 other. AwS ° ' '*'°^''°"'""'"'''"«he 
 °* "^'"^ '»«»' «ver was UMverpally, .»d 
 
XV 
 
 sincerely, »nd rationally admired. If it had any genius, 
 it must be eccentrick, and must find enemies, of course. 
 The examples of Homer and Virgil are nothing to the 
 point. Not one in a thousand of those, who affect to be 
 transported out of their senses at the mention of their 
 names, has ever read either— even in the translation. 
 What then can they understand of the subject.' It is all 
 moonshine; their very unardmty proves that they speak 
 without judgment or understanding. It is impossible 
 for many persons to agree on a subject that they undei^- 
 stand. It is impossible for men of judgijient to have the 
 same opinions on any subject of mere taste; therefore, it 
 is impossible, because all mankind are unanimous in their 
 admiration of Virgil and Homer— that they should un- 
 flerstand them; or indeed, have any opinions at all upon 
 the subject. In truth, such popularity is always dis- 
 graceful. There are persons, whose approbation would 
 be, and ought to be, death to a poet. 
 
 But the fact is, we have inherited the prejudices, 
 
 with the property of our forefathers. All our opinions 
 
 so unanimous— and so inflexible, of the Greeks and Ro- 
 mans, can be traced through a long course of tyranny, 
 during which, this veneration has been whipped into us 
 at school; and laughed, or declaimed, or talked into us, 
 during the remainder of our lives; up to the time, when 
 Rome overran tlie world with her armies and criticisms. 
 Tliis uniform extravagance and enthusiasm for 
 
 the ancient classicks, is not the result of judgment 
 
 reasoning, or conviction; but of tyranny, conquest, 
 afld education. For example; there are only two poets, 
 whom the world are imanimoiisin admiring— Homer and 
 
 m 
 
 mtut" 
 
r 
 
 
 .**(, ■ 
 
 
 k 
 
 ' 1 
 
 .•<t 
 
 ivl 
 
 country, the M,l.o„ rf E„gl,„d, .„d t«so of Italv 
 
 .mage of God Almighty had degenerated in the coun 
 poems have ever been „„iv„alh, admired, all other 
 But he was wromr Poem« oo ^neid. 
 
 been produced, but t L^ a^L XTh" ^'"'"' "'"= 
 unlike eaoh other. Arfos^: t^Zl "1 ' "" 
 imagination than Homer and Vir^H TT """^ 
 
 -er ellUd T"^:."'"' ^''="''«'^-«'« "either 
 
 H. tharSer'„:r:,^:cr^tr^'•"'^"' 
 orHome;r:~i;:;:rnS,t^^^^^ 
 
 -and outrageous plagiarism, (sometimes o ."- 
 
 lowed an,l .„K 1 . : ' ' '"' '* oonsecrated-hal- 
 
 "■ B'".'>"»"tl,e measure of inteUoct. and eh.. 
 
 # 
 
 ■ao;™ij:,:sti*a°-i~;l^^--'p»«o,,,ariror. , 
 
XVll 
 
 racter; the vices and virtues of both, are always in the 
 same proportion. It is true, by the by, that ! am no 
 Greek scholar. I cannot read Homer in the original; 
 and if I could, it is probable that a translator, who has 
 spent whole years in studying him, would render him 
 more lauthfully and vigorously than any mere reader 
 could— but I have read him in translations; one by 
 Pope, who, they say, is a poet; and one by Cowper, 
 whom I know to be one. By these translations, there- 
 fore, I shall take the liberty to judge him. The true 
 reason then, of this universal suffrage, is this. The most 
 distinguished Romans adopted the opinions, with the 
 language of Greece. And we have worn the opi- 
 nions of her criticism on all subjects — as we have worn 
 her chains— thfe trappings of our subjection. Had 
 Milton been a Greek, or Tasso a Roman; had Homex 
 been an EngUshman, and Virgil an Italian; the repu- 
 tation of each would have been entirely different from 
 what it now is. The whole world would have worship- 
 ped and trembled at^ the name oi* Milton and T<asso: 
 vhile England would have clung in solitude to her Ho- 
 mer: and the sepulchre of Virgil would have been con- 
 secrated to the adoration of Italy alone. 
 
 But to return— on such themes my feelings are un- 
 governable; and I must be pardoned, if they some- 
 times hurry me away from the subject.— All I ask then 
 —speaking of my book — is to have it read. Praise it, 
 or damn it, as you please. Judge as you please of it — 
 for yourselves; say what you please of it, and do what 
 you please with it. I have no disposition to avert your 
 severity. I shall frequently deserve it; and I shall likh 
 
 if* 
 
 fn 
 
^mc 
 
 ( 
 
 I 
 
 7 
 
 xviii 
 
 you the better for ejpreMin, it_bu. rf„ ■. ,.^ 
 P'-mp, and to the point D„„., f „ '''' " ''''"' "»"' 
 
 ever others may say of it V ^' ^°" *' »''"'• 
 »elve.. , know its fcnit J"" "" '° •'""''f^ •"<" ^O'"- 
 P''"'- It ha, „o ca?rL!^ ^-i '"""""^"''le. and 
 
 -nnot htaeCC ',7"' ™'«"=- S"ch as .you 
 
 «onsense, one or the other if . outrageous 
 
 ■"edium. Ofcour,e,ify„"';'r =• """^^ " "" 
 
 "-i'-in you. you m„; eXer ^ ru/r,"''""''-^ 
 
 heart and exclaim_..weU i„ .7. 7 . ™ ''""^ 
 
 '•po*ry,» orvou Z.. ^ "^ '^ '*» f"""'. it 
 
 a/s'"o;:^r:''7;~:::"\'-"''''"«-oe„„ho. 
 
 for himself, w ZZlT / '"'■^ '''«'" "> J-dse 
 
 ->i» judgment e:^ er ;fjh,e7T'' ' "^' '-"^ 
 if otherwise, I shall Z. " ^""' ""^'W ^oubt; 
 
 a" author, ;„ tt 1::: 11' '?,'^^'"^' ^-^ 
 
 "•V-AH-iei.„,Z' """''' *"*•-''"' never 
 
 «f -e parts, .IZ^Z^J;:!''- ' -- cut 
 
 fortunately, the parts I did nl^Z l""'' ■""' ™- 
 
 "•« I liked the L, th y Ifed 2 "T ** """' 
 
 oa>e, what was r to do' f , . T ' '" '""'' " 
 
 • abused the publick, and ';e:;'L*',' "'=^''' 
 
 "^ - -'eh they have r^to'l^ att: 
 
 'W^- 
 
 % 
 
 
XiX 
 
 thor, as to the bed of Procrustesr, and lop him into cor- 
 respondent proportions. I mean, by that standard, the 
 conscience and taste of the poet. He is bound to fol- 
 low his own, be they what they may. Otherwise— if 
 he accommodate himself to the taste aitd judgment of 
 others— if he succeeds, they get all the credit— and if 
 he/a»&, he gets all the disgrace. No— I choose to fol- 
 low my own opinions, right or wrong, and be respon- 
 sible, as a Christian is — to my own conscience, not to 
 that of any other man. 
 
 And truly, it would not be expected, that I should 
 iop off the very part that my criticks liked!— it would 
 be an insult. They never would forgive me! And yet 
 reader, (though you see by this, what I could say in my 
 own defence if I had kept "all and more too'*) — yet — 
 after sAl— that is exactly what I have done. Where I 
 have omitted any thing— it has been what some criticks 
 have particularly admired And two or three other 
 passages, tolerably be-praised— I have ventured to 
 play the devil with, "on my own account and risk." 
 Besides all this, however, I have struck out not a few 
 parts that, at different times, I have tolerated — but 
 never liked. 
 
 After Niagara and Goldau, you will find a number 
 of odes, songs "and things" — that were manufactured 
 a long while ago, and published in the Portico. Some 
 of them have fire, and spirit: and others are remarkable 
 only, for a kind of lady -like sentiment— something 
 a-la-M oore- a sort of she-poetry. My reason for pub- 
 lishing tliem is this: I want a copy for myself—in 
 a more portable shape. Tliis is the true reason. I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
rr 
 
 
 XX 
 
 and all U,at;-but they are old rcasona-and ,w, i» a 
 new one, and thepcfni-^ :„ ~ 
 
 . au<i merctore, in my opinion, the bc»t 
 
 of ll .?' "* "''''"' ■"""' ''"'f "dozen short pieces 
 "Which the reader i, ..queated to fom, hia 0^0^' 
 "■on. He should have mine, but that I have TotTe" 
 Cr,; %'""°'':'""''°""""' -" ""'"'•ot « 
 
 ^o.t:;,rittst:rT:,r"^°""- 
 
 othels and /„«,. ,00, have gone to enthusiasm,-for my. 
 self, I have no great opinion of it-it is fiery, imrep d 
 and fa„c,fu._but I do not think half so lugS; of Tt 
 of soine othe«, upon which some of my very be 
 
 caU then, .exceedingly fine" or-exceedi„gly crazy 
 
 Which ,t' '7 ""' """=' """ P"'^ ''f "Po™-*- 
 
 col fi \ '' "' ""'-""" ' "> "^ "-"-1 that I 
 could finish it-as, have begun it-1 should ask no 
 other reward for wasting iny life on it. But , " ni^t 
 
 c~ its ::T- ""'"" "^"^"""^ -^'«-«cot 
 
 ountry-whichlonce intended to embodv-but now r 
 «n,«(_and hereafter, Im,« not. ' ''"'"™'' 
 
XXI 
 
 And now, f am about making some remarks, for 
 which I c'xp<*fct to be generally and heartily quizzed, 
 roasted, and what is infinitely worse— criticised* But 
 —no matter— so the book only is abused, I have no 
 fears for my peace of mind. I could abuse it as heijr- 
 tily as another; and with much more reason too, I am 
 sure, than any body else has dont, to my knowledge. 
 And as for myself— pciaonaily— the reviewers have no 
 terrors for me. What they can do in decency; I know 
 they will do— ard Uiey may do it, in welcome. What 
 they do beyond that— they ' are responsible for, not to 
 me— for I don't care a fig for the whole "boiling of 
 them"— but to the publick. 
 
 To business then.— 1 give the history of this poem 
 —for the advantage of others— not for myself. I have 
 now done with poetry. My ambition is now of a dif- 
 ferent character. It -waa a passion Ayith me; but one, 
 however, which I made subservient to my necessities. 
 I have written enough to show what I conld do, if I 
 pleased. I have no idea of mincing the matter— there 
 is poetiy in my veins— 1 know there is. I believe 
 that I could contribute to the reputation of my coun- 
 try—and what is more. I think I have proved it. I say 
 all this the more freely, because I have now bidden 
 adieu to poetiy— because I have other, and more com- 
 manding duties to fulfil. And probably, I do not say 
 r/^tai'ly — I do not promts* absolutely, because if I did 
 J ..L. d adhere c it at all events, and under all temp- 
 
 t 
 
 yer. 
 
 Perhaps too— by some thick-headed Boston law- 
 
J 
 
 xxii 
 
 '""''"'-^•""y. this is the ta wor-- »/„• .\ 
 
 «««erappe.rbef„rethep„bBck untiU 1. '^''• 
 l.ter«, «p«.ado„ ^U be of „„ ^"J"^^' » """»« » 
 
 -»<- some n,«, nee a- ButT ""i "^' "' *" 
 "evoient and kind, ha, ^«^1, " entte \"' *' '"• 
 
 of <t And as for the .„.„ . '"''•'"* 
 
 on that point , L i. !. "" P^^'^^ "«>quil 
 ».' S!.woTe i,*;™.'''"d''f™*«Ungs-b„t I „e. 
 
 the reach of sarc^r andTh kT^ *" •" ■"' "'^""d 
 I should advise wr.rt!. ''"* ' '"'"='*"^' 
 
 »ise™b,ej:t:^:r:::t't:™':a "\"'"'' -^ 
 
 q..ick sensibility to DUBovil • """J'-"''" •"' » 
 
 --.thejo..'zt2:r:r:t:i."' 
 «:^::XTdoifn-^^^^^^^^ 
 
 not to be precTmtr ' '' ^'" '°'* ^°"' ^^^^ 
 precipitate m your judgment Yn.. k 
 
 more to lose by it, than i have. ^^^^ 
 
 Why am I thus tedious? It U m^ ««: i 
 wm not find it tedious-toe lodo'^H^^'- '""' 
 
 -thin.ei,.aeh. nis.h?r"ti^"'.'',r;sS 
 
 wa;„f;uTL«i^!!&^-ts^"r-^ « *« 
 
of mine* Uia. 
 il I am where a 
 e. 
 
 i^etrj', idonot 
 for I conscien- 
 » I do believe 
 t will ever oe 
 y smile at this 
 ile of the be- 
 inshme to me, 
 2 the subject 
 ictly tranquil 
 ■s— but I ne- 
 they must be 
 le be beyond 
 a blockhead, 
 He must be 
 -who has a 
 satire. If j 
 know it. 
 beginning-, 
 stice. You 
 ou will be- 
 your sake. 
 You. have 
 
 je. S9me 
 a remedy 
 I shall be 
 
 ^d in the 
 
 '■-T 
 
 XXIU 
 
 . d fo" talking of myself, and I am willing to make the 
 HiOst of it. I have just spoken my farewell as an au- 
 thor; ind, somewhat ludicrously I confess, "ninted that 
 though I should not publish, yet I should continue to 
 Tmt0. And so I shall— but it yt^ill be subordinate to my 
 dufes— 1 shall write, as others drink-for exhilaration. 
 I feel that I can contribute something to my home— 
 and my cour. jy: For sometimes, I feel— what I cannot 
 readily describe— a trembling and glowing through the 
 whole system— and have been heated in composition, 
 till the page grew luminous before me— and— but a Phi- 
 ladelphian may observe that, these are exactly the qua- 
 lifications required in a candidate for the Pennsylvania 
 Hospital;— I should forgive him, if he did— and, there, 
 fore, I hold it to be my duty, when I cdn afford it, to leave 
 some proofs of the illnmination that an American can 
 experience, when gazing upon the wonders of Ameri- 
 can history. I think it is my duty— -because I think I 
 have the power. Others have it also— I pretend to no 
 exclusive property in these virtues. No— I know that 
 we have poets— poets full of the fire and siibUmity of 
 genius— poets, whose harps shall yet be heard, hke that 
 of Ariel in the pauses of the storm:— poets whose trum- 
 pets and steeds will be louder than the uproar of the 
 elements. We have had battles worthy of such bards 
 —and we shall have bards worthy of 'our battles. The 
 genii of painting and poetiy always appear— and al- 
 ways vanish, together. Our painters are already bright- 
 ening to the touch of inspiration— and the treasuries of 
 American poesy have been discovered, and will yet 
 prove boundless snd inexhaustible as our mines. 
 
 ^ 
 
 M}' 
 
 ■'-!*' 
 
 •^amr'^ ' r 
 
h 
 
 XXIV /. 
 
 \ 
 But all thi, may be an ill„sion-r may „eiU,er know 
 nor understand Doetrv A„jti, i, , ^"'^'""'"i'. 
 fhint """Po^T- And though ethers, who do not 
 th".k as I do. may l«,k to my awakenh,g from such 
 opm,ons, aa from a 1„„^ trancei yet I hate thT Tme 
 
 -"t^^V^nte'^l^o^T^^"' '"-'''■- -^^^^ 
 tl.erefore dM r "^ ""' '"""«■ And 
 
 dream !'h "'" """' ""= termination of the 
 
 tmd, I must, from necessity, Winu. to judge by ruch 
 
 r " "•"" ■'"'^"^ -"^-"X ministers 'sl 
 «« n,yop.mons-a„d they are almost reUpous-Tn 
 scentiDus, they certainly are- and .h,.-.f '•K'«<^~<^- 
 to act in conformity to th^ " * f '""*«"'' 
 t^di* the plainest maxim::; thZTld 11 T' r 
 delusion-it may. Ifeelitis^^l^ut wh^'ar 
 ken from it~it will be under f h. ^' 
 
 hear an^ „ 7 7 ^ expectation that all I 
 
 Pat,ence reader, blessed are the patient, you k„o„ 
 I have now come to the history of this Jem 7 
 »musmg. I shall relate it, because it mav b., / 
 
 .he fascmafon, of Po.s,, with as much composi ^"^ 
 
 d th,s momert! She has her enchantment, thryl 
 
 ubtle and dange^us. But for certain rules whTch 
 
 adopted at the first initiation into her mysterils and 
 
 «^h.ch , have adhered to, inflexibly and con'sLnrfrm 
 
 """ *"■"• ■"'"=»<• »f "-""ff enabled, as I now l>r,,Z 
 
 '^mJ' 
 
 ./^gti|jj||yiglig|y|il^^^^ 
 
XXV 
 
 lltrow off her trapping's, and bid defiance to her witche- 
 ries, I should be one of the veriest of her slaves. Do 
 ye so likewise— make poetry — whatever be your talent 
 —whatever be your powers— whatever be your fond- 
 ness for it— make poetry subordinate to your plans of 
 life, as you would make pleasure subordinate to duty: 
 Otherwise— when too late— you will crown yourself, 
 like Lear, with withered flowerets— and ragged thorns 
 —hug the ruin that is embracing you— and walk— the 
 mere maniac— a monarch perhaps, in your own domi- 
 nions—but a mere maniac among the men of this 
 world. 
 
 About three years ago, Mr. Pierpont, the gentle- 
 man to whom this is dedicated, a man, to whom I am 
 indebted, not only for all the reason there is in my 
 rhyme, but for all tlie reason there is in me, I believe, 
 was conversing with me about the battle of Bridge- 
 water. He thought it a fine subject for a poem. So 
 did I— but then, I had no more idea of writing a poem, 
 thAn I have now, of revolutionizing China. 1 had ne- 
 ver written any thing — prose or poetry— for the pub- 
 iick: and had notliing to boast of, but a natural, sprightly 
 manner of writing letters; a manner, which I caught 
 by reading every thing that came in my way— very ra- 
 pidly—and with very little reflection. 
 
 Some ti ne after this— I betrayed to him— and he 
 never will forget how I trembled when I did it— it was 
 like a school boy in his first- exercise — some brief poe- 
 tical "trifles," as poets call their most laborious at- 
 tempts. The consequence was— a recommendation to 
 attempt this battle for a poem. I was flattered— yet 
 B 2 
 
 (! 
 
 m 
 
 ■ ms'm'imem'f-ws^ 
 
 -«*pir'- 
 
w 
 
 xzvi 
 
 even then, regarded it as a compliment; not an un- 
 meaning one, for he is never guilty of such things-but 
 
 as the consequence of over-excitement-enthusiasm 
 
 — and deep interest. 
 
 Not long afterwards-we were sitting together in 
 his study, and he was reading a sermon of the accom- 
 phshed and amiable Dr. Buckminster. He had invited 
 me for the purpose, he said, and dwelt particularly 
 upon his account of the destruction of Goldau-and 
 finally advised me to try my hand at that. By the way 
 -it may be well enough to observe that, between these 
 events, I had written most of the small pieces which 
 Will be found in this volume. I was pleased with the 
 subjeefl-it seemed giant-hke and tumultuous-one 
 that would require no/,^^-and very httle catastrophe, 
 -tor to such tilings I have a mortal aversion. I should 
 as soon look for a plot in a song, as in a descriptive 
 poem. The very next day after this, I undertook the 
 business; and in the course of the afternoon, wrote, as 
 near as [ can recoUect, about two hundred, or two hun- 
 dred and fifty Unes. They are still to be seen-being 
 all except the eight syllable lines-and a portion of 
 them. 
 
 Subsequently to this-or, after the manner of ano- 
 ther* of Apollo's worshippers, (who has been as pre- 
 cise m keeping a calendar of his poetical attacks, and 
 mtermissions-fevers and agues-cold and hot fits, as 
 was Robinson Crusoe, in registering his almanack upon 
 a stick)-.to be more particular;-on tlie 17th of June, 
 
 * Coleridge. 
 
XXVll 
 
 1817, I heard that a friend of mine was going to Eng- 
 land. I was, at that very moment, publishing a book 
 here— and it struck me, that if I could manage to pub- 
 lish another there, I should have two chances, ftistead 
 of one, of escaping what the criticks, very properly, 
 call ^'damnation." So— though I had not thought of the 
 battle of Bridgewater for months— and my friend was 
 expected to sail every day, I sat myself down to the 
 job. By noon of the twentieth, having employed three 
 days upon it, I had WTitten, over and over agsun, enough 
 to count, reckoning broken-backed ones and all, near- 
 ly eight hundred lines. I then had a short reprieve — 
 the vessel would not go for three days— or rather, my 
 friend would not arrive for three days. So— I under- 
 took to revise it. On the twenty-third, at noon, having 
 employed six days upon the whole business, the Battle 
 of Niagara was completed, scorijig eight hundred and 
 fifty-four lines, superficial measure; two copies were ta- 
 ken of it — Goldau was thrown into another shape, aug- 
 mented to about four hundred and fifty lines; and a large 
 number of small poems were copied from manuscript* 
 and revised for the London press. In that state, the book 
 went to London. My friend was authorized to sell it — if he 
 could. He could not sell it— one of the trade offered to 
 print it, and I suppose he would have printed any thing 
 else on the same t^rms — could he have a guarantee 
 against loss. That, of course, was not acceded to. Some 
 criticks saw it there, and spoke warmly of it, but recom- 
 mended, very judiciously, a revision. 
 
 The poem was brought back; and thrown aside for 
 sometime. When I had nothing else to do, however, 
 B 3 
 
 )\ 
 
> ':; 
 
 XXV lU 
 
 , sometimes took it «p-in the winter of 1817-18, ai'tei' 
 a day of the most intense and horrible application, to a 
 work, in which I was then engaged, (compared to which' 
 learning to read with your eyes shut, or harnessing fleas 
 to invisible chariots, would have been past.me)-and 
 added some few Unes here and theie. Of those first 
 written, about four hundred I imagine, on looking them 
 over, are still preserved; but without the same relaUon 
 to each other. This rapidity of execution, must, what- 
 ever may be said by criticks, must and will plead strong- 
 ly-not for indulgence, I despise that-hyxt for justice. 
 It is no merit in me to compose rapidly; I claim no 
 praise for it. I wish I could move more slowly, less 
 capriciously, but I cdnnot. Had I a dozen hands, I 
 could keep them all employed, when I am writing po- 
 etry I know such things only expose me to the reiter- 
 ated charge of vanity, and perhaps foUy-but I cannot 
 help saying that, when fairly absorbed in the contem- 
 plation of a subject, my whole soul is in a tumult; I teel 
 myself shut out from the world, a strange kindUng 
 comes over me-a kind of mental exhilaration: a "drun- 
 kenness of heart»-that I cannot describe, scarcely wish 
 to experience again, but hope I shall never lose th6 
 memory of.-Such visitations-but no-I must leave this 
 
 subject. 
 
 Among some facts connected with the history of this 
 poem, there is one not a Uttle ridiculous, and yet, T think 
 not without example since. The reader will observe 
 that I begin with a ten syllable* but not heroick mea- 
 
 ♦ In preparing this edition, however, I have altered 
 nearly the whole of that part. 
 
 A,., 
 
 ...jR.^. '-^^'i'iiYiiijji^j 
 
1817—18, aftei' 
 ipplication, to a 
 pared to which' 
 harnessing fleas 
 I pastime)— and 
 , Of those first 
 in looking them 
 e same relation 
 ion, must, what- 
 ill plead strong- 
 but for justice. 
 )idly; I claim no 
 lore slowly, less 
 
 dozen hands, I 
 [ am writing po- 
 me to the reiter- 
 ]y — but I cannot 
 
 in the contem- 
 n a tumult; I feel 
 strange kindling 
 aration; a "drun- 
 be, scarcely wish 
 I never lose th6 
 -I must leave this 
 
 ;he history of this 
 s, and yet, I think 
 der will observe 
 lot heroick mea- 
 
 ;r, I have altered 
 
 XXIX 
 
 «ure; «nd that, after several struggles, 1 get fairly from 
 the gallop of that, into the majestick jog of the 1 ero- 
 ick The truth is, I thought I was writing heroick at 
 first' I knew twelve syllables were not heroick, buti did 
 not know and do not know what a twelve-syllable mea- 
 sure is But I did know that an heroick line should 
 have ten syllables. I knew too. that if two be taken 
 from twelve, ten is left: So, I clipped all my twelve 
 syllable Unes, as I thought, into very pretty heroick, by 
 cropping off two syUables. The reader may smile at 
 this, but I'll be hanged if Tom Moore has'nt done the 
 same thing. He wrote the Veiled Prophet, not by ear, 
 but by counting his fingers and thumbs, l^ke m.e, he 
 had his ear tuned to the fine, quick varied harmome 
 of the lyrical measure. How else shaU we account ior 
 the "Slovenly versification" of that poem;* coming too, 
 fromthemostdeUcious.andharmoniousweaverofverse, 
 
 that ever trilled a guitar under a rose bush. Count he 
 syllables; every line is perfect in number. Read the 
 lines, they are so ragged, that eventhe rich flowing har- 
 mon; of the poet's tiiought is cramped by the measure 
 Tmuch as a graceful boy would be, by a suit of armou^ 
 buskins, and a dagger. And this is what one would 
 expect-Mr. Moore has no business with heroick verse. 
 He is unequalled in the melodious shiftings of his fa- 
 vorite measure; he is all sweetness, voluptuousness, and 
 
 . X hundred lines c^ be fou^d in it^.^r a5 
 '''" f/thines '^-47 stSmatiTks the plain believers 
 pS'-oi ?his "Expatiate free-^'er this scene of 
 
 men. 
 
 B 4 
 
 

 I 
 
 • The 
 
 XXX 
 
 "■ere he fa J °* ^^ Passion but ,^ """''• «« 
 "•"»e, to. !f "• ''ke that from I '' '"" " « a 
 
 «'■""' "o »ot ^ffi"";" "^-'cfc « t :^^ "y -ciden. 
 
 """^^ Of prose , '^ '" -""ng- i. , ' '' "■^■" 
 ""« , df° '■ ' "•■"rte it rugged i ' " ™ "^-y 
 
 . «""o return „, . ^ "'•="• ^'"cw, 
 
 ""» a state of -' . "'«''"' after havi„ 
 
 "■- once CoZt::"'^ «"p"'-.^ rr---'^ 
 --w::t::i:-;;rc::-;- 
 
 '"^'"""■•Had.soheme 
 
 I 
 
 t'H,-, 
 
 i;MmiMmtimJti^ _ 
 
XXXI 
 
 '» "o g-raiideuj- 
 "ent, when he 
 ^ ^ Cupid at. 
 ^'tog-ether a 
 aoiatist. jje 
 of iove, ,yet 
 '» but it is a 
 ■ '"^^^ frankin- 
 ^ consumes 
 '^ery thing. 
 
 want of Ja. 
 ^Onions as 
 ^"d prac. 
 - by fives 
 
 accident 
 d then 1 
 'f^ many 
 |lv-be- 
 Pope, 
 erving. 
 a /»& s/^ 
 ''news 
 
 lysejf 
 
 rtork t 
 
 oem / 
 
 >ver ■ 
 
 les; 
 
 nie , 
 
 )n view at the time, which mig-ht place me in a situa- 
 tion to pursue a courge of severe and laborious study, to 
 which I had devoted myself; but if it failed, I deter- 
 piined upon this: to finish Niagara and Goldau— com- 
 mit them to memory —prepare myself for the purpose — 
 go t« Philadelphia (that being the "Mhens of Ameri- 
 pa") assume some other name, to hide my mortification 
 if 1 was discomfited— and there recite it publickly. 
 
 Jt was a wild scheme, I grant, and though carried 
 Jnto execution, so far as it depended upon me, yet I 
 will venture to say that, till within a few days, there 
 were not three persons in the world, who knew me at 
 fdl in the business. 
 
 I did all this — I was disappointed in my first scheme; 
 ha4 nothing to depend upon, to keep me from starving* 
 except I chose to write myself to death. This determin- 
 ed me. I went to Philadelphia; assumed the name of 
 George E. Fercival; and with the utmost difficulty, .suc- 
 ppeded in procuring a room, after a week of disappoint- 
 nient and delay, during which I found but two men, (and 
 delicacy alone prevents me from mentioning their names, 
 pn this occasion,) who seemed jus!ly sensible of the ele- 
 vated rank to which Philadelphia is entitled in the repub- 
 lick. One of these gentlemen offered me his influence in 
 obtaining a hall, then, and now, 1 believe, appropriated to 
 the Lancasterian school: the other offered me a very large 
 room then at his disposal. I felt the kindness of both, 
 &nd trust in heaven that I shall have an opportunity to 
 return it. At length however, 1 was persuaded to hii^ 
 Mr. Renshaw's room, although an accident had recent^, 
 ly happened at the Washington Hall, while Mrs. French 
 
 ""^v&sigms- 
 
• • ' xxxii 
 
 that a fire.eat«»r ho^ c** i ™oms, and I knew 
 
 po« .00, to "overtowinjhot;" X'^T •" """• 
 why I could not get a plL w»» h. t' "''"°» 
 
 «^en up by rone An., . """ *'>■ »'*« »" 
 
 e'c. «>c.th:.r;t.r;i:r,':„'""' ""■""• *"=• 
 
 «on,bythe^,te„V.„, '"'PP»«e,to»ufl-o... 
 
 *e'core„^t irhu? """ '"^'^-"P - 
 tie too proud for thof t i V » * ^** * l^t- 
 
 -uge Ld tulwe/ hoX r.r ?r."""""'''' 
 
 bebon n,v hat. It won"" tak. . T^''"*' "'* ^■ 
 
 unlcM you make a 1 .' " S^"'le"»>>tome, 
 
 j'ou majce a show with the hnio ¥ j-j . 
 lieve him— T hn^ ♦ , * ' ^^ '»ot be- 
 
 PMan.rLrj:trhr::."r'"r'- 
 
 'to. Well, ladvertised in all he L^ ' °"' 
 
 bool«elle«,-.went toTv ? !. ^ '^ -^'Pectable 
 
 P«m!sed that the rn' t ^T ^''•'' "avinj been 
 -ted)-a„d;U'4ri*:;^^^,^;-o„ab.yiUun,l. 
 
 -Pon the hed-.,5l alteHn't" l^h^T^T r 
 awoke exactly at the moment-hurried, t^XlpZl 
 
 •V^ 
 
XXXIU 
 
 session of all my faculties, I verily believe; for tliough 
 { wonder now how I could have had the assurance to ap- 
 pear before a Philadelphia audience, creatures of such 
 refined taste— such exquisite sentiment, and all that— 
 then I felt about as easy, (though I never so much as 
 "spoke a piece'* in publick,) as I should now in harangu- 
 ing ray own g^ndmother: And so, to end this nar- 
 rative, I arrived at tlie room — How many of these IL 
 terati — these Philadelpliiana— these American Athe- 
 
 i 
 
 nians, think you, I found asserobledP — Not one, not 
 one ! by Julius Caesar ! — not one ! though I had sent a 
 ticket to two of the chief criticks in the city, in charity, 
 and two otliers to the gentlemen above-mentioned, ger- 
 tlemen, by the by, whom I shall never mention but 
 with respect, though they wouli not come to hear me 
 spout, free of expense. The truth is, it is too ridicu- 
 lous a subject for my composure. Such expectations 
 as I had formed! I even advertised, on the strength of 
 Mr. Renshaw's assurances that 1 should have a crowd- 
 ed house; tliat he could sell "nearly a hundred tickets in 
 his own family;'* that the room could accommodate three 
 hundred persons— I even advertised, heaven forgive 
 me! that "no more than two hundred tickets would be sold/" 
 — and faith! I believe the terms of agreement were reli- 
 giously complied with: though I do not^now, for the very 
 next day, I left Philadelphia; have not been there since, 
 and never mean to go, if there be any way on earth 
 to get round it.* From that day to this, I have never 
 
 * Unless it be to pay Mr. Duane, who would not take 
 Baltimore money for advsrtising^ something like a 
 dollar that I owe him. 
 
 .%■; 
 
 wrmiir 
 
xxxiv 
 
 consider this .„ 17 ^oo,! enough, tlierefore, ,„ 
 
 <Mno.cale„.a,co„havirfor iT'"'" ' ""'' ' 
 than ennnrf. to nav tl,. '^ -"i^A'/'-morc 
 
 I was prevcnfPfl n .■' ^"*' thank heaven! 
 
 • The z:z. °:v ;z; 'rrr^ ' '-' ""■'"'•'■ 
 
 ".e I'hihdeiphian, w .r h f V"""'"' '■"""'^ 
 
 -n.«.oh:u,,h::*„:;:tt;:,:^^^^^^^^ 
 
 best ealculated for recitation \ . ^^ 1""^" 
 
 -'«".« then, for th: p^o'se ' """"'^''' " """" 
 
 T'lere is another thine- too fm. i 
 even to the "^M.m««, "1 k ''''"^^ ^'^ J"^*''*^« 
 
 -When I arrivec irMr , k "^. ' ""' '° '^ "'"'^^^d' 
 .1 """Shaw's— instead nf B„j- 
 
 the room illuminated, and prepared , , 7°^,*'"'''"? 
 darkness; not a caudle li„r .^ f"^' ' ' '»'""' " ,n total 
 <uarkal,lyge„t e,;^!'"""'' '"""= ""' » ••""'- re- 
 ". - /t-fs! re ,' 'lr;;.;r=''-'' --Sf" about 
 ;"-P.bathusiness.„r~r^^^^^^ 
 
 dycome sir, „rcklr n '"'""'""■"'''"-''<' bo. 
 
 g'm-, shaU 1 mt t to ^ t'-^' """ " "^"^'"«" 
 
 your m.aster? "Goue ojt ir "T '"'"^ ''"^- ^''"'- '^ 
 
 confess, and ,m 1 *"" ""^ ""^'-J'' ' ">"« 
 
 am not sorry now that his master had 
 
\/ 
 
 XXXV 
 
 "gone out." I meant to have seen him the next day, 
 but the next day I left thfe city, I hope forever. Since 
 then, I have thought it possible that among so many ad- 
 mirers of wild beasts, philosophy, conjurers, etc. 
 etc. as Philatlelphia is crowded with, some persons 
 might have been disposed to see Apoei-, and that, each 
 supposed it a ytrt'r, when he arrived at the mansion 
 house and saw no room prepared. Each, therefore, 
 kept the bite a secret, and never acknowledged what 
 he came for. But honestly, and sincerely, it was not 
 a quiz. I would have recited my poem to any body I 
 could have caught, had I been compelled to hold him 
 by the button during the operation. 
 
 And further, though Mr. R. is certainly very much to 
 blame for not lighting the room as he had contracted to 
 do, yet I attribute it to his want of courage; he dared 
 not outface publick opinion. He was familiar, probably, 
 with the cultivated taste of his fellow citizens, and knew 
 exactly how far they would go in tolerating exhibitions 
 at his tavern. Well! I forgive him: many and ma- 
 ny a time since, has my sides ached at the recollection 
 of the catastrophe, and many a time have I waked my- 
 self by my own laughing. AU I have to say is, that the 
 Philadelphians are a very polished and refined, high- 
 minded, elegant, publick spirited, rational sort of people: 
 and much good may their fire-eaters and mountebanks 
 do them. And, brother poets, if you have a mind "to 
 pick up a penny" in the way of your profession; hea- 
 ven help you! you had better turn taylors or shoema- * 
 kers, and do your own mending at least; shun the Ame- 
 rican Athens, as you would shun a poor-house, or else 
 
 I 
 
 'V, 
 
If 
 
 KXVi 
 
 rt^/°'"!f '"' "'' • '^«<l-''-«'.e.«e your own 
 Ayme. .„ the „«rket. or ride l,.ckw«^ to L «Zd 
 
 ^.Sant.y.pp.^to^U^^I^n^^^"-'- 
 whUeaboyw«w»iti,^f„r ,hcZ,f T"'"'"'^ 
 
 of Jllr"^' "'"'' """^S '" *« ««ived practice 
 
 would be quite a^agreeabl to „e for a'fl 7 ""^ 
 suredttat, aH things con«de«d; Cf hX .? „" 
 
 •^riU .thirLfL'rel'ra""""''"""- 
 have observed fh« • ^^'^^^^ none-^ne 
 
 son-es to be read- .„ j „ P"™ "" '« de. 
 
 read. «,d one, a Boston man, has plumed 
 
 ^Wl!^'**#i"i(ji 
 
Ith 
 
 xxxvu 
 
 himself prodigiously in criticising a printer's blunder; 
 «li|fht of musick," for "light and musick." 
 
 The Analectic, and the Port Folio, for reasons best 
 known to themselves, have carefully avoided mention- 
 ing the work at all. The former, perhaps, on account 
 of a very foolish and very extravagant thing, (though, 
 by the way, it has a, good deal of force in it) that I scrib- 
 bled some time ago, and miviswss myself, in the pre- 
 face, after the manner of those exceedingly learned, 
 and exceedingly incomprehensible gentlemen, who ma- 
 nage that work. And the latter, has not, I take it, be- 
 cause, something like twelve months ago, it announced, 
 in a very mysterious manner, one of the most whimsical 
 and ludicrous purposes that ever characterized a critical 
 journal. It was this—on the cover, written Uke an in- 
 cantation, for none but the initiated could understand 
 it, appeared a notice to authors, saying, that if they 
 wished their works to be taken notice of, they must 
 send the editor ««the price of a year's subscription;" 
 that is, in plain English, a five dollar note to pay for a 
 review! Cheap enough! In Edinburgh and London 
 they are not so modest. If you want a work damned or 
 pnused there, you must oiabidsihost of competitors. This 
 angular proposition is worth our notice: Did the edi- 
 tor mean, that, for Jive dollars he would speak yax^tfura- 
 bly of eVerj' thing; if so, I am ashamed of his principles, 
 and blush to see him the conductor of so able an Ame. 
 rican paper; if not, if only when a work deserved it, he 
 meant to abuse it, he must take us authors to be great 
 jackasses, (to say nothing of hi» conscience in doing it,) 
 to ^zyjive dollars for being abused. The plain fact is. 
 
V 
 
 xxxviii ,' 
 
 t 
 
 probably, that for Jtve Oollars, the editor of the Port 
 Foho would undertake to insert any thingtliat was sent 
 him, though he might not write it himself. 
 
 So, not thinking his opinion worth a five dollar note 
 thoughl were sure of having it-all that an author could 
 wish, I did not send liim the price of a review, and of 
 course, he did not review it. On the subject of poetry 
 I wouldn't give a fig for his opinion. He is a good 
 lawyer; his Law Journal is an invaluable book; the chief 
 departments of his Port Folio are ably conducted; but 
 the question of, poetry or no poetry? he is misera- 
 bly incompetent to determine. On other subjects I 
 do respect his opinion, and should advise him to cut 
 bellqs-Iettres: it is scarcely worth any man's while to 
 be distinguished in lighter literature, and he had bet- 
 ter be content with the reputation he has. By reach- 
 mg at the shadow, like the editor in the fable, he may 
 ' lose the substance. For example, I would ask him to 
 turn back to one of his old numbers, say nearly two 
 years ago, and look at a long catalogue of rhymes, un- 
 der a "notice to correspondents." They are, in truth 
 abominably flat, and so evidently ^./ „;, for ^the occa! 
 won, that the most stupid would discover the trick It 
 is certain, that he hunted uj^ the poetical quotations; and 
 then accommodated his prose to it, in proportion as the 
 chance of making prose is to the chance of remem 
 benng apt poetry, at any time. It was. ,to speak plain, 
 ly, a very foolish way of saying very foolish things. 
 ' I'here is an editor in New York also, to whom I 
 have a word or two to say. The reason why he has not 
 reviewed Magaraj I take it, is, because he was afraid. 
 
 'W> 
 
xxxix 
 
 felt his incapacity, or was too lazy. And yet, these are 
 the guardians of AmcricEln literature, the high priests 
 of our national temple! Their papers are continually 
 crowded with foreign trash, and extracts from foreign 
 reviews, as if we had no opinions of our own, or were 
 incapable of expressing them in our own language. To 
 import our literature— and such literature too!— it is 
 enough to kindle the indignation of the veriest wretch 
 in America. Are we so abject, so contemptible.'' must 
 we import our opinions? and this too, while the Ame- 
 rican press is teeming with native productions, upon 
 which the pall of oblivion is immediately spread, by the 
 very hands that should be foremost in the support and 
 vindication of American character. Of what conse- 
 quence to us, comparatively speaking, is the reputation 
 of cotcmporary British writers. Our fame must depend 
 not upon reading, but upon ivriting. It is your duty, 
 gentlemen editors, your duty to your subscribers; you 
 ^re pledged to it, as American journalists, to take some 
 notice of every American publication that appears. If 
 it deserve condemnation, condemn it— tear it piece- 
 meal, - give a loose to your indignation like men, like 
 Americans. If, on the contruiy, it have any merit, say so: 
 speak boldly— speak as if you have conlidence in your 
 own opinion. Don't talk aboutthe subject, talk a/ it. Speak 
 to the point. That is your duty. Do you know this? 
 If you would see the literature of your country take 
 a stand worthy of her reputation— t/o?* must -watch it-— 
 encourage it— pray for it. You are not asked to praise 
 it, no, li*;— there is Uttle, at present, that deserves 
 pvaHse—bia take notice of it. That you can do. The 
 
 i 
 
 ll 
 
 J^l 
 
p-eatest genmsthat ever blazed, would go „ut i„ hw 
 own dark„e«. if he »«.. „„ ,„,^ ,„.„ J "J^» 
 
 take me: I »peak for other,, not f„, ^yj^f^ "^ 
 
 And now reader, to give you an evidence of the 
 manner .n wh.ch our publiek journals are conducted, I 
 w^ll tell you something of this New Vork editor 
 When , published "Keep C«,l.. _a thing that iT „« 
 even yet ashamed of, there are parts of'whieh .Tever 
 h,nk without blushing, and there are others, of wUc" 
 shad be proud, while I am able to feel emotion, or 
 o excite ,t m others, but J was a boy then, and I wmL 
 too hasuly, that must be my apology for i.Lwe 1^1 
 when , w^te „„ c.o^ the LtoTs „f the Ke " York 
 Mag^ine, then just established, wrote a villanous UtUe 
 article .pon it_in which, after making two or three 
 very severe, yet very just observations-they aoknow 
 edged that they had not ..ad it!-aye ..aderf ^; Zi 
 "run over about eighty pages"-whieh eighty pa«? 
 as hadn't got fairly a going, , have always thoughl 
 contained the greatest trash in the book. To atone t 
 thisaff^ntto thepublick, after having had th 71? 
 dence to pro^nince an opinion, on a work that tL; hM 
 never read-they promised "if they thought it woh^ 
 their notice-to renew the subject " 
 
 The moment I saw the paragraph. I wrote Uiem a 
 ha^^^t'tb ■"' "■'•" "'■S'^' P-Wish it But they 
 
 -tt. b:r"^'- ^"''""'"' ' *-» -y they would 
 -but 1 had so managed it. that they couldn't expose me 
 
 without exposing themselves, for, took the Bb" rty .o 
 point out some most ridiculous blunders in tlielC 
 work-and to request, them, „«« ,^,, ^^~l 
 
xli 
 
 no favour— 1 scom'favours — I wouldn't raise my hand to 
 change the opinion of the world on such subjects — L 
 bade them do their duty to the publick. They were not 
 the men to do it — they neither acknowledged their er- 
 rors, nor atoned for them. 
 
 Since then, when Niagara was published, I looked 
 for some of their magnanimity. I was disappointed. A 
 friend of mine, some time afterwards, told me that he 
 liad been directed to deliver a message, from the gentle- 
 man to whom I have dedicated this volume — to the 
 surviving editor of that Magazine. Fearful of the in- 
 terferenpe of a friend, so warm, so ent^usiastick a friend 
 —on such a subject, and anxious, if I was reviewed, to 
 be reviewed fiurly, without influence — I was fool 
 enough to write again to the editor, with the hope of 
 counteracting that influence. And that is the last I 
 have heard of it. Now, the fact is, that alf these gen. 
 tlemen together, cannot stamp a character of insignifl- 
 cance upon these poems. They may be as silent as 
 they please — every man that reads them will say that 
 tliey are, at least, worth cursing. But most of them 
 have the good will, tho' riot the ability to damn them ef- 
 fectually—the others, with more ability - have less cour- 
 age. They are afraid to do injustice, because their own 
 reputation would be involved — and they have not t^e 
 magnanimity to do justice. 
 
 All these men, therefore, say I— and I hold myself 
 responsible for the consequences— the editors of the 
 Analectic, Port Folio, and New York Magazines, have 
 violated their obligations to the American publick- 
 Ttje ««^North .American Review" has not— though it 
 
 i 
 
 T 
 
 
 »T;.-sW!!Cjmii*pili !«"<■'*- 
 
xlii 
 
 has treated me severely. It has done its duty—so tar 
 
 as it could do it. 
 
 I shall soon be done, now, I hope; though I have al-* 
 ready made tliis three times as long as I intended at 
 first; and cannot, therefore, speak very certainly upon 
 the prospect. 
 
 Before I talk of the opinion manifested by c hr v , 
 and most of them are poets-,'' some strangers, total a i. 
 gers to me; I shall take the hberty to say what my own 
 ifl. I care not what others may think of such a proceed- 
 ing; I am accustomed to express my sentiments, firm. 
 ly, on all subjects with which I am acquainted; (and I 
 «et;e»' found those sentiments treated with disrespect,) 
 and I see no reason why I should be excluded from 
 speaking on that subject with which I am best acquainted 
 —as confidently, and as freely. I shall not be very par- 
 ticular, for really, i am not quite barefaced enough for 
 that; but this I say—these poems are full of faults, 
 great faults; obscurity, extravagance, and entanglement 
 of metaphor and imagery, heaps upon heaps; and yet, 
 there are pages that I never saw excelled; never wish 
 to excel— and never hope to reach again in this world. 
 These passages; except by one man," and he is entitled 
 to the first rank among the writers oiintelligible poetry, 
 the beautiful, and the chaste, have been generally con- 
 demned, as cloudy and vague; sometimes oppressive 
 and magnificent, bat indistinct, not touchable, not tangi- 
 hie. Yet other i)assage3, and some that have been ex- 
 
 • Not poets, because they have spoken highly of 
 Niagara, but because they were poets, they have spoken 
 highlj- of it. ^ ' r ^ 
 
xliii 
 
 ceedingly admired, upon my soul, I would strike out 
 of this edition, were I not unwilling to insult some 
 of my best friends. To me, they are insufferably 
 tame, cold-motionless, and passionless;-mere rhym, 
 ing advertisements. 
 
 Several persons, as I have said before, have review- 
 ed the first edition; and really, I have a mind to review 
 Ihem in return. It is the only way to keep these on- 
 ticks straight. Their heads will be turned else, by 
 their elevation. They, of all scribblers, are the only 
 ones beyond the reach of criticism: and that gives them 
 an appearance of self-complacency, which is infinitely 
 amusing to one who has the patience to read their spe- 
 
 culations. 
 
 The first review that 1 saw, was written by a total 
 stranger to me. I am assured however, that he was a 
 poet. And his style of composition justifies the behef. 
 It appeared in the Boston Centinel-and is not only the 
 ablest, but the best criticism, the most faithful criti- 
 cism, that I have yet seen on Niagara. It is eloquent, 
 warm, and discriminating. U has been attributed to 
 Mr.Pierpont. It was not his. Mr. Pierpont has never 
 written any thing on the subject, for the pubhck. 
 
 To this succeeded a fine article in the Journal of the 
 Times, written by the editor.' He too-is a poet-a 
 bea^itiful poet. A feeling of friendship probably led 
 him into the business-and we can discover, though the 
 criticism be very just, and sometimes very favourable - 
 that tlie writer did not feel that freedom, which gene- 
 
 } 
 
 • Paul Allen. 
 
 C 2 
 
 h'^L 
 
 m 
 
 'I'M 
 
 « 
 
 Wffr 
 
 <t 
 
)div 
 
 «%wa™».„de„richeshi. Writing. I understood it- 
 there v,„ the struggle of partiaUty and opinion; where 
 he eensured. and where he praised, he JL .;„ „:' " 
 '" t" '•" "'"'• "' 'poke the truth-but not the 
 whole truth. Had I been a sUanger to hin,. he w.,Ud 
 have wntten bette,-; and the poem would have been 
 more censured, and more applauded-than it w.. 
 1 m I know. ,t is the consequenee of a frank, heany' 
 d spos.Uon. Such men, distrusting the influlnceTf 
 
 "„'"■ ""r":-' "'°" '" ''"""' Pen^endicuirand 
 
 izL"; ;zx." '^"'"''- '""'^'' -'^'"' '^ 
 
 Soon after tWs, appeared a most ertraordinary sort 
 of a metaphysical notice of it, in the -North American 
 Hev,ew." It was able, and I dare say honest-but very 
 
 voT ;.. r '""°' '"'""= "''•^"^ ™«™ "yone of 
 our ,<.uu„k, p,^,. ^„^ ^^^ ^^^ 
 
 .pectades, and gi^asp a g^aging rod, or six inch rule. 
 
 whether he were to measure the altitude of Cleopa 
 ^'s needle, or the dimensions of a madrigal, u was 
 hones,,, hope, because the man certainly sfys what he 
 thmks; he was undoubtedly bewildered, completely be- 
 wJdered, m reading the poem, found it incapabL of 
 «ny class,hcat,on; and, as it resembled none of the 
 
 choo-boy standards, he of course, took it for granted 
 that .t was-what-for his soul, he couldn't tell, and 
 wouldn't undertake to say posiUvely. Such is *e 
 aracterof his review. Hemay be asensibi lit' 
 
 * woum, say -any thing more severe* I 
 * But let me give an example. «'This,» says the cri- 
 
xlv 
 
 would defy any man on earth, to understand what he 
 13 drivinjj at, or what his opinion of the poem is. He 
 
 tick, "is too much in Leigh Hunt's cliildish way, where 
 he says, 
 ••There is something at work in the moon-shiny air." 
 And that he calls chtl(Ji.ih.—thzt\ why Shakspcare 
 himself, never touched out a more exquisite insinua. 
 tion of magick — in the happiest moment of his poesy, 
 when Ariel was at her most delicious spivitings. But 
 see how he applies it — these are the lines which he 
 9uys are alter Leigh Hunt's childish manner: — 
 
 ' "liUnd of white bosoms— and bHie laughing eyes, 
 
 "Like min'ature pictures of transparent skies, 
 "Where young dioughts hke the blessed are seen." 
 
 And this, comparing the passage of thin vapours 
 over a motionless water: — 
 "They pass hke thoughts o'er a clear blue eye." 
 
 And these, he sa^s, are childish!— I pray heaven, if 
 they be, that I may never be cursed with maturity But 
 I have another authority against him- besides my own 
 opinion, and positively, those three first lines, I once 
 determined to adopt for a motto to my title page: — 
 such was my opinion of them. The author of the re- 
 view, which appeared in the Boston Centinel— told a 
 person, who told me — that he would give a joint of his 
 little finger to have written those very lines! — They 
 must be very childiah indeed — for he is a poet. For my- 
 self, I think them very pretty perfectly pretty — but 
 nothing more; — there is nothing ^rm^ in them. In one 
 word, this man is about as well qualified to review po- 
 etry, as I should be to review a Hebrew grammar, a 
 work in anatomy, or mathematicks;— that is— utterly in- 
 competent. Any body may feel heat and movement 
 in a poei|i — but a poet only can measure tlie latitude 
 and loHgitude of a poet's conceptions. It is a pity that 
 people — criticks — would not confine themselves to what 
 they understand. And it is quite as preposterous for a 
 
 C 3 
 
 1 
 
 ■^r^M^ 
 
xivi 
 
 is w.iver,„g-i,„[e(cr,ni,ate-a„d contradicloiy • Yd 
 to give the- tr,.„ilc,na,> hi, ,luo, there are some rery indi 
 C.OUS, though „„t very pulMubl.. remarks; one witty one.' 
 .n recollect nght; two or three wretched miscarriages, 
 
 pid-iwagK^riircCfl'Lt ;i!Vuri' i "St'"'"- 
 where aiit'els fear to tread." ™''' "}- 
 
 Say: tSi'ck, ^rC 11U"S „V" r^"'^ "-■• 
 perciliousness, which distinS 1 , ^'«P^"8- ^u- 
 solutely certain whaMS'S^;^,^: ^^.V,"?'" • 
 
 -whether in the ear or faZlXv \ -^ "' ""' °'' ^«'•^^— 
 is that true? 1fhr{ • ' ^'^^ ""^ ''"^i' ^^ deten^xiner ah' 
 
 a "smging noddle." But he nroceel ..T; "* *'* 
 fi<- praise," (no! I'll be bSu wtnV b^^l'"'"'' "''■°"' 
 to understand itO-<<»,,/»7„',„rf,?,i '"",'"';>""'<' ""= 
 
 l"fu;r«j'tS^fx'-^i^'p™^»^ 
 
 1 
 
in other accouchments; and some observations, so pre 
 foimdly erudite and metaphysical, that, from that hour to 
 this, I have been unable to determine whetlier he was 
 writing a review of a poem; whether, by some acci- 
 dent, the title had not been misplaced; or whether he 
 was. what the vulgar caU "poking fun" at reviewers, 
 j^nd I am not alone in this; others are equally bother- 
 ed to this hour. 
 
 Now, reader, this is the most severe of all the criti- 
 cisms; yet among its observations are to be ranked 
 some of the most discriminating censurfes that have yet 
 appeared! And though the writer is so puzzled that, 
 after raUing through several pages, and "damnir g with 
 faint praise," some other things that he could not un- 
 derstand, (and meaning no oflence; if he had understood 
 them 1 should certainly have left them out of this edi- 
 tion) he winds up with telliilgme to persevere; that the 
 way to be permanently in favour with the publick, is not 
 to humour them, &c. 8cc.-Yet reader, after all, I reaVij 
 Hke his revie-w. It has beei\ of use to me. I couUl have 
 had in that very work too, 1 have every reason to believe, 
 a review, beyond all comparison more flattering to me, 
 than any 1 have yet had. I coidd have had it written by 
 a ^,oe^_afriend-and the most cnthusiastick admirer of 
 Niagara— but that friend (and I allude to the ge.iueman 
 to whom I have dedicated this) had too much delicacy 
 to obtrude an ofler, of what the world might think a 
 puff-upon me: and I had too much respect for him, 
 and for myself, to request it. Yet, 1 kno-w that he would 
 have done it at the slightest hint. Nor is this all- 
 others have offered to puff me, good writers too; but I 
 C 1 
 

 xlvili 
 
 have chher refused directly, or discouraged them by 
 my coldness;-aIways saying no; let strangers judge of 
 hie, and my poem. I ask /,.*^,te-.and justice I will 
 nave. 
 
 To this succeeded, a second revieu . a« it was called, 
 by the editor of the Journal of the Times, purporting 
 to be a reply to the North American-one of the most 
 beauuful artxcles that ever can.e from the pen of n.un-. 
 but havmg very little to do with the subjecf-it was a 
 
 comphmen/a^partas S but'^^^^^^^^^ '' '''''^'' ^"« 
 agara is fatiguing, is a Z'ano h • "" ^'''^" '^^>' ^'- 
 
 wrought,crLde^aV;t:;;^^^ 
 
 when cornbh ed are f? ' "^ ^' ^^^^ '"^ividually are. 
 they have not been elk l^;"";^', '"^ ^^''^""'ff »^^^^"«e 
 pei4d in proper order iV «^ arranged and dis- 
 
 principle a^a^vTew of il e ir ^"^'^""'ff "» t^^ same 
 Louvre would fbrmeHv hL h ""' T^ P'"^'"*'"^^ «^ ^he 
 when surroundTbv hpiir . ?"' ^^"^ ^^^ '^'*"^" ''^Po^e 
 dour-" And ?f7 a'u ''''."'«!'t/«rms and dazzling splen- 
 
 mlKsfmJh, '"''■''^ ""= P"»« ■"•■ <l"s =>»tl'o>- (mean. 
 ly described ;;''^' P^^"^'^ne&.^ 1 hese he has eloquent- 
 
 presentfbefo eus b^er^'r"^^''^"" ^' ^'^'' -^*i'«'') 
 t oerore us. tor example, a panoramic view of the 
 
xlix 
 
 j)Ocm, not a criticisin. And this is the last~l give you 
 joy, reader Many brief, and highly flattering notices 
 
 !)utlle of Niagara, we ahnost lose the spectacle, here 
 and thtre we discover grf)ups of warriors engaged in 
 mortal combat; but these forms are so inconsidera- 
 ble and so casually represented, that we almost wonder 
 why they should occupy that place."— He proceeds in 
 answer to his own fj[ue3tion. "We will say it is poetry, 
 poetry in the most rigid sense of the term. The mist, 
 for example," (now reader you are coming to it)— 
 •'gathers around the hill, and we expect, on its disper- 
 siou, to see the hostile squadrons arrayed in order of 
 battle— nay! be not impatient gentle reader, gaze for a 
 few moments in this mist— it is kindled with softened 
 and delicate lit^ht, and rolls along in fleeting masses to 
 the top ofthemountuin— now the warriors will sudden- 
 ly emerge — hush — did j ou not see that white foot of a 
 de.scending spirit, as it touched its cloudy pedestal^ — the 
 cloud mantles over it— it is gone! Again, look at that 
 radiant arm as it reposes itself tipon that pillow of va- 
 ])(mr - (borrowed, I fear, from Hunt's Foliage:)-- 
 where'' it is gone! what a countenance is there dis- 
 played- in all the glow of immortal youth— what a 
 neck; soft and beuuiiful as the bosom of mercy —where, 
 where? sure enough — where? for the cloud with all its 
 glorious tenantry has departed; and we see nothing but 
 the mountain in his naked majesty. We gaze again, 
 and an eagle that seems dropped from the sun, and 
 is now struggling to regain his native element, presents 
 himself to our vision—with what grandeur he stretches 
 along the solar track of the firmament! and then va.- 
 nishes from the eye! 
 
 "While we are gazing upward for his re-appeai- 
 ance, we find ourselves, without hax'^ing stirred an inch 
 from the ground, on the borders of an intenninable lake: 
 (The greatest compliment that was ever paid to a poet. 
 My aim was to exhibit the capricio\is changes of a 
 magic lantern, without disturbing the spectator,) the 
 brown Indian in his canoe, skims along the surface, and 
 
1 
 
 have appeared n the newspapers of the clay, but 1 have 
 nothing to do with them-it is not their duty to watch 
 :>ver the literary reputation of their country. 
 
 By the by, it is very strange, tliat so little noUce 
 has been taken of Goldau. Only one reviewer has men- 
 tionedit. Inmy opinion, though of adifTerent character 
 from Niagara-it is fully equal to it, forpoetiy, strength, 
 and action-^nd calculated to be much more popular 
 That one reviewer has this sweeping remark- which 
 is false, absolutely false; or to use a genteel sjnony- 
 me~it,,8 downright modern cndcism. He says, speak- 
 .ngof Goldau--At the close, he describes tlie fkU of 
 
 his oar twinkles in the solar, (not solar-it Is nlirht~irt 
 the poem:) beam as he disturbs the bo om ofT^^ 
 liquid element. Where? The *ih.,Hn„A„ , "^^ 
 
 -But how polishecl how resS^ent i^ir^^'r^' 
 surface of thfs lake! ' A subtSS'si^'bu',^: tZ 
 centre, surrounded by overhantring- rn^L . • 
 
 and venei-able woods.^ It an e-Js Ip ?^'' moun ai,is 
 to emerg. from the sn^rT:^^':^:^^:'::^ 
 as if we were standing on the edo-e nf ^fi- kA- i 
 cipice ready to pw! into thet?mam/„ttC^ ^B^i 
 methmks, the winds, cries the spectator, blow too rude 
 
 he VariT f r-^'^Tf- ^'^^' «oundVasCit w^ 
 the harp of an invisible spirit almost drowned in fC 
 roar of the tempest— we feel the flntf^,. IV ?• ■ 
 upon the face, as' he rides upon the"^!,^:* ^ 1^^' 
 ugam-the blast has subsided! ami hil mS"bIe ten^.t 
 IS now reposmg upon his pillow of clouds!" "'"' 
 
 evcrZcylur''] ' ^^'^^.^^ consent to be abused, for 
 
 mcms^.oi.ableorun^vour^;:'!\^,^:;,^/H-^ 
 IS fever and genius m everv Hne- 'ihnv« i '/^ 
 
 m 
 
 
u 
 
 the hill in the following terms— the language indeed 
 fails now and then, but two or three particulars, wWcA 
 may be found in the accounts fntbliahed at the Hme» are given 
 with some spirit." Now— those words in italicks, are 
 every syllable fafae.- and the critick knew it, or ought to 
 have known it, before he dabbled in criticism. 1 defy 
 him or any other man to point out a single partkidar in 
 the poem— in any accounts that were ever written of the 
 event. That a mountain fell, is true. The rest is all 
 invention. But this is the fact— criticks like others, 
 may be ignorant, but they are not wUling to appear so. 
 For the purpose then, of showing his familiarity with 
 an unknown subject, he hazards a remark which proves 
 to be diametrically opposite to the truth. 
 
 In Another place he says- -"The second poem, Gol- 
 dau, with a little invenHon and good management, might 
 have been made attractive. Of the good management, 
 I shall say nothing. But of the invention, I -wilf. say 
 this,-it is all invention. Every line, every thought, 
 every combination, even to the particulars and descrip- 
 tion of the event, is entirely and exclusively my own; and 
 
 is invention. * 
 
 I have been charged, but by one person only— with 
 imitaHon. Others have vindicated me, indignantly. And 
 yet I think, he, though wrong, is nearer right than they 
 are. It is resemblance^ not imitation. I used to imitate. 
 —Moore was my first standard, as he is with all boys, 
 when they first begin to fancy they can make rhymes, 
 and fall in love; and I have even imitated others, but 
 never, neter without acknowledging it. 
 
 I would 'as soon be an ape in every thing as in any 
 
 Ai*A 
 
te 
 
 ir 
 
 ^ 'k^- 
 
 lii 
 
 thing. Reader, try the question for yourself; compare 
 any two poets together that the world ever saw, and if 
 you do not hnd more res.nbiances between them, than 
 between my poem and that of any other human being, 
 then call me an imitator and welcome; then let me ffo 
 down to my grave, loaded with the sneaking, abject, pu- 
 sdiammous reputauon of a pilferer and apSgdaL ' 
 
 verf r r" '''"' '"^'""'^ ^^^-''^^ ^•-'«^- I ne. 
 ver yet could stoop to. As I know my own soul, 1 would 
 
 not ^nutate the greatest poet Uat ever breathed, we e 
 Isure of never being discovered, ,nd equally sure of 
 nnmortahty for doing it. No>I bad rather be damned 
 for ong.nah,, , than worshipped for imitation * 
 
 So scrupulous, moreover, havel been in this revisal, 
 
 seriousindictment for llJ^^ ' am exposed to a more 
 
 I Should not intiS:&n'a;i n^^^^^^^ 
 
 (12th April) seen a poem ^iocLm^^^rr'u' 
 lished m Philadelnh a u.;th „ ^^^^^ tixnv) just pub- 
 
 and confessions ,ToX?.S i "^ i^'^" '''^'^ dedications 
 of mine. iTe co ncid "f^;^- ^ unhke this very scheme 
 able than any Xcfha led f';??.'"^".^ ^'^ "'T ^^'"^^" 
 The first case, however s s( m' ' ''F °-^ r'"^^""' 
 I wrote KoP €00^ rev ^^vc irrih''"""'*- "'^ ^'^"" 
 some very erudite\n^ Iff 1 ".*^^ preface, witli 
 was vt^i\i ., ^t^ ^"d profound critic sms: the work 
 
 «' n wWcEr h:l"" frf' Lallah'Rookh:^ 
 spicuous forthe\am ""^'^^ Fadladeen equally con- 
 is worth mentbnlnr^^ I" both cases, and it 
 excJusiveHy ow"f and'? ^'T. *?l' Y^' ^'""^« ^^^^e 
 
 dy on earth L^fno. f . ""f """^ ^^^^'^^ »"d t^at nobo- 
 th^er^p^LtV^X:^^^^^^^^^^^ ^y>fo^ 
 
 ,..is(|i*»M*ta^^s 
 
elf; compare 
 ■r saw, and if 
 n them, than 
 uman being, 
 n let me go 
 :, abject, pu- 
 agiarist. 
 utation I ne- 
 ioul, 1 would 
 ithed, were 
 ally sure of 
 be damned 
 1.* 
 this revisal, 
 
 er, that in . 
 
 to a more 
 plagiarism. 
 is moment, 
 
 just pub- 
 Jcourse on 
 ledications 
 ry scheme 
 •e remark- 
 
 imitation. 
 cal; when 
 ace, witli 
 the work 
 lookh ap- 
 ially con- 
 ^s, and it 
 ims were 
 ither saw 
 bat nobo- 
 le by, for 
 
 liii 
 
 <x, avoid all imitation, that, whenever I have perceived 
 a resemblance^re.embUng rV«t7a«cn-whether m epithet, 
 mannerorlanguage, evento a single word, 1 have struck 
 it out The fact is, whatever be the consequence, I 
 am determined to be original, though it lead to.absurdi- 
 
 ty and extravagance. . r. -. i •« 
 
 The plain truth is, however, that I am mfinitely m- 
 debted to Byron, Moore, and Hunt. To others, foreign- 
 ers, I acknowledge no indebtedriess, for I have read 
 very little of what the world calls "English classicks 
 since I was able to judge for myself Above all, am I 
 indebted to the friendship and kindness of Mr. Pier- 
 pont-his "Airs" first excited my ambiUon, and he first 
 ministered to the workings of my heart These poets 
 have educated me. I do not imitate them-I have only 
 learnt my trade of them-and now I have set up for 
 
 myself. .,. . 
 
 » It is somewhat amusing too, that this very cntick, 
 who has made such discoveries in mousing for my 
 imtatiom, is himself a downright, wholesale plagiarist. 
 Let us begin witli a little thing-we must accommodate 
 ourselves to the vision of those who examine firmaments 
 with a microscope. He (the critick) calls a certam pic 
 ture in Niagara a refresHng one:-yes, reader, a refresh- 
 ing description. Where did he get that remarkable 
 epithet, and how had he the courage to use it? I'll tell 
 
 • As an example, I never read Collins' Ode to the 
 Passions, till I saw the article in which I was charged 
 with imitating one of his lines-and then 1 ^7«;"}^^^^ 
 to see how he had imitated me! the Lyre of the \V inds 
 resembles that great ode exceedingly-m its structure, 
 
 1 
 
liv 
 
 you. He stole it from t^ .-u ^ 
 
 «"y thing but water, turf IdT' "o""" '"''■""""f '» 
 -« <>»-rdi„g™U ' t r"K"^'"""'*'P«'^- K 
 - richer and m„^ eapUvauI'I , ''™''""'' '" '=™>" 
 
 "» "'"^l-^T-thatthUmal he„T A ''"'"'"'' " 
 
 "•other Pean of .fce PoZ'^lu^"!?'"' »'"'»ld "» 
 
 eonsequenoe-i should deW ^ "'""^'f »f «»«« 
 
 >•> the poetry of Hunt-halah. k f'"' ""* "^ «»». 
 
 %'>^u.«ndpeeuUaroftS:f;""^"'— <•«- 
 
 «»'<'p"ja;i"°7::"'„i'r'*f''°*»'«"'''>who.c. 
 
 thing ne. and stra^.^ nrr '""^-^^S eve^ 
 ever deserved the na^e of po t^' ^'"^ ""■« *»' 
 'tra-ffe. tti,„otfa„i,i„i' r^' " """^ '"»'>"'' 
 "ou-plaee staik,, and ^ ^t 7 .' '"'*"'• "">■ 
 work of poetry, the habiUmenrhr"' "" P'*"" 
 ^t^nge, but having pas " ^ I """^ '""' "'* ""<• 
 •■ave, at last. becolToTd ,t "^'' """^ ^-"e-tions, 
 that constitutes poe™y Forth ,°°™''"" " "»' this 
 
 ^e-y. meuphor, alfeg2 I' *™ *= -hooi-boy i J 
 thology. AB poets ^^' L^ :;".:'°" t" »»""t n,y. 
 has blundered through his^I " ^""^ "»" that 
 he it in p,«se orpoeV tl M "Jr:'''"""'""'"'', 
 °f 'heir f«„ish and ex^vL^" f," ' "^ '^P-ti"S so.e 
 ye' >'• are gui„y „f ^™f?* fhles. „ is disg^ceH 
 """y -n do it.^ „ : ^^^'^^ 'he n,eHt, Any' 
 
 ^ necessary to read transla. 
 
Iv 
 
 tions, and you are complete^ qualified. You have a 
 magazine of thunderbolts, and gods and goddesses, and 
 PhoebuSes, and Jupiters, and the devil knows what. 
 But what merit is there in it? The reader knows it as 
 well as you do, or he does not. If he does, your labour 
 is wasted, and he is angry. If he does not, he despises 
 you. Can't you invent, he says— must you repeat? 
 
 So it is with epithet and imagery. What is new, is 
 condemned as stnnge. Yet all that is now old, was once 
 new. Nothing :.aows the character of a poet so con- 
 clusively as his epithets. You can see at once whether 
 he means any thing by them, or has only put them in, as 
 words of course. 
 
 This then is the process of reasoning, with most cri- 
 ticks, but particularly v/ith mine. You do not write 
 poetry. Why? Because it is new and strange. It 
 doesn't resemble any of the old standard works. Ergo 
 --it is not poetry. But, suppose it is not new and 
 strange — suppose it does resemble the old standard 
 poets— is it poetry then? Oh no! no— says the critick, 
 with a profound shake of the head— no, if you resemble 
 them, you must imitate them. Ergo, you are no poet 
 either way. Thus, whether I do, or d6 not resemble 
 the consecrated idols of poesy, I am no poet. 
 
 But now for the plagiarism which I charge upon 
 him. Critick, I arraign thee! Thou hast been guilty of 
 most incorrigible, injudicious, awkward, and ridiculous 
 pilfering from tlie sentiment, language, and even manner 
 of a predecessor. Reader, judge thou for thyself. Turn 
 to the criticism of Lallah Rookh, in the North American 
 Review for Nov. 1817. It is indeed a beautiful article. 
 
 n 
 
m'l 
 
 V' 
 
 .11 
 
 ; 
 
 
 Ivi 
 
 That critick was a poet. He had the right touch— ho 
 hud seen what he describes, "the green leaves rustling 
 and glittering in the winds and moonlight." Compare 
 the discriminating criticism of that poem, in pages 5, 6, 
 T, and 25, with the censures past upon Niagara, in the 
 same work for Dec. 1818— pages 142, 153, 156. Look 
 at them. Ts it not ridiculous? Men should have judg- 
 ment as well as adroitness when they steal: and circum- 
 spection, as well as flippancy in criticism. Little did the 
 latter critick tliink, when he was condemning me for 
 the very same faults that the former critick found in 
 Moore— little did he think that others might have ad- 
 mired the same article— and possibly might remember 
 enougji to detect his lubberly tliieving. 
 
 The former critick says what is exactly true of his 
 subject. But what is true of Moore— I am willing to 
 abide by what I say— must be entirely untrue, when ap- 
 plied to me. No two creatures on earth resemble each 
 other less. Mtich as I admire Moore, I should be 
 sorry to resemble him, in his most felicitous inspiration. 
 The faults of Moore are those of delicacy, and finish, 
 not of negligence, passion, or tumult— and mine, I 
 know, are exactly the reverse. Moore never felt a 
 hurrying, uncontrollable emotion in his life. And I— I 
 claim no merit from it, it is a constitutional infirmity — I 
 never felt any other than hurrying uncontrollable emo- 
 tions. Moore is the most beautiful of poets— As a song 
 writer he is beyond the reach of emulation— he is alto- 
 gether a musician; he thinks, breathes, sings, and 
 writes melodyr but with all this, Moore is not & great 
 poet. The grandest imagery that he- ever ventured up- 
 
 ' ■*i>3fep;u.#^if.^-. 
 
 ( WBI^ 
 
 iimmmtMn^: 
 
Ivii 
 
 on, becomes beautiful under the operation of his enchant- 
 ment. Moore might be terrible, if what is naturally 
 terrible in some of his conceptions, were less artfully- 
 more nakedly exhibited. Read his songs— old Ireland 
 leaps up in her atmour at the call of his harp; but, in- 
 stead of couching her lance as we should anticipate, the 
 apparition performs a few graceful evolutions before us, 
 and vanishes. I remember one of his thoughts, that is 
 without a parallel in the English language. He de- 
 scribes an old harp, neglected, hdng up in the de- 
 serted apartment of some ruin— breaking, string after 
 string, in midnight and solitude. He compares.it— but 
 too poetically, that is, in language too beautiful and 
 rich, to the bursting of hearts, one after another, among 
 the defenders of Irelafid. And in this little passage, 
 the whole character jf Moore may be seen. He has 
 conceived one of the most terrifick, as well as the 
 most felicitous illustrations, that ever came into the 
 head of a poet— but see how he has iheUowed and sof- 
 tened it away. You feel, in dweUing on it, no other emo- 
 tion than delight at his consummate art. He describes a 
 man, or rather a devil, defeated in battle, and dying as 
 Cooke did in Richard, at bay, retreating and "murdering 
 
 as he goes." 
 «iy.s a grim tiger, whom the ton-ent's might 
 Surprises, in some parched ravine at night. 
 Turns, e'en in drowning on the wretched flocks. 
 Swept with him in Ihat snow-flood from the rocks; 
 And to the last, devouring on Us -way, » 
 
 Bloodies tfiestrtatn he hath not power to stay" 
 How infinitely unworthy of the conception is that 
 n 
 
 m 
 
 fl 
 
Iviii 
 
 language. The two last lines are the only decent ane* 
 in the picture; but they are beautiful. 
 
 But if I were to select the grandest-the noblest 
 painting that Moore ever gave to the world, it would 
 be this. //.r.-.for once, he speaks like one full of ter- 
 rible and circumstantial inspiration.— 
 
 " ' -"The labyrinth led 
 
 Through damp and g]oom-'mid crash of boughs, 
 *^nd fall of loosened crags, ih^iTonsQ 
 
 The leopard from his hungry sleep; 
 Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey. 
 And long is h.a-d,/rew« ,^ee;> ^0 s^^;,, 
 
 Chaffing them tlorm their thundenng t^ay >» 
 Having ventured so far, even without putting off 
 
 my sho.s. within the prohibited dominions of criticism 
 sha t,, ,, ,, ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^ ^^^ ^ J.m 
 
 longer, in looking about me, before the dragons are 
 
 In the reviews of Lallah Rookh and Niagara, both 
 cnticks-.(may I be pardoned for associating them for a 
 tnoment,) complain that the thoughts are made subordi- 
 
 plaisance)-have .A., considered the subject? What 
 IS poe^y but imagery? and what is imagery but th. 
 
 rLme VH *"""'' " '^^'^'^'^^ ""^ '' ^ P-- or 
 
 ever may be Its dress. But remember, itisnotpoetn. 
 without n^aphor, hyperbo}., allusion, or imagery V^ 
 
 rZTr ' n '"^- ''"^ ""^^ '^^^^^--' -"^-pos- 
 session, as well as, genius to.tlun^ poetically. His 
 
lix 
 
 mind must be enriched, trained to the contemplation 
 of all objects under different lights and evolutions He 
 must serve an apprenticeship, before he can even think 
 poetically. But even then, when filled with thought, he 
 has anotJier course of discipline to undergo, before he 
 can express hiniself poetically. He may be full of mu. 
 sick— full!— yet he must leai-n tl^e fingering, before 
 he can play on a flute or a harpsichord. Poets acquire 
 a mechanical habit of finding, or conjuring up resem- 
 blances, and illustrations, tliat to themselves may be 
 very obvious, while others, unaccustomed to the ra- 
 pidity of poetical combinations, will consider them as 
 far-fetched. The operations of a poetic&i mind are, to 
 the mere critick, as unintelligible, and to the poet him- 
 self as inexplicable, as the phenomena of Zera Col- 
 bourn's were to the sober mathematicians of this world. 
 Poets, like that boy, when asked how they do such 
 ^ings, can only say as he did— we know not, there is a 
 noise and a flame about us — we see and hear things 
 >yitli other senses during these visitations; we are en- 
 compassed with a fiery influence, and tremble as in the 
 presence of Divinity. , 
 
 But let me give an illustration of thi^ doctrine res- 
 pecting poetry. Job was a poet; He describes a horse. 
 The thouerht he ^ould express at tlie bottom, in its na- 
 kedness, is no more than any man might have, though 
 he were no poet — but the mannei' is peculiar to the 
 poet. The thought, we will suppose to be this. I saw 
 ^ horse.— He reared and plunged, threw up his head, 
 ;^nd neighed, and strug^gledto get at the enemy. Such 
 1^ the lan^age of nature an^ passion. It is th.e Ij^n- 
 
 f 
 
 *s««li^*^. 
 
^■ 
 
 f j^uagte too, of the critick ^nd the savage. They both 
 tiescribe the event, as they saw it. They perceive no 
 ^semblances, for they have never been accustomed to 
 Ibok for them. They cannot be poetical in their des- 
 cription, because they have no experience in poetical 
 thought or poetical association. But how does Job do 
 It? Something in this way, if I recollect right. Hii 
 
 WBCK WAS CLOTHKS WITH THtlKOXB. ThI OLOItT OF HIS 
 V0I$TRIL8 WAS TERRIBLE. H» SWAI.I.OWSTH THK GROViril 
 
 WITH riEBCEHEss AWD RAOB. That vioyf is poetry. It is 
 not the language of passion. Nor is it the language of 
 ■ nature. Men do not talk about necks being clothed with 
 thunder, the glory of nostrils, nor of swallowing the 
 ground, unless they are on the very verge of madness. 
 If such language bad never been used, who would dare 
 to use it now.? who would dare to speak of floods 
 <*clapping their hands," and mountains skipping about 
 like young lambs? nobody —nobody, on earth. When 
 that poetry was written. Criticism had not yet uttered 
 her blasphemies. 
 
 Let us take another example— the most overwhel- 
 ming and omnipotent energy in description that the 
 Whole Bible contains. Let tubre be uobt — aito thbre 
 ■WA9 iiGHT. Is that poetry? No. Could Job have 
 Spoken as Moses did, had he, like Moses, bowed him- 
 llelf down to the revelations of the Eternal?— -no, he 
 f Ould not. He would have made the whole creation,— 
 the coming forth of oceans, and mountains, and stars 
 —but a poem. The Deity might have been heard, and 
 seen, thundering over the firmament, whirlwinds and 
 darkness encompassing him round about— but after all. 
 
 # 
 
bd 
 
 it would have been only poetry. Awful, fublime, and 
 terrible, it might have been— but it would have borne 
 about the same proportion to this one line» let there be 
 Ufkt, and there wot Uqht — that the language of man, in 
 its utmost elevation, would bear to the language of the 
 Everlasting God. 
 
 This then is my conclusion. Poetry is not the 
 highest reaching of langus^e: yet it is the highest that 
 can be measured by the generality of raen. In deacrip- 
 tive poetiy, the thought, as it is in Job's description of 
 the hors^, must be subordinate to the imagery. In the 
 drama, in tragedy, in passionate poetry, tlie language of 
 suffering, adoration, or rejoicing-^the imagery must be 
 subordinate to the thought: — indeed there should be 
 very little, if any imagery at all, employed then. The 
 legitimate language of passion is a terrible simplicity. 
 The thought must be unencumbered— naked. Poetical 
 language, to a thought of genuine passion— is what a 
 Roman toga would be the dying gladiator. It hides 
 the action of the muscles, and the mighty working of 
 agony. 
 
 In description, however, it is (]Urectly the reverse. 
 You might as well place a naked man on the boards of 
 an opera, to tell a story; as to describe any thing — for 
 example — a battle— a landscape— or a horse— in natural 
 language. There we look for spectacle— colouring and 
 pageantry. 
 
 The language of poetry— the descriptions of poe- 
 try — are not those of nature, I say again. It is all hy- 
 perbole—more highly coloured — and better grouped 
 than Nature. So it is in painting. So in statuary. A 
 n 9. 
 
 i, I' 
 
 u 
 
 ,--»WIWSM'V 
 
 :-^^^g%.^ 
 

 IJ 
 
 h \\li 
 
 J 
 
 perfectly natural man -sculptured— however perfect 
 the model might be— would excite no such feeHng as 
 the Apollo does. To make one Venys, the beauHet of 
 many women were assembled— and embodied-their 
 imperfections were left out. Is that nature iUenf 
 
 In one woi«d— to prove that poetical description— 
 whether by painting— sculpture -or poetry— (for each 
 is capable of poetical description)— to prove that it h 
 not faithfully natund— 1 would ask you this question. 
 Did you ever see a great painting of a horse? Did you 
 ever sec a fine poetical description of a horae? Did 
 you ever see a good representation of a horse, in 
 marble? To one of tliose you may probably reply in 
 the affirAiative. Then I ask you this question. Did 
 you ever feel such enthusiasm at the sight of any Uving- 
 horse? I leave you to make the reply— one word will 
 decide, whether you admire these masterpieces of 
 . sculpture, and painting, and poeti-y for their nature. 
 And now one word more of these criticks and re- 
 viewers. Who are they.' .It has been my fortune to 
 know many of them— some intimiitely; and I have al- 
 ways found them— out of their studies— a very harmless, ' 
 inolFcnsive soil of gentry. None that I know, are re- 
 markable for talents, or science, or taste! Most of them 
 would tremble— in publick, before the very men, whose 
 reputation they attack, tooth and nail, with the most ve- 
 hement intrepidity, under the cloak of their profession. 
 The truth is— they escape criticism from the very 
 nature of their writings— not from their superiority; — 
 for they are often— in decency be it spoken— the ven- 
 ders of a flat, vapid, sluggish kind of solemnity; or pf 
 
Ixiii 
 
 er perfect 
 I feeflnjf as 
 '■ beautiet of 
 lied— their 
 thenP 
 
 scription— 
 -(for each 
 i that it h 
 I question. 
 ? Did you 
 )r8e? Did 
 horse, in 
 r reply in 
 tion. Did 
 any living" 
 word will 
 'pieces of 
 nature. 
 cs and re- 
 t'ortunjc to 
 I have al- 
 harmless, ' 
 vv, are re- 
 It of them 
 ;n, whose 
 most ve- 
 rofession. 
 the very 
 riority; — 
 -the vcn- 
 ity; or pf 
 
 lively, vehement nonsense— busy— bustling and insigni- 
 ficant Every wh^re —I say it not of American journal, 
 ists alone— for some of them are respectable, independ- 
 ent and decorous m their criticisms — the editors are 
 generally a hireling set— mere bookseller's hacks, alike 
 destitute of principle, character, and feeling. Gene- 
 rally—the most licentious, rancorous, and abusive criti- 
 cisms that appear, are the production ofmereboyi: 
 Ambitious of notoriety, and seeking it, like the young 
 Romans, by fastening upon established reputation in 
 the way of impeachment; virulent, unprincipled, and 
 boisterous: -Using words without knowing their power, 
 and pronouncing with the most determined composure, 
 sentences that have been matured without reflection— ^ 
 strengthened without, experience— and formed, nine 
 times out of ten, without their having ever read the 
 book which they curse, or acquit. The devil take such 
 writers! —I say. — It is the heartiest prayer I ever uttered. 
 Manly, frank criticism— I love— I venerate. The more 
 severe, the better. But for the drivelling, despica- 
 ble, sneaking cant of the trade, I have the most uncen>, 
 querable aversion and contempt, ' 
 
 And now reader, farewell! we are about to part — 
 for ever. A few words more, and I shall have done. 
 I began to scribble from necessity— I continued it from 
 necessity— thai necessity no longer exists, and I aban- 
 don it —from duty. 1 began the business for my bread 
 —to support myself during a course of severe, unpro- 
 fitable, and discouraging study— ^and if bread was all 
 that I now cared for, I should continue it— for I am one 
 among the few scribblers in America, who can keep 
 D3 
 
 
 ■ n: 
 
 
 .' i 
 
 11 
 
 } 
 
7 
 
 * Ixiv 
 
 their chins out of water by making books. I hz^S , 
 now, as have before s£ud— another ambition; and to 
 its impulses \ Aall exclusively devote myself— till other 
 seasons— and other days, and so— fivewell to poesy. 
 
 As Wordsworth says— and it is the best thing he 
 ever did say — "reader, jndgfffor yourself." Don't trou- 
 ble your head about what your neighbours think of this 
 poem— if you like it— if you feel any dizziness, any lifting 
 of the heart, any tingling or thrilling in your veins; if 
 you feel your pulsation quickened or suspended; or 
 your sight grow dim for a single moment; or your coun- 
 tenance breaking into ?uiiles, before you know it; 
 never stop to search out the cause -give a loose to your 
 feeling, indulge it, it is innocent, and, like the first 
 kisi of love— never to be experienced but once. Vou 
 never feel a second time, such emotions in contem- 
 plating any ihing— no matter what it is:— in hearing or 
 Reading any thing, no matter what it is— as you did 
 at first. You cannot— it is impossible — you may affect 
 it, but you only make yourself ridiculous. The first 
 gush of the heart is spontaneous:— the longer it runs— 
 the feebler it is —until it dies away in drops and trick- 
 lings. ' 
 
 If you feel any thing of this— reader— t^ h poetry. 
 Nothing but poetry can excite it. Poetry is the lan- 
 guage of genius- the expression of divinity. Poetry 
 may be revealed in statuary— musick— architecture— 
 and painting— as well as in language. It is in thought- 
 conception. 
 
 On the contrary, if you do not like these poems- 
 do not attempt to analyze your feelings:— after reading 
 
oks. I ha\^€ , 
 bition; and to 
 self— till other 
 I to poesy. 
 best thing he 
 " Don't troii- 
 ps think of this 
 less, any lifting 
 i your veins; if 
 suspended; or 
 ; or your coun- 
 you know it; 
 a loose to your 
 
 like the first 
 ut once. Vou 
 ons in contem- 
 — in hearing or 
 
 is — as you did 
 -you may affect 
 •us. The first 
 longer it runs — 
 Irops and trick- 
 
 tr—it !s poetry. 
 letry is the lan- 
 ivinity. Poetry 
 -architecture — 
 t is in thought— 
 
 these poems — 
 }:— after reading 
 
 Ixv 
 
 ttiem as they ought to be read—in soUtude— or with 
 mose you love— on a still, moon-light night— if you feel 
 i|othing of this— no working of the heart— no knitting 
 <f the sinews -put ^em in the fire at once— bum them 
 -tburn them! Whatever they may be to others— to you 
 ^py are not poetryi 
 
 Did you ever see a biautiful woman— and stand *till 
 your sight grew dim in wondering at her?— That was 
 poetry. The language of heaven— of him who em- 
 V>roidered the firmament— and fashioned the loveliness 
 ©f woman— is poetrjr. You felt, in looking at her— an 
 Indefinable, thick-coning luxury— a bewildering, and 
 yeligious dehght. You saw her again:— did you feel the 
 ^ame emotion? No'.—the feeling of man— of the critick, 
 Vas awake; You proceeded- from wishing a little 
 more freshness in htr cheek— a glossier lustre to her 
 hair— to the discovery, that not one limb was properly 
 piodelled— one feature properly fashioned— or a single 
 atom of flesh properly coloured. In this way, creatures 
 of fine feeling, by listening to others, become so coldly 
 phlegmatick— as to stand before her without emotion, 
 and watch the play of her countenance in conversation; 
 ^he unfettered enchantment of her limbs in the dance; 
 r-aye, without one blessing— one quick breath— or one 
 pulsation, more or less, than they would have felt in con- 
 templating a rope-dancer. In short— to say all in one 
 word— you were human creatures— you became cri- 
 ticks. ' 
 
 It is always so. We are never enthusiasts after the 
 first rapid, fiery, tumultuous trancing of the spirit, in the 
 fever of its first excitement— whether in religion— love 
 D4 
 
 \ 
 
 V: 
 
 I 
 
 ■-•1. 
 
 "U¥^;h-, »»!»?«l»*«ljB* 
 
f I 
 
 J I 
 
 Izvi 
 
 -poetry-orany thing el8e:-whenyau>/, you cannot 
 cnticise. At first, we stand breathless- our arms in. 
 voluntarily liftcd-and our lips unck)sed-whe» we 
 see any thing worth our astonishme»t Then- we can- 
 not taIk-K)ur feelings are indescribable -and we have 
 no opimons. Soon after, we be^ to chatter rigkt 
 sensibly-but then-the blesspd feeling of the subject 
 has departed from us. 1 
 
 Honeit criticism-at best, though a noble, is but a cru- 
 el art. It is a necessary, buc mortifjing exercise of our 
 powers It sobers away dl our delusions-tames us 
 into nothmgness-and compels u5 to turn away from the 
 thickemng visions of our fancy-Uke new breeched 
 boys from go-carts and rag-babies;- and for what?^Ta, 
 gwsp a kile-string, aKd play at marbles. And, after aU 
 what do we gain.P Are we the happier, for having' 
 these delusions stripped to their skeleton deformity^ 
 Is not happiness itself a dreanV-enjoyment a deliriim^ 
 Ought we to thank the offidous hand that scatter a 
 sudden enchantment, even while it is breaking upon 
 ^us-wbde the sky is all one rain-bow-and heaven it- 
 self seems nearer earUi?~no--no. It is fanaticism- 
 it is cruelty. I thank no such meddlers. A delicioua 
 dream IS better than a weary reahty. And I should ne. • 
 ver forgive the wretch that could awaken a lovely girl, 
 for example, from her dreams~at the very moment , 
 when her looks were brightening-her colour coming 
 and going-her bosom heaving-and her whole form 
 illuminated:-though it we aU- all de2usion:.-no-ne. 
 ver~never!-were that girl even my sister-or mv 
 child. 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
Ixvii 
 
 Reader, the blessing of heaven be upon you!— Of 
 ^s poem— I only ask you to judge as you feel. And 
 f»ow —farewell '.—farewell for ever! Hearken to no, cri- 
 Iticism l?ut that of your heart. 
 
 JOHN' J^EAL. 
 
 fifiUimoret June, 1819. 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
y 
 
 .k 
 
 
 f^. 
 
 / 
 
FRELmiJ>rMr poem. 
 
 ss 
 
 'TWAS night, and the breath of the tempest was near; 
 
 And her plumes were unfolded abroad o'er the sky; 
 The lightnings were held in their struggling career; 
 
 And the so'ng of the waters went patiently by. 
 
 A heaviness was in the air. 
 
 As if some hovering shape were there, 
 
 With languid wing, and floating hair; 
 
 Some cloudy one, whose shiggish flight. 
 Was stooping to a dreary home; 
 
 And hung Leneath the vault of night, 
 
 As if to intercept Uie light, 
 
 Tliat, bursting wide, and flashing bright, 
 Rolled o'er the clouds in pulpy foam: 
 
 All were. as still, in heaven and earth, ^ 
 As they that watch'd Creation's birth— 
 When O!— a sudden trumpet-blast. 
 Burst loudly on the ear! and past- 
 Then came the i^W of drums!— and high 
 The cannon's voice went thundering by!— 
 \nd tb en—the thrilling bu^lo cry! 
 
l/^ 
 
 TO 
 
 * BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 And then— amid the clouds-were heard 
 Strange— fearful echoes to the song; 
 
 And o'er the skies there shrieked some bird. 
 That went on viewless wing along! 
 
 And then— a far tumultuous sound. 
 
 Beyond the hills, went rolling outj 
 As if a sleeping host had found 
 A sudden resurrection there— 
 
 And burst the ground 
 
 And starting up tht rjdnight air 
 Pealed all at once their battle-ghout! 
 
 ■ 
 
 As ifa multitude had risen. 
 The giants of our warring race. 
 Amid the solitudes of space. 
 And heaved their everlasting prison- 
 Some mountain!— from its base! 
 And countless wings arose— and by 
 They swept with warrior-minstrelsy— 
 Like that ye hear amid the sky. 
 While, in the pauses of the storm. 
 Some air-blown trump— is laughing clear ' 
 In distant worlds!-and harps are near. 
 And pipes are lireathing in your ear; 
 When the strong wiijd comes out again- 
 Bearing away the wondrous strain: 
 • Sweeping from earth the minstrel.form. 
 
 i 
 
 And then— oh then!— there went a cry 
 Just like the song of victory^ 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 71 
 
 When dying men rise up, and peal 
 
 Their last triumphant shout, 
 With all the strength, that warriors feel, 
 
 When life is ebbing out: 
 
 4 
 
 When— on the air, and up the sky, 
 
 A crowded— thick— far whispering goos; 
 
 And vapoury hosts appear on high, 
 
 Sweeping and jostling giddUy; 
 
 As if some sudden trump had blown; 
 
 And answering quick, had upward flown 
 
 The thronging dead!— and each had found 
 
 His mortal enemy agjun— 
 ' Just as upon the battle ground, 
 
 They parted last— among J^e slwn! 
 
 As if an angry world arose— 
 On shadowy steeds, amid the sky 
 
 And heaven itself were filled with foes— 
 That fought them battles o'er on high— 
 In warring immortality. 
 
 As if the earth— as if the main— 
 The crimson wave— the crimson plain 
 Had yielded up their dead again— 
 In blood and foam— just as they died— 
 Upon the earth— upon the tide! 
 
 '.#f 
 
 ■.'J*. » 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 Then a minstrel was seen, and a vision came forth, ^" 
 Like a cold troubled Ught, o'er the clouds of the north. 
 
 ^. 
 
7% 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 >' 
 
 I 
 
 fl 
 
 And the bok of the minstrel was liftea and high: 
 And the hg-Ms of the storm and the hghts of the sky, 
 WMe his robe was abroadon the breeze that went by. 
 Were flashing and wild in the dark of his eye: 
 
 A moment he paused-and his look was upraised: 
 i hen he st.rted-^and shook-like a creature arna^ed- 
 J^or lol^all the strength of his soul v^as revealed-- 
 
 Ihe thunder rolled out!-andthenearhghtningblazed. 
 And he turned him away from the vault where he gazed 
 
 As if he had seen-what its darkness concealed! ' 
 The .hunder rolled out!-yet he stood all alone- 
 Exultin^-hke one that's recovered a throne.^ 
 
 A harp was before him-his hand in the air 
 . Yet it paused e'er it feU on his echoing lyre 
 
 And trembled and dwelt, as uplifted in prayerl 
 Niagara roll'd!~and the battle was there' 
 
 The pealing of thunder-and rushing of fire' 
 The future in pomp was assembled before him- 
 ^ He felt as the pinions of prophecy bore him; 
 
 And yet, for the dreams of his morning had flown 
 His heart was oppressed with a terror unknown,' 
 
 The chill of the night on his spirit was shed 
 Like the damps that abide on the brow of the dead- 
 But more than the murmurs of night were around, 
 m^ he stooped o'er his harp and awakened a sound- 
 For voices were heard in the air! ' 
 
 Like the stirring that comes from the tenanted grQun4 
 ,:; When revelry wanders there! 
 
 -•\,.- 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 73 
 
 lifet thrice he smote the palsied strings. 
 And thrice he heard the rush of wings. 
 
 And feeble murmurings rose! 
 As if some startled spirit fled — 
 Some soldier's guard — where he had bled-- 
 
 Disturbed in her repose! 
 As if some warrior rsused his bead. 
 And listened from his bloody bed. 
 
 To requiems o'er his foes! 
 
 The minstrel left the field of blood; 
 
 And stood above the mighty flood; 
 
 And listened to his stormy voice; 
 
 And heard it on the winds rejoice; 
 
 And there — he would hav6 sung — but there. 
 
 The awe he felt was in the air — 
 
 Was all about — was every where: 
 
 Then he stood on a cliff, when the Morning unrolled 
 Her banners of crimson, and purple, and gold; 
 Her plumage, and robe with its changeable fold; 
 
 And felt, as he saw all these splendours, outspread. 
 As if he Ivtd gone where some mighty-one slumbew. 
 With the ruins of song, and the relicks of numbers; 
 
 Who 'woke as he heard the unhallowed tread! 
 
 f 
 
 iTet — yet 'twas an impulse may never be quenched: 
 The fountains that burst where the light hath its 
 
 source — 
 Or cherubim wings, may be stayed in their course 
 
 ,*#^ 
 
 •%■ 
 
 
 il 
 
I' 
 
 74 
 
 BATTLE OF NfAGARA. 
 
 i 
 
 I # 
 
 When they lighten along where the storm is entrenched; 
 
 Her spear, from the Angel of n>|fKt„ may be wrenched; 
 
 Or the plumage of Peace in Jie oa^lo > e drenched,— 
 When it bends o*erthe strife, like the bow of the sky. 
 Or the light that is seen in a martyr'd-one*s eye;— 
 Before you may still the tumultuous voice 
 
 Of a heart that is heaving with song; 
 Before ye may silence the lyres that rejoice. 
 
 Where the wind from the water comes sweeping along; 
 
 And the chorus of mountain and cavern is strong. 
 
 The minstrel smote his harp once more; 
 
 And loudly then, there went this strain, 
 IJiisteadily, from shore to shore. 
 
 And died along the distant main. 
 
 My country! my home! sunny land of my fathers! 
 
 Where empires unknown in bright solitudes lie; 
 Wher6 Nature, august in serenity, gathers 
 
 The wonders of* mountain, and ocean, and sky: 
 Where the blue dome of heaven scarce bounds her 
 dominion: 
 Where man is as free as the creatures ofsur; 
 *A9 thine Eagle— of fleet, uncontrollable pinion; 
 1%e gallant gray Bird of the winds! that is there. 
 
 That eagle, whose spirit each morning renews. 
 As her god thro* unquenchable light she pursues. 
 And tosses her plumes to the trumpet acclaim: — 
 - fll|th* rushing of wings, and the screaming of praise, 
 lll^t her stany*eyed nurslings in ecstacy raise. 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 76 
 
 As they mount, with their bosoms all l.ure, in the blaic 
 Ot* their idol, whose temple is curtained with flame! 
 
 My cou}itry! my home! in whose^hallowed retreats. 
 An horizon of blue, with a blue water meets, 
 
 'Till the whole like one ocean appears! 
 'Till the eye that dwells long on the faint, distant verge, 
 Bewildered to see the fresh islets emerge, 
 Like evergreen grottoes redeemed from the surge, 
 
 Overflows— in the worship of tears! 
 
 Where the sun travels low in his chariot of light; 
 And the stars and the hiUs are togethe. at night: 
 
 Where the lustre that Day at his parting hath shed. 
 In one blush, o'er the land and the water is spread: 
 And swims like a wreath on each mountain's proud head; 
 And dwells on the night, 
 Of each cliff *s stormy height— * 
 
 Whose foliage hangs loosely and wUdly in air. 
 Like a meteor-diadem,-dropped in the flight ^ 
 
 Of those, who are forth in the storm and the fight. 
 O'er the plumage of ravels that warrior-hehns wear. ^ 
 
 There the Thunderers stand! in their fortress of shade; 
 Like a guard that some god in his might hath arrayed: 
 
 Where the foam-mantled tides, as they rush from each 
 
 pole, 
 Whose warringshave shaken the thrones of the deep, ^ 
 
 •f-i 
 
76 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 Ih/ 
 
 > y 
 
 
 Embrace in one lasting and mewurelcss roil 
 Andsinlc-with the lulling of tempest,, to^Ieep; 
 
 WTiere Dominion is stayed by a cliff.guarded shore; 
 Where Empire looks outfromherheightso'erthe sea 
 
 AM not the dread voices that nations deplore, 
 But— the bounding of water that's free! 
 Where all that moves in storm along: 
 The earthquake's voice-the torrent's song 
 The uproar of the skies, when Night 
 Leads forth her champions to the fight- 
 The elemental chant~and roll 
 Of thunders-crowding to the pole- 
 Or-.when the heaven is cloudless-briirht- 
 And hearts are sweUing with delight, ' 
 
 And eyes are lifted cheerfully 
 That-o'er the blue and boundless sky^ 
 Like some archangel's trump on high' 
 Break suddenly, and fearfullyl 
 
 The ocean-when it roUs aloud— 
 The tempest-bursting from her cloud. 
 
 In one uninterrupted peal! 
 When darkness sits amid the sky; 
 And shadowy forms go trooping by; 
 And everlasting mountains reel—* 
 All-all of this is Freedom's song— 
 'Tis pealed-'tis pealed eternally! 
 And all, that winds and waves prolong, 
 Are anthems roUed to LiBKBTi! 
 
 r 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 7f 
 
 roll, 
 
 > to sleep: 
 
 id shore; 
 o'er the sea; 
 I that rear, 
 •re, 
 
 iong. 
 
 ht; 
 
 Land of the mountain— and the wood— 
 
 The wonders of their giant race; 
 Creation's barrier! Thou hast stood 
 
 Upon thy lofty dwelUng place- 
 Unshaken by contending mains, 
 That thundered in thy rocky chains: 
 
 Immoveably— thy hills arise, 
 Above the clouds that gather there- 
 Like islands in the empty skies- 
 Green spots, reveaitd to gifted eyes- 
 Amid the pale blue air: 
 
 Just like the blessed islets seen— 
 
 By Indians— in the trance of death; 
 Peopled with naked girls, and green 
 With fresh and waving grass— and bright 
 With never-ending sunny Ught— 
 
 Where all the wind is like the breath 
 Of Indian girls in chase: 
 Where all the leaves are glossy; 
 And all the seats are mossy— 
 And all about the brooks, are thrown 
 Ten thousand wild flowers^ newly blown: 
 
 Unyielding still, though oceans wage 
 One loud— perpetual war with thee: 
 
 And all the elements engage 
 For ever— round thy royalty: 
 Enthroned, thou sittest still, 
 Upon thy loftiest hill, 
 
■■ 
 
 l\ 
 
 m 
 
 78 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 CoIumbia!_child of heaven' 
 While all the world is thundering round-- 
 
 To thee 'tis given, . 
 To sit secure~and hear the sound 
 
 W.V ^?'^'*"'^''""°""""^~'« ^heir rage. 
 ^ ithm their secret hiding place 
 
 Toiling at thine eternal base, 
 
 Home ofthe waters! where their strength 
 «oIJs m immeasurable length- 
 
 Or ta. abUng from their cloudy thrones/ 
 
 As thundering from a battJement, 
 With martial hymning, like the tones 
 Of battle-shout, by warriors sent- 
 Go noting in foam and spray. 
 With rainbow-streamers o'er their way 
 
 Beneath the precipice they've rent, ' 
 Exulting~as they burst their cloud-^ 
 As high ...as dazzUng-and as loud- 
 
 As sheets of light! in their descent 
 
 Thro' midnight's parting firmament! 
 
 Where such the measure of the sky 
 That storms may pass unheeded by * 
 And such the pilkr'd strength of earth. 
 
 So strong its adamantine chain, 
 That when convulsion finds a birth. 
 That birth is ever found in vain: 
 The tumult in its weakness dies, 
 Unheeded by the earth or skies. 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGAllA. 
 
 79 
 
 Land of the hero, the patriot, and sage! 
 
 Of warriors, whose deeds have unfettered the wave. 
 Whose standard looks forth where the whirlwinds 
 engage, 
 
 And battles aloft— In the realms of the brave! 
 Whose Genius came forth from the home of the flood, 
 
 And strove with the pirate's red banner on high, 
 'Till the foam of the ocean was tinged with his blood- 
 Tilled the air with her rainbows!— and fearlessly stood, 
 
 And loosened her eaglets abroad o'er the sky! 
 
 Of men, who have fought with the high Briton too. 
 As he sat on his throne in his empire of blue;) 
 'Till the scarlet-crossed banner that majesty bent. 
 
 Had faded and fled from its home in the sky: 
 'Till its terrors went off", as its splendours were rent, 
 
 Like meteors that over the firmament fly, 
 And threw, as they passed o'er the free-rolling tide, , 
 A deep ruddy tii>t— ^twa^ the last bli^sh of pride. 
 
 I^and of white bosoms, and blue laughing-eyes! ' 
 j.ike miniature pictures of transparent skies. 
 
 Where young thoughts, like the blessed, are seen; 
 May those eyes brighten quick at the tale that I tell! 
 And O, if it wake but one white bosom's swell; 
 
 One heart where dear feeling hath been; 
 One pulse that has throbbed in the still of the night, 
 In the dream of its soldier afar in the fight, 
 
 I'm repaid for it over and over: 
 And Columbia may wake when she hears the loud strain, 
 Eg 
 
 i^ 
 
80 
 
 ,i»l 
 
 BATTLE OF NUGAftA. 
 
 And stoop o'er the grave, of her chUdren «»i„ 
 And weep o'er the garl»d. they wove her: 
 
 M.y arise in h^^rnrrr!" T""^"- 
 
 s-bH^eontheheig^^-rSi^rdt:::!'™- 
 
 "^T ""'.'^ """'* •'"ft ^-i 'lone- 
 
 W.th ttoK who are up for tiie chaplet of F«>r 
 
 W 
 
 
again, 
 r: 
 
 ert, 
 wn — 
 fnumbert, 
 
 h claim 
 fame. 
 
 Q 
 
 ■'-Jh'3" 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 £agle troop of mounted Americans appear dls- 
 
 appear leader.. ...sunset imagery seenagiunonthe 
 
 summi' c"*he hill indistinctly descend and pass the 
 
 spectator reflections night cut their way through 
 
 a small encampment of the British American camp... 
 
 midnight expedition The time employed is three days. 
 
 "'<i^<. 
 *^*l 
 
 f^. 
 
jpeai* dis- 
 
 again on the 
 ind pass the 
 ^ay through 
 :an camp... 
 I three days, 
 
 \ 
 
 BATTliE 0¥ NIAGARA, 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 THERE'S a fierce gray Bird — with a sharpened beak; 
 With an angry eye, and a startling shriek. 
 That nurses her brood where the clifT-flowers blow. 
 On the precipice-top— in perpetual snow — 
 Where the fountains are mate, or in secrecy flow— 
 ThA sits— -vvhere the air is shrill and bleak, 
 On the splintered point of a shivered peak- 
 Where the weeds lie close — and the grass sings sharp« 
 To a comfortless tune— like a wintry harp— 
 Bald-heade^l and stripped! — like a vulture torn 
 In wind and strife! — with her feathers worn. 
 And ruffled and stained— 'While scattering— bright. 
 Round her serpent-neck— that is writhing, bare — 
 Js a crimson collar of gleaming hair!— 
 l^iko the crest of a warrior thinned in the fight, f 
 
 And shorn-^and bristling' — see her! where 
 She sits in the glow of the sun-bright air! 
 With wing half-poised— and talons bleeding — 
 And kindling eye— as if her prey 
 Had — 3UC y— been snatched away—. 
 While she was tearing it, and feeding! 
 E 4 
 
 ii^lNV 
 
m 
 
 m 
 
 ^y 
 
 
 84 
 
 BATTLK OF NIAGARA. 
 
 • A BiBD that is first to worship the sun, 
 When he gaUops in flame-HiU the cloud tides run 
 In billows of fire— as his course is done. 
 Above where the fountain is gushing in light; 
 Above where che torrent is forth In its might- 
 Like an imprisoned blaze that is Inarsting from night! 
 
 Or a lion tha^ springs-with a roar-from his lair' 
 Bounding off-all in foam-from the echoing height- 
 Like a rank of young war-horses-terribly bright, 
 Their manes all erect!-and their huofs in the air!* " 
 The earth shaking under them— trumi;.et8 on high— 
 And banners unfiling uway in the sky— 
 With the neighing ef steeds! and the streaming of hair! 
 
 Above where the silvery flashing is seen— 
 The striping of waters, that skip o'er the green, • 
 And soft, spongy moss, where the fairies have been 
 Bending lovely and brght i„ the young Morning's eye 
 Likenbandsof flarr.e c> tat bow of the sky: > 
 
 Above that dark torre:u-above the bright stream- 
 The gay ruddy fount, with the changeable gleam. 
 Where the lustre of heaven eternally plays— 
 The voice may be heard-of the TI:ui derei's bird. 
 Calling oui to her god in a clear, wild scream. 
 As she mounts to his throne and unfolds in his beam- 
 While her young are laid out in his rich red blaze- 
 And their winglete are fledged in his hottest raysi 
 
 Prf>ud BiED OF THE cliff! where the barren-yew 
 springs — "^ 
 
 Where the sun shine stays~and the wind harp sings, 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 85 
 
 Where tlie heralds of battle sit — pluming tlieir wings — 
 A scream!— she's awake! — over hill-top and flobd; 
 A crimson light runs! — like the gushing of blood- 
 Over valley and rock!— over mountain and wood! 
 That Bird is abroad— in the van of her brood! 
 
 O ye, that afar in the blue-air, have heard — 
 As out of the sky — the approach of tliat Bibd— 
 Have ye seen her — half-famished— and up — and away — 
 Her wings in a blaze, with the shedding of day— 
 iiike a vulture on fire!— in the track of her prey- 
 When aloft — what is that? — ligh*^ footsteps near us! 
 And whispers — and breathing! — they may o'erhear us. 
 
 
 n 
 
 Ah— now let us gaze: — what a wonderful sky!— 
 How the robe of the god, in its flame-coloured dye — 
 Goes ruddily — flushingly— sweepingly by. 
 The spots that you see? — they are tents— and the sdr- 
 All alive with the rustling of flags that are there — 
 Nay speak— (Ud you ever behold such a night — 
 While the winds blew about — and the waters were 
 
 bright— 
 The sun rolling home in an ocean of light — 
 But hush!— there is musick away in the sky- 
 Some creatures of maglck are '^.harioting by- 
 No w it comesi- what a sou: .d— 'tis as cheerful and 
 
 wild, 
 As the echo of caves to the laugh of a child: 
 Ah yes!— they are here — see away to your left, 
 Where the sun has gone down— where the mountains 
 
 are cleft — 
 
} t 
 
 V 
 
 I 
 
 V 
 
 4 
 
 '4 
 
 U 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 A ^p of tall hor,eme„!-how ftarie,, they Md^' 
 Caiecnnff th«y come, like a band of y„„„» fc„i„h,- 
 
 It^TT °' "■"" '"'"= ™" -'" 
 
 Of their hii me WeTi 1 ""^ ?'""?' and the pride 
 
 i-gHtterafdprirrhthetr^'-'^'t"^"''^ 
 
 With their scarlet anH hlii« „„ *i • e"^"— 
 
 Piashingchan^ah : th like bT ^'"'"""" ™''^'''' 
 No«. they burst o„ the ev 71 1 """ ""'"*'"'■ ' 
 
 . And now they have tZ-L^T-'^'^'l "^^^ 
 /Tn o of . ^°"^T-^''^e a Vision of day 
 
 And instantly all the bright ,h„w was coneealedl 
 As If twerea,„„r„aro,nt held in the sky 
 Betrayed by so„,e light passing suddenfyhy.) 
 Some band by the flashing of toshes reve^ d 
 A-tfeUo'erthebossofanupBftedshieH 
 Or bannersand bladesin the darkness concealed 
 Th J,"t a cloud thatis passing the 1^ tf 
 Th tbnghtensand blazes-ami lades from fhe si,*- 
 Th y came hke a dream-and as swiftly they X? 
 Astheshadows that pass o'er the sun's^gredl 
 And one hns returned! 'twas the first of the b^rd- 
 On the top of the cliffhehas taken his sfa'd ' 
 And dte tread of his barb, as he leans in l::*- 
 And loosen, lus mane in U,e flow of its length 
 
 Bedares be is reined by a masterly hand. ' 
 Whde he rears o'ertl.ericb-roUing clouds of that heigh. 
 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 87 
 
 like a pageant upraised by the wonders of light: 
 A warrior of flame!— on a courser of night! 
 See his helm feathers glance in the clear setting sun, 
 While his sabre is forth, o'er the cliff he has won. 
 With a waving of strength, and an air of command! 
 
 He is gone— and the brown, where the sunset reposes. 
 Grows warm as the bloom on the bosom of roses; 
 The herbage is crimson'd, and sprinkled with light; 
 And purple and yellow are busy and bright: 
 On t|ie precipice-crown, and the sceptre of green. 
 That the forest-tree heaves, a red lustre is seen, 
 In a wreathing of fire: 'tis a garland that they, 
 Whose blossoms are plucked at the closing of day. 
 Have dropp'd from their laps in their rioting play: 
 The summer leaf reddens and deepens its dyes: 
 Its scarlet and green all unite, as it lies 
 In the breath of the vapour, and hue of the skies: 
 The young gushing fount ripples tenderly red; 
 And a blush, like the sighing of blossoms is shed, 
 O'er tlie green shiny moss, that around it is spread: 
 A glow like enchantment is seen o'er the lake. 
 Like the flush of the sky, when the day heralds wake. 
 And o'er its dull-bosom their soft plumage shake: 
 Now the warmth of the heaven is fading away. 
 Young Evening comes up in pursuit of the Day: 
 The richness and mist of the fnts that were there 
 Are melting away like the bow of the air: 
 The blue-bosom'd water heaves darker and bluer: 
 The cliffs aud the trees are seen bolder and truer. 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIA(iARA. 
 
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 Ih. landscape ha» le., of enchammcnt and Brtt. 
 But t l,e, ,hc „„« »,e,dy and fi™ i„ ,h, „■ f;'' 
 rhe ,^tre.cr„w„'d peak,, „,,,e the, daz^.cl.L eye 
 Seen,ed loosened and p..i„^ „„, ,„ ,,^ = '^=< 
 And e <ar.d.tam l.iMs, in .heir tremulon, blue 
 
 But baffled the eye, as it dwelt on their hue. 
 1 he l.pht of the hill, ami the wave, ami the ,kv 
 Crowfa,„ter, and f„i„tcr,-,te wondef! ^^ 
 
 i- ea in their change, like the bliss of a dav 
 
 Id f?" °" "' "'"''" «- "-' '" •"- 4i . 
 
 And fountains were misl,;,,™ II • . '^ 
 And seraphs wer!?r "^ "'"' '" "" "^'"^ 
 
 A momentl Id d^t * T"""" '" "'^^ «!«'"- 
 !•■•■ .1 " ■"'" •'" ""s envdope.l i„ „iri,ti 
 
 i.»tl.uswith the -Ireamsofthehigh-hcUn. heart 
 1 hey come but to blaze_a„d they blaze to 2,1" 
 T «r ^ssamer win^ are too thfn to abide ' 
 l.ech,llingofsoiTow,orb„r,iii,g„fpride 
 
 The tent of the Thunderer-the chariot of one. 
 Who dare not appear in U.e blaze of the sun"' 
 1.S descending to earth! and some horsemen arc now 
 n ah„e of dark mist, comingdown from i" bo" ' 
 ns a helme.ed band! from tlie hills ,hey descend 
 Uke .he ^onarchscf «or™, wh,„ the IbLt trstn^ 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 19 
 
 No scimitars swing as they gallop along: 
 No clattering hoof falls sudden and strong: 
 No trumpet is filled, and no bugle is blown: 
 No banners abroad on the wind are thrown: 
 No shoutings are heard— and no cheerings are given: 
 No waving of red-flowing plumage to heaven: 
 No flashing of blades, and no loosening of reir s: 
 No neighing of steeds, and no tossing of manes. 
 No furniture trailing, or Warrior helms bowing— 
 Or crimson and gold-spotted drapeiy flowing; 
 But they speed like coursers, whose hoofs are shod 
 With a silent shoe from the loosened sod: 
 Like the steeds that career o*er the billowy surf. 
 Or stretch like the winds o'er the untrodden turf, 
 Where the willow and yew in their darkness are weep- 
 ing. 
 And young, gallant hearts in their sepulchres sleeping; 
 
 Like the squadrons, that on the pale light of the moon. 
 While the Nights mufiledhorn plays a low windy tune, 
 Are seen to come down from the height of the skies. 
 By the warrior, that on the red battle-field lies. 
 And wave their cloud-helmets, and charge o'er the field, 
 Andcareer o'er the tracks where the living had wheel'd; 
 When the dying half raise themselves up in a trance. 
 And gaze on the show, as their thin banners glance. 
 And wonder to see the dread battle renewed. 
 On the turf, where themselves and their comrades had 
 
 stood, 
 iiike these shadows, in swiftness and darkness they ride 
 p'er the thunder-reft mount— on its ruggedest side; 
 
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 BATTLE OF MAGARA. 
 
 ^"^ U.e t„o.pice top, they oWe »d I..p, 
 ut h '™™'" "'*"• '^ "« «« ™ our steep. 
 Th«r head, muffled up to their white fihny eye^l ' 
 
 And XXCe ^"'"7 '"■' «'- '^ -^^ <""■ 
 •*^"J' "»ey have gone, with a motionless sneeri 
 
 The'.^rTr*' """-•^e-JfuldeT ' . 
 Th^r ^^o^C:;"^^ >»« aUdisappea.* . 
 
 For .tiuTh^ ,k ""^P"*" no longer m head, 
 
 Your he«t wouM Ue .S^ ''°"'"'*"'"^ "^^^ 
 So swiftly-so mutely-so darkly they went. 
 
 Vourher...ter„in.ti;r:r:^^7J^f'""" 
 Passino. h^ rw , ^ff *^at comes in the nic-ht- 
 
 When «« would sweU ^U^oZyZ 2^^". 
 
 Ifthe«>u„dofo„etr„„petS:;:'';tr''*''""' 
 l^ke «,„e scarlet.wi„g.d bird, that i, nun-dta the dav 
 When she shakes her ~.^ ..i ' " m ine day, 
 
 prey. ^ "^«^*^ ^" ^^ ^*«r hep 
 
 For be they the horsemen of earth nr «f i. 
 No blaat thut ♦k^ * ' ^'^ of heaven, 
 
 ^o blast that the trumpet of Slaughter hath given, 
 
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BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 91 
 
 cap, 
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 eyes,— 
 *till he dies: 
 s speed, 
 d. 
 
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 he last; 
 f horsemen 
 
 »eir intentt 
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 I shake, 
 
 ight— 
 
 light; 
 
 Id appear, 
 
 1 the day, 
 o*er hep 
 
 i^en, 
 Kcnj 
 
 No roll of the dnuQ-4ind no cry of the fife; 
 No neighing of steeds in the bloodiest strife- 
 Is half so terrifick to full swelling hearts. 
 As the still, pulseless tramp of a band that departs. 
 With echoless annour-->with motionless plume: 
 With ensigpns all furled— in the trappings of gloom- 
 Parading, like those who came up from the tomb. 
 In silence and darkness— determined uid slow; 
 And cLreadfully calm— as the murderer's brow» 
 When his dagger is forth! — and ye see not the blow,' 
 'Till the gleam of the blade i^ows y«ur heart in its flow! 
 
 O, say what ye will!— the dull sound that awakes. 
 When the night breeze is down, and the chill spirit 
 
 aches 
 With its measureless thought, is more dreadful by far. 
 Than the burst of the trump, when it peals for the war. 
 It is the cold summons that comes from the ground. 
 When a sepulchre answers pour tight, youthful bound, 
 And loud joyous laugh, with its chill fearful sound. 
 Compared to the challenge that leaps on the ear. 
 When the banners of death in their splendours appear^ 
 And the free golden bugle sings freshly and clear! 
 The low, sullen moans, that so feebly awake. 
 At midnigkt->when one is alone— on some lake, 
 Compar*d to the Thunderer's voice, when it rolls. 
 From the bosom of space, to the uttermost poles! 
 Like something that stirs in the weight of a shroud—* 
 The talking of those who go by in a cloud; 
 To the cannon's fuH voice, when it wanders aloud! 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
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 »Tii the light that is seen to burst under the wave 
 
 The pale, fitful omen, that plays o'er a grave. 
 To the rushing of flame, where the turf is all red. 
 And farewells are discharged o'er a young soldier's bed! 
 To the lightnings that blaze o'er the mariner's way. 
 When the storm is in pomp, and the ocean in spray! 
 
 Dark and chill is the sky; and the clouds gather round; 
 
 There's nought to hp sp^n, yp* fhew. c.nmt>n a low sound; 
 
 As if something were near, that would pass unobserved 
 
 O, if 'tis that bandi— may their right-arms be nerved! 
 
 Hark!— a challenge is given!— a rash charger neighs! 
 And a trumpet is blown!— and lo, there's a blaze! 
 And a plashing of sabres is heard— and a shout. 
 Like a hurried ordei^-goes passing about! 
 And unfurling banners are tossed to the sky. 
 As struggUng to float on the wind passing by— 
 And unhamess'd war-steeds are crow^g together; 
 The horseman's thick plume— and the foot soldier's 
 
 feather — 
 The battle is up! and the thunder is pealing! 
 And squadrons of cavahy coursing and wheeling! 
 And line after line, in their light are revealing! 
 One troop of high helms thro' the fight urge their way. 
 Unbroken and stem— like . Mp thro' the spray: 
 Their pistols speak quick—and their blades are all bare, 
 And the sparkles of steely encounter are there. 
 
 Away they still speed!— with one impulse they bound; 
 With one impulse alike, as their foes gather round. 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 93 
 
 the wave— 
 ive, 
 
 allred^ 
 soldier's bed! 
 ler's way, 
 I in spray! 
 
 father round; 
 a low sound; 
 unobserved, 
 e nerved! 
 er neighs! 
 blaze! 
 out, 
 
 y» 
 
 ►y— 
 ogether; 
 ot soldier's 
 
 eling! 
 igl 
 
 their way, 
 pray: 
 
 re all bare, 
 re. 
 
 leyboundi 
 round. 
 
 Undismayed — ^un^sturbed— and above all the rest. 
 One rides o'er the strife, like a mane o'er its crest; 
 And holds on his way thro' the scimitars there. 
 All plunging in light!— while the slumbering sur 
 Shakes wide with the rolling artillery-peal — 
 The tall one is first, and his followers deal 
 Around, and around, their desperate blows. 
 Like the army of shadows above, when it goes 
 With the smiting of shields, and the clapping of wings; 
 When the red-crests shake — and the storm-pipe sings: 
 When the cloud-flag unfurls— and the death-bugles 
 
 sound — 
 When the monarchs of space on their dark-chargers 
 
 bound — 
 And the shock of theit cavalry comes in the night. 
 With furniture flashing!— 'and weapons of light! — 
 So travelled this band in its pomp and its might. 
 
 Away they have gone!--and th( Ir path is all red. 
 Hedged in by two lines of the dying and dead; 
 By bosoms, that burst unrevenged in the strife — 
 By swords, that yet shake in the passing of life — 
 For so swift had that pageant of darkness sped— 
 So like a trooping of cloud-mounted dead — 
 That the flashing reply of the foe that was cleft. 
 But fell on the shadows those troopers had left- 
 Far and away, tliey are coursing again. 
 O'er ^ clouded hill, and the darkened plain. 
 Now choosing the turf for their noiseless route; 
 Now, where the wet sand is strown thickest about, 
 F 
 
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 BATTLE OP mXGAUJk 
 
 Streams their long line!-like a mist troop they ride, 
 In a winding cloud, o'er the near mountain's side; 
 WhUe a struggling moon throws a lustre as dim ' 
 As a sepulchre's lamp, andthe vapours that swim. 
 O'er the hiUs and the heavens, divide as they fly:-. 
 The videttes of winds that are stationed on high! 
 
 Speak-would you know why woke that desperate 
 fray? 
 
 Why battle moved in night, and shunned the day? 
 And who the leader of that sulten band. 
 Whose march was destiny ?-whose sterli command 
 Went thrilling to the heart:-while not a word 
 He uttere^d in his march-and nought was heard 
 But the deep, dreadful sound, of hearts that bun^t- 
 Of arms that smote in death, and lips that cursed? 
 Who gave no cheering to his troops-aa they 
 Wheeled-.charged-andsmote~an4gallopped in ar- 
 
 But shook his naked falchion in his might. 
 
 And scattered o'er his path its meteor light? 
 Then, like the bolt of heaven, it flash'd, and fell 
 On blades and helms, tliat shattered in theu- knell' 
 How firm and high he satl-all bone-aU strength-. 
 His charger stretching at his utmost length! 
 
 'TIs lighter now: the troops are seen agaUi, 
 rassmg at length before a tented plain- 
 The moon is up, and brightening o'er tlieirroaf 
 Their steeds come bravely round beneath their load 
 And slacken to a tro^-and snorting loudlv 
 
 Strain their darknecks, with far manesflo^tingproudly 
 
 
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BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 9$ 
 
 sey ride, 
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 desperate 
 day? 
 
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 rd 
 
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 led? 
 
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 nell! 
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 ain 
 :ir load, 
 
 proudly; 
 
 Thickening their tramps approach— they n«.ar the blaze 
 Ot* Freedom's camp, where her loose drapery plays- 
 Breaking in lustre — thick with starry light; 
 And crimson stripes opposed to glcamy ^^hite: 
 Symbols of battle and of peace— the dye 
 Of blood— and flash ot lilied purity: 
 
 The leader halts— the broad red light shows well 
 His stately outline, and his charger's swell. 
 How like a shade the horse and rider seem! 
 like the dark trooper of a troubled dream. 
 His sabre is abroad- -they gather round- 
 Back!— back it waves!— and hark!-- <the bugles sound: 
 Swiftly be wheels!— ilus arm is stretched again- 
 Some gather round, and some behind remsun: 
 Forth, and all free! a chosen escort spring; 
 Unsheath their hangers, while their scabbards ring: 
 Leap to their places, and at speed depart, 
 While the rough trumpets on the nightpwind start; 
 Away they stretch at length! as when they've met 
 In chase upon the mountain-tops, while yet 
 The morning gems are thick, and all the turf is wet. 
 
 Again they stay their mai^ch— and one's ahead; 
 His fire-eyed charger halts with angry tread; 
 His black limbs bathed in foam— his reaching mane, 
 Rising and sinking, as he feels the rein: 
 Now<!ring« the harness!— from the saddle, bounds 
 The red-plumed chief —erect, and lightly sounds 
 A free-toned bugle to the distant hills; 
 Singing and pealing clear— like horn that Echp fills; 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 And oW— an answer!— how it faintly dies 
 In sweet, calm melody along the skies, 
 As if it were a challenge lightly given, 
 From golden trumpets on a summer even! 
 Now springing merrily upon the ear, 
 As if some infant trumpeter were near- 
 Like songs ye hear at evening o'er the main- 
 Like bells upon the wind— that come and go again. 
 
 *Halt here!' the chieftain said— «halt here awhile:' 
 His cheek burned deeper— and a soldier smile 
 Played sternly o'er his features, as he laid, 
 His martial hand upon his rattling blade, 
 And gathered up his cloak, and strode amid the shade. 
 
 
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CANTO n. 
 
 The hrat night conUnue, through the whole of thU 
 c.nto....O„tanode,cribed Appear,„ce,,...Beflecti„„, 
 
 Apollo ...teorrupuon and refinement He«> .ppe.„.. 
 
 miiy... .description. 
 
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 BATTlil. 0¥ JflAGARA. 
 
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 »le of this 
 eflections 
 
 Indian 
 
 ppears 
 
 'its his fa. 
 
 CANTO 11. 
 
 COME, sit thou with me!— what a keavenly nightl 
 The winds blowing fresh— and the beautiful light 
 
 Shedding out such a luminous dampness above!— 
 So respectful and stiU:— and the scenery thercr- 
 How it moves up and down in the dim, holy air! 
 
 »Tis a midnight of awe— and a sabbath of love. 
 O lift up thine eyes- see the firmament spreiiding 
 
 A moveable vault of the deepest of blue- 
 Boiling on— roUing on-through infinity-sliedding 
 Forever— its oceans of lustre and dew. 
 
 Come, sit thou with me!...we shall both lewrn to feel. 
 Like the men of old times-when Jehova'n was near- 
 Come, sit thou with me!-and together we'll kneel. 
 And pour out our hearts to the God that s here. 
 And the breezes that come-and the brarK.hes that bow- 
 To the clouds traiUng by-they shall all teach us how. 
 In past years, when tliese woods started ftTcen from the 
 
 And that sho're-and this hiU-and that water had birth. 
 Their inhabitants held their communion with heaven— 
 In worship and trembling— Uke childf »'n forgiven— 
 • F 3 
 
loo- 
 
 B4 rTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 How they knelt d jwn alone, while the whole world slept. 
 Their hearts ov irburthened with pleasure— and wept. 
 
 Here sleeps Oittahio. Old Ontario, hail! 
 Unawed by c< nquering prow, or pirate sail: 
 Still heaving in thy freedom— still unchained— 
 Still swellin ,' to the skies— still unprofaned— 
 As when tb / earliest, freest children flew 
 Like hawK j to battle— when the swift canoe — 
 From cvf ry shore, went dipping o'er the tide- 
 Like bir iS, that stooping from the far cliff ride— 
 A mom nt on the billow— shriek and rise, 
 With 1 /aded talons wheeling to the skies. 
 The b saven's blue counterpart!— the murmuring home 
 Of sp ,rits shipwrecked in the ocean-foam— 
 Refl ictor of the arch that's o'er thee bent; 
 Th( u watery sky! — thou liquid firmament! 
 Mi Tor of garland-weaving Solitude — 
 Tie wild festoon— the cliff— the hanging wood— 
 T le soaring eagle— and the wing of light — 
 1 ne sunny plumage— and the starry flight 
 ( f dazzling myriads in a cloudless night. 
 
 Peace to thy bosom, dark Ontario! 
 Tor ever thus, may thy free waters flow, 
 In their rude loveUness!— thy lonely shore 
 For ever echo to the sullen roar 
 Of thine own deep! thy cliffs for ever ring 
 With calling wild men, in their journeying— 
 The savage chant— the panther's smothered cry- 
 That, from her aii-y height, goes thrilling by! 
 Be ever thus— as now — magnificent — 
 
' world slept. 
 
 :--and 
 
 wept. 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA 
 
 101 
 
 In savage Nature's pomp— unbowed— unbent, 
 And thou wilt ever be omnipotent! 
 
 Be ever unapproachable — and free: 
 The home of Indians and of liberty.— 
 But let thy woods be bowed— their sceptres shorn; 
 Thy blooming streamers from thy ramparts torn; 
 Thy fountains hushed— and the luxuriant green > 
 
 Of oozy turf, that o'er thy haunt 'w- seen. 
 Be trampled on and opened to the sun— 
 And all thy rich exuberance is done: 
 Let but the white man's summons once be heard. 
 And gone, for ever, is thy guardian Bird; 
 Be once thy torrents stilled~the shiny mois. 
 Thy grotto-hangings, that the dews emboss; 
 Thy guttering halls laid open to the light— 
 Thy mysteries revealed to the unholy sight: 
 Thy secret places to the sun betrayed; 
 And, in thy temples, men of blood arrayedj 
 The curtain of thy sanctuary rent— 
 Thy dwellings opened to the firmament; 
 Thy solitudes ^sturbed— thine altars stained: 
 Thy heights polluted,- and thy depths profaned 
 With Indian blood, and thy dark offspring chained: 
 Thy battlements of rocks, and cliffs, and clouds — 
 Stripped of their garland flags, and hung with shrouds, 
 And bright with glittering spires: thine altars down — 
 Then what art thoui* and where thy thronesP and crown? 
 Thy sceptres? and thy hosts? — for ever gone! 
 And thou— a savage in the world!— alone: 
 A naked monarc^— sullen, stem, and rude. 
 Amid a robed and plumed multitude: 
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 BATTtE OP NIAGARA. 
 
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 Sublime and motionless— but impotent- 
 Stripped of his an'ows, and with boM unbent. 
 Who feels that terror of the Indian then. 
 Such m he felt in night and darkness, when 
 That Indian walked alone, the conqueror of men? 
 
 True, he may walk with his own fearless tread; 
 With out-stretched arm, and high uplifted head. 
 Of one familiar with the pathless wood. 
 The cavemed chase, the haunts of solitude— 
 The midnight storm— the thunder-clap— and sleep 
 On jutting cliff— above a tumbling deep: 
 But wherp will bs that reverential dread. 
 That hung upon the wi'd man, in his tread 
 Within his own dominions?— it is gone!— 
 And he stands there undi^aded and alone: 
 
 Such vere tliy chUdren—Indian princes— now 
 Sach stajids subdued— with yet a monarch's brow. 
 But rend him from his home, and place him where 
 The heaven's bright blue is hidden—and the air 
 Breathes thick with pestilence— and th,-re he dies. 
 With few to fear and none to sympathize. 
 
 Reijtlik? the midnight. Mighty One!— and throw- 
 Thy shadow o'er thy cMldren of the bow: 
 Who, in the wilderness, c-rx calmly go 
 To do their worship in a lonely place. 
 By «ltars reeking with the she-wolfs trace: 
 And gaze intrepidly upon the skies, 
 WbUe the red lightning in itu anger flies— 
 
 m 
 
 MW^-. 
 
BATTLE OF ^rIAGARA. 
 
 103 
 
 When white men, in their terror, c^ose their eyes: 
 
 For man is there sublime — he is a god! 
 
 Great Nature's master-piece! like him who trod 
 
 The banks of paradise, and stood alone. 
 
 The wonder of the skies— erect upon his throne. 
 
 Not like tlifi airy god of moiJaed light. 
 Just stepping from his chariot on the sight} 
 Poising his beauties on a rolling cloud. 
 With arm outstretched and bow-string twanging loud: 
 And arrows singing as they pierce the air. 
 With tinkling sandals, ^nd with flaming hair; 
 As if he paused upon his bounding way, ^ 
 And loosened his fierce arrows — all in play; 
 But lik^ that angry god, in blazing light 
 Bursting from space! and standing in hib might: 
 Revealed in his omnipotent array — 
 Apollo of tlie skies! and Deity of Day! 
 In god-like wrath! piercing his myriad-foe 
 With quenchless shafts, that lighten as they go: 
 Not like that god, when up in air he springs. 
 With brightening mantle, and with sunny wings, 
 W'aen heavenly musick murmurs from his strings— 
 A buoyant vision— an embodied dream 
 Of daiiity Poesy— and boyishly supreme: 
 
 Not the thin spirit waked by young Desire, 
 Gazing o'er heaven till her thoughts take fire: 
 Panting and breathless in her heart's wild trance- 
 aright, shapeless forms -the godlings of Romance; 
 Not that Apollo— not resembling him. 
 Of i/ilver bow, and woman's nerveless limb: 
 
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104 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
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 But man!— all man! -the monarch of the wild! 
 Not the faint spirit that corrupting smil'd 
 On soft, lascivious Greece— but Nature's child. 
 Arrested in the chase! with piercing eye 
 Pix'd in its airy lightning on the sky. 
 Where some red Bird goes languid, eddying, drooping, 
 Pierced by his arrows hi her swittest stooping! 
 Thus springing to the skies!-a boy will stand 
 With arms uplifted and unconscious hand 
 Tracing his arrow in its loftiest flight— 
 And watch it kindling, as it cleaves the light 
 Of worlds unseen, but by the Indian sight; 
 His robe and hair upon the wind at length, 
 A creature of the hills!-all gn^ce and strengtli; 
 All muscle and all flame— his eager eye 
 Fixed on one- spot, as if he could descry 
 His bleeding victim nestUngin the sky. 
 Not that Apollo!— not the heavenly one. 
 Voluptuous spirit of a setting sun,— 
 But this-the offspring of young Solitude, 
 Child of the holy spot, where none intrude 
 But genii of the torrent— cliff; and wood- 
 Nurslings of cloud and storm-the desert's fiery brood. 
 
 Great Nature's man!— and not a thing— all light: 
 Etherial vision of distempered sight; 
 But mingled cloud and sunshine-flame and night. 
 With arrows— not like his of sport— that go 
 In light and musick from a silver bow: 
 But barbed with flint— with feather— reeking red. 
 The heart-blood that some famished wolf hath shed! 
 
 ^ 
 
 ,s li 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 im 
 
 I! 
 drooping", 
 
 h; 
 
 ry brood. 
 
 ight: 
 
 ight. 
 
 e'd, 
 shed! 
 
 Thou home of gallawt men— Ontario-— « 
 
 I would, but cannot leave thee-i would go, 
 But thy great spirit holds me — may no ^l 
 Ever unfold agiwnst thy mountain gale! 
 Thy waters were thus spread in cloudy blue. 
 But for thy white fowl and the hght canoe. 
 Should once the smooth dark lustre of thy breast 
 With mightier burthens, ever be oppressed- 
 Farewell to th?e! and all thy loveliness! 
 Commerce will rear her arks— and Nature's dress 
 Be scattered to the winds: thy shores will bloom. 
 Like dying flow'rets sprinkled o'er i tomb: 
 The feverish, fleeting lustre of the flowers, 
 Burnt into life in Art's unnatural bowers; 
 Not the green—graceful — wild luxuriance 
 Of Nature's garlands, in their negligencei 
 The clambering jasmine, and the flushing rose 
 That in the wilderness their hearts disclose; 
 The dewy violet, and the bud of gold. 
 Where drooping UUes on the wave unfold; 
 Where nameless flowers hang fainting on the air, 
 As if they breathed their lovely spirit* there; 
 Where heaven itself is bluer, and the light 
 Is but a coloured fragrance — floating— bright; 
 Where the sharp note— and whisthngsong is heard. 
 Of many a golden beak, and sunny sparkling bird: 
 
 There the tame honeysuckle will arise; 
 The gaudy hot-house plant will spread its dyes. 
 In flaunting boldness to the sunny skie?: 
 
 1 i 
 
 , f 
 
 1 
 
 f ' 
 
 ^■P 
 
106 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA, 
 
 
 m ' 
 
 And aickly buds, as soon as blown, wUI shed 
 Their fainting leaves o'er their untimely bed; 
 Unnatural violets in the blaze appear— 
 With hearts unwet by youthful Flora's tear; 
 And the loose poppy with its sleepy death,* 
 And flashy leaf: the warm and torpid breath 
 Of lazy garlands, over crawling vines; 
 The tawdry wreath that Fashion intertwines. 
 To deck her languid brow: the streamy gold. 
 And purple flushing of the tulip's fold; 
 And velvet buds, of crimson, and of blue. 
 Unchangeable and lifeless, as the hiie 
 Of F^hion's gaudy wreaths, that ne'er were wet with 
 ' dew. 
 
 Such flowrs as travellers would not stop to bless, 
 
 Tho' seen by fountains in the wilderness: 
 
 Such heartless flowers, as Love would disavow; 
 
 And blooming Flora, if upon her brow 
 
 Their leaves had once been dropped, would feel as tho' 
 
 Pollution's lips were pressed upon its snow; 
 
 Not the white blossom, that beneath its green 
 
 And glossy shelter, like a star is seen; 
 
 Shrinking and closing from the beam of day— 
 
 A virgin flow'ret for the twilight ray; 
 
 Not the blue hare-bell, swelling o'er the ground, 
 
 And thinly echoing to the fairy bound 
 
 Of tripping feet, witliin its sUky round: 
 
 Not the wild snow-leaf trembling to the moon. 
 
 But the tame sun-flower basking in the noon. 
 
 !11 
 
led; 
 
 r; 
 th 
 
 )ld. 
 
 ere wet with 
 ' to bless, 
 
 VOW; 
 
 1 feel as tho' 
 en 
 
 ound. 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 107 
 
 n, 
 1. 
 
 Where now red Summer, in her sporting, weaves 
 her brightest blossoms with her greenest leaves; 
 Where the wUd grape hangs dropping in the shade, 
 O'er unfledged minstrels, that beneath are laid: 
 Where all is fragrant, breathing negligence; 
 And Nature's budding child, sweet Innocence; 
 Where now her treasures, and her mysteries- 
 Like shrouded diamonds— or Uke sleeping eyes, 
 Are only seen by those, who kneel and take 
 Their first bright beaming, when they first awake: 
 Where now, fresh streamlets answer to the hues 
 Of passing seraph- wings— and fiery dews. 
 Hang thick on every bush, when morning wakes. 
 Like sprinkled flame; and all the green-wood shakes 
 With liquid jewelry, that Night hath flung 
 Open her favourite tresses, while they swung, 
 And wantoned in the wind— henceforth will be 
 No lighted dimness, such as tliat you see. 
 In yonder faint, mysterious scenery, 
 Where all the woods keep festival— and seem 
 Beneath the midnight sky— and meUow Beam 
 Of yonder breathing light - as if they were 
 Branches and leaves of unembodied air: 
 Where fountains sing and sparkle to the skies. 
 In all their sweetest desert melodies— 
 The prisoned water will be made to play 
 In one eternal glitter to the day: 
 Unnatural freshness— arbours will be seen— 
 And tortured festoons offantastick green: 
 The heavy grotto— and the loaded bower: 
 
}08 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 m 
 
 The green and tepid pond; the pale walLflower; 
 The tasteless mingling of the savage pine 
 With the bright tendrUs of the garden vine: 
 The stooping wiUow, with its braided light. 
 And feathery tresses, changeable and bright- 
 The a,ry mountain ash~the elm-and oak 
 Rising triun^phant from the Thunderer's stroke;^ 
 In all their rich e^ubei-ance, shooting out 
 Their restless sceptres, to the windsabout. 
 The lordly monarchs of the vigorous wood! 
 
 ■ IraD l""; ^«-^""f -P«tart,pop,ar broods 
 And aUthe foppery of silly Taste, 
 
 That grieves to see wUd Nature so unchaste 
 That+.in her modesty—would barely hint 
 'That such and such a shade, and such a tint 
 'Might mingle better, if a little care- 
 'A little grouping here-*nd contrast there, 
 'Were just to-.but no matter,»-they all know 
 Better than Nature, how her flowers should blow- 
 How her sweet birds should sing and fountains iow- 
 And where her trees should sUnd-her cliffs shoTdd 
 • use, 
 
 In scattered pointings to the glorious skies. 
 
 Leave such cold bosoms, Nature! to their fate- 
 
 And be thou grand-luxuriant-desolate- 
 
 As ,t best pleaseth thee. These wretched fools 
 
 Would have Creation work by lines and rules. 
 
 rheirs .s the destiny-be theirs thp curse. 
 
 In therr improvements still-to mount from bad to 
 
 .k: i. 
 
BATTLBT OP NIAGARA. 
 
 109 
 
 lower; 
 e: 
 
 [it:— 
 :roke;-~ 
 
 1! 
 rood— . 
 
 9te, 
 
 ■» 
 
 low 
 i blow; 
 itains flow~ 
 ;liffs should 
 
 te; 
 
 fools 
 
 les, 
 
 ^m bad to 
 
 * 
 
 Be ever thus thou Wilderness! be wild 
 In tliine own nakedness — young Nature's child! 
 Still hang her testoond o'er thy glittering caves: 
 Still far from thee the pageantry of slaves! 
 The dull cold blooming of the lifeless wreaths. 
 Plucked from the garden where Oppression breathes: 
 The misty poison of the sultry flowers. 
 That shed their sleep in artificial bowers: 
 May Architecture never rear her spires. 
 Or swell her domes to thy warm nmset fires; 
 Where now, o'er verdant pyramids and pines, 
 And dark green crowns, the crimson lustre shines! 
 Enough has now been done— thou art but free: 
 Art but a refuge now for Liberty — 
 E'en now the wakening thun^pr sometimes roars 
 Above thy proticrate oaks— the guardians of thy shores 
 
 Roll not thy waves in light, Ontario!! 
 For ever darkly may thy waters flow!— 
 Through thy tall shores and blooming solitudes, 
 Sacred to loneliness— and caves— and woods: — 
 Roll not thy waves in light— or thou wilt see 
 Their bosoms heave no longer darkly free: 
 But whitening into foam beneath their load, 
 While Commerce ploughs upon her flashing road; 
 And thou mayest stand, and hearken to the cry 
 .Of thy young genii mounting to the sky: 
 And feel the fanning of the last free wing, 
 That's shaken o'er thy brow, as it goes wandering: 
 And Usten to the loud, tumultuous roar 
 Of martial thunders Echoing from thy shore; 
 
 ' i 
 
 i'i 
 
110 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA! 
 
 And thou—thy ramparts, cliffs, and citadels. 
 Where now Sublimity, with Freedom, dwells, 
 Will see thy conquerors on thy mountains rise, 
 W ith glittering banners rustling in the skies; 
 And see their streamers flash, and hear the song 
 Of victory o'er thee, go pealingly along. 
 
 Hail, sleepless monarch! Old Ontario! 
 
 Thou, of the woods, and of the Indian bow, 
 
 I see thy glories in their dark blue flow! 
 
 A lake of wonders!— where the stars appear 
 
 In the fair deep, more luminous and clear; 
 
 For their confusion! All tliy dim shores lie 
 
 In moonlight's sleepy, soft tranquillity. 
 
 The air is cool, but motionless; about 
 
 Is something of enchantment, awe ai,d doubt-.. 
 
 As in the fleeting scenery of a dream. 
 
 When landscapes come—and vanish!— like the beam 
 
 That blue voluptuous eyes emit in tears. 
 
 That trembles— brightens— fades, and disappears! 
 
 Something mysterious— holy— like the air 
 
 Of caverns, when some spirit has been there; 
 
 While yet tlie breathing'incense that was shed. 
 
 Is faint and floating round, like sighings o'er the dead. 
 
 No sound is on the ear: ho boatman's oar 
 Drops its dull signal to the watchful shore: 
 But all is listening, as it were, to hear 
 Some seraph harper stooping from her sphere. 
 And calling on the desert to express. 
 Its sense of Silence in her loveliness. 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 in 
 
 lis, 
 
 ise, 
 
 S; 
 
 song 
 
 it— i< 
 
 lie beam 
 
 sears! 
 
 ' the dead. 
 
 Vfhtt holy dreaming comes in nights like these! 
 
 When, like yon wave— unruffled by a breeze, 
 
 The mirrors of the memory all are spread, 
 
 And fanning pinions sail around your head: 
 
 When all that man may love -alive or dead. 
 
 Come murmuring sweet, unutterable things. 
 
 And nestle on his heart with their yuung wings: 
 
 And all perchance may come, that he may fear. 
 
 And mutter doubtful curses in his ear: 
 
 Hang on his loaded soul, and fill his br^in 
 
 With indistinct forbodings, dim— and vain— 
 
 Who has not felt the unexpected tear? 
 
 Who'has not shaken with an awful fear. 
 
 When, in the wilderness— alone— he trod— 
 
 Where, since there walked the Everlasting God— 
 
 Xo living foot hath beenP where boundless woods-r- 
 
 Where sanctuaries— waters— solitudes — 
 
 In dreadful stillness — vaulted round— are spread, 
 
 Lake some appointed place— for judgment on the dead. 
 
 The moon goes lightly up her thronging way, 
 An4 shadowy thingps are brightening into day's 
 And cliff, and shrub, and bank, and tree, and stone, 
 Now move upon the eye — and now are gone! 
 A dazzling tapestry is hung around: ^ 
 
 A gorgeous carpeting bestrews tlie ground; 
 The wallows glitter in the passing beam, 
 And shake their tangling lustres o'er tlie stream: 
 And all the full, rich folis^e of the shore, t 
 Seems with ?i quick enchantment frosted o'er; 
 G 
 
 ■,-* ; 
 
 T 
 
n 5 
 
 1 
 
 112 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 And (knees at the faintest breath of night, 
 
 And trembles like a plume of spangles in the light. 
 
 Far o'er the slumbering wave, amid the shade. 
 Millions of dancing lights are thick arrayed; 
 And interposing forms are seen to go. 
 With ceaseless step, unwearied, firm and slow- 
 In measured walking, like a cavalcade 
 
 As if a band were marshalled for parade 
 
 Before a line of fire, that redly throws * 
 
 A glimmering richness, where that billow flows. 
 And some yet feebler lights are o'er the turf. 
 Like sea foam brightening faintly o'er the surf.. 
 There, Pestilence hath breathed! within each tent 
 the midnight bow, with quenchless shaft—is bent; 
 And many a youthful hero wastes away. 
 In that— the worst of deaths— the death of slow decay. 
 
 This dark, cool wave is bluer than the deep. 
 Where sailors— children of the tempestl-sleep; 
 And dropped with lights as pure— as sUll as those— • 
 The wide-drawn hangings of the skies disclose. 
 Far lovelier than the dim and broken ray. 
 That Ocean's flashing surges send astray; 
 And when the foam comes loosely o'er its breast, 
 The sea-maid's bosom with its studded vest. 
 That mightier billows bear, is dark— is dull. 
 To this light silvery spray, so beautiful! 
 This is the mirror of dim Solitude, * 
 
 On which unholy things may ne'er intrude; 
 That frowns and ruflies when the clouds appear, 
 Refusing to reflect their shapes of fear; 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 113 
 
 Ontario's deeps are spread to multiply 
 But sunshine— stars— the moon— and clear-blue sky. 
 The ocer.n-when at peace-is but the place 
 Wliere those who rule the tempest— dwell in spacer- 
 Direct the thunder— rock the established hill— 
 And steadfast shore, -whose countless myriads fill 
 All heaven and earth—and air-are wont to dwell, 
 And calm themselves to sleep upon its boundless sweU. 
 
 No pirate barque was ever seen to rid«, 
 With blood-red streamer, chasing o'er that tide; 
 'Till late, no bugle o'er those waters sang 
 With aught but huntsman's orisons, that rang 
 Their clear— exulting— bold— triumphant strain, 
 'Till all the mountain echoes laughed again! 
 'Till caverns, depths, and hills, would all reply. 
 And heav'n's blue dome ring out the sprightly melody. 
 
 Within those depths no shipwrecked sailor lies, 
 Upon his foaming couch; whose dying eyes 
 Were closed amid the storm- with no one near. 
 To grasp his hand, or drop the manly tear: 
 With not one friend— one shipmate left to tell, 
 As 'tis in strife— how gJjUantly he fell. 
 Not one to tell the melancholy tale. 
 To her whose heart i^ on the rising gale. 
 Within that peaceful sanctuary sleep 
 No victim wanderers of the mighty deep; 
 No ocean-wreaths are there— no diadems. 
 Of bloody sea-weed, sprinkled o'er with gems. 
 That vanish when ye touch them, like the pearl 
 '^hat gMers on the sea-mwd's shining curl} 
 
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 ^ 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 If I 
 
 lii 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 No wreck, of .hiught^n^flag. in battle mt, 
 
 By Victoor «:attered in the firmament: 
 
 Not one of aU tho.e trophies of the flood. 
 
 When ship encounters ship, tuid foams along in blood, 
 
 August amid this scene, unclouded, stand 
 The everlasting hills that guard our land: 
 And reartheir rocky helmets, where the sky 
 Hath pitched their.tent upon immensity 
 These are our forts! our batUements! our holds' 
 Our bulwarks! our entrenchment.! Here unfolds 
 I he rainbow-banner, and its lights are forth 
 In sudden splendours, like the streaming north- 
 An outspread eaglet o»er each standard stoops, ' 
 With unclosed beak, and wing that never droops: 
 And stars are busy there-and through the niirht 
 A constellation blazes on the sight- 
 Eagles! and stars! and rainbows!-all abroad 
 Beneath a boundless sky, upon a mountain* road! 
 
 And LiBSRTr, from whose imperial eye. 
 Unfettered Umb, and step of majesty. 
 Perpetual sunshine brightens aU the air. 
 When undisturbed by man-in wrath is'there' 
 And prostrate armies now, are kneeling round: 
 They see the rolling clouds! they hear the sound 
 Of peahng thunders! While her martial form 
 Lightens tremendous in the gutiiering storm! 
 They breathe that buoyant mountain atmosphere. 
 And kmdhng m their eyes those lights appear,- 
 
 rhosequenchlessHghts!-that despots, tymnts dread. 
 When man comes forth in might, and lifts his head 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGAKA. 
 
 115 
 
 ] 
 
 n blood, 
 
 is 
 
 pa: 
 ht. 
 
 d! 
 
 ?»; 
 
 ead. 
 
 Sublime in desperation; when they hear 
 
 The song of trumpets bursting on their ear! 
 
 The shock of armies! and, afar, behohl 
 
 Rebellion's crimson standard all unrolled! 
 
 When slaves are men— are monarchs—and their tread 
 
 Comes like the resurrection of the dead! 
 
 Man hursts hw fel*ers! shakes his sheathless sword— 
 
 Stancb on his gnve, and battles with his lord 
 
 For sepuiiore or freedom— eye to eye— 
 \xid swears to live his equal, or to die, 
 In glorious martyrdom— to glorious LiBEiixr. 
 
 Then let the trumpet of tlie battle sound! 
 
 Then let the shuddering challenge peal around! 
 
 'Till all our ruffled eaglets start and wake— 
 
 And scream aloud-and whet their beaks-und shake 
 
 Their guardian wings, o»er mountain, wood, and lake! 
 
 The blast will but disturb the spirit there; 
 
 But rouse the she-wolf from her bloody lair; 
 
 But wake the fiery-harnessed multitudes; 
 
 The dark battalions of untrodden woods; 
 
 Whose viewless chiefs shall giitl their armour on, 
 And lighten o'er the fields their valour won: 
 'Twill 'waken echoes in that soUtude, 
 Less welcome tlian the panther's cry for food: 
 Less earthly— than the voices heard, when Night 
 Collects her angels on some stormy height, 
 And airy trumps are blown! and o'er the heaven 
 Ten thousand fearful challenges are given! 
 
 Those star-crowned hills! the gathering will be there. 
 Of heaven's dim hordes, the squadrons of air! 
 G2 
 
 y I 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 S'S|«W!^«T»«'' 
 
M6 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 % 
 
 Ei'ect and high, upon their stonmy cars 
 
 In meteor armour— rushing 'mid the stars. 
 The dusky champions of the earth and sky 
 Will seem encountering in their chivalry. 
 Yon moon-light lents, so giUantly, outspread 
 By living hands, will then be filled' with dead: 
 Whose home is space: the habitation, t^jo. 
 Of yon perpetual host, that walk in blue: ' 
 That endless multitude! eternal source! 
 Of wonder and of worship in their course; 
 O, whither is your march? ye stars! and whence? 
 Ye blazing myriads of Omnipotence! 
 Ye suns! who burst from darkness with our earth. 
 Still coming forth in oae continual birth! 
 Almighty miracles! who fill the air 
 With melody and light, as if ye were 
 ' A host of living harmonies, — ye roll, 
 Systems and worlds— all intellect and soul! 
 Interpreters of God! who've called to man. 
 From yon eternal vault, since time began: 
 Ye midnight travellers, who, nightly move 
 In everlasting pilgrimage above! 
 Ye blazonry of power! ye heraldry of love! 
 
 There's one who stands to see that deep blue fold 
 Of glories— suns— and systems, all unrolled,* 
 
 I. I 
 
 • This was stolen— I confess it,— from the "unrolling 
 glory" in the Mrs of Palestine, I do not strike it out— 
 because I conceive it to be the noblest compliment that 
 I can pay any man, to let it remain. 
 
 i I 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 117 
 
 rtb. 
 
 In speechless adoration,— with an eye 
 Of dampened light uplifted to iho sky; 
 Who half forgets the signal that he gave. 
 And echoing answer o'er the distant wave: 
 For he is all alone upon the shore — 
 Alone— at night— what could he think of more? 
 He speaks not -moves not: his uncovered brow. 
 It one might Eie—perchance is gathered now; 
 His attitude, so fixed, is that of thought- 
 Something of stem composure; as if wrought 
 With dangerous purpose to be done with speed. 
 Some quick-matured— but full-determined deed; 
 Now— o'er the dim blue waters you may see 
 His eye go flashing and impatiently: 
 And now his helm is shaken— and his hand 
 Is partly raised as if 'twere in command: 
 The dipping of an oar is heard— a boat so light. 
 It scarcely touched the wave, is now in sight: 
 Around the cUfFit came, Uke some keen bird— 
 That passes by you 'ere her wing is heard; 
 Like the enchanted skiff that dreamers see, 
 Self-moved in moonlight breeze— light, swil't, and 
 cheerfully: 
 
 efold 
 
 mrolUng 
 it out — 
 lent that 
 
 An Indian springs on shore: his light canoe 
 Hath vanished like a spectre from the view: 
 Something he murmurs in the sullen tone 
 Of one who is abandoned: all alone- 
 Left to contend with many; and his eye. 
 So rooted— deadly, bodes some danger nigh: 
 G3 
 
i^P 
 
 
 ri ••■■ 
 
 \ 
 
 iu 
 
 UATTLE OF NlAGAttA; 
 
 ttush! hush — a rustling— and a fearful pause—i- 
 
 A sword is half unsheathed — the Indians draws 
 
 His arrow to the head; but why? — no sound — 
 
 Of thundering' tread, is echoing on the ground: 
 
 Ko footstep comes — no cautious— stealing foe — 
 
 The garland-float is heard, and watery-flow — 
 
 And nothing else, o'er blue Ontario. 
 
 One rapid glance! his soul is all revealed; 
 
 Battle is near— his swarthy bro\*r is sealed 
 
 With Indian-meaning, and his serpent eye 
 
 Is black and glittering with a changeless dye; 
 
 The stranger too— as if he scarcely breathed, 
 
 Stands stooping -listening— with his blade unsheathed; 
 
 Silent as death they are; one glance— a single glance 
 
 Was but exchanged— in their deep, pulseless trance^ 
 
 One glance! it was enough — and each was sure 
 
 Of all his fellow would perform — endure. 
 
 Yet — none of that of companionship is here. 
 
 The union of the vulgar, when in fear: 
 
 No talk— no whisper — but the steady eye 
 
 Of dangerous-boding — stem tranquillity: 
 
 The strong, cool brow -the upright, martial tread 
 
 Of planted strength— the boldb- lifted head; 
 
 One glance! a white man*9 glance — the Indian feeW 
 
 What none but Nature's savage man conceals — 
 
 The swell of sympathy — of brotherhood. 
 
 In danger and in death— in solitude. 
 
 ■V M 
 
 Now — o'er the waters ye may faintly see 
 A shadowy, vision coming silently. 
 
iws 
 
 )und: 
 foe — 
 
 e; 
 
 ed, 
 
 unsheathed; 
 
 rle glance 
 
 less trance^^ 
 
 lure 
 
 fe. 
 
 al tread 
 »d. 
 
 dian feeW 
 als — 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 119 
 
 \ rushing now is heard-and spreading large 
 
 With sail upon the wind-there comes a barge: 
 
 And yet, metliinks, its lightly lifted prow, • 
 
 Upon its glossy path, goes wondrous slow; 
 
 It comes -as drifting from Uie guarded strand, 
 
 And looks as tho' in peace- unarmed-unmanned; 
 
 This has a quite aspect—but that sail 
 
 Is sharply trimmed, as if it might prevail. 
 
 In i-uder nights than this, against a fiercer gale. 
 
 A bird of prey, perhaps-that folds its wing- 
 
 And sits upon the wave in slumbering; 
 
 That stoops at night-but stay! she goes about- 
 
 is that a signal?-there!-that light thrown out 
 
 By heaven 'tis answeredl-answered from the land. 
 
 From yonder beetling steep is stretched a brand! 
 
 The waters foam-up com^s the boat in pride! 
 
 Leaving a path of hght along the tide; 
 
 And 'ere the foldier can put forth his blade, 
 
 Me is a prisoner! -Round him are arrayed 
 \ hidden band, that started from their shade: 
 
 A band with bayonets levelled at his breast- 
 rhe circle narrows- nods each threatening crest: 
 Contracting slowly, they approach-as they 
 Still feared a single warrior, when at bay: 
 ^ Yield,' cries tlie foremost, loudly.-fiercely-'yicldl 
 The stranger would reply-but sees concealed 
 Beneath a stooping oak, his dark ally, 
 With bendid bow-and cool, and patient eye,- 
 Ue waves his hand-the arrow's point is drtipp'd- 
 The death shaft of a fte, upon its flight, is stopp'd; 
 n 4. 
 
'— :'"«s<^ 
 
 I* ! 
 
 Ilij 
 
 1-9 R W 
 
 ."^ . 
 
 1* 
 
 120 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 the summons is repeated: «tield!' he cries 
 
 With anger flashing from his. youthful eyes' 
 
 A pause-a change of attitude betrays 
 
 A naked blade to his imperious gaze. 
 
 A backward step-^a dagger-thus repealed*- 
 
 What could he think?-.Stranger!-that point eSorf- 
 cealed! 
 
 '^Concealeur the stranger echoed- and it came 
 With startling emphasis, and kindling flame- 
 Then-turning silently, he shook his head 
 In oahn disdain, and with his lordly tread, 
 And gathered cloak, he stood-as one who feek 
 TAat every spirit round him, prostrate kneels- 
 He grasps his trusty hilt.-he moves away 
 The circle widens:-all who meet, obey 
 The calm command-firm step-iirtrepid eye 
 Of one familiar with such victoiy: 
 Amid the working of that mighty spell 
 He had escaped-but some low murmurs feU, 
 And each arose in heart: their wandering eye^ 
 Now lowered in silent threat-now sought fheir prize.- 
 The charm was broken, and their strength returned; 
 And each reproached his comrade, while he baxrned 
 i. o wipe away, for ever, this disgrace. 
 And meet his foe, once more!-but face to face 
 Tis done-their prayer is granted-their pursuit 
 Is short indeed. Again they all are mute; 
 He stands too proudly-and is found too near 
 To leave them their last hope-that he had fled in fear. . 
 
 Their angry leader is the first to break 
 The suUen loneUness; the first to wake 
 
 
 
Milt COrf- 
 
 le. 
 
 ils 
 
 ir prize- 
 rued; 
 irned I 
 
 it 
 
 n fear 
 
 ■ 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 121 
 
 Some sound— he cares not what— so it be life; 
 
 Something less awful— be it even strife. 
 
 •Stranger!' he cries again, 'your arms! yoursword!—- 
 
 «0r'— pausing faintly- 'or'—the evening word. 
 
 The stranger smiled— advanced his foot,— and said; 
 
 Wliile all stood awe-struck at his martial tread. 
 
 And something rustled in the neighbouring shade— 
 
 «Wliere is your leader?— let him take my bladel' 
 
 «I am the leader!' — 
 
 •You! and by what right 
 
 «Arrest ye thus a traveller at night?* 
 
 They marked his port- his keen, unshifting eye; 
 
 His half-raised lip, and stand of majesty— 
 
 His calm— serene— and almost taunting tone — 
 And yet— they knew their prize!— he was alone. 
 cA travdler /—yes^aind 'ere to-morrow's light 
 He will be hanged for travelling thus at night.' 
 The stranger's hand fell sudden on his hip, 
 •Hanged!' he replied, and higher curled his lip. 
 And lightnings left his eye!— and forth he stood 
 Like something raised within that solitude 
 By some uiilioly rite— upraised in wrath, 
 By some unhallowed step upon his path; 
 He struggled— heaved as if he gasped for breath — 
 And all was silent then, as in the hour of death. 
 
 At last the swelling of his chest subsides— 
 The lightnings pass away— a cold smile rides 
 Upon the writhing of his mighty brow, 
 And glittering breast— from which his mantle's flow 
 
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 flATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 t -I 
 
 J*;"'"'"? '""'•'""•"It of hi, heart- 
 
 ■Asnv. """^"^''keaaoldierdie!' 
 
 A » .ri, "'"T" ■""•' f"* W' fi-kWon flewi 
 A »lmll. q„.ek ,„„„„„, ,„ ^j^ aew. 
 
 Threw off his cbak -airainw .h. i.- i. 7 
 
 An arraw from the disUnt shade proceeds- 
 The f„re„o„f.lls_.„,„dia„ rushes out, 
 And m,„g,es with the horsemen's furious shout, 
 Andsabres streaming clash-his thrilling cri« 
 Short „ ^ conflict-half the foot band die" 
 
 Speedto the camp-return by break of da/ 
 
 The barge hath fled-Use Indian, where is he> 
 The savage man -. the naked-he is free' 
 Againappears the skimming light canoe- 
 Forth from ,ts covert, o'er the watery blue. 
 With wondrous impulse now, it swiftly flies 
 Like some young spirit o'er the wintry skies- 
 
 Now ^derneath the clifl--„„w„p a stream' 
 Ot ruffled shade, ,t passes like a dream, 
 
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BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 123 
 
 •art, 
 
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 i his roe:>M 
 
 'py 
 
 lewj 
 
 tood^ 
 
 id would!* 
 
 Ws brand) 
 
 steeds— 
 
 Now shooting: 'thwart a tranquil, lovely sheet 
 Of shining light, as it goes as still and fleet. 
 As that ethereal bark that sails on high, 
 Amid the lustre of a dark blue sky: 
 Now on the flowery bant a light appears— 
 A cottage nestles: — and an oak uprears, 
 With all its giant branches, wide outspread, 
 Above the lonely cot— its thunder-blasted head. 
 And there the stranger stays: beneath that oak. 
 Whose shattered majesty hath felt the stroke 
 Of heaven's own thunder— yet it proudly heaves 
 A giant sceptre wreathed with blasted leaves— 
 As though it dared the elements, and stood 
 The guardian of tl;iat cot— the monarch of that wood. 
 
 Beneath its venerable vault he stands: 
 And one might think, who saw his out^stretchcd hand», 
 That something more than soldiers e'er may feel. 
 Had touched him with its holy, calm appeal: 
 That yonder wave — the heaven— the earth—the air 
 Had called upon his spirit for her prayer. 
 His eye goes dimly o*er the midnight scene: 
 The oak— the cot— the wood— the faded green— 
 The moon— the sky— the distant moving light- 
 All!— all are gathering on his dampened sight. 
 His warrior-helm and plume, his fresh-dyed blad« 
 Beneath a window, on the turf are laid: 
 The panes are ruddy thro' the clambering vines 
 And blushing leaves, that Summer intertwines 
 In warmer tints than e'er luxuriant Spring, 
 O'er flower-pmboflomed roof led wandering. 
 
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124 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
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 His pulses quicken-, for a rude old door 
 l8 opene4 by the wind: h- sees the floor 
 ^rewed with white sand, on which he used to truce 
 H.S boyhood's battlc»...and assign a place 
 To charging hosts-and give the fndian yeU- 
 And shout to hear his hoary grandsire ttll. 
 How he had fought with savages, whose breath 
 He felt upon his cheek like n.ildew till his death. 
 
 Hark!..-that sweet songl-how full of tenderness. 
 O, who would breathe in -his voluptuous press 
 01 lulling thoughts!-s„ soothing and so low- 
 Like singing fountains in their faintest flowJ 
 It IS as if some holy—lovely thing. 
 Within 9ur very hearts were muiTOuring, 
 The soldier listens, ftnd his arms are prest 
 In thankfulness, and trembling on his breast 
 Now-^n the very window where he stands. 
 Are seen a clani!)ering infant's rosy hands- * 
 And now.-ah heavenl-blessings on that smUe'- 
 Stay, soldier stay-0, linger yet awhile! 
 An airy vision now appears, with eyes- 
 As tender as the blue of weeping skjes: 
 Yet sunny in their radiance, as that blue. 
 When sunset glitters on its falUng dew; * 
 With form-..aU joy and dance-as bright and free 
 As youthful nymph of mountain Liberty.- 
 Or naked angels dreamt by poesy.- 
 A blooming infant to her heart is prest; 
 And ah-a mother's song is lulling it to rest! 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGABA. 
 
 125 
 
 A youthful mother! God of heaven! is there 
 
 A thing beneath the skies, so holy or so fiur! 
 
 « 
 
 A single bound! — our chief is standing by. 
 Trembling from head to foot with ecatacy — 
 •Bless thee!'— at length he murmured— 'bless thee, l«ve! 
 *My wife!---my boy:*— Their eyes are raised above. 
 His solder's tread of sounding strength is gone: 
 A choking transport drowns his manly tone: 
 He sees the closing of a mild, blue eye. 
 His bosom echoes to a faint low cryt 
 His glorious boy springs freshly from its sleep; 
 Shakes his thin sun-curls, while his eye-beams leap, 
 As half in fear'-along the stranger's dress- 
 Then— half advancing- yields to his caress:— 
 Then— peers beneath his locks, and seeks his eye. 
 With the clear look of radiant infancy. 
 The cherub smile of love, the azure of the sky. 
 
 The stranger now, is kneeling by the side 
 Of that young mother; — watching for the tide 
 Of her returning hfe:— it comes— a glow 
 Goes — faintly — slowly — o'er her cheek and brow: 
 A rising of the gauze that lightly shrouds 
 A snowy breast— like twilight's melting clouds-- 
 In nature's pure, still eloquence, betrays 
 The feelings of the heart that reels beneath his gaze. 
 
 She lives! she lives— see how her feelings speak/ 
 Thro' what transparency of eye and cheek! 
 
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126 
 
 BATTLE OF NfAGARA. 
 
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 Her colour comes and goes, like that faint ray. 
 That flits o'er Ulies at the close of day. 
 O. nature, how omnipotent!- that sigh- 
 That youthful mother, in her ecstacy, 
 Feels but the wandering of a husband's eye. 
 Hrr lip now ripens, and her heaving breast 
 Throbs wildly in its light, and now subsides to rest. 
 
 And now a father grasps his martial hand; 
 A mother and a sister leaning stand— 
 A mother—in her adoration— therein. 
 With clasped hands and wildly streaming hair: 
 A sister— with a lip of pulpy red, 
 Swelhng and trembling at his martial tread; 
 A father— and a soldier! one who feels 
 AU th^t a father may— and yet his heart conceals. 
 
 There they all stand! and thro' their gathering tears. 
 The smile of gratitude and pride appears; 
 While o'er his manly form their glances fall; 
 To see his lordly height— so full— so tall; 
 The gallant bearing of hi swelling chest; 
 The lofty brow— commanding— and at rest! 
 His springing port— his strong, determined tread, 
 That sounded like a threat— the colour spread. 
 In health's effulgent brownness, o'er his cheek; 
 The glance of tire, in which there seemed to speak 
 The tamelessness of one, who'd spend his life 
 In battle and in storm— in tempest and in strife. ' 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
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 ly. 
 
 to rest. 
 
 P: 
 
 eals. 
 ring tears. 
 
 ead, 
 
 speak 
 
 Fe. 
 
 There stands the man of blood! now search his eye; 
 See ye aught there of that cool mastery, 
 That dwells on danger with untroubled look? 
 Aught of that deadly calmness, that will brook 
 No flame of challenge in another's gaze? 
 Aught of that desperate meaning, which betrays 
 The eye that is familiar with the deed 
 Of midnight battle, where the mighty bleed? 
 When valour— manhood —perish by the blow 
 From unseen hands, that lay the coward low? 
 No— ye may not. That youthful glance, less tame 
 Than the quick flashing of a meteor flame- 
 Is yet of generous omen — not the light 
 That burns vindictive on the blasted sight: 
 That streams from bloody falchions— lights the field 
 Of midnight slaughter, where the mighty yield 
 Their spirits to their God, in silent fight— 
 The war of murderers— wakened but in night! 
 His is the flashing eye that courts the day— 
 The pawing steed-the horn— the full display 
 * Of columns— banners— martial minstrelsy— 
 The drums of earth— the echoes of the sky— 
 The trumpet-song of Death and cannon p«aling high? 
 
 *My son ' tlie old man said, 'to-morrow night— 
 *I learn ye mingle in a glorious fight. 
 'Remember then my words. This form, so old, 
 «Once moved in blood, where mighty Battle toUed 
 «The warrior-kneU in storm, in that dread hour 
 *jVJy heart was always sad. . The sinewy power 
 
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138 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
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 ♦Tlut strung my jym, was not the gjUlwit tide 
 
 •That leaps at the far trump in rushing pride. 
 
 •The blaze that wrapped my eye, was not the fire . 
 
 •That kindles redly at the battle quire. 
 
 •Religion, and my country nerved my arm, 
 
 ♦Fed my young heart, and kept my eye-beam warm. 
 
 *My gallant boy— I know thou art full brave, 
 
 •That evening batUe ground-may be thy bloody grave!* 
 
 •Oh no!* the mother cries:— and now they weep 
 And pray-as we wiU pray when we're asleep. 
 With ashy lip— a suffocating prayer— that dies 
 In broken murmurs, and in struggling sighs: 
 As we will pray, when thro» the brooding shade 
 Unholy sights, by Terror's torch betrayed, 
 Come thronging, darkly, in delirium— 
 With heavy wing— with cloudy breath— and hum 
 Of one unceasing knell: in lonely woe— 
 In sullen boding—like the heavy flow 
 Of far, far waves, where one we love is sleeping— 
 When we are set— we know not how— a-weeping. 
 
 ^. The young wife 8toops,-as she would hide her tears; 
 
 , And smile with hope, while bowing down with fears: 
 With heart that pants and flutters to be free. 
 Like some young negtlipg, stolen from its tree, 
 That heaves its bosom— shakes it^ dazzling plume, 
 A pulse of Ught and life, entrapped within a tomb! 
 
 Hark!— from the distant shore far trumpets sweep! 
 One last embrace: once more they meet and weep: 
 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 1S9 
 
 Around that dear, loved gfroup, once more is shed 
 A farewell smile— a parting tear: then sped 
 The husband to tlie war! With unhung brand, 
 And helmeted for strife, he joins his band! 
 
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 K)dy grave!* 
 
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 tomb! 
 
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 PANTO UL , 
 
 Same night continues general appearances of nieht 
 
 at aU seasons assembled midnight daylight sun * 
 
 rise.....secondday Americans parade on the heights 
 
 British on the march Canadians British chief.... inci- 
 
 <i^nts associations evening Niagara. 
 
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 BATTLE OT JflAGAHA. 
 
 i^t 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 THERE are harps that complain to the presence of night, 
 . To the presence of night alone- 
 
 In a near and unchangeable tone- 
 Like winds, full of sound, that go whispering by.. 
 As If some immortal had stooped from tlie sky- 
 
 And breathed out a blessing-and flown! 
 
 Yes!....harps that complain to the breezes of night- 
 
 To the breezes of night alone- 
 Growing fainter and fainter, as ruddy and bright. 
 The sun roUs aloft, in his drapery of light- 
 Like a conqueror, shaking his brilliant hair. 
 And flourishing robe, on the edge of the air: 
 Burning crimson and gold. 
 On the clouds that unfold— 
 
 Breakingonwardin«ame!-.whilean oceandiviies « 
 On his right and his left-So the Thunderer rides' 
 When he cuts a bright path through the heaving tides; 
 , Rolhng on...and erect-in a charioting throne! 
 
 Yes!-strings that lie still in the gushing of day; 
 
 That awake, all alive!...to the brce.es of night-. 
 
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132 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGA|IA. 
 
 There are hautboys and flutes too* for ever at play, 
 When the evening is near, and the sun is away- 
 Breathing out the still hymn of delight. 
 These strings by invisible fingers are played:— 
 
 By spirits— unseen— and unknown— 
 But thick as the stars!— all this musick is made— 
 And these flutes, alone. 
 In one sweet dreamy tone- 
 Are ever blown i 
 For ever and for ever; 
 Thelive-long night ye hear the sound, 
 Like distant waters flowing itound, 
 In ringing caves— while heaven m sweet , 
 With 'cro'vding tunes, like halls , 
 Where fountain-niusick falls. 
 And rival minstrels meet! 
 
 I. 
 
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 'Tis dark abroad. The majesty of Night 
 Bows down superbly from her utmost height- 
 Stretches her starless plumes across the world; 
 And all the banners of the wind are furled. 
 How hefavily we breathe amid such gloom! 
 As if we slumbered in creation's tomb. 
 It is tht» noon of that tremendous hour. 
 When life is helpless, and the dead have power: 
 When soUtudes are peopled: when the sky 
 Is swept by shady wings that, sailing by. 
 Proclaim their watch is set; when hidden rills 
 Are chirping on their course; and all the hills 
 Are bright with armour:— when the starry vests 
 And glittering plumes, and fiery twinkling crests 
 
 <-«, 
 
Of moon-light seriUnA, are spwkUns ro,m^ 
 When countless voices, in the day uiAeari 
 
 That loves Uie lerfy wood, and bloomin. bower. 
 And eoh„,„g i3 singingtoher flo/er ' 
 
 Whe„eve,yIovely...eve,y,„„e,ypta,,;" 
 
 fc™g.„gt. the light and sandaled pace 
 0<w,nkl,„g,eet, and all about, the flol 
 Of newborn fountains murmuring aaZ ^o 
 Whenwate,y tunes are richest.-»d tS' 
 Of wandenng streamlets, as they part aid fi 
 nfoammg melody, is all around; 
 L.ke f^r^ harps beneath enchanted ground 
 Sweet drowsy distant musick- like th^b^th 
 Of a,^ilutestlutbIow before an inant'de*. 
 It is that hour when listening ones wiU ween 
 And know not why: when we would glad/y Ilel 
 Ourl»t--lastsleep; and feel no touch of C^ 
 
 .^" """"'" ""'" "' "— " -<>»' i "net!"" 
 T.11 we are startled by a falUng tear 
 That unexpected gathered in our Je 
 VV^Ie we were panting f„ry„„ blessdd sky. 
 rtat hour of graUtude-of whispering pier 
 When we can hear a worship i„ the ai^ " ' 
 
 ZT ^ '^ '""^ ™™'» "'^ «^»% wheel 
 And o er our lids and brow a blessing ste^ ' 
 
 And t^^n-as if our sins were all forLtn 
 AndaUourtea^werewiped-andw^h-ven, 
 
 133 
 
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134 
 
 1 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 It is that hour of quiet ecstacy, 
 When every ruffling wind, that passes by 
 The sleeping leaf, makes busiest minstrelsy; 
 When all at once! amid the quivering shade, 
 Millions of diamond sparklers are betrayed! 
 When dry leaves rustle^ and the whisthng song 
 Of keen-tuned grass, comes piercingly along; 
 When windy pipes are heard — and many a lute 
 Is touched amid the skies, and then is mute: 
 When even the foliage on the glittering steep^ 
 Of feathety bloom — is whispering in its sleep: 
 When all the garlands of the precipice. 
 Shedding their blossoms, in their moonlight bliss. 
 Are floating loosely on the eddying air, ' ' 
 And breathing out their fragrant spirits there: 
 And all their braided tresses fluttering— bright, 
 Are sighing faintly to the shadowy light: 
 When every cave and grot— and bower and lakei, ' 
 And drooping floweret-bell, are all awake: 
 When starry eyes are burning on the chff 
 Ofimany a crouching tyrant too, as if 
 Such melodies were grateful even to himi 
 When life is loveliest — and tlie blue skies swim " 
 In lustre, warm as sunshine— but more dim; 
 When all the holy sentinels of night # 
 
 Step forth to watch in turn, and worship by their light. 
 
 Such is the hour! — the holy, breathless hour, 
 When such sweet minstrelsy hath mightiest power; 
 When sights are seen, that all the blaze of day 
 Can never rival, in its fierce display: 
 
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 135 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 Such is the hour-yet not a sound is heard; 
 
 No sights are seen— no melancholy bird 
 Sings tenderly and swee't; but aU the air 
 Is thick and motionless - as if it were 
 A prelude to some dreadful tragedy; 
 Some midnight drama of an opening'sky! 
 
 The Genius of the mountain, and the wood- 
 The stormy Eagle, and her rushing brood; 
 The fire-eyed tenant of the desert cave; 
 The gallant spirit of the roaring wave; 
 The star-crowned messengers that ride the air 
 The meteor watch-hght, with its streamy hair, ' 
 Threatening and sweeping redly from the hill; 
 The shaking cascade.-and the merry rill 
 
 Are 'hushed to slumber now-and heaven and earth are 
 still. , 
 
 And now the daylight comesl-slowly it rides, 
 In ridgy lustre o'er the cloudy tides, 
 Like the soft foam upon the billow's breast; 
 Or feathery light upon a shadowy crest; 
 The morning Breezes from their slumbers wake. 
 And o'er the distant hilLtops cheerly shake * 
 Their dewy locks, and plume themselves, and poise 
 Their rosy wings, and listen to the noise 
 Of echoes wandering from the world below: 
 The distant lake, rejoicing in its flow: 
 The bugles ready cry: the labouring drum: 
 The neigh of steeds-and the incessant hum 
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136 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 That the bright tenants of the forest send: 
 The sunrise gun; the heave^the wave— and bend 
 Of everlasting trees, whose busy leaves 
 Rustle their song of praise, while Ruin weaves 
 A robe of verdure for their yielding bark; 
 While mossy garlands- -A full, and dark. 
 
 Creep slowly round then .^narciis of the wood! 
 Whose mighty sceptres sway the mountain brood! 
 Whose aged bosoms, in their last decay. 
 Shelter the winged idolaters of day: 
 Who, 'mid the desert wild, sublimely stand. 
 And grapple with the storm-god hand to hand! 
 Then drop like weary pyramids away; 
 St'iipendous monuments of calm decay! 
 As yet the warring thunders have not rent 
 The swimming clouds, the brightening firmament. 
 The lovely mists that float aroifnd the sky- 
 Ruddy and rich with fresh and glorious dye. 
 Like hovering seraph wings-or robe of Poesy! 
 
 ^ Now comes the sun forth! not in blaze of fire: 
 With rain-bow-harnessed coursers, that respire 
 An atmosphere of flame. No chariot whirls 
 O'er reddening clouds. No sunny flag unfurls 
 O'er rushing smoke. No chargers in array 
 Scatter thro' heaven and earth their fiery spray. 
 No shouting charioteer, in transport flings 
 Ten thousand anthems, from tumultuous strings: 
 And round and round, no fresh-plumed echoes dance 
 No airy minstrels in the flush light glance: 
 
L 
 
 nd: 
 
 —and bend 
 
 veaves 
 
 ■k; 
 
 id dark, 
 
 f the wood! 
 
 itaiii brood! 
 
 and, 
 hand! 
 
 •ent 
 firmament, 
 
 dye, 
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 e of fire: 
 
 respire 
 
 hirls 
 
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 •ray 
 
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 choes dance 
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 BATTLE OF NIAGARA IZT 
 
 No rushing melody comes strong and deep: 
 And far away no fading winglets sweep: 
 No boundless hymning o'er the bUie-sky rings, 
 In hallelujalis to the King of Kings: 
 No youthful hours are seen. No riband lash. 
 Flings its gay stripings like a rainbow flash. 
 While starry crowns, and constellations fade 
 Before the gloiies of that cavalcade, 
 Whose trappings aie the jewelry of beaven, 
 Embroidered thickly on tlie clouds of even. 
 
 Nb!-_no!— he comes not thus in pomp, and light! 
 A new creation bui-sting out of night! 
 But he comes darkly forth! in storm arrayed— 
 Like the red Tempest marshalled in her shade,, 
 When mountains rock; and tliunders travelling round. 
 Hold counsel in the sky— and midnight trumps resound 
 
 Hark! the deep drums again;-ithe echoing drums! 
 Their rousing loudly tlirough the clear air comes. 
 And trumpets dread hourra! - its plunging blast 
 Left every heait—a-heaving — as it past. 
 in that wild threatening cry how much of life! ' 
 Of martial song:— the minstrelsy df strife. 
 A flash!— a vapour! from yon fading cloud 
 The cannon's voice comes suddenly aloud: 
 Now bursts the smothered war! and proudly rise 
 Fresh plumes ancl banners, blazing to the skies! 
 And further still, the loud artillery rolls 
 L'iiiinterrupted thunder to the poles! 
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138 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 I 
 
 That morning sun uprose o'er swelling hearts, 
 That e'er the evening sun once more departs. 
 Shall cease to swell on earth. That trumpet's voice 
 For the last time hath called them to rejoice: 
 Yes-many a pulse now fiercely throbbing there. 
 Hath heard its requiem in the morning air. 
 
 A horseman!— surely we have seen that steed— 
 His reaching step-his flowing mane-his speed: 
 The rein is loosened— upwai-d to the heaven. 
 He leaps, as if the battle blast were given! 
 That youthful rider— what an awful brow!— 
 How calm and grand!-and now he nods-and now- 
 , Faith,— 'tis 'a glorious vision! how his hair 
 Is blown about his cheek, as if it were 
 A living richness clustering in the air! 
 His chest is heaving, and his sunny eye 
 Goes bright and feariess o'er the clear blue sky: 
 That lip— that brow, that ardent, piercing look 
 In batUe's wildest uproar never shook: 
 No frowning-and no effbrt-always bright, 
 And always careless— always— even in fight! 
 And yet that smile of his, that waving hand. 
 And nodding plume, among his chosen band. 
 Have a determined and despotick sway. 
 O'er hearts and souls,— that never would obey 
 The lordliest frown that ever sat in cloud; 
 The stormiest voice that ever raged aloud: 
 The darkest helm that ever nodded proud: 
 His is a spirit of that mighty power. 
 That moves the calmest in the troubled hour: 
 
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BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
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 VOJCC 
 
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 4: I 
 
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 139 
 
 An eye that, even in danger, threatens not; 
 Calm—frank and generous— ne'er to be forgot, 
 That, even in strife, looks forth with beams of peace, 
 And brightens as the thunders of the batUe cease. 
 
 His march was victory— and his charger's tread 
 Hath been familiar with the warrior's bed-^ 
 The battle field! His brow was always bare, 
 His head thrown back-his right arm in the air! 
 His charger leaping-plunging--as he came. 
 And went amid the battle wrapped in flame; 
 While o'er him waved the star-flag, thick with smoke; 
 Unharmed he sat-and like the thunder spoke: 
 Nodding his tall plumes to the trumpet-blast 
 The fiercest in the strife, but when 'twas past. 
 The first to sheathe his blade-to leave the battle, last. 
 
 The drum is rolled again. The bugle sings; 
 And far upon the wind the cross flag flings 
 A radiant challenge to its starry foe, 
 
 Thatfloats— a sheet of light!— -away— ielow 
 Where troops are forming—slowly in the night 
 Of mighty waters; where an angry light 
 
 Bounds from the cataract, and fills the skies 
 With visions— rainbows— and the foamy dyes. 
 That one may see at mom in youthful poet's eyes. 
 
 Niagaua! Niagaiia! I hear 
 Thy tumbling water*. And I see thee rear 
 Thy thundering sceptre to the clouded skies: 
 I see it wave-I hear the ocean rise, 
 
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 140 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
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 And roll obedient to thy call. I hear 
 
 The tempest-hymning' of thy floods in fear: 
 
 The quaking mountains and the nodding trees— 
 
 The reeling birds—and the careering breeze— 
 
 The tottering hills, unsteadied in thy roar; 
 
 Niagara! as thy dark waters pour. 
 
 One everlasting earthquake rocks thy lofty shore! 
 
 There spreads the red cross-banner, fhr and wide, 
 Flapping its dark blue, as 'tis wont to ride 
 O'er the red tempest, on the mountain-tidc. 
 The troops of Wellington are there; a band- 
 Nursed by stern Glory in her favourite land: 
 The guardians of the Spaniard, when subdued, 
 And trampled in the dust: a band that stood 
 Forth with that banner, floating hke a shroud, 
 
 And battled on the mountain— in a cloud 
 
 With high—stupendous Gaul, until her genius bowed. 
 
 Stern eyes are lifted to it, as it leans 
 Away upon the breeze: and long past scenes 
 Of home and country, o'er the heaving main— 
 Of fire-side peace, are conjured up again: 
 Parents- and wife— and children— and young eyes 
 Of weeping love, are looking from the skies: , 
 And murmuring prayers are near again: and dreams 
 Of parting lips; and many a dark eye beams 
 Upon its soldier's heart, as it had done. 
 When they had parted— parted'-all alone; 
 And every friend he had, w?s going one by one. 
 
 f^^ 
 
6ATTLE OP NIAGARA. Ui 
 
 trom the horizon now, a gathering cloud 
 Comes darkly o'er the hiUs; and now a crowd 
 Of mothers, fathers, sisters, lovers, friends. 
 Come forth to pray for those whom Glory sends, 
 In pomp and fever to the field of death; 
 A throng, who came to pour their erring breath, 
 To him— the ood of mack!— who sits on liigh; 
 To pray that he will bless the fiery eye; 
 And bloody hand, that smitf.s in iron wrath 
 A brother to the dust!— and light the path 
 Of him who rides in battle and in blood, 
 Carvingthat brother for the shrieking brood, 
 That snuff the coming war, and drini^ tlie vital flood. 
 
 Yonder on snow-white charger, treading proud, 
 A red-cross chieftain goes to meet that crowd: 
 An aged warrior, and a valiant one: 
 A liero oi the battles that are done. 
 I'lie fife sounds cheerly! and their steady tread. 
 And long, firm steppings, as their columns spread; • 
 Their glancing splendours o'er the distant hill: 
 Their flapping banners— and their horns that fill 
 AU heaven, and eartli, and air with martial song, 
 As their proud foot-line winds its length along. 
 Would seem the pageantry of Peace, instead ' 
 Of battle cavalcade by Sluughter led. 
 
 Who is that drooping o^? with snowy breast; 
 Shrinking like virgins when they're first carest; 
 With full, dark eye, and melancholy smile. 
 And glistening lash, that's standing there the while 
 
 f^ 
 
148 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGAKA. 
 
 That aged man comes upl' How pale that cheek! 
 And yet how eloquent! O, she can speak, 
 With that dark lash and that slow dropping tear. 
 Unutterable thoughts— when one is near, 
 In solitude and silence — that is dear. 
 But see!— she moves— and now her wild, dark ey 
 Is flashing^^lifted: something passes by: 
 A youth in armour! what a glorious face! 
 
 And now he reins hit barb: with what a grace 
 
 He waves his snowy helmet — and his hand- 
 How full of noble spirit and command! 
 A gallant glorious form— but yet a boy: 
 An eye of terror and a lip of joy; 
 Sure he has lost the rein! — his fiery steed 
 Goes plunging so, with such a fearful speed: 
 He has! he has! — a shriek! he has indeed! 
 That waving of his helm — that loosened rein— 
 O God— the precipice! — it is in vain— " 
 
 Yet stay— what death-like silence— now he wheels! 
 And every heart breathes out: and every bosom feels 
 The cool air coming freshly— can it be! 
 Is that the fiery steeds can this he he? 
 The rider — that \iras bending o'er the mane? • 
 This tlie fierce steed that caught the loosened rein? 
 Foaming he comes, with glossy neck arched high, 
 And stately step, and wildly rolling eye— 
 RattHng his bits,, and reaching with his head— 
 This that fierce steed? why, how composed his tread. 
 The horseman too, how steady, light and high 
 Sits the jfoung spirit with bis lightning eye, 
 
 L'.i:l^^i.iLjLjii.mi''Si^^ 
 
BATTLE OF NIASARA. 
 
 And Bmiling lip. See how his panting breast 
 Is heaving yet beneath his studded vest: 
 The gathered rein—the firm, elastick seat 
 Of airy grace, how young— yet how complete! 
 Forth flies his blade—the aged warrior comes— 
 Bow the high banners! roll the answering drums! 
 
 And now amid a throng of sparkling eyes 
 In terror lifted to the bright blue skies. 
 Slow tears of thankfuJness and joy are flowing; 
 And round about a languid cheek are flowing, 
 Rich silkiness and shade: and faintly— slow, 
 A lovely hand goes o'er a brow of snow- 
 In woman's meekest— loveliest helplessness— 
 The lifeless grace of beauty in distress: 
 But see! she wakes-and forth with glittering eyt. 
 And burning cheek— and form erect and high. 
 She steps in light! That melancholy maid 
 Stands like Minerva for the war arrayed! 
 How altered! yet how lovely in her change! 
 How sudden and complete— indeed 'tis strange 
 That such a transformation should be wrought 
 So instantaneously— 'twas brief as thought. 
 Now banners float, and 'mid die tented plain 
 She and the warrior meet: and o'er the mane 
 Of his white steed, he bows and smiles— and now. 
 Presses his old lip to her snowy brow ; 
 *Farewell, my child— farewell!' the warrior says, 
 His high plume shaking in the sunny blaze; 
 And glancing to her heart its cheerful dye. 
 As hurrying— faultering— with averted eye- 
 
 lid 
 
 t 
 
 ^1 
 
 fti|i«i«»Wi-||lr' 
 
IH 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 That tells for whom the silent prayer is made- 
 While on her heart one trembling hand is laid. 
 She waves the other as they speed away, 
 Where the keen streamers of the Briton play. 
 A tear came slowly in her wandering eye; 
 The parting seemed so sad-she knew not why— 
 As far upon the wind the white steed flew, 
 Like grey hound brusliing off tiie heathc'r's morning 
 dew. 
 
 Yon sick man, bending to the earth, haUi been 
 In the red strife himself—hath often seen 
 In other days, a flashing helm laid low. 
 While yet it shook in triumph o'er its foe: 
 In that gay band whose tramp is passing far. 
 That go in revelry and song to war. 
 That sick man has a brother—young and brave- 
 That brother!— he is riding to his grave. 
 A farewell swinging of his martial band 
 Tells to his heart-^what sbldiers understand- 
 That he will conquer!— or will bravely He 
 AVith cloven crest and bosom to the sky. 
 And never tinge his cheek, altho' he dim his eye. 
 
 'My last-last hope!' a mother cries, and kneels. 
 While o'er the hills a sound of tumult reels; 
 Is it the war-song rushing in the breeze? 
 Parents and friends, it is the bending trees. 
 Go speed ye home, and spend your day in prayer; 
 To-morrow's sun may wake ye to despair. 
 
'I '"1 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA 
 
 145 
 
 Go kneel ye on some desert rock, and pray. 
 Unceasingly and deep, the live-Iong day. 
 To Him whose angels calm the stormy fray 
 The time is coming when your troubled sleep 
 Whltr^:'^^^ -hen yeshdl weep 
 
 Whene er ihe storm « loud-or panthers scream- 
 And fancy »t.s the strife, and feel the battle drel. 
 
 The cavaicade went by. The day hath gone' 
 
 And yet thesoldier lives: his cheerful tone 
 Rises in boisterous song: while slowly calls . 
 The monarch spirit of the mighty falls. 
 Soldier, be firm!...and mind your watch fires well- 
 S eep not to-mght^there comes a distant swell 
 Like the approaching step of toiling steeds. 
 Encountering on the hiUs: and far behTnd us speeds. 
 
 «ath left the storm with which his course be^un- 
 And now m rolling cloud, goes calmlyTome^""' 
 nheavenly pomp-a.iown the far blue dome 
 in sweet-toned minstrelsy is hea«l the ciy 
 
 AU char and smooth, along the echoing^y 
 Of many a fresh blown bugle full anH / 
 The «ni^:.. » ■ "ugie, lull and strong. 
 
 I 
 
146 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 »8f i 
 
 Loosely unwoven, and far unfurled, 
 
 A sunset canopy enwraps the world. 
 
 The vesper hymn grows soft. In parting day 
 
 Wings flit about. The warblings die away. 
 
 The shores are dizzy, and the hiUs look dim. 
 
 The cataract falls deeper and the landscapes swim. 
 
J day 
 Eipes swim. 
 
 ■iiliimin»imi 
 
i 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Evenrng contmued preparations. for battle.... Bri. 
 
 tjsh occupy an eminence Americans approach.....bat. 
 
 tie on the mngs Americans cany the British artillery 
 
 at ^e pointof the bayonet....three successive attempts 
 made by the British to dislodge the An^ericans, and re 
 gain the height.... .Americans remain in possession.... 
 Niagara. *^ 
 
 
 
BATTLE 0¥ XIAGAUA- 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 AWAY, away,— to the winds away! 
 With your baiHieii. nt'«ame. and ^ve them play! 
 The battle, in wrath, is coming! 
 A flock of young vultures are poising their wings; 
 And the untrodden solitude rings. 
 With voices— and trumpets-and drumming! 
 Prom away in the cloudless air. 
 
 Where all is so soft and serene- 
 That never a speck can be seen, 
 There comes a cry. 
 As if it were 
 Some unseen eaglet in the sky. 
 Stooping down on her shrieking, invisible prey; 
 And the dim arch of heaven is bright 
 With the luminous flight. 
 Of birds— flocking upward— all red 
 With the bloodiest tint that the sun ever shed: 
 Swarming - ut from the mist-where the water rolls 
 
 white— 
 And/scaling away intlie changeable light, 
 
 As if warmed into life by the sun-setting ray: 
 
 m^^it^^ StH. 
 
150 
 
 ^' 
 
 i 
 
 "■^ 
 
 BATTLE OF NUGARA. 
 
 l^e the birds of the sea from the surgef 
 
 "vX^e.^'^^^'^^^'^^^^^^^-^orthehillo. 
 
 ^°^^»y 'n hght^-and subJime in display! 
 Now the rising air brings • 
 
 Where ancient bards had been interred. 
 Their spirits rose again to trace, ^ 
 In iow-prophetic murmuring 
 
 Th. f ^""V^^ '^^ «oft approach of win^ 
 The fate of yonder host, that come- '^* 
 
 Unhallowed-to intrude... 
 
 With banner-blade-and horn and drum... 
 Upon their charmed solitude: 
 
 As if.»each seated on his tomb. 
 
 And stoopii^o'er his shadowy lyre 
 
 With trembling finge.3 tore awa7 
 
 The tendrils that ran wild in bloom. 
 Encumbering each golden wire-./ 
 
 And faultermg-..to«ched die awful lay..- 
 All energy, and fire... 
 
 That visions of the war inspire.-.. 
 
 Whena,ltheheavenisopeningro.L, 
 And batUes dimly seen... 
 
Inerge.^ » 
 
 rge, 
 
 on the billoft 
 
 t foam-. 
 
 to his home— \ 
 n display! 
 
 r been heard; 
 
 «. 
 
 BATTLE OF NUGARA. 
 
 Like clouds-in passing o'er the ground- 
 Are shadowed on its green. 
 When aU the future trembles-when— 
 
 Ifnseen but by the gifted eye- 
 Tumultuous air sweeps o'er the sky- 
 Wheeling like coursers giddily— 
 
 When every holy spot on earth, ' 
 Is heaving with some awful birth, ' 
 
 And every grot and hermitage. 
 And every lonely place, again— 
 Is filled with shapes of armed men— 
 And echoes to their stormy rage- 
 Reproachful sounds— while they engage. 
 
 When all their ancient spirits hear 
 The neigh of steeds encountering near; 
 The uproar of the battle— and 
 The sweep of the unsparing brand. 
 Dealt whistling with immortal force— < 
 UnchanneUing the blood of tliose 
 That nature never meant for foes— 
 E'en at the fountain of its course:— 
 Of men— who if they met at all- 
 Should meet in places, such as these— 
 Embracing heart and soul— and faU 
 In worship on their bended knees— 
 And speak— not with the battle shout- 
 As if their souls were bursting out— 
 
 But faint-and whispering— as tKey were 
 
 Assembled by their God in pi-ayer: 
 12 . ' 
 
 151 
 
 
 
Ii2 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 Oh yes-and they should ever come, 
 
 When in such holy spots they meet- 
 Not with the horn-not with the drum- 
 And not with mailed-but naked feet! 
 But if they come in armour— they 
 Should lose the very wish to slay— 
 And dash their helmets down, and kneel 
 
 Unharnessed to the influence there— 
 Not stain and crush its spongy green 
 With crimson tracks, like what are seen. 
 Where panthers and where wolves have been. 
 
 Tainting the cool and holy air— 
 'N(^t with the warrior step— but tread 
 Of men— intruding on the dead; 
 
 Not helmeted and mailed around— 
 But with their gallant hair unbound. 
 And fiery eye upon the ground- 
 Like pilgrims when they bow— alone 
 Upon some consecrated stone— 
 With tufted mossing all overgrown— 
 And washed with tears of men unknown— 
 
 By altars— rocky-hung in green. 
 With shelly, brig- .t entablatures. 
 Enduring on, while time endures. 
 And brightening every hour- 
 StUl thickening-clustering-more and more- 
 All pillared, and enamelled o'er; 
 With arched roof and glimmering floor, 
 
 Bestrewed with every briiliant flower. 
 That ever bloomed in secret, where 
 The sunset shows the golden path 
 
 ft 
 
 That leads you to the sea.maid^ 
 
 ! Knfk 
 
 i 
 
I 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA 
 
 Where they— all naked— glittering— bright, 
 With radiant tresses— limbs as white, 
 As they were shaped of moulded light. 
 
 Stand combing out their glorious haii'; 
 
 Or, on the oily billows play 
 
 And one by one then disappear. 
 Like creatures vanishing away— 
 And melting in the hues of day— 
 When— some dim eartlily thing is near. 
 
 But away!-away!-to the winds away! 
 
 With your banners of flame, and give them play! 
 
 The battle in wrath is coming! 
 See how their moving tents arise— 
 With a snowy gleam, in the purple skies. 
 
 Like pavihons of glittering light— 
 Those tents are struck!— the signal given! 
 And now— along the verge of heaven 
 
 With trumpeting and drumming. 
 They're harnessing for fight! 
 And now their opening flags arise, 
 Unfurling bravely to the skies. 
 
 And now!— against the red orb spreading 
 Their broad, dark banners— they appeatf, 
 AU tinged with blood— their distant rear. 
 
 Against the light, the sun is shedding, 
 Along the blue-edged heaven, stand, 
 In flaming armour— like a band 
 
 Of giants, downward treading. 
 13 
 
 153 
 
 \^li 
 
 m 
 
 
 ;»*«»W»l»»s(Mf.'. 
 
i* ' 
 
 154 
 
 UATTLE OF NIAGARA 
 
 .P 
 
 While all the moving forest trees, , 
 
 Upon yon hill)' summits seem 
 Approaching in the misty breeze,— 
 And o'er the burning clouds that gleam 
 Away behind— as if they were 
 A swinging tret-work— rich— and rare 
 Embroidered on the flaming air; 
 A light, fentastick edging give 
 By magick to the clouds of heaven. 
 
 But away!— away!— to th'». winds away! 
 With your banners of flame— in their red dinpl y— . 
 The battle in pomp is coming! 
 
 The trumpet plays, 
 And the drums are rolled; 
 The war-horso neighs. 
 And the flags unfold i 
 And the distant hills are brigUt 
 With warriors — up in tlieir might — 
 
 The crimson mane of their helmets aircRni, 
 Like fiery steeds, when their long hairs glear.i. 
 In the fearful light 
 Of a reddening fight, 
 Iji flakes and folds!— like the awful beam 
 
 Of broadswords— ground in blood; 
 They are up!— they are up!— 'tis a thrilling sight; 
 With their chargers reined— 
 Each muscle strained- 
 Tossing their foam on the winds away. 
 As the waves of the ocean fling their spray— 
 
 
 ^'i 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 With their heads in air, 
 Like steeds that bear 
 
 Young warriors thro' a flood; 
 While their voices break— 
 (And their nontrils shake. 
 
 And tlie loud horns blow, 
 
 And the banners flow—) 
 Like a trumpet heard at night! 
 W itli a thrilling neigh—as if to cheer, 
 'I'he u arriors that are thundering neaa*: 
 
 Then away!— away!— to the winds away! 
 Through the cloud of battle rouse your prey! 
 
 Fresher and fresher comes the air. The blue 
 Of yonder liigh pavilion swims in dew. 
 The boundless hum that sunset waked in glee; 
 The dark wood's vesper-hymn to Liberty- 
 Hath died away. A deep outspreading hush 
 Is on the air — the heavy watery nisli 
 Of far off' lake-tides, and the weighty roU 
 Of tumbling deeps, that fall upon the soul 
 Like the strong luUing of the ocean wave. 
 In dying thunder o'er the sailor's grave: 
 And now and then a blueish flare is spread 
 Taint o'er the western heaven, as if 'twere shed 
 In dreadful omen to the coming dead. 
 As if— amid the skies, some warrior form 
 Revealed his armour thro* a robe of storm! 
 
 The shadows deepen. Now the leaden tramp 
 Of stationed sentry—far—and flat— and damp— 
 
 I 4 
 
 155 
 
 •< 
 
 . *rt- 
 
 L a^'^t^Sc^lJ 
 
 ' -■•! H'v ^ iii| i» i»i ,min i|| in,8 r-, 
 
■ \ 
 
 ik 
 
 156 
 
 I 
 
 P'-i 
 
 UATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 Of ».ble plumes .„d ^,^ J J«v. 
 
 And tr.,li„s.,teed»-.„ith fu„enU 11^^.^! 
 And foldi.,1 «™,. J . "°"" "?"•» betwecnr— 
 AnutoIded,rms_«,db«u„j. homs-.„d t,e.d 
 Wn>art.al feet, deacending to the bed, 
 
 ^'•"'^''■^-'— AmbiUo„«ei «..e 
 Wove .„ the batUe.s.„™, .h^ip br„„, to decome. 
 
 A .?'!!"""; «»''"'-th"e', a wandering shout 
 A «ou„d,aa:faeha.le„ge passed abou, ' 
 
 A gun ■> heard! o, can it be indeed 
 That on a night, like this, brave men may bleed' 
 
 The struggling neigh of steeds, asifthevmr, 
 Upon the mountain tops, whe,; cl ud M« talt 
 And rearupon the wi„d3! and plunge, and ,^e 
 The,rvo,ces proudly o'er a sleeping lake 
 A heavy walk is heard. They ole! inde;d. 
 
 A ?T.' ^/ "'"' ""^'' ""= '^''■''°»» '«>op is placed- 
 A ordIyb„ner,„everyetdisg«:ed' ' 
 Bythatyounggallantt^p. Beneath its fold 
 
 Ofbluemagmficenoe,s„wideum-oUed, 
 
 *%! 
 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 157 
 
 They've bowed, and sworn upon a naked blade. 
 That banner, there! shall never be betrayed, 
 TheyVe sworn to bathe it in their heart's best blood: 
 To.loosen 'neath its fold their reddest flood. 
 No threats escape their lips— that blue flag flies 
 O'er the dark lowering of young British eyes. 
 They know tlie post they hold, they know the hour 
 Is sternly coming that shall try their power: 
 They know the Eagle troops: they hear their tread: 
 And each more proudly heaves his youtliftU head: 
 They see the starry banner floating wide: 
 And fiercer shines their meteor in its pude: 
 Each pla^its his foot: and each with steady eye 
 And hard drawn breath—and forehead to the sky- 
 Looks on the coming host for life or death— 
 The glittering laurel crown, or weeping cypress wreath. 
 
 They come! they come!— the starry flag is bright; 
 Shaking its splendours in the parting light: 
 Bi^t martial is their step. Their heads are high. 
 Their chests heave full. Their look is on the sky. 
 Before his column with a brow serene. 
 Upon his stately barb, a chief is seen: 
 His head uncovered;— while his flashing eye. 
 And echoed word, along the far ranks fly, ' 
 
 With flash and sound as brief as counted musketry. 
 
 Now roar the joyous drums! the trumpet-song 
 Comes swelling— rending— bursting— all along! 
 Like the dread summons by the Whirlwind cast. 
 When she sings fiercely in the coming blast. 
 
 I-^a 
 
 fidkMMtt 
 
 iMllilA 
 
 "V*^ 
 
if * . 
 
 t it.-'. 
 
 158 
 
 I 
 
 ( . 
 
 %.' 
 
 i.U 
 
 n 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 Th» leader wave, his swonj) the standards bo,., 
 And now „„r„, „p„„ t^^ ^j^^ "<>»'. 
 
 Borne s,le„tly aloft, they flash away. 
 
 Upon the distant wings, like heralds of the day. 
 
 Their columns now unfold. Their martial tread 
 '! """ '"'[ "^^'^y - they wheel and spreS 
 , *.ow one deep phalanx in their slrenph advance- 
 S-kntasdeath. Dimmed is the banntglanT' 
 The nnpng: harness and the sabre's swing." 
 No shouhng stirs the blood...„„ waving pLe 
 avesGlorys signal in the thickening gC 
 But forward-forwardi w;.k . i, . ^ ""'"• 
 With B.H1 . '""f""'— »"•! unshaken tread, 
 W,th Battle's earthquake march, when shuddering dead 
 Feel every step ,ha, Ms above their head. ^ 
 
 Wave h,gh their matohes!-.And they stand as still 
 As ,t they knew they stood. upon thi tomb. 
 And some deep lips and cheeks now lose th.ir K, 
 Batnotftomfear-oriftheydid-Jh L*:"'"™ 
 Thejr courage .s the soul'sl-they are the men 
 Thatye may trust to in the hour of need: 
 The,r hps may fade 'tis true, but they wiU bleed 
 Where'er they settheir foot, until their s„ul!tVreed. 
 
 N,w peals the thronged artillery!_Far and wiJ. 
 Beyond tke stariy flag its thundeiTridei "'* 
 
 No answer from the foe 
 
 raused not a moment as that voUey speU 
 
 I •. I 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 159 
 
 Again the tempest pours! In rushing fire, 
 Agfain the thunders roll ! 
 
 But all the liigher 
 Floats the striped flag— in triumph and in pride; 
 Like the red rainbow o'er the glimmering tide. 
 
 Still onward come its guards: determined — slow: 
 Mounting as if to grapple with their foe 
 Within his cloud: While their battalions spread. 
 And close, and open with the same strong tread. 
 Revealed in light. That tempest lightl—it strayii 
 In one wide sheet: uninterrupted blaze! 
 
 Still onward come this band. Still no reply: 
 Withholding all their might till, eye to eye. 
 They tread the summit of that quaking mount. 
 To quench that stormy hght— that ^tnean fount: 
 Then will the clouds depart, and ye will see 
 The Eagle -standard floating far aftd free; 
 And gallant warriors, on the naked ground. 
 In prostrate adoration — to the sound 
 Of bursting trumpets, and of neighing steeds: 
 And waving helms, whose reeking plumage bleeds 
 With life of gallant hearts, that heave around 
 In agony to hear the brazen trumpet's sound. 
 
 Now comes the bursting strife. The answer peala! 
 Forth, in a blaze of fire, their squadron wheels? 
 Now rolls the battle! Fades the lightning sheet! 
 The charge is given! Bayonets v/ith buyoivets meet; 
 And struggUng hearts with hearts: and fiercely ris" 
 Contending shouts and spirits to the sties. 
 
 
 ■V 
 
 iMtMOMMlJIIll 
 
 "«»*iw**.. 
 
160 
 
 BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 "I n 
 
 Neighings grow faint. The cannon's thunder dies; 
 Red Slaughter shakes her storm-plumes o'er tlie slain. 
 And flaps her reeking flag— but all in vain— 
 For standards bow!— and steeds fly o'er the plain! ■ 
 'Tis done; the strife is o'er. The clouds are gone— 
 The starry flag is floating there.alone. 
 
 And is the battle won? the struggle o'er? 
 O, no!— the trumpet song and cannon-roar 
 Have but begun;— the night shall wear away 
 E'er banners blazing in their red display, 
 And flashing plumes, and helmets glancing bright. 
 Reveal the conquerors to the dazzled sight. 
 Then ye shall see the shattered warrior-blade— 
 The banner rent;-quenched plume-and steed, that 
 
 neighed. 
 Like the fierce trumpet, when the battle pealed, 
 With all his furniture upon the field, 
 Bedimmed in gallant blood! Then ye may know 
 Who were the conquered;— they will ail lie low. 
 
 Far now the wet folds of the red-cross wave; 
 SUU leaning towards the strife -full, high, and brave; 
 Still rolls the wide artillery;— still the light 
 Rushes in boding thickness from that height— 
 But other hands direct its thunder now; 
 The rainbow flag is there, with sheeted flow, 
 And they with silent tread> and cool, determined brow. 
 
 Amid the fading light on tliat red ground. 
 An aged warrior lies, and pours a sound 
 
 ■ ■aSStesSrjawMii wi Wteu,.^ 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 161 
 
 That tells of battle yet; and feebly tries 
 To staunch his ebbing wound; to clear his eyes; 
 And think once more, distinctly, of his home: 
 But all in vain! a dark, and darker foam 
 Comes from his heart; and now his dying hand 
 Is once more stretched — but not as in command- 
 No! — not as if it dealt a warrior's brand — 
 And lightened thro* the war! — but more in prayer— 
 As if some child, that he would bless, were there: 
 Convulsive— sudden — gfrasping! - towards the heaven 
 'Tis reached — like one—whose last, last stay is riven: 
 Not waving — no! — but closing as it goes. 
 As if it sought another's- not a foe's! 
 And now it feebler drops — and now, ag^n,— 
 'Tis lifted as in prayer; but all in vain; 
 He cannot bless his child!— his strength is gone—- 
 The damps of death are on his brow;— his tone 
 Of miUTnuring supplication — dies away— 
 And both his bloody hands are in his locks of grey. 
 
 And near him— planted— with the glittering eye, 
 Of sudden madness — rolling awfully, — 
 A youthful form is seen— with hands that press 
 Upon his bosom— fixed and motionless! 
 Now staring on the armour strown around. 
 As in a trance: now listening to the sound 
 Of ruffling banners, as they loosely wave, 
 Like one that rises— armcd<-frora his grave 
 In fierce rebuke. And now— have mercy heaven! 
 He staggers — waves his arm — his white brow riven. 
 
 '^^^^^■1 
 
 
^iVI 
 
 mmmmm 
 
 162 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 ri I'- 
 
 ll 
 
 Jl'eWl plume nodding i„.=(.,„4^ 
 And now he sU.i, ^„^, ^„^y /**';• 
 
 Ag^n he wave, hi, a™._,„d sZuL^-„ 
 He stands as if h« era-on^ri . , ^^'" 
 
 Sobs manv ^ h« i sulphurous aip 
 
 many a broken cry, and many a prayer 
 fc>oldier?, andg-reatnnr^e „ Player. 
 
 Wi.ode.uhf.l^IrSl'"''' . 
 
 The b,tuec„„e» again. The charging host 
 
 SiutingZ '1 ;"' '""'^"''"" "> Fame; 
 -V ely .Mr ba, *'' ?"T" '" ^'"■"' '^ «--- 
 AUve Li ^ " " """""* outspread- 
 ' *»'rmeteor,andtheirshr„ud^he„ dead 
 
BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 163 
 
 that nod!— 
 
 )row 
 
 ssness: 
 ■ry... 
 
 in 
 
 wane, 
 ■ in vain;— 
 
 an^ dies, 
 oul — 
 
 ip 
 
 i, 
 
 »ng blade 
 
 i^rapped in 
 
 ist 
 
 It. 
 
 le. 
 Id. 
 
 The tumult deepens. Swell conflicting cries--. 
 Neigh the loud steeds, and hurried sobs arise. ' 
 
 Shakes the dark hill with cataracts of fire: 
 Up go that army to their blazing pyre! 
 The cannon's voice is mute. The lightning sheet 
 Grows dim again. Warriors with warriors meet; 
 And wrestle fiercely in their rolling cloud. 
 Again the mountain shakes! again the light 
 Comes thundering loudly down— the starry flight 
 Of spotted drapery is abroad again. 
 And neighing— plunging— o*er the clouded plain. 
 Goes many a fiery barb with crimson reeking mane: 
 Agam the meteors of the war are bowed: 
 Again the mountain heaves beneath its shroud: 
 Gushes with quenchless light, and shakes and storms 
 aloud. 
 
 So darkly clouded was that hill with smoke, 
 Save when the vast artiilery-day-Ught broke, 
 It seemed a midnight altar. From its gloom 
 There came the noise of strife— as from a tomb. 
 And then, distinct, amid the spreading light. 
 Were seen the struggling champions of the fight, 
 In silent— desperate— dreadful bayonet strife; 
 The midnight slaughter! when the hero's life— 
 Tihe high-stem summons that he gives his band— 
 His waging falchion- and extended hand — 
 His towering plume^his charger's bloody mane — 
 The battle-anthem and the bugle strain- 
 Are beamless — lifeless! heard and seen no more: 
 Thus 'tis when bayonets hush the camion's roar, 
 
I 
 
 """^mp^mmm 
 
 164 
 
 BATTLE OP NUGARA. 
 
 \' \ 
 
 
 The blading would be gone! and with it, lo! 
 These darkly wrestling groups would come and go. 
 Like wizard shapes at night-upon the snow- 
 That gutters to the moon, upon some mountain's brow. 
 
 So stood the battle. Bravely it wag fought. 
 Lions and Eagles met. That hiU was bought. 
 And sold, in desperate combat. Wrapped in* flame. 
 Died these idolaters of bannered Fame. 
 Three times that meteor hill was bravely lost- 
 Three times 'twas bravely won; while madly tost. 
 Encountering red plumes in the dusky air- 
 While Slaughter shouted in her bloody lair- 
 
 And spectres blew their horns, and shook their whistling- 
 hair. ^ 
 
 A long and dreadful pause. No sound is heard 
 But the fresh rustling of a mighty Bird, 
 That sat upon the banner of that host: 
 That Eagle of the 8trife!~when tempest tost, 
 The boy, that rides sublime the mountain waves. 
 Looks on that Bird in prayer. The Bird that laves 
 Her sounding pinions in the sun's first gush- 
 Drinks his meridian blaze and sunset flush: 
 Worships her idol in his fiercest hour: 
 Bathes her full bosom in his hottest shower: 
 Sits amid stirring stars, and bends her beak. 
 Like the sUpped falcon-when her piercing shriek 
 Tells that she stoops upon her cleaving wing. 
 To drink anew some victim's clear-red spring. 
 That monarch Bird! that slumbers h^. +Jie night 
 Upon the lofty air-peak's utmost >= eight: 
 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 165 
 
 mnd is heard 
 
 Or sleeps upon the wing— amid the ray 
 
 Of steady—cloudless— everlasting day! 
 
 Rides with the Thunderer in his blazing march: 
 
 And bears his lightnings o'er yon boundless arch: 
 
 Soars wheeUng thro' the storm, and screams away 
 
 Where th6 young pinions of the morning play: 
 
 Broods with her arrows in the hurricane: 
 
 Bears her green laurel o'er tlie starry plain— 
 
 And sails around the skies, and o'er the rolling deeps, 
 
 With still unwearied vnng, and eye that never sleeps. ' 
 
 The rusthng of the silk alone is heard. 
 Where burns that soldier idol— mountain Bird! 
 And the deep groans of dying men, who heave 
 Their last sad prayer; of those who bleed and grieve, 
 In shattered manhood, on the hloody path. 
 That led where Glory sat in stormy wrath; 
 The faint, low watchword— and the thronging tramp— 
 The ringing harness of the distant camp: 
 And the flood anthem on the night winds blown. 
 Sullen and heavy as the Thunderer's tone. 
 When far amid the Alps his chariot rolls. 
 And the high mountain quakes: and the far poles 
 Rock in their outspread canopy of cloud- 
 When seas heave darkly in their tempest shroud, 
 And everlaiiting hills are echoing aloud. 
 
 K 
 
 ■■-J.: 
 
Canto y. 
 
 ^'"'^^''^ appearance of the fieU funeral hdn 
 
 ouM.. parade.... interment camp death of the Hei* 
 
 his father and wife. 
 
 •Hi 
 
 4* 
 
BATTliE 0¥ JtlJ\.GAB.A. 
 
 CANTO v; 
 
 THE battle is o'er!— and the night il past— 
 
 The battle is o'er! 
 The clouds tb At were rolling away on the blast, 
 
 With the warrior-hehn, and the steed's redmanei 
 j^ave vanished away. 
 With the coming of day, 
 Or lie all along on the verge of the plain, 
 And are seen no more. 
 The battle is o'er! 
 The battle is o'er! 
 And the men— and the steeds-andthe banners there-- 
 Crowding and thronging in the blazing air. 
 Have all disappeared in its crimson glare— 
 The battle is o'er! 
 
 And the morning comes. 
 With the cannon roar, 
 And the roll of drums; 
 With the furling of flags—and the stooping of hehns->. 
 With weltering manes— like staeds that have 
 
 pMt 
 
 .\ torrent at night— exhausted— cast 
 
 »t».<iiei<«MiWiiiaM<MialMiMtHaBMaMi*«i'' 
 
 •.•««%(SE-^'-'«^»f:-«fWSS?!S^ 
 
mKmmmammm 
 
 168 
 
 SIX 
 
 BATILE OF NfAUAKA. 
 
 ind clotted mant-s, 
 
 wiu.':i;r„nr''''-'-""'' '■''-'•' blood, 
 
 "re cnmson fo.:: .,ng Aqq^ . * 
 
 But .iie war is o'er! 
 On that silent shore, 
 
 Andthcvulturethatshriekedinthe„i,hti»,ore^ 
 And glutted-hath fled ^ 
 
 From the banquet of dead- 
 
 Nomoreye-U hear «,ef„ri„„, drum 
 Rolling: aloud delirium- 
 But the «eed» that have neighed .hro,.,^ „,, 
 That .und with their sinews oniv. 
 
 The.. ntan^enrri^"' 
 
 Shall gpo forth undisturbed- 
 
 Unharnessed-uncurbed- 
 
 f'or ever and aye to the fight? 
 
 AbXtt^;T:n;i'''r'^^-''bw.. 
 With uXTher.7ri "''" ""^"'"^ =^" 
 
 Of tangled roses: o'er the hill of war 
 
 ■*«B»'!WWI«»»«f 
 
BATTLE OF NIAGARA. m 
 
 She thro-vd her mantle, kindling on the sight. 
 With all the hues of hearen's own rainbow-lights 
 Ot woven jasper— threaded sapphire— gold: 
 And sunshine —pearls— embossed upon its fold— 
 And thickening gems: a diamond ftag unrolled! 
 
 The sheathless weapon glimmers cm the sight: 
 Pale cheeks and sunken eyes once more are bright— 
 But not witii life, O, no!-— their souls have flown: 
 Their last dread trump amid the fight was blown. 
 Their fea*her8 glance again; an idle red 
 Burns o'er tlieir prostrate forms and bloody bed. 
 Here was the deadUest strife! this youthful group 
 Are the last remnants of a martyred troop. 
 Here their young banner waved! and here— they feU! 
 There lies that banner!— let its fragments tell, 
 Yet grasped in death— if 'twas defended well. 
 The rich, green sward is scarred with leaping hoofs; 
 And all along the field are seen the proofs 
 Of soldier rivalry. And where ye tread 
 Along the hill, the very turf turns red. 
 As 'twere surcharged with blood:— while all about— 
 As from an o'er-pressed sponge, there issu s out 
 A thickening purple— settling— eddying where 
 The print of charging hoofs have laid the green all bare. 
 Filling the footsteps of unwounded men 
 With bloo I— dark blood— that's ne'er absorbed again. 
 And round about— opposing plumes and crests 
 Of snow and crimson lie —the reeking tests. 
 That prove where soldiers met — and strove — and died! 
 In pairs they lie — embracing— side by side. 
 
 I 
 
 ]■ 
 
 T-9. AT 
 
m 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 The bleetlinjf banner anri th. ^ • 
 re. struggUnj.^ "^. .nd „•„ the X 
 
 Andi<„„e„.„.He„Mhi.o.u™rt„^,^,, 
 O, there's no mockery like th^ ^ 
 
 Like. red. „,t«„„.ba„.„ „„*„: 
 
 ' .^'^'".^ ""■"><'»»■''->. o'er a., lent fount 
 S-mm.„,i„ feverish ,p,e„d„„r.„h„e^t„ 
 Butthe,inorecept«in, where the l„^fh ' 
 
 '^"ere Hope i, strctohe" ^ dl^ r/r'"- 
 durells. "*' "nd Desolation 
 
 As on a mountain altar, thicic are laid 
 These «,rfn,ffht victin,s to the Battle, hi- 
 ^«.n .n the darkness, by an unseen hand- ' 
 
 XHehannerstretchin, dark,and float ;tk,„eed. 
 
 ii i. 
 
BA'rrLE OF NIAGARA. 
 
 171 
 
 Hear ye tliat sound? 'twould make the itoutest quail: 
 It is the moming^Iamentation— wail 
 Of outbreathed hearts, that load the morning air; 
 Of those who kneel among the dead in prayer,— 
 Collecting relicks— locks of bloody hair. 
 Who thinks of battle now? The stirring sounds 
 Spring lightly from the trumpet, yet who bounds 
 On this sad— still— and melancholy mom. 
 As he was wont to bound, when the fresh horn 
 Came dancing on the winds; and pealed to heaven! 
 In gone-by hours, before the battle-even? "^ 
 
 The very horses move with halting pace: 
 No more they heave their manes with fiery grace— 
 With plunge— and reach- and step that leaves np trace? 
 No more they spurn the bit, and sudden fling 
 Their light hoo& on the air! The bugles sing; 
 And yet the meteor mane, and rolling eye 
 Lighten no longer at their minstrelsy. 
 No more their housings blaze: no more the gold, 
 Or purple, flashes from the opening fold; 
 No rich-wrought stars are glittering in their pride 
 Of chanting hues: all— aU!— is crimson-dyed. 
 They move with slow— far step: they hear the tread 
 That measures out the tombing of the dead: 
 The cannon speaks- but now, no longer rolls 
 In heavy thunders to the answering poles. 
 But bursting suddenly, it calls, and flies— 
 At breathless intervals along the skies, — 
 As if some viewless sentinel were there. 
 Whose challenge peals at midnight thro* the air: 
 R3 
 
 ( 
 
 £ 
 
172 
 
 BATTLE OP NIAGARA. 
 
 I'^n'. 
 
 B-t snuffs the tainted hv„ '"°'■^• 
 
 Shuns-as in reverele "h "T°"' '^'"'••■ 
 
 ^-»o„e,„n„/„,:rret:!r; . 
 
 Then, with unequal sten h. c ? ^^''^^ ^y- 
 
 Anao„,the^~::;;p-;.^^.- 
 
 -es..ate,i„M,st,en,thl,ess::.Vi„,,^,,^ 
 
 Now Shouts the trump ag-ain' Th. , 
 Drums travel loud» ..^ The muskets ring! 
 
 ioud!...and merry busrles sin p.* 
 
 "•'T;i;^"-'"'^---''eS..a„ne. 
 The brawlinc T ^ "" ""^^ried dead: 
 
 MustsCtirsrr:'"^'""-'"-"'-'. 
 ora.,thst'.ad:^^s::':scf' 
 
 If * 
 
 I 
 
 ■^! *feiyf'3i£si,l'5SaM?^,-.' 
 
eds its roar: 
 ' no more: 
 'ifts his head-.. 
 ous tread— 
 y dead: 
 e:eye, 
 
 "he passes by. 
 the ground, 
 found— 
 venng sound, 
 bier 
 ' a tear, 
 e there — 
 i bosom bare— 
 
 ij eye, 
 
 y;_ . 
 
 ^ in liis pride 
 
 niuskets ring! 
 5 sing! 
 
 unhow banners 
 
 Horning red 
 iead: 
 
 BATTLE Ot NIAGARA. 
 
 173 
 
 ■toned fife, 
 
 prayer; 
 
 And consecrate their bloody swords to peace; 
 
 And caU for mercy, loud; and never cease 
 
 Their supplications, till the God of Heaven 
 
 Had offered them some sign that murder was forgiven. 
 
 Come, Glory, come! Let's chant the soldier's dit^- 
 Step from thy thrones, and from thy clouds emerge!, 
 Bring thy black cypress clotted in the shade; 
 Of weeping-willow let a wreath be made. 
 To crown the warrior-browi that lately sought 
 Thy battle-laurel: him who lately fought / 
 Eeddest and fiercest, where the war-god sung; 
 Where the loud death^sobs came, and f^chions rung; 
 Twine him a heavy garland! steep it weU; 
 And mutter o'er its gloom thy darkest spell; 
 With broken heart-strings, be it twisted round; 
 Tread it in wrath upon the soaking ground; 
 And where the stagnant blood lies deepest, there 
 Complete thy curse— the chaplet of despair! 
 CaU back his spirit from the eternal bar: 
 Show him that clotted foliage— talk of v^ar; 
 Wake thy swift bugle, let it sing away 
 Freshly and clear, Uke clarion of the day! 
 Loosen thy banners on the mount'»in wind; ! 
 Call up thy thunders! —while thy hot hand binds, 
 That wreath around his mad, consuming brain- 
 Tell him 'tis his reward! —will he complain 
 Of wasted life— of bloody band arrayed 
 In sacrifice for thee?— when blade met blade; 
 Ar \ man met man, and like the desert beast, 
 
 { > 
 
 If • 
 
 lamaf 
 
mim 
 
 ^^mi 
 
 174, 
 
 BATn.E OP NUGARA. 
 
 That bleeds aiid battles 'till his breath ha« ceased; 
 Toiled dark upon the mount to 
 feast 
 
 the yvdtmettf 
 
 i 
 
 A solemn march is heard: a measured tread*. 
 Banners are furied again-and o'er the dead 
 By martial hands, the crimson pall is spread' 
 A band on foot approach, they bear a form 
 Like the rent mountain oak, that braves the storm-. 
 Heaves its young branches to the raging- skies- 
 Receives the Thunderer's holt-and prostrate lies? 
 Whence js that band^-and whose the form they bear 
 With high-pale brow, and darkly clustered hair? 
 That hair is wet-but not with dews of night- 
 Its lifeless length was loaded in the fight 
 Disfigured-motionless-with bosom bare-^ 
 And arm-still .tretched abroad!-he slumbers there 
 He was careering in the hottest fight- 
 His black barb leaping in his stormy might; 
 His banner-floating loudly on the ear 
 As If some mighty Bird were hovering near: 
 His starry troops were conquering at his side; 
 Thcr plumes were blazing in their fiercest pride^ 
 When suddenly-his heart?-^its lordly swell 
 Was gone for ever!-as he dimly fell 
 His hand once stretched his sabre to Lis foes' 
 His form dilatedi-more erect he rose'- 
 H;s dark eye flashed once more!-but flashed in vain- 
 U.S wounded chargerfelt the loosened rein- 
 Felt the strong hand that grasped his bloody mane- 
 And spran,^ to bear him o«!«One desperate bound- 
 
 ■^^^SflS^ 
 
BATTLE OP N'IAGARA. 
 
 175 
 
 one gallant neigh he gave! — and on the ground 
 Stretched his dark limbs— triumphantly— and died! 
 On tlie Made battle field— in warrior pride; 
 Far from the noise of strife, and by his master's side. 
 
 Kn&w ye that form — those features— and that air? 
 Pave ye e'er seen that thickly clustered hair? 
 That!— was the brown-cheeked youth, with eye of fire, 
 Who rode a courser like the winds. His sire 
 Bows proudly o'er his course. His bloody bier 
 With precious dew is bathed — the cold sad tear^ — 
 The heart's last offering! o'er those ruins fall. 
 That lie concealed beneath a bleeding pall: 
 And one is there, whose trembling hands are prest 
 In desperate calmness on her swelling breast: 
 Whose mute — pale lip — whose sadly wandering eye 
 Speaks more than sorrow — suffering — agony!— 
 While gazing tearless on the form before her; 
 f ATHEK OF MERCiBsr Father! Oh, restore her! 
 
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 THE ^AXIAC HARPEH. 
 
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TO THE READER. 
 
 { 
 
 THIS story is not a fictionj— the principal circum- 
 [stances stand on record. On the 3d of September, 1806, 
 about sunset, the Spitzberg, a part of mount Rosburg* 
 in the canton of Schweitz, Switzerland, slid from its 
 base; and from a height of more than two thousand feet, 
 overwhelmed three whole villages, and upward of fif- 
 teen hundred peasants; leaving the rocks all naked ih 
 its path, and transforming an extensive valley into a hill. 
 ! Among the villages destroyed was Golsav, the most ro« 
 i mantick and beautiful of the three. 
 
GOliDA^U*. 
 
 OR THE MANIAC HARPER. 
 
 UPON a tranquil — glorious night, 
 When all the western heaven was bright; 
 When, thronging down the far blue dome« 
 The sun in rolling clouds went home;— 
 There wandered to a goatherd's cot, 
 A youth — who sought to be forgot: 
 Who many a long and weary year 
 Had breathed his prayer and shed his tear. 
 Beneath his look of cloud was seen, 
 Somewhat, that told where fire had been; 
 For yet, a sorrowing beam was there: 
 A beam— in mockery of despsdr: 
 A beam that gave enough of light 
 To show tus soul had set in night. 
 His step was slow— his form was bowed: 
 But yet his minstrel-air was proud: 
 tJpon the mount^n height he stood. 
 And looked abroad o'er wave and wood 
 Vet glowing with the blush of even, 
 
I »M' 
 
 »i 
 
 t^'.-ii- 
 
 182 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 Andansweringto the hues of heaven, 
 With such a melancholy grace 
 
 He seemed as thus he stood alone. 
 Like some young prince upon his throne^ 
 i he gemu« of the lofty place! 
 
 He wore high plumes-a gUttering vest- 
 And to his half uncovered breast. 
 An antique harp was strongly prest: 
 And, ever and anon, its strings 
 Gave musick to hi« wanderings- 
 While he would pause to see unrolled, 
 Oer heaven's blue arch, the crimson fold- 
 And purple plumes, and wings of fire- 
 Andvisions->till his trembling lyre 
 Would shake a distant, thriihnln'oTe, 
 
 Like 3ome sweet pipe in heaven afloat, 
 And then as calmly die away 
 As sunset hues in fading day- 
 As rose-tints on the quiet stream 
 Awakened by a passing beam: 
 As flashing wings that flit in play 
 Around the couch ofinfant day • 
 
 As songs that Evening hears, when all 
 Are hstening to the quiet faU 
 
 Ofairy melodies, that come. 
 
 Prom heaven, in one sweet murmuring hum 
 
 f^,'f"°^^P--e,ando'eritbend! 
 As ifit were his only friend: 
 And he would send it trembling ,„u„d-. 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 IIS 
 
 With touch— so magical and free- 
 So full of sweet simplicity— 
 And tenderness— and' ecstacy— 
 It seemed, indeed, no earthly sound. 
 
 And those who heard him as he leant 
 Upon its fly wires, and sent 
 His agitated voice away. 
 In feeling's broken roundelay — 
 Would wonder— weep— and hold their breath. 
 As if they heard the hymn of death: 
 And when the spell was broken — gone- 
 Its sad enchantment all withdrawn — 
 Would smile to see the trembling tear 
 On other downcast lids appear — 
 Nor e'er suspect themselves had given 
 A tribute to these sounds of heaven! 
 And all who heard him then, believed 
 That he had loved — and been deceived: 
 Or seen the stooping willow wave 
 Its tresses o'er a loved one's grave: 
 
 For such his melancholy song. 
 That every listener's heart was weeping 
 Like youthful lovers, when they're sleeping 
 
 In sorrows that they would prolong. 
 
 But those who heard the voice he sent 
 
 When battle was his theme: 
 Who saw his gorgeous vestment rent — 
 His quenchless eye — the lights that went 
 Beneath his brow of gathered might, ^ 
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IMAGE EVALUATION 
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 23 WEST MAIN STRbST 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. :4580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
 

 
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184 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
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 Like meteors that gaforth at nighty 
 
 In one continual stream! 
 And thbse who heard his ardent cry» 
 And all his harp -strings pealing higln 
 Who saw his stern, Qplifled brow — 
 His sweeping arm— his vestment flow— 
 The heaving of his youthful chest, 
 Beneath his mailed and ^littering vest— 
 Who marked the martial belt that boimd 
 His youthful form so closely round — 
 His attitude— so proud and high— 
 With look uplifted t6 the sky— 
 And outstretched arm, and waving hand. 
 As if it shook a conquering brand — 
 And high plumed bonnet— nodding low. 
 
 Whene'er he ti*od, as if it gave 
 To some young, supplicating foe, 
 
 A rescue o'er an opening gravel- 
 Yes! those who saw all this/, would feel 
 Enthusiasm o'er them steal 
 So unexpectedly, — they stood. 
 Like men, who, 'mid a solitude, 
 
 Have heard a sudden trumpet-peal! 
 
 Their hearts, would swell and they would rise- 
 And stand erect with flashing eyes— 
 And toss their arms unconsciously—* 
 And join the shout of rJctory! 
 And when the summons died away, 
 Like battle at thfc close of day, 
 
■'^1 
 
 GOLDAtX. 
 
 m 
 
 Would feel>-as they had been in fight« 
 And wearied with their deeds of might: 
 Would stand entranced — or start, and seem 
 As bursting from a stomiy dream: 
 Or gaze with troubled air around, 
 And wonder whence that trumpet sound! 
 And whither it had flown!— or hear 
 The tumult yet — distinct a^id clear- 
 Now pealing far — now rin^ng near. 
 And rattling on the startled ear! * 
 As if a host had stooped f'rom heaven 
 
 Upon the winds that blow at night; 
 And all their harps and trumps had given 
 
 A fiirewell to departing U^ht! 
 
 And then, the glitter of each eye, 
 That kindled at his minstrelsy — 
 That Ughtened, when the echoing blast 
 Far o'er the hills in triumpl^ past; 
 That varied with the varying note 
 Upon the eddying air afloat — 
 Would with that varying note decay. , 
 And melt so peacefully ^way. 
 That each who saw his neighbour's cheek 
 The tumult of his soul bespeak — 
 And saw the maddening lustre die; 
 There reddening like an angry sky— . 
 And saw each upright youthful form 
 Awake like genii of the storm, 
 With lifted brow and threatening air, 
 While pealed the battle anthem there*^ 
 
 m 
 
 ii 
 
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 wmtm 
 
 mmm 
 
 186 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 And saw it, as that anthem died. 
 Lose ail its stateliness and pride; 
 With yielding port and fading eye—- 
 And heard his furious shouting die: — 
 Would wonder that himself had been 
 So undisturbed! — and so serene! 
 And this would be— while yet he stood 
 In that delicious solitude 
 When youthful hearts feel all alone- 
 Alone amid the world! 
 When Phrensy leaves her radiant throne^ 
 And all her singing troops have flown: 
 And all their wings are furled! 
 
 And this would be while yet the fire 
 Enkindled by that wondrous lyre. 
 Was quivering on his dowiK;ast lash» 
 Just like the dying tempest-flash! 
 And those who felt their bosoms swell 
 Beneath the working of his spell: 
 Who felt that young enchanter's might, 
 Whose incantations woke the fight. 
 And taught to peasant-hearts the feeling 
 That mounts to b'^ar the trumpet pealing, 
 Then— deemed t^ .i youthful minstrel there. 
 
 Familiar with the strife had been: 
 And that his sad, appealing sur— 
 His darkened brow — ^his bosom bare — 
 His haughty port of calm despair — 
 Enthusia^n — genius were— 
 
 And never but in warriors seen! 
 
 ^-A ,*i .i^t*-^, #* . ■•"' ^i .•».. 
 
msm 
 
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 GOLDAtJ. 
 
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 fiut those who knew him, knew full well 
 I'hat something terrible once fell 
 Upon his heart, and froze the source, 
 Whence comes enthusiasm's force — > 
 Something of icy touch that chills 
 
 The heart drops of our youthful years: 
 Something of withering strength that kills 
 
 The flowers that Geniusi wets with tears- 
 Fetters the fountain in its flow: 
 Mildews the blossom in its blow: 
 And breathes o*er fancy's budding wreath 
 The clotting damps of early death: 
 That spreads before the opeiyng light— 
 
 (The sunshine of the heart!) 
 A cloud that tells of coming night j 
 And chills the warblers in their flight. 
 That twinkling gaily to the skies. 
 With piping throats and diamond eyes. 
 
 In unfledged strengtii depart 
 
 Something— but what was neter knowti; 
 Something had pressed his pulses doWn: 
 Blasted the verdure of his spring: 
 Shorn the gay plumage of his wing; 
 Silenced his harp, and stilled his lyre: 
 Heaped snow Upon his bosom's fire — 
 And caught away the wreath cf flame, 
 That hovered o*er his youthful name; 
 Obscured his sun—and wrapped the thtone 
 Where glory in her jewels shone, 
 L2 
 
188 
 
 ', I 
 
 J 
 
 €OLDAU. 
 
 For ever from his searching gaze: 
 And, on his brain, in lightning traced 
 
 The suffering of his youthful da>si 
 Where Madness had with clouds erased 
 The characters, that Rapture placed 
 
 Upon his heart and soul in blaze! 
 
 'Tis true that tliere were thtwe who saw- 
 And whispered what they said in awe- 
 That nought beneath the skies but guilt' 
 Nought but the cry of blood that's spUti— 
 Could sounman a form so young— 
 A heart so high and firmly strung: 
 But such—whene'er tliey saw his eye 
 Uplifted to the dark-blue sky 
 
 In such a generous confidence — ' 
 When night was forth— would feel a tear— 
 And in their virtue would appear-. 
 
 More fearful of Omnipotence! 
 
 His faded plumes, and vestment torn. 
 Were less like tliose by minstrels worn. 
 Than like the gai-b of youthful knight; 
 Caparisoned for glorious fight; 
 Equipped beneath his lady's eye 
 
 To couch his lance for chivalry: 
 
 To charge in tournament or strife— 
 For wreath or scarf-for death, or life- 
 And once, 'twas said, his full, black eye. 
 When a young war-horse bounded by-^ 
 
 i'-^tF. 
 
tK)LD^U. 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
 a 
 
 ied 
 
 )saw- 
 
 ilt' 
 Iti- 
 
 ar— 
 
 Awoke at once!— and lightnings keen, 
 As'on the falchion's point are seen — 
 When sudden dawn amid the fight, 
 flashed forth!— then vanished from the sight. 
 
 And darkened into tears! 
 And dimly o*er his brow, there past 
 A shade of memory— *twas the last— . 
 
 And Qrst for many yQara. 
 
 Yes— something once had touched his bndn-o 
 With fire— but he would ne'er compltdn— 
 Had misery left him'with the power 
 To tell the suffering of that hour:— ^ 
 Bat — as it was, the fearfUl cause 
 Of all the scenes that madness draws— 
 That curse of Genius? — all that awes?— 
 That reft his heart — and bowed his pride. 
 To him was known— to none beside: 
 And all he knew, was but a dreanq 
 
 4 
 
 Of sleepless agony: — the beam. 
 That shone upon his maniac way. 
 Was but the melancholy ray. 
 That plays o'er churchyards, when the Night 
 I^eveals her phantoms to the sight: 
 'Twas but the lurid, wandering beam:— 
 The troubled lightning of a stream; 
 Or stricken armour's hasty gleam; 
 'Twas but the light that meteors shed; 
 That faintly watches o'er the bed. 
 Where Desolation guards the dead: 
 L3 
 
 4 
 
 ' I 
 
190 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 
 h 
 
 The. splendours of t^ie storm, that show 
 Temples and monuments laid low; 
 And altars shattered by that God 
 Whose thunders roU but once-whose nod 
 
 But once in wrath, is ever given— 
 When temples faU— and spires are strone; 
 And Empire totters from her throne; 
 And prostrate Idols bow ^o heaven! 
 
 Such is the awful Ught that plays 
 Around his steps! the meteor blaze 
 That goes before Destruftion's path! 
 That follows the Destroyer's wrath. 
 When o'er the blessed earth are seen. 
 Their footsteps in the blasted green; 
 And pyramids and statues throWn 
 In ruin o'er the earth— o'srgrown 
 With savage garlands— living wreaths 
 Of creeping things— while poison breathes 
 From every chaplet— every crown— 
 And every wonder that is down- 
 As if in mockery of their power— 
 The dread immortals of an hour: 
 
 As in derision of their strength. 
 
 Thus prostrate-rent-andstrown atlength. 
 
 Such is that nunstrel's memory yet; 
 
 The very page he should forget, 
 
 Of all the volume of his days, 
 
 Is ever opened in its blaze! 
 
 And all the rest is from his sight 
 
 Enveloped in eternal night! 
 
 ) 
 
jhow 
 
 ose nod 
 strone; 
 en! 
 
 'S 
 
 ;e 
 th! 
 
 h, 
 
 een, 
 en: 
 I 
 
 eaths 
 I breathes 
 11— 
 
 rn at length, 
 ret; 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 » 
 
 The ruins of his hopes are seen. 
 
 And ruins only! — all the rest — 
 That in their days of light have been. 
 
 Are darkly shrouded in his breasts 
 
 His sufferings, and his home unknown; 
 A madman— and a minstrel— thrown 
 Upon the barren mountain, goes 
 Unharmed, amid his nature's foes: 
 Protected by the peasant's prayer. 
 He wanders through the dark woods, where 
 Abides the she-wolf in her lair: 
 Such prayers are his— « re his for ever! 
 And ne'er will be refused— O, never! , 
 
 For never yet, there shone the eye, 
 Could let him pass unheeded by; 
 And every heart— and every shed. 
 Gave welcome to that maniac's tread: 
 And peasant-babes would run to cbeei* 
 His footsteps, as he wandered near: 
 An4 every sunny infant eye, 
 Grew sunnier as his step came nigh: 
 And when he went at night alone. 
 Where mighty oaks in fragments strown. 
 Proclaimed the revels of the storm- 
 He went in safety:— o'er his form 
 There hung a mute, but strong appeal, 
 That those, who rend the clouds, might feel; 
 Unharmed, upon the cliff he'd stand, 
 And see the Thunderer stretch his wand, 
 L4 
 
 191 
 
 
193 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 il 
 
 And hear his chariots roll; 
 And clap his hands-and shout for joy?.. 
 Thus would that glorious minstrel-boy: 
 
 When hghtnings wrapped the pole! 
 And he would toss his arms on high, 
 
 In greeiing as the arrows flew: 
 And bare his bosom to the sky; 
 And stand with an intrepid eye. 
 And gaze upon the clouds that past, 
 UpPoUing o'er the mountain blast, ' 
 
 And wonder at their depth of blue;~- 
 Then-wildly toss his arms again. 
 As if he saw the rolling main; 
 
 And heard some ocean-chant anew: 
 As if-"Upon each passing cloud. 
 He saw the Tempest harping loud ' 
 Amid her fieiy-bannered crew. 
 
 The tempting precipice was hidden; 
 The angels of the storm forbidden 
 To strive upon his wasting frame— 
 The powers of air! enrobed in flame-.- 
 Whose thrones are everlasting hills, 
 Whose army all creation fills: 
 Who ride upon the roaring main; 
 , And listen to the battie straui; 
 The thunders of the deep, and song 
 Of trumpets bursting all along. 
 When streamers flash, and banners blaze. 
 And tall plumes bow, and lightning strays 
 
ipp" 
 
 mmm» 
 
 CiOLDAU. 
 
 Its 
 
 O'er Ocean's dull-blue billows; 
 And far amid the clouds are seen. 
 Young angels* hands, that twine the gt*tn 
 Of laurels dripping gallant blood, 
 With 8 ?a-weed from the stormy flood, 
 
 And thunder-blasted willows. 
 
 The sunset wa^: his favourite hour: 
 Ilia eye would lig^t— his form would tow er; 
 And kindle at departing day. 
 As if its last, and loveliest ray 
 Would win his very soul away; 
 And there were those, who, when he stood. 
 Sublime in airy solitude. 
 Upon his mountain's topmost height. 
 With arms outstretched, to meet the light— 
 With form bowed down, as if it were 
 In worship to the fiery wr; 
 Who— had he been from eastern climes, 
 From sunnier hills — in earlier times— 
 When thus he bowed him to the sky- 
 Had charged him with idolatry: 
 
 For when he bowed he bowed in truth: 
 His adoration was the thought. 
 And worship, that from heaven is caught 
 
 When genius blossoms in its youth. 
 
 'Twas feeling aU, and generous love— 
 The reaching of the soul above:^ 
 The intellectual homage pure. 
 That is sincere, and will endure: 
 
wmmmm 
 
 iP^pm 
 
 IM 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 It wa» the offering of the h«art, 
 The soul-andpuhc— and every part, 
 That's noble in our frames, or given 
 To throb for suns, or sUw, or heaven; 
 The spirit that is made of flame, 
 For ever mounting whence it came: 
 The pube tliat counts the march oi time,* 
 Impatient for the call sublime. 
 When it may spring abroad — away— 
 
 And beat tfie march of endless day 
 
 The heart, that by itself is nuret. 
 And heaves, and swells, 'till it haih burst: 
 That never yields— and ne'er complains— 
 And dies— but to conceal its pains. 
 And the bright, flashing, glorious eye 
 For ever open on the sky. 
 As if in that stupendous swell 
 It sought a spot, where he might dwell, 
 And pant for immortality. 
 
 » 
 That minstrel watched when others slept, 
 But when the day-light came— he wept 
 For tho' a maniac, he could see 
 That sunshine sports with misery; 
 He dwelt in caverns;— and alone— • 
 
 Held no communion, but with one: 
 And that was but a peasant's child, 
 A young enthusiast;— a wild 
 And melancholy g^rl, whose heart 
 Was subject to his wondrous art— 
 
 -* 
 
^m 
 
 ne, 
 
 PSt: 
 
 lept. 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 She waa a «>ad and lonely one, 
 
 And she too loved the evening «un: 
 
 The twilight mantle when ita blue 
 
 Is dropped with light, and wet with dew: 
 
 When watery melodies find birth. 
 
 And heaven itself seems nearer earthi 
 
 She never led the mounttun race; 
 
 She never joined the insect chase; 
 
 Or left her solitary place. 
 
 To join the dance, or trill the song: 
 
 Or o'er the cliffs to bound along; 
 
 But all alone— in silence, where 
 
 The rocky cliff stood cloudless— bare— 
 
 With folded arms, and loosened hair— 
 
 And robe abroad upon the air— 
 
 And turbaned wreath and streaming feather, 
 
 Would stand for hours and hours together! 
 
 And listen to the song tliat came 
 
 Tumultuous from a neighbouring height, 
 And watch that miristrel-boy in flame. 
 
 While harping to the god of light. 
 
 That wild one had a feeling heart! 
 And when the minstrel would depar^ 
 To wander o'er the hills, and stray 
 Upon the beetling cliff— his way. 
 By mom and noon, in sun and shade. 
 Was lighted by that dark eyed maid: 
 And when he trod a dangerous height. 
 Her shout would lead the wanderer righV- 
 
 195 
 
 -4» 
 
GOLDAtJ. 
 
 And he vould then submissive turn 
 And smile as if he felt her cave- ' 
 
 And when they met, hJs cheek would bunr. 
 As if he knew what led her there. 
 
 No other voice could stay his course: 
 Her s was the only earthly force 
 To which he yielded, when he went 
 In worship towards ^he firmament. 
 She saw beneath that cloudy air 
 The heart of flame imprisoned there: 
 For every glance that left his eye 
 When pealed his bursting nunstrelsy 
 And every shout he sent away. 
 
 When woke his stormy battle-lay. 
 And every sweeping of his hand,' 
 Showed one accustomed to command- 
 And then-the sounds he alwavs chose 
 In tempest or ir tears, were those 
 That only generous hearts can feel 
 
 And only generous hearts conceive- 
 For they were still the chalienge-peaU- 
 
 Or lordly spirits stoop, and grieve. 
 
 These were his everlasting themes- 
 And these the echo of his dreans- 
 The neigh of steeds, the bugle cry 
 Of battle or of victory, 
 Tl .e roar o." wind-.and rush of water; 
 The bla.e of heaven-cry of slaughter-,. 
 
• GOLDAXT. 
 
 The thunders of the rolling deep 
 Whose monarchs rousing from their sleep, 
 putatretch their sceptres e'er the wuve 
 And caU their spirits from the j^rave:— 
 When every billow starts to life. 
 Contending in the foamy strife— 
 For diadem of dripping green. 
 Entwined by Ocean's stormy queen. 
 These were for aye, his chosen themes; 
 But he would sing full oft, it seems. 
 With tendered touch, and tenderer note 
 Such airs as o'er the waters float- 
 When symphonies of evening rise 
 In whisper to the listening skies— 
 And swell and die so soft away— 
 We think some minstrel of the day 
 Is piping on its airy way; 
 Or some sweet songstress of the right 
 Waves musick from her wings in flight: 
 A lulling— faint— uncertain song— 
 That but to spirits can belong: 
 To happy spirits too— and none. 
 But those, who in the setting sun, 
 Expr-nd their thin bright wings, and darting, 
 Spin musick to their god in parting: 
 Who has not heard these quiet airs 
 Come like the sigh of heaven, that bears 
 A soothing to his toiling cares? 
 As if some murmuring angel guest. 
 Within his void and echoing breast. 
 Were fanning all his thoughts to rest? 
 
 197 
 
 / 
 I 
 
 \(»W"*- ^.~< *•■ 
 
198 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 Who has not felt when sound? like these. 
 Like prayers oflovers on the breeze- 
 Came warm and fragrant by her cheek. 
 Oh. more than mortal e'er may speak!* 
 As if unto her heart slie'd caught 
 Some instrument, that to her thought 
 Gave answering melody and song. 
 In murmurings like an airy tongue: 
 And echoing in its insect din. 
 To every pulse and hope within. 
 
 Had set her thoughts to fairy numbers' 
 Or if she ne'er has fancied this. 
 This doubtful and bewildering bUss- 
 Has she not drbpped the lingering tear. 
 And Fancied that some one was near^. 
 Invisible indeed, but dear— 
 
 The guardian of her evening slumbers! 
 
 Such were the sounds thatye would hear 
 When that strange boy would call the tear: 
 A deep and low complaining tone- 
 Like lover's vows, when all alone. 
 Upon some budding green he kneels, 
 And listens to the sound that steals 
 From some fresh woodbine-lattice near. 
 When all that to his soiU is dear, 
 Is at her grateful vesper hymn—' 
 When bright eyes in thdr prayers grow dim- 
 Sounds faintly uttered <-half suppressed- 
 ^ike fountains whispering to the blest:— 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 199 
 
 Or the subdiung smothered tones 
 That sob upon the air like groans, 
 Of those who broken-hearted bend 
 Before some youthful- gallant friend: 
 Of those who kneel, and hold their breathy 
 By loved ones touched with sudden death: 
 Or sounds hke chanting from a tomb, 
 When spirits sit amid the gloom 
 
 And melancholy garlands weave; 
 And twine the drooping lily wreath— 
 And withered wild-flowers from the heath, 
 To crown the maiddn brow, that lies 
 Unkissed by Nature's mysteries: 
 To sprinkle o'er a virgin's bed 
 The blossoms that untimely shed- 
 Have budded— flourished to deceive. 
 
 \ > 
 
 ' That girl with rich dark hair, was wild 
 As Nature's youngest, freest child: 
 As arUess— generous— and sincere — 
 As blushes when they first appear— 
 Or Rapture's unexpected tear: 
 Hers was the sudden crimson flush. 
 And hers the rich spontaneous gush 
 Of hearts, when first in youth they're prest, 
 And can't conceal that they are blest: 
 Her downcast eye, and pale smooth brow: 
 The heaving of her breast of snow: 
 The murmuring of her voice and tread 
 That faultered in its youthful dread-.— 
 
200 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 Would ever to the eye reveal. 
 What all but mountain nymphs conceal: 
 And she, before that boy, would stand 
 With lifted brow and outstretched hand- 
 As if she felt a holy awe;- 
 And all her heart was in her eves. 
 And all her soul would seem to rise- 
 While thus she stood for hours, and gazed 
 Upon that minstrel boy-amazed 
 At all she heard-and aU she saw. 
 
 She knew the dreadful reason why 
 He dwelt upon the sunset sky; 
 For once as they together stood 
 Above the torrent and the wood; 
 In breathless— sunny solitude— 
 To see the ruddy clouds of even 
 Go blushing o'er the yault of heaven: 
 The richest-warmest— loveUest scene 
 That had for many an autumn been:— 
 There came a sullen labouring sound, 
 As if an earthquake rose around: 
 The nunstrel uttered one low cry 
 Of sudden-thrilling agony— 
 And clasped his hand* with look of fire— 
 And threw away his antique lyre— 
 And caught the maiden to his heart, 
 
 And bore her down the hill! 
 Oh, who may now the strength impart 
 To check that laadman's will! 
 
 m 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 201 
 
 Where is the arrow or the bow:— 
 The Thunderer's bolt-to lay him low. 
 
 Sent forth by heaven in wrath! 
 The lightning shaft, that fiercely thrown, 
 Hath brought the mountain spoiler down, 
 
 In ruins o*er his path! 
 Have mercy heaven!— his desperate course, 
 Is like the stormy torrent's force, 
 When forth from some high, cloudy steep, 
 In foaming light 'tis seen to leap;— 
 
 Now bursting on the eye! 
 Now flashing darkly on its way 
 And flinging now, its fiery spray- 
 In rsunbows to the sky! 
 Thus— thus the ravisher went forth; 
 like meteors o'er the cloudy north: 
 Thus— thus the desperate boy went down, 
 Jn splendour o'er the mountain's brown: 
 His vestment streaming farbehind, 
 And guttering in the rushing wind: 
 His dancing plumage tipped with light. 
 Like eaglets in their loftiest flight- 
 As now he darted on the sight. 
 
 And met the sun's last rays:— 
 Now hidden in the forest shade- 
 Emerging now— and now betrayed 
 By plumes that in the sunset played; 
 And robe tiiat seemed to blaze! 
 
 But once she caught his'eye of flaWie; 
 But then!— O, how distracting came 
 M 
 
308 
 
 GOLDAU 
 
 ller self-reproach, for ail that led 
 He • iieart to watch a madman'i tread! 
 Still—still he bounds from cUff to cliff.^ 
 I ike some light vaulting, airy akiff-. 
 Upon the stormy billows tost,- 
 When all but hope and faith are lost; 
 Still—still he plunges on his course; 
 Still straining on with maniac force»- 
 From rock to rock, as if he were 
 Some spirit spotting on the air: 
 Unconscious of the dying maid. 
 That on his naked breast is laid— . 
 Her hair flows loose—her dark eyes close, 
 Fled is the faintly breathing rose. 
 
 That lately tinged her cheek: 
 Sudden her dread descent is staid- 
 One bound!— his lifeless charge is laid 
 Upon a bank, and he is near. 
 Half kneeling' in his maniac fear: 
 And now she moves!— her head she raises- 
 She starts, and round in terror gazes.~ 
 
 With wild half-uttered shriek— 
 For lo! before her bows a form. 
 Like some young genius of the storm— 
 And while she gazes on his eye, 
 Uplifted in idolatry. 
 She hears a stranger speak! 
 
 Gone is the madman's savage air— 
 His pale denouncing look isgone.:^ 
 
QOLPAU. 
 
 ieo3 
 
 His port of sullen, calm despair.** 
 And g^ne, indeed, the madman's tone! 
 
 His cheek burns fresh-'-his eye is bright. 
 
 And all his soul breaks forth in light! 
 
 His steps is buoyant/and lus hair 
 
 Is lightly lifted by the sdr; 
 
 And o'er his reddening cheek, and eye, 
 
 Upraised in feverish ecstacy. 
 Is blown so carelessly, he seems 
 
 Some youthful spirit se at from high, 
 
 Clad in the glories of the sky>- 
 
 With locks of living shade, that 6otv 
 
 About a brow of driven snow; 
 
 Or like the forms that pass at night. 
 
 Arrayed in blushing robes of Ught, 
 In Fancy's sunniest dreams. 
 
 And but that still his well-known tears, 
 And faded vestment quelled her fears. 
 She had believed the form that knelt. 
 Whose maniac pressure yet she felt. 
 Was not the minstrel boy that went 
 In worship to the firmament: 
 She wondered— wept— and breathed one prayer- 
 Then felt in more than safety there: 
 'Ellen!' he faintly said, and smiled. 
 
 As prostrate at her feet he knelt— 
 'Ellen!'— again his eye looked wild^-- 
 
 \gain he rose—as if he felt. 
 
 (V'' 
 
''%^ 
 
 " L'Sfcg:"SgTnriMTrr;: imwwwi— 
 
 ^04, 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 h 
 
 And would assuage, some sudden pain» 
 That darted through his rocking brain: 
 He paused— and o'er his throbbing brow-»« 
 His hand went doubtfiilly. Mid slow- 
 Indignant brushed a fidhng tear. 
 And saw that dark-eyed gM appear 
 In awful loveliness, and youth. 
 Enthusiasm— tears~«and truth* — 
 And then was bent that maniac's pride. 
 His arms dropped lifeless at his side- 
 In Nature's own supremacy— 
 
 And Youth's tumultuous feeling— 
 Already in his ecstacy. 
 
 The maniac boy was kneeling^ 
 When once ag^n— a lightning pjun— * 
 Went flashing through his clouded brain. 
 
 Where Reason was revealing: 
 
 It went, and then a deeper night 
 Succeeded to its blading flight. 
 The maniac sprung erect from earth, 
 
 And tossed his arms abroad in air- 
 Like some young spirit, at its birth-' 
 
 Some nursling of the fiend Despain 
 Uttered one thrilling, dreadful cry. 
 And darted towards the darkening sky 
 
 One fierce reproachful look; 
 Gathered his mantle round his form, 
 And then, like those who rend the storm. 
 
 His upward course he took. 
 
GOLDAIT. 
 
 ^% 
 
 The tftrife was o'er!— he was again 
 The min8trel>boy» with maniac brains 
 The strife was o'er!— the madman's air 
 Returned for ever— and Despair 
 Hath hung her ctoudfor ever there! 
 Agun he climbs the mountain's height: 
 Agun he hub departing light: 
 Again hit soul is forth in strength: 
 Again his vestment flows at leng^; 
 Again the mountun-echoes ring: 
 Again bis harp is wandering: 
 Agidn his chords are, wildly strung>~> 
 And tliese the measures that he sung! 
 
 THDB MINSTREL'S SONd. 
 
 Ye who would hear a mournful song, 
 .Such as the desert bird may sing, 
 When duling on her languid wing. 
 By sunny cUiFs and lifeless woods— 
 And silent blooming soUtudes~- 
 And watery worlds---and cloudless hills- 
 Unmurmuring founts and sleeping rills- 
 She hears on high the distant note. 
 Of some sweet airy tune afloat— 
 
 That to the birds of heaven belong! 
 
 Ye who have heard in the still of the night. 
 When the soul was abroad in her uppermost flight. 
 The whispering of trumpets and harps in the air. 
 M2 , ' 
 
 / 
 
30$ 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 Who have heard, when the rest of the world we,^ 
 •sleep, I ' 
 
 A. ye 8« .U .lone o'er the meuureleM deep. 
 
 The .pints of crth «vl of he.ven .t prayer- 
 OTien the ««, of.be «r, „dthe ^ of the w.t«, 
 
 Were pe«ef«l ^ bright „ .he i„„oee«t b.™ 
 
 When the «,„jof the wind a, it feebly .ro«, 
 W.th the gush of the fount«n whose n,eIody «ow. 
 For hearts that aw^e when the world «^ ^ wT 
 
 C«ne over your soul like the a« of the blest. 
 When ye bought ye could he.r fi»„ the height of 
 
 TOe musiek of pe.ceg«i„g tenderlyby- 
 The g,Wye had loved!-„d the .on^/e h«l t»gh. 
 
 Ye who would love such aiiy aouM ' 
 As listening soUtude prolong,, 
 
 The moon-hffht trembles to the earth' 
 And angel melodies find birth; 
 
 And niusick sighs in h6r echbless home' 
 
 Come ye and listen! I will sing 
 What led my senses wandering. 
 
 Or, would he hear the rending song ' 
 
 Bursting tumultuous'/ along? 
 
 The PhaUenge-char^e^and pealing cry-. 
 
 And shock of annies-.when on high 
 
 .M 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 SOT 
 
 ofthd world wcr© 
 
 :less deep, 
 5r at prayer! 
 tars of the water, 
 innocent beam 
 iest dream: 
 feebly arose, 
 ose melody flow*, 
 orldareatrest, 
 if the blest: 
 «)m the hei^t of 
 
 lyby^ 
 
 ngrye had taught 
 
 blue dome, 
 h! 
 
 ss home? 
 
 cry—, 
 
 Broad crimson banners flaunt the sky— 
 / d sabres flash— and helmets ring— 
 And war-steeds neigh-and bugles sing- 
 When comes the shout, they fly!— they fly! 
 And echoing o'er the dark blue sky 
 
 The cannon's thunder rolls! 
 When all the heaven is rolling shade— 
 And lightnings stream from every blade 
 Eevealing airy shapes, arrayed 
 
 In strife, with warrior-souls! 
 
 Thus— thus he 'woke his harp s^^; 
 A strange enthusiastick strain; 
 And kneeling on the naked ground, 
 Filled all the mountain echoes round: 
 Then swept the chords, as if to raise 
 The spirit of departed days! 
 That harper had tm audience there — 
 In heaven, and earth, and in the wr! 
 Then, bending o'er the chords, he smote 
 A thronging— bold—exulting note— 
 And stood erect!— then flashed the wires! 
 Then came the stormy clash of lyres! 
 And had ye heard the rolling song. 
 So full— triumphant— and so strong— 
 Ye never had believed that one 
 Thro' such a boundless theme could run. 
 It was the noise of countless wings! 
 Of countless harps! — with countless strings; 
 
 r •* 4u~ 
 
 
 mx. t' 
 
 ■^^s^igmm"""^- 
 
COLDAO. 
 
 Of »M.«-h,n.„i„g when it come. 
 
 l/ponthertifdngbree^eofnighL 
 Inf«w.lUu,U,ed^i„gUgh.. 
 
 In youth's bola-heartedrevel^-. 
 
 And wom^g^, before the sight, 
 m wry pageantry and light, 
 
 ^Vithahawl and high-ptaed bonnet aashir 
 
 VVithhghtly springing melody. 
 
 Then shook the wir^s! and an along 
 The,« went the huntsman*, bugle-Lir. 
 And up, aloft its silveiy cry ^ '^"«^' 
 
 Ban olea, and far, and cheerily! 
 And then the pipe! while o'er the skv^ 
 
 Where laughing babes were heaM to fl7 
 Sweetbells,^gi„^,,^^^^^ *^«y» 
 
 H« song is heard-^a full dark eye 
 
 And cheek of health's own mountain dye 
 A«.b„^hteningtohisminstrelsy, '* 
 A heart ,ssweUing,a„d the sigh 
 That hngers as it passes by " 
 
 Proclaims entrancing- ecstacy! 
 And these are now tl.e words he sings-. 
 That leap so proudly from his stringf 
 
COUUl/. 
 
 909 
 
 mes 
 fht, 
 
 ners blazer 
 
 *«i dashing-M 
 free 
 
 It, 
 
 bonnet flashir 
 
 ong 
 e-8ong.' 
 
 le sky~. 
 i to fly, 
 
 rl 
 •f 
 
 «n dye, 
 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 Oh waken, my Harp! to th« marchingof song! 
 
 Oh scatter the clouds that »m brooding around thee; 
 Look forth in thy might, while the tempeift is strong. 
 Nor reel m thy strength, as thou movest along, 
 
 SMbiixf. J on V s windib wher? my young spirit found 
 thee! 
 
 U, louaea thy numbers in pride. 
 
 Let them triumph along on the tide, 
 That bears the lasthnka of the fetters that booed thee! 
 Away with the pall that envelops thy form! 
 Abroad o*er the hills let thy genius stormi 
 
 O burst the bright garlands that shrine thee: 
 scatter tliy jessamine blossoms in air! 
 
 And the Tempest herself shall twme the*, 
 Of tlie long wild grass, and the mountain's r»nk htif— 
 A wreath that is worthy the brow of Despair! 
 Such chaplets at night, in the wind, I have seen, 
 On the rock-rooted fir, and the blasted green. 
 That tell where Uie anger of heaven bath beent 
 When a thick blue light on their barrenness hungi 
 When the thunders pealed, and the cliff-tops rung; 
 And the bending oak in the cold rain swung. 
 
 The Harper paused— the clouds went past. 
 In pomp upon the rising blast: 
 Tile Harper's eye to heaven is riused, 
 And all the lustres that had blazed, 
 M4 
 
 ; 
 
 "^asf^i^MB, 
 
 '""■>iM8r**"~ii-iirr"fiiiMiit^'i''- 
 
210 
 
 fiOLDAtr. 
 
 In triumph o*ei his palUd brov, 
 Have withthi suaset faded now; 
 And now Mb eye returns to earth. 
 And solcuin me'odieg have birth» 
 And ah a distant utcumful sounds 
 Goes wandering thro' ths caverns round 
 Such symphonies we sometimes heard 
 From some sweet melancholy bird 
 That sings her twilight sorig alone. 
 As if her heart sent forth a tone:— 
 In summer dreaming, ye may hear 
 Such singing gently pass the ear. 
 And hold your breath »till it hath gone— 
 , Then wonder, f»s the song is done. 
 
 That ye can be so soon alone: 
 
 Or start to find the glittering tear 
 Upon the mossy turf appear;— 
 Or in your visions, when ye see 
 Some angel.harp, in ecstacy. 
 
 Awakened by an ange! wing. 
 When every plume of glittering light. 
 Unfolding to the dazzled sight, 
 Goes faintly o'er some quiet string! 
 
 Wild sounds but sweet! the silky tune 
 
 Of fairies playing to the moon; 
 
 The sprightly flourish of the horn, 
 That underneath the blooming tliorn. 
 Pipes sharply to the freshening morn; 
 The threaded melodies that sing 
 From blosisomed harps of cobweb strings 
 
 i ¥ 
 
 '^Ki**^- 
 
\ 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 The busy chirping minstrelsy, 
 Of Evening's myriads in their gleej 
 When every bright musician sings 
 With voice, and instrument aftd wings: 
 When all at once the concert breaks— 
 A multitude of tingling shakes!—* 
 When guttering, miniature guitars, 
 And harpa, embossed with diamond stars, 
 ll«4quipped vfiih fiery wings, take flight 
 In musjck past the ear of Night; 
 
 When all around. 
 
 Ye hear the sound 
 Of wind;' bugles, plucked while blowing, 
 ^ti-own loose upon the stream, and going, 
 
 In sweet farewells. 
 
 Like living shel's. 
 Or fountauns singirg while they're flowing. 
 
 Of golden straws —and slippery shells; 
 Ofsounding pebbles— coral shells— 
 And flow'ret trumps with dewy rims. 
 Where one perpetual murmur swims; 
 As if jiome s^wiftly passing sound. 
 Were caught within its airy round;— 
 And droppings like the tinkling rain 
 Upon the crisped leaf— and strain 
 Of dainty wheat-stalks, split and singing; 
 And insect-armour sharply ringing; 
 And chirp of fairy birds in flight,— 
 Qne endless tune, like some young spright. 
 
 m 
 
 1-1'-*; 
 
 ■«>• i.%*«Wn Jii«v«W«P" 
 
.•«i 
 
 MMPNi 
 
 ••nMi 
 
 ¥ ■?■ 
 
 GOLDAt. 
 
 • 
 
 That's twittering on from mom 'till night. 
 With living drums, and many a fife,-— 
 Of martial littleness and life, 
 And fine thin whistling tunes from graSSj 
 Turning its edge to winds that piss; 
 And all the sweet fantastick sounds, 
 That linger un enchanted grounds: 
 When elfins, prisoned in a flower. 
 Are listening to the twilight shower, 
 And mock its sounds, and shout, and play 
 Full many a faury-minstrel lay- 
 To pass their dreaiy time away. 
 
 Now h<e«ive8 the lyre as if oppressed— 
 And panting now, subsides to rest, 
 Like rapture on a majden*s breast; 
 Or like the 'struggling sounds tliat rove, 
 When boyhood tells its earliest love: 
 Or like those strange unearthly lyres. 
 Whose hearts are strung with unseen wire8| 
 That wake but to the winds of heaven— 
 The breezes of the mom and event 
 
 That mounting to the rosy«kies, 
 Like sky-larks on their freshest wing, 
 For ever mount, for ever sing, 
 
 Louder, and louder as they rise. 
 
 km- 
 
 J 
 
 Now mdely comes the song again, 
 A thronging and impatient strain. 
 
 .^r- 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 S19 
 
 night. 
 
 8* 
 
 md play 
 
 jsed— 
 
 et 
 
 eS, 
 
 een wilreSi 
 
 Rveti— 
 
 »» 
 
 THE MINSTREL. 
 
 jflcave darkly now my harp— friends of wiy lonely how) 
 
 Cold swell thy numbers! 
 Away with the trumpet gong— the wintry requiem pour. 
 The hymning fox the dead— tlie rush of chur^hyix;^ 
 shower— 
 
 For she who loved thee! 
 She who moved thee! 
 She who proved thee! 
 In darkness slumbers! 
 p, who has not felt, in the dead of the night, 
 
 The breathing of some one near to himi* 
 The waving of some soft angel plume— 
 
 A vision of peace in an hour of gloom 
 
 While a nameless wish on his' heart satligh* 
 And the net-work over its pulse grew tight, 
 As he thought of Jhier who was dear tobim! 
 
 And who has not wished that the day might heve» 
 
 Intrude on such innocent sleep? 
 And prayed that the vision might stay for ever, 
 
 An(| who j^ati not wakened to weep! 
 And who has not murmured—in agony too— 
 When the tenant of heaven away from him flew-^ 
 
 And he felt 'twas a vision indeed! 
 Such— such ape tlie phantoms, my days pursu^, 
 
 And wiU 'till my spirit is free4. 
 
 I awake from 9, trance on the cliflP^ stormy height, 
 Wliilp sucliLyisiQns are fading away frompiy sight—* 
 
^ 
 
 iH 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 And feel— while my senses are going astt^y-o 
 Like one that can watch his own heart in decay- 
 Like a dreamer that's wandered uncovered in day! 
 And find, as I start from the spell that enthralled me. 
 That the voices and wings of the spirits that caUed rao, 
 
 Are pageants that flit thro* the fire of the brain:-. 
 Commissioned to waken my heart from its sleep— 
 To stir my young blood— 'till the maniac weep- 
 But commissioned — by Mercy— in vwn!— 
 Nay— sUence my harp!— the enchantment is near— 
 Her pinions are waving!— my Ellen, appear! 
 
 He paused— smd then, imploringly. 
 There went in lustre from his eye 
 A mute petition to the sky: 
 He turned and saw the dark-eyed maid; 
 And saw her drop a trembling tear- 
 Then on her breast his hand he laid. 
 As listening if its pulse betrayed 
 One added throb of doubt or fear. 
 Then— gazing on her downcast eye. 
 He shook his head reproachfully-— 
 Put back her flowing raven hair, " 
 And wiped the tear-drop glittering there. 
 And shook his own imperial brow. 
 
 And thanked lier with his eye 
 
 Then dropt her yielding hand— and now 
 
 His harp is pealing high! 
 
i^OLDAU. 
 
 215 
 
 ^i* ■ 
 
 art in decay- 
 covered in day! 
 enthralled me, 
 its that called mo, 
 •f the bnun:— 
 n its sleep— 
 iac weep — 
 ain!—- 
 
 lent is near— 
 tpear! 
 
 maid; 
 id. 
 
 •e 
 
 > • 
 
 there, 
 
 now 
 
 And now a murmuring comes again» 
 A mournful— fkint— and languid strain. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Nay — nay sweet girl-'thou shaltnot weepi 
 rU wake my Ellen's summer sleepr 
 This is the strain she bid me sing. 
 When I would hear her angel wing. 
 
 A low— sweet symphony then fell 
 
 From each calm wire, asif & spell 
 In musick might be spoken! 
 
 *Twas like the breath of evening's shell 
 
 When faintly comes its faintest swell— 
 
 Or fairy note from flow'ret bell. 
 
 When some young insect's golden cell 
 By careless touch is broken! 
 
 And then was heard hke singing air 
 
 This adjuration trembling there. 
 
 ADJURATION. 
 
 come, on the beam of the night, love! 
 
 O Q0me, on the beam of the night! 
 While the stars are all busy and bright, lovd: 
 
 O come, with thy tresses of light' 
 
 1 
 
 Away thro* the air we will go, love. 
 Where the waters of melody flow, love: 
 
 Where all the fresh lilies are blowing; 
 
 vf nere tae lui-i is all mossy and green iove, lovej 
 
316 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 
 Where the fountains of heaven are flomng. 
 And the skies are aU blue and serene love. 
 
 O come, with thy plumage of light, love. 
 And we wiU embrace in our flight, love. 
 
 O come, to my desolate heart, love. 
 And smile on the clouds that are there. 
 
 And let us together depart, love. 
 And sing on our way thro' the ah-. 
 
 come, let us hasten away, love— 
 Where spirits may worship and pray, love. 
 
 come, on the beam of the night, lovef 
 
 O come, on the beam of the night! 
 WhUe the stars are aU busy and bright, love. 
 
 O come, with thy tresses of light! 
 
 Then with a glance of Hre he rose, 
 And this— a fiercer hytoning rose: 
 
 This harp hath lain long and forgotten m gloom; 
 And the roses that wreathed it have lost all thek bloom 
 
 bmce It brightened and trembled at home: 
 The sweU of whose heaven, and smile of whose day. 
 First tempted its song on the breezes to stray: 
 The air of whose mountain first taught it to play 
 And the wind from the surge, as it tumbled in foam 
 First challenged its nwnbers in storm to roam 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 in 
 
 For the night of the heart, tm: of sorrow is o»er it. 
 And the passionate hymn that iii other days tore it. 
 With her, who so oft to the green bower bore it. 
 Have gone like the moonlighted song of a dream' 
 Lake the soul of an eye that hath shed its last beam* 
 And the tendrils of lustre that over it curled. 
 With the dark eye that gave all its wandering birth, 
 AUgone-Uke a cherubim-wing that is furled- 
 And left me alone~aH alone in the world— 
 With nothing to worship or ding to on earth! 
 
 Yet-yet o»er the mountains my country appears: 
 
 And to her I will waken my lyre: 
 l»erhaps it may brighten again, tho' in tears, 
 An4 the being it sang to in long vanished years, 
 
 May come m my visions of fire! 
 Ah. though she has gone- that young hope of my heart! 
 
 StUl she thinks of the nights when I played'to her, 
 When my sighs like the souls of the blest would de- 
 part. 
 
 As 1 knelt by my harp and prayed to her. 
 
 0, yes— tho* thou art gone, my love, 
 Thou'lt know the lay~for none could move 
 Thy pulse Uke him, who sings this song- 
 Its throbs delay— subdue— prolongs 
 For they were so obedient still. 
 They fluttered, fainted at his will; 
 Thy heart and soul, and thought kept time. 
 Like angels to some heavenly chime; 
 Now Ughtning wantoned in thine eyes. 
 
 As hl'lO'llt no , 
 
 r^. _1.X!>.i 
 
 
 *w**> V&AV 
 
 OA^CDI 
 
31ft 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 And now in rich dissolving dew— 
 They darkly swam like heaven's own bluej 
 Now bent to earth-M-now flashing bright:— 
 Now fwnting— fading on the sight— 
 Lik« cherub eyes that weep in light; 
 O, yes thou'lt know tlie lay i^n. 
 And weep to hear my harp complain; 
 Spirit! I know thou wilt, for ye 
 Can never lose such memory:— 
 Oh, I could sing my heart away, 
 To such a spirit would it stay! 
 
 
 In the pause of the storm, I could hear 
 Her sweet-toned voice, so wild and clear! 
 
 That— suddenly—I'd turn around— 
 Believing she was near! "• 
 
 And then!— I'd shed the bitter tear- 
 As if I'd come too late!— and found— 
 
 That-^sappointed^-«A(? had gone; 
 As if she had— that moment flown 
 And left me — left me!— all alone— 
 And then again I'd hear the tone 
 
 Of her own lute— as 'twere to cheer— 
 
 The pilgrim on his journey here: 
 like the dew of heaven— a pearly light- 
 That falls where the touch of the storm hath been^ 
 In the silent night- 
 Refreshing the air— aiid stirring the bteeze 
 
 With the flourishing green 
 Of branchincr trees; 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 219 
 
 1) blue) 
 right:— 
 
 t; 
 n; 
 
 lear 
 :leigr! 
 
 sur*" 
 
 le; 
 
 eer- 
 
 ight— 
 
 storm hath beeiij 
 
 bteeze 
 
 And often—when the sun went down- 
 In battle— blood~>Rnd flame-~ 
 As, o*er against the sky 1 stood. 
 Away, by yonder blueish wood, 
 
 Whence, often, on the winds she came, 
 I've heard her — gently— •dng my name>— 
 And seen two shadows— faintly thrown. 
 
 Upon the water— far below. 
 And I— great Crod!— was ail alone! 
 And one of them had wings— 4i^ stooping 
 
 Amid her lovely ludr, 
 Whose vapoury flow. 
 Was all around— seemed' weeping, where 
 
 The other— seemed in madness, drooping^- 
 That other!— who was he?— he ^rove 
 
 In vwn— in VMn!— to touch her hand- 
 As one that— overwhelmed with love-* 
 Within the awful prfesence of 
 
 The creature of his heart doth stand! 
 And often— often have 1 heard — 
 
 Two voices mingling in the wood- 
 Chiding and weeping— and they seemed— 
 like some of which I*ve often drcamed~- 
 I know not where-~I know not why— 
 1 love but one— and she is gone— 
 Yet still I often hear the tone— 
 
 Of children— in the sdr— and sky. 
 As they were drowning— and a third — 
 Such as I've heard in solitude- 
 Like some sweet-toned pronouncing bird, 
 N 
 
m 
 
 GOLDAtr. 
 
 > 
 
 Would say my name aloud, 
 A» if some lovely infant there, 
 
 Encnidled in a golden cloud-- 
 Where all was yellowish vapour— dim— • 
 "Wete faintly calling me to him! 
 
 tf^rk!— there is musick in the hollow sky! 
 Something mysterious parading by— 
 *Tis the loud march— the echoing band of heaven, 
 Marshalled alofl-~in revelation g^ven 
 To all, who when, Sublimely, up the air 
 
 Great midnight moves in dim magnificence; 
 Are out upon the hills; and, kneeling there, 
 
 In the dread feeling of Omnipotence— 
 Breathe to the awful symphonies that go 
 Around the vaulted sky, and penetrate 
 Each gloomy spot—where secret waters flow- 
 
 And r.iture sits alone and desolate. 
 Upon her Rocky throne— and see, away 
 The dread machinery of air in play — 
 
 The tracking meteors, as they pour Along. 
 All luminous with fiery hair, and sweep 
 Athwart the grand, illuminated deep- 
 Like a descending firmament— but stay! — 
 O, listen! listeni^that awakening song! 
 That awful burst! so windy— far and strong 
 With loud, ungovernable melody— 
 And now— *tis gone— *tis melted in the sky— 
 And all the world is silent- how like death — 
 All gone— for ever!— like some passing breath!— 
 
 
 ^~^J|^tijM|U|^^a|;^^^iLaii 
 
 .gM^i-l^''diifiMlAi..i^' 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 The Harper paused; tua numbers diedi-— 
 The mountain-nymph was b> his ude: 
 Unconscious that the mighty spell, 
 Which drew her to hb lonely cell. 
 Was strengthening as she heard thU song, 
 Go so complainingly along; 
 For let him sing of what he might, 
 Of heaven or sunslune— storms or night — 
 The battle •>-earthquake--or the bed 
 Of honour-r-ri^ture— or the dead- 
 lier swelling heart—her glistening lash— 
 The sudden breath— the sudden flash- 
 Proclaimed how well the charm was wrought, 
 ^ow surely was her young heart caught. . 
 
 Agiun he smote his souncUng lyre. 
 Again his arm to heaven was raised; 
 
 His robe was forth! and prouder— higher 
 
 He rang his trumpet notes of fire^ 
 Until his very spirit blazed! 
 
 And from his eye of lustrous night. 
 
 There went — uninterrupted fight! 
 
 And thus he chanted to the rude 
 
 Omnipotence of SoUtud^. 
 
 Switzerland of Hills! Th^u muse of Storms, 
 Where the cloud-spirit reins the bursting forms 
 Of airy steeds— whose meteor-manes float far 
 In lightning treSses o'er the midnight car 
 That bears thine angels to their mountain war! 
 
 Home of the earthquake! land where Tell 
 Dared his erreat bosom to his God. and fell. 
 
 
 ..**» 
 
 
 *«iii[|;>Sff«<W««^j»»-.«.jy8^^ ■ 
 
m 
 
 OOLDAU. 
 
 Like hit own Alpine-torrent, on hii country'g foe* 
 * Lwid of the unerring thaft and warrior-bowj 
 The upward Eagle— and the bounding Doe:— 
 The ahaggy wolf—and the eternal flow 
 Of cloud-nursed streams, and everlastiiig mov 
 
 ■ ' .1 
 
 SwitzerUnd! my country! 'tis to thee, 
 
 I rock my harp in agony:— 
 My countiy! nurse of Liberty, 
 
 Home of the gallant, great and free, 
 
 My sullen harp I rock to thee. 
 
 O, I have lost ye all! 
 
 Parents— and home— and friends: 
 Ye sleep beneath a mountain pall; 
 
 A mountain-pjumage o*er ye bends. 
 The cliff.yew in funereal gloom. 
 Is now the only mourning plume. 
 That nods above a peoples* tomb. 
 
 Of the echoes that swim o*er thy bright bluelake. 
 And deep in its caverns; their merry bells shake; 
 
 And repeat thy young huntsman's cry: 
 That clatter and laugh, when the goatherds take 
 Their browsing flocks at the.moming'g break, 
 Far over the hills- not one is awake 
 
 In the awell of thy peaceable sky. 
 
 They sit on that wave with a motionless wing; 
 And their cymbals are mute and the desert birds sing 
 Their unanswered notes to the wave and the sky- 
 One startling, and sudden— unchangeable cry. 
 
intry'ifoci 
 
 P-boWi 
 
 tig- Doe:— 
 ow 
 
 itiof now. 
 lec. 
 
 Bree, 
 
 s: 
 
 nds. 
 
 ;blue]akej 
 ills shake; 
 ;ry: 
 
 2rds take 
 •reak> 
 
 :ss wing; 
 ;rt birds sing 
 the sky— 
 eery. 
 
 \ 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 233 
 
 As they stoop their broid wtng and go sluggishly by: 
 
 For deep in that biue-bosomed water is laid. 
 
 As inaocent, true, and as lovely a maid 
 As ever in cheerfulness carolled her song, 
 
 In the blithe mountMn ur, as she bounded al'ongt 
 The heavens are all blue, and the billows bright vei^e 
 Is frothily laved by a whisperihg surge. 
 That heaves incessant, a tranq-iil dirge. 
 
 To lull Uie pale forms that sleep below: 
 
 Fonm— that rock as the waters flow. 
 
 That bright lake is still as a liquid sky, 
 And when o*er its bosom the swift clouds fly. 
 They pass like thoughts o'er a clear blue eye! 
 
 The fHnge of thin foam that their sepulchre binds. 
 Is as light as the cloud that is borne by the winds; 
 While over its bosom the tUm vapours hover. 
 And flutterless skims the snowy-winged plover: 
 Swiftly passing away— like a hunted wing; 
 With a drooping plume— that may not fling 
 One sound of life— or a rustling note— 
 O'er that sleepless tomb-~where my loved ones float. . 
 
 Oh cool and fresh is that bright blue lake. 
 While over its stillness no sounds awake: 
 No sights- but those of the hill-top fountain 
 That swims on the height of a cloud-wrapped moun< 
 twn — 
 
 The basin of the rainbow-stream, 
 The sunset gfush— the morning gleam- 
 
 V 9. 
 
 *.i 
 
 
 <jn r > : m m»m'- ■ 
 
324 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 The picture of the poet's dream. 
 Land of proud hearts! where Freedom broods 
 Amid her home of echoing woods. 
 The mother of the mountain floods- 
 Dark Goldau is thy vale; 
 The spirits of Rigi shall wail 
 On their cloud-bosomed deep, as they sail 
 In mist where thy children are lying— 
 As their thunders once paused in then- headlong de- 
 scent. 
 And delayed their discharge-whUe thy desert was rent 
 With the cries of thy sons who were dying. 
 
 Xo chariots of fire on the clouds careered: 
 No warrior-arm, with its falchion reared:— 
 No death^mgel's trump o'er the ocean was blown; 
 No mantle of wrath o'er the heaven was thrown; 
 No armies of light— with their banners of flame- 
 On neighing steeds—thro' the sunset came. 
 
 Or leaping from space appeared! 
 No earthquakes reeled— no Thunderer stormed; 
 No fetterless dead o'er the bright sky swarmed- 
 
 No voices in heaven were heard! 
 But the hour when the sun in his pride went dovt^n 
 
 While his parting hung rich o'er^the world: 
 While abroad o'er the sky his flush manUe was blown, 
 
 And his red-rushing streamers unfurled:— 
 
 An everlasting hill was torn 
 From its eternal base— and borne— 
 In g^ld and crimson vapours drest 
 To where a people are at rest!^ 
 
GOLDAU. 
 
 225 
 
 lam. 
 
 eedom broods 
 
 )ods — 
 
 as they sail 
 ying-— 
 
 heir headlong de- 
 
 hy desert was rent 
 ► were dying. 
 
 careered: 
 reared: — 
 I was blown; 
 '^as thrown; 
 3 of flanae— 
 ame, 
 
 stormed; 
 iwamiedj 
 
 ! went down 
 he world: 
 intle was blown, 
 iiied:— 
 
 St 
 
 »t! 
 
 Slowly it came in its mountsdn wrath) 
 
 And the forests vanished before its path: 
 
 And the rude cliffs bowed— and the waters fled— 
 
 And the living were buried, while over thelv head 
 
 T^ey heard the ftill march of their foe as he sped— 
 
 Ai\dthe valley of life—v/asthe tomb of the dead! 
 
 The clouds were all bright: no lightnings flew: 
 And over that valley no death-blast blew: 
 No storm passed by on his cloudy wing: 
 No twang was heard from the 8ky-archer*8 string- 
 But the dark, dim hill in its strength came down. 
 While the shedding of day on its summit was thrown, 
 A glory all light, like a wind-wreathed crown- 
 While the tame bird-flew to the vulture's nest, 
 And the vulture forbore in that hour to molest— 
 
 The mountsun sepulchre of all I loved! 
 
 ^ The village sank— and the monarch trees 
 
 Leaned back from the encountering breeze- 
 While this tremendous pageant moved! 
 The mountain forsook his perpetvial throne- 
 Came down from his rock— and his path is shown— 
 
 In barrenness and ruin— where 
 
 The secret of his power lies bare— 
 
 His rocks in nakedness arise: 
 
 His desolation mock the skies. 
 
 Sweet vale — Goldau! farewell— 
 An Alpine monument may dwell 
 
 N3 
 
 I f. 
 
226 
 
 GOLDAU. 
 
 Upon thy bosom, oh! my home! 
 But when the last dread trump shall sound 
 I'Utt^ad again thy hallowed ground- 
 Sleep thee, my loved one, sleep thee! 
 While yet I live, I'll weep thee— 
 Of thy blue dwelling dream, wherever I roam. 
 And wish myself wrapped in its peaceful foam. 
 
 Sweet vale—Goldau—farewell! 
 My cold harp, cease thy swell— 
 'Till tuned where my loved ones dwell 
 My home!— Goldau!— farewell! 
 
 7"™W^wH|imHP. ItSjiWj-' 
 
 rJif(Hm 
 
1 sound 
 
 ee! 
 
 r I roam, 
 iful foam. 
 
 dwell 
 
 mrn^i 
 
 i\ 
 
 JiELIVEBED BEFORE THE BELPHMJSTS 
 
 A. IITBWABT SOCIBTT OF BAITIMOBB. 
 
 N4 
 
 "'flk 
 
f I' 
 
 t\ I 
 
 I \ 
 
 y 
 
 \S' 
 
 
(DlDISd 
 
 i>ELlVERED BEFORE THE DELPHIMrS. 
 
 O THOU of Heaven! Apollo, thou. 
 With fiery eye, and lofty brow; 
 
 The radiant twin of Chastity! 
 
 The blazing god of Poesy! 
 To thee we bow! 
 
 We thank thee that another year 
 Hath rolled around, and left us here: 
 We thank thee that the glorious birth 
 Of him, thy minister on earth, 
 Is still to us so dear. 
 
 Young prince of air! whose glittering bow, 
 By us, thy worshippers below! 
 Is seen athwart our darkest heaven! 
 
 In quenchless and eternal light! 
 A blazing constellation given 
 Amid the season of the night! 
 
 Arise! — Arise! 
 Young archer of tha f^kies» 
 
 'f' 
 
 #■»*•* *„.^.,e" 
 
 i^eg ' t*< ' "'I'; 
 
n 
 
 M 
 
 230 
 
 DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 Our chosen deity! 
 
 Obendthybowof migbt. 
 And 'mid the vaulted night. 
 
 While we uprear 
 Our hands to thee; 
 Appear! apr ' ,.>r:H^;^^2S|| 
 Inthydiu. ^^'^ 
 
 O thou of heaven, ApoUo thou, 
 Shiiic out upon thy votaries now! 
 
 Show out thy mysteries where 
 Thou tread»8t the lifeless air: 
 On the motionless cloud. 
 Be thy harpers arrayeds 
 Where shadowy faces crowd. 
 With forms of shade. 
 
 ThymusicktooJ O, be it heard 
 
 So faintly, that its sounds may seem 
 The warblings of some hidden biiti. 
 That we have sought for in a dream. 
 
 Unfurl thy thin transparent sail. 
 That we have seen so often spread. 
 
 And bosom to the silent gale. 
 That wafts the spirits of the dead. 
 
 That seems to aU but Delphian eyes 
 A vapour passing o»er the skies. 
 WhUe 'tis, to us, the floating veil. 
 
 ■-•..<-> 
 
 ■'"J T^^IB I W ■!<mtf:<>f,imt>t^ 
 
 W^^' 
 
-• ". ' l UgMIJ^ '' 
 
 DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 That, with its shadowy light, enshrouds 
 Thy sister's cold, sweet face in clouds. 
 
 To us— the showy, bannered air. 
 
 That streaming, flutters down the heaven, 
 When o'er the clouds assembled there, 
 With sounding wheels and flaming hair. 
 
 Thy conquering steeds in light are driven! 
 
 It is thfe pure transparency 
 
 By angel-fingers spun. 
 That wraps young love and infancyi 
 
 That veils the glowing face 
 
 Of nakedness and grace: 
 'Tis woven ip the twilight beam. 
 And coloured in the blushing stream. 
 
 Beneath the setting sun. 
 
 Such is a cloud to Delphian-eyes! 
 The strangest wonder of the skies, 
 
 At mom— at noon— at night; 
 For ever changing as it flies. 
 Unfolding still its rainbow dye 
 
 For ever on the sight. 
 
 0, then unfurl that sail again. 
 
 And let us seo o*er heaven's blue main, 
 
 Thy boat go swift and silently. 
 And hear the fwnt, uncertain chime, 
 Of bards that were in older time. 
 
 ?31 
 
 \Vnr» ci<- oTitfl no fli 
 
 £*»r cifi 
 
 n „T^.,,- 
 
t3% DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 Awake a wild, and mingling 8ong'~ 
 That tella of immortality! 
 
 Pronounce thine adjurations there! 
 And summon from each cemetry, 
 Thy earliest Dhuhuits, 'till the air 
 Is bright with harps! and loud with minstreli^! 
 
 O let them* not profane this hour, 
 And slumber in thy time of power! 
 But let thy ministers proclaim, 
 
 Through all the air. 
 In musick and in flame. 
 That thou art there! 
 
 - Let all that in the darkness dwell 
 In silence or in solitude. 
 In cavern or in wood. 
 Now hear thy harp's triumphant swell! 
 And, lifted by thy fearful spell. 
 From the fathomless deep. 
 Come forth in their sleep! 
 From the field of blood 
 Where the soldier liesj— 
 And the restless flood. 
 Where the sailor dies. 
 
 From the pathless wild, 
 
 Where, o'er, the pilgrim's bones. 
 Or Nature's child— 
 
 And heaps of warrior Indians lie— ^ 
 
 fi-^SIKSft**?! 
 
DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 ' The old decaying trees, 
 Like spirits on the breeze, 
 In strange— low."interrupted tones. 
 Are swinging mcamfuUy! 
 
 From ocean's shore. 
 Where tlie sea-muds pour 
 A wateiy lamentation o'er 
 The dripping locks of some sweet form. 
 Just shipwrecked in the passing storm. 
 And weep and blow their melancholy shellf 
 And ring their sweet-toned coral bellSj 
 Like murmuringp from a cloud! 
 
 let them all appear! 
 
 The spectres of the mind, 
 Of phrensy or of fear. 
 
 Careering on the wind! 
 
 O strike the note! and from his bier. 
 Each tenant of the deep wil! rise. 
 With motionless eyes; 
 And each his coral sceptre rear— - 
 And each before our face appear. 
 Within his sea-grass shroud! 
 
 Let all that in the darkness dwell- 
 Now see thy form, and hear the sweil 
 Of ancient harpers, loudly unging! 
 And from thy vaulted dwelling place, 
 Amid the solitudes of space. 
 
*^* DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 Far thunders roll their awful baae, 
 And harps and trumpets ringing! 
 
 Now be our invocation done!— 
 Forlo!-ApoUoofthc8un, 
 Hangs out his starry lyre. 
 With frame of gold and strings of fire, 
 
 Upon our midnight firmament! 
 And now his bow of quenchless light 
 U brightening on our sight— 
 
 And now 'tis slowly bent! 
 All liAil to this auspicious hour! 
 These are the symbols of his power: 
 In mercy they are sent. 
 
 Apollo! god of poesy! 
 
 Of eloquence and light. 
 Of life, and pride, and ecstacy. 
 ' Is manifest to night! 
 
 0, let the air we breath be flame. 
 And let our echoing hearts proclaim. 
 
 In musick to the sky- 
 That he, the Delphian god! is near. 
 That he, our chosen one! is here, 
 'Till he, the god of song! is heard 
 
 In every Delphian-word; 
 *TiU he, the god of light! is seen. 
 Like sunshine where the clouds have been, 
 Warm-lovely-and serene, 
 
 In every DelpWan-eye! 
 
 *'W'ijllH|^^^^^ 
 
DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 235 
 
 Arise!— furise! 
 Proclaim ye.to the skies! 
 'That he hath left his dwelling pkce, 
 
 His chariot of revolving light; 
 And tum'd his coursers in the race — 
 When stretching o'er the bounds of space. 
 To fill our halls and hearts to night! 
 
 Then let us iaise our hymning higher, 
 Sound every trumpet, haip, and lyre, 
 
 That he to man hath given; 
 'Till all that revel in thf sky. 
 
 Uplifting high, 
 Their sullen midnight canopy. 
 Hang lingering as they're hurried by. 
 And poised upon their viewless wing, 
 Repeat the anthem that we sing 
 To him, the tenant of high heaven! 
 
 And now, Apollo! now, 
 Agsdn we bow, 
 To thee. 
 In fervour and siricerity! 
 
 Another year has travelled round. 
 And still within this ring were found. 
 Like one that treads enchanted ground, 
 
 ' For ever lingering in it! 
 We feel as we approach its verge, 
 Like one, that on a precipice. 
 Recoiling from a dim abyss. 
 Stand listening to the surge! 
 
186 
 
 DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 He dare not itep-^there'i danger when 
 He puU hit foot beyond the bound; 
 
 *Tis §o with lu— beyond are men 
 Too little like what here are found: 
 
 Within thia circle there's a power 
 
 That charms a year into a hour. 
 An hour into a minute! 
 
 This— like the boundaries drawn on air; 
 By anpels* wings that eddy there. 
 
 Is felt, but never seen; 
 A strange, unearthly atmosphere. 
 Is ever warm and breathing here. 
 As if there's something heavenly near, 
 
 Invisibly serene! 
 The summer of the heart is found. 
 For ever, in this viewless bound. 
 
 While all beyond is cold; 
 And here, for ever may be seen. 
 The constant-branching evergreen; 
 The verdure of the heart, that spreads, 
 A living arbour o'er our heads; 
 The laurels of the brain, that grow. 
 In intellectual Ught, and throw 
 Their streaming garlands round our hair, 
 Self-woven in immortal air; 
 And all the flowers of heaven, that blow, 
 Beut-iath the fierce and feverish glow. 
 Of him, oui god! whose burning face. 
 Within this consecrated place, 
 Tfce Delphians in their dreams behold! 
 
 1 1 
 
OELl>HIAK ODE. 
 
 237 
 
 Thii viewless prison-house of ours, 
 That holds our spirits captive here. 
 Is not a temple wrought with flowers. 
 That, stripped from Dissipation's bowers, 
 Are hung in empty mockery. 
 Where idleness and revelry, 
 In festival appear— 
 
 *Tis not a ring by pleasure traced: 
 No foaming goblets round are placed— 
 No woven flowers, nor mingling vines. 
 Of aught, that young Volupte twines. 
 
 Nor white arms interlaced; — 
 Nor snowy breasts-^nor sparkling eyes. 
 Around our haunts obedient rise, 
 
 To grace our midnight mysteries. 
 
 Our viewless boundary is a chain 
 That passes through each heart. 
 That .-lengthened— soon contracts again. 
 That— rent— is always rent in vain. 
 The links— are load-stones of the brain! 
 And fim*t be kept apart! 
 
 The|»p unseen bands of strength that bind 
 Our hearts and souls, are intertwined, 
 Py wit, and sympathy, and mind- 
 Unseen, 'tis true, as they were traced 
 Upon the ocean-waste. 
 But steady as the eternal chain, 
 That fetters the rebellious iiiRin,, 
 O 
 
 11' 
 
23S- 
 
 BELPHUN ODE. 
 
 Whence ?j tlus knitting of our bouIi? 
 Whence is the magick that controls 
 
 Our wwidering thought, and keeps us here? 
 It 18 the band of brotherhood- 
 By genius only underetood— 
 
 To genius only dear: 
 
 The flash of wit and light of song. 
 The stream of heart that pours along, 
 Betraying in its coui^e. 
 
 Ten thousand prepous things that grow 
 Wpon its bank-like founts that flow, . 
 
 Abruptly from a hidden source. 
 Whose shining wave and joyful sound. 
 For ever turn us wondering round, 
 like traveller o»er some idesert ground. 
 
 Some wilderness or mountain. 
 That smUes to hear the gushing bound ' 
 
 Of some fresh springing fountain; 
 And stands, with folded anns, to see. 
 However thirsty he may be, ' 
 
 Its young tide rippling cheerfully. 
 And round about in murmurs steaUng, 
 Now running there, andhiding here. 
 As 'twere-some Uving thing in fear; 
 And still ten thousand tints reveaUng, 
 like seipent in the grass concealing; 
 While all the drowsy buds awake. 
 Unfolding in their stany pride,' 
 And dip their bright green leaves and shake 
 Their silvery blossoms o»er the tide. 
 
 IM 
 
BOUlt? 
 
 trols 
 
 keep! lu here? 
 
 Oft 
 •long, 
 
 bat grow 
 flow, 
 
 sound, 
 
 nd, 
 
 ground, 
 
 bound 
 
 ain; 
 
 see, 
 
 rfiilly, 
 
 aling, 
 
 ng- here, 
 
 g* in fear; 
 
 'ling, 
 
 »ng; 
 
 kt, 
 
 le, 
 
 es and shake 
 
 ^e tide. 
 
 DELPHUN OUB. 
 
 And with his eyes upHfted sees— 
 A new creation in the breeze — 
 
 The gtitteiing willow wave its leaves. 
 The emerald tuif itself grow bris^hteit 
 
 And grrlands that dear Nature weaver 
 tJpon the lifting wind-HliMQice lij^ter. 
 
 So 'tis withns— a sudden stream 
 Ccmes from the desert, with a gleam 
 
 O^ loveliness and mystery; 
 And lo! unnumbered things concealed 
 In every heart^^^re then revealed 
 
 And shine in every eye: 
 
 'Tis this that fiudnates us here; 
 That makes this social group so dear; 
 
 That binds us to each other: 
 *Tis this that makes the lengthening year 
 That's past in light-^to us appear 
 
 A cloudless momenliiy dream; 
 
 A lovely~>wandering beam. 
 That chanced— in passing o'er a crowd 
 Of ttrangers — gathered in adoud. 
 
 To show to each-^us brother! 
 A lovely beam! that fell astray. 
 
 As if it were to show us tlus; 
 That we had chosen a clouded way 
 tJpon a crumbling precipice; 
 That men were made for men, and must 
 
 Commini^e in their Ugfat; 
 
 S39 
 
 
 # l\ 
 
 • *•:•• ■ >t» < . 
 
 »' **«.. . 
 
 -•>Wk» 
 

 I 
 
 ^9 DELPHIAN ODE. 
 
 That soub within their sheaths will rust. 
 
 But brighten m the fightt 
 That all the weapons of the mind 
 
 In solitude consume away; 
 The bow strings, and the shafts designed 
 
 Alike for song, and strife and play. 
 The lightning that immortab wield. 
 The flashing blade and flaming shield— 
 All—all— when they have left the field- 
 Grow dim and waste away! 
 
 O then be this our prayer! 
 
 Still may that beam be playing there; 
 
 Whene'er we go astray! 
 Assembled as we are to-night. 
 Be still our sliields and weapons bright, 
 
 *Till gathered for the judgment day— 
 Beneath a far more fearful cloud. 
 We hear far trumpets bursting loud» 
 And gaze on every passing shroud. 
 
 To catch one melancholy ray. 
 
 Be this our prayer. O may we meet, 
 many an hour as rich as this! 
 
 'Till every heart forgets to beat; 
 
 And may such precious moments cheat 
 Our spirits to forgetfulness^ 
 
 'Till all the icy hearts abroad, 
 ' On life's unhospitable road. 
 Are all forgotten or forgiven? 
 
 And may the path wc tread to iright^ 
 
DELPHIAN Om. 
 
 lie trodden *tiU each Delphian light 
 Be quenched or set in heaven. 
 
 Our week of cheeriest toil once past, 
 This holy sabbath comes at last^ 
 
 This sabbath of the heart! 
 This lovely hour! — O be it blest, 
 In mental fellowship and restj 
 
 And be it ever set apart! 
 For ever, while we stay on earth, 
 For art and science, song and mirtli, 
 •Till other Delphians burst ftom night, 
 And all the world is filled with light! 
 
 From oui^ cluster of stars, it is true, 
 One, holy and bright, is withdrawn, 
 
 'Twas the heridd of evening and dew, 
 And the star of a lustreless morn; 
 
 For whole seasons that star was alone, 
 Alone— in its fathomless sphere. 
 
 For whole seasons its splendours had shone, 
 Unobscured'-for no other wss near: 
 
 For the dark of its sky was too deep, 
 Its ray was too mild and serene. 
 
 It was hastening tcway to its sleep, 
 
 And none would have known it had b^en! 
 
 til 
 
 
 
 But others were wandenng around, 
 Like thkt, unobserved in the sky. 
 
 (i9. 
 
1""^^' 
 
 8* « 
 
 ^*2 DELPHIAN CHDE. 
 
 Alwe in the vaulted profound, 
 
 Too dim—and too fer for the eye- 
 But lo! it once chanced, in the route 
 
 Of two, that were bosomed in space, 
 That they touched, as they wandered about,^ 
 And each t' en abandoned its place 
 
 Ahd one was the star that is gone. 
 
 The other is here in its light; 
 'Tis our centre and pride— »tis the one 
 
 About whom we gather to-night. 
 
 The conjunction was watched in the sky. 
 
 And others soon came afar; 
 A new Pkiadeg blazed on the eye. 
 
 And chose for their centre this star? 
 
 Yes— one of our group ill withdrawn; 
 One star of our worship is gone. 
 But its place was supplied 
 By another that came. 
 In lustreand pride. 
 O'er an orbit of flame— 
 
 And yet another—in i\it place 
 Whence that has been translated— 
 
 Goes brightening o'er the tract of space- 
 Sublimely eievated— 
 
 Another from our heaven of pride 
 
 — — "-— ----J VUt. SWi" CVCi'j 
 
 
DELPHIAN ODE. 3« 
 
 O, never be Am place suppUed! 
 
 No—ncverJ 
 A drewy blank were better far, 
 Than such a smoking foggy star- 
 To him— our chisf— one parting straini 
 O, may he long our chief remMn! 
 
 May he, to whom we kneel, 
 Apollo! of the silver bow. 
 His starry harp on him bestow! 
 And all the mysteries of space, 
 The wonders of his beaming face,. 
 
 To him, our chief, reveal! 
 
 O, let us ne'er forget the night. 
 When he— our chief— burst into hghtt 
 When, having reared a pillared dome. 
 We rose to consecrate a home, 
 Where Science-Wit-and Song migjht dwelfc 
 
 And Wonder work his spell; 
 And Genius stay has blazing march. 
 
 And Musick hang her dripping shell; 
 Where all the Muses might suspend 
 Their ringing harps—and Fancy bend 
 With Intellect in prayer; 
 
 . Ohthen, 
 Anud the sons of men, 
 Our chief appeared! 
 His hand upreared-- 
 And la! upon the sur, 
 05 
 
 . 
 
ilTHfisajjp'. , 
 
 WSiJ* 
 
 
 244 
 
 DELPHIAN OBE. ^ 
 
 We saw a temple building! where 
 Strange musick we had heard! 
 Then let our chief be loudly named; 
 With trumpets be his might proclaimed; 
 
 Be reared this architectural swell! 
 He fixed the key-stone of our arch! 
 
 Then hail to our chief in the tumult of song, 
 Let the hymn of his praises go pealing along! 
 May the swell of his heart be for ever the tame; 
 May the light of his brMn 
 Un^minished remain, 
 To brighten our path to the temple of Fame: 
 O may he be crowned by the wreath of the mind! 
 The wreath that ApoUe in glory hath twmed; 
 The leaves all of light and the blossoms of flame! 
 
 And may his harp, this night bequeathed. 
 By him, our god-with fire be wreathed. 
 
 And may that bow of strength be bent. 
 Through tune with stiU encreasing force! 
 May every sun's revolving course. 
 Still find him here. 
 To Delphians dear, 
 Our chief-our glory-and our pride! 
 And when the messengeris sent— 
 And he to heaven is called at last. 
 Upon Apollo's tide. 
 Or on the roaring blMt— 
 O, may he as he hurries past. 
 
 i 
 
"W 
 
 '.■ii 
 
 
 rherc 
 ird! 
 med; 
 K^lumedi 
 
 I! 
 roll! 
 
 alt of song, 
 ealing along! 
 for ever the tame; 
 
 mple of fame: 
 >ath of the mind! 
 hath twined; 
 blosspma of flame! 
 
 queathedf 
 rreathedy 
 jth be bent, 
 ing force! 
 se. 
 
 
 DELPHUN ODE. 
 
 Pour bravely out 
 One farewell shout, 
 To us, his Delphians here below! 
 And with his harp, and with his bow, 
 Go thundering o'er the firmament. 
 
 245 
 
 
 pride! 
 lent— 
 ;last. 
 
 04 
 
 jt— 
 ies past, 
 
 i 
 
BOOK L 
 
 hvocation to the Deity „ the God of Brttles 
 
 . '"*" Spirit the Indian God and the S„i«e rf 
 
 u»p.r.t.„„.....vi.io„ of the Sp.„i.,^s portemol" 
 
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CONdTIEST OTf TETai\J. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
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 O THOU, the Everlasting! -Thou, O God! 
 Whose habitation is the universe— 
 Whose throne - eternity: — Jehovah! Thou, 
 Whose dwelUng is all space, pavilioned o*er 
 With railing worlds! Omnipotent! - to thee— 
 The God of Battlks, we upUft our prayer 
 And supplication! 
 
 We have seen thee ride 
 Upon the storm, with trumpeting and smok*^. 
 And bloody clouds! -and all the heavens on fire 
 With horsemen! chariots! armed multitudes! 
 Banners! and shields and spears! 
 
 And seen the vaulted sky roll all together 
 Tumultuous— like the ocean in a storm:— 
 While all its glimmering verge— around our earth- 
 Stood thick with battlements and turrets— towers 
 And ensigns cherubim— and seraphim:— 
 The appari]tion of embattled gods- 
 Revealed in brief transparency:— arrayed— 
 
 > 
 
 Dazzling! and terrible!— 
 
m 
 
 CONQUEST or PERi;. 
 
 And heard the shout 
 Of countless armies!— neigh of steeds!— and o'er 
 The dark round firmament— a giddy host. 
 Of winged shadows, in the night, have seen 
 t/p-3warraing from a cloud! 
 
 •While all about A, 
 
 The mountains ncdded— and the waters heaved; 
 Shouting and thunder rolled!— and all the skies 
 Were loud with battle, and with victory! 
 
 O Thou!— fr(xn whom tiie rebel angels fled. 
 When thou didst rend thine everlasting veil, 
 And show thy countenance in wrath! O tboit? 
 Before whose brow, unclothed in light— put forth 
 In awful revelation~-they that stood 
 Erect in heaven— they that walked sublime, 
 E*en in thy presence. Lord!— And they that shone 
 Most glorious *mid the host of glorious ones;— 
 "ViTith Lucifer! The Morning 8tar!~.thc Terrible!— 
 The chief of old Immortals— with the si|^t 
 Were suddenly consumed! Almighty! Thou, 
 Whose face but shone upon the rebel host 
 Of warring constellations— and their crowns 
 Were quenched for ever! And the mightiest fell! 
 And lo! innumerable wings went up, 
 And gathered round about the Eternal's throne— 
 And all the solitudes of air were filled 
 With thunders and with voices! And the war 
 Fled from thy presence! And thy wrath was o'er. 
 And heaven again in peace! 
 
 O Thou, the stay 
 Of men and angels-~whose upltfted arm 
 
 
 # 
 
CONQUEST Of PERU. 
 
 «i9. 
 
 Reached from the midnight firmament, and wrapped 
 In cloudy, blue, tempestuous light, hath led 
 Thine armies through the wilderness!— whose throive 
 Of whirlwind and of thunder, through the day 
 Was visible in heaven! Jehovah! Thou! , 
 Captdn of amues! Chief of countless wars! 
 Who, through the march of centuries, hath led 
 Thy chosen ones to battle!— Thou, whose shield. 
 Of vaulted darkness, hath been interposed 
 Between iht blazing sun, and battling hosts. 
 When thy commissioned ones had done thy will— 
 Whose peaceful voice, along the troubled sky; 
 Hath re-established all the loosened hills- 
 Charmed the loud Ocean in his bed, and stayed 
 The sweeping tempest— turned the warrior back. 
 Recalled the chariot— reined the neighing steed«- 
 And conquering wheel— and blood-drenched ban- 
 
 ner— all! 
 ^While rj^ng in the war— 
 . \A.nd once, for slaughter, held the rolling sun 
 Immoveable in heaven-'tUl the work 
 Of awful retribution had been done. 
 
 f 
 O Thou, the God ot Battiks!— hear our prayer! 
 O bless our song! -fin mercy fill our soul 
 With visions of the war!— 0„ let the wind 
 Be full of distant trumpets— rising horns— 
 And sounding hoofs, advancing o'er the hills! 
 O, let us, o'er the battlements of heaven. 
 The cloudy Andes.--and the western Alps— . 
 7'he habitation of Ae Indian-God— 
 
 ■<*mmf^-'^ 
 
SM 
 
 CONQUEST OF PERU. 
 
 O, let ui see yomg trooping wamort ptua! 
 The souli of gRllant men thft died in war;— 
 Each, with hi« bow and quiver!-~each erect. 
 And firmly planted on his cloud! with ipear 
 Couched for the coining white man-o'er his brow 
 The vulture's plumage-or the ragged mane 
 Of some young lion, that on earth he tore— 
 Or-..arrow fixed-and bow-string fiercely drawn. 
 With eye immoveable—and burning dark 
 In deadlinessand hate— his shoulder bare, 
 And sinewy limb—his sandals freshly bound 
 With bleeding tendons, from the panther torn. 
 Whose spotted skin is floating heavily 
 Upon the wind— and dripping darkly yet! 
 Let every cloud that moves along the heaven 
 Bear tumult in its bosom!— when it stoops. 
 Or rests upon the mountain top— or sprei^s 
 Its angry wings aloft— or, opening wide- 
 Reveals the bursting Tempest on her throne, 
 . Amid her armoury of burnished shields— 
 And flaming spears— her lightnings all about 
 Shaking their fearful wings— her thunderbolts 
 Streaming with crimson flame— and armed shapesj 
 All harnessing their chariots and their steeds— 
 To the loud trumpeting of air— O let us see 
 Irmies with armies wrestling— banners spread! 
 The flaming cross to blazing suns opposed— 
 The warriors of the church in scarlet robes— 
 And glittering mail— and helmets studded o'er 
 With steel and gold— in war— with naked men! 
 Unarmed— defenceless— and oppressed with awe--^ 
 
 «<^;-'«. ■■,*»!r»*«*«,«9<f»«^/ 
 
CONQUEST or PBlir. 
 
 Ui 
 
 Children of Spain—with children of the Son? 
 Castilian warrior* trained in fielda of bloodff v « 
 Armed with thunder— lightning— and engaged 
 With suppUnnt red men — born aiwi nursed in peKe; 
 O let US hear the old Calitilian cry! 
 God! and St. Jago!— the tremendous cry, 
 That, like an earthquake, shook the hills of Spun, 
 And tumbled to the eai th the Moorish pride — 
 Darkened their crescent— rent the bloody veil 
 Oi" all their temples— scattered to the winds 
 Their streaming tropMes — ^their ? pieties— 
 Their palaces and thrones!- O let us hear 
 That war ciy peal ag^n! And let us hear 
 The red.man's thrilUng voice!— the Mexican! 
 And rin^ng battle axes- and the twang 
 Of brazen bows— and see the glittering flight 
 Of winged arrows flaming through the sky. 
 God of the Indian! Monarch of the skies! 
 O bear thy red right arm!— O bend thy bow. 
 Omnipotent! —and let thunders roll! 
 
 'O Thou— our Inspiration— Thou, O God! 
 To whom the Prophets and the crowned Kings— 
 The bards of many years! who caught from thee 
 Their blazing of the spirit— Thou, to whom 
 The Jewish monarchs, on their ivory thrones 
 Flaming with jewelry— have fallen down. 
 And rung their golden harps, age after age— 
 O Thou— to whom the gifted men of old. 
 That stood among the mysteries of heaven, 
 Head the thick stars —and listened to the wind, 
 
 . 1 
 
 -'-M.hiirM'iJMHI Ml' 
 
 ' #M i imH I i« a « ( i| ii ( IWi Kil l ' "* 
 
 fciwNiiSsf 
 
2Bi 
 
 (SONQUBST OPPBRU. 
 
 Interpreted the thunder— told the voice > 
 
 Of Ocean, tumbling in his caves— ezpfauned 
 
 The everlasting characters of flame, 
 
 That bum upon the firmament— and saw 
 
 The face of him that sitteth in the sun— 
 
 And read the writing there, that comes and goes, 
 
 Bevcaling to their eyes the fate of men— 
 
 Of monarchs and of empires— men, that stood 
 
 Amid the soliti-des of heaven-and earth— and heard 
 
 Prom the high mountain top, the silent night 
 
 Give out heruninteipreted decrees— 
 
 The vener ble men!— the old-and mighty! 
 
 Prophets! and Bards! and Kings! whose souls were 
 
 filled 
 With immortality, and visions— »till 
 ^heir hearts have ached with weary supplication— 
 *TiU all the future rushing o*er their strings!— 
 In tempest and in light!-h£th drowned their pnyers! 
 And left their mighty harps aU ringing loud 
 With prophecy and woe! 
 
 • - - - OThou! to whom 
 Innumerable suns— and moons— and worids, 
 The glorious elevations of the sky. 
 The choirs of cherubim and seraphim- 
 Immortal multitudes!— that worship round 
 Thine echoing throne!— upon their golden harjit. 
 And silver trumps— and organs of the air. 
 Pour everlasting melody!-0 Thou, to whom 
 All this hath been familiar from the hour. 
 When thou didst bow the heavcns-and, at the sound 
 
COll^UEST OF PERtr. 
 
 255 
 
 Of many thunders pealing thy decree. 
 Creation sprang to light— ^when time began— 
 And all the boundless sky was fuU of suns— ^ 
 
 Rolling in symphony-^and man was made- 
 Sublime and confident-— and woman, up 
 From the sunshine of the Eternal, rose 
 AH intellect and love!— And all the hills. 
 And all the vales were green— and all the trees in 
 flower. 
 
 O bless our trembling harp! 
 We ^g of hattle!— We have tuned our heart 
 In awe and veneration to the men 
 Of otherdays— thy youngest bom— to whom 
 This western world was an inheritance — 
 Who gazed on thee — ^their Father!— undisturbed— 
 Unshaken— unextinguished — in the light 
 Of mightiest revelation— Men— who saw. 
 The Everlasting— face to face — ^and hved. 
 
 The battle was not done. The sun had rolled 
 All day along the lines of death. AH day 
 The skies had thmdered to the sounding hiUs: 
 And all the live-long day the blood of men 
 Had flowed in sacrifice. The night had come— 
 A night tluit brought no safety and no rest— 
 Our god was angry—He went home in Wood- 
 In horrible effiilgence— 
 
 The moi-iing came- 
 ls?'^ 'STS.rtS. =1! Ji==* I1T^ri.=. *K:= ^^\~^.U~.Z'i^TZ.iT fc?ll=; 
 
 7T ^« «. vaT** iwa 
 
 i 
 
mv< 
 
 Ft i 
 
 Y 
 
 H% 
 
 C50NQUEBt OP PlERU. 
 
 In Mcrifiot and prayer. The weaiy night-* 
 The very heavent too~.had rolled away' 
 iiln earthquake and in thunder, not a 8pot--> 
 Within the empty, hollow firmament— 
 Not even a cloud— wai lefl— but all was black 
 With measureless infinity. We clung to earth«»> 
 To shrubs and rock8.~like men that stand 
 Upon a dizzy precipice—and blind 
 And giddy-KloMm— in terrible dismay^ 
 Thus were we clinging...all.~a multitude— 
 When, suddenly! the dreadful void above. 
 Was all illuminated!— downward rolled, 
 From its extremest elevation— with the sound 
 Of chariots descending— and the noise 
 Of volleying whirlwinds— white and shining clouds! 
 All luminous with glory— tumbling round- 
 In srdoky crimion--yeUowish light— and blue- 
 Eddying tumultuous!~then— evolving slow 
 All drenched in blood— and shaking out thick Ught- 
 In awful drapery— like a battle-sheet. 
 Spread like a curtain o*er the sky— they vent- 
 lifting and breaking in the wind— 
 
 And then away, away— 
 O'er the great water— from the land of souls— 
 A mighty bird went up, as if pursued- 
 Toiling and labouring o'er the solid sky«-r 
 Touching along the vault, as if she sought 
 Some outlet for escape! . , . . 
 
 
 And while we looked above— 
 The heavens all motionless— a brazen dome-* 
 
CONQUEST OP PERU. 
 
 255 
 
 pu(lden--«t once!-- we mw the distant hills 
 
 Bend with the weight of a descending God! 
 
 Convulsive — ^yieliting—heaving to and froi — # 
 
 And then we saw a forest of great trees 
 
 Uprooted from the earth<.>and stnpped. 
 
 And hurled aloft— in silence!— and we saw 
 
 A mighty river roiUng backward— white— ^ 
 
 And fiery— to its source— and not a sound 
 
 Of terror shook the m\- and not a cloud 
 
 Of thunder was abroad. But all was still and bright*- 
 
 And we— in horror— saw 
 The Invisible at work! 
 Then blew a trumpet! and our Inca came. 
 Amid the priesthood—with his hair unbound— 
 And naked feet— tad stood above the wave— 
 The consecrated wave— the holy lake— 
 Whose glossy — and mysterious surface shows- 
 Like a brigjht mirror— in the blessed sun— 
 The visions of the future. All were stiU— 
 And breathless in their awe— and all stood round— 
 Upon the rocky margin, and looked down 
 Away— below— upon the wlent wave— 
 
 'Twas motionless and dim— 
 And we grew dizzy with the sight— at last- 
 Faint shadows passed athwart it— then arose — 
 Vrom the extremest edge— with banners— smoke— 
 And arrowy lightning — ^rolling clouds — and fire— 
 A band of martial spirits —strangers— few, 
 In number — ^few— but terrible!— their step 
 Was slow—but strong— and like a band of brothers.. 
 P 
 
 # 
 
256 
 
 CONQUEST OP PERU. 
 
 They approached! Then--on the other side 
 There came a throng-a host -a multitude— 
 •Clad hi white robes- with feathers in their hair-. 
 And bow and quivers!- And we trembled, then- 
 We knew they were Peruvians!-.they went 
 With musick and with dance to meet their foe- 
 Sun of the skies! how breathlessly we stood! 
 We saw them join in batUe— and we peaied 
 Our own Peruvian cry to urge them on!— 
 Abeady were their arrows in the air- 
 Already had they touched!...and rang-for lo! 
 They bounded shivering from the strangers' hearts, 
 As they were indistructable! We groaned— 
 Together, all at once-Buc soon—again— 
 We numbered the increasing of the host 
 Ar-ayed in white.-and saw the ocean-band— 
 Almost enclosed-and then-alpft-we pealed 
 Another battle cry!— 
 
 Swift at the sound, we saw 
 The war revived!-but thea-oh, wonderful!- 
 We saw a creature-fashioned like a man— 
 His head on fire-the lightning in his hand- 
 Upon a glorious something-bound among 
 The snowy host— and then, as from the sky- 
 There rolled a sudden cloud-upon them all- 
 Streaming with fire!-the lake was covered o'er- 
 With eddying smoke-The wondrous vision fled- 
 And then-while we were growing breathless-there 
 In agony-to See the white smoke clear away— 
 We heard the roll of distant thunder-then- 
 We turned us to the ocean— to the hills— 
 
CONQUEST OF PERU. 
 
 257 
 
 But not a cloud was there— the blessed sky 
 Was all serene; and now the passing mist 
 Had left the bosom of the lake below— ' 
 
 O what a sight!— the snowy band was gone- 
 All gone!— and with the conquering step of pride- 
 That creature in the van!— the strangers went— 
 Their colours out— and all their warrior dress. 
 Gleaming discoloured fire-— they passed away— 
 We saw it— we!— they passed away— away! 
 O'er the black water— to the very side, 
 That leads to Peru— and her palaces — 
 Herlncas!— andthe Temple of the Sun!— 
 
 And then— O then, our own great God appeared! 
 And, at the glorious sight, the priesthood blew 
 Ten thousand silver trumpets— and we fell 
 Upon our faces to the earth— and worshipped. 
 
 He came!— in triumph came! 
 A host of flaming billows from the sea. 
 Rose up and shook their helmets in his beam: 
 Then rolling up he went- -and far and near. 
 In oily gold and green— and trembUng fire, 
 WaVy and rich— and streaming o'er with white , 
 And glittering foam — and sunshine— red — 
 And changeable with gloss— the silky Ocean heaved! 
 
 O! 'twas a glorious sight!— the heavens on fire^ 
 The sky one rainbow— and the lovely wave 
 Reflecting all its hues, in softened light~» 
 
 
258 
 
 CONQUEST OF PERU. 
 
 Old Ocean dancing in the trtmbled gold— 
 And up thefinnament of kindling blue 
 •^The roUing Sun ascending like a god:— 
 Then came tlie wonderl—o'er the lighted sky 
 Mysterious musick went~^nd on the top 
 Of our chief temple, something seemed to move--. 
 And a quick glimmering was all around it^ . 
 As if ten thousand steely blades, andspean 
 Were brandished— shaken in a midnight beam. 
 Or flourished o'er the wave! 
 
 Again the thunder pealed! 
 17p, like a creature newly strung with life. 
 Oat Inca sprang from earth. The wonder came! 
 Away upon the dim horizon— where the air 
 Shone with a faint efrulgence~.where the blue 
 Was purest, brightest— there appeared— O God! 
 The Spirit of the Ocean!— all his wings were out! 
 His long bright hair streamed Uiick upon the wind! 
 In thunder he arose! Clouds burnt around him^ 
 And o'er the ware, and through the rolling smoke. 
 Bushing in light, he came!— and as we fled, 
 Thundered again through all our echoing hills! 
 
 par 
 
 titli 
 
 tra« 
 
 pre 
 
 tha 
 
 int 
 
 aut 
 
 tha 
 
 fail 
 
 as 
 
 th) 
 
 mi 
 
 a 
 
 th 
 
 ca 
 
 lit , 
 
jve— 
 
 Jlte! 
 
 e 
 
 od! 
 ! out,! 
 wind! 
 
 moke. 
 
 to THE REMEM. 
 
 Of the fonowing Poems the reader is «lready pre- 
 pared to form an opinion. If he duHke^ them, I am en- 
 titled to his gratitude-for in cuUing over a volume of 
 trash, with a view of fulfilling my engagement, ui the 
 preface, Ifound so little tolerable~^r rather endurable, 
 that I have selected not one-fifth part of what I at first 
 intended pubUshing. If tlus is not a fair excuse, the 
 author does not know what b. He believes, however, 
 that it win be a most acceptable one, for his breach of 
 faith-~and if any of his readers are sliU «?o unreasonable 
 as to complain because they are disappointed, rather 
 than wearied-he has thiB-a«d his last plea to offer-it 
 must be effectual. The foWowing pieces are the bete of 
 a whole volume...they may judge for themselves what 
 the rest must have been-and be thankful for their es. 
 cape. 
 
 
 pe 
 
 mmm 
 
 ■immS^ 
 
1?EU1\\^8 YK1T0II\. 
 
 COLUMBIA appear! To thy mountains ascend, 
 
 And pour U.y bold hymn to the winds and the wobds, 
 Columbia appear!-0'er thy tempebt-harp bend, 
 And far, to the nations, its trumpet-song send: 
 
 Let thy cliff echoes wake, with their sun-nourished 
 \ broods. 
 
 And chant to the desert, the skies, and tlie floods; 
 And bid thlem remember 
 The tenth of September, 
 When our eagle came down from her home in the sky. 
 And the souls of our ancients were marshaUed on high! 
 
 Columbia appear!-let thy warriors behold, 
 
 Their flag-like a firmament bend o'er thy head— 
 The wide-rainbow.flag~with its btar-clustered ♦Sid' 
 Let the knell of dark Battle, beneath it, be tolled; 
 While the anthem of peace shaU be pealed for the 
 dead. 
 
 And the rude waters he<>vr., on whose bosom they 
 bled: ' 
 
 O they will remember 
 
 The tenth of September, 
 When their souls were let loose in a tempest of flame. 
 And wide Erie shook at the trumpet of Fame! 
 
 • 
 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 261 
 
 o6ds, 
 
 ished 
 
 s; 
 
 sky. 
 
 the 
 hey 
 
 Columbia appear!— Let thy cloud-minstrels wake, 
 
 As they march on tlie storm— all the grandeur of song, 
 'Till the far mountains nod, and the motionless lake 
 Shall be mantled in froth— and its monarch shall quako 
 On his green, oozy throne, u their lumping comes 
 
 strong, 
 With the chime of the winds that are bursting along; 
 For he will remember 
 The tenth of September, 
 Wlien he saw his dcminions all covered with foam; 
 And heard the loud war in his echoless home. 
 
 Columbia appeai*!— Be thine olive ^splayed! 
 
 O cheer, with thy smile, all the land and the tide! 
 Be the anthem we hear, not the song tliat was made, 
 'When the victims of slaughter stood forth, all arrayed 
 In blood*dripping g^arments—and shouted — and died: 
 But, let us remember 
 The tentli of September, 
 When the dark waves of Erie were brightened to day; 
 And the flames of the battle were quenched in their 
 spray. 
 
 
 roe. 
 
 PS 
 
 :.'M 
 
 '■ v. •» 
 
 MMW 
 
 mm. 
 
 mm 
 
262 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 fSung at the late ordination of Mr. Pierpom 
 in P'»»f>«,*J 
 
 O, THOU— the Everlasting!— Thou. 
 
 The only God!--- Jehovah! — we, 
 With all thy throned archangels, bow 
 
 In hymning and in prayer to thee! 
 
 't- 
 
 • I can offer no other apology for having ventured 
 upon this species of composition— than the true one- 
 It is this— indignation at the miserable, trashy— not to 
 say blasphemous, versifications of scripture abroad, pur- 
 porting to be Sacred Songs— and Diviwk Htmss— alike 
 destitute of magnificence' and sublimity -of the royal 
 magnificence of Solomon- and the great simplicity of 
 Isaiah- having nothing of the monarch, less of the pro- 
 phet- and still less of the bard to recommend them, in 
 their English dress. 
 
 Tlie attempt was a bold one- and I feel that I have 
 
 failed— for I am not satvtfied with what I have done: 
 
 yet as I could not— if I woidd—produce any thing -worae 
 than I have seen, and as • mght produce something bet- 
 ter, I have made the attempt. May it lead others— 
 with a better knack at versifying— to a proper venera- 
 tion for the noble simplicity— and richness— the un- 
 adulterated and vast sublimity of scripture. 
 
s. 
 
 MrSCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 263 
 
 V. Pierponi 
 
 w 
 
 ving ventured 
 the true one 
 trashy— not to 
 e abroad, pur- 
 HTMKg— alike 
 -of the royal 
 : simplicity of 
 ss of the pro- 
 nend them, in 
 
 z\ that I have 
 have done: — 
 ly thing viorae 
 •mething bet- 
 ead others— 
 •oper venera- 
 ess— the un- 
 
 Around thy cloud-encompassed throne^ 
 Where unseen harps for ever rinj^; 
 
 Where, everlasting trumps are blo\^n; 
 And Kings — and Bards— and Prophets sing- 
 
 We kneel— O, God! — with them that were 
 Thy chosen ones on earth: — we bow, 
 
 With crowned multitudes, in prayer. 
 And ask th blessing— Fatlier, now. 
 
 On this, thy flock, assembled here, 
 And him tuut thou hast called to thee, 
 
 Commissioned, Father!- to appear, 
 In thy cunsunting ministry: 
 
 0, Thou! —to whom thy people came. 
 In ancient time — withsongs and prayerd: 
 
 Whose servant saw thee, wrapped in flame— 
 be our God, as thou art theirs! 
 
 TO 
 
 
 ■'TIS tni«— I have not known thee long; 
 
 Yet I have wo' hipped— blamed— and loved thee; 
 
 For thou*rt so 11 j a thing of song, 
 
 Tho*^^ I have dreamt of— ardent— young — 
 
 Cfiujjiging with every thing that moved thee: 
 P4 ' 
 
t64 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 ! WiM 
 
 Thit I have dwelt upon thine eye, 
 So happy--clear~-aiul mild- and blue, 
 
 'Till I have leen the luvelieit sky! 
 
 Come down in a diitolving dye, 
 And drop with heaven— and light— and dew? 
 
 At night I've prayed 'till I have wept, 
 
 To think what sorrows might beset thee; 
 While visions to my bosom crept, 
 'Till I ibrgot to breathe— and slept— 
 
 But— even in sle^ip— could not forget thee: 
 Again would come thy soft blue eye, 
 
 Melting again in ligl\t and love; 
 Again thy lip would change its dye. 
 My soul would leave my lip—and T> 
 
 Would wander in my dreams abovet 
 Then heart— to heart— I'd meet thee, where, 
 
 A pure, transparent heaven was swelling»- 
 ' I'd feel the floating of thy hair 
 Upon my breast— and kneel in prayer 
 
 With thee— with thee!— in thy blue dwelling. 
 
 But then — oh! we should never wake. 
 When dreams like these sing to our heart— 
 
 Nor ever, by one murmur, break 
 
 The charm that binds tlieir wing— they take 
 Such long— long farewells v^hen they part; 
 
 Briglit one, adieu!— no hour is near. 
 When I may pour my thought* to thce-^ 
 
 mmim 
 
MlBCluLLAK£0t8 PIECES. 
 
 m 
 
 ThouMt be my soul enchantment dew, 
 Yet will thou never know it hero— 
 But iomc t'rciih day -wmc iummeryear, 
 In yon blue heaven, we'll both appear— 
 Just like my dream»-~aa pure-- as free. 
 
 The following Unci were haitUy—yery haatily written, 
 on seeing the celebrated Mr. Wood touch offa 
 likeneiS"'a« usual— in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 To ttie 6en\Ti8 of Tainting. 
 
 YOUNG wanton of our sunniest dreaming! 
 
 ^ Dear child of heaven! 
 With lighted eye— and loose^hair streuning, 
 Like meteors o'er the brow of even! 
 Who comest— strangely fair, 
 And sittest on the air, 
 With pencil dripping light!— and eye 
 Intent on nature's imagery, 
 To catch her fleetest, loveUest beaming. 
 
 stay thy fairy mimickry— 
 
 Suspend thy Ufe-enkindling power- 
 One moment—wanton!— while • try 
 To show thee to the world, as I 
 Have seen thee in my lonely hour: 
 
 ;? 
 
 t. JV^.4|» *f^ ■*•-' 
 
 'A, ,r)lt ' 
 
 I 
 
 n\0fm'^ 
 
 ■I" »— « 
 
 ■ » i ln ■ — W— *"■>" 
 
 •*)t' 
 
 «# 
 
266 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES: 
 
 O, grant my prayer! 
 Withhold thy hand awhile— 
 Thy wondrous hand—and smile- 
 Bind up thy streaming hair. 
 That I may catch thee, chUd of heaven! 
 And show tliee— as to me thou*rt given. 
 See ye— 'tis there!— how blithsomely it goes— 
 With every feather trembDng -round it fiowi, 
 An air-spun mantle, poloured with the rose. 
 
 That if the genius!— see! 
 How gloriously, wild and free- 
 All light, and fire, and energy! 
 How carelessly he treads the air. 
 Collecting hues and sun-beams there- 
 And flashing— sprinkling— all about— 
 The canvass that's before \-im— 
 
 Ten thousand tints of -nameless hue 
 
 Of mingling sunshine— tender blue— 
 The gushing of the happy heart. 
 The lustre of the kindling eye- 
 When lifted to the evening sky — 
 Now pausing— dwelling-touching out 
 The secret meaning of each part— . 
 The faint and tearful tenderness — 
 The thought that nothing can express— 
 O, who would not adore him! 
 
 'Tis done— the mingling tints g^w warm- 
 Within the wash appears a form, ' 
 Peering like Iris thro* the storm;-.. 
 
 •«• 
 
 uJ 
 
 ?r¥ 
 
 'T' 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 
 
 ♦ * 
 
 m 
 
 The lightning— that he caught but now 
 From yonder clnud— beneath a brow, 
 Of loveliness and roguery. 
 Is flashing fast and wickedly. 
 You've «*8een it!"— hey?— you ''know that face?"- 
 «*The young coquette!'*— -all light and grace: 
 »Tis she indeed— and now, the tint 
 That on his fire-tipped pencil dwelt— 
 A rose-bud's heart that seemed to melt- 
 Is changed into a lip— and now the dew, 
 That he just pilfered from a flower- 
 Yet freshly weeping from a shower. 
 Is sprinkled o'er its pulpy red— 
 And now - . - - - 
 
 My conscience! what a chase I'm led 
 This painting-HSure— the devil's in't. 
 
 I'-'VE loved (o hear the waf-horn*s cry, - 
 
 And panted at the drum's deep roll; 
 And held my breath, when— flaming Wgh- 
 I've seen our starry banners fly. 
 As challenging the haughty sky. 
 They stirred tlie battle in my soul: 
 For I was so adventurous then, 
 J burnt to be the slave — of men. 
 
26S 
 
 - MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 
 
 ^Pl 
 
 rve looked upon the jnoming* light, 
 
 Flushing ita standard far and freci 
 And seen it stn'ggle with the night, 
 And loved it, for it told of fight; 
 And every flash that triumph'd bnght, 
 Seemed glance of glorious liberty! 
 For I was fanciful and wild, 
 * As youthful Freedom's freest child. 
 
 I've sailed upon the dark-blue deep: 
 
 IVe shouted to the eaglet soaring* 
 And hung me from a rocking steep, 
 When all but spirits were asleep; 
 And oh, my very soul would leap! 
 To hear its gallant waters roaringj 
 For every sound that told of life, 
 Tome, was but the voice of strife. 
 
 But, I ain strangely altered now— 
 
 I love no more the bugle's voice<— 
 The rushing wave — the plunging prow- 
 The aiountMn's tempest-clouded brow— 
 The daring-~the exulting flow 
 
 Of all that made me once rejoice.- 
 I've learnt to talk of tears—and sighs— 
 And locks of gold—and dying eyes! 
 
 M 
 
 ?5S^^ 
 
MlSCELLANEOyS PIECES. 
 
 2^ 
 
 HARK', 'tit the harp's wild minstrel tone, 
 Couvulftive-qmvering-strange and lone; 
 Mow bunting on the ear-now gone— 
 
 Sim piping 'mid the breeze, as tho' it told 
 That «nne bright spirit had to heaven flown, 
 And angel-trumpets had its welcome blownl 
 
 And now, so full of porop-so decp-»o bold. 
 So «trong-8o steady were its numbers roU d. 
 As if Prediction smote its trembUng chords. 
 And with the weight of prophecy oppressed them; 
 Then «nch rich tones concealed her fearful words, 
 As if dear Pity had herself expressed them: 
 So indistinct these murmurs were. 
 They seemed, sometimes, still less than air; 
 Sometimes-as if the shrinking strings 
 Were swept by Phrensy's burning winga- 
 Now with an unknown spirit speaking, 
 Now ringing fierce and sharp! now low, 
 Witii startling nearness, pealing now, 
 Now-^stant-faint-^and ^ad-and sW- 
 Like Feeling's murmurs, when her heart is breaking: 
 Or sounds we dream of. when our souls are waking. 
 Now hkft the flute, whose trancing note. 
 In visions, o'er our memories float. 
 As aU along the trembling air 
 It seems to send its spirit there; 
 Andnow-the pipe's deep, drowsy, breath, 
 Complaming Uke the march of death- 
 
 s 
 
 ■* 
 
 • ~. j*.» a**- 
 
 1 
 
270 
 
 »•#?* 
 
 '■ '( 
 
 i1 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PIECES- 
 
 And now, the fiery hautboy's cry, 
 Kclmng along tl^e dear blue sky! 
 And now-a lightly shouting strain. 
 As if, across the slumbering main, 
 Grekn Emi5's lUHns-a shadowy train- 
 Were turting all theii- harps again: 
 And now-the ar-Jent-quivering lyre 
 Plashing and chiming higheiwhigi,er». 
 And now the sea-nymph's winding shell, 
 Stealing like sighs through ocean cell- 
 Prom where the minstrel mermaids dweU: 
 Now a sdvery sob, as of elf-babe straying- 
 Now distant, yet clear, hke fairy-steed ne'ighing, 
 * When ,t springs on the air with a spirited «hnke 
 And ,s answered again from the hare-bell and brake: 
 And bnght little warriors jump up._ all awake! 
 When the cry of their bugles are heard for the strife 
 And ,t gallops abroad fuU of laughter and life ' 
 
 Whenadiamond.edgedscymetarswingsfrom'each«ide. 
 And their streamers singclearly and sharp as they ride 
 When Echo leans forward and mimicks the sound 
 And Melody leaps to their helmet's fine ringing- 
 And the minstrels of fairy.land, prancing around 
 On cymbai.hoofedchargers-.are shouting and fnging, 
 
 An4thesweet,bustlingsoundsareaUdancingandligh 
 As If spirits of harmony mingledin fight 
 
 And clank'd their tonM armour, and pou^d their sweet 
 
 breath, 
 In a struggle for Melody's wind-woven wreath. 
 
 wt»ii WMirtM rti iiii HI ^ nil*' I Wi|||iji<ilii 1 1 '■.Ju. 
 
MJlR»iT»d» 
 
 II, 
 
 S» 
 te, 
 
 brake; 
 j 
 
 5 strife, 
 
 ach side, 
 ^py ride; 
 iind, 
 
 r; 
 
 id, 
 
 inging-, ^ 
 nd light, 
 
 r sweet 
 
 The following errors occur in a few copies only; 
 most of them having betn discovered before the forai 
 was entirely worked oft". 
 
 In the Dedication, for yoiir's read yonrn; page 7, line 
 9, for ita read their; line 12, for it read they,- page 17, 
 for "we have worn Uie ofriniona of her criticism on all 
 subjects," read "we have worn the opinions of Rome— 
 her criticism on all subjects;" page 38, line 25, for it 
 read tkem; p-'ge 45, for "they pass like thoughts o'er a 
 clear bhie «%,*' read "they pass like thoughts o'er a 
 clear-blue eye;" pa^ 56, line 3, for glkiered read glitter- 
 intf: line 20, for filicitous, read felicitous:- page 82 — 
 the reader will understand by these words " Tuk timb 
 BMP^OTKn IS TiiREK DATs" — ' t the time of the/r»« carim 
 to, as it wotild seem from the position of the words— but 
 the time of tlie whole poem; page 98, line 6, for qvita 
 read ti«««; page 110, line 11, substitute a comma for 
 the sendcolon, at the end of the line— the sens'- (if there 
 be any,) is materially affected by the present reading: 
 page 116, line 27, substitute 9. period for a comma,- page 
 IS*, Une 8, for give vcad sfiy en,- page 235, Unej26, for 
 ■ivei'e read we're,- page 236, line 9, for angeVa -winga read 
 angd--wings,' this important alteration is made that the 
 Une may be decently musical. 
 
 The reader is desired to spell watriowr, terro7ir, and 
 such words with an n, throughout the whole book. I 
 am not particularly partial to Dr. Johnson, but I have 
 sufficient respect to the best standard in our langi.age, 
 to folh)w it, even in trifles— and I did follow it, but tlie 
 hnftrovementa of the printer have rendered this note ne- 
 cessary. 
 
 And, finally, the reader will oe good enough to add 
 the following note to page 56, referring to it from the 
 word poetm the f'c luso. It was omitted in an unac- 
 countable raanno. #* 
 
( 272 ) 
 
 1 i 
 
 JVo^c— -Or rather, that criticism w&s poetry: for I 
 have some reason to beUeve — and have said so from the 
 first, tho' aaauftd to the contrary, from what 1 regarded 
 s^s the best authority—that both of these criticisms were 
 from the same pen! If I am right— I have only to say that 
 my judgment is founded on the composition— not on 
 the authors. It is very possible for a random criticism to 
 hit juc^ciorisly sometimes— and to appear, when it does, 
 as the con&equence of good taste and correct feeling 
 —perhaps too, of even a poetical im^nation. If I am 
 right— and I b«lieve I am, I can only wonder that a tole- 
 rable genius may be so miserably eclipsed— a tolerable 
 taste, tur^«<^ so cruelly awry; and then offer one word of 
 advice to t u author:— it is this— if you are praised for a 
 good thing, don't repeat it: the prettiest thoughts are 
 apt to become mighty silly in the second edition>-parti- 
 cu'arlyi when the autk or has time enough to be original 
 —and too Uttle quickalver in his composition to be be- 
 lie^.. I when he says that, in the hurry of his feeling, he 
 stole from him. Jf. Besides, and you would do well to 
 remember it—a very just and very pretty remark made 
 on one subject, mav become very stupid, pert and ridi- 
 culous, when applied to another. So, be careful!— and 
 if you should chance to be praised again for saying a 
 fairai't thing— take care not to repeat it in the same com' 
 pnny, at least, Hill yo\i are very sure At will apply. 
 
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