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A V^*kr *V (ipuffn'a InibfraitQ Ultbrarg KINGSTON, ONTARIO iCtbrarg KINGSTON, ONTARIO ^ mi^ H THE OODLAND WARBLER; A VOLUME OP ENGLISH AND SCr)TTISH POEMS AND SONGS, Bv mm lEABMONI' SPEMN. -•^-^^ ^V^-v_^-v,, 1 am nSe ])oet in a sense, But just a rhymer like by chance, An hae to learning nae pretence, — Yet Avhat the matter , When e'er the muse does on me glance, I jingle at her. BUBIfS. PIUNTBD By J. C. BBCKBT, 38 OKBAT ST. JAMBS STRBBT. 1857. L P V '^?4?7 r^fS V' ■/ V ened pu attempt, and deft thus inci trading i hope of I ray mine able rec( the soiic play of I the first I Author. J do n( common Parnassu of nature pression sirnilarilj plagiarisr In com the mi no Transcrip r- PREFACE. ly :.«ubmitting this little volume to the perusal of an enlight- ened public, the Author feels a diffidence in hazarding the attempt, arising from a consciousness oi its meagre fancies, and defects in uniformity of sentiment and expression, and thus incur upon himself the charge of presumption for in- truding upon the world ; but F do not publish it with the hope of fame,— such a hope would be presumption ; nor is my mind Haltered by any sanguine expectation of its favor- able reception. I confess that it is more in compliance with the solicitations of a few favored friends, than from anydis- [)lay of genius or high opinion of its merits, that I now for the first time venture before Uio public under the title of an Author. I do not presume to assert that 1 have wandered from the common path of genius to the more exalted regions of Parnassus, or gathered undiscovered laurels from the fields of nature ; yei, if in them a similarity of sentiment or ex- pression with other writers exist, it must have arisen from a similarity of feeling rather than from any attempts of plagiarism, or the labors of a servile imitation. I In compliance with the wishes of a few friends, several ol' the minor pieces have been inserted in the «' Montreal Transcript » during the past year, ft is since then that I "N 96849 IV. .iave enlertained ihe idea of publishing this ooHeclion of my " Forest Rhymes," and mustered up sufficient fortitude to meet the public, and await the consequence. Many of the minor pieces were written several years ago, and at different periods, and appear in their original garbs, with the exception of a few amendments, while copying them for the press. They, and many others now lost through negligence, or committed to the flames, were written merely to give ex- pression to a restless fancy, or divert the mind in the sober moments of youth amid I he toils and sorrows of a Forest Life. The loss of an earthly parent in my younger year's blighted all my anticipated prospects of receiving a liberal education and advancement in society, and left me to struggle against the hapless vicissitudes of fortune, and de- barred me from mingling with the noisy world, or wandering beyond the leafy limits of the horizon that bounded the Forest Landscape. In the winter ol 1852, that sad calamity befel me, (de- scribed in the Poem, entitled The Author's Misfortune), ^nd disabled me from following my former occupation, and no enfeebled my constitution, that health and hilarity have never been restored. . Thus have I lived and sung in the dreamy silence of soli- tude for years, and whispered to the listless winds the feel- St. .h V. lion of my mitude lo years ago, iial garby, » copying igence, or > give ex- llie sober ■ a Forest ger yeai's 5 a liberal ifl me lo 3, and de- .vanderiiig unded ihe 1 me, (de- lune ) , ^nd on, and ho iritv have iiigsofa melancholy spirit, that hai Keld sweet fellovvrship with the Muse,— Gentle Goddess of Nature !-~Bright Angel of my Soul and cherlsher of my Hope.s ! She it was who first touched the silent chords of congenial sympathy, and inspired them to breathe the feelings of my heart. She ii was who enlightened the hovering shadows of my soul, and raised it from the depths of despondency, when the cold, unfeeling heart of the world breathed sullenly upon me, and wafted me at intervals through the flowery regions of an earthly Elysium, and taught me to sing of Nature's beauties ' and of Nature's God. Should this, the elder ofispring ol my rura. genius, meet with the approbation of its readers, 1 may ai some future period present them with something of a more jjovel and interesting nature ; — When study, like a minci-'a implement, Hiis dupr down deeper for the richer oro. To my Patrons, and the Public in general who have sub- scribed, I return my most heart-felt acknowledgments with a heart fondly beating lo please, and which shall ever beat in remembrance of the kindness they have at this time con- ferred upon THE AUTHOR. ice of soli- s the feel- Si. .h'an Chrysostome, English Rive,, C. E., July 2.^nd, 1857. f ON Or As To •■ i\ ■ TIIK WOODLAND WARBLER. POEMS. ()N THE DEATH Q^ THE AUTHOR>S FATHER. The S'li"??''"'' ""'• ^i«««g«i3h''(l birth, ' 1 ho marble Stat , no,- mo letter';l stcne Make men ilh.gtrior. ■ when thev le.ve the earth • For wh "h' Z''"'^' "''' ^^"'••ous-.leeds a one ' For which heaven rear, her mouuments of 'worth Alas ! and js my parent friend i.o more '^ And has his spirit left its mortal clay > Or IS It but a dream that's hov'ring o'er This lonely hour of dim, departing day ? When all seem hush'd in nature's soft repose, And oalmly sleeps the fragrant .breath of heaven As If he earth had ceased to (e.l its woes And all the sweets of peaceful bliss were given. Alas ! he's gone,-a sudden change indeed, And these sweet scenes can lend me no relief- Have I no friends to sympathize i„ need, ' Or breathe to them iv.y unexpected grief? A mother's trembling voice implores me now lo be her earthly hope an<] future stay, To soothe her woes and cool her fever'd brow And gently wipe the Miing tears away ' THE WOODLAND WARBLER. All, all within these dim and dreary walls, Seem wrapt in gloom as if my loss they felt, The old floor murmurs as my foot-step falls, Like muffled sounds from some sepulchral vault. Here stands his vacant seat, — a dismal void. And here's tlie " big ha' bible," dim with age, His fav'rite book, with which he oft employ'd His mind, to muse upon its sacred page. No more shall he reprove my sinful heart, Nor nurture it with tender care and love, ' Nor warn ine of the world's deluding art, And prompt my soul to brighter worlds above. No more I'll feel when sickness dims mine eye His gently pressing hand upon my brow, Nor greet his soothing tones of sympathy Which seem to breathe in silent whispers now. I fancy still I hear his lips in prayer Breathing the accents ol his fervent heart, Imploring God for his protective care, And every needful blessing to imparl. Mcthinks I see in yonder starry dome His spirit hov'ring on the wings of light, \!< if he gazed upon my joyless home. And watch'd my steps along this " vale of night." If 'tib religion that secures the spirit Immortal life in bliss beyond the tomb, That high and hoiy sphere he dot!i inherit. Where death and sorrow never shed their gloom ; THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Nor can the oold, green turf forever hide His virtues,— heaven has register'd each one • His detds were noble j— thus he lived and died,' A man of virtue, and a friend of man. 9 REFLECTIONS ON MY SCHOOL-FMYS. Ye dreams of my bcyhood how much I regret you Uiuaded your memory dwells in my breast, ' Tho sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you Yoxxv pleasures may still be in fancy posgest BVRON. The scenes of my school-days appear The brightest that mem'ry can give ; Tho' chang'd in my nature by years, Unchang'd in remembrance they live ; Tho' fancy may visit those scenes, I know that my wishes are vain To feel what my bosom has felt, And be but a school-boy again ; Yet, still will f cherisu in thought, Those visions my fancies reveal, As I by their precepts was taught To know that the bosom can feel ; I loved,~but I loved not in vain My Mary was faultless and fair, Our joys, and our sorrows, and pain, We felt as if each had a share, 10 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. How irksome was time and my task, When Mary was absent a day, But sweetly the moments flew past, When she was in sdhool or at play ; When her delicate hand was in mine, How gently her fingers I prest, 1 felt the blood warming my veins. And something astir in my breast. For her I have gather'd the flowers, The best that the forest supplied, And cherish'd our hope-prom is'd hours With that which the present denied ; When homeward returning from school, While others diverted with play, WeVe rambled unheeded before. Or loiter'd behind on the way. No longer I join in the throng, Nor mingle my voice in the fray, Nor aid in the chorus of song That echoed around in the play ; E'en should I return to such scenes. My bliss would be wholly denied, For all my companions are gone, And changed are my feelings beside HYMN. Oh ! Thou who rul'st with all control The boundless fields of space. To thee I humbly lift my soul, To seek redeeming grace. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. How oft have I transgress'd thy laws, And nature's paths prefer'd, Nor strove to check the sinful cause, When conscience' voice was heard. How fain to shun thy sacred truths Upon thy hallow'd day,— To meet with other foolish youths. And seek delight in play. Or, from the gospel-truths of hope,. Within thy temple dome. To give my wand'ring feelings scope, Or wish I'd been at home. But do thou. Lord, my prayer hear. My many sins forgive ; Renew my heart, make me sincere, And teach me how to live. O come to me ! the Saviour cries, Thy sins shall be forgiven, And thou shalt see with clearer eyes, The glorious truths of heaven. 11 ON SEEING A SPARK FLY FROM THE FIRE. Alas ! thou little brilliant gem, ' . How beautiful wert thbu : ' Soon hast thou span'd thy meteor-course, ^ And Where's thy glory now. ,.J.-. 12 THE WOODLANii WAllBLER. Thou wert too bright to linger here,- Too free to be confined ; Thy vanish'd light has left a black And beamless speck behind. Ah ! human life, thy end is dark, Tho' bright thou mayest appear That vilal spark, this lifele.^s speck^ Are but thine emblems here. ON SPRING. I feel a soul-reviving power, A charm of love and mirth ; I see new beauties rising from The desert-fields of earth.. I see the trees with smiling buds, I hear the warblers sing ; I see the herbs, and infant flowers, From nature's bosom spring. What can this be that cheers ray soul, With charms so fair and sweet ? There seem a joy, a hope, a smife. In every face I meet. Can it be earth's primeval form ? Or fancy's favor'd dream ? Hark !— nature speaks in mingled tones,- It is the vernal scene. Yes, spring has come, 1 hear the hum Of insects on the wing ; Rejoicing earth proclaims the birth Of this, — a new-born Sprins. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. 13 TO A YOUNG LADY ON THE DEATH OP HER BROTHER. In vain physicians strive to save Tbimsolveg or patients from the grf,vc • In vam we court the doctor's art ' ' To ward off death's unerring dsrt- For as death came by Adam's fall,' So death must be the lot of all." Allow these simple strains of mine, Which sympathize with grief, To mingle with those tones of thine That seek a heart's relief. t No more thou'lt see thy brother's form, That cheer'd a sister's heart ; No more ihou'lt hear his genial tone, Unfailing love impart. His image oft will haunt thy mind, Like some departed bliss, For which in vain you seek to find In mSb a world as this. A parent's wish, a sister's love, Combined with human skill, Can not recall him from above, His vacant place to fill. But may the mem'ry of his love Stili soothe thy sobbing heart. Until your souls unite aboye. And never more to d^yk 14 THE WOODLAND WARBLi&R. Then weep no more, since all your hopes Assure his bliss above ; Thy tears are but the mortal drbps Of thine immortal love. Why should we grieve if death displays The love that God has given, To call the soul that's fit to praise His hallow'd name in heaven. , For God has nobler gifts above Than he bestows on earth, Where spirits bask in beams of love Of an eternal birth. No mortal \ongue can e'er express, Nor time can ne'er destroy. The glorious scenes of paradise, And soul-transporting joy. Then wipe those tears which dim thine eyes, And cool thy fever'd brow ; Thy loss is his eternal prize — He dwells in glory now. And if thy life like his be spent, Death shall thy sorrows end ; Thy spirit then shall mount on high To meet thine absent friend. THE WOODLANB WARBLER. 15 ON THE SNOW-SHOWER. How gently the snow-flakes descend to the ground Like a thousand white butterflies dancing around • Or that angels were gath'ring the incense of flowers, And scat'ring their bloom on this world of ours. They drop like the manna-shower failing from heaven, And teach us the lesson all nature has given,— That God rules creation with wisdom unknown, And sends us those blessings we claim as our own. As the year circles 'round on its axis of earth, His wisdom. His glory and power issue forth ; In the depths of the seen and the unseen He dwells. Nor IS he seen less in the snov/.flake that falls. From His all-seeing eye flash the lightnings of heaven, And his voice thunders forth from the blast as 'tis driven - His smiles are the beams that transccndently shine, ' Enhght' ling the halls of his wisdom divine. Thus nature is proof of His infinite skill, As the laws of His power coincide with His will • And the hand that made all made the undying soul. And His breath is the life that exists in the whole. How gently the snow-flowers are falling to earth As pure as the soul at its primeval birth ; ' But purity dwells not on earth without stain, And like man they dissolve to the dust soon again. 13 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. ON THE DAITH OF AN AULD TOPER If death was nothing, and nought after death ; If when men died they ceased to be, Retui-ning to the barren womb of nothing, — Tlicn might the drunkard Reel over his full bowl ; and when 'tis drained, Fill up another to the brim, and laugh At the poor bug-bear, death. Blaik. Ye Bacchus sons, whan ye forgather In drouth '6 clubs, to drink thegither, Mourn for yer hapless friend an' brither, An' cantie cronie. Sin' daith has nick'd the life-spun tether, D' drunken Johnnie. Some three-score nicks upo' his horn Could tell the year that he was born, His hatched phiz auld age had worn An' furrow'd brow, Time's harvest heuk had barely shorn riis wither'd brow. Faith man he'd monie a hearty yokin, Wi' ither cantie cronies smokin, Owre whisky stills and stowps,- to sloken Thair drouthie stamachs, An' de'il-like rantin, singin, jokin, Owre cheese an' bannocks. Weel creesh'd wi' auld Scotch yill an' toddie, He'd strut like some wee doc or bodie, An' ser' as weel as onie howdie In countra places, THE WOODLAND V/ARBLER. Syne doose them aff wi' swats an* cyowdie, To sujt thair cases. He'd screed you aff a thousand sketches 'Bout heather ghaists an' moorland bitches, Black girnin hags, an' heighland witches, Seen i' the gloamin, On broom sticks riden, or in ditches Cursin an' foamin. His lengthen'd speeches oil'd wi' grammar On ethics, politics an' glammor. Wad gar a sainted preacher stammer, In kirk or college, An' quell a nation's noisy olaraor, Wi' reason'(i knowledge. His rantin, rhyming gab is closed ; Nae mair his deecjs will be exposed ; His rotten lung were heart'ly dosed Wi' daith's dumb jallop. That sent him whaur he's now reposed, In bickering gallop. His brither worms will be mistaken, That for a hogoo lang were craiken, For faith thae'll fin' but little bacon Upo' his carcase ; A nobler feast thae wad been makin, Were he a marquis. t Sae mourn in weeds yer mould'ring mammoc, Each mason free, an' wood mechanic ; 17 M 18 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. He ne'er will chowe anUber bannock O' hame-spun breid, For now he roosls in daith's dark hammock, Araang the deid. A fearfu' liavoc daith has made 'Mang Adam's sons o' ilka grade, Sin' first he lairnt the wylie trade To stap thair wizands. An' sen them ihro' the dark arcade, By scores an' dizzens. Tho' fowke be purg'd, an' pill'd, an' plaister'd, Till back an wame bj blotch'd an' slaisterVl, An' saul an' body pain'd an' pester'd Wi' drugs an' tisic, Baith quacks an doctor^ soon are maister'd . Wi' daith's ain physic. Whan daith draws out his murd'rin' cuttie, Then rins auld girnin grim-foced clootie Wi' monie a diel an' prentice sootie, Like some auld proctor, To tak awa' his weel-earn'd boolie, Frae daith an' doctor. But Bacchus, that auld farrfai porter That carries 'roun the bowl an' mortar, Maks monie a life some towmonds shorter Wi' alcoholic ; Syne sens them to some if her quarter. To cure thair colic. THE WOODLAND MARBLER. THE TOPER'S ELEGY. 19 fic lang made cases for the deid But wanted ane birasel' at kit. Whan daith had snapt the vit(»! threid 1 hat held his saul and bod 4. Enclosed in death's dark, dormitory room Is he, whom time hadripen'd for the tomb •- Who tried to shove along tlie plain of life ' And oroov'd his season'd timber to a wife • He sQUAR'o his honesty with ,c,en'rous heart, ' And MEAsuR'D wealth, but ne'er saw'd off a part ; He gaug'i, his friendship by the bule of writ And FRAM'D his falsehoods when no truth would fit • He worship'd Bacchus as his ^tod and Devil And d—d the knaves, but never prov'd uncivil • But death soon nail'd him tightly to his doom, ' And made his plumb a level in the tomb • Thus I have painted him from foot to head ^t time will VARNISH him among the dead. N* sculptur'd stone points out his earth^l.und cage, 1 o swell his raem'ry to a future age • He loil'd his lengthen'd years into a day, And earth at last received his well-worn clay. TO THE AUTHOR'S FAVORITE. My fancy was like Noah's dove, Forth from its native ark it flew But found no place to rest its love,' Until it found a place in you j 20 THE WOODLAND WARBLER Whose soul imparts a balm for woe, And dries the damp of sorrow's tears, And makes the inw^.vd feelings glow, When sif'-k'ning, sad derpair appears. ^ Lov3 is an angel of the skies, Why not an angel here below ? In friendship's form toi> oft it Hies, And keeps the balm it s.iould bestow ; But mine was like the vernal rose. It early bloom'd upon the tree. And as its balmy ii.;!en8e 'rose, 'Twas freely all consign'd to thee. No nightly fear e'er sway'd my mind ; No rugged paths my feet could stay ; But over hills and dreary wilds, To thee I ever found my way. Love braves the coward's greatest fear, Tho' howling ghosts around him play, And gilds the darkest shades with light, And gently smoothes the roughest way. When virtuous hearts by love are joiu'd. The purest joys its feelings give ; A h( aveu it center'd in the mind, To leieh rs vot'rieb ijow to live. If som ; true heart should yet enjoy Those charnr , I fondly .would call iuine ; May heaven entwine the sacret" tie, And earth's best blessings e'er be thine. Should heaven assign my future lot To fairer climes, and beauty's charms, i THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Wilt thou my darling be forgot ? No, never while my besom unarms ; But live thou shalt in mem'ry's home, With each love-scene that no\v appears ;- To whisper back with hallow'd tone. And smile amid the mist of years. Then take this wreath of written love. Which kindly now I offer thee,— That whtn in distant lands I rove, Thou fondly may'st remember me : Tnese lines may yet in future years, • Recall the smiling scenes of yore, And catch thy soirow-falling tears. When my fond heart may beat no more. 21 ON WINTER. wow Win\;er frowns, and blows his bitter atorms Where lately amiled the Summer's loveliest forms. Oh ! where are those seasons of sunshine and shade, And all the gay beauties they lately display 'd ? Alas ! they've expired with I heir gardens of bloom, And nought but their shadows are saved froin the tomb. The soft, soothing voice of sweet nature is dumb. And stern, scowling winter in triumph has come ; He raves in the tempest, and frowns from the clouds," And wraps up the earth in his sky-woven shrouds. 22 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. j#| mi 1 He binds up the rivers, the lakes, and the streams, And the sun stares alo^f with its dim, struggling beams ; Short-lived is the day with its dark, mingl' 1 light, And ingulf 'd in the storm is the long howling night. The forest unwillingly shrinks from the blasi That leaves not a leaf to remind of the past ; The snow-beaten boughs are with icicles hung, And the winds whist] e now where the choristers sung. Earth's beauties lie dead 'neath the tyrant who reigns, And the landscape in bleak desolation remains; The beasts of the forest have fled to their caves, And the snow-birds exult in the tempest that raves- The woodman now toils 'mid the forest of snows. And the trees yield themselves to his steet-beaten blows ; The woods echo back to the teamster's rude sound, As he drives thro' the depths of the snow-cover'd ground ; And hark to the bells as the sleigh-ridei^s go In their skiffs o'er the white-billow'd ocean of snow ; Like sea-fowls they skim o'er the icy-girt waves. And dread not the path that the cold winter paves. The rich may enjoy what their wealth can supply, And fear not the tempest that howls in the sky ; While poverty lies on a snow-cover'd floor. And mock'd by the winds as they enter its door. Of the hardships of winter that feelings endure, The greatest are felt by the wretched and poor ; The smiles of sweet summer their mis'ry may cheer But poverty shrinks in the age of the year ; — THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Then spurn not the poor and neglected who roam, he helpless, and friendless, without any home • But speak to them kindly, assist them to live ' I And God will repay us the bounty we give ' 23 ON SNUFFING THE CANDLE OUT. Lite IS hke a burniug taper, Wasting on tor-ards its close • boon 'tis vanish'd in a vapor None can tell where then it goes The night was darJ:,-my taper burn'd Wall melancholy light ; I gazed upon its wasting form, That lived to die at night. Beneath no bushel was it placed, Nor set upon a hill ; And yet the longfr that it lived, It grew the shorter still. In trying to curtail the top That idly hung*about, I did it so incautiously, I snuff'd my candle out. I tried to blow it in again With animating breath, But found my blowing all in vain To bring it back from death. ,'»t 24 THE WOODLAND WARBLER^ 'Twas chaos then,— and darkness reign'd Beneath the cloud of night ; I sat and mused with gloomy mind ;— My subject being " light." Ah ! emblem of the human life Deprived of moral wit ; Man cannot lengthen out his light, But he can shorten it. The wretch who tires of living here, Then blows his brains about, In death's dark shade will see his light Was snuff 'd untimely out. He who is flamed by passion's breath, Whose deeds best shine at night, Draws down the icy hand of death, To quench his burning light. The man who kneek at Bacchus' shrine, Where demons reel and shout, Increases but that waste of life. Thai runs his candle out. The fool who risks his precious life, In danger's hour, for fame, Alas! may find his boasted skill Put out hir. kindling flame. Untimely death h every clime, Thus grimly stalks about ; Man lifts hisrash incautious hand, And snuffs his candle out. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Life, like the light, is varnish'd then, We know not where it flies ; Perhaps it lingers iii the shades, Or shines beyond the skies. 25 VERSES. My life's as varied as its years, As full of light and shade ; Its verdant landscape that appear,?. As liable to fade. ig rose My love is like the blushinj That greets the dewy morn ; Perchance its lovely leaves enclose Some undiscover'd thorn. n My liopes are like the infant morn That fills its void with light ; And ere they fill, how oft, how soon, They vanish from my sight. My joys are like the meteor's form That thwarts the ev'ning sky ; I scarcely view their sparkling charm, Ere they in darkness die. My feelings, like the sensive flower, Shrink from the slightest touch ; The world's cold heart, with selfish power, Has tantalized too much. : *. ( 26 THE WOODLAND WARBLEK. My youthful friends 1 truly loved, And found no friends like those ; But short experience since has proved, That friends can turn to foes. Friendship is but a fickle plant, Tho' roots uphold its form ; lis stem may by the blast be beni, Or crush 'd beneath the storm. There is more friendship in the flowers Than n the human heart ; They breathy their incense in the bowers, And mutual smiles impart, And there is friendship in the siars. And in the rolling spheres: They shed on each their kindling beams, Thro' nature's endless years. Von moon that wingsher mystic flight Beneath the slarry isles. Lends to the earth her kiiidred light, And earth returns his smiles. How blest would human nature rise, Triumphant o'er its woes. Could man to man in faithful iru.st. Their feeling hearts disclose. Then like the sun's IraiisciMident rays That gild the darkest night, They'd shed th^ .. glory o'er the earlh With beams of heavenly light, THE WOODLAND WARBLER. CAMPSIE GLEN. 27 'i/ ..K • by request of a youne; Lady, shortly after her arrivai in America.) Old Scotland's glens and heathy hills - Her shady walks and murm'ring rlllg' My fancy loves to ponder o'er ;— ' They never seem'd so dear before. All hail to thee, Scotland, thou isle of blue mountains,-- The land of my sires, and the home of my youth ; Where wisdom and valor arise from their fountains,' I And mutually blend with religion and truth : Tho' sever'd from thee by the wide-rolling ocean, My love to thy bosom I ever shall len' ; [But thy brightest of visions inspiring emotion In hallow'd remembrance, is sweet " C&mpsie Glen." jOh sv/eet lovely glen ! so romantic in nature. Thou beam'st with the lustre of life's golden yeara ; iTho' dim to expression is each beaming feature, All bright in the picture of mem'ry appears : jrve barter'd thy beauties, unequalPd in grandeur, For these rugged woodlands o'er mountain and fen ; put sleep-dreaming fancy in night's gloomy chamber ' Rccals forth in vision my sweet " Campsie Glen." low oft have I roved ox-r thy stern, rocky mountains, To gaze on thy valley of wonders beneath ; Liid drank of thy streams and thy cool-water fountains. And eulPd from thy roses a love-piaited wreath. THE WOODLAND WARRLER. From the green-shaded boughs of thy coverts impending, The birds to thy beauty their music did len', While clear, pebbled streams o'er thy rocks were descending, And echoed the wonders of sweet " Campsie Glen." I The hawthorn adjoin'd to thy beauty its blossom,- And lent its sweet balm to the breath of the vale ; While Spring in its grandeur sublimely dis-bosom'd The glories that Summer delights to inhale ; And when in thy clothing of Winter adorned, If nature is mighty and wondrous,-— 'twas then ; Thy falls to a thousand of figures wert formed ; Tho' chang'd in thy garbs thou wert stilf " Campsie Glen." Shall I ever forget thee, th-^u palace of pleasure? Whose grandeur outvies the fair beauties of art ; Thou, emblem of Eden, I'll hoard as a treasure ;— Thv beams of enchantment encircle my heart. How oft o'er thy carpet in Summer's sweet gloaming, I've rambled with pleasure, thy beauties to ken ; - And now thro' the wild, western woodlands I'm roaming. But find nae a spot like my sweet " Campsie Glen." TO LOVEENIA. The business of my life is love, Its pleasures are its poetry. Can 1, a rude and simple swain. Enchant you with my rural strain, Self-taught by nature's power? ending, jscending, tlen." I'd THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Whose life is doom'd to rugged toil, In nature's wild, ungenial soil, , And thou its only flower. Dost thou believe my feelings true ? Which breath'd in faithful love to you, Who gave these feelings birth ; - When met beneath the " trysted tree," Whose very name is dear to me ; — The sweetest spot on earth. 29 sie Glen. n Thy presence is my vernal rose. Whose charming smiles ray bliss compose, And all around have charms ; Thine absence is its cruel thorn. That pains my soul from night to morn With dreams of love's alarms. 'i»g, i; oammg, Hen." No earthly thing could satisfy My mind, or love-lit rolling eye, If banished from thy charms. And life would seem a wither'd leaf, I^ung to the tree of love-born grief, — A victim to the storms. Should fortune ever rule some hour, To give to Hymen Cupid's power. To join our mutual Love ; May sweet contentment's bliss be found. And our united souls be crown'd With blessings from above. -" PN 30 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. , MY NATIVE HOME. I love thee still, sweet lovely isle,— Thy very name inspires my heart ; Tho' other lands as lovely smile, None seems so beauteous as thou arf . O I this is not my native home, It has no flowery charms for me ; My Scottish isle, and dear loved soil, In beauty smile beyond the sea ; Yet, eherish'd mem'ry here inspires My heart to love its native earth, Where still my fancy-spirit lives, To bless the land that gave it birth. i f 'Twas there my fathers fought and bled To break oppression's tyrant laws ; And there their blood they freely shed, For freedom's rights, in freedom's cause. And may thai spirit of my sires, — That nobly paved its path to fame. Arouse in me its living fires. When justice seeks my country's claim. Still may that land of love and worth, Bfc freedom's home, where dwells the brave, While thorrn and thistle crown its earth, Addon its hills the heather wave. pre well sw ^3 departing the land < '^here natur '^here .ihe ri Ind earth is Where the b( And taste of Where the sc And the gree Where the ru And deep^roo And the tall j And the oreei THE WOODLAND WARBLER. All hail lo thee, my native isle,— In every land thy glories shine ; Ne'er shall this rough, Canadian soil Inspire, like thee, this soul of mine. No heathy hills around me bloom,— No flowery glens, and mountains blue, But forest-wilds in shades of gloom, Is all the landscape I can view. This rugged soil, this restless toil. Shall ne'er indnce me to remain ; But may my fortune kindly smile To see my " native home " again. 31 .TO A YOUNG LADY, ON HEH DEPARTURE ■ FROM THE FOREST. farewell sweet admirer of nature's delio-hts ' i3 departing Iiou art from these rude ruml sights b the land of the forest, the flower, and the shade hero nature, tho' wild, is in grandeur display'd •' here .the rude peasant toils for a scanty subsistence, Ind earth issues forth in its varied existence ■ Ul T )T '''"' '^' '^''^''' "^y ^^^'^ ^^^-fted perfume, ind ta te of their sweets, but deflower not their bloom f here the songsters exultingly chant in the trees ' ' hd the green leaves are fan'd by the wings of tL breeze • [here the rude, recklcs. lorm in its fury it driven ' hd deep,rooled trees from their strong-holds are ri^en d he tall stately ash by the lightning is shatter'd ' Id the green leaves around in the forest lie scatter'd 32 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. v« And torrents of rain from the dark clouds descending, While the howl of the blast with the thunders is blending. 'Mid scenes such as these in their native-born grandeur, Thy footstejjs and fancy delighted to wander, And revel around in their glories, to find A baltn for the heart, and a feast for the mind ; And trace in tlie woodlands, the insect, and sod, Tie beauties of nature and wisdom of God. Thu.:- I hope you have culPd from a forest as this, The (lowers of affection and laurels of bliss, To wreathe 'round the links of your life's golden chain. And bloom with delight till you come back again. VERSES WRITTEN ON THE AUTHOR'S BHITH-DAY, AUGUST 2Ut. 'Tis autumn, and the smiles of morn Play gently o'er my thoughtful brow, While o'er the dewy fields I roam. To breathe my annual feelings now ; The fleet-wing'd messengers of day, Dissolve the vapors of the night ; • Earth 'rises in her radiant robes. To gret t the ajrial king of 'ight, A few short months ago, and earth Was bursting forth with vernal bloom ; , A thousand beauties issuing forth With melody and rich perfume ; And all seem'd full of joyous life, As if the vital breath of heaven Had breathed as first upon the earth, All I Eden's sweets again were given. • THK WOODLANJj WARBLER. Then Summer came with genteel grace, With glory and meridian powers, In verdant robes, fringed 'round witli lace Of richest bloon^ and full-blown flowers She, smiling came, with pearly gems Of dew-drops hung around her hair. Warm with the life-blood in her veins, Breaiiiing thro' all her fragrant air. ' Now Autumn 's come in time-worn garbs, With mellow fruits and golden fields ; Tho' meagre in extenal charms, Rich with tho bounty nature yields : The birds that hop't from bou^h to bough, And sung their merry morning lay, Fortaste the cheirless future now, And plume their wings to fly away Then Winter comes with falt'ring stepj, With with r'd brow and sunken eyes ; ^ He breathes a poison from his li-^s, And Autunin struggles, groans, and dies : Beneath his death-cold feet lie crush'd, The wreck of flowers, and faded bloom ; Earth's noblest grandeur, and its charms Lie buried in their snow-built tomb. Thus ends tire whole,— l he same like scenes Roll on successively thro' time ; A few of them fid up our void Of life, in. earth's unfavor'd clirr". Life's spring is flush'd with rainbow hues, And smiles sport 'round its radiant sky; The young heart revels 'mid its joys. And chases sunbeams as they fly ; 33 I ■I ^4 THE WOODLAND WAHRLER. It sees not time's lorboding ill, Nor dreams of darker hours in life ; its joys are real,— -ui-hoped-for joys, Not gather'd from the world by s'.rife : Day after day glides on, — the scenes Seem bright, but soon a gath'ring shade Ot sadness, steals o'er life's sweet dreams, And dims th' impression spring has made. Life's stern realities are felt, — Its purest joys are mix'd with ill ; The flatt'ring hopes that cheer'd it on. Are spectre forms deluding still. Then why should life be trifled here, Whose seasons swiftly pass away ; To-morrow's self may ne'er fulfil The surest .promise of to-day. The folb^is of departed time, Doth but a sad reilection give ; Amazed, I start,— too true, I find,— Procrastlijating still,— I live. While life with time has ^^rappled here. Too oft in folly's paths I've stray'd ; And conscience tells with trembling fear. That vice fiath often virtue m)ay^d. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. TO A MOSQUJTO. 36 Now greater swarms o!" insects rice, Than ever drank Ef^yptian blood ; i onlj wish their ancient sires Had all been drown'd in Noah's flood. Begone, thou little bizzeii thing, Thus riitt'rin on thy paughty wing ; How dar'st thou here unsheath thy sting To me, — a giant ; Guid faith I'll mak thy noddle ring,— Thou bold defiant. Dost thou imagine I'll loot thee ? To mak thysel a part o' ^e ; Gae whaur ye will, yer sure to be A tort'rin pest, — A guid-for-nae thing ill-bred flee, An' drilnken beast. See hoo ye gar the grazin cattle fiin tae the icek, wi' pith an mettle, As if thae had a burnin nettle Aneath thair tail ; An' neither man nor beast can settle, Vt han ye prevail. Even runki«td' grannies fidge an' claw, As maist lae rive tnair serks in twa, When e'er thou set'st thy speeder claw On thair auld hides ; An' re&lless youngsters girn, an' thraw '^hair yeukie sides. 36 THE WOODLAND WARBLEH. At e'en whan fowke wad fain maun sleep, Like some wee-rogur yer vigils keep, An' 'neath thair claes ye'll slyly creep, Or 'i thair lug ; And there ye'll feast, an howk as deep • As flae or bug. I wad na like tae murder thee. But if againy^'ll visit me, By troth " Miss Kitty " ye shall see, I'll sned thy wings, And hing yer painchies up tae dree, For fiddle strings. A FRAGMENT Tho' nature shapes a thousand forms ■ Around the earth and sky, And paints Jhera in her loveliest charms, To please the gentle eye ; — Tho' spring returns with blooming flowers. To consecrate ihe year ; ' The' summer breathes in sylvan bowers. And in bright robes appear ; — The fairest form, the loveliest shade, Are soon to death consign'd ; But there are charms that never fade, They dwell within ^he mind. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. « 'Tis virtue's soul of heavenly birth, In modest garbs array 'd,- That lends to life exalted worth, And charms which never fade. 37 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. ^^a'SI^^ r*'"^"'^ P"^^« distinctions rise, And man becomes superior to himself buch men and marks of honor I despise And spurn those knaves who only live for nelf • Man, selfish man, becomes a sordid foor ^ Humanity by him is seldom felt: TWf «i?fK "5 *^' ^\'^^°S^ «f ^8 soul, That all the fires of hell can never melt How strange an animal is man. And one of many kinds, How different are the lots of them. As various are their minds. One's born to shine in fortune's smile ; Some grasp at all they can ; While others daily drudge and toil, To feed their brother man. Oh ! how inclement is the sky Of penury's frigid clime, Whose stern realities deny The eiitYinnQi._o,»wx:i^- ' -■•, M m- H 38 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Unpitied, cries of deep distress, From countless cells are borne ; While thousands rant in raptur'd bliss, Unmindful of the morn ; — \ Who pamper life with sumptuous fare, And soft in down repose ; While millions lie with buttocks bare, And feed on scanty brose. How few there are who sympathize With nature's craving need, To wipe the drops from sorrow's eyes, The hungry soul to feed. The niggard's heart is but the slirine Wherein his idols lie. He hears the slightest chink of coin, Yet deaf to mis'ry's cry. The tyrant's rigid heart of steel Heeds not the suppliant's cries. But smiles to see his victims feel The stripes which he applies. The flutt'ring fop who bows to hark To flatt'ry's pois'ning air. Would spurn to stoop beneath his i^ark, To hear a beggar's prayer ; And honor'd knaves feel much too proud To condescend, to give A dying orphan in his shroud, The smallest help to live. ' • ' I ■ * sin THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Base-born presumption robed in gold Gilds fashion's highest show ; And pedant fools are oft extoll'd For what they do not know ; While poor, neglected genius shrinks Beneath the critic's lash, And in its native shade it sinks, ' And all for want of cash. 'Tis wealth that gives the man his weight, Altho' his brains be light ; And while he holds his golden bait, A thousand fish will bite. A purse has more effeciive force, Than moral worth and wit ; It cures the worst disease, of course. If there's a cure for it ; It magnifies the vilest knaves, , And hides their greatest flaws, And keeps its countless, toili.ig slaves, To fill its pamper'd maws. Thousands would into dangers rua, Some Casho'8 life to save, While few protect the helpless one, Who sinks in penury's grave. When n.v.iar-sweets enrich our flowers. We have our humming friends ; Hut sum„mer-guests desert our bowers, When nectar-season enfis. 39 40 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. And those who were our truest friends With pride will tell us, how A lack of golden lustre ends Our equal friendship now. Heaven meant distinctions to divide The varied human race ; But why should riches, pomp, and pride, Assume the highest place ? While moral worth and honest hearts, In men of common sense. Are reckon'd but imperfect parts. If wanting worldly pence. Not only in the richest robes, The purest passions dwell ; Virtue can shine as well in rags, Tho' ii« a beggar's cell. Riches have but an earthly name, A name that earth has given ; But virtue seeks a higher claim. Immortalized in heaven. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. 41 TO A FIRE-FLY. From natHre's denthg her living fires irise, v As if a thousand twinklinj? gems of light Had issued from the heavenly skies, To shed their lustre o'er the shades of night. Wee bonnie twinkling gem o' night, An' simmer starlet sparklin bright, As on thou steer'st thy mazy flight, An' nightly flings Thy living beams o' mystic light, Frae 'neath thy wings. To thee, fair nature's insect-queen, I dedicate my mid-night theme ; Thou'st roused my soul-poetic dream Wi' thought sublime. Till frae my lyre its numbers gleam In native rhyme. Not in the bleezin light o' day, Canst thou thy gifted beams display : Hadst thou been form'd to sleep away Thy night unseen, Thy genial, sun-surviving ray Would ne'er hae been. The varied insect tribes we see That flitter owre the flowery lea. Ken not thy nightly reverie 'Mid beams o' light, ^ Or, aiblen? thae might envy thee, Thy lamp o' night. m 'i4 T |i 42 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. In leafy cribs, or cells o' clay, Now sleep these busy tribes o' day, Whilst thou thy Maker's works survey, Ilk shadow'd hour, Thysel a medium to convey Creative power. Deep in the wild uncultur'd swamp, 'Mid noxious vapors, low and damp. Thro' out the day thou dost encamp, An' sweetly sings. Till night has lit thy phospher lamp, ^ Fan'd by thy wings. These ragged wiJds, tho' dark an' drear, Whan gloamin's mirky cluds appear ; Thy liitle lamp o' light can cheer Thair ghastly shades, An' banish night'^ imagin'd fea.- That here pervades. The bee for future want prepares, And those whae toil hae e.jual shaies ; While waspish friv'lites, void o' cares,' Enjoy life's hours ; An' butterflees wi' foppish aivs Flirt 'rour. the flowers. But thou wi' philosophic light. Can span the mirkest maze o' night, An' in its depths o' chaos, write Thy brilliant name, And grave wi' hieroglyphic light. Thine Author's fame. ki & ^''i THE WOODLAND WAHBLER. Whan dark my night o' sorrow seems, Bedim'd by life's perplexin schemes, May hope emit its flick'rin gleams, ' To ch?er my speed; For life without its native beams, Is dark indeed. May I, like thee, thro' life's dark maze, Devote my talent's feeble rays. That I may here my Maker praise, For what he's given ; As nature's boundless sphere displays, Him, God of heaven. 43 UNDECIDED LOVE. Yes, I have felt what I have learn'd to prove, A long divided, undecided love. Which two fair forms with equal power controU'd And smiled like angels when my love I told. ' For years alternately between the two, I kept my time, my love, and promise true ; But they impatient grew against their will,' And left nie just as undecided still. If mormon laws had been establish'd here, I might have had the two, inst-ad of none] Perchance, I yet may buy my love too dear, If I should wait until I love but one. While youth is still my favor'd friend and guest, A single love may cause a double life ; l( not, Vn say a batchUor's life is best, ' And none can say T ever thrash'd mv iiH^'e m 44 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. TO A YOUNG COMPANION, A SON OF VULCAN. Between twa fires o' heat an' cauld thegither, Scorch'd at ao end, an' frec/.in at the ither, There Vulcan plumes Apollo's flaming pinions, An' Genius soars thro' fancy's fair dominions. 4 Tho toilsome day is at a close, An' night her shading mantle throws Owre field an' forest clad in snows 0' cauld December ; An' wearied nature seeks repose In Morpheus' chamber. The eerie wins loud whistling blaw, An driftin 'roun the fleecy snaw; ; While musing by the chimlie wa', In rhyming clatier, I clerk my ideas as ihey fa', To fill my letter. My Mii.^a, puir thing, seems roosted aairly, While Pegasus is tired out fairly, ^ An' toil, an' care, baith late an' airly, Hae crazed my noddfe, That a' my wit is worth but rarely, A rusty boddle. 'Mang dub an' mire I still maun haurel. Like some auld, blin-besotted carl, An' stagger thro' this groosome warl To live respected. An' bide its bitter bite, an' snarl, An' yet neglected. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Tho' bred 'mang nature's rugged crew, To wield the aix an' baud the plew Whaur tow'rin forests greet the view, Baith wild an' drear, An ne'er see naething strange or new Frae year tae year. Yet still I love to court the mur.e That revels 'roun these rugged views To paint them in Ihair native hues 0' earth-born grandeur. An' ilka pleasing thought diffuse, Whaur e'er I wander. Nae selfish pride or power inspires My soul to cherish ill desires, Or feed ambitibn's hellish fires To light my way ; I seek the little life require* Frae day tae day^ My wish is nae for rowth o' gier. To live like parapei J prince or peer, But just eneugh thro' out the year 0' short existence ; Weel clad wi' health an' honest cheer. An' heaven's assistance. 45 An' tho' I'm doomed to labdr still. May fortune yet my wish fulfil, To get an education skill In usefu' knowledge, To tout my trumpet up the hill, fiac iiatuic's college. t^ 46 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. »• Alas ! man's ill-divided fate Gies some puir chaps a wretched state, While life is pamper'd by the great, Past moderation ; Lank, hungry wames for morsels wait, In curst starvation. Losh, man, it gies my heart sic rugs. To see hoo some infernal bugs, Scarce equals to the filthy hogs That grunt in gutters, — How thae'll pu' decent fellows' lugs, A'n' spurn thair betters. An' how the purse-proud fool> respected, While poor but honest men's neglected, ^^-^e. monie a human joy restricted, An' dainty di. ner; While selfish knaves are aft elected, To seats o' hoaor. Oh ! why should such distinctions 'rise. Whan man on brither man relies ; The poor man crawls, the rich one flies On golden pinions ; Yet, closely link'd by nature's ties. In a' dominions. But Sandie, lad, dear honest chield, Mae ay ye hae a couthie bield ; Fraught wi' the fruits that nature yield, To grace yer biggin ; Fit far or near to gang a-field. In braid-claith riggin. ^ii,,« ' THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Tho' Vulcan-like ye thump an' thunder, Till airn an' smiddie ring an' dunner, An '.ttllin tales, yes, monie a hunder, ' In hame-spun measure, Gars gapin gomerals girn an wonder Wi' perfect pleasure. Vet ilka leisure hour that passes, Ye maun devote to speel Parnassus ; Tho' foppish fools an senseless asse.« Condemn sic pleasures. Thy heaven-born genius far surpasses Thair brainless treasures. Still nay Apollo tune yerlyre, An' nature':^ sel yer ..se inspire. To wing thy youthful genius higher To meet reward ; Meanwhile I'm yours wi' prompt desire, The Forest Bard. 47 48 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. if' ON THE DEATH OF A. McD , OF NORTH GEORGE- TOWN, CHATEAUGUAY. TO WTIOM THE I'RECEOINO EPISTLB WAS wniTTBN, AND WITH WHOfl TUB AUTllOIl HAD C0UUB8P0NDED FOIt HEVHUAL VEARB. m m i 1 i Alas ! and is he dead ? my favor'd friend, And loved companion of my happiest hours ; Our mutual hopes and joys are at an end, And o'er my soul a death-like shadow lowers. Hush'd is his voice that tuned the Scottish lyre, And breathed his feelings in extatic song ; Cold is his heart, whose animated fire. Was warm in friendship and the social throng. Tho' life's ambition sketch'd his path of time, Earth's follies seem'd to hiir an idle 'ream ; The land of . .^lon was his genial clime. And nature'sldepths his ne'er exhausted theme. Where shall I find the sweets of friendship now, Congenial feelings, and exalted worth ? Not in my tears and sighs of nurtur'd woe, Nor in his lifeless form of mould'ring earth. He is not deac\ 'tis but a chFi.ge in life ; His spirit lives beyond the verge of time ; Heaven took him from this little isle of strife, To tune his genius to its native clime, — To paint celestial truth and majesty sublime. '% *• ■ THE WOODLAND WARIILER 49 FEMININE DECEPTION Aa pnint that hides the rotton part, To pleaso and cheat tho eye, So treach'rouM art oft gilds tho heart Wherein holi'd poisons lie : Tiine wili disclose tlv3 secret flaw, And test the vile deceit ; But oft the slightest scratih will 6how ^he unexpected cheat. Yes, sli6 was fair, surpassing fair In outward form and grace ; My very soul seem'd [. zed in her, It was 30 sweet a place. She had no vain assuming art, No out-side pomp nor ishow, No (iatt'ring tongu- , nor false-like heart Where lustfukpassions glow. An angel seem'd her earthly guide "^hro' life's deceitful way ; Nor were her gentle smiles denied To cheer by night or day. Her faultless charms, and they alone, Attuned my bosom strings, To breathe to her the sweetest tone That pure affection brings. In striving still to please this " Fair,' My heart out-leapt its bounds ; I touch'd a base-note in the air, ^0 THE WOODLAND WARliLER. Her then-awakened tongue was loud With accents wild and free ; The devil drove the angel out, And hid her charms from me. 1 see no virtue in her now, * No claim to truth above ; Her grace and beauty sprung, Alone frorn partial love. vow. Ah ! who would think tluit " angel fair " Conceal'd the blackest art ; Her lips that breathed the purest air, leveal the vilest heart. VERSKS. Lo' should be like yonder aj|n, St ading off both heat and light ; Not a senseless, selfish thing, Dark and cold as winter night . Outward charms should be admired, Not caress'd by folly's pride ; Virtue's gifts should be desired ; Modest prudence woman's guide. Whilst Eden's king o'er nature reign'd In pleasuie's sweet repose, Congenial love ne'er warm'd his soul, Till earth's fair queen arose ; Then infant love exulting spruno' Their mutual joys to weave, Man felt its power and blest the Day That brought the hallowed Eve. THE WOODLAND WABELER. Sweet as the flowers that stoopt to kiss The crystal, rolling streams ; Pure as the hearts which claim'd its bliss Were all love's peaceful dreams. ' But ah ! that unsuspected scheme That stain'd the world with ill, So much defaced its heavenly form, It seems disfigur'd still. *- Love sway'd by folly, calls to aid The magic powers of art. To fascinate with borrow'd charms, The feelings of the heart. The flatter'd hopes of cherished love Their noblest aims resign, When pride displays its fading gifts At fashion's mirror'd shrine. Not living beauty's sculptu'r'd charms - In wealthy robes attired ; Nor pride in fancy's fashion'd forms Alone should be admired. The cultur'd mind, the virtuous heart, Where love and truth combine. Are more substantial charms for life, Than those where follies shine. Can woman's gifted soul believe That pride cau bliss impart ? Can flattery's honeyed lips deceive Her uneuspecting heart ? 51 i?'* 52 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Also ! too oft the treacherous soul tifej* fondest hopes allure ; And pride aspires to beauty's gifts, But these are not secure. Inhuman is that wretch of earth, Whose base designing power Would e'er delude such noble worth, And taint the virgin flower. Oh ! would that true congenial love Reside in every heart, As heaven design'd that woman should be Man's nearest, dearest part. Unfinish'd man can never taste The joys of life, so sweet, Until he's found the rib he lost. Which makes the man 'complete. THE SLUGGARD. it trf;i Hark ! how that lazy wretch of life complains, Since his desires have over-reach'd his gains ; Astonish'd why such favors fall to some, And his expected stores have never come ; And wond'ring at the shortness of his day, When he has slumber'd half of it away. Yon is the sluggard's dungeon lair. And these his meagre grounds ; A grov'ling nuisance centers there. And wretchedness abounds/ X^ I THE WOODLAND WARBLEP. Lo ! there he's now, 'tis morn to him, Tho' noon-day in the sky ; His tatter'd garments dangling 'round, As if he's going to fly. The sun would be a wondrous sight Had he but seen it rise ; One half of day he joins to night, And hides it from his eyes. His eyes appear like muffled orbs That shrink from nature's light ; Himself a Morpheus clad in rags, A scare-crow of the night. No chimney guides the clouda of smoke That slumber in his cell ; Light seems afraid to enter in Where darkness loves lo dwell. Its walls are interlined with moss, A refuge for the rats ; Its glassless windows once of use, Are stuff 'd with brimlesa hats.' His bed, his blankets, and himself, Have lost their former charms, Yet are the thriving nitrs'ries of A thousand Jiving swarms. A palsied pol, a crippled chair, A table made to rock, A " Morpheus Mug" both large antl rare. Make up his household stock. 53 ■4 54 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. = f His fingers serve for knife and fork, His .dishes are his paws ; Yet, thinks it quite a toilsome work, To move his hungry jaws. His phiz has nearly lost itself In matted grease and dirt, And to expel the growing filth, . Applies bis tatter'd shirt. He needs no liquid to his hair, No phials of perfume ; He has his share, and some to spare, Enough to scent a room. In wild and sad disorder now, External nature lives. His fields but seldom greet the plough. Yet yield what nature gives. His fences lie a total wreck, His garden frowns with weeds. His trees the caterpillar's home On which it lives and breeds. If nature form'd him for a world, 'Twas surely not for this. As toil preserves the life of man, His comfort and his bliss. Ambition pesters not his brain. With deep or idle schemes ; The world may shout, but all is vain. To rouse him from his dreams. X THE WOODLAND WARBLER. The bat might lend the snail its win^s And still it could not %; ' The reason lies within itse/f, 'Tis not inclined to try ; It loves more dear its slimy shell Than labor's honey bowers And ^xeams not of the winter's storm, N. .' yet of darker hours. Thus idle, sad, necessity Will soon exhaust his store, And sloth will starve his life to death, If he won't work for more. 5& THE AUTHOR'S LAMENT. K^,f 11 If ^ ' *^^^^' '"^ ^^"^^^"^y and song ; ^' SJAi ? ■^^^.''^ "^"^^'^ ^"^^ tlie sound. Ihat m real joy in them is ever found « Back to the scenes of happier hours, Like Noah's dove, my fancy flies, lo cull from childhood's hallowed bowers- The leaves of life's departed joys. The varied year can ne'er supply Those vernal charms the past possess'd, 1 ho- vanish'd now, I cherish still Their treasured mem'ries in my breast »,,■ A 56 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. - « ■"I • A strange enchantment from that past, • Still circles 'round home's sacred walls ; And countless scenes like spectre-forms Start life-like from the old school-halls, « Where wisdom drew the mazy crowd To cull her leaves from day to day ; Where joyous hearts with rapt'rous shouts Rush'd out to join the noon-tide play. Then swiftly mov'd our active limbs To run the racer's measur'd grounds ; Or climb the trees within the grove, That echoed to our mingled .wunds ;— And link in close companionhood At morn and evening's leisure hours, To gather wild-buds from the wood, And strew our winding paths with flowers ;■ Or, in the v/inter's wild domain, To plunge amid the drifted snow ; Or skim along the icy plain ' And hazard danger's depths below ; — O'er those past scenes of happy days My fancy loves to linger wtill ; But ah ! the v jids which death has made. This dreary world can never fill. Such scenes alas ! now mock my joy Since life no gifts like those can bring ; And from the founts of promised bliss The streams of bitter sorrow spring. Mylif ItS( The SI Alai Tho' b ' And Still I ; Byh Hope, ( Are i ■ Yet I ir That Fain w( That But fate And c I find th< With To share Andb I envy nc Where I seek no Toche But long Where With hea' And ea THE WOODLAND WARBLER. My life embitter'd is with toil, Its days are spent in sorrow's pain ; The sun that rose to cheer its soil, Alas ! is now eclipsed again. Tho' born beneath a kinder sky, And nurs'd by hope's propitious smiles, Still I am lower'd and toss'd on high By heaven's decrees, or fortune's wiles. Hope, disappointment, pain, and woes, Are all 1 find this world can give, • Yet I must here contend with those That I, like others, still may live. Fain would I break the tyrant chain That binds me to this rugged soil ; But fate usurps o'er freedom's claim. And dooms my life to endless toil. I find those friends indeed but few, With whom to cheer life's lonely hours. To share my joys, my hopes, and fears, And blend my soul's congenial powers. I envy not the rich man's bower, Where pomp and c/utward glory beam ; 1 seek not honor, we illh, nor power, To cherish hope's delusive dream ; But long for some sequester'd spot, Where health and peace delight to reign. With heaven to bless my happy lot. And earth return her smiles again : 57 t\ I 1 58 THS WOODLAND WARBLER. Where social friends whose eenial hearts With truths of virtuous wisdom shine ; And find some sweet congenial soul In whom I might embosom mine. Some glim'ring rays from hope's bright dreams Still hover round these darken'd skies; And life surveys the opening scenes, And counts llieir phantoms as they rise. Then why, my soul ! shouldsl thou complain If providence alone is pleased ; If 'tis my lot, I must remain Till I by heaven shall be released ? ( 1 A T VERSES TO As fades the leaves in Autumn's shade When Summer breathes adieu ; So will thy outward beauty fade, For it is mortal too. There is no blossom on the flower But what is doom'd to die ; There is no beauty in the bower, But with the dust must lie. External beauty fades away, ' All nature tells us so. But virtue's charms know no decay, They more divinely grow : Thy fairest beauty rises not From outward form alone, fhou hast that loveliness of soul, To art and pride unknown. moy BY BHfiAKING WITH The It The A Wh( I ! And T« earns THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Oh ! may no venom'd reptile crawl Among our sylvan bqwers, To blight the joys of cherish'd Jove-, That bloom like Eden-flowers ; And may we cherish every thought That faithful love employs, That we may know tiiat life is fraugiit With virtue's purest joys. 59 am A NIGHT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE; OR, THE AUTHOR'S MISFORTUNE. BV BKBAKINO THROUGH THE ICB ON THE UIVBH ST. LAWRBNCB. WHILB CROSSIVR WITH HIS TEAM FROM MONTHEAL TO LA TOIITUE, FBB'y. U, 1853. Short^sighwd man with all his boasted skill Lives on the dim uncertainty of fate : Time's future depths with life's eventual ill Are dark indeed for hhn to penetratt; ; Ye(, mortals live on speculative dreams. And from the future half their pleasures borrow ; 1 0-day they frame their life-concerted schemes. Themselves and all may lie a wreck to-morrow. The sun had left the western sky. Its beams were fading on the view, The naked winds were bustling by, And clouds more dark and wilder grew ; When from the city homeward bound, I started with my stately team, And faced the storm that threaten'd 'round, To cross St. Lawrence' frozen stream. '4 fci.;| 60 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. On wings of speed my coursers flew To reach La Torlue's. distant shore ; Ere long, the fleecy tempest blew, And darker shades still gather'd o'er; No pathway sign was there to guide My course athwart the icy plain ; I strove to reach the other side. But found my efforts all in vain. Some lonely star, or glim 'ring light With feeble glance allured mine eye, And fill'd my soul with rapture bright To feel that safety's sign was nigh. Oft when we dream that danger's flown, A.id feelings swell with joys, elate, Our strongest hopes are prostrate thrown — O'erwhelm'd by unsudpected fate : Thus, while I deem'd my danger past. The treach'rous bridge beneath lis crash'd. Its icy jaws abruptly gasp'd, And down my horses headlong dash'd. I flew to snatch them from their fate, And bared my hands to break their chains ; The pavement broke beneath my weight, 1, sinking, grasp'd the bridle reins. I clung for life on death's dark verse. But wuh mirac'lous power regain The verging ice, while deeply merged, My horses plung'd, and strove in vain. With trembling voice I shriek'd for aid. The winds responded to my call ; Aghast I stared, I sigh'd, but, ah ! The yawning ^ulf absorb'd them all. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Upon its brink I shiv'ring stood, My heart with deep emotions heaved ; I gazed upon its dreary void, And from my lips these accents breathed— ** Farewell, my team ! no more I'll curb Your willing heads, and stately '*'>rms, Alas ! no more we'll toil and trudgo Thro' summer heat and winter storms." Wrapt'in the horrors of my fate, 'Mid the rude storm and frozen waste, In hopes to find some shelt'ring hut, Those dreary wilds alone I paced ; But my bright hopes were dim'd with gloom, They only shone to mock my woes ; It seem'd as if I sought my tomb 'Mid shoals of ice and drifted snows. Bewilder'd, lost, 'twixt life and death, Strange fancies revel'd in ray brain ; And pausing oft with stifled breath, I gazed, then hoped, and strove again. At length I spied a dubious form Of something house-like thro' the shade ; My pulse beat quick, my bosom warm'd. Nor were my wearied steps delay'd. I almost wept with joy at last, To find my hopes thus realized, And felt as if my woes were past, But fi acied forms ure oft disguised ; With transport wild I hail'd its walls. And ran to greet its open door. And found within but empty halls Wiih giassiess ilglils, and snow-clad floor. 61 '1^1^ -*' '•'■ J -viBr. >f*'j /¥^ "f^ ': ^^rrW :-v5i-a^^ LOVE. Pure love, like Luna, lends its light To cheer us thro' earth's mystic maze ; 'Tis life's bright star, supremely bright. Yet, dazzles not with falsi ve rays . But impure love, like fatuus' fire, Allures the soul's excited hope To mazy wilds and mud-land mire, And there in darkness left to grope. First love is like the opening flower That gently hides its blushing face ; It smiles in some secluded bower, And spreads its charms with modest grace THE WOODLAND WARBLER. While i)loom of blighted love isxpires By him whose frowns were smiles before ; Us flutt'ring leaves but fan the fires That burn within its faded core. The heart which feigns to love the fair, That it might grasp a treasured store, Will soon unmask a monster there Beneath the borrowed garbs it wore ; And beauty's love is but the hue That sparkles from the painted clay, Whose vital warmth soon bids adieu. When love's external charms decay. How blest indeed is virtuous love, When mutual hearts divinely glow ; It culls its blessings from above, And builds an earthly heaven below. Enduring love is diamond like, It stands the touch-stone's rigid test ; 'Tis life's rich jewel, and the gem That sparkles on an angel's breast. TO CYLINDIA,— A VISIONARY SCENE. Love is the opium T employ To court the queen of Sommis' tower ; Life is a dream, and dreams ar^ joys In Lethe's sweet elysian bower. 'Twas Christmas eve, the cheerless clouds Had veil'd the winter sky ; And snowy billows rear'd their heads As winds were hurrying by : ;^:¥§!*« ^:'M;J^\M0i$''fmB '^m Ti'' 70 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. Reclining o'er the cheeilui fire, I sat in silent mood, And mused upon the closing year. In dreamy solitude. Ere long the winds that howPd around Had hush'd me in repose ; I heard no more the jarring sound That from the tempest rose. Thus wand'ring to the world of dreams In evanescent thought, ! saw the ever-changing scenes With which this life is fraught. I stood and gazed upon the forms That rose to greet my view ; At once, as if by magic art, A giant mountain grew. Unnumber'd swarms of human life Were thronging 'round its base, While countless groups upon its sides Still sought a higher place. A mighty temple rose on high, Adorn'd with golden spires, Reflecting sun-beams o'er the sky As from a thousand fires. While these I view'd in thoughtful mood, And eager to pursue The busy throng that strove along To gain the highest view. An angel form in radiant iobes. THE WOODLAND WARBLER. 71 Her head was crowiiM with laurel-wrcnths, Cull'd from hor nn'ive wood. I saw her irresistless charms, And fell I knew nut how ; With manly heart, I tried, but faiPd, To form a graceful bow. Hail, " Son of Genius," hail, " she cried," To tliese imtnortal lands ; This is the glorious hill of fame, Where wisdom's temple stands. My name is "Venus," " Fancy's child ; " Wilt thou go up with me ? Yes, heaven-born angel, whisper'd I, I'll mount on high with thee. Its height and steep bewilder'd me. Still* I pursued her track ; Its sides were strewn with human skulls, A sad and dismal wreck. On, on she cried, still persevere, The last may yet be first ; We soon shall taste the Aonian spring. To quench our burning thirst. *2' At length thro' many a toilsome hour The mountain top we gain'd. Oh what a glorious view ! methought 'Twas " Paradise regain'd." We bask'd beneath Parnassian beams, And wreathed our heads with liowers ; We made our couch of laurel-gems, And revel'd in the bowers: Jo_ i Mt t imu tti i'i"*i i4. i|l 72 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. We roarn'd amid its ancient groves, And found its " golden caves ; " We wander'd o'er its fields of death, And view'd the " Poet's graves." 'Tis there the " Sons of Genius" lie, Who sought a deathless name, 'Tis there they rest, and so shall all Who grasp immortal fame. There lie the Sons of Rome and Greece, And those of every clime ; There sleep the living Bards who died In every age of time. Oh what thinks I is earthly fame When here we find a grave ; Man tho' he soars is mortal still ; His life he cannot save. What signifies the sculptur'd stone, The vault, or metal bed. Or flatt'ring words of epitaphs, To those already dead. Time mocks those monumental piles That mark the gifted name, " And years on years will crumble down To bury eaithly fame." The temple seem'd a monarch's dome, With ancient classic halls ; Ten thousand mottoes were engraved Upon its marble walls. Along its gorgeous' galleries Unnumber'd portraits hung, Of nature's fame-exalted sons, The gifted, old and young. • <4 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. 73 We enter'd in its inner hall, Before Apollo's throne ; A glorious shout of welcome rose, That shook the " Temple dome." The glorious shout was but the blast That roused me from my dream ; The temple was my " Forest Cot," And you the " Angel-Queen." AN ACROSTIC. J ustice from heaven o'ertook the flight of sin, pen'd a gulf and plung'd its soul therein ; N o light illumed that gloomy, death-like cell, A nd in a beast this soul was doom'd to dwell, H id in a world ; but not in heaven, earth, nor hell. 1 n fearful silence lay this guilty heap, N one saw it but those eyes that never sleep. T hen conscience smote this soul with dreadful force, H er gloomy horrors rose from its illegal course, E merging from them fiend-like stings of black remoise. W hen nature's wheel had three rotations ran, H eaven heard repentance groan within this soul of man, A nd prayer resound thro' every trembling vein ; L o heaven-born mercy with her outstretch'd hand, E jected this degraded soul to earth again. f^ MM!:M 74 THE WOODLAND WAUBLEH. AN y^WER TO A SARCASTIC SATIRE. That wrptc.li who snceringly would call me fool, Ami cciisiire witlioiit canst' his brother man, Must feel tlie weiiriity bolts of arj?umeiit That I uunitaringly will hurl down Upon hid bruiulr J3 tilth of iusolence- llouse, rouse up your dull drowsy soul, 4 lid shake oU" its somnical fetter. To answer your name on the roll, Denied by your counter feii letter. Who gave you the license to scribble, And ridicule truth and my title ? It seem'd as ii" sent from the devil, It smell'd so sarcastic and vital. Borabastical trash I condemn it, The sweepings of Belzebub's palace, Fhat darken'd my lights for a moment. And blew like Egyptian malice. Losh, man, I'm surprised at the stuft" You've smuggled away from your brain ; Had you only manured it with snuli*. Your noddle mighlr si^uething contain. You censure my merits of taste, yVnd deem me unlit for my college ; Condemning my system, at least. In searching the bible for knowledge. You laugh at polygamy's truths, And boldly proclaim that 1 teach them ; Yet such are your text and its proofs, And saint-like you blabber and preach them. ?SIW##^S^^^^?fl#f^^W THE WOODLAND WARBLER. For all sorts of mnthods you've used To rou3e up old llymeu from slumber, And had l.e complied when you ehoosed, You might have had Solomon\s number. Bu» heaven forbid that such fools Should cherish such black prostitution, To tarnish the fairest of souls With dregs of the vilest pollution Since Alius and Jeffy your scribe Have censured my system and rules. Perhaps they may join with your tribe. And rear up a college for fools. Then sound your loud trumpets of brass, 1 heed not your insults and slander ; Such heads may be found on the ass, Such brains in the head of the gander. 75 THE DEVn.'S POET LAUREATE A SATIRE. That man who makes himself another's fool, Makes wise men blush with modesty of mind, To see the image of a heavenly soul Pefaced wit!) vanity and vulgar deeds ; And tortTing language with contemptuous tongue That ne'er was form'd to blah licentious thought;?, Nor chorus folly with fantastic grins. A pigmy poet, proud of flatterM fame, Who deem'd all human brains beneath his own, On other's faulis had tried to raise his name, And censured man to make his doggVcls known. 76 THE WOODLAND WARBLER. A ■ *' As wisdom eyed him from her kingly throne, ;\ bubbling pest, which none L)ut fiends could pjIc, To old king Nick she made her purpose known, And bribed him to remove the tyrant fool. So when Nick came to deal the fatal blow. He found his lordship in a poet's cell, Condemning others to the shades of woe. With censure's sharp sarcastic rhymes of hell. Ni'^k was so pleased to find so smart a scribe, That he resolv'd to p£.tronize the crime, So crown'd him " Poet-Laureate " of his tnbe. To write hell's vict'ries from the depths of tir . •. He, proud to draw a volume from his head, With giant skill conceived to give it birth, That he might live and breathe in it when dead. But, lo ! it died before it came to earth ; His soul had sought ambition's high demands Presumption strove to disenihrone the king. He censured hell, and curs'd its royal bandi?, And dropt the quill he'd pluck'd from Satan's wing. Then rose the fiery fiends in fierce array And plung'd him 'neath the dark tartarean wavp. Then kl3k'd him out, and burnt his eifigy, As dupe, as traitor, and as tyrant knave. No more his voice was heard in Hede's hall. On earth its echoes faintly died away ; And he has learn'd that man is doom'd to fall. When blind presumption seeks ambition's way. TO A v.-ymsm^ii THE W vODLAND WARBLJER. 77 TO A YOUNG LAiiV N HER DEPARTURE FROM ^^"^^^.ISri RIVER. Dearest r ^, tho' thou must leave me, Love for tiif e shall still remain^ Tho' GUI' p?!^'i.i^ now does grieve me, Hope loieLei!* we'll nneet again ; When midst other scenes you wander, In the far and western climes, Still in silence will i ponder O'er the dreams of bygone timjs. t Foreign scenes may peace restore you, Cheer your heart and crown your bliss ; Other minds may tnere adore you, Few you'll find as true as this. Ne'er forget these friends, oh ! never ; Claim a kindred with the past ; Hallowed scenes of English River, May they with your mem'ry last. Tho' your hopes may be increasing, Tho' your pleasures others share, Give your friends your fervent blessing, Leave me what you have to spare. 8» Sad indeed will be my feeling. While I view thy vacant place ; Mem'ry still will be revealing, Scenes the mind will love to trace. Ere we part, perhaps forever. Take this wreath of Cupid's flowers ; Think upon your ardent lover I l#-kV«