UC-NRLF No. Division itg af {|{ilH*M|ttia, $ Sltelf..... Received <?) xv 2~ .,.- 187^, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. GIFT OF WILLIAM OILMAN THOMPSON. POEMS OF GEORGE P. MORRIS; WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. FOURTH EDITION. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER, 124 GRAND STREET. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, By CHARLES SCRIBNEK, in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. SAVAGE & MCREA, STEREOTYPERS, 13 Chambers Street, N. Y. TO GEORQE ABERNETHY, EX -GO VEEN OK OF OREGON, ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, BY HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. PUBLISHER S NOTICE. THE world-wide popularity of Morris s Songs and Ballads, which have become household words in almost every palace and cottage, will, the publisher is confident, insure for this the only complete edition of the author s poems the largest circu lation. CHARLES SCRIBNEE. C O N T JE N T MEMOIR - PAGE 13 THE DESERTED BRIDE 51 THE MAIN-TRUCK; OB, A LEAP FOR LIFE 54 POETRY 56 THE CllOTON ODE 57 FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM 59 LAND-IIO ! 63 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE 64 THE COTTAGER S WELCOME 66 LAND OF WASHINGTON 6T THE FLAG OF OUR UNION 68 LINES AFTER THE MANNER OF THE OLDEN TIME 69 THE DREAM OF LOVE 71 I M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN 73 OH, WOULD THAT SHE WERE HERE 75 THE SWORD AND THE STAFF 76 THE CHIEFTAIN S DAUGHTER 78 THY WILL BE DONE 79 LIFE IN THE WEST 80 SONG of MARION S MEN 82 JANET MORE A 83 LISETTE 84 MY MOTHER S BIULE 85 THE DOG-STAR RAGES 87 LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK 91 8 CONTENTS. THE BALL-KOOM BELLE PAGE 92 WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER 93 OH, BOATMAN, HASTE 94 FUNERAL HYMN 96 O ER THE MOUNTAINS 97 WOMAN 98 ROSABEL 99 THY TYRANT SWAY 101 A HERO OF THE REVOLUTION . 102 RHYME AND REASON! AN APOLOGUE 103 STARLIGHT RECOLLECTIONS 105 WEARIES MY LOVE OF MY LETTERS? 106 -FARE THEE WELL, LOVE 10T THOU HAST WOVEN THE SPELL 103 BESSIE BELL 109 THE DAY IS NOW DAWNING, LOVE 110 WHEN OTHER FRIENDS ARE ROUND THEE 112 SILENT GRIEF 113 LOVE THEE, DEAREST? 114 I LOVE THE NIGHT 115 THE MINIATURE 116 THE RETORT 117 LINES ON A POET 118 THE BACCHANAL 119 TWENTY YEARS AGO 122 NATIONAL ANTHEM 123 I LOVE THEE STILL 124 LOOK FROM THY LATTICE, LOVE 125 SHE LOVED HIM 126 THE SUITORS 127 ST. AGNES SHRINE 128 WESTERN REFRAIN. - - 129 THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE 131 THE EVERGREEN 133 THE MAY-QUEEN 134 VENETIAN SERENADE 135 THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 136 THE EXILE TO HIS SISTER 139 NEAR THE LAKE WHERE DROOPED THE WILLOW 140 THE PASTOR S DAUGHTER 141 MARGARETTA 143 CONTENTS. 9 fllE COLONEL PAGE 144 THE SWEEP S CAROL 146 THE SEASONS OF LOVE 14T MY WOODLAND BRIDE 148 , OH, THINK OP ME 149 MY BARK IS OUT UPON THE SEA 150 WILL NOBODY MARRY ME?. 151 THE STAR OF LOVE 152 WELL-A-DAY. 153 NOT MARRIED YET 154 LADY OF ENGLAND 155 OH, THIS LOVE 156 MAEY 157 THE BEAM OF DEVOTION 153 THE WELCOME AND FAREWELL 159 TIS NOW THE PROMISED HOUE 160 THE SONGS OF HOME 161 MASONIC HYMN 162 THE DISMISSED 163 LORD OF THE CASTLE 165 THE FALLEN BRAVE 166 SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR 167 CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY 169 THE HUNTER S CAROL 171 WASHINGTON S MONUMENT 172 THE SISTER S APPEAL 173 SONG OF THE REAPERS 174 WALTER GAY 175 GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE 176 TEMPERANCE SONG 178 BOAT-SONG 179 WILLIE ISO THE ROCK OF THE PILGRIMS 182 YEARS AGO 183 THE SOLDIER S WELCOME HOME 184 THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE 185 LINES ON THE BURIAL OF MRS. MARY L. WARD 188 NEW-YOKK IN 1826 189 THE HERO S LEGACY 196 WHAT CAN IT MEAN? 197 WHERE HUDSON S WAVE 193 10 CONTENTS. ATT REVOIR PAGE 199 TO MY ABSENT DAUGHTER 200 SONG OP THE SEWING-MACHINE 202 MY LADY WAITS FOR ME 204 MUSIC 206 THE MILLIONAIRE 206 IN MEMORY OF CHARLES H. 8ANDFORD. 211 SEVENTY-SIX 212 A PARODY ..., 213 THE STAG-HUNT 2*6 DELIVER US FROM EVIL 216 UNION 217 WE PART FOR EVER 218 COME TO ME IN CHERRY TIME 219 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JESSIK WILLIS 220 THANK GOD FOR PLEASANT WEATHER 221 THE MASTER S SONG 222 THE MISSING SHIP 224 JEANNIE MARSH 225 LUCY 226 EPITAPH 227 IN MEMORY OF JOHN W. FRANCIS, JB 227 NATURE S NOBLEMEN 228 A WALL-STREET LYRIC 229 KING COTTON 230 WORDS ADAPTED TO A SPANISH MELODY 231 LOVE IN EXILE 232 TO THE EVENING STAB 233 WELCOME HOME 234 THE SYCAMORE SHADE 235 UP THE HUDSON 236 ONLY THINE 237 EPIGRAM ON READING GRIM S ATTACK TTPON CLINTON 238 ON HEARING THAT MORSE DID NOT INVENT THE TELEGRAPH 238 ADDRESS FOR THE BENEFIT OF WILLIAM DUNLAP 289 ADDRESS FOR THE BENEFIT OF J. SHERIDAN KNOWLE8 241 ADDRESS FOR THE BENEFIT OF HENRY PLACIDE 244 CONTEXTS. 11 THE MAID OF SAXONY: OR, WHO S THE TRAITOR? 249 HO ! HANS ! WHY, HANS ! 251 REJOICE ! REJOICE ! WE RE SAFE AND SOUND 252 THE LIFE FOR ME 18 A SOLDIER S LIFE 259 CONFUSION ! AGAIN REJECTED ! 263 WHEN I BEHOLD THAT LOWERING BROW 265 TIS A SOLDIER S RIGID DUTY 269 THE SPRING-TIME OF LOVE IS BOTH HAPPY AND GAY 271 FROM MY FATE THERE S NO RETREATING 2TS LADS AND LASSES TRIP AWAY 279 ALL HAIL THE KING ! 288 HOME. 290 SKY, STREAM, MOORLAND, AND MOUNTAIN 301 DARED THESE LIPS MY SAD STORY IMPART 203 FIERY MARS, THY VOTARY HEAR 310 AH! LOVE IS NOT A GARDEN-FLOWER 311 THE KING, THE PRINCES OF THE COURT 313 VICTORIA ! VICTORIA ! 815 THIS GL(TOMY CELL IS MY ABODE AT LAST 321 HARK! TIS THE DEEP-TONED MIDNIGHT BELL 323 ONCE, MILD AND GENTLE WAS MY HEART 327 THE GENTLE BIRD ON YONDER SPRAY 330 THAT LAW S THE PERFECTION OF REASON 339 WITH MERCY LET JUSTICE 341 WHAT OUTRAGE MORE ? AT WHOSE COMMAND 343 THE JAVELIN FROM AN UNSEEN HAND 351 REJOICE ! OUR LOYAL HEARTS WE BRING 352 OUR HEARTS ARE BOUNDING WITH DELIGHT 356 NOTES 357 THE DESERTED BRIDE 857 THE CROTON ODE 357 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE , . 357 THE CHIEFTAIN S DAUGHTER 359 SONG OF MARION S MEN 860 JANET MCREA 360 THE DOG-STAR RAGES 862 THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE 363 THE SWEEP S CAROL 363 THE FALLEN BRAVE OF MEXICO 863 THE CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY 363 12 CONTENTS. THE ROCK OP THE PILGRIMS 363 THE SOLDIER S WELCOME HOME 364 THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE 364 NEW-YORK IN 1826 364 THE MAID OF SAXONY 366 MEMOIR OF GEORGE P, MORRIS, BY HORACE BINNEY WALLACE. Bless thou tliy lot; thy simple strains have led The high-born muse to be the poor man s guest, And wafted on the wings of song, have sped Their way to many a rude, unlettered breast. BERANOEB. Morris has hung the most beautiful thoughts in the world upon hinges of honey ; and his songs are destined to roll over bright lips enough to form a sunset. His sentiments are simple, honest, truthful, and familiar; his language is pure and eminently musical, and he is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day feeling. WILLIS. THE distinction with which the name of Gen eral MORRIS is now associated in a permanent connection with what is least factitious or fugi tive in American Art, is admitted and known ; but the class of young men of letters in this country, at present, can hardly appreciate the extent to which they, and the profession to which they belong, are indebted to his animated exer tions, his varied talents, his admirable resources of temper, during a period of twenty years, and at a time when the character of American liter ature, both at home and abroad, was yet to be formed. The first great service which the liter ary taste of this country received, was rendered by Dennie ; a remarkable man ; qualified by na- 14 MEMOIR OF ture and attainments to be a leader in new cir cumstances ; fit to take part in the formation of a national literature ; as a vindicator of inde pendence in thought, able to establish freedom without disturbing the obligations of law ; as a conservative in taste, skilful to keep the tone of the great models with which his studies were familiar, without copying their style ; by both capacities successful in developing the one, un changeable spirit of Art, under a new form and with new effects. In this office of field-marshal of our native forces, General Morris succeeded him under increased advantages, in some respect with higher powers, in a different, and certainly a vastly more extended sphere of influence. The manifold and lasting benefits which, as editor of " The Mirror," General Morris conferred on art and artists of every kind, by his tact, his liberality, the superiority of his judgment, and the vigor of his abilities ; by the perseverance and address with which he disciplined a corps of youthful writers, in the presence of a constant and heavy fire from the batteries of foreign criticism ; by the rare combination, so valuable in dealing with the nu merous aspirants in authorship with whom his position brought him in contact ; of a quick, true eye to discern in the modesty of some nameless manuscript the future promises of a power hard- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 15 ly yet conscious of itself ; a discretion to guide by sound advice, and a generosity to aid with the most important kind of assistance ; the firm and open temper which his example tended to inspire into the relations of literary man with one an other throughout the land ; and more than all, perhaps, by the harmony and union, of such in appreciable value, especially in the beginning of national effort, between the several sister arts of writing, music, painting, and dramatic exhibi tion, which the singular variety and discoursive- ness of his intellectual sympathies led him con stantly to maintain and vindicate ; these, in the multiplicity of their operation, and the full power of their joint effect, can be perfectly understood only by those who possessed a contemporaneous knowledge of the circumstances, and who, re membering the state of things at the commence ment of the period alluded to, and observing what existed at the end of it, are able to look back over the whole interval, and see to what influences and what persons the extraordinary change which has taken place, is to be referred. If, at this moment, the literary genius of Amer ica, renewed in youth, and quivering like the eagle s wings with excess of vigor, seems about to make a new flight, from a higher vantage- ground, into loftier depths of airy distance, the 16 MEMOIR OF capacity to take that flight must, to a great degree, be ascribed to those two persons whom we have named ; without whose services the brighter era which appears now to be dawning, might yet be distant and doubtful. Besides these particulars of past effort, which ought to make his countrymen love the reputa tion of the subject of this notice, we regret that our limits forbid us to speak at large of those more intimate qualities of personal value, which, in our judgment, form the genuine lustre of one who, admirable for other attainments, is to be imitated in these. To us it is an instinctive feeling that a wrong is done to the proper grandeur of our complex nature that a violence is offered to the higher consciousness of our immortal being whenever an intellectual quality is extolled to the neglect of a moral one. Moral excellence is the most real genius ; and a temper to cope and calmly baffle the multitudinous assaults of the spiritual enmity of active life, is a talent which outshines all praise of mental endowments. Unhappily, the biography of literary creators affords few occasions in which a feeling of this kind can be indulged and gratified : that sensibility of men tal apprehensions which is the fame of the author, is usually attended by a susceptibility of GEORGE P. MORRIS. It passionate impression which is the fate of the man ; and earth and sense delight to wreak their destructive vengeances upon the spiritual nature of him, of whose intellectual being they are the slaves and the sport. In the present instance, we are concerned with a character totus, teres, atque rotundus ; which may be looked upon, from every side, with an equal satisfaction. Search the wide world over, and you shall not find among the literary men of any nation, one on whom the dignity of a free and manly spirit sits with a grace more native and familiar whose spontaneous sentiments have a truer tone of nobleness the course of whose usual feel ings is more expanded and honorable whose acts, whether common and daily, or deliberate and much-considered, are wont at all times to be more beautifully impressed with those marks of sincerity* of modesty, and of justice, which form the very seal of worth in conduct. Those jeal ousies, and littlenesses, and envyings, which prey upon the spirits of many men, as the vulture on the heart of the chained Prometheus and whose fierce besetment they who will be magnan imous, have to fight off, as one drives away the eagles from their prey, with voice and gestures seem never to assail him. It is the happiness of his nature to have that only absolute deliver- 2 18 MEMOIR OF ance from evil which is implied in being rendered insensible to temptation. While the duty which is laid upon us, in this paper, mainly is to open and set forth his poetic praises and claim the laurel for his literary merits ; when the crown of song is to be conferred upon him, we shall in terpose to beg that the chaplet may be accom panied by some mark, or some inscription which shall declare, " 2t|)te is tfje retoarn of moral excellence." For the success of our special purpose, in this notice, which is to consider and make apparent the specific character which belongs to General Mor ris as a literary artist and a poetic creator, to explain his claims to that title which the com mon voice of the country has given to him of THE SONG- WRITER OF AMERICA it would have probably been more judicious had we kept out of view the matters of which we have just spoken. It is recorded of a Grecian painter, that having completed the picture of a sleeping nymph, he added on the foreground the figure of a satyr gazing in amazement upon her beauty ; but find ing that the secondary form attracted universal praise, he erased it as diverting applause from that which he desired to have regarded as the principal monument of his skill. There is in this GEORGE P. MORRIS. 19 anecdote a double wisdom ; the world is as little willing to yield to a twofold superiority as it is able to appreciate two distinct objects at once. In a review of literary reputations, perhaps nothing is fitted to raise more surprise than the obvious inequality in the extent and greatness of the labors to which an equal reward of fame has been allotted. The abounding energy and pictu resque variety of Homer are illustrated in eight- and-forty books : the remains of Sappho might be written on the surface of a leaf of the laurus nobilis. Yet if the one expands before us with the magnificent extent, the diversified surface, the endless decorations of the earth itself, the other hangs on high, like a lone, clear star small but intense flashing upon us through the night of ages, invested with circumstances of di vinity not less unquestionable than those which attend the venerable majesty of the Ancient of Song. The rich and roseate light that shines around the name of Mimnermus, is shed from some dozen or twenty lines : the immortality of Tyrtseus rests upon a stanza or two, which have floated to us with their precious freight, over the sea of centuries, and will float on, unsubmergi- ble by all the waves of Time. The soul of Si- monides lives to us in a single couplet ; but that is the very stuff of Eternity, which neither 20 MEMOIR OF fire will assoil, nor tempest peril, nor the wrath of years impair. The Infinite has no degrees ; wherever the world sees in any human being the fire of the Everlasting, it bows with equal awe, whether that fire is displayed by only an occasional flash, or by a prolonged and dif fusive blaze. There is a certain tone which, hear it when we may, and where we may, we know to be the accents of the gods : and whether its quality be shown in a single utter ance, or its volume displayed in a thousand bursts of music, we surround the band of spirits whom we there detect in their mortal disguise, with equal ceremonies of respect and worship, hailing them alike as seraphs of a brighter sphere sons of the morning. This is natural, and it is reasonable. Genius is not a degree of other qualities, nor is it a particular way or extent of displaying such qualities ; it is a faculty by it self ; it is a manner, of which we may judge with the same certainty from one exhibition, as from many. The praise of a poet, therefore, is to be determined not by the nature of the work which he undertakes, but by the kind of mastery which he shows ; not by the breadth of surface over which he toils, but by the perfectness of the re sult which he attains. Mr. Wordsworth has vindicated the capacity of the sonnet to be a GEORGE p. :,! :;PJS. 21 casket of the richest gems of fame. We have no doubt that the song may give evidence of a genius which shall deserve to be ranked with the constructor of an epic. " Scorn not the Song." We would go so far, indeed, as to say that suc cess in the song imports, necessarily, a more in born and genuine gift of poeftc conception, than the same proportion of success in other less sim ple modes of art. There are some sorts of com position which may be wrought out of eager feeling and the foam of excited passions ; and which are therefore to a large extent within the reach of earnest sensibilities and an ambitious will; others are the spontaneous outflow of the heart, to whose perfection, turbulance and effort are fatal. Of the latter kind is the song. While the ode allows of exertion and strain, what is done in it must be accomplished by native and inherent strength. Speaking with that confidence which may not improperly be assumed by one who, having looked with some care at the foundations of the opinion which he expresses, supposes himself able, if called upon by denial, to furnish such demonstra tion of its truth as the nature of the matter al lows of, we say that, in our judgment, there is no professed writer of songs, in this day, who has conceived the true character of this delicate and 22 MEMOIR OF peculiar creation of art, with greater precision and justness than Mr. Morris, or been more felic itous than he in dealing with the subtle and mul tiform difficulties that beset its execution. It is well understood by those whose thoughts are used to be conversant with the suggestions of a deeper analysis than belongs to popular criticism, that the forms of literary art are not indefinite in num ber, variable in their characteristics, or deter mined by the casual taste or arbitrary will of authors: they exist in nature; they are depend ent upon those fixed laws of intellectual being, of spiritual affection, and moral choice, which constitute the rationality of man. And the act ual, positive merit of a poetical production that real merit, which consists in native vitality, in inherent capacity to live does not lie in the glitter or costliness of the decorations with which it is invested nor in the force with which it is made to spring from the mind of its creator into the minds of others nor yet in the scale of magnitude upon which the ideas belonging to the subject are illustrated in the work ; but rath er, as we suppose, obviously, and in all cases, up on the integrity and truth with which the partic ular form that has been contemplated by the artist, is brought out, and the distinctness with which that one specific impression which is ap- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 23 propriate to it, is attained. This is the kind of excellence which we ascribe to Mr. Morris; an excellence of a lofty order; genuine, sincere, and incapable of question ; more valuable in this class of composition than in any other, because both more important and more difficult. For the song appears to us to possess a definiteness peculiarly jealous and exclusive ; to be less flex ible in character and to permit less variety of tone than most other classes of composition. If a man shall say, " I will put more force into my song than your model allows, I will charge it with greater variety of impressions," it is well ; if he is skilful, he may make something that is very valuable. But in so far as his work is more than a song, it is not a song. In all works of Art wherever form is concerned excess is error. The just notion and office of the modern song, as we think of it, is to be the embodiment and expression, in beauty, of some one of those senti ments or thoughts, gay, moral, pensive, joyous, or melancholy, which are as natural and appro priate, in particular circumstances, or to certain occasions, as the odor to the flower ; rising at such seasons, into the minds of all classes of per sons, instinctive and unbidden, yet in obedience to some law of association which it is the gift of the poet to apprehend. Its graceful purpose is to 24 MEMOIR OF exhibit an incident in the substance of an emo tion, to communicate wisdom in the form of sen timent; it is the refracted gleam of some wander ing ray from the fair orb of moral truth, which, glancing against some occurrence in common life, is surprised into a smile of quick-darting, many colored beauty ; it is the airy ripple that is thrown up when the current of feeling in human hearts accidentally encounters the current of thought, and bubbles forth with a gentle fret of sparkling foam. Self-evolved, almost, and obedient in its development and shaping to some inward spirit of beauty which appears to possess and control its course, it might almost seem that, in the out going loveliness of such productions, sentiment, made substantial in language, floated abroad in natural self-delivery; as that heat which is not yet flame, gives itself forth in blue wreaths of vaporous grace, which unfold their delicateness for a moment upon the tranquil air, and then vanish away. It is not an artificial structure built up by intellect after a model foreshaped by fancy, or foreshadowed by the instincts of the passions ; it is a simple emotion, crystalled into beauty by passing for a moment through the cooler air of the mind ; it is merely an effluence of creative vigor ; a graceful feeling thickened into words. Its proper dwelling is in the at- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 25 mospliere of the sentiments, not the passions ; it will not, indeed, repel the sympathy of deeper feelings, but knows them rather under the form of the flower that floats upon the surface of med itation, than of the deeper root that lies beneath its stream. And this is the grievous fault of nearly all Lord Byron s melodies; that he pierces too profoundly, and passes below the region of grace, charging his lyre with far more vehe mence of passion than its slight strings are meant to bear. The beauty which belongs to this pro duction, should be in the form of the thought rather than the fashion of the setting: that gen uineness and simplicity of character which con stitute almost its essence, are destroyed by any appearance of the cold artifices of construction, palpable springs set for our admiration, where by the beginning is obviously arranged in refer ence to a particular ending. This is the short- reaching power of Moore guilty, by design, of that departure from simplicity, by which he fas cinated one generation at" the expense of being forgotten by another. The song, while it is gen eral in its impression, should be particular in its occasion; not an abstraction of the mind, but a definite feeling, special to some certain set of cir cumstances. Rising from out the surface of daily experience, like the watery issuings of a fountain, 26 MEMOIR OF it throws itself upward for a moment, then de scends in a soft, glittering shower to the level whence it rose. Herein resides the chief defect of Bayly s songs; that they are too general and vague a species of pattern songs being em bodiments of some general feeling, or reflection, but lacking that sufficient reference to some sea son or occurrence which would justify their ap pearing, and take away from them the aspect of pretension and display. The only satisfactory method of criticism is by means of clinical lectures ; and we feel regret that our limits do not suffer us to any great degree to illustrate what we deem the vigor ous simplicity, and genuine grace of Mr. Morris, by that mode of exposition. We must refer to a few cases, however, to show what we have been meaning in the remarks which we made above, upon the proper character of the song. The ballad of " Woodman, spare that tree" one of those accidents of genius which, however, never happen but to consummate artists is so familiar to every mind and heart, as to resent citation. Take, then, "My Mother s Bible." We know of no similar production in a truer taste, in a purer style, or more distinctly marked with the character of a good school of composition. Or take " We were boys together." In manly pa- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 27 thos, in tenderness and truth, where shall it be excelled? " The Miniature" possesses the capti vating elegance of Yoiture. "Where Hudson s Wave" is a glorious burst of poetry, modulated into refinement by the hand of a master. Where will you find a nautical song, seemingly more spontaneous in its genial outbreak, really more careful in its construction, than "Land-ho!" How full of the joyous madness of absolute in dependence, yet made harmonious by instinctive grace, is " Life in the West !" That the same heart whose wild pulse is thrilled by the adven turous interests of the huntsman and the wan derer, can beat in unison with the gentlest truth of deep devotion, is shown in " When other Friends are around Thee." "I love the Night" has the voluptuous elegance of the Spanish mod els. Were we to meet the lines "Oh, think of me !" in an anthology, we should suppose they were Suckling s so admirably is the tone of feeling kept down to the limit of probable sin cerity which is a characteristic that the cava lier style of courting never loses. " The Star of Love" might stand as a selected specimen of all that is most exquisite in the songs of the Trou- veurs. "The Seasons of Love" is a charming effu sion of gay, yet thoughtful sentiment. The song, " I never have been false to thee," is, of itself, sum*- 28 MEMOIR OF cient to establish General Morris s fame as a great poet as a potens magister affeduum and as a literary creator of a high order. It is a thoroughly fresh and affective poem on a subject as hackneyed as the highway ; it is as deep as truth itself, yet light as the movement of a dance. We had almost forgotten, what the world will never forget, the matchless softness and transparent delicacy of "Near the Lake." Those lines, of themselves, unconsciously, court " the soft promoter of the poet s strain," and al most seem about to break into music. It is agreeable to find that, instead of being seduced into a false style by the excessive popularity which many of his songs have acquired, General Morris s later efforts are in a vein even more truly classic than his earlier ones, and show a decided advance, both in power and ease. " The Rock of the Pilgrims," and the " Indian Songs," are a very clear evidence of this. We would willingly go on with our references, as there are several which have equal claims with these upon our notice, but daudite jam TWOS. Such are some of the compositions, original in style, natural in spirit, beautiful with the charm of almost faultless execution, which may challenge for their author the title of the lau- reato of America. . . . GEORGE P. MORRIS. 29 A writer in Ilowitfs and the People s Journal furnishes the following sketch of General Morris and his Songs, which was copied and endorsed by the late Dr. Rufus W. Griswold, in his Inter* national Magazine: " Before us lies a heap of songs and ballads, the production of the rich fancy and warm heart of George P. Morris. Not many weeks since, at a public meeting in London, a gentleman claimed to be heard speak on the ground of his connec tion with the public press from the time when he was seven years of age. We will not undertake to say that General Morris ran his juvenile fingers over the chords of the lyre at so very early a period ; but it is certain he tried his hand at writing for the newspapers when he was yet but a mere boy. While in his teens, he was a constant contributor to various periodicals. Many of his articles attracted notice. He be gan to acquire a literary reputation ; and at length, in 1823, being then in his twentieth year, he became editor of the New York Mir ror. This responsible post he continued to hold until the termination of that paper s existence, in 1834. 11 Morris accomplished an infinity of good in the twenty years during which he wielded the editorial pen. Perhaps no other man in the 30 MEMOIR OF United States was so well qualified for the noble task lie set himself at the outset of his career as editor. American literature was in its in fancy, and subject to all the weaknesses of that period. Morris resolved to do his utmost toward forming a character for it, and looked abroad anxiously for such as could aid him in his en deavor. The Mirror will ever be fondly re membered by the American literary man, for it has been the cradle of American genius. " To him a writer in Graham? } s Magazine, at tributes the present flourishing condition and bright prospects of transatlantic literature. He evidently possesses a personal knowledge of Gen eral Morris, and discourses right eloquently in his praise. Nor do we think that he overrates his merits in the least. From other sources we have ourselves learned much of the genial nature of George P. Morris, and his gigantic labors as a literary pioneer. Considering its juvenility as a nation, republican America, indeed, has been amazingly prolific of good writers. The large share Morris has had in awakening the latent talent of his countrymen, must ever be to him a high source of gratulation. And then, as an original writer, he has won for himself a high place among literary Americans ; he is, in fact, known throughout the States as The Song- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 31 writer of America ; and we have the authority of Willis for stating that ninety-nine people out of a hundred take them as they come in the census would find more to admire in Morris s Songs than in the writings of any other Ameri can poet/ Willis also tells us, as a proof of the General s popularity with those shrewd dollar- loving men, the publishers, that he can, at any time, obtain fifty dollars for a song unread, when the whole remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one to the same buyer for a single shilling ! He is the best-known poet of the country by acclamation not by criticism. "Morris seems to have had juster notions of what was required in a song than many who have achieved celebrity as song-writers in Eng land. The just office and notion of the mo dern song has been defined to be, the embodi ment and expression in beauty of some thought or sentiment gay, pensive, moral, or senti mental which is as natural and appropriate in certain circumstances as the odor to the flower. Its graceful purpose is to exhibit an incident in the substance of an emotion, to communicate wisdom in the form of sentiment. A song should be the embodiment of some general feel ing, and have reference to some season or occur rence. 32 MEMOIR OF " It is not a very difficult thing to make words rhyme ; some of the most unimaginative intel lects we ever knew could do so with surprising facility. It is rare to find a sentimental miss or a lackadaisical master who cannot accomplish this intellectual feat, with the help of Walker s Rhyming Dictionary. As for love, why, every one writes about it now-a-days. There is such an abhorrence of the simple Saxon such an out rageous running after outlandish phraseology that we wonder folks are satisfied with this plain term. " We wonder they do not seek for an equiva lent in high Dutch or in low Dutch, in Hunga rian or in Hindostanee. We wish they would, with all our heart and soul. We have no objec tion, provided the heart be touched, that a head should produce a little of the stuff called non sense verses that this article should be com mitted to scented note-paper, and carefully sealed up with skewered hearts of amazing corpulence. God forbid that we should be thought guilty of a sneer at real affection ! far from it ; such ever commands our reverence. But we do not find it in the noisy tribe of goslings green who would fain be thought of the nightingale species. Did the reader ever contemplate a child engaged in the interesting operation of sucking a lolli- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 33 pop ? we assure him that that act was dictated by quite as much of true sentiment as puts in action the fingers and wits of the generality of our young amatory poetasters. " We know of none who have written more charmingly of love than George P. Morris. Would to Apollo that our rhymsters would con descend to read carefully his poetical effusions ! But they contain no straining after effect no extravagant metaphors no drivelling conceits ; and so there is little fear of their being taken as models by those gentlemen. Let the reader mark the surprising excellence of the love songs ; their perfect naturalness ; the quiet beauty of the similes ; the fine blending of graceful thought and tender feeling which characterize them. Morris is, indeed, the poet of home joys. None have described more eloquently the beauty and dignity of true affection of passion based upon esteem ; and his fame is certain to endure while the Anglo-Saxon woman has a hearthstone over which to repeat her most cherished household words. " Seldom have the benign effects of the pas sion been more felicitously painted than in the 1 Seasons of Love 7 ; and what simple tenderness is contained in the ballad of We were boys to gether/ Every word in that beautiful melody 3 34 MEMOIR OF comes home to the heart of him whose early days have been happy. God help those in whom this poem awakens no fond remembrances ! those whose memories it does not get wandering up the stream of life, toward its source ; behold ing at every step the sun smiling more brightly, the heavens assuming a deeper hue, the grass a fresher green, and the flowers a sweeter perfume. How wondrous are not its effects upon our selves ! The wrinkles have disappeared from our brow, and the years from our shoulder, and the marks of the branding-iron of experience from our heart ; and again we are a careless child, gathering primroses, and chasing butterflies, and drinking spring-water from out the hollow of our hands. Around us are the hedges with golden gorse bright blossoming, as none blossom now-a- day. We have heard of death, but we know not what it is ; and the word change has no meaning for us ; and summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest, has each its unutterable joys. Alas ! we can never remain long in this happy dream-land. Nevertheless, we have pro fited greatly by the journey. The cowslips and violets gathered by us in childhood, shall be po tent in the hour of temptation ; and the cap of rushes woven for us by kind hands in days gone by, shall be a surer defence than a helmet of GEORGE P. MORRIS. 35 steel in the hoar of battle. No, no ; we will never disgrace our antecedents. "There is one quality in his songs to which we can not but direct attention and this is their almost feminine purity. The propensities have had their laureates ; and genius, alas ! has often defiled its angel wings by contact with the sen sual and the impure ; but Morris has never at tempted to robe vice in beauty ; and, as has been well remarked, his lays can bring to the cheek of purity no blush save that of pleasure." The following letter, from the pen of GRACE GREENWOOD, is a lady s tribute to the genius of the poet : " I have read of late, with renewed pleasure and higher appreciation, the songs and ballads of our genial-hearted countryman, Morris. I had previously worried myself by a course of rather dry reading, and his poetry, tender, mu sical, fresh, and natural, came to me like spring s first sunshine, the song of her first birds, the breath of her first violets. "What a contrast is this pleasant volume to the soul-racking Festus, which has been one of my recent passions. That remarkable work has passages of great beauty and power, linked in 36 MEMOIR OF unnatural marriage with much that is poor and weak. It is like a stately ruined palace, Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome ; or it is like its own fabled first temple built to God, in the new earth a multitude of gems, swallowed by an earthquake, and scattered through a world of baser matter. The soul of the reader now faints with excess of beauty, now shudders at the terrible and the revolting. The young poet s muse at times goes like Pro serpine to gather flowers, but straightway is seized by the lord of the infernal regions, and disappears in flame and darkness. The entire volume is a poetical Archipelago isles of love liness sprinkling a dead sea of unprofitable mat ter. " It were absurd to compare the light and graceful poems of Morris with the work Festus a simple Grecian arch with a stupendous Turkish mosque an Etruscan vase with a Gothic tower. Yet there are doubtless many who will prefer the perfect realization of modest aspirations, to grand but ineffectual graspings after glory s highest and most divine guerdons a quiet walk with truth and nature, to an Icarus flight of magnificent absurdities. " It has been said that the author of * Long GEORGE P. MORRIS. 37 time ago has rung too many changes on the sentiment and passion of love. Love, the inspira tion of the glorious bards of old, * Who play upon the heart as on a harp, And make our eyes bright as we speak of them ; love ever-new, everlasting, fresh, and beautiful, now as when the silence of young Eden was thrilled, but scarce broken, by the voice of the first lover a joy and a source of joy for ever. 7 "I know it is mnch the fashion now-a-days, to hold in lordly contempt many of those sweet and holy influences which are * As angel hands, enclosing ours, Leading us back to Paradisean bowers. " Love and liberty are fast becoming mere ab stractions to the enlightened apprehension of some modern wise men. It is sad to see how soon those white-winged visiters soil their plu mage and change their very natures by a mere descent into the philosophic atmosphere of such mind. One is reminded of the words of Sweden- borg I saw a great truth let down from hea.- ven into hell, and it there became a lie! " This cynical objection to the lays of our min strel, surely never could have emanated from the heart of woman. She is ever loyal to love that tender and yearning principle in the bosom 38 MEMOIR OF of the Father, from which and by which the feminine nature was created. " The poems of Morris are indeed like those flowers of old, born of the blood-drops which oozed from the wounded foot of the queen of love blushing crimson to the very heart ; yet there is not, to my knowledge, in the whole range of English literature, so large a collection of amatory songs in which sensualism and volup tuousness find no voice. These lays can bring to the cheek of purity no blush, save that of pleas ure the mother may sing them to her child, the bride to her young husband. " Festus has an eloquent reply to such as hold love a theme unworthy the true bard : * Poets are all who love who feel great truths, And tell them ; and the truth of truths is love. 11 The muse of Morris was Poesy s own sum mer child. Hope, love, and happiness, sunny- winged fancies and golden-hued imaginings, have nested in his heart like birds. " His verse does not cause one to tremble and turn pale it charms and refreshes. It does not possess us like a passion 7 it steals upon us like a spell. It does not storm the heart like an armed host it is like the visitation of gentle spirits, Coming and going with a musical lightness. GEORGE P. MORRIS. 39 It is not a turbulent mountain-torrent, hurling itself down rocky places it is a silver stream, gliding through quiet valleys, in whose waves the sweet stars are mirrored, on whose bosom the water-lilies sleep. " Now and then there steals in a strain of sad ness, like the plaint of a bereaved bird in a gar den of roses ; but it is a tender, not an oppres sive sadness, and we know that the rainbow beauty of the verse could only be born in the wedlock of smiles and tears. In a word, his lays are not night and storm and darkness 7 they are morning and music and sunshine. " It were idle at this time to quote or com ment upon all those songs of Morris best known and oftenest sung. It would be introducing to my readers old friends who took lodgings in their memories long time ago. 7 In reference to them, I would only remark their peculiar adapt- edness to popular taste, the keen discrimination, the nice tact, or, to use one of Sir James Mack intosh s happy expressions, the feelosophj with which the poet has interlaced them with the heart-strings of a nation. " A Rock in the Wilderness is an ode that any poet might be proud to own. It is much in the style of Campbell chaste, devotional, beau tiful exceedingly. I know nothing of the kind 40 MEMOIR OF more musically sweet than the serenade Tis now the promised hour 7 the first lines in es pecial * The fountains serenade the flowers, Upon their silver lute And, nestled in their leafy bowers, The forest birds are mute. " Many an absent lover must have blessed our lyrist, for giving voice to his own yearning af fection, half sad with that delicate jealousy which is no wrong to the loved one, in the song When other friends are round thee. " The Bacchanal if our language boasts a lovelier ballad than this, it has never met my eye. The story of the winning, the betraying, and the breaking of a woman s heart, was never told more touchingly. The Dismissed is in a peculiar vein of rich and quiet humor. I would commend it to the entire class of rejected lovers, as containing the truest philosophy. Lines after the manner of the olden time remind one of Sir John Suckling. They are sunned o er with love their subject, by the way. I never have been false to thee was an emanation from the feminine nature of the minstrel alone. Who does not believe the poet gifted with duality of soul ? Think of me, my own beloved, and Rosabel, are the throbbings of a lover s breast, set to music ; and One balmy summer night, GEORGE P. MORRIS. 41 Mary/ The heart that owns thy tyrant sway/ and * When I was in my teens/ the distillation of the subtilest sweets lodged in the innermost cells of all flowers dedicated to love. "I come now to my favorite, Where Hud son s wave ; a poem which I never read but that it glows upon my lip and heart, and leaves the air of my thoughts tremulous with musical vi brations. What a delicious gush of parental feeling ! How daintily and delicately move the fitly chosen words/ tripping along like silver- sandaled fairies. " Land-Ho 1 and the Western Refrain thrill one gloriously. The Cottager s Welcome would of itself carry the poet s name to the next age, and the Croton Ode keep his bays green with a perpetual baptism. The last-mentioned is fresh and sparkling as its subject, and displays much of the imaginative faculty. " Oh, a merry life does the hunter lead/ rolled up the tenth wave of Morris-ian popular ity at the West. It stirs the hunter s heart like a bugle blast it rings out clear as a rifle-crack on a hunting morning. 11 General Morris has recently published some songs, which have all the grace, melody, and touching sweetness of his earlier lays. But as these have been artistically set to music, and 42 MEMOIR OF are yet in the first season of popularity are lying on the pianos and rolling over the bright lip 7 of all song-dom, they call for no further mention here. 11 1 think I cannot better close this somewhat broken and imperfect notice, than by referring to one of the earlier songs of Morris, which, more than all others, perhaps, has endeared him to his native land. * Home from travel 7 is a simple, hearty, manly embodiment of the true spirit of patriotism, a sentiment which throbs like a strong pulse beneath our poet s light and graceful verse, and needs but the inspiration of stirring times 7 to prompt to deeds of heroic valor, like the lays of the ancient bards, or the Chansons of Beranger." The biography of Morris would not be com plete without a word from Willis. We have a dash of his pencil in the following letter to the editor of G-rahairfs Magazine : " MY DEAR SIR : To ask me for my idea of General Morris, is like asking the left hand s opi nion of the dexterity of the right. I have lived so long with the Brigadier 7 know him so in timately worked so constantly at the same rope, and thought so little of ever separating from him (except by precedence of ferriage GEORGE P. MORRIS. 43 over the Styx), that it is hard to shove him from me to the perspective distance hard to shut my own partial eyes, and look at him through other people s. I will try, however ; and, as it is done with but one foot off from the treadmill of my ceaseless vocation, you will excuse both abruptness and brevity. " Morris is the best-known poet of the coun try, by acclamation, not by criticism. He is just what poets would be if they sang, like birds, without criticism ; and it is a peculiarity of his fame, that it seems as regardless of criticism, as a bird in the air. Nothing can stop a song of his. It is very easy to say that they are easy to do. They have a momentum, somehow, that it is difficult for others to give, and that speeds them to the far goal of popularity the best proof consisting in the fact that he can, at any moment, get fifty dollars for a song unread, when the whole remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one to the same buyer for a shilling. " It may, or may not, be one secret of his popularity, but it is the truth that Morris s heart is at the level of most other people s, and his poetry flows out by that door. He stands breast-high in the common stream of sympathy, and the fine oil of his poetic feeling goes from 44 MEMOIR OF him upon an element it is its nature to float upon, and which carries it safe to other bosoms, with little need of deep diving or high flying. His sentiments are simple, honest, truthful, and familiar ; his language is pure and eminently musical, and he is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day feeling. These are days when poets try experiments ; and while others succeed by taking the world s breath away with flights and plunges, Morris uses his feet to walk quietly with nature. Ninety-nine people in a hundred, taken as they come in the census, would find more to admire in Morris s songs, than in the writings of any other American poet ; and that is a parish in the poetical episcopate, well worthy a wise man s nurture and prizing. " As to the man Morris, my friend I can hardly venture to burn intense on his mous tache/ as the French say write his praises un der his very nose but as far off as Philadel phia, you may pay the proper tribute to his loyal nature and manly excellencies. His per sonal qualities have made him universally popu lar ; but this overflow upon the world does not impoverish him for his friends. I have outlined a true poet, and a fine fellow fill up the picture to your liking. Yours, very truly, " K R WILLIS." GEORGE P. MORRIS. 45 In 1825, General Morris wrote the drama of " Briercliff," a play, in five acts, founded upon events of the American Revolution. It was per formed forty nights in succession ; and the man ager paid him for it $3,500 a solid proof of its attractive popularity. It has never been pub lished. Prior, and subsequent to this period, his pen was actively engaged upon various literary and dramatic works. He wrote a number of the " Welcomes to La fayette," and songs and ballads, which were uni versally popular, besides many prologues and ad dresses. In 1842, he wrote an opera for Mr. C. E. Horn, called the " Maid of Saxony," which was performed fourteen nights, with great success, at the Park theatre. The press of the city, gener ally, awarded to this opera the highest commen dation. From the period when General Morris com menced his career as a writer, his pen has been constantly employed in writing poems, songs, ballads, and prose sketches. In 1840, the Appletons published an edition of his poems, beautifully illustrated by Weir & Chapman ; in 1842, Paine & Burgess published his songs and ballads ; and in 1853, Scribner s edition, illustrated by Weir and Darley, ap- 46 MEMOIR OF peared. This last beautiful work Las had an immense sale. They were highly commended by the press throughout the country, and these and other editions have had large sales. A portion of his prose writings, under the title of "The Little Frenchman and his Water-Lots," were published by Lea & Blanch ard, w r hich edition has been followed by others, enlarged by the author. General Morris has edited a number of works; among them are the " Atlantic Club Book, pub lished by the Harpers ; " The Song- Writers of America," by Linen & Ferrin ; " National Melo dies," by Horn & Davis ; and, in connection with Mr. Willis, " The Prose and Poetry of Europe and America," a standard work of great value. In 1844, in connection with Mr. Willis, he es tablished a beautiful weekly paper, called the " New Mirror," which, in consequence of the cover and engravings, was taxed by the post- office department a postage equal to the sub scription price ; and not being able to obtain a just reduction from Mr. Wickliffe, then post master-general, the proprietors discontinued its publication, after a year and a half, notwith standing it had attained a circulation of ten thousand copies. The daily " Evening Mirror" was next com- GEORGE P. MORRIS. 47 menced, and continued for one year by Morris & Willis. A few months after withdrawing from the " Evening Mirror," General Morris began the publication of the " National Press and Home Journal ;" but as many mistook its object from its name, the first part of its title was discon tinued ; and in November, 1846 (Mr. Willis having again joined his old friend and associate), appeared the first number of the " Home Jour nal," a weekly paper, published in New York every Saturday, which is edited with taste, spirit, and ability, and which has a circulation of many thousand copies. General Morris is still in the prime and vigor of life, and it is not unlikely that the public will yet have much to admire from his pen, and which will, without doubt, place him still higher in the niche of fame. His residence is chiefly at Undercliff, his country seat, on the banks of the Hudson, near Cold Spring, surrounded by the most lovely and beautiful scenery in nature, which can not fail to keep the muse alive within him, and tune the minstrel to further and still higher efforts. Although he possesses abilities which emi nently qualify him for public station, his literary taste and habits have, in spite of the strenuous 48 MEMOIR OF GEORGE P. MORRIS. solicitations of his friends, led him to prefer the retirement of private life. This, however, does not prevent his taking an active interest in all questions of public good ; and the city of New York is greatly indebted to his vigorous aid for many of her most beautiful and permanent im provements. We can not close this sketch without adverting to the following incident, which occurred in the British House of Commons : " Mr. Cagley, a member from Yorkshire," says the London Times, "concluded a long speech in favor of protection, by quoting the ballad of Woodman, spare that tree (which was received with the applause of the whole house), the tree/ according to Mr. Cagley, be ing the Constitution/ and Sir Robert Peel the woodman/ about to cut it down." W T hat poet could desire a more gratifying compliment to his genius ? POEMS AND BALLADS. JPOEMS. . THE DESERTED BRIDE. SUGGESTED BY A SCENE IN THE PLAY OF TUB HUNCHBACK. INSCRIBED TO JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. " LOVE me ! No. He never loved me !" Else he d sooner die than stain One so fond as he has proved me With the hollow world s disdain. False one, go my doom is spoken, And the spell that bound me broken. Wed him ! Never. He has lost me ! Tears ! Well, let them flow ! His bride ? No. The struggle life may cost me ! But he ll find that I have pride ! Love is not an idle flower, Blooms and dies the self-same hour. 52 THE DESERTED BRIDE. Title, land, and broad dominion, With himself to me he gave ; Stooped to earth his spirit s pinion, And became my willing slave 1 Knelt and prayed until he won me Looks he coldly now upon me ? Ingrate ! Never sure was maiden Deeply wronged as I. With grief My true breast is overladen Tears afford me no relief Every nerve is strained and aching, And my very heart is breaking ! Love I him ? Thus scorned and slighted- Thrown, like a worthless weed, apart Hopes and feelings seared and blighted Love him ? Yes, with all my heart ! With a passion superhuman Constancy, " thy name is woman." Love, nor time, nor mood, can fashion Love ? Idolatry s the word To speak the broadest, deepest passion, Ever woman s heart hath stirred ! Yain to still the mind s desires, Which consume like hidden fires ! THE DESERTED BRIDE. 53 Wrecked and wretched, lost and lonely, Crushed by griefs oppressive weight With a prayer for Clifford only, I resign me to my fate. Chains that bind the soul I Ve proven Strong as they were iron woven. Deep the wo that fast is sending From my cheek its healthful bloom ; Sad my thoughts as willows bending O er the borders of the tomb ! Without Clifford, not a blessing In the world is worth possessing. Wealth ! a straw within the balance Opposed to love, twill strike the beam : Kindred, friendship, beauty, talents ? All to love as nothing seem ; Weigh love against all else together, And solid gold against a feather. Hope is flown away disguises Naught but death relief can give For the love he little prizes Can not cease, and Julia live ! Soon my thread of life will sever Cifford, fare thec well for ever ! 54 THE MAIN-TRUCK ; THE MAIN-TRUCK; OR, A LEAP FOR LIFE.* A NAUTICAL BALLAD. OLD Ironsides at anchor lay, In the harbor of Mahon ; A dead calm rested on the bay The waves to sleep had gone ; When little Jack, the captain s son, With gallant hardihood, Climbed shroud and spar and then upon The main-truck rose and stood ! A shudder ran through every vein All eyes were turned on high ! There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky I No hold had he above below, Alone he stood in air I At that far height none dared to go No aid could reach him there. We gazed but not a man could speak f With horror all aghast In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, We watched the quivering mast. * Founded up m a well-known, tale from the pen of tlie late William Leggett, Esq. OR, A LEAP FOR LIFE. 55 The atmosphere grew thick and hot, And of a lurid hue, As, riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck He gasped, "0, God, Thy will be done I" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son ! "Jump far out, boy ! into the wave ! Jump, or I fire !" he said : " That only chance your life can save ! Jump jump, boy 1" He obeyed. He sank he rose he lived he moved He for the ship struck out ! On board we hailed the lad beloved With many a manly shout. His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, Then folded to his heart the boy, And fainted on the deck ! 56 POETRY. POETRY. To me the world s an open book Of sweet and pleasant poetry ; I read it in the running brook That sings its way toward the sea. It whispers in the leaves of trees, The swelling grain, the waving grass, And in the cool, fresh evening breeze That crisps the wavelets as they pass. The flowers below, the stars above, In all their bloom and brightness given, Are, like the attributes of love, The poetry of earth and heaven. Thus Nature s volume, read aright, Attunes the soul to minstrelsy, Tinging life s clouds with rosy light, And all the world with poetry. THE CROTON ODE. 57 THE CROTON ODE. WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE CORPORATION OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK. Gushing from this living fountain, Music pours a falling strain, As the goddess of the mountain Comes with all her sparkling train. From her grotto-springs advancing, Glittering in her feathery spray, . Woodland fays beside her dancing, She pursues her winding way. Gently o er the rippling water, In her coral-shallop bright, Glides the rock-king s dove-eyed daughter, Decked in robes of virgin white. JS T ymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling, Urge her bark with pearly hand, Merrily the sylph beguiling From the nooks of fairy-land. Swimming on the snow-curled billow, See the river-spirits fair Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow, With the foam-beads in their hair. 58 THE CROTON ODE. Thus attended, hither wending, Floats the lovely oread now, Eden r s arch of promise bending Over her translucent brow. Hail the wanderer from a far land ! Bind her flowing tresses up t Crown her with a fadeless garland; And with crystal brim the cup. From her haunts of deep seclusion, Let Intemperance greet her too, And the heat of his delusion Sprinkle with this mountain-dew. Water leaps as if delighted, While her conquered foes retire I Pale Contagion flies affrighted With the baffled demon Fire t Safety dwells in her dominions, Health and Beauty with her move, And entwine their circling pinions In a sisterhood of love. Water shouts a glad hosanna ! Bubbles up the earth to bless ! Cheers it like the precious manna In the barren wilderness. FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. 59 Here we wondering gaze, assembled Like the grateful Hebrew band, When the hidden fountain trembled, And obeyed the prophet s wand. Round the aqueducts of story, As the mists of Lethe throng, Croton s waves in all their glory Troop in melody along. Ever sparkling, bright, and single, Will this rock-ribbed stream appear, When posterity shall mingle Like the gathered waters here. FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. =* * # # * * TIIEY come ! Be firm in silence rally ! The long-knives our retreat have found ! Hark ! their tramp is in the valley, And they hem the forest round I The burdened boughs with pale scouts quiver, The echoing hills tumultuous ring, While across the eddying river Their barks, like foaming war-steeds, spring! 60 FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. The blood-hounds darken land and water ; They come like buffaloes for slaughter ! See their glittering ranks advancing, See upon the free winds dancing Pennon proud and gaudy plume. The strangers come in evil hour, In pomp, and panoply, and power ! But, while upon our tribes they lower, Think they our manly hearts will cower To meet a warrior s doom ? Right they forget while strength they feel ; Our veins they drain, our land they steal ; And should the vanquished Indian kneel, They spurn him from their sight ! Be set for ever in disgrace The glory of the red-man s race, If from the foe we turn our face, Or safety seek in flight ! They come Up, and upon them braves ! Fight for your altars and your graves ! Drive back the stern, invading slaves, In fight till now victorious ! Like lightning from storm-clouds on high, The hurtling, death- winged arrows fly, And wind-rows of pale warriors die ! FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. 61 Oh ! never has the sun s bright eye Looked from his hill-tops in the sky Upon a field so glorious I They re gone again the red-men rally ; With dance and song the woods resound : The hatchet s buried in the valley ; ]S T o foe profanes our hunting-ground ! The green leaves on the blithe boughs quiver, The verdant hills with song-birds ring, While our bark-canoes the river Skim like swallows on the wing. Mirth pervades the land and water, Free from famine, sword, and slaughter. Let us, by this gentle river, Blunt the axe and break the quiver, While, as leaves upon the spray, Peaceful flow our cares away. * # # * # # Yet, alas ! the hour is brief Left for either joy or grief! All on earth that we inherit From the hands of the Great Spirit 62 FRAGMENT OF AN INDIAN POEM. Wigwam, hill, plain, lake, and field To the white-man must we yield ; For, like sun-down on the waves, We are sinking to our graves ! From this wilderness of wo Like a caravan we go, Leaving all our groves and streams For the far-off land of dreams. There are prairies waving high, Boundless as the sheeted sky, Where our fathers spirits roam, And the red-man has a home. Let tradition tell our story, As we fade in cloudless glory, As we seek the land of rest Beyond the borders of the west, No eye but ours may look upon WE ARE THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN. * * * * * * LAND-HO! 63 LAND-HO ! Up, up with the signal ! The land is in sight ! We ll be happy, if never again, boys, to-night! The cold cheerless ocean in safety we ve passed, And the warm genial earth glads our vision at last, In the land of the stranger true hearts we shall find, To soothe us in absence of those left behind. Land ! land-ho ! All hearts glow with joy at the sight ! We 11 be happy, if never again, boys, to-night ! The signal is waving ! Till morn we ll remain, Then part in the hope to meet one day again ! Round the hearth-stone of home in the land of our birth, The holiest spot on the face of the earth I Dear country ! our thoughts are as constant to to thee As the steel to the star, or the stream to the sea. Ho! land-ho! We near it I We bound at the sight ! Then be happy, if never again boys, to-night ! 64 WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE, The signal is answered ! The foam-sparkles rise Like tears from the fountain of joy to the eyes ! May rain-drops that fall from the storm-clouds of care, Melt away in the sun-beaming smiles of the fair ! One health, as chime gaily the nautical bells : To woman God bless her! wherever she dwells ! THE PILOT ? s ON BOARD ! Thank heaven, all s right ! So be happy, if never again, boys, to-night. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT THEE! WOODMAN, spare that treeJ Touch not a single bough 3 In youth it sheltered me, And 1 7 11 protect it now, 7 T was my forefather s hand That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o er land and sea And wouldst thou hew it down ? WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. 65 Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! Cut not its earth-bound ties ; Oh, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies ! When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here ; My father pressed my hand Forgive this foolish tear, . But let that old oak stand. My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend ! Here shall the wild-bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree ! the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot ; While I ve a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm it not. 5 66 THE COTTAGER S WELCOME. THE COTTAGER S WELCOME. HARD by I ve a cottage that stands near the wood A stream glides in peace at the door Where all who will tarry, t is well understood, Receive hospitality s store. To the cheer that the brook and the thicket af ford, The stranger we ever invite : You re welcome to freely partake at the board, And afterwards rest for the night. The birds in the morning will sing from the trees, And herald the young god of day ; Then, with him uprising, depart if you please We 11 set you refreshed on the way : Your coin for our service we sternly reject ; No traffic for gain we pursue, And all the reward that we wish or expect, We take in the good that we do. Mankind are all pilgrims on life s weary road, And many would wander astray In seeking Eternity s silent abode, Did Mercy not point out the way ! THE LAND OF WASHINGTON. 67 If all would their duty discharge as they should To those who are friendless and poor, The world would resemble my cot near the wood, And life the sweet stream at my door. THE LAND OF WASHINGTON. I GLORY in the sages Who, in the days of yore, In combat met the foemen, And drove them from our shore. Who flung our banner s starry field In triumph to the breeze, And spread broad maps of cities where Once waved the forest-trees. Hurrah ! * I glory in the spirit Which goaded them to rise And found a mighty nation Beneath the western skies. No clime so bright and beautiful As that where sets the sun ; No land so fertile, fair, and free, As that of Washington. Hurrah 1 68 THE FLAG OF OUR UNION. THE ELAG OF OUR UNION. "A SONG for our banner?" The watchword recall Which gave the Republic her station : " United we stand divided we fall P It made and preserves us a nation ! The union of lakes the union of lands The union of States none can sever The union of hearts the union of hands And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever 1 The Flag of our Union for ever What God in his niercy and wisdom designed, And armed with his weapons of thunder, Not all the earth s despots and factions combined Have the power to conquer or sunder ! The union of lakes the union of lands The union of states none can sever The union of hearts the union of hands And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever 1 LINES. 69 ADDITIONAL, TERSE. Oh, keep that flag flying! The pride of the van! To all other nations display it ! The ladies for union are all to a man ! But not to the man who r d betray it. Then the union of lakes the union of lands The union of states none can sever The union of hearts the union of hands And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever I The Flag of our Union for ever ! LINES AFTER THE MANNER OF THE OLDEN TIME. LOVE ! the mischief thou hast done ! Thou god of pleasure and of pain ! None can escape thee yes there s one All others find the effort vain : Thou cause of all my smiles and tears ! Thou blight and bloom of all my years ! 70 LINES. Love bathes him in the morning dews, Reclines him in the lily bells, Reposes in the rainbow hues, And sparkles in the crystal wells, Or hies him to the coral-caves, Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves. Love vibrates in the wind-harp s tune With fays and oreads lingers he Gleams in th ring of the watery moon, Or treads the pebbles of the sea. Love rules " the court, the camp, the grove "- Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love ! And everywhere he welcome finds, From cottage-door to palace-porch Love enters free as spicy winds, With purple wings and lighted torch, With tripping feet and silvery tongue, And bow and darts behind him slung. He tinkles in the shepherd s bell The village maiden leans to hear By lattice high he weaves his spell, For lady fair and cavalier : Like sun-bursts on the mountain snow, Love s genial warmth melts high and low. THE DREAM OF LOVE. 71 Then why, ye nymphs Arcadian, why Since Love is general as the air Why does he not to Lelia fly, And soften that obdurate fair? Scorn nerves her proud, disdainful heart ! She scoffs at Love and all his art ! Oh, boy-god, Love ! An archer thou ! Thy utmost skill I fain would test ; One arrow aim at Lelia now, And let thy target be her breast ! Her heart bind in thy captive train, Or give me back my own again 1 THE DREAM OF LOVE. I VE had the heart-ache many times, At the mere mention of a name I ve never woven in my rhymes, Though from it inspiration came. It is in truth a holy thing, Life-cherished from the world apart A dove that never tries its wing, But broods and nestles in the heart. 72 THE DREAM OF LOVE. That name of melody recalls Her gentle look and winning ways Whose portrait hangs on memory s walls, In the fond light of other days. In the dream-land of Poetry, Reclining in its leafy bowers, Her bright eyes in the stars I see, And her sweet semblance in the flowers. Her artless dalliance and grace The joy that lighted up her brow The sweet expression of her face Her form it stands before me now ! And I can fancy that I hear The woodland songs she used to sing, Which stole to my attending ear, Like the first harbingers of spring. The beauty of the earth was hers, And hers the purity of heaven ; Alone, of all her worshippers, To me her maiden vows were given. They little know the human heart, Who think such love with time expires ; Once kindled f it will ne er depart, But burn through life with all its fires. I M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN. 73 We parted doomed no more to meet The blow fell with a stunning power And yet my pulse will strangely beat At the remembrance of that hour ! But time and change their healing brought, And years have passed in seeming glee, But still alone of her I ve thought Who s now a memory to me. There may be many who will deem This strain a wayward, youthful folly, To be derided as a dream Born of the poet s melancholy. The wealth of worlds, if it were mine, With all that follows in its train, I would with gratitude resign, To dream that dream of love again. I M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN. I M with you once again, my friends, No more my footsteps roam ; Where it began my journey ends, Amid the scenes of home. 74 I 7 M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN. No other clime has skies so blue, Or streams so broad and clear, And where are hearts so warm and true As those that meet me here ? Since last with spirits, wild and free, I pressed my native strand, I Ve wandered many miles at sea, And many miles on land. I ve seen fair realms of the earth By rude commotion torn, Which taught me how to prize the worth Of that where I was born. In other countries, when I heard The language of my own, How fondly each familiar word Awoke an answering tone ! But when our woodland songs were sung Upon a foreign mart, The vows that faltered on the tongue With rapture thrilled the heart ! My native land, I turn to you, With blessing and with prayer, Where man is brave and woman true ; And free as mountain air. OH, WOULD THAT SHE WERE HERE. 75 Long may our flag in triumph wave Against the world combined, And friends a welcome foes a grave, Within our borders find. OH, WOULD THAT SHE WERE HERE ! OH, would that she were here, These hills and dales among, Where vocal groves are gayly mocked By Echo s airy tongue : Where jocund nature smiles In all her boon attire, And roams the deeply-tangled wilds Of hawthorn and sweet-brier. Oh, would that she were The gentle maid I sing, Whose voice is cheerful as the songs Of forest-birds in spring ! Oh, would that she were here, Where the free waters leap, Shouting in sportive joyousness Adown the rocky steep : Where zephyrs crisp and cool The fountains as they play, 76 THE SWORD AND THE STAFF. With health upon their wings of light, And gladness in their way. Oh, would that she were here, With these balm-breathing trees, The sylvan daughters of the sun, The rain-cloud, and the breeze ! Oh, would that she were here, Where glide the rosy hours, Murm ring the drowsy hum of bees, And fragrant with the flowers : Where Heaven s redeeming love Spans earth in Mercy s bow The promise of the world above Unto the world below. Oh, would that she were here, Amid these shades serene Oh, for the spell of woman s love, To consecrate the scene ! THE SWORD AND THE STAFF. THE sword of the hero ! The staff of the sage ! Whose valor and wisdom Are stamped on the age ! THE SWORD AND THE STAFF. Time-hallowed mementoes Of those who have riven The sceptre from tyrants, " The lightning from heaven P This weapon, Freedom ! Was drawn by thy son, And it never was sheathed Till the battle was won ! No stain of dishonor Upon it we see ! T was never surrendered Except to the free ! While Fame claims the hero And patriot sage, Their names to emblazon On History s page, No holier relics Will liberty hoard Th#n FRANKLIN S staff, guarded By WASHINGTON S sword. 78 THE CHIEFTAIN S DAUGHTER. THE CHIEFTAIN S DAUGHTER. UPON the barren sand A single captive stood ; Around him carne, with bow and brand, The red-men of the wood. Like him of old, his doom he hears, Rock-bound on ocean s rim : The chieftain s daughter knelt in tears, And breathed a prayer for him. Above his head in air The savage war-club swung : The frantic girl, in wild despair, Her arms about him flung. Then shook the warriors of the shade, Like leaves on aspen limb Subdued by that heroic maid * Who breathed a prayer for him. "Unbind him I" gasped the chief " Obey your king s decree !" He kissed away her tears of grief, And set the captive free. THY WILL BE DONE. 7 Tis ever thus, when, in life s storm, Hope s star to man grows dim, An angel kneels in woman s form, And breathes a prayer for him. THY WILL BE DONE. SEARCHER of Hearts ! from mine erase All thoughts that should not be, And in its deep recesses trace Mj gratitude to Thee ! Hearer of Prayer ! oh, guide aright Each word and deed of mine ; Life s battle teach me how to fight, And be the victory Thine. Giver of All ! for every good In the Redeemer came For raiment, shelter, and for food, I thank Thee in His name. Father and Son and Holy Ghost ! Thou glorious Three in One ! Thou knowest best what I need most, And let Thy will be done. 80 LIFE IN THE WEST. LIFE IN THE WEST. Ho ! brothers come hither and list to my story Merry and brief will the narrative be . Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory Master am I, boys, of all that I see ! Where once frowned a forest, a garden is smil ing - The meadow and moorland and marshes no more ; And there curls the smoke of my cottage, be guiling The children who cluster like grapes round my door. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; The land of the heart is the land of the West ! Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! Talk not of the town, boys give me the broad prairie, Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free : Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea ! LIFE IX THE WEST. 81 A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing ; With proud independence we season our cheer, And those who the world are for happiness rang ing, Won t find it at all if they don t find it here. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest I I 11 show you the life, boys, we live in the West ! Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own ; We spread hospitality s board for the stranger, And care not a jot for the king on his throne. We never know want, for we live by our labor, And in it contentment and happiness find ; We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor, And die, boys, in peace and good-will to man kind. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; You know how we live, boys, and die in the West! Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! SONG OF MARION S MEN. SONG OF MARION S MEN. IN the ranks of Marion s band, Through morass and wooded land, Over beach of yellow sand, Mountain, plain, and valley, A southern maid, in all her pride, Marched gayly at her lover s side, In such disguise That e en his eyes Did not discover Sallie ! When returned from midnight tramp, Through the forest dark and damp, On his straw-couch in the camp, In his dreams he d dally With that devoted, gentle fair, Whose large black eyes and flowing hair So near him seem, That in his dream, He breathes his love for Sallie ! Oh, what joy that maiden knew, When she found her lover true ! Suddenly the trumpet blew, Marion s men to rally ! JANET MORE A. 83 To ward the death-spear from his side ! In battle by Santee she died ! Where sings the surge A ceaseless dirge Near the lone grave of Sallie. JANET McKEA. SHE heard the fight was over, And won the wreath of fame ! When tidings from her lover, With his good war-steed came : To guard her safely to his tent, The red-men of the woods were sent. They led her where sweet waters gush ! Under the pine-tree bough ! The tomahawk is raised to crush T is buried in her brow ! -- She sleeps beneath that pine-tree now ! Her broken-hearted lover In hopeless conflict died ! The forest-leaves now cover That soldier and his bride ! The frown of the Great Spirit fell Upon the red-men like a spell ! 84: LISETTE. No more those waters slake their thirst, Shadeless to them that tree ! O er land and lake they roam accurst, And in the clouds they see Thy spirit, unavenged, McRea 1 LISETTE. WHEN Love in myrtle shades reposed, His bow and darts behind him slung ; As dewey twilight round him closed, Lisette these numbers sung : " Love I thy sylvan bower I ? 11 fly while I Ve the power - r Thy primrose way leads maids where they Love, honor, and obey 1" "Escape," the boy-god said, " is vain," And shook the diamonds from his wings ; " I 11 bind thee captive in my train, Fairest of earthly things !" " Go, saucy archer, go ! I freedom s value know : Begone, I pray to none I ll sa/j Love, honor, and obey !" MY MOTHERS BIBLE. 85 " Speed, arrow, to thy mark !" he cried Swift as a ray of light it flew ! Love spread his purple pinions wide, And faded from her view ! Joy filled that maiden s eyes Twin load-stars from the skies i And one bright day her lips did say, " Love, honor, and obey F MY MOTHER S BIBLE. THIS book is all that *s left me now I Tears will unbidden start With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree ; My mother s- hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me. Ah ! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear ; Who round the hearth-stone used to close After the evening prayer, 86 MY MOTHER S BIBLE. And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill ! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still ! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear ; How calm was my poor mother s look Who leaned God s word to hear ! Her angel face I see it yet ! What vivid memories come ! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home ! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I Ve tried : Where all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy : In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. "THE DOG-STAR RAGES." 87 " THE DOG-STAR RAGES/ UNSEAL the city fountains, And let the waters flow In coolness from the mountains Unto the plains below. My brain is parched and erring, The pavement hot and dry, And not a breath is stirring Beneath the burning sky. The belles have all departed There does not linger one ! Of course the mart s deserted By every mother s son, Except the street musician, And men of lesser note, Whose only earthly mission Seems but to toil and vote ! A woman blessings on her ! Beneath my window see ; She s singing what an honor ! Oh I " Woodman, spare that tree !" 88 "THE DOG-STAR RAGES." Her "man" the air is killing His organ 7 s out of tune They re gone, with my last shilling, To Florence s saloon. New York is most compactly Of brick and mortar made Thermometer exactly One hundred in the shade I A furnace would be safer Than this my letter-room, Where gleams the sun, a wafer About to seal my doom. The town looks like an ogre, The country like a bride ; Wealth hies to Saratoga, And Worth to Sunny-side. While Fashion seeks the islands Encircled by the sea, Taste finds the Hudson Highlands More beautiful and free. The omnibuses rumble Along their cobbled way The "twelve inside" more humble Than he who takes the pay : "THE DOG-STAR RAGES." 89 From morn till midnight stealing, His horses come and go The only creatures feeling The " luxury of wo !" We editors of papers, Who coin our brains for bread By solitary tapers While others doze in bed, Have tasks as sad and lonely, However right or wrong, But with this difference only, The horses rest at night. From twelve till nearly fifty I Ve toiled and idled not, And, though accounted thrifty, * I *m scarcely worth a groat ; However, I inherit What few have ever gained A bright and cheerful spirit That never has complained. A stillness and a sadness Pervade the City Hall, And speculating madness Has left the street of Wall 90 "THE DOG-STAR RAGES." The Union Square looks really Both desolate and dark, And that s the case, or nearly, From Battery to Park. Had I a yacht, like Miller, That skimmer of the seas . A wheel rigged on a tiller, And a fresh gunwale breeze, A crew of friends well chosen, And all a-taunto, I Would sail for regions frozen I d rather freeze than fry. Oh, this confounded weather ! (As some one sung or said,) My pen, though but a feather, Is heavier than lead ; At every pore I m oosing (I m "caving in 7 to-day) My plumptitude I m losing, And dripping fast away. I m weeping like the willow That droops in leaf and bough - Let Croton s sparkling billow Flow through the city now ; A LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK. 91 And, as becomes her station, The muse will close her prayer : God save the Corporation ! Long live the valiant Mayor ! A LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK. IN the days that are gone, by this sweet-flowing water, Two lovers reclined in the shade of a tree ; She was the mountain-king s rosy -lipped daughter, The brave warrior-chief of the valley was he. Then all things around them, below and above, Were basking as now in the sunshine of love In the days that are gone, by this sweet-flow ing stream. In the days that are gone, they were laid neath the willow, The maid in her beauty, the youth in his pride ; Both slain by the foeman who crossed the dark billow, And stole the broad lands where their chil dren reside : 92 THE BALL-ROOM BELLE. Whose fathers, when dying, in fear looked above, And trembled to think of that chief and his love, In the days that are gone, by this sweet flow ing stream. THE BALL-ROOM BELLE. (MUSIC BY HORN.) THE moon and all her starry train Were fading from the morning sky, When home the ball-room belle again Returned, with throbbing pulse and brain, Flushed cheek and tearful eye. The plume that danced above her brow, The gem that sparkled in her zone, The scarf of spangled leaf and bough, Were laid aside they mocked her now, When desolate and lone. That night how many hearts she won ! The reigning belle, she could not stir, But, like the planets round the sun, Her suitors followed all but one One all the world. to her ! WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER. 93 And she had lost him ! Marvel not That lady s eyes with tears were wet ! Though love by man is soon forgot, It never yet was woman s lot To love and to forget. WE WERE BOYS TOGETHER. (MUSIC BY KTTSSELL.) WE were boys together, And never can forget The school-house near the heather, In childhood where we met ; The humble home to memory dear, Its sorrows and its joys ; Where woke the transient smile or tear, When you and I were boys. We were youths together, And castles built in air, Your heart was like a feather, And mine weighed down with care ; To you came wealth with manhood s prime, To me it brought alloys Foreshadowed in the primrose time, When you and I were boys. 94 OH, BOATMAN, HASTE ! We re old men together The friends we loved of yore, With leaves of autumn weather, Are gone for evermore. How blest to age the impulse given, The hope time ne er destroys Which led our thoughts from earth to heaven, When you and I were boys ! OH, BOATMAN, HASTE ! (MUSIC BY BALFE.) TWILIGHT. OH, boatman, haste ! The twilight hour Is closing gently o er the lea ! The sun, whose setting shuts the flower. Has looked his last upon the sea ! Row, then, boatman, row ! Row, then, boatman, row ! Row ! aha ! we Ve moon and star ! And our skiff with the stream is flowing. Heigh-ho ! ah ! heigh-ho ! Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho ! OH, BOATMAN, HASTE ! 95 MIDNIGHT. Oh, boatman haste! The sentry calls The midnight hour on yonder shore, And silvery sweet the echo falls As music dripping from the oar ! Row, then, boatman, row ! Row, then, boatman, row I Row ! afar fade moon and star ! While our skiff with the stream is flowing ! Heigh-ho ! ah ! heigh-ho ! Echo responds to my sad heigh-ho. DAWN. Oh, boatman haste ! The morning beam Glides through the fleecy clouds above : So breaks on life s dark, murmuring stream, The rosy dawn of woman s love ! Row, then, boatman row ! Row, then, boatman, row ! Row ! T is day ! away away ! To land with the stream we are flowing ! Heigh-ho ! dear one ho ! Beauty responds to my glad heigh-ho! 96 FUNERAL HYMN. FUNERAL HYMN. " MAN dieth and wasteth away, And where is he ?" Hark ! from the skies I hear a voice answer and say, " The spirit of man never dies : His body, which came from the earth, Must mingle again with the sod ; But his soul, which in heaven had birth, Returns to the bosom of God." No terror has death, or the grave, To those who believe in the Lord We know the Redeemer can save, And lean on the faith of his word; While ashes to ashes, and dust We give unto dust, in our gloom, The light of salvation, we trust, Is hung like a lamp in the tomb. The sky will be burnt as a scroll The earth, wrapped in flames, will expire; But, freed from all shackles, the soul Will rise in the midst of the fire. O ER THE MOUNTAINS. 97 Then, brothers, mourn not for the dead, Who rest from their labors, forgiven ; Learn this from your Bible instead, The grave is the gateway to heaven. Lord God Almighty ! to Thee We turn as our solace above ; The waters may fail from the sea, But not from thy fountains of love : Oh, teach us Thy will to obey, And sing with one heart and accord, "He gave and He taketh away, And praised be the name of the Lord !" O ER THE MOUNTAINS. SOME spirit wafts our mountain lay - II ili ho ! boys, hili ho ! To distant groves and glens away ! Hili ho ! boys, hili ho ! E en so the tide of empire flows Ho ! boys, hili ho ! Rejoicing as it westward goes ! Ho ! boys, hili ho ! To refresh our weary way Gush the crystal fountains, As a pilgrim band we stray Cheerly o er the mountains. 7 98 WOMAN. The woodland rings with song and shout ! Hili ho ! boys, hili ho ! As though a fairy hunt were out ! Hili ho ! boys, hili ho ! E en so the voice of woman cheers Ho ! boys, hili ho ! The hearts of hardy mountaineers ! JJP& Ho ! boys, hili ho ! Like the glow of northern skies Mirrored in the fountains, Beams the love-light of fond eyes, As we cross the mountains. WOMAN. AH, woman ! in this world of ours, What boon can be compared to thee ? How slow would drag life s weary hours, Though man s proud brow were bound with flowers, And his the wealth of land and sea, If destined to exist alone, And ne er call woman s heart his own ! My mother ! At that holy name, Within my bosom there s a gush Of feeling, which no time can tame A feeling, which, for years of fame, I would not, could not, crush ! ROSABEL. 99 And sisters ! ye are dear as life ; But when I look upon my wife, My heart-blood gives a sudden rush, And all my fond affections blend In mother sisters wife and friend ! Yes, woman s love is free from guile, And pure as bright Aurora s ray ; The heart will melt before her smile, And base-born passions fade away ! Were I the monarch of the earth, Or master of the swelling sea, I would not estimate their worth, Dear woman, half the price of thee. ROSABEL. I MISS thee from my side, beloved, I fliiss thee from my side ; And wearily and drearily Fltfws Time s resistless tide. The world, and all its fleeting joys, To me are worse than vain, Until I clasp thee to my heart, Beloved one, again. 100 ROSABEL. The wild wood and the forest-path, We used to thread of yore, What bird -and bee have flown with thee ; And gone for ever more ! There is no music in the grove, No echo on the hill ; But melancholy boughs are there And hushed the whip-poor-will. I miss thee in the town, beloved, I miss thee in the town ; From morn I grieve till dewy eve Spreads wide its mantle brown. My spirit s wings, that once could soar In Fancy s world of air, Are crushed and beaten to the ground By life-corroding care. No more I hear thy thrilling voice, Nor see thy winning face ; That once would gleam like morning s beam, In mental pride and grace : Thy form of matchless symmetry, In sweet perfection cast Is now the star of memory That fades not with the past. THE TYRANT SWAY. 101 I miss thee everywhere, beloved, I miss thee everywhere ; Both night and day wear dull away, And leave me in despair. The banquet-hall, the play, the ball, And childhood s sportive glee, Have lost their spell for me, beloved, My soul is full of thee ! Has Rosabel forgotten me, And love I now in vain ? If that be so, my heart can know No rest on earth again. A sad and weary lot is mine, To love and be forgot ; A sad and weary lot, beloved A sad and weary lot ! THE TYRANT SWAY. THE heart that owns the tyrant s sway, Whatever its hopes may be, Is like a bark that drifts away Upon a shoreless sea ! No compass left to guide her on, Upon the surge she s tempest-torn And such is life to me ! 102 A HERO OF THE REVOLUTION. And what is life when love is fled ? The world, unshared by thee ? Fd rather slumber with the dead, Than such a waif to be ! The bark that by no compass steers Is lost, which way soe er she veers And such is life to me ! A HERO OF THE REVOLUTION. LET not a tear be shed ! Of grief give not a token, Although the silver thread And golden bowl be broken ! A warrior lived a Christian died ! Sorrow s forgotten in our pride ! Go, bring his battle-blade, His helmet and his plume ! And be his trophies laid Beside him in the tomb, Where files of time-marked veterans come With martial tramp and muffled drum ! Give to the earth his frame, To moulder and decay j RHYME AND REASON. 103 But not his deathless name That can not pass away ! In youth, in manhood, and in age, He dignified his country s page ! Green be the willow-bough Above the swelling mound, Where sleeps the hero now In consecrated ground : Thy epitaph, Delavan ! God s noblest work an honest man! RHYME AND REASON. AN APOLOGUE. Two children of the olden time, In Flora s primrose season, Were born. The name of one was Rhyme, That of the other Reason. And both were beautiful and fair, And pure as mountain stream and air. As the boys together grew, Happy fled their hours Grief or care they never knew In the Paphian bowers. 104 RHYME AND REASON. See them roaming, hand in hand, The pride of all the choral band ! Music with harp of golden strings, Love with bow and quiver, Airy sprites on radiant wings, Nymphs of wood and river, Joined the Muses constant song, As Rhyme and Reason passed along. But the scene was changed the boys Left their native soil Rhyme s pursuit was idle joys, Reason s manly toil : Soon Rhyme was starving in a ditch, While Reason grew exceeding rich. Since the dark and fatal hour, When the brothers parted, Reason has had wealth and power Rhyme s poor and broken-hearted ! And now, or bright or stormy weather, They twain are seldom seen together. STARLIGHT RECOLLECTIONS. 105 STARLIGHT RECOLLECTIONS. TWAS night. Near the murmuring Saone, We met with no witnesses by, But such as resplendently shone In the blue-tinted vault of the sky : Your head on my bosom was laid, As you said you would ever be mine ; And I promised to love, dearest maid, And worship alone at your shrine. Your love on my heart gently fell As the dew on the flowers at eve, Whose bosoms with gratitude swell, A blessing to give and receive : And I knew by the glow on your cheek, And the rapture you could not control, No power had language to speak The faith or content of your soul. I love you as none ever loved As the steel to the star I am true ; And I, dearest maiden, have proved That none ever loved me but you. 106 WEARIES MY LOVE ? Till memory loses her power, Or the sands of existence have run, I ll remember the star-lighted hour That mingled two hearts into one. WEARIES MY LOVE? WEARIES my love of my letters ? Does she my silence command ? Sunders she Love s rosy fetters As though they were woven of sand ? Tires she too of each token Indited with many a sigh ? Are all her promises broken ? And must I love on till I die ? Thinks my dear love that I blame her With what was a burden to part ? Ah, no ! with affection Pll name her While lingers a pulse in my heart. Although she has clouded with sadness, And blighted the bloom of my years, I love her still, even to madness, And bless her through showers of tears ! My pen I have laid down in sorrow, The songs of my lute I forego j FARE THEE WELL, LOYE. 107 From neither assistance I ll borrow To utter my heart-seated wo ! But peace to her bosom, wherever Her thoughts or her footsteps may stray : Memento of mine again never Will shadow the light of her way ! FARE THEE WELL, LOVE. FARE thee well, love ! We must sever I Not for years, love ; but for ever ! We must meet no more or only Meet as strangers sad and lonely. Fare thee well ! Fare thee well, love ! How I languish For the cause of all my anguish ! None have ever met and parted So forlorn and broken-hearted. Fare thee well ! Fare thee well, love ! Till I perish All my truth for thee I 11 cherish ; And, when thou my requiem nearest, Know till death I loved thee, dearest. Fare thee well ! 108 THOU HAST WOVEN THE SPELL. THOU HAST WOVEN THE SPELL. THOU hast woven the spell that hath bound me, Through all the sad changes of years ; And the smiles that I wore when I found thee, Have faded and melted in tears ! Like the poor, wounded fawn from the mountain. That seeks out the clear silver tide, I have lingered in vain at the fountain Of hope with a shaft in my side ! Thou hast taught me that Love s rosy fetters A pang from the thorns may impart ; That the coinage of vows and of letters Comes not from the mint of the heart. Like the lone bird that nutters her pinion, And warbles in bondage her strain, I have struggled to fly thy dominion, But find that the struggle is vain ! BESSY BELL. 109 B.ESSY BELL. WHEN life looks drear and lonely, love, And pleasant fancies flee, Then will the Muses only, love, Bestow a thought on me ! Mine is a harp which Pleasure, love, To waken strives in vain ; To Joy s entrancing measure, love, It ne er can thrill again ! Why mock me, Bessy Bell ? Oh, do not ask me ever, love, For rapture-woven rhymes ; For vain is each endeavor, love, To sound Mirth s play-bell chimes ! Yet still believe me, dearest love, Though sad my song may be, This heart still dotes sincerest, love, And grateful turns to thee My once fond Bessy Bell ! Those eyes still rest upon me, love ! I feel their magic spell ! With that same look you won me, love, Fair, gentle Bessy Bell ! 110 THE DAY IS NOW DAWNING. My doom you ve idly spoken, love, You never can be mine ! But though my heart is broken, love, Still, Bessy, it is thine ! Adieu, false Bessy Bell ! THE DAY IS NOW DAWNING. WILLIAM. THE day is now dawning, love, Fled is the night I go like the morning, love, Cheerful and bright. Then adieu, dearest Ellen : When evening is near, I 11 visit thy dwelling, For true love is here. ELLEN. Oh, come where the fountain, love, Tranquilly flows ; Beneath the green mountain, love, Seek for repose ; There the days of our childhood, In love s golden beam, Mong the blue-bells and wildwood, Passed on like a dream. THE DAY IS NOW DAWNING. Ill WILLIAM. Oh, linger awhile, love ! ELLEN. I must away. WILLIAM. Oh, grant me thy smile, love, Tis Hope s cheering ray With evening expect me. .- i i ,,i>j\?<nom odl s>J; -t> < ELLEN. To the moment be true, And may angels protect thee BOTH. Sweet Ellen, adieu ! Dear William, adieu ! 112 WHEN OTHER FRIENDS. WHEN OTHER FRIENDS. WHEN other friends are round thee, And other hearts are thine When other bays have crowned thee, More fresh and green than mine Then think how sad and lonely This doating heart will be, Which, while it beats, beats only, Beloved one, for thee ! Yet do not think I doubt thee, I know thy truth remains ; I would not live without thee, For all the world contains. Thou art the star that guides me Along life s troubled sea ; And whatever fate betides me, This heart still turns to thee. SILENT GRIEF. 113 SILENT GRIEF. WHERE is now my peace of mind ? Gone, alas ! for evermore : Turn where er I may, I find Thorns where roses bloomed before ! O er the green-fields of my soul, Where the springs of joy were found, Now the clouds of sorrow roll, Shading all the prospect round ! Do I merit pangs like these, That have cleft my heart in twain ? Must I, to the very lees, Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain ? Silent grief all grief excels ; Life and it together part Like a restless worm it dwells Deep within the human heart ! 9 114 LOVE THEE, DEAREST? TWILIGHT. LOVE THEE, DEAREST 7 LOVE tliee, dearest ? Hear me. Never Will my fond vows be forgot ! May I perish, and for ever, When, dear maid, I love thee not ! Turn not from me, dearest ! Listen ! Banish all thy doubts and fears ! Let thine eyes with transport glisten ! What hast thou to do with tears ? Dry them, dearest ! - Ah, believe me, Love s bright flame is burning still ! Though the hollow world deceive thee, Here s a heart that never will ! Dost thou smile ? A cloud of sorrow Breaks before Joy s rising sun ! Wilt thou give thy hand ? To-morrow, Hymen, dearest, makes us one ! 115 I LOVE THE NIGHT. I LOVE THE NIGHT. I LOVE the night when the moon streams bright On flowers that drink the dew When cascades shout as the stars peep out, From boundless fields of blue ; But dearer far than moon or star, Or flowers of gaudy hue, Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills, I love, I love, love you ! I love to stray at the close of day, Through groves of forest-trees, When gushing notes from song-birds throats Are vocal in the breeze. I love the night the glorious night When hearts beat warm and true ; But far above the night, I love, I love, I love, love you ! 116 THE MINIATURE. THE MINIATURE. WILLIAM was holding in his hand The likeness of his wife ! Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand ; With beauty, grace, and life. He almost thought it spoke : he gazed Upon the bauble still, Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, To view the artist s skill. " This picture is yourself, dear Jane ; Tis drawn to nature true : I ve kissed it o er and o er again, It is so much like you." " And has it kissed you back, my dear ?" "Why -no my love," said he. " Then, William, it is very clear Tis not at all like me!" THE RETORT. 117 THE KETORT. OLD Nick, who taught the village-school, Wedded a maid of homespun habit ; He was as stubborn as a mule, She was as playful as a rabbit. Poor Jane had scarce become a wife, Before her husband sought to make her The pink of country-polished life, And prim and formal as a quaker. One day the tutor went abroad, And simple Jenny sadly missed him ; When he returned, behind her lord She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him ! The husband s anger rose ! and red And white his face alternate grew I 11 Less freedom, ma am !" Jane sighed and said, " Oh, dear ! I didrtt know twas you!" 318 LINES ON A POET. LINES ON A POET. How sweet the cadence of his lyre ! What melody of words ! They strike a pulse within the heart Like songs of forest-birds, Or tinkling of the shepherd s bell Among the mountain-herds. His mind s a cultivated garden, Where Nature s hand has sown The flower-seeds of poesy And they have freshly grown, Imbued with beauty and perfume To other plants unknown. A bright career s before him All tongues pronounce his praise ; All hearts his inspiration feel, And will in after-days ; For genius breathes in every line Of his soul-thrilling lays. THE BACCHANAL. 119 A nameless grace is round him A something, too refined To be described, yet must be felt By all of human kind An emanation of the soul, That can not be defined. Then blessings on the minstrel His faults let others scan : There may be spots upon the sun, Which those may view who can ; I see them not yet know him well A POET AND A MAN. THE BACCHANAL. BESIDE a cottage-door, Sung Ella at her wheel ; Ruthven rode o er the moor, Down at her feet to kneel : A spotted palfrey gay Came ambling at his side, To bear the maid away As his affianced bride. 120 THE BACCHANAL. A high-born noble he, Of stately halls secure ; A low-born peasant she, Of parentage obscure. How soft the honeyed words He breathes into her ears ! The melody of birds ! The music of the spheres ! With love her bosom swells, Which she would fain conceal - Her eyes, like crystal wells, Its hidden depths reveal. While liquid diamonds drip From feeling s fountain warm, Flutters her scarlet lip A rose-leaf in a storm ! As from an April sky The rain-clouds flit away, So from the maiden s eye Vanished the falling spray, Which lingered but awhile Her dimpled cheek upon Then melted in her smile, Like vapor in the sun. THE BACCHANAL. 121 The maid is all his own ! She trusts his plighted word, And, lightly on the roan, She springs beside her lord : She leaves her father s cot, She turns her from the door That green and holy spot Which she will see no more ! They hied to distant lands, That lord and peasant-rnaid : The church ne er joined their hands, For Ella was betrayed I Torn from her native bower, That modest rose of May, Drooped, in his stately tower, And passed from earth away. They laid her in the ground, And Ella was forgot Dead was her father found In his deserted cot. But Ruthven what of him ? He ran the story o er, And, filling to the brim, He thought of it no more ! 122 TWENTY YEARS AGO TWENTY YEAKS AGO. (MH8IO BY AUSTIN PHILLIPS.) TWAS in the flush of summer-time, Some twenty years or more, When Ernest lost his way, and crossed The threshold of our door. I ll ne er forget his locks of jet, His brow of Alpine snow, His manly grace of form and face, Some twenty years ago. The hand he asked I freely gave Mine was a happy lot, In all my pride to be his bride Within my father s cot. The faith he spoke he never broke : His faithful heart I know ; And well I vow I love him now As twenty years ago. NATIONAL ANTHEM. 123 NATIONAL ANTHEM. FREEDOM spreads her downy wings Over all created things ; Glory to the King of kings, Bend low to Him the knee ! Bring the heart before His throne Worship Him and Him alone ! He ? s the only King we own And He has made us free ! The holiest spot a smiling sun E er shed his genial rays upon, Is that which gave a Washington The drooping world to cheer ! Sound the clarion-peals of fame ! Ye who bear Columbia s name ! With existence freedom came It is man s birthright here ! Heirs of an immortal sire, Let his deeds your hearts inspire ; Weave the strain and wake the lyre Where your proud altars stand I 124 I LOVE THEE STILL. Hail with pride and loud hurrahs, Streaming from a thousand spars, Freedom s rainbow-flag of stars The symbol of our land ! I LOVE THEE STILL. I NEVER have been false to thee ! -- The heart I gave thee still is thine ; Though thou hast been untrue to me, And I no more may call thee mine ! I ve loved, as woman ever loves, With constant soul in good or ill : Thou 7 st proved as man too often proves, A rov er but I love thee still! Yet think not that my spirit stoops To bind thee captive in my train ! Love s not a flower at sunset droops, But smiles when comes her god again ! Thy words, which fall unheeded now, Could once my heart-strings madly thrill ! ov^H golden chain and burning vow Are broken but I love thee still ! LOOK FROM THY LATTICE, LOVE. 125 Once what a heaven of bliss was ours, When love dispelled the clouds of care, And time went by with birds and flowers, While song and incense filled the air ! The past is mine the present thine Should thoughts of me thy future fill, Think what a destiny is mine, To lose but love thee, false one, still ! LOOK FROM THY LATTICE, LOVE. LOOK from thy lattice, love Listen to me ! The cool, balmy breeze Is abroad on the sea ! The moon, like a queen, Roams her realms above, And naught is awake But the spirit of love. Ere morn s golden light Tips the hills with its ray, Away o er the waters Away and away ! Then look from thy lattice, love Listen to me. While the moon lights the sky, And the breeze curls the sea ! 126 SHE LOVED HIM. Look from thy lattice, love Listen to me ! In the voyage of life, Love our pilot will be ! He 11 sit at the helm Wherever we rove, And steer by the load-star He kindled above ! His gem-girdled shallop Will cut the bright spray, Or skim, like a bird, O er the waters away ! Then look from thy lattice, love - Listen to me, While the moon lights the sky, And the breeze curls the sea ! SHE LOVED HIM. SHE loved him but she heeded not Her heart had only room for pride : All other feelings were forgot, When she became another s bride. As from a dream she then awoke, To realize her lonely state, And own it was the vow she broke That made her drear and desolate ! THE SUITORS. She loved him but the sland rer came, With words of hate that all believed ; A stain thus rested on his name But he was wronged and she deceived ; Ah ! rash the act that gave her hand, That drove her lover from her side Who hied him to a distant land, Where, battling for a name, he died ! She loved him and his memory now Was treasured from the world apart : The calm of thought was on her brow, The seeds of death were in her heart. For all the world that thing forlorn I would not, could not be, and live That casket with its jewel gone, A bride who has no heart to give ! THE SUITORS. WEALTH sought the bower of Beauty, Dressed like a modern beau : Just then Love, Health, and Duty Took up their hats to go. Wealth such a cordial welcome met, As made the others grieve ; 128 ST. AGNES SHRINE. So Duty shunned the gay coquette, Love, pouting, took French leave He did ! Love, pouting, took French leave ! Old Time, the friend of Duty, Next called to see the fair ; He laid his hand on Beauty, And left her in despair. Wealth vanished ! Last went rosy Health- And she was doomed to prove That those who Duty slight for Wealth, Can never hope for Love ! Ah, no ! Can never hope for Love ! ST. AGNES SHRINE. WHILE before St. Agnes 7 shrine Knelt a true knight s lady-love, From the wars of Palestine Came a gentle carrier-dove. Round his neck a silken string Fastened words the warrior writ : At her call he stooped his wing, And upon her finger lit. WESTERN REFRAIN. 129 She, like one enchanted, pored O er the contents of the scroll For that lady loved her lord With a pure, devoted soul. To her heart her dove she drew, While she traced the burning line ; Then away his minion flew Back to sainted Palestine. To and fro, from hand to hand Came and went a carrier-dove, Till throughout the Holy Land War resigned his sword to Love. Swift her dove, on wings of light, Brought the news from Palestine, And the lady her true knight Wedded at St. Agnes shrine. WESTERN REFRAIN DROOP not, brothers ! As we go, O er the mountains, Westward ho ! Under boughs of mistletoe, Log huts we 11 rear, 9 130 WESTERN REFRAIN. While herds of deer and buffalo Furnish the cheer. File o er the mountains steady, boys ! For game afar We hare our rifles ready, boys ! Aha! Throw care to the winds, Like chaff, boys ! ha ! And join in the laugh, boys ! Hah hah hah! Uo;i;trj?jY/ fejjSfj n u Cheer up, brothers ! As we go, O er the mountains, Westward ho ! Wlien we Ve wood and prairie-land, Won by our toil, We 11 reign like kings in fairy-land, Lords of the soil ! Then westward ho ! in legions, boys Fair Freedom s star Points to her sunset regions, boys ! Aha! Throw care to the winds, Like chaff, boys ! ha ! And join in the laugh, boys Hah hah hah! THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. 131 THE PRAIIUE ON FIRE. THE shades of evening closed around The boundless prairies of the west, As, grouped in sadness on the ground, A band of pilgrims leaned to rest : Upon the tangled weeds were laid The mother and her youngest born, Who slept, while others watched and prayed, And thus the weary night went on. Thick darkness shrouded earth and sky When on the whispering winds there came The Teton s shrill and thrilling cry, And heaven was pierced with shafts of flame ! The sun seemed rising through the haze, But with an aspect dread and dire : The very air appeared to blaze ! God ! the Prairie was 011 fire ! Around the centre of the plain A belt of flame retreat denied And, like a furnace, glowed the train That walled them in on every side : 132 THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. And onward rolled the torrent wild Wreathes of dense smoke obscnred the sky ! The mother knelt beside her child, And all save one shrieked out, " We die !" " Not so 1" he cried. " Help ! Clear the sedge ! Strip bare a circle to the land !" That done, he hastened to its edge, And grasped a rifle in his hand : Dried weeds he held besHe the pan, Which kindled at a flash the mass ! " Now fire fight fire !" he said, as ran The forked flames among the grass. On three sides now the torrent flew, But on the fourth no more it raved ! Then large and broad the circle grew, And thus the pilgrim band was saved ! The flames receded far and wide The mother had not prayed in vain : God had the Teton s arts defied ! His scythe of fire had swept the plain ! THE EVERGREEN. 133 THE EVERGREEN. LOVE can not be the aloe-tree, Whose bloom but once is seen ; Go search the grove the tree of love Is sure the evergreen : For that s the same, in leaf or frame, Neath cold or sunny skies ; You take the ground its roots have bound, Or it, transplanted, dies 1 That love thus shoots, and firmly roots In woman s heart, we see ; Through smiles and tears in after-years It grows a fadeless tree. The tree of lovej all trees above, For ever may be seen, In summer s bloom or winter s gloom, A hardy evergreen. 134 THE MAY-QUEEN. THE MAY-QUEEN. LIKE flights of singing-birds went by The cheerful hours of girlhood s day, When, in my native bowers, Of simple buds and flowers They wove a crown, and hailed me Queen of May ! Like airy sprites the lasses came, Spring s offerings at my feet to Jay ; The crystal from the fountain, The green bough from the mountain, They brought to cheer and shade the Queen of May. Around the May-pole on the green, A fairy ring they tripped away ; All merriment and pleasure, To chords of tuneful measure They bounded by the happy Queen of May. VENETIAN SERENADE. . 135 Though years have passed, and Time has strown My raven locks with flakes of gray, Fond Memory brings the hours Of buds and blossom-showers When in girlhood I was crowned the Queen of May. VENETIAN SERENADE. COME, come to me, love ! Come, love ! Arise ! And shame the bright stars With the light of thine eyes ; Look out from thy lattice Oh, lady-bird, hear ! A swan on the water My gondola s near 1 Come, come to me r love ! Come, love I My bride ! O er crystal in moonbeams We 11 tranquilly glide : In the dip of the oar A melody flows Sweet as the nightingale Sings to the rose. 136 . THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. Come, come to me, love I Come, love ! The day Brings warder and cloister 1 Away, then away 1 Oh, haste to thy lover! Not yon star above Is more true to heaven Than he to his love ! THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. " The plaint of the wailing Whip-poor- win, Who mourns -unseen and c-easeless sings Ever a note of wail and wo, Till Morning spreads lier rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow." J. R. DRAKI. WHY dost thou come at set of sun, Those pensive words to say ? Why whip poor Will ? What has he done ? And who is Will, I pray ? Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill, A suppliant at my door ? Why ask of me to whip poor Will ? And is Will really poor ? THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 13 1 If poverty s his crime, let mirth From out his heart be driven : That is the deadliest sin on earth, And never is forgiven ! Art Will himself? It must be so I learn it from thy moan, For none can feel another s wo As deeply as his own. Yet wherefore strain thy tiny throat, While other birds repose ? What means thy melancholy note ? The mystery disclose ! Still " Whip poor Will !" Art thou a sprite, From unknown regions sent To wander in the gloom of night, And ask for punishment ? Is thine a conscience sore beset With guilt ? or, what is worse, Hast thou to meet writs, duns, and debt No money in thy purse ! If this be thy hard fate indeed, Ah ! well may st thou repine : The sympathy I give I need The poet s doom is thine ! 138 THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. Art thou a lover, Will ? Has proved The fairest can deceive ? Thine is the lot of all who Ve loved Since Adam wedded Eve ! Hast trusted in a friend, and seen No friend was he in need ? A common error men still lean Upon as frail a reed. Hast thou, in seeking wealth or fame, A crown of brambles won ? O er all the earth t is just the same With every mother s son ! Hast found the world a Babel wide, Where man to mammon stoops ? Where flourish Arrogance and Pride, While modest Merit droops ? What, none of these ? Then, whence thy pain ? To guess it who ? s the skill ? Pray have the kindness to explain Why I should whip poor Will ? Dost merely ask thy just desert ? What, not another word ? Back to the woods again, unhurt I will not harm thee, bird ! THE EXILE TO HIS SISTER. 139 But use thee kindly for my nerves, Like thine, have penance done : " Use every man as he deserves, Who shall scape whipping ?" None ! Farewell, poor Will ! Not valueless This lesson by thee given : " Keep thine own counsel, and confess Thvself alone to Heaven !" THE EXILE TO HIS SISTER. As streams at morn, from seas that glide, Rejoicing on their sparkling way, Will turn again at eventide, To mingle with their kindred spray E en so the currents of the soul, Dear sister, wheresoever we rove, Will backward to our country roll, The boundless ocean of our love. Yon northern star, now burning bright, The guide by which the wave-tossed steer, Beams not with a more constant light Than does thy love, my sister dear. NEAR THE LAKE. From stars above the streams below Receive the glory, they impart ; So, sister, do thy virtues glow Within the mirror of my heart. NEAR THE LAKE. the lake where drooped the willow, Long time ago ! Where the rock threw back the billow, Brighter than snow Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished By high and low ; But with autumn s leaf she perished, Long time ago 1 Rock and tree and flowing water, Long time ago ! Bee and bird and blossom taught her Love s spell to know ! While to my fond words she listened, Murmuring low, Tenderly her dove-eyes glistened, Long time agoJ THE PASTOR S DAUGHTER. 141 Mingled were our hearts for ever. Long time ago 1 . , Can I now forget her ? Never ! No lost one no ! To her grave these tears are given, Ever to flow : She s the star I missed from heaven, Long time ago 1 THE PASTOR S DAUGHTER. AN ivy-mantled cottage smiled, Deep-wooded near a streamlet s side, Where dwelt the village-pastor s child, In all her maiden bloom and pride. Proud suitors paid their court and duty To this romantic sylvan beauty : Yet none of all the swains who sought her, Was worthy of the pastor s daughter. The town-gallants crossed hill and plain, To seek the groves of her retreat ; And many followed in her train, To lay their riches at her feet. 142 THE PASTOR S DAUGHTER. But still, for all their arts so wary, From home they could not lure the fairy. A maid without a heart they thought her, And so they left the pastor s daughter. One balmy eve in dewy spring A bard became her father s guest : He struck his harp, and every string To love vibrated in her breast. With that true faith which can not falter, Her hand was given at the altar, And faithful was the heart he brought her To wedlock and the pastor s daughter. How seldom learn the worldly gay With all their sophistry and art, The sweet and gentle primrose-way To woman s fond, devoted heart ! They seek, but never find, the treasure, Revealed in eyes of jet and azure. To them, like truth in wells of water, A fable is the pastor s daughter. MARGARET! A. 143 MARGARETTA. WHEN I was in my teens, I loved dear Margaretta : I know not what it means, I can not now forget her ! That vision of the past My head is ever crazing ; Yet, when I saw her last, I could not speak for gazing ! Oh, lingering bud of May ! Dear as when first I met her ; Worn is my heart alway, Life-cherished Margaretta ! We parted near the stile, As morn was faintly breaking : For many a weary mile Oh how my heart was aching ! But distance, time, and change, Have lost me Margaretta ; And yet ? t is sadly strange That I can not forget her ! 144 THE COLONEL. O queen of rural maids My dark-eyed Margaret ta The heart the mind upbraids That struggles to forget her ! My love, I know, will seem A wayward, boyish folly ; But, ah ! it was a dream Most sweet most melancholy. Were mine the world s domain, To me 7 t were fortune better To be a boy again, And dream of Margaretta. Oh ! memory of the past, Why linger to regret her ? My first love was my last ! And that is Margaretta ! THE COLONEL. THE Colonel! Such a creature ! I met him at the ball ! So fair in form and feature. And so divinely tall ! He praised my dimpled cheeks and curls, While whirling through the dance, And matched me with the dark-eyed girls Of Italy and Prance 1 THE COLONEL. . 145 He said, in accents thrilling Love s boundless as the sea ; And I, dear maid, am willing To give up all for thee \" I heard him blushed " Would ask mamma" And then my eyes grew dim ! He looked I said, "Mamma papa I M give up all for him !" My governor is rich and old ; This well the Colonel knew. " Love s wings," he said, " when fringed with gold, Are beautiful to view !" I thought his havior quite the ton, Until I saw him stare When merely told that brother John Papa would make his heir ! Next day and the day after I dressed for him in vain ; Was moved to tears and laughter He never came again ! But I have heard, for Widow Dash He bought the bridal ring ; And he will wed her for her cash The ugly, hateful thing ! 10 THE SWEEP S CAROL. THE SWEEP S CAROL. THROUGH the streets of New York city, Blithely every morn, I carolled o er my artless ditty, Cheerly though forlorn ! Before the rosy light, my lay Was to the maids begun, Ere winters snows had passed away, Or smiled the summer sun. Carol a y e o! In summer months I d fondly woo Those merry, dark-eyed girls, With faces of the ebon hue, And teeth like eastern pearls ! One vowed my love she would repay Her heart my song had won When winter snows had passed away, And smiled the summer sun. Carol a y e o ! A year, alas ! had scarcely flown Hope beamed but to deceive Ere I was left to weep alone, From morn till dewy eve ! THE SEASONS OF LOVE. She died one dreary break of day ! _ Grief weighs my heart upon ! _ In vain the snows may pass away, Or smile the summer sun. Carol a -y e o! THE SEASONS OF LOVE. THE spring-time of love Is both happy and gay, For joy sprinkles blossoms And balm in our way ; The sky, earth, and ocean, In beauty repose, And all the bright future Is coleur de rose. The summer of love Is the bloom of the heart, When hill, grove, and valley, Their music impart ; And the pure glow of heaven Is seen in fond eyes, As lakes show the rainbow That >s hung in the skies. 148 MY WOODLAND BRIDE. The autumn of love Is the season of cheer Life s mild Indian summer, The smile of the year ! Which comes when the golden Ripe harvest is stored, And yields its own blessings Repose and reward. The winter of love Is the beam that we win While the storm scowls without, From the sunshine within. Love s reign is eternal The heart is his throne, And he has all seasons Of life for his own. MT WOODLAND BRIDE. HERE upon the mountain-side Till now we met together ; Here I won my woodland bride, In flush of summer weather. OH, THIXK OF ME ! 149 Green was then the linden-bough, This dear retreat that shaded ; Autumn winds are round me now, And the leaves have faded. She whose heart was all my own, In this summer-bower, With all pleasant things has flown, Sunbeam, bird, and flower ! But her memory will stay With me, though we re parted From the scene I turn away, Lone and broken-hearted ! OH, THINK OF ME ! OH, think of me, my own beloved, Whatever cares beset thee ! And when thou hast the falsehood proved, Of those with smiles who met thee While o er the sea, think, love, of me, Who never can forget thee ; Let memory trace the trysting-place, Where I with tears regret thee. 150 MY BARK IS OUT UPON THE SEA. Bright as yon star, within my mind, A hand unseen hath set thee ; There hath thine image been enshrined, Since first, dear love, I met thee ; So in thy breast I fain would rest, If, haply, fate would let me And live or die, so thou wert nigh, To love or to regret me ! MY BARK IS OUT UPON THE SEA. MY bark is out upon the sea The moon s above ; Her light a presence seems to me Like woman s love. My native land I ve left behind Afar I roam ; In other climes no hearts I 11 find Like those at home. Of all yon sisterhood of stars, But one is true : She paves my path with silver bars, And beams like you, WILL NOBODY MARRY ME ? 151 Whose purity the waves recall In music s flow, As round my bark they rise and fall In liquid snow. The freshening breeze now swells our sails ! A storm is on ! The weary moon s dim lustre fails The stars are gone ! ~Not so fades Love s eternal light When storm-clouds weep ; I know one heart s with me to-night Upon the deep ! WILL NOBODY MARRY ME ? HEIGH-HO ! for a husband ! Heigh-ho ! There s danger in longer delay ! Shall I never again have a beau ? Will nobody marry me, pray ! I begin, to feel strange, I declare ! With beauty my prospects will fade I d give myself up to despair If I thought I should die an old maid 1 152 THE STAR OF LOVE. I once cut the beaux in a huff I thought it a sin and a shame That no one had spirit enough To ask me to alter my name. So I turned up my nose at the short, And cast down my eyes at the tall ; But then I just did it in sport And now I Ve no lover at all ! These men are the plague of my life : Tis hard from so many to choose ! Should any one wish for a wife, Could I have the heart to refuse ? I don t know for none have proposed Oh, dear me ! I m frightened, I vow ! Good gracious ! who ever supposed That I should be single till now ? THE STAR OF LOVE. THE star of love now shines above, Cool zephyrs crisp the sea ; Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves Its serenade for thee. WELL-A-DAY ! 153 The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees, Their minstrelsy unite, But all are drear till thou appear To decorate the night. The light of noon streams from the moon, Though with a milder ray ; O er hill and grove, like woman s love, It cheers us on our way. Thus all that s bright the moon, the night, The heavens, the earth, the sea, Exert their powers to bless the hours W dedicate to thee. WELL-A-DAY ! LOVE comes and goes like a spell ! How, no one knows, nor can tell ! Now here now there then away None dreameth where ! Well-a-day ! Love should be true as the star Seen in the blue sky afar ! Now here now there like the lay Of lutes in th> air ! Well-a-dav ! 154 NOT MARRIED YET ! Should love depart, not a tie Binds up the heart till we die ! Now here now there sad we stray \ Life is all care ! Well-a-day ! NOT MAKRIED YET! I M single yet I m single yet ! And years have flown since I came out 1 In vain I sigh in vain I fret Ye gods I what are the men about ^ I vow 1 7 m twenty ! ye powers ! A spinster s lot is hard to bear On earth alone to pass her hours, And afterward lead apes down tJwre I No offer yet no offer yet ! I m puzzled quite to make it out : For every beau my cap I set What, what, what are the men about ? They do n t propose they won t propose, For fear, perhaps, I d not say, " Yes !" Just let them try for Heaven knows I m tired of single-blessedness. LADY OF ENGLAND. 155 Not married yet* not married yet The deuce is in the men, I fear ! I ? m like a something to be let, And to be let alone that s clear. They say, " She s pretty but no chink And love without it runs in debt !" It agitates my nerves to think That I have had no offer yet. LADY OF ENGLAND. LADY OF ENGLAND o er the seas Thy name was borne on every breeze, Till all this sunset clime became Familiar with Victoria s name. Though seas divide us many a mile, Yet, for the Queen of that fair isle, From which our fathers sprung, there roves A blessing from this Land of Groves. Our Fatherland ! Fit theme for song ! When them art named, what memories throng! Shall England cease our love to claim ? Not while our language is the same. 156 OH, THIS LOVE ! Scion of kings ! so live and reign, That, when thy nation s swelling strain Is breathed amid our forests green, We too may sing, " God save the Queen OH, THIS LOVE ! Music " Jess Macfarlane." OH, this love this love ! I ainse the passion slighted ; But hearts that truly love, Must break or be united. Oh, this love I When first he cam* to woo, I little cared aboot him ; But scene I felt as though I could na live without him. Oh, this love ! He brought to me the ring, My hand asked o my mither- I could na 7 bear the thought That he should wed anither. Oh, this love ! n 151 MARY, And now I m a his ain In a his joys I mingle ; Nae for the wealth of warlds Wad I again be single ! Oh, this love ! MARY. ONE balmy summer night, Mary, Just as the risen moon Had thrown aside her fleecy veil, We left the gay saloon ; And in a green, sequestered spot, Beneath a drooping tree, Fonds words were breathed, by you forgot, That still are dear to me, Mary, That still are dear to me. Oh, we were happy then, Mary Time lingered on his way, To crowd a lifetime in a night, Whole ages in a day I If star and sun would set and rise Thus in our after years, The world would be a paradise, Aid not a vale of tears, Mary, And not a vale of tears. 158 THE BEAM OF DEVOTIOX. I live but in the past, Mary The glorious days of old ! When love was hoarded in the heart, As misers hoard their gold : And often like a bridal train, To music soft and low, The by-gone moments cross my brain, In all their summer glow, Mary, In all their summer glow. These visions form and fade, Mary, As age comes stealing on, To bring the light and leave the shade Of days for ever gone ! The poet s brow may wear at last The bays that round it fall ; But love has rose-buds of the past Far dearer than them all, Mary, Far dearer than them all ! THE BEAM OF DEVOTION. I NEVER could find a good reason Why sorrow unbidden should stay, And all the bright joys of life s season Be driven unheeded away. THE WELCOME AND FAREWELL. 159 Our cares would wake no more emotion, Were we to our lot but resigned, Than pebbles flung into the ocean, That leave scarce a ripple behind. The world has a spirit of beauty, Which looks upon all for the best, And while it discharges its duty, To Providence leaves all the rest : That spirit s the beam of devotion, Which lights us through life to its clos^, And sets, like the sun in the ocean, More beautiful far than it rose. THE WELCOME AND FAREWELL. To meet, and part, as we have met and parted, One moment cherished and the next forgot, To wear a smile when almost broken-hearted, I know full well is hapless woman s lot ; Yet let me, to thy tenderness appealing, Avert this brief but melancholy doom Content that close beside the thorn of feeling, Grows memory, like a rose, in guarded bloom. 160 ? TIS NOW THE PROMISED HOUR. Love s history, dearest, is a sad one ever, Yet often with a smile I ? ve heard it told! Oh, there are records of the heart which never Are to the scrutinizing gaze unrolled ! My eyes to thine may scarce again aspire Still in thy memory, dearest let me dwell, And hush, with this hope, the magnetic wire, Wild with our mingled welcome and farewell ! TIS NOW THE PROMISED HOUR. A SERENADE. THE fountains serenade the flowers, Upon their silver lute -- And, nestled in their leafy bowers, The forest-birds are mute : The bright and glittering hosts above Unbar their golden gates, While Nature holds her court of love, And for her client waits. Then, lady, wake in beauty rise ! T is now the promised hour, When torches kindle in the skies To light thee to thy bower. THE SONGS OF HOME. 161 The day we dedicate to care To love the witching night ; For all that s beautiful and fair In hours like these unite. E en thus the sweets to flowerets given The moonlight on the tree And all the bliss of earth and heaven Are mingled, love, in thee. Then, lady, wake in beauty rise ! 7 T is now the promised hour, When torches kindle in the skies To light thee to thy bower ! THE SONGS OF HOME. OH, sing once more those dear, familiar lays, Whose gliding measure every bosom thrills, And takes my heart back to the happy days When first I sung them on my native hills ! With the fresh feelings of the olden times, I hear them now upon a foreign shore The simple music and the artless rhymes ! Oh ; sing those dear, familiar lays once more, Those cheerful lays of other days Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more ! 11 162 MASONIC HYMN. Oh, sing once more those joy-provoking strains, Which, half forgotten, in iny memory dwell ; They send the life-blood bounding thro my veins, And linger round me like a fairy spell. The songs of home are to the human heart Far dearer than the notes that song-birds pour, And of our very nature form a part : Then sing those dear, familiar lays once more ! Those cheerful lays of other days Oh, sing those cheerful lays once more ! MASONIC HYMN. OUR Order, like the ark of yore, Upon the raging sea was tossed ; Secure amid the billow s roar, It moved, and nothing has been lost. When elements discordant seek To wreck what God in mercy saves, The struggle is as vain and weak As that of the retiring waves. THE DISMISSED. 163 The Power who bade the waters cease, The Pilot of the Pilgrim Band, He gave the gentle dove of peace The branch she bore them from the land In him alone we put our trust, With heart and hand and one accord, Ascribing, with the true and just, All "holiness* unto the Lord." THE DISMISSED. " I suppose she was right in rejecting my suit, But why did she kick me down stairs?" HALLECK S " Discarded." THE wing of my spirit is broken, My day-star of hope has declined ; For a month not a word have I spoken That s either polite or refined. My mind s like the sky in bad weather, When mist-clouds around us are curled : And, viewing myself altogether, I J m the veriest wretch in the world ! 164 THE DISMISSED. I wander about like a vagrant I spend half my time in the street ; My conduct J a improper and flagrant, For I quarrel with all that I meet. My dress, too, is wholly neglected, My hat I pull over my brow, And I look like a fellow suspected Of wishing to kick up a row. In vain I ve endeavored to borrow From friends "some material aid" For my landlady views me with sorrow, When she thinks of the bill that s unpaid. Abroad my acquaintances flout me, The ladies cry, " Bless us, look there !" And the little boys cluster about me, And sensible citizens stare. One says, "He s a victim to cupid ;" Another, " His conduct s too bad ;" A third, " He is awfully stupid ;" A fourth, " He is perfectly mad !" And then I am watched like a bandit, Mankind with me all are at strife : By heaven no longer I 11 stand it, But quick put an end to my life ! LORD OF THE CASTLE. 165 I >ve thought of the means yet I shudder At dagger or ratsbane or rope ; At drawing with lancet my blood, or At razor without any soap ! Suppose I should fall in a duel, And thus leave the stage with eclat 1 But to die with a bullet is cruel Besides t would be breaking the law ! Yet one way remains : to the river I 11 fly from the goadings of care ! But drown ? oh, the thought makes me shiver A terrible death, I declare ! Ah, no ! I 11 once more see my Kitty, And parry her cruel disdain Beseech her to take me in pity, And never dismiss me again. LORD OF THE CASTLE. "LORD of the castle! oh, where goest thou? Why is the triumph of pride on thy brow ? 7 " Pilgrim, my bridal awaits me to-day, Over the mountains away atid away." 166 THE FALLEX BRAVE. " Flora in beauty and solitude roves, Listening for thee in the shade of the groves." " Pilgrim, I hasten her truth to repay, Over the mountains away and away." " Guided by honor, how brilliant the road Leading from cottage to castle abode 1" " Pilgrim, its dictates I learned to obey, Over the mountains away and away." THE FALLEN BRAVE. FROM cypress and from laurel boughs Are twined, in sorrow and in pride, The leaves that deck the mouldering brows Of those who for their country died : In sorrow, that the sable pall Enfolds the valiant and the brave ; In pride that those who nobly fall Win garlands that adorn the grave. The onset the pursuit the roar Of victory o er the routed foe Will startle from their rest no more The fallen brave of Mexico. SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR. 16t To God alone such spirits yield ! He took them in their strength and bloom, When gathering, on the tented field, The garlands woven for the tomb. The shrouded flag the drooping spear The muffled drum the solemn bell The funeral train the dirge the bier The mourners sad and last farewell Are fading tributes to the worth Of those whose deeds this homage claim ; But Time, who mingles them with earth Keeps green the garlands of their fame. SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR. IN IMITATION OP THE LAYS OF THE OLDEN TIME. " COME, list to the lay of the olden time," A troubadour sung on a moonlit stream : " The scene is laid in a foreign clime, " A century back and love is the theme." Love was the theme of the troubadour s rhyme, Of lady and lord of the olden time. 168 SONG OF THE TROUBADOUR. " At an iron-barred turret, a lady fair 11 Knelt at the close of the vesper-chime : 11 Her beads she numbered in silent prayer "For one far away, whom to love was her crime. " Love," sung the troubadour, "love was a crime, " When fathers were stern, in the olden time. " The warder had spurned from the castle gate "The minstrel who wooed her in flowing rhyme " He came back from battle in regal estate " The bard was a prince of the olden time. 11 Love/ sung the troubadour, "listened to rhyme, " And welcomed the bard of the olden time. " The prince in disguise had the lady sought ; " To chapel they hied in their rosy prime : " Thus worth won a jewel that wealth never bought, * A fair lady s heart of the olden time. " The moral," the troubadour sung, " of my rhyme, " Was well understood in the olden time." CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY. 169 CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY. THE pride of all our chivalry, The name of Worth will stand, While throbs the pulse of liberty Within his native land : The wreath his brow was formed to wear, A nation s tears will freshen there. The young companion of his fame, In war and peace allied, With garlands woven round his name, Reposes at his side : Duncan, whose deeds for evermore Will live amid his cannon s roar. Gates, in his country s quarrel bold, When she to arms appealed, Sought like the Christian knights of old, His laurels on the field : Where victory rent the welkin-dome, He earned a sepulchre at home. 170 CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY. The drum-beat of the bannered brave, The requiem and the knell, The volley o er the soldier s grave, His comrades last farewell, Are tributes rendered to the dead, And sermons to the living read. But there s a glory brighter far Than all that earth has given ; A beacon, like the index-star, That points the way to heaven : It is a life well spent its close The cloudless sundown of repose. That such was theirs for whom we mourn, These obsequies attest ; And though in sorrow they are borne Unto their final rest, A guide will their example be To future champions of the free. THE HUNTER S CAROL. 1 7 1 THE HUNTER S CAROL. A MERRY life does the hunter lead ! He wakes with the dawn of day ; He whistles his dog he mounts his steed, And scuds to the woods away ! The lightsome tramp of the deer he 11 mark, As they troop in herds along ; And his rifle startles the cheerful lark As he carols his morning song ! The hunter s life is the life for me ! That is the life for a man ! Let others sing of a home on the sea, But match me the woods if you can ! Then give me a gun I Ve an eye to mark The deer as they bound along ! My steed, dog, and gun, and the cheerful lark To carol my morning son* ! 172 WASHINGTON S MONUMENT. WASHINGTON S MONUMENT. A MONUMENT to Washington ? A tablet graven with his name ? Green be the mound it stands upon, And everlasting as his fame ! His glory fills the land the plain, The moor, the mountain, and the mart ! More firm than column, urn, or fane, His monument the human heart. The Christian patriot hero sage ! The chief from heaven in mercy sent ; His deeds are written on the age His country is his monument. " The sword of Gideon and the Lord " Was mighty in his mighty hand The God who guided he adored, And with His blessing freed the land. The first in war the first in peace The first in hearts that freemen own ; THE SISTER S APPEAL. 1?3 Unparalleled till time shall cease He lives immortal and alone. Yet let the rock-hewn tower arise, High to the pathway of the sun, And speak to the approving skies Our gratitude to Washington. THE SISTER S APPEAL. A FRAGMENT. ********** You remember don t you, brother In our early years, The counsels of our poor, dear mother, And her hopes and fears ? She told us to love one another Brother, dry your tears ! We are only two, dear brother, In this babel wide ! In the churchyard sleeps poor mother, By our father s side ! Then let us cherish one another Till in death we bide. 174 WALTER GAY. SONG OF THE REAPERS. JOYOUS the carol that rings in the mountains, While the cleared rales are refreshed by the fountains After the harvest the cheerful notes fall, And all the glad reapers re-echo the call ! La ra la la, &c. Oh, how the heart bounds at that simple refrain ! Dear haunts of my childhood, I m with you again I Green be your valleys, enriched by the rills, And long may that carol be sung on your hills ! La ra la la, &c. WALTER GAY. To know a man well, it is said, Walter Gay, On shipboard with him you should be : If this maxim >s true, then well I know you, For we sailed together the sea, Walter Gay, For we sailed together the sea. WALTER GAY. 115 I now watch the star from the strand, Walter Gay, As oft from the surge I did then : Like that all alone you sparkled and shone, The clear northern star among men, Walter Gay, The clear northern star among men ! May your future course, like the past, Walter Gay, From wreck and misfortune be free : Your sorrows and care fade into the air, Or vanish like foam on the sea, Walter Gay, Or vanish like foam on the sea ! The friendship that s formed on the wave, Wal ter Gay, Is deeper than plummet may sound : That can not decay till we lose our way, Or death runs the vessel aground, Walter Gay, Or death runs the vessel aground 1 When life s voyage ends, may your bark, Wal ter Gay, Spread sail like the wings of a dove And, when lulls the wind, safe anchorage find Within the good harbor above, Walter Gay, Within the 2:001! harbor above ! 176 GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE. GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE. HE. WHAT can a man do when a woman s perverse, And determined to have her own way ? SHE. At the alter you took me for better or worse : Am I worse than you took me for say, Silly elf? Am 1 worse than you took me for, say ? HE. For an angel I took you in beauty and worth The priest a mere woman has given ! SHE. A man would prefer a true woman on earth, To all the bright angels in heaven Silly elf! - To all the bright angels in heaven ! GROUNDS FOR DIVORCE. If 7 HE. You are ever ready my feelings to hurt At the veriest trifle, of course. SHE. Forgetting a button to sew on your shirt You deem a good ground for divorce Silly elf! You deem a good ground for divorce ! HE. Well, marriage a lottery is, and a blank Some men surely draw all their lives. SHE. Such fellows as you, sir, themselves have to thank ; Good husbands make always good wives Silly elf ! Good husbands make always good wives ! 12 178 TEMPERANCE SONG. TEMPERANCE SONG. (WRITTEN FOR THE LADY BY WHOM IT WAS SUNG.) AIR " Some love to roam." SOME love to stroll where the wassail-bowl And the wine-cups circle free ; None of that band shall win my hand : No ! a sober spouse for me. Like cheerful streams when morning beams, With him my life would flow ; Not down the crags, the drunkard drags His wife to want and wo ! Oh ! no, no, no ! oh ! no, no, no ! At midnight dark, the drunkard mark Oh, what a sight, good lack ! As home draws near, to him appear Grim fiends who cross his track ! His children s name he dooms to shame His wife to want and wo ; She is betrayed, for wine is made Her rival and her foe. Oh ! no, no, no ! oh ! no, no, no ! BOAT-SONG. 1 ." BOAT-SONG. PULL away merrily over the waters ! Tug to your oars for the wood-tangled shore ; We 7 re off and afloat with earth s loveliest daugh ters, Worth all the argosies wave ever bore. Pull away gallantly pull away valiantly Pull with a swoop, boys ; and pull for the shore : Merrily, merrily, bend to the oar ! Pull away cheerily ! land is before us Green groves are flinging their balm to the spray ; The sky, like the spirit of love, bending o er us, Lights her bright torches to show us the way. Pull away charily pull away warily Pull with a nerve, boys ; together give way : Merrily, merrily, pull to the lay ! Pull away heartily light winds are blowing, Crisping the ripples that dance at our side ; 180 WILLIE. The moon bathes in silver the path we are going, And night is arrayed in her robes like a bride. Pull away readily pull away steadily Pull with a will, boys, and sing as we glide Merrily, merrily, over the tide! WILLIE. I CLASP your hand in mine, Willie, And fancy I Ve the art To see, while gazing in your face, What s passing in your heart : 7 T is joy an honest man to hold, That gem of modest worth, More prized than all the sordid gold Of all the mines of earth, Willie, Of all the mines of earth. I ve marked your love of right, Willie, Your proud disdain of wrong ; I know you ? d rather aid the weak Than battle for the strong. The golden rule religion s stay With constancy pursue, Which renders others all that they On earth can render you, Willie, On earth can render you. WILLIE, 181 A conscience void of guile, Willie, A disposition kind, A nature, gentle and sincere, Accomplished and refined : A mind that was not formed to bow, An aspiration high, Are written on your manly brow, And in your cheerful eye, Willie, And in your cheerful eye. I never look at you, Willie, But with an anxious prayer That you will ever be to me What now I know you are. I do not find a fault to chide, A foible to annoy, For you are all your father s pride, And all your mother s joy, Willie, And all your mother s joy. You re all that I could hope, Willie, And more than I deserve ; Your pressure of affection now I feel in every nerve. I love you not for station land But for yourself alone : And this is why I clasp your hand, So fondly in my own, Willie, So fondly in my own. 182 THE ROCK OF THE PILGRIMS. THE ROCK OF THE PILGRIMS. A ROCK in the wilderness welcomed our sires, From bondage far over the dark-rolling sea ; On that holy altar they kindled the fires, Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for Thee. Thy blessings descended in sunshine and shower, Or rose from the soil that was sown by Thy hand ; The mountain and valley rejoiced in Thy power, And Heaven encircled and smiled on the land. The Pilgrims of old an example have given Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, Which beams like the star in the blue vault of heaven, A beacon-light swung in their mansion above. In church and cathedral we kneel in our prayer Their temple and chapel were valley and hill But God is the same in the isle or the air, And He is the Rock that we lean upon still. YEARS AGO. 183 YEARS AGO. the banks of that lone river, Where the water-lilies grow, Breathed the fairest flower that ever Bloomed and faded years ago. How we met and loved and parted, None on earth can ever know Nor how pure and gentle-hearted Beamed the mourned one years ago ! Like the stream with lilies laden, Will life s future current flow, Till in heaven I meet the maiden Fondly cherished years ago. Hearts that love like mine forget not ; They re the same in weal or wo ; And that star of memory set not IE the grave of years ago. 184 THE SOLDIER S WELCOME HOME. THE SOLDIER S WELCOME HOME. (WRITTEN UPON THE RETURN OP GENERAL SCOTT FROM HIS BRILLIANT MEXICAN CAMPAIGN.) VICTORIOUS the hero returns from the wars, His brow bound with laurels that never will fade, While streams the free standard of stripes and of stars, Whose field in the battle the foeman dismayed. When the Mexican hosts in their fury came on, Like a tower of strength hi his might he arose, Where danger most threatened his banner was borne, Waving hope to his friends and despair to his foes 1 The soldier of honor and liberty hail ! His deeds in the temple of Fame are enrolled ; His precepts, like flower-seeds sown by the gale, Take root in the hearts of the valiant and bold. THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. 185 The warrior s escutcheon his foes seek to blot, But vain is the effort of partisan bands For freemen will render full justice to SCOTT, And welcome him home with their hearts in their hands. THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. ONCE on a time old JOHNNY BULL Flew in a raging fury, And swore that JONATHAN should have No trials, sir, by jury ; That no elections should be held Across the briny waters : " And now/ said he, " I 11 tax the tea Of all his sons and daughters." Then down he sateen burly state, And blustered like a grandee, And in derision made a tune Called " Yankee doodle dandy. 7 11 Yankee doodle 7 these are facts " Yankee doodle dandy ; My son of wax, your tea I 11 tax You Yankee doodle dandy!" 186 THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. John sent the tea from o er the sea With heavy duties rated ; But whether hyson or bohea, I never heard it stated. Then Jonathan to pout began He laid a strong embargo "I 11 drink no tea, by Jove !" so he Threw overboard the cargo. Next Johnny sent an armament, Big looks and words to bandy, Whose martial band, when near the land, Played " Yankee doodle dandy. 77 " Yankee doodle keep it up ! Yankee doodle dandy ! I 11 poison with a tax your cup You Yankee doodle dandy ! 7 A long war then they had, in which John was at last defeated ; And Yankee doodle 77 , was the march To which his troops retreated. Young Jonathan, to see them fly, Could not restrain his laughter : " That tune," said he, " suits to a T, I 11 sing it ever after !" Old Johnny s face, to his disgrace, Was flushed with beer and brandy, 187 THE ORIGIN 1 OF YANKEE DOODLE. E en while lie swore to sing no more This "Yankee doodle dandy." Yankee doodle ho ! ha ! he ! Yankee doodle dandy We kept the tune, but not the tea, Yankee doodle dandy ! I Ve told you now the origin Of this most lively ditty, Which Johnny Bull pronounces " dull And silly P what a pity ! With " Hail Columbia !" it is sung, In chorus full and hearty On land and main we breathe the strain, John made for his tea-party. No matter how we rhyme the words, The music speaks them handy, And where s the fair can t sing the air Of "Yankee doodle dandy !" "Yankee doodle firm and true Yankee doodle dandy, Yankee doodle, doodle doo ! Yankee doodle dandy !" 188 LIXES. LINES ON THE BURIAL OF MRS. MARY L. WARD, AT DALE CEMETERY, SING-SING, MAY 3, 1853. THE knell was tolled the requiem sung, The solemn burial-service read ; And tributes from the heart and tongue Were rendered to the dead. The dead ? Religion answers, " No I She is not dead She can not die ! A mortal left this vale of wo ! An angel lives on high 1" The earth upon her coffin-lid Sounded a hollow, harsh adieu I The mound arose, and she was hid For ever from the view J For ever ? Drearily the thought Passed, like an ice-bolt, through the brain ; When Faith the recollection brought That we shall meet again. NEW-YORK IN 1826. 189 The mourners wound their silent way Adown the mountain s gentle slope, Which, basking in the smile of May, Looked cheerfully as hope. As hope ? What hope ? That boundless One God in His love and mercy gave ; Which brightens, with salvation s sun, The darkness of the grave. NEW-YORK IN 1826. (ADDRESS OF THE CARRIER OF THE NEW-YORK MIR ROR, ON THE FIRST DAY OF THAT YEAR.) AIR "Songs of Shepherds in Rustical Roundelays." Two years have elapsed since the verse of s. w. Met your bright eyes like a fanciful gem ; With that kind of stanza the muse will now trouble you, She often frolicks with one G. P. M. As New Year approaches, she whispers of coaches, And lockets and broaches, without any end, Of sweet rosy pleasure, of joy without measure, And plenty of leisure to share with a friend. 190 NEW-YORK IX 1826. >T is useless to speak of the griefs of society They overtake us in passing along ; And public misfortunes, in all their variety, Need not be told in a holyday song. The troubles of Wall-street, I m sure that you all meet, And they re not at all sweet but look at their pranks : Usurious cravings, and discounts and shavings, With maniac ravings and Lombardy banks. T is useless to speak of our dealers in cotton too, Profits and losses but burden the lay ; The failure of merchants should now be forgotten too, Nor sadden the prospects of this festive day. Though Fortune has cheated the hope near com pleted, And cruelly treated the world mercantile, The poet s distresses, when Fortune oppresses, Are greater, he guesses but still he can smile. T is useless to speak of the gas-light so beautiful, Shedding its beams through " the mist of the night ; Eagles and tigers and elephants, dutiful, Dazzle the vision with columns of light. NEW-YORK IX 1826. 191 The lamb and the lion ask editor Tryon, His word you 11 rely on are seen near the Park, From which such lights flow out, as wind can not blow out, Yet often they go out, and all 7 s in the dark. T is useless to speak of the seats on the Battery, They re too expensive to give to the town ; Then our aldermen think it such flattery, If the public have leave to sit down ! Our fortune to harden, they show Castle Garden Kind muses, your pardon, but rhyme it I must Where soldiers were drilling, you now must be willing To pay them a shilling so down with the dust. T is useless to speak of our writers poetical, Of Halleck and Bryant and Woodworth, to write ; There are others, whose trades are political Snowden and Townsend and Walker and Dwight. There s Lang the detector, and Coleman the hector, And Noah the protector and judge of the Jews, And King the accuser, and Stone the abuser, And Grim the confuser of morals and news. 192 NEW- YORK IX 1826. T is useless to speak of the many civilities Shown to FAYETTE in this country of late, Or even to mention the splendid abilities CLINTON possesses for ruling the state. The union of water and Erie s bright daughter, Since Neptune has caught her they ll sever no more ; And Greece and her troubles (the rhyme always doubles) Have vanished like bubbles that burst on the shore. Tis useless to speak of Broadway and the Bowery, Both are improving and growing so fast ! Who would have thought that old STUYVESANT S dowery Would hold in its precincts a play-house at last ? Well, wonder ne er ceases, but daily increases, And pulling to pieces, the town to renew, So often engages the thoughts of our sages, That when the fit rages, what will they not do ? T is useless to speak of the want of propriety In forming our city so crooked and long ; Our ancestors, bless them, were fond of variety T is naughty to say that they ever were wrong ! NEW-YORK IN 1826. 193 Tho strangers may grumble, and thro the streets stumble, Take care they don t tumble through crevices small, For trap-doors we ve plenty, on sidewalk and entry, And no one stands sentry to see they don t fall. J T is useless to speak of amusements so various, Of opera-singers that few understand ; Of Kean s reputation, so sadly precarious When he arrived in this prosperous land. The public will hear him and hark ! how they cheer him ! Though editors jeer him we all must believe He pockets the dollars of sages and scholars : Of course then it follows he laughs in his sleeve. Tis useless to speak but just put on your spectacles, Read about Chatham, and Peale s splendid show : There s Scudder and Dunlap they both have receptacles Which, I assure you, are now all the go. 13 194 NEW-YORK IN 1826. T is here thought polite too, should giants de light you, And they should invite you, to look at their shapes ; To visit their dwelling, where Indians are yelling, And handbills are telling of wonderful apes ! 7 T is useless to speak of the din that so heavily Fell on our senses as midnight drew near ; Trumpets and bugles and conch-shells, so cleverly Sounded the welkin with happy New Year ! With jewsharps and timbrels, and musical thim bles, Tin-platters for cymbals, and frying-pans too ; Dutch-ovens and brasses, and jingles and glasses, With reeds of all classes, together they blew ! Then since it is useless to speak about anything All have examined and laid on the shelf, Perhaps it is proper to say now and then a thing Touching the " MIRROR" the day and my self. Our work s not devoted, as you may have noted, To articles quoted from books out of print ; Instead of the latter, profusely we scatter Original matter that s fresh from the mint. NEW-YORK IN 1826. 195 Patrons, I greet you with feelings of gratitude ; Ladies, to please you is ever my care Nor wish I, on earth, for a sweeter beatitude, If I but bask in the smiles of the fair. Such bliss to a poet is precious you know it And while you bestow it, the heart feels con tent : Your bounty has made us, and still you will aid us, But some have not paid us we hope they ll repent ! For holyday pleasure, why these are the times for it ; Pardon, me, then, for so trifling a lay ; This stanza shall end it, if I can find rhymes for it May you, dear patrons, be happy to-day ! TW life is so fleeting, and pleasure so cheating, That we are oft meeting with accidents here, Should Fate seek to dish you, oh then may the issue Be what I now wish you A HAPPY NEW YEAR ! 196 THE HERO S LEGACY. THE HERO S LEGACY. UPON the conch of death, The champion of the free, Gave, with his parting breath, This solemn legacy : " Sheathed be the battle-blade, " And hushed the cannons thunder : " The glorious UNION God hath made, " Let no man put asunder ! 11 War banish from the land, " Peace cultivate with all ! " United you must stand, " Divided you will fall 1 " Cemented with our blood, " The UNION keep unriven !" While freemen heard this counsel good, His spirit soared to heaven. WHAT CAX IT MEAN? 197 WHAT CAN IT MEAN ? (WRITTEN FOR MISS POOLE, AND SUNG BY HER IN THE CHARACTER OF COWSLIP.) I M much too young to marry, For I am only seventeen ; Why think I, then, of Harry ? What can it mean what can it mean ? Wherever Harry meets me, Beside the brook or on the green, How tenderly he greets me ! What can it mean what can it mean ? Whene er my name he utters, A blush upon my cheek is seen ! His voice my bosom flutters ! What can it mean what can it mean ? If he but mentions Cupid, Or, smiling, calls me "fairy queen/ 7 I sigh, and look so stupid ! What can it mean what can it mean ? 198 WHERE HUDSON S WAVE. Oh, mercy ! what can ail me ? I m growing wan and very lean ; My spirits often fail me ! What can it mean what can it mean ? I M NOT IN LOVE ! No ! Smother Such a thought at seventeen ! I 11 go and ask my mother " What can it mean what can it mean P WHERE HUDSON S WAVE. WHERE Hudson s wave o er silvery sands Winds through the hills afar, Old Cronest like a monarch stands, Crowned with a single star ! And there, amid the billowy swells Of rock-ribbed, cloud-capped earth, My fair and gentle Ida dwells, A nymph of mountain-birth. The snow-flake that the cliff receives, The diamonds of the showers, Spring s tender blossoms, buds, and leaves, The sisterhood of flowers, AU REVOIR. 199 Morn s early beam, eve s balmy breeze, Her purity define ; Yet Ida s dearer far than these To this fond breast of mine. My heart is on the hills. The shades Of night are on my brow : Ye pleasant haunts and quiet glades, My soul is with you now ! I bless the star-crowned highlands where My Ida s footsteps roam : for a falcon s wing to bear Me onward to my home ! AU KEVOIR. LOVE left one day his leafy bower, And roamed in sportive vein, Where Vanity had built a tower, For Fashion s sparkling train. The mistress to see he requested, Of one who attended the door : " Not home," said the page, who suggested That he d leave his card. " Au revoir." Love next came to a lonely bower : A maid who knew no guile, 200 TO MY ABSENT DAUGHTER. Unlike the lady of the tower, Received him with a smile. Since then the cot beams with his Though often at Vanity s door Love calls, merely out of politeness, And just leaves his card. " Au rewir" TO MY ABSENT DAUGHTER. GEORGIE, come home! Life s tendrils cling about thee, Where er thou art, by wayward fancy led. We miss thee, love ! Home is not home with out thee The light and glory of the house have fled : The autumn shiver of the linden-tree Is like the pang that thrills my frame for thee ! Georgie, come home! To parents, brother, sister, Thy place is vacant in this lonely hall, Where shines the river through the "Jeannie Vista," While twilight shadows lengthen on the wall : Our spirits falter at the close of day, And weary night moves tardily away. TO MY ABSENT DAUGHTER. 201 Georgie, come home ! The winds and waves are singing The mournful music of their parting song, To soul and sense the sad foreboding bringing, Some ill detains thee in the town so long : Oh, that the morn may dissipate the fear, And bring good tidings of my daughter dear ! Georgie, come home ! The forest leaves are falling, And dreary visions in thy absence come ; The fountain on the hill in vain is calling Thee, my beloved one, to thy woodland home. And I imagine every passing breeze Whispers thy name among the moaning trees ! Georgie, come home! Thy gentle look can banish The gathering gloom round this once cheerful hearth ; In thy sweet presence all our care will vanish, And sorrow soften into mellow mirth. Return, my darling, never more to roam : Heart of the Highlands ! Georgie, dear, come home! 202 SONG OF THE SEWING-MACHINE. SONG OF THE SEWING-MACHINE. I M the Iron Needle-Woman ! Wrought of sterner stuff than clay ; And, unlike the drudges human, Never weary night or day ; Never shedding tears of sorrow, Never mourning friends untrue, Never caring for the morrow, Never begging work to do. Poverty brings no disaster ! Merrily I glide along, For no thankless, sordid master, Ever seeks to do me wrong : No extortioners oppress me, No insulting words I dread Fve no children to distress me With unceasing cries for bread. I m of hardy form and feature, For endurance framed aright ; I m not pale misfortune s creature, Doomed life s battle here to fight : SONG OF THE SEWING-MACHINE. 203 Mine s a song of cheerful measure, And no under-currents flow To destroy the throb of pleasure Which the poor so seldom know. In the hall I hold niy station, With the wealthy ones of earth, Who commend me to the nation For economy and worth, While unpaid the female labor, In the attic-chamber lone, Where the smile of friend or neighbor Never for a moment shone. My creation is a blessing To the indigent secured, Banishing the cares distressing Which so many have endured : Mine are sinews superhuman, Ribs of oak and nerves of steel Pm the Iron Needle-Woman Born to toil and not to feel. 204 MY LADY WAITS FOR ME. MY LADY WAITS FOR ME. SUGGESTED BY A POPULAR GERMAN MELODY. MY lady waits ! Tis now the hour When morn unbars her gates ! My vessel glides beneath the tower Where now my lady waits. Her signal flutters from the wall, Above the friendly sea ! I live but to obey her call ! My lady waits for me. My lady waits for me she waits, While morning opes her golden gates. My lady waits ! No fairer flower E er decked the floral grove, Than she, the pride of hall and bower, The lady of my love ! The eastern hills are flecked with light, The land-breeze curls the sea ! By love and truth sustained, for flight, My lady waits for me. My lady waits for me she waits, While morning opes her golden gates. MUSIC. 205 MUSIC. THE wind-harp has music it moans to the tree, And so has the shell that complains to the sea, The lark that sings merrily over the lea, The reed of the rude shepherd boy ! We revel in music when day has begun, When rock-fountains gnsh into glee as they run, And stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun, Who brightens the hill-tops with joy ! The spirit of melody floats in the air, Her instruments tuning to harmony there, Our senses beguiling from sorrow and care, In blessings sent down from above ! But Nature has music far more to my choice And all in her exquisite changes rejoice ! No tones thrill my heart like the dear human voice When breathed by the being I love! THE MILLIONAIRE. THE MILLIONAIRE. IN the upper circles Moves a famous man Who has had no equal Since the world began. He was once a broker Down by the Exchange ; He is now a nabob Don t you think it strange ? In his low back office, Near the Bowling Green, With his brother brokers He was often seen ; Shaving and discounting, Dabbling in the stocks, He achieved a fortune Of a million rocks ! Next he formed a marriage With a lady fair, And his splendid carriage Bowled about the square, THE MILLIONAIRE. 207 Where his spacious mansion Like a palace stood, Envied and admired By the multitude. Then he took the tour Of the continent, Bearer of despatches From the President : A legation button By permission wore, And became that worthy, An official bore. Charmed with foreign countries, Lots of coin to spend, He a house in London Took at the West End, Where he dwelt a season, And in grandeur shone, But to all the beau monde Utterly unknown. England then was " foggy, And society Too aristocratic" For his pedigree : 208 THE MILLIONAIRE. So he crossed the channel To escape the blues, And became the idol Of the parvenues. " Dear, delightful Paris \" He would often say : " Every earthly pleasure One can have for pay. Wealth gives high position ; But, when money s tight, Man is at a discount, And it serves him right." After years of study How to cut a dash, He came home embellished With a huge moustache ! Now he is a lion, All the rage up town, And gives gorgeous parties Supervised by Brown ! The almighty dollar Is, no doubt, divine, And he worships daily At that noble shrine ; THE MILLIONAIRE. 209 Fashion is his idol, Money is his god, And they both together Rule him like a rod. Books, and busts, and pictures, Are with him a card While abroad he bought them Cheaply by the yard ! But his sumptuous dinners, To a turn quite right, With hrs boon companions, Are his chief delight. There his wit and wassail, Like twin-currents flow In his newest stories, Published long ago. His enchanted hearers Giggle till they weep, As it is their duty Till they fall asleep. On his carriage panel Is a blazoned crest, With a Latin motto Given him in jest. 14 210 THE MILLIONAIRE. His black coach and footman, Dressed in livery, Every day at Stewart s Many crowd to see. Well in upper-ten-dom Let him rest in peace, And may his investments Cent, per cent, increase : Though on earth for no one Cares the millionaire, So does not exactly His devoted heir ! There s a useful moral Woven with my rhyme, Which may be considered At some other time : Crockery is not porcelain It is merely delf And the kind most common Is the man himself. IN MEMORY OF CHARLES H. SANDFORD. 211 IN MEMORY OF CHARLES H. SANDFORD. HE died, as he had lived, beloved, Without an enemy on earth ; In word and deed he breathed and moved The soul of honor and of worth : His hand was open as the day, His bearing high, his nature brave ; And, when from life he passed away, Our hearts went with him to the grave. What desolation filled our home When death from us our treasure bore ! Oh ! for the better world to come Where we shall meet to part no more ! The hope of that sustains us now, In that we trust on bended knee, While thus around his faded brow We twine the wreath of memory. 212 SEVENTY-SIX. SEVENTY-SIX. BEFORE THE BATTLE. THE clarion call of liberty Rings on the startled gales ! The rising hills reverberate The rising of the vales ! Through all the land the thrilling shout Swift as an arrow goes ! Columbia s champions arm and out To battle with her foes ! AFTER THE BATTLE. The bugle-song of victory Is vocal in the air ! The strains, by warrior-voices breathed, Are echoed by the fair ! The eagle, with the wreath, blood-bought, Soars proudly to the sun, Proclaiming the "good fight is fought, And the great victory won !" A PARODY. 213 A PARODY. ON old Long Island s sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day ; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away. We laid him on the beach to dry, Then served him frizzled on a dish, A warning to the smaller fry, As well as all the larger fish. o o o o! On old Long Island s sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day ; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away. Oh, >t was a scaly thing to haul This torn-cod from his native spray, And thus to frighten, one and all, The finny tribe from Rock away ! They shun the fisher s hook and line, And never venture near his net, 214 A PARODY. So, when at Rockaway you dine, Now d da thing but clams you get 1 o o o o ! On old Long Island s sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day ; He never had been there before, And wished that he had stayed away 1 Should critics at my ballad carp, To them this simple truth I 11 say, The grammar s quite as good as Sharp Wrote on the beach of Rockaway : The tune s the same that Russell cribbed With the addition of his O, Which makes it, or the singer fibbed, Original and all the go o o o o! On old Long Island s sea-girt shore We caught a cod the other day ; He never had been there before, And wished to God he d stayed away ! THE STAG-HUNT. 215 THE STAG-HUNT. THE morning is breaking The stag is away ! The hounds and the hunters The signal obey ! The horn bids the echoes Awake as we go, And nature is jocund With hark ! tally-ho ! Hark away ! Tally-ho ! Hark forward ! Tantivy ! The woodland resounds With shouts of the sportsmen To cheer on the hounds ! The horse and his rider, The deer and his foe, Dash by to the music Of hark! tally-ho! (He s at bay !) Tally-ho! 216 DELIVER US FROM EVIL. DELIVER US FROM EVIL. DELIVER us from evil, Heavenly Father ! It still besets us wheresoever we go ! Bid the bright rays of revelation gather To light the darkness in our way of wo ! Remove the sin that stains our souls for ever ! Our doubts dispel our confidence restore ! Write thy forgiveness on our hearts, and never Let us in vain petition for it more. Release us from the sorrows that attend us ! Our nerves are torn at every vain we bleed! Almighty Parent ! with thy strength befriend us ! Else we are helpless in our time of need ! Sustain us, Lord, with thy pure Holy Spirit New vigor give to Nature s faltering frame ; And, at life s close, permit us to inherit The hope that s promised in the Saviour s name, THE UNION. 21*1 THE UNION. THIS the word beyond all others, Makes us love our country most, Makes us feel that we are brothers, And a heart-united host ! With hosanna let our banner From the house-tops be unfurled, While the nation holds her station With the mightiest of the world ! Take your harps from silent willows, Shout the chorus of the free ; " States are all distinct as billows, Union one as is the sea !" From the land of groves that bore us He s a traitor who would swerve I By the flag now waving o er us We the compact will preserve ! Those who gained it and sustained it, Were unto each other true, 218 WE PART FOR EVER. And the fable well is able To instruct us what to do ! Take your harps from silent willows, Shout the chorus of the free ; " States are all distinct as billows, Union one as is the sea !" WE PART FOR EVER. FARE thee well we part for ever 1 All regrets are now in vain ! Fate decrees that we must sever, Ne er to meet on earth again. Other skies may bend above thee, Other hearts may seek thy shrine, But no other e er will love thee With the constancy of mine. Yet farewell we part for ever ! All regrets are now in vain ! Fate decrees that we must sever, Ne er to meet on earth again. Fare thee well ! Like the shadow on the dial Lingers still our parting kiss ! Life has no severer trial, Death no pang to equal this. COME TO ME IX CHERRY-TIME. 219 All the world is now before thee, Every clime to roam at will, But within the land that bore thee, One fond heart will love thee still. Yet farewell we part for ever ! All regrets are now in vain ! Fate decrees that we must sever, Ne er to meet on earth again. Fare thee well ! COME TO ME IN CHERRY-TIME. COME to me in cherry -time, And, as twilight closes, We will have a merry time, Here among the roses ! When the breezes crisp the tide, And the lindens quiver, In our bark we 11 safely glide Down the rocky river ! When the stars, with quiet ray, All the hill-tops brighten, Cherry-ripe we 11 sing and play Where the cherries ripen ! 220 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JESSIE WILLIS. Then come to me in cherry-time, And, as twilight closes, We will have a merry time Here among the roses. ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JESSIE WILLIS. AFTER life s eventful mission, In her truthfulness and worth, Like a calm and gentle vision She has passed away from earth. Lovely she in frame and feature ! Blended purity and grace ! The Creator in the creature Glowed in her expressive face ! Angel of a nature human 1 Essence of celestial love ! Heart and soul of trusting woman, Gone to her reward above ! Mourners, dry your tears of sorrow Read the golden promise o er : There will dawn a cheerful morrow When we meet to part no more. THANK GOD FOR PLEASANT WEATHER. 221 THANK GOD FOR PLEASANT WEATHER. THANK God for pleasant weather ! Chant it, merry rills ! And clap jour hands together, Ye exulting hills ! Thank Him, teeming valley ! Thank Him, fruitful plain ! For the golden sunshine, And the silver rain. Thank God, of good the giver Shout it, sportive breeze ! Respond, oh tuneful river ! To the nodding trees. Thank Him, bud and birdling ! As ye grow and sing ! Mingle in thanksgiving Every living thing ! Thank God, with cheerful spirit, In a glow of love, 222 THE v MASTER S SONG. For what we here inherit, And our hopes above ! Universal Nature Revels in her birth, When God, in pleasant weather, Smiles upon the earth ! THE MASTER S SONG. WRITTEN FOR THE FREEMASONS OF ST. JOHN S LODGE NO 1, NEW YORK. MEMBERS of an order Ancient as the earth ; All within our border Realize its worth. Genial is the greeting That awaits us there, On the level meeting, Parting on the square. Like the workmen olden, Who our craft designed, We the precept golden Ever bear in mind. Masons never falter, We each other know, THE MASTER S SONG. 223 As around the altar Hand in hand we go ; Loud hosannas singing To our Source above, And heart-offerings bringing To the God of Love. Like the workmen olden, Who our craft designed, We the precept golden Ever bear in inind. There s a mystic beauty In our working plan, Teaching man his duty To his fellow-man : As a band of brothers, Ever just and true, Do we unto others As we d have them do. Like the workmen olden, Who our craft designed, We the precept golden Ever bear in mind. 224 THE MISSING SHIP. THE MISSING SHIP. SHE left the port in gallant style, With sails and streamers full and free ! I watched her course for many a mile Far out upon the distant sea ! At dusk she lessened to a speck, And then I could not trace her more ! Sad hearts were beating on her deck, Sad hearts were beating on the shore. Two of the outward bound I knew, One beautiful, the other brave The master worthy, and the crew Born to contend with wind and wave : For travel some, and some for gain, And some for health had gone abroad ; Our prayers were with them on the main, God-speed the ship and all on board ! That vessel never reached the land ! No tidings of her ever came ! Those who beheld her leave the strand, For years in anguish heard her name ! JEANNIE MARSH. 225 And even now in vain they try To breathe it with a tranquil lip, Or hide the moisture of the eye While speaking of that missing ship. JEANNIE MARSH. JEAXNIE MARSH of Cherry Yalley, At whose call the muses rally Of all the nine none so divine As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Yalley. She minds me of her native scenes, Where she was born among the cherries ; Of peaches, plums, and nectarines, Pears, apricots, and ripe strawberries. Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Yalley, In whose name the muses rally ; Of all the nine none so divine As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Yalley. A sylvan nymph of queenly grace, A goddess she in form and feature ; The sweet expression of the place, A dimple in the smile of nature. 15 226 LUCY. THANKS for your stanzas, Lucy, My sister dear in song ! How many pleasant fancies With these sweet numbers throng, Which, like spring s tuneful brooklets, Trip merrily along. Sometimes, my sportive Lucy, Your words will whirl around, Like foam-beads on the water, Or rose-leaves on the ground, Or waltzers in the ball-room, To music s airy sound. There is, my gentle Lucy, In all you say or do, A bright poetic impulse, Original and true, Which Art can not acquire, And Nature gave to you. EPITAPHS. 22 1 The olden fable, Lucy, My muse to you would bring ; The bird that can but will not, Should be compelled to sing ! The story and its moral To modern memories cling. Awake the harp, clear Lucy ! Like the electric wire It will convey to millions The heart-absorbing fire ! And those who lean to listen Will linger to admire. EPITAPH. ALL that s beautiful in woman, All we in her nature love, All that s good in all that s human, Passed this gate to courts above. IN MEMORY OF JOHN W. FRANCIS, JR. HE was the pulse-beat of true hearts, The love-light of fond eyes : When such a man from earth departs, Tis the survivor dies. 228 NATURE S NOBLEMEN. NATURE S NOBLEMEN. A FRAGMENT. ***** WHEN winter s cold and summer s heat Shall come and go again, A hundred years will be complete Since Marion crossed the main, And brought unto this wild retreat His dark-eyed wife of Spain. He was the founder of a free And independent band, Who lit the fires of liberty The revolution fanned : His patent of nobility Read in the ransomed land I Around his deeds a lustre throngs, A heritage designed To teach the world to spurn the wrongs Once threatened all mankind : To his posterity belongs The peerage of the mind. ***** A WALL-STREET LYRIC. 329 A WALL-STREET LYRIC. JOHN was thought both rich and great Dick so-so, but comfortable : John lived at a splendid rate Coach and horses in his stable, John could ride when Dick should walk (This excited people s talk !) For John s wealth, Dick s rugged health Few would exchange if they were able ! Dick was friendly years ago With ingratitude John paid him : Dick found this was always so When John had a chance to aid him. John still cut a brilliant dash, While he could command the cash, But for Dick, whom John would kick, At last a change of luck has made him ! John, tis said, is " bound" to lose Lots by rail, and bus, and cable ! And the banks his notes refuse, Now they think his state unstable. 230 KING COTTON. This may be a story strange Of the bulls and bears on change, Where the truth, in age and youth, Is often a poetic fable ! KING COTTON. OLD Cotton is king ; boys aha ! With his locks so fleecy and white ! He shines among kings like a star ! And his is the sceptre of right, Boys, of right, And his is the sceptre of right ! Old Cotton, the king, has no care, No queen, and no heir to his throne, No courtiers, his triumphs to share, He rules his dominions alone, Boys, alone ! He rules his dominions alone ! Old Cotton, the merry old boy ! Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth His years glide away in their joy, At home, in the warm sunny south, Boys, the south, At home, in the warm sunny south ! WORDS. 231 Old Cotton will pleasantly reign When other kings painfully fall, And ever and ever remain The mightiest monarch of all, Boys, of all, The mightiest monarch of all ! Then here s to old Cotton, the king ! His true loyal subjects are we : We ll laugh and we ll quaff and we ll sing, A jolly old fellow is he, Boys, is he, A jolly old fellow is he ! WORDS AI>APTEI> TO A SPANISH MELODY. MY lady hath as soft a hand As any queen in fairy-land ; And, hidden in her tiny boot, As dainty and as light a foot. Her foot ! Her little hand and foot ! Xo star that kindles in the sky Burns brighter than my lady s eye ; 232 LOVE IN EXILE. And ne er before did beauty grace So fair a form, so sweet a face ! Her face ! Her gentle form and face ! My lady hath a golden heart, Free from the dross of worldly art ; Which, in the sight of heaven above, Is mine with all its hoarded love ! Her love ! Her boundless wealth of love ! LOVE IN EXILE. ADAPTED TO A HUNGARIAN MELODY. MY heart I gave you with my hand, In brighter days than these, In that down-trodden father-land Beyond the distant seas, Where you were all the world to me, Devoted, fond, and true, And I, in our prosperity, Was all the world to you ! Robbed by a tyrant s iron sway, We re banished from that land away ! TO THE EVENING STAR. 233 Sad wanderers from our native home ! A ruler in a foe ! An exiled caravan we roam ; But hand in hand we go ! And thus whatever fate betide We bless our lot in life, Since no misfortunes may divide The husband and the wife ! Here we defy the tyrant s will, We re happy in each other still ! TO THE EVENING STAR. THE woods waved welcome in the breeze, When, many years ago, Lured by the songs of birds and bees, I sought the dell below ; And there, in that secluded spot, Where silver streamlets roved, Twined the green ivy round the cot Of her I fondly loved. In dreams still near that porch I stand To listen to her vow ! Still feel the pressure of her hand Upon my burning brow ! 234 WELCOME HOME. And here, as in the days gone by, With joy I meet her yet, And mark the lore-light of her eyes, Fringed with its lash of jet. O fleeting vision of the past ! From memory glide away ! Ye were too beautiful to last, Too good to longer stay ! But why, attesting evening star, This sermon sad recall : " Than love and lose *tis better far To never love at all!" WELCOME HOME. MY Mary s voice ! It is the hour She promised to be here : Taught by love s mysterious power, I know that she is near. I hear the melody she sings Beneath our happy dome, And now the woodland cheerly rings With Mary s welcome home. THE SYCAMORE SHADE. 235 My Mary s voice ! I hear it thrill In rapture on the gale, As she comes gliding down the hill To meet me in the vale. In all the world, on land or sea, Where er I chance to roam, No music is so sweet to me As Mary s welcome home. THE SYCAMORE SHADE. I KNEW a sweet girl, with a bonny blue eye, Who was born in the shade The wild sycamore made, Where the brook sang its song All the summer-day long, And the moments went merrily by, Like the birdlings the moments flew by. I knew a fair maid, soul-enchanting in grace, Who replied to my vow, jNTeath the sycamore bough, " Like the brook to the sea, Oh, I yearn, love, for thee l n And she hid in my bosom her face In my bosom, her beautiful face. 236 UP THE HUDSON. I have a dear wife, who is ever my guide ! Wooed and won in the shade The wild sycamore made, Where the brook sings its song All the summer-day long, And the moments in harmony glide, Like our lives they in harmony glide. UP THE HUDSON. SONG AND CHORUS. UP the Hudson ! Fleetly gliding To our haunts among the trees ! Joy the gallant vessel guiding With a fresh and cheerful breeze ! Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us - (Hearts that love us to the core !) And with fond expressions greet us As we near the welcome shore ! Ho ! ye inland seas and islands ! (Echo follows where we go ! ) Ho ! ye headlands, hills, and highlands ! Ho ! ye Undercliffeans, ho ! ONLY THINE. 237 Up the Hudson! Rock and river, Grove and glen pronounce His praise, Who, of every " Good the Giver," Leads us through these pleasant ways ! Care recedes like water-traces Of our bark, as on we glide, Where the hand of nature graces Homesteads on the Hudson side ! CHORUS. Ho ! ye inland seas and islands I (Echo follows where we go !) Ho ! ye headlands, hills, and highlands ! Ho ! ye Undercliffeans, ho 1 ONLY THINE. I KNOW that thou art mine, my love, I know that thou art fair ; And lovelier than the orange-flowers That bind thy glossy hair : That thou hast every gentle grace Which nature can design I know that thou art mine, my love, I know that I am thine : Yes, thine, my love, I m thine, my love, Thine, thine, and only thine. 238 EPIGRAMS. 1 know that thou art true, my love, And welcome as the breeze Which comes, with healing on its wings, Across the summer seas : That thou hast every winning charm Which culture may refine I know that thou art mine, my love, I know that I am thine. Yes, thine, my love, I m thine, my love, Thine, thine, and only thine. EPIGRAMS. ON READING GRIMES ATTACK UPON CLINTON. T is the opinion of the town That Grim s a silly elf : In trying to write Clinton down, He went right down himself. ON HEARING THAT MOUSE DID NOT " INVENT" THE TELEGRAPH. FIRST they said it would not do ; But, when he got through it, Then they vowed they always knew That he didn t do it ! Lies are rolling stones, of course, But they can t adhere to Morse. THEATRICAL ADDRESSES, 239 ADDRESS FOR THE BENEFIT OF WILLIAM DUNLAP. (SPOKEN BY MRS, SHAKPE) WHAT gay assemblage greets my wondering sight ! What scene of splendor conjured here to night ! What voices murmur, and what glances gleam! Sure t is some flattering unsubstantial dream. The house is crowded everybody s here For beauty famous, or to science deaf; Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles, and beaux, Poets and painters and Heaven only knows Whom else beside ! And see, gay ladies sit Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit (A fairy change ah, pray continue it.) Gray heads are here too, listening to my rhymes, Full of the spirit of departed times ; Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight, All gather round me on this brilliant night. And welcome are ye all. Not now ye come To speak some trembling poet s awful doom 240 THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. With frowning eyes a "want of mind" to trace In some new actor ? s inexperienced face, Or e en us old ones (oh, for shame !) to rate "With study good in time but never great :" Not like yon travelled native, just to say "Folks in this country can not act a play They can t pon honor I" How the creature . starts ! His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts ! Kay, madam, spare your blushes you I mean There close beside him oh, you re full nine teen You need not shake your flowing locks at me The man, your sweetheart then I m dumb, you see ; I 11 let him off you ll punish him in time, Or I ve no skill in prophecy or rhyme ! A nobler motive fills your bosoms now, To wreathe the laurel round the silvered brow Of one who merits it if any can The artist, author, and the honest man. With equal charms his pen and pencil drew Bright scenes, to nature and to virtue true. Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared, And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered; But not alone on budding genius smile, Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while ; THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. 241 To boyish hope not every bounty give, And only youth and beauty bid to live. Will you forget the services long past Turn the old war-horse out to die at last ? When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o er, His faithful bosom dares the charge no more ! Ah, no ! The sun that loves his beams to shed Round every opening floweret s tender head, With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws^ To cheer the sadness of the fading rose : Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd, Points to the past, and has his claims allowed ; Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done, And rests in triumph like the setting sun. ADDRESS FOB THE BENEFIT OF JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. (SPOKEN BY MRS. CHAPMAN.) NAY, Mr. Simpson ! 7 T is not kind polite To shut me out, sir ? I m in such a fright ! I can not speak the lines, I m sure ! Oh, fie 1 To say I must ! but if I must I 11 try ! From him I turn to these more generous souls, The drama s patrons and the friends of KNOWLES. 16 242 THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here ! What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere ! Names that shirie brightest on our country s page! The props of science literature the stage ! Above below around me woman smiles, The fairest floweret of these western wilds All come to pay the tribute of their praise To the first dramatist of modern days : And welcome, to the green home of the free, With heart and hand, the bard of liberty ! His is a wizard- wand. Its potent spell Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, And placed him on his native hills again, The pride and glory of his fellow-men ! The poet speaks for Rome Virginia bleeds ! Bold Caius Gracchus in the forum pleads ! Alfred the Great, because the good and wise, Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise ! Sweet Bess, the Beggar s Daughter, beauty s queen, Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene ! The Hunchback enters kindly fond se vere And last, behold the glorious Wife appear ! These are the bright creations of a mind Glowing with genius, chastened and refined. THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. 243 In all he s written, be this praise his lot : " Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot ! Upon my life t is no such easy thing To laud the bard, unless an eagle s wing My muse would take ; and, fixing on the sun Her burning eye, soar as his own has done ! Did you speak, sir? What, madam, did he say? Wrangling ! for shame ! before your wedding- day ! Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue, And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you ! Bless me, what friends at every glance I see ! Artists and authors men of high degree ; Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, The next election, and the war with France ; Doctors, just come from curing half a score And belles, from killing twice as many more ; Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs ! All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces Might well become Apollo and the graces, Except one yonder, with a look infernal, Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble s Journal ! But to my task. The muse, when I began, Spoke of the writer welcome ye the man. 244 THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. Genius, at best, acts but an humble part, Unless obedient to an honest heart. And such a one is his, for whom, to-night, These walls are crowded with this cheering sight. Ye love the poet oft have conned him o er, Knew ye the man, ye 7 d love him ten times more. Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill ; Ye gods, applaud him ; and ye fops be still ! ADDRESS FOR THE BENEFIT OF HENRY PLACIDE. (SPOKEN BY MBS. HILSON.) THE music s done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie ! Your bell and whistle put me in a fury ! Don t ring up yet, sir I ve a word to say Before the curtain rises for the play ! Your pardon, gentlefolks, nor think me bold, Because I thus our worthy prompter scold : T was all feigned anger. This enlightened age Requires a ruse to bring one on the stage ! Well, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight Presented on this brilliant festal night ! THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. 245 Where er I turn, whole rows of patrons sit The house is full box, gallery, and pit ! Who says the New- York public are unkind ? I know them well, and plainly speak my mind "It is our right," the ancient poet sung He knew the value of a woman s tongue ! With this I will defend ye and rehearse Five glorious Ads of yours in modern verse ; Each one concluding with a generous deed For Dunlap, Cooper, Woodworth, Knowles, Pla cid e ! ? T was nobly done, ye patriots and scholars ! Besides they netted twenty thousand dollars ! "A good round sum," in these degenerate times " This bank-note world," so called in Halleck s rhymes ; And proof conclusive, you will frankly own, In liberal actions New- York stands alone. Though roams he oft mong green poetic bowers, The actor s path is seldom strewn with flowers. His is a silent, secret, patient toil While others sleep, he burns the midnight oil Pores o er his books thence inspiration draws, And waste s his life to merit your applause ! ye, who come the laggard hours to while, And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile, 246 THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. Remember this : the mirth that cheers you so, Shows but the surface not the depths below ! Then judge not lightly of the actor s art, Who smiles to please you, with a breaking heart ! Neglect him not in his hill-climbing course, Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse : Up hill, indulge him down the deep descent, Spare and don t urge him when his strength is spent ; Impel him briskly o er the level earth, But in the stable don t forget his worth ! So with the actor while you work him hard, Be mindful of his claims to your regard. But hold ! methinks some carping cynic here Will greet my homely image with a sneer. Well let us see I would the monster view : Man with umbrageous whiskers, is it you ? Ah, no I was mistaken : every brow Beams with benevolence and kindness now ; Beauty and fashion all the circles grace And scowling Envy here were out of place 1 On every side the wise and good appear- The very pillars of the State are here ! There sit the doctors of the legal clan ; There all the city s rulers, to a man ; Critics and editors, and learned M. D. S, Buzzing and busy, like a hive of bees ; THEATRICAL ADDRESSES. 241 And there, as if to keep us all in order, Our worthy friends the Mayor and the Recorder ! Well, peace be with you! Friends of native worth, Yours is the power to call it into birth ; Yours is the genial influence smiles upon The budding flowerets opening to the sun. They all around us court your fostering hand Rear them with care, in beauty they ll expand With grateful odors well repay your toil, Equal to those sprung from a foreign soil ; And more Placides bask in your sunshine then, The first of actors and the best of men. THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, WHO S THE TRAITOR? AN (Optra in ljm tts. FOUNDED UPON HISTORICAL EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF FREDERICK THE SECOND OF PRUSSIA, RELATED BY MISS EDGEWORTH, ZIMMERMANN, LATROBE, AND OTHER WRITERS. THE MUSIC With the exception of three German Melodies, and the characteristic Introduction COMPOSED BY CHARLES E. HORN. THE LIBRETTO BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. The Scenery by.. Messrs. HILLYARD, WHEATLEY, and Assistants. The Costumes by M. Louis. The Properties and Decorations by M. DEJONGE. The Machinery by M. SPEYERS! The Orchestra increased, and the Choruses full and effective. Leader of the Orchestra and Chorus-Master M. CHUBB. The Music produced under the direction of Mr. C. E. HORN! Stage Manager Mr. BARRY. DRAMATIS PERSONS. FREDERICK II. (King of Prussia) Mr. CHIPPENDALE. COUNT LANISKA (his Aid-de-Camp, a Polt) Mr. MANVERS. ALBERT (a young Saxon student-at-laic} Mr. FREDERICKS. KARL (a Hungarian, Packer to the Royal Factory} Mr. C. E. HORN. WEDGEWOOD (an English Merchant) Mr. PLACIDE. BARON ALTENBERG (Attorney -General) Mr. BARRY. JUDGE OF THE COURT Mr. CLARK. HANS (an Innkeeper) Mr. ANDREWS. HAROLD (an old Sergeant of Grenadiers) Mr. SEGUIN. CORPORAL OP GRENADIERS (old ma?/) Mr. FISHER. BURGOMASTER Mr. POVEY. JAILOR OF THE CASTLE SPANDAU Mr. BELLAMY. HERALD Mr. NELSON. FIRST GENERAL Mr. KING. SECOND GENERAL Mr. GALLOT. Staff-Officers, Officers of State, Workmen of the Factory, Citizens, Advocates, Jurymen, Grenadiers, Peasants, Travellers, Servants, etc. COUNTESS LANISKA Mrs. BARRY. FRED ERICA (her Daughter) Mrs. KNIGHT. SOPHIA MANSFIELD (the Saxon Maid) Mrs. C. E. HORN. GERTRUDE Miss MARY TAYLOR. Ladies of the Court, Factory Girls, Peasants, etc. SCENE Berlin and Potsdam. TIME Latter part of the reign of Frederick the Great. THE MAID OF SAXONY. ACT I. SCENE I. Inside of a German Inn, on the road to Berlin. Fire and candles nearly extinguished. Clock in the corner, marking the hour of ten. HANS seated in an arm-chair, asleep. Music. The curtain rises to the opening symphony. HANS yawns in his sleep. (Enter GERTRUDE.) GERTRUDE. Ho ! Hans ! Why, Hans ! You Hans, I say ! Awake ! Here ? ll be the deuce to pay ! For coming guests get fire and lights, And help me put the room to rights ! (HANS stretches and yawns, ,) Hans ! I ve no patience with the lout ! What, Hans, on earth are you about ? (Shakes HANS, who yawns again .) 252 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [Aor I Did ever room look so forlorn ? Hans 1 Hark ! I hear the postman s horn ! ( Sounds of a horn in the distance. HANS stretches, yawns, and rises.) HANS. What der tuyvel is der matter, Dus you chitter chatter clatter ? GERTRUDE (aside.) His impudence can not be borne ! HANS. What s dat I hear ? GERTRUDE. The postman s horn ! (Sounds of horn again.) Whose notes o er moor and mountain flung HANS. Are not so noisy as your tongue ! (Horn sounds as though approaching; whips are heard, and the post-coach is supposed to arrive outside with Passengers. Enter the Attendants, with portmanteaus, carpet-bags, etc., and Passengers.) CHORUS. Rejoice ! rejoice ! we re safe and sound, And shelter for the night have found, Within this snug abode ! SCENE 1.] WHO S THE TRAITOR ? 253 The dust may rise, the rain may fall Beneath this roof we ll smile at all The dangers of the road ! SOLO. Then let the cheerful board be spread ; To supper first, and then to bed, Till birds their songs begin : Thus, whether sleeping or awake, The weary traveller will take His comfort at his inn. CHORUS. Rejoice ! rejoice ! we re safe, etc. [Exit Passengers and Attendants. GERTRUDE. Where in the world are all these people o-oin^ to, Hans? HANS. To Berlin, to shee der troops. Frederick mus ters dem to-morrow at der capital. But why don t you attend to der guest ? GERTRUDE. Why don t you 1 You are not fit to keep an inn, Hans. HANS. I was not prought up to it ; mine pishiness was to keep a paint-shop, and shell der colors to der artists. 254 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. GERTRUDE. Don t stand here chattering about your fine colors but look to the guests HANS. Yaw, yaw, mein fraulein. ALBERT (without.) Ho ! landlord! Waiters, look to our luggage ! WEDGEWOOD (speaking as he enters.) If it is convenient. (Enter ALB T and WEDGEWOOD in cloaks, briskly) GERTRUDE. This way, gentlemen, this way. ALBERT. Two bed-chambers, landlord, as soon as possi ble. HANS. Yaw, mynheer. (Gives directions to Attendant, who exits) WEDGEWOOD. Landlady, take care of my coat and stick, and here s something for your pains. GERTRUDE. Yes, sir. WEDGEWOOD (looking at her) What a pretty girl. SCENE L] WHO s THE TRAITOR? 255 GERTRUDE. Is that all, sir ? WEDGEWOOD (aside to GERTRUDE.) No, that s not all. (Kisses her.) Take this into the bargain, you jade ! GERTRUDE (courtesies) Thank you, sir. (Aside.) What a nice, queer old gentleman ! HAXS (taking her away passionately.) What s clat to you ? Give me der tings (takes them) You do noding but ogle mit der young folks, and flirt mit der old ones ! GERTRUDE. Oh, you jealous brute ! \Exit in a huff. WEDGEWOOD (noticing her.) Nice girl that odd, too, that she should have married a man old enough to be her grandfather ! HANS (aside.) Dat queer chap in der brown vig I m sure is a gay deceiver, or he would not admire mine vife so much. I must have mine eyes about me. [Exit. WEDGEWOOD (noticing HANS and GERTRUDE.^ Odd, very odd, very odd indeed ! But, now that we are alone, pray continue the narrative you commenced in the coach if it is convenient. 256 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. ALBERT. Right willingly. Frederick, after liis conquest of Saxony, transported by force several manufac turers from Dresden to Berlin, where he has es tablished a Porcelain Factory WEDGEWOOD. Separated from their friends, home, and coun try, these unfortunate people are compelled to continue their labors for the profit and glory of their conqueror I know it go on ALBERT. Among those in bondage is Sophia Mansfield WEDGEWOOD. I have heard of her : a young, beautiful, and singularly-gifted girl ALBERT. Several pieces of her design and modelling were shown to the king, when he was at Meissen, in Saxony ; and he was so struck with their beau ty, that he determined to convey the artist with other prisoners, to his capital WEDGEWOOD. Where he issued his royal edict, compelling the girls of the factory to marry Prussian soldiers. Unfeelingly odd ! SCENE L] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 251 ALBERT. Sophia has yet escaped this tyranny. The wer- seer, however, has demanded her hand ; but I shall be in time to thwart his purposes. WEDGEWOOD. But, to effect that, you must also thwart the purposes of Frederick himself, who, I understand, is as stubborn as he is bold. ALBERT. Count Laniska has won Sophia s affections, and love is a power that can not be controlled. WEDGEWOOD. Veritably odd ! ALBERT. You are on your way to the factory have you free admission for yourself and friends ? WEDGEWOOD. Indubitably. ALBERT. Then we will, with your permission, visit it together. (Aside.) In this disguise, and under the name of Worrendorf, I may pass unnoticed. (^Re-enter HANS, with trunks, etc., and GERTRUDE.) 17 258 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acr. I. WEDGEWOOD. It is growing late. After the fatigues of the journey, I need repose. j ALBERT. And so do I. Good-night ! WEDGEWOOD. Good-night ! \Exit ALBERT ; GERTRUDE takes a lighted candle from the table and shows the way; WEDGEWOOD takes a light.] Do you rise early, friend ? HANS. No, mynheer ; but mine vife does WEDGEWOOD. Then tell your wife to knock at my door early in the morning. HANS (eyeing him and looking suspiciously.) So ho ! I smoke you ! WEDGEWOOD. Then keep farther off with your confounded pipe, you Dutch abomination. HANS (lays his finger on his nose.) And I schmells a rat ! WEDGEWOOD (looking around.) The devil you do ! Where ? SCENE II.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 259 HANS. Se I vill knock at yourn door myself WEDGE WOOD. If it is convenient. (Exit HANS.) A pretty house I have got into ! Smokes me ! smells a rat ! The^/% Dutchman ! [Exit. SCENE II. An open cut wood near Berlin. Tents in the distance. A military outpost. Enter HAROLD, Corporal, and a party of Soldiers, in military undress. SONG. The life for me is a soldier s life ! With that what glories come ! The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, The roll of the battle-drum ; The brilliant array, the bearing high, The plumed warriors tramp ; The streaming banners that flout the sky, The gleaming pomp of the camp. 260 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [ACT I. CHORUS. A soldier s life is the life for me ! With that what glories come ! The notes of the spirit-stirring fife, The roll of the battle-drum ! HAROLD. So, corporal, at last we are to have a muster of the combined forces of the kingdom. CORPORAL. Yes, the king is never so happy as when he has all his children, as he calls us, about him. HAROLD. And plaguy good care he takes of his children ! He looks after our domestic as well as our public interests ! It was a strange wiiim in old Fritz to offer each of his soldiers one of the factory girls for a wife ! CORPORAL. I wonder the old hero does not marry some of them himself. HAROLD. He would rather look after his soldiers than meddle with the fancies of the women and at his age too ! SCENE II.] WHO s THE TRAITOR? 261 CORPORAL. Nonsense ! The king is a boy a mere boy of seventy ! But he does meddle with the women sometimes. HAROLD. Say yon so ? CORPORAL. Ay, and old ones too. It was but the other day that he pensioned a poor widow, whose only son fell in a skirmish at his side. Heaven bless his old cocked hat ! HAROLD Yet is it not singular that one so mindful of the rights of old women should compel the young ones to toil as they do in the factory ? CORPORAL. Tush, tush, man ! that s none of your con^ cern, nor mine. What have we to do with state affairs ? HAROLD. Right, corporal ; and it s not worth while for us to trouble our heads about other people s business. CORPORAL. You re a sensible fellow 262 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT L HAROLD. Right again ; and I would return the com pliment if you did not wear such a flashy watch- riband (looks at it.) CORPORAL. That s personal ! HAROLD. I mean it to be so. What the devil do you wear it for ? CORPORAL. To gratify a whim. I like this riband. It was a present from an old sweetheart of mine. Look what a jaunty air it gives one ! and where *s the harm of keeping up appearances ? HAROLD. What silly vanity ! But let me give you a piece of advice : beware of the scrutiny of the king he has an eye like a hawk, old as he is ; and if he should happen to spy your watch riband CORPORAL. Pooh, pooh! he would not notice such a trifle. But who comes yonder ? That Hun garian Karl. Let ? s make way for him. He 7 s a fellow I don t fancy. What a man to woo and win Sophia Mansfield ! SCENKIL] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 263 HAROLD. He ll never win her, woo her as he may. Count Laniska will look to that. [HAROLD, Corporal and party retire into tents. (Enter KARL, in great agitation.) SONG KARL. Confusion ! Again rejected By the maid I fondly love ! Illusion ! In soul dejected ! Jealous fears my bosom move. Dear Sophia ! Hope s deceiver ! Whom I love ; but love in vain ! Can I to my rival leave her ? No the thought distracts my brain 1 Love revenge ! Oh, how I falter ! Passion s throes unman me quite : Now he leads her to the altar How I tremble at the sight ! Hold, tormentors ! cease to tear me ! All in vain I gasp for breath ! Hated rival scorn I bear thee Which can only end in death ! (HAROLD advances.) HAROLD. Karl, what ails you ? 264 THE MAID OF SAXONY | OR, [ACT I KARL (aside.) Observed! (To HAROLD.) An infirmity I ve had from my youth upward. I shall be better presently. HAROLD. You tremble like one with the ague. KARL. We Hungarians have not your tough constitu tion, comrade : besides, the weather is chilly it freezes me to the bone. HAROLD. It J s the weather within, Karl. Repair to the factory, and sun yourself in the bright eyes of Sophia Mansfield ! That will warm you, espe cially if Count Laniska happens to be by to stir up the fire of your jealousy eh ? KARL. You have a sharp wit, which I lack, comrade. HAROLD (sarcastically.) And I Ve another thing which you lack comrade. KARL. What may that be ? HAROLD. A clear conscience, my old boy ! [Exit HAROLD into tent. SCENE II.J WHO s THE TRAITOR? 265 KARL. Does he suspect ? No sleeping and waking I have concealed this (his arm) damning evi dence of my guilt. The mark of Cain I bear about me is known to none, and the secret dies with me. For that young Pole, Sophia scorns me ; but let him beware ! My revenge, though slow, is sure ! (KARL turns to go ; but perceiving Count LAN- ISKA advancing, he retires into a tent. Enter LANISKA, who notices KARL in the distance.) SONG LANISKA. When I behold that lowering brow, Which indicates the mind within, I marvel much that woman s vow A man like that could ever win ! Yet it is said, in rustic bower, (The fable I have often heard) A serpent has mysterious power To captivate a timid bird. This precept then I sadly trace That love s a fluttering thing of air ; And yonder lurks the viper base, Who would my gentle bird ensnare ! 266 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [ACT L >T was in the shades of Eden s bower This fascination had its birth, And even there possessed the power To lure the paragon of earth ! (At the conclusion of the song, KARL is about to retire. LANISKA addresses him.) COUNT. Come hither, Karl. KARL. I await upon your leisure, count. COUNT. I would have some words with you. KARL. You may not relish the frankness of my manner. COUNT. Indeed ! KARL. Look you, Count Latiiska ; I am a plain, blunt, straight-forward, rough-spoken fellow, and a sol dier like yourself. I know my rights ; and, know ing, will maintain them. It was by the king s permission and authority that I chose Sophia Mansfield for my bride COUNT. She has rejected you. SCENE II.] WHO s THE TRAITOR f 261 KARL. What has that to do with the matter ? Wo men are often perverse, and not always the best judges of their own welfare ; and you know she must be mine COUNT. Must?- KARL. Yes, must. I have the king s promise, and Frederick was never known to break his word. COUNT. You surely would not marry her against her will ? KARL. Why not ? Sophia is the only woman I ever loved : and now that I have her sure, think you I will resign her ? COUNT. And think you the king will force an angel into the arms of a monster ? He can not be so great a tyrant KARL. Tyrant! COUNT. Yes. Man was created to cherish woman, not to oppress her ; and he is the worst of tyrants 268 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. who would injure that sex whom heaven ordains it his duty to protect. KARL. Apply you this to the king ? COUNT. To the king, or to any he in Christendom, who would use his power to oppress the unfortunate ! But come, sir, we will not dispute about a hasty word W e have higher duties to perform. KARL. True, count ; we oppose our weapons to the enemies of our country, not the bosoms of our friends. I say our country ; for, although you were born in Poland, and I in Hungary, Frederick has made Prussia almost as dear to us as our native land, tyrant though he maybe. But we will not quarrel about a single captive, when the king has placed so many at the disposal of those who fight his battles. [Trumpet sounds without. (Enter HAROLD with despatches.") HAROLD (tO COUNT.) Despatches from the king. (Aside.} And a letter from Sophia Mansfield. [Exit. ( The COUNT receives and examines despatches ; kisses SOPHIA S letter, and puts it into his bosom. KARL does not notice it.} SCENE II.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 269 DUET COUXT AND KARL. Tis a soldier s rigid duty Orders strictly to obey ; Let not, then, the smile of beauty Lure us from the camp away. In our country s cause united, Gallantly we 11 take the field ; But, the victory won, delighted Singly to the fair we yield ! Soldiers who have ne er retreated, Beauty s tear will sure beguile ; Hearts that armies ne er defeated, Love can conquer with a smile. Who would strive to live in story, Did not woman s hand prepare Amaranthine wreaths of glory Which the valiant proudly wear ? [Exit the Count, KARL follows, menacing him. 270 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acx. I. SCENE III. An apartment in the Chateau of the Countess. Enter the Countess and FRED ERICA. COUNTESS. Your morning ride, Frederica, was full of ro mance the horse of your groom, you say, took fright - FREDERICA. Yes, dear mother, and darted off at a racing pace ; my own also became unmanageable, and I lost my presence of mind. I should have been thrown, if not killed, had not a gentleman rushed to my assistance. COUNTESS. Who was he ? FREDERICA. I do not know. COUNTESS. Was he alone ? FREDERICA. There was an elderly person with him, who seemed to be a foreigner. COUNTESS. But he was young, of course ? SCENE III.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 271 FREDERICA. Yes, mother, and handsome as an Adonis. COUNTESS. You have not fallen in love with this stranger, surely ? You are not old enough, and this is only your first season, Frederica. FREDERICA. Love has all seasons for his own, dear mother. Listen ! SONG * FREDERICA. The spring-time of love is both happy and gay, For Joy sprinkles blossoms and balm in our way ; The sky, earth, and ocean, in beauty repose, And all the bright future is couleur de rose ! The summer of love is the bloom of the heart, When hill, grove, and valley their music impart ; And the pure glow of heaven is seen in fond eyes, A s lakes show the rainbow that s hung in the skies ! The autumn of love is the season of cheer Life s mild Indian summer, the smile of the year Which comes when the golden-ripe harvest is stored, And yields its own blessings, repose, and reward. * This song was not written for the opera ; but was introduced by the composer. 272 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Aor L The winter of love is the beam that we win, While the storm howls without, from the sunshine within. Love s reign is eternal the heart is his throne, And he has all seasons of life for his own. COUNTESS. Silly, thoughtless girl ! What strangers are these coming up the avenue ? FREDERIC A (looking OUt.) As I live, the elderly person I told you of, and the young gentleman who risked his life to save mine ! (Enter WEDGEWOOD and ALBERT.) WEDGEWOOD. Have I the honor of addressing the Countess Laniska ? (Aside.) Flounces, frills, fillagrees, and furbelows, but she >s superlatively odd ! COUNTESS. I am the countess, sir. WEDGEWOOD (presenting letters) Will your ladyship be pleased to receive these letters of introduction if quite convenient ? COUNTESS (receiving letters and looking at them.) Mr. Wedgewood, from Esturia and London ; and SCENE III.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 273 WEDGEWOOD (introducing ALBERT. J Mr. Albert Worrendorf. COUNTESS (introducing FREDKRICA.J My daughter Frederica. ALBERT (aside) The angel we met by accident this morning ! WEDGEWOOD (aside.) Seraphically odd ! FREDERICA (to ALBERT.) We have seen each other before, Mr. Worren dorf. ALBERT. To my great happiness, madam. (ALBERT and FREDERICA converse apart.) COUNTESS (tO WEDGEWOOD.) It was very kind in my correspondent, Mr. Wedgewood, to introduce a gentleman of your celebrity to my chateau. WEDGEWOOD. You do me honor, madam. We Englishmen are plain-spoken people. We are not unlike our earthenware delf and common clay mixed to gether. If our outsides are sometimes rough, all within is smooth and polished as the best of work. It is the purest spirit, which, like the finest china, 18 2*U THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acx I. lets the light shine through it. (Aside.) Not a a bad compliment to myself, and metaphorically odd! COUNTESS. Your reply reminds me of the object of your visit. The Prussians are very proud of the manu factory which has claimed the attention of the king. WEDGEWOOD. Oh, how I long to see the great Frederick ! COUNTESS. You will like him, I am confident. WEDGEWOOD. I don t know that. I don t at all fancy his edict. What ! marry a parcel of handsome, in nocent, industrious girls to his great whiskered horse-guards, whether they will or no? It s a piece of moral turpitude an insult to common sense and infamously odd FREDERICA (advancing.) Have a care, Mr. Wedgewood have a care how you talk about the king. He possesses a sort of magical ubiquity and is here, there, and every where at the same moment. WEDGEWOOD. How does he manage that ? SCENE III.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 275 FREDERICA. He wanders about in secrecy and disguise enters all kinds of mansions and often over hears conversations that were never intended for the court. By this means, it is said, he gathers information from every nook and corner of his kingdom. WEDGEWOOD. Strange kind of hocus-pocus work for a mon arch ! Peripatetically odd ! ALBERT. I have been told that he knows more of the character and condition of his subjects and sol diers than they do themselves. COUNTESS. And he never knows of a wrong done among his people that he does not instantly redress though it often puzzles them to learn how he arrives at his knowledge of the facts. Many think him a wizard. WEDGEWOOD. And not without reason, madam. Never before have I heard of such a compound of sagacity, courage, and eccentricity. Oh, I am all in a glow to see and converse with the jolly old boy ! (Enter Count LANISKA.) 276 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. COUNTESS (introducing My son, the Count Laniska, will present you to his majesty. WEDGEWOOD (bowing to COUNT.) If it is convenient. (Aside.) Most martially and uniformly odd ! (To LANISKA.) But, first, I should like to have a glimpse at the factory. COUNT. I shall be happy to show it to you. There is one extraordinary subject connected with it, that will surprise you both a young girl of singular talent and beauty FREDERICA. Ah, brother ! upon your favorite theme again. That young girl occupies niore of your thoughts than all the porcelain in these dominions. ALBERT (aside.) Poor Sophia ! FREDERICA (observing the Count looks thoughtful.) Why, what J s the matter with you, brother ? WEDGEWOOD. He is no doubt studying the mixture of differ ent kinds of clay, and contriving a furnace that will not destroy it by too much heat. Ingeniously odd! SCENE III.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 277 COUNT. You are mistaken, sir. I was thinking at what time I should have the pleasure of waiting upon you. WEDGEWOOD. I will be at your service as soon as I have had time to adjust my outward and refresh my inward man. Necessarily odd ! (Seeing the Countess about to retire.) Madam, allow me (takes her hand) If it is convenient. \_Exit WEDGEWOOD and Countess. FREDERICA (to COUNT.) Now, brother, that the countess has retired, pray favor us with your confidence. You need not mind Mr. Worrendorf I have told him all about Sophia Mansfield I love that poor girl myself, not less for her misfortunes than her genius. ALBERT. I love her too FREDERICA (aside.) i Oh, dear ! what 7 s the matter with me ? My head turns round I am ready to drop ! COUNT (with emotion.) You love her ! Wherefore ? ALBERT. She is my countrywoman, and for that I love her. 278 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT. L FREDERIC A (recovering) Well, gentlemen, I must say this is very un- gallant in you both, to be praising one lady so highly when there is another in the room. (Aside. ) Oh, dear me, how near I came betraying myself ! ALBERT. Your pardon, my dear madam. When I look at you, I almost forget there is another woman in the world. (Kisses FREDERICA S hand, who turns away in evident confusion.} But for the present I must leave you, to join Mr. Wedge wood. [Exit. COUNT (noticing them.) (Aside) So, so, Frederica fairly caught, I per ceive ! (To FREDERICA.) Ah, sister, sister t as in all things else, there is a destiny in love. DUET LANISKA AND FREDERICA. From my fate there s no retreating Love commands, and I obey ; How with joy my heart is beating At the fortunes of to-day ! Life is filled with strange romances Love is blind, the poets say ; When he comes unsought, the chance is Of his own accord he 11 stay. SCENE IV.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 279 Love can ne er be forced to tarry ; Chain him he 11 the bonds remove : Paired, not matched, too many marry All should wed alone for love. Let him on the bridal-even Trim his lamp with constant ray ; And the flame will light to heaven, When the world shall fade away ! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The whole depth of the stage is made use of in this scene, which represents an open country. A Camp and Soldiers at a distance. Music. Enter HANS, GERTRUDE, and Peasantry : Lads and Lasses dancing. CHORUS OF PEASANTS. Lads and lasses, trip away To the cheerful roundelay ! At the sound of tambourine, Care is banished from the scene, And a happy train we bound, To the pipe and tabour s sound. Merrily, merrily trip away, T is a nation s holiday ! 280 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. Merrily, merrily, merrilie, Bound with spirits light and free ! Let s be jocund while we may ; And dance dance dance And dance the happy hours away ! When the gleaming line shall come, To the sound of trump and drum ; Headed by advancing steeds, Whom the king in person leads Let us hail him in his state, For the king s both good and great ! Merrily, merrily trip away, T is a nation s holiday ! Merrily, merrily, merrilie, Bound with spirits light and free ! Let s be jocund, now we may, And dance dance dance And dance the happy hours away ! (Immediately after chorus, a grand march is commenced in the distance, which becomes m,ore and more distinct as the troops advance. The Peasants form in groups. HAXS speaks during the first part of the march.) HANS. Here we are, Gertrude, many miles from our own village and all for vat ? To please you SCENE IV.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR ? 281 (aside) and to shell a few color to der artishes, vich I pring along mit me for der purpose ; but I need not tell her dat. Here, stand aside, and don t be looking after de sholders ! (GERTRUDE and HANS stand aside. Grand march. Enter a corps of Grenadiers and other troops, who form on the right of the stage. Roll of drums. The troops present arms. Enter FREDERICK, in a furious passion, followed by general and staff Officers, and Count LAN- ISKA. The King acknowledges the salute, lifts his hat, and puts it on again furiously. HAR OLD and Corporal are in the ranks of the Grenadiers. Throughout the scene the King speaks hurriedly.) KING. General ! FIRST GENERAL. Your majesty. KING. How comes it there is such a lack of discipline in your division ? Disband that regiment at once, and draft a few of the men from the right wing into other regiments ordered for immediate ser vice ! The sooner they are shot the better ! FIRST GENERAL. Yes, sire. [Exit. 282 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. KING. Generals most of you have served the greater part of your lives with me. We have grown gray- headed in the service of our country, and we there fore know best ourselves the dangers, difficulties, and glory in which we have shared. While we maintain the discipline of the army, we may defy any power that Europe can march against us relax that, and we become an easy prey to the spoiler. SECOND GENERAL. Your majesty shall have no cause of complaint in future. KING. Make sure of that ! Soldiers, I rely in my operations entirely upon your well-known zeal in my service, and I shall acknowledge it with grati tude as long as I live ; but at the same time I require of you that you look upon it as your most sacred duty to show kindness and mercy to all prisoners that the fortunes of war may throw in your power. SECOND GENERAL. That duty, sire, you have taught us all our lives. KING (talcing snujf.) Good ! Have any of my grenadiers anything to say to me before the parade is dismissed ? SCENE IV.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR ? 283 HAROLD (recovering arms.) Your Majesty ! KING. Speak out, Harold ! HAROLD. The grenadiers have noticed with deep regret that you fatigue yourself of late too much with the cares of the army. We protest against it KING. Zounds and fury ! Here s rebellion ! You protest against it ? HAROLD (bluntly.) We do. You are getting to be an old man a very old man and are too much afoot. KING. I can do as I like about it, I suppose ? HAROLD. Certainly not ; and you will, therefore, in future, be good enough to use your carriage more and your legs less. KING. What do the grenadiers fear 1 HAROLD. We fear nothing but the loss of your health, the loss of your life, or the loss of your favor, sire. 284 THE MAID OF SAXOXY ; OR, [ACT I. Don t you fear the loss of my temper at yonr bluntness eh, old comrade ? HAROLD. No, sire ; we know you like it. KING. I do indeed. You are in the right, niy brave compatriots for my advanced age and increas ing infirmities admonish me that I shall be under the necessity of following your advice. But on the day of battle, you shall see me on horseback on horseback and in the thickest of the fight ! ( Crosses the stage, as a Burgomaster enters, kneels, and presents a petition.) What have we here ? BURGOMASTER. Sire the common council has imprisoned a citizen, upon an accusation that he has sinned against heaven, the king, and the right worship ful the common council. We humbly beg to know what Your Majesty s pleasure is with regard to the punishment of so unparalleled and atrocious an offender ? KING. If the prisoner has sinned against heaven, and is not a fool or a madman, he will make his peace with it without delay. That is a Power (taking SCENE IV.] WHO s THK TRAITOR? 285 off his hat all the characters make their obei sance) that kings themselves must bow to in reverential awe. (Resumes his hat.) BURGOMASTER. But he has also sinned against your high and mighty majesty KING. Tush, tush, man BURGOMASTER (profoundly.) On my official veracity, sire. KING. Well, well, for that I pardon him BURGOMASTER. And he has likewise sinned against the right worshipful the common council. KING. The reprobate! BURGOMASTER. It is most veritable, Your Majesty ! KING. Well, for that terrible and enormous offence, it becomes my solemn duty to make an example of so abominable a culprit and to punish him in a most exemplary manner. Therefore BURGOMASTER. Yes, Your Majesty 286 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. KING. Send him to the Castle of Spandau, to be im prisoned BURGOMASTER. Your Majesty KING. For at least BURGOMASTER. Sire- KING. Half an hour (Peasantry laugh;) and after ward he is at liberty to go the devil his own way ; and the right worshipful the common council may go with him, if they like ! (Exit Burgomaster. As he goes out, shrugging his shoulders, all the Peasantry laugh, until checked by a look from the King, who crosses the stage to the Grenadiers, and addresses the Corporal, who has his watch-riband suspended.) KING. Corporal ! (He advances and recovers arms.) CORPORAL. Your Majesty ! KING. I have often noticed you in the field. You are a brave soldier and a prudent one, too, to have SCENB IV.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 287 saved enough from your pay to buy yourself a watch. HAROLD (aside to CORPORAL.) You remember what I told you about a hawk s eye. CORPORAL. Brave I natter myself I am ; but as to my watch, it is of little signification. KING (seizing and pulling out a bullet fastened to the Corporal s watch-riband.) Why, this is not a watch ! It s a bullet ! CORPORAL. It s the only watch I have, Your Majesty ; but I have not worn it entirely out of vanity KING. What have you worn it for, then ? It does not show you the time of day ! CORPORAL. No ; but it clearly shows me the death I am to die in your Majesty s service. KING. Well said, my brave fellow ! And, that you may likewise see the hour among the twelve in which you are to die, I will give you my watch. Take it, and wear it for my sake, corporal. ( The King gives the Corporal his watch.) 288 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT I. CORPORAL (ivith emotion) It will also teach me that at any moment Your Majesty may command my life. HAROLD (enthusiastically.} And the lives of us all. Long live the king ! (Flourish of drums. The King acknowledges the salute.) KING (to Grenadiers. ) You, my brave fellows, are my own guards. I cau rely upon you. There is no want of discipline here eh, General ? Notwithstanding all my an noyances, I am the happiest king in Christendom ! CHORUS. (Grenadiers and all the Characters.) All hail the king ! Long live the king ! Our hope in peace and war ! With his renown let Prussia ring Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! He is the pillar of the state ! Our sword and buckler he ! Heaven give to Frederick the Great Eternal victory ! ( The Grenadiers cheer. The Officers close about the King. Flourish and tableau. The act" drop descends on the picture.) END OF THE FIRST ACT. SCENE I.] WHO s THE TRAITOR? 289 ACT II. SCENE I. Discovered. The stage represents a large apart- ment without the usual side-entrances. On the left hand is a row of long, old-fashioned win dows, with painting-screens so arranged as to let the light fall obliquely on the tables beneath ; at which the Factory Girls are seated, employ ed in painting various articles of porcelain. SOPHIA MANSFIELD is seated at the table nearest the audience. On the right are sep arate tables, at which Girls are employed mix ing and grinding colors. In the centre of the stage is a small platform, on which a number of painted vases, ready for the oven, are placed. KARL is engaged in examining them. At the rear of the stage is the entrance to the room a large open door on each side of which are rows of shelves, filled ivith vases, bowls, plates, jars, mantel ornaments, and the like, put there to dry. The whole representing the painting- room of the Royal Porcelain Factory. Through the doors the furnaces are seen, on ivhich the porcelain is placed to set the colors, and which several Workmen are attending. The curtain rises slowly to the music. 19 30 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [AcT. II. CHORUS. (German ai r.) Home, home, home Dear, lost home ! Though here we pine in slavery, Our hearts are all in Saxony, Our girlhood s happy home ! Land of the free and bold, To hopeless bondage sold ! While abject toil and fear Enchain thy daughters here, We yearn for thee, O Saxony ! For freedom, love, and home ! ( The Girls attempt to waltz to the music ; but, overcome by their feelings, they resume their tasks. SOLO SOPHIA. Home, home, home Dear, lost home ! Though cares oppress us fearfully, We exiles carol cheerfully Of girlhood s happy home ! Beneath our native sky, The hours went swiftly by ; SCENE I.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 291 While on a foreign soil, Our youth consumes in toil ! We yearn for thee, O Saxony ! For freedom, love, and home ! (The Girls attempt to waltz, as before, etc.) CHORUS. Home, home, home, etc. (The Workmen and the Girls resume their tasks.) (Enter Count LANISKA, ALBERT and WEDGEWOOD.) WEDGEWOOD (looking around, and speaking en thusiastically as he enters.) Admirable, upon my word ! Every department better than the last, and this the best of all ! Never saw anything like it. The colors brilliant the designs exquisitely classical " a place for everything, and everything in its place ! " COUNT. Whatever His Majesty constructs, whether a fortress or a factory, is perfect in all its details. WEDGEWOOD. Yet look around, and read your monarch s his tory in the eyes of these prisoners of war. Ob serve that picture of melancholy (pointing to 292 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT IL SOPHIA, who, during the scene, has been leaning dejectedly on her hand. KARL standing by her side.) How reluctantly she pursues her task ! Our English manufacturers work in quite another manner, for they are free ! KARL. And are free men or free women never indis posed ? or do you Englishmen blame your king whenever any of his subjects turn pale ? The woman at whom you are looking is evidently ill. WEDGEWOOD. Then fie upon your inhumanity for making a poor, sick girl work when she seems scarcely able to hold up her head ! (Aside.) I don t half like that fellow. Villainously odd. ALBERT (tO SOPHIA.) My poor girl, what is the matter with you T The overseer says that, since you came here, you have done nothing worthy of your pencil. Yet this charming piece (pointing to an ornament of her painting) which was brought from Saxony, is of your design is it not? SOPHIA. Yes, sir, it was my misfortune to paint it. If the king had never seen or liked it, I should now be SCENE I.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 293 ALBERT. In Saxony ; but forget that country, and you may be happy in this. SOPHIA. I can not forget it ! I can not forget every body that I ever loved. Ask not a Saxon woman to forget her country ! ALBERT. Whom do you love in Saxony now ? SOPHIA. Whom do I not love in Saxony ? I have a brother there, whom I have not seen since child hood. He was at college when I was carried off from the cottage in which we both were born. He is ignorant of my fate. (She regards ALBERT with great attention, and examines his features minutely.) ALBERT. Why do you gaze upon me so intently ? SOPHIA. I know not why, sir ; but you seemed even now a dear heart-cherished one, whom I have wished for long and anxiously. ALBERT. Think me that one, and trust me. 294 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [ACT II. SOPHIA. I will for there s a cherub nestling in my heart which whispers, "You are here to save me!" (ALBERT leads her to her task, which she resumes in great dejection of spirits.) WEDGEWOOD (to KARL.) Is that poor girl often thus ? KARL. She sits as you see her, like one stupified, half the day. WEDGEWOOD. The cause of this if it is convenient ? KARL. She has fallen to the lot of a soldier (glancing at SOPHIA) who swears, if she delays another day to marry him, that he will complain to the king. COUNT (turning furiously upon KARL.) Wretch ! (seizes him.) KARL (throwing him off.) This insult will cost you dear ! Your scorn for the king s commands COUNT (scornfully.) I had forgotten. (Releases him.) You are a mere instrument in the hands of a tyrant ! SCENE I. WHO S THE TRAITOR ? 295 KARL (aside.) That word again ! SOPHIA (running between them, and throwing herself at the feet O/LANISKA.^ Save me ! save me ! You can save me ! You are a powerful lord, and can speak to the king ! Save me from this detested marriage ! KARL (aside to SOPHIA.) Are you mad ? COUNT (raising SOPHIA, who clings to him, and shrinks from KATLL.J I will do so, or perish in the attempt ! KARL ( aside J Ah ! say you so ? Then the king shall know his enemy and mine ! [Exit. WEDGEWOOD (noticing KARL go off.) Whew ! There s mischief brewing ! If that black-muzzled rascal is not hatching trouble for us all, I 11 never trust my seven senses again! I wonder they permit such a bear to go at large in a garden like this he 11 root up flowers as well as weeds. Dangerously odd ! (Trumpet sounds without, and a buzz and hum as if f a distant crowd ; the noise come near the Factory.) 296 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT II. WEDGEWOOD. What s afoot now, I wonder ? ALBERT. Some new freak, no doubt, of this eccentric monarch. (Noises.) WEDGEWOOD (looking out.) The town is all astir (noise louder) humming and buzzing like a hive of bees ! (Noise, and distant shouts.) And yonder comes a fussy little burgomaster with a proclamation, and a crowd of noisy citizens at his heels odd ! [Noise and shouts increase. (SOPHIA and the other Girls and the Workmen leave their occupations, as if anxious to learn the cause of the uproar. When the buzzing, huzzaing, and noise reach the Factory, loud sound of the trumpet.} BURGOMASTER (without.) Make way there, good people make way there for the royal herald! ( The Burgomaster hustles in with the Herald the crowd following and surrounding him noises. ) Stand back (using his wand) stand back, you idle, ragged tatterdemalions, and pay all due reverence to the constituted authorities ! (laughter) for know all men by these presents (very pompously,) that I represent the king ! (laughter.) SCENE I.] WHO .S THE TRAITOR? 297 WEDGEWOOD. What a fig-are for the part ! (laughter.) BURGOMASTER (smartly striking w <itli his wand one who laughs louder than the rest.) Take that, and let it teach you better manners in future, you scarecrow ! Now draw near, good people, and be dumb ! Lend me all your ears ! WEDGEWOOD. You have ears enough already for any two- legged animal BURGOMASTER. While I, by virtue of my office as a magistrate, publish this important document ! (SOPHIA comes forward.) CITIZEN (eagerly) Now for it ! BURGOMASTER (hitting him smartly over the head.) You will, will you? Hish ! This paper is big with information to the whole realm ; but more especially to the daughters of Saxony. (SOPHIA and the Girls of the Factory, by looks and actions, evince great interest in the reading of the paper.) BURGOMASTER. Hish ! (To Herald.) Now proceed in regular order, and according to ancient form and usage, 298 THE MAID OF SAXOXY ; OR, [ACT II. to read the royal proclamation ! Hisli ! (Hands paper to Herald.) HERALD (reads.) 11 By the grace of God, we, Frederick the Second, King of Prussia, hereby make known that we will give freedom " SOPHIA (eagerly aside.) Freedom ? (Listens with anxiety.) HERALD. " And a reward of jive hundred crowns to the Artist who shall produce the most beautifully de signed and highly-finished enamelled porcelain vase of Berlin china ; and permit her to marry whomsoever she shall think proper." SOPHIA (aside and joyfully.) Hear I aright ? ( The Girls of the Factory show great joy at this.} HERALD. 16 The Artist s name shall be inscribed upon the vase, which shall be called 6 The Prussian Vase: " SOPHIA (aside.) Oh, happy, happy news ! HERALD. " Signed at the Sans Souci "By THE KING." SCENE I.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 299 OMXES. Hu z z a a li a a a a ! (Amid the shouts and general joy of the Girls, the Burgo master bustles out, using his ivand frequently, and speaking all the while; the Herald following, and the Citizens buzzing and huzzaing as before.) Silence, you nondescript villains ! Silence, I say ! You stun me with your uproar ! (Loud shout. Passionately.) Oh, shut your ugly mugs ! (Strikes them.) WEDGEWOOD. Mugs ! I like that. He s in the crockery- trade, like myself. SOPHIA (with joy.) This proclamation has animated me with new- life and energy. I feel like one inspired ! COUNT. What mean you ? SOPHIA. To become a competitor for the prize, ALBERT. You will have many opponents, SOPHIA, I heed them not. WEDGEWOOD. All will be zeal throughout the manufactory. 300 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT II. SOPHIA. So much the greater need for my perseverance. ALBERT. Some will be excited with the hope of gaming their liberty. SOPHIA. Oh ; blessed hope ! WEDGEWOOD. Some stimulated by the crowns. Not at all odd. It would be odd if they were not ! SOPHIA. But none have so strong a motive for exertion as I have. COUNT (with enthusiasm.) Nobly resolved ! I will assist you with every faculty I possess. ALBERT (with the same feeling.) And I! WEDGEWOOD (with the same.) And all ! If it is convenient. SOPHIA (joyfully.) Then doubt not my success. (Exit LANISKA, ALBERT, and WEDGEWOOD.) Oh, how my heart bounds with the thoughts of once more seeing Saxony ! Its mountains, torrents, vineyards, are all before me now ! And then our native songs I They steal into my heart and melt it. SCENE L] WHO *S THE TRAITOR? 301 SONG AND CHORUS. (German air.) SOPHIA AND FACTORY GIRLS. Sky. stream, moorland, and mountain, Tree, cot, spire, and dome, Breeze, bird, vineyard, and fountain, Kindred, friends, country, and home I Home, home, home, home ! These are the blessings of home ! ( The Factory-Girls now waltz cheerfully to the music.} Hope how fondly I cherish, Dear land, to see thee once more ! O Fate ! let me not perish Far from my own native shore ! Home, home, home, home ! Saxony, Liberty s home ! (The Girls waltz as before, etc.) Those who freedom inherit, Bow not to Tyranny s throne ; Then, friends, in a kind spirit, Judge of my love by your own. Home, home, home, home ! The land of the heart is our home ! ( They all waltz with great spirit until the scene o 302 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT. II. SCENE II. A Street in Berlin. Enter FREDERICK in a cloak KARL following. KING. Those who have the command of motives, and know their power, have also the command of all that the arts, or what is called a genius for the arts, can produce. The human mind and human ingenuity ^ire much the same in Italy, England, and Prussia. Then why should not we have a Prussian as well as a Wedgewood or a Barbarini vase ? We shall see. I do not understand mon metier de roi, if I can not call forth talents where I know them to exist. (To KARL.J And so the count denounced me for a tyrant, did he, Karl ? KARL. He did, Your Majesty. KING. He >s a mere stripling ; and I permit boys and fools to speak of me as they list. But I am no tyrant, Karl ! He might have spared me that. (Musingly.) Tyrant ! KARL ( aside. ) It rankles deeply. SCENE II.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 303 KING (recovering from his meditation.) Youth and inexperience to say nothing of love pshaw ! which is the root of all folly shall be his apology this time : but let him be ware how he offends again KARL (aside.) It moves him as I intended. KING. No, I am no tyrant. I should not be branded with such a title ! KARL (startled.) Branded, Your Majesty ? KING. What has happened, Karl ? You are as pale as ashes ! What mystery is here ? I am to be trusted. KARL. Your Majesty was ever kind ; and if I might KING. Might ! You may. Speak freely to your sove reign your friend and tell me what it is that weighs upon your mind. SONG KARL. Dared these lips my sad story impart, What relief it would give to my heart ! 304 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ ACT II. Though the scenes of past years as they rise, Bring the dews of remorse to my eyes, Yet, oh hear me, and ever conceal What in agony now I reveal ! KING. Speak freely, Karl KARL. And behold, while I throw off the mask ! Ah, no, no, no, no, no I shrink in despair from the task ! In the page of my life there appears A sad passage that J s written in tears ! Could but that be erased, I would give All the remnant of days I may live : Yet the cause of the cloud on my brow I have never disclosed until now KING. Say on, Karl KARL. Here behold ! It is branded in flame ! Ah, no, no, no, no, no I shrink in despair from my shame ! [KARL rushes out. KING. There s a mystery about that fellow that I can not understand. Whom have we here ? SCENE IL] WHO *S THE TRAITOR? 305 Oh, the English traveller who is in such a good humor with my manufactory, and who has such strange notions respecting me. Good good ! [Draws his cloak about him and retires. (Enter WEDGEWOOD.) WEDGEWOOD. I begin to perceive that I shall get into some confounded scrape if I stay here much longer, and so will my young friend Mr. Worrendorf, who has made me his confidant : but mum s the word ! (Seeing the King, who is in the act of taking snuff.) Ah, use snuff, my old boy ? Odd ! Thank you for a pinch. ( Takes a pinch sans ceremonie, and without the King s consent. FREDERICK shuts the box angrily. WEDGEWOOD starts back in astonishment. Aside.) Wonder who the old-fashioned brown jug can be ! I 11 take him by the handle and pour him out, and see what s in him. KING. Like the snuff ? WEDGEWOOD. Yes (snuffs) it >$ decent blackguard (snuff s ) quite decent. KING. Taste it again. 20 306 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [Acx. II. WEDGEWOOD. Don t care if I do. (Helps himself.) KING. Perhaps you will also do me the favor to accept the box ? WEDGEWOOD (taking the box.) If it is convenient. What am I to infer from this? KING. That you and I can not take snuff out of the same box. My box is not large enough for two. WEDGEWOOD (astonished.) You don t say so 1 " Not large enough for two" ? (Looks at the box.) Damn me if I don t think it large enough for a dozen, unless they took snuff with a shovel ! (Aside.) Who in the name of all that s magnanimous can this old three-cornered cocked-hatted cockolorum be ? KING. You were overheard to say but now that you would like to see the king? WEDGEWOOD. Overheard ? (Aside.) Ah, that s the way they do everything here. A man can t sneeze without some one of the four winds of heaven reporting it to His Majesty ! There is no such thing as a SCENE II.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR? 307 secret in the whole kingdom ! How do the wo men get along, I wonder? (To FREDERICK.) "Like to see the king? 7 Certainly I should. KING. That box will procure you an audience. Pre sent it at the palace. WEDGEWOOD. Look you here, my jolly old cock, none of your jokes none of your tricks upon travellers, if you please. What do you mean ? KING. That I am appreciated at court. WEDGEWOOD (aside.). Oh, there s no standing this ! ( To FREDERICK.) Do you intend to say that you are personally ac quainted with Frederick the Great ? KING. I know him, I believe, better than any subject in his realm. He is my most intimate friend. WEDGEWOOD. Well, then, if that be the case, all that I have to say is, that he is not over and above nice in the choice of his companions. What an odd old file! KING (angrily.) Look you here, Mr. Wedgewood 308 THE MAID OF SAXONY OR, [ACT II. WEDGE WOOD (stammering) W-e-d-g-e-w-o-o-d ! KING. Yes I know you well enough. You are an Englishman by birth a crockery-merchant by trade a gentleman from inclination and an odd sort of character from habit. Without know ing anything more about it than the man in the moon, you have condemned the policy of the king, who is aware of all you have said and done since your arrival in Prussia. WEDGEWOOD (alarmed.) Oh, I 11 get out of this infernal country as fast as my legs can carry me ! The king is all ears, like a field of corn ; and all eyes, like a potato- patch ! KING. What alarms you ? WEDGEWOOD. Everything. It s all over with me ! I m an earthen teapot with the spout knocked off! Suspiciously odd ! KING. You, sir, like too many others, are entirely mistaken in the character of Frederick. You will understand him better when we meet again (going.) SCENE II.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR ? 309 WEDGEWOOD. But, before you go, pray receive your box again ! (the King looks at him sternly WEDGEWOOD greatly alarmed) If it is convenient ! KING. Not now. When next we confer, remember me.- Farewell ! [Exit. WEDGEWOOD. Remember you ? I think I shall. Once seen, never forgotten. What a deep old screw ! (Enter HAROLD.) HAROLD. The king commands your presence at the cha teau of the countess. WEDGEWOOD. The devil he does ! (Looks at the box.) What ? s here ? As I live, the royal arms ! ( Conceals the box from HAROLD.) Oh, the thing 7 s plain enough. That fellow has stolen this box ; and for fear of being found out, he has put it off on me ! It ? s all up! I ve been bamboozled by that nefari ous old monster of iniquity ! But I 11 after him straight, and have him jugged. If I don t, they 11 make no bones tf jugging p& ! If it is convenient. [Exit in a flurry. 310 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT II. HAROLD. How he trembles ! He s frightened out of his senses Fear ? What is it ? A word not to be found in the articles of war a soldier s only vocabulary ! SONG HAROLD. Fiery Mars, thy votary hear ! Weave for me a wreath of glory ! When I rest upon my bier, Let my memory live in story ! Aid my sword in time of war ! In my country s cause I wield it Only with the breath I draw, Will I to the foeman yield it ! [Exit. SCENE III. SOPHIA MANSFIELD S apartments in the Porce lain Factory. Enter SOPHIA. SOPHIA. Tis done. My vase is finished, and in the possession of the overseer. How is it with me ? Although my fortunes are suspended by a single thread, an unaccustomed buoyancy pervades my SCENE III.] WHO s THE TRAITOR? 311 bosom. Are these emotions precursors of victory, or has the love of Laniska given me a new exist ence, and tinged the world once more with hues of paradise ? How new and fresh and strange are all things here .about my heart ! This is his gift a simple flower ! He said it is an emblem of love. It is not so. Love does not perish thus ! Love can not be a flower. SONG SOPHIA. Ah ! Love is not a garden-flower, That shoots from out the cultured earth ; That needs the sunbeam and the shower, Before it wakens into birth : It owns a richer soil and seed, And woman s heart supplies them both, Where it will spring, without a weed, Consummate in its growth. These leaves will perish when away From either genial sun or shower ; Not so will wither and decay Celestial Love s perennial flower. T is our companion countless miles, Through weal or woe in after years ; And though it flourishes in smiles, It blooms as fresh in tears 312 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT II. (Enter FREDERICA.) FREDERICA. My dear Sophia, I am overjoyed to learn that you have completed your vase. SOPHIA. Thanks, dear madam. Is it true that the works of the different competitors are to be exhibited at the fete of the countess, and that the decision is to be there made ? FREDERICA. It is and the countess insists upon your be ing present SOPHIA. I am an unknown girl, madam ; and if I decline the invitation, I beseech you take it not amiss. FREDERICA. But I will take it amiss, and so will the count and countess, whose messenger I am, and who insisted upon my bringing you to the chateau at once. SOPHIA. Well, madam, since you will have it so FREDERICA. Oh, you ll be delighted. Only think of the concentrated attractions of "the court, the camp, the grove /" Oh, they re too much for any mortal woman to withstand ! SCENE III] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 313 DUET SOPHIA AND FREDERICA. The king, the princes of the court, With lords and ladies bright, Will in their dazzling state resort To this grand f&te to-night : The merry-hearted and the proud Will mingle in the glittering crowd, Who glide with Fashion s sparkling stream Where one I love will shine supreme ! La ra la, la ra la, la la la, etc. The cavaliers of Italy, The gay gallants of France, With Spain and England s chivalry, Will join the merry dance. The court of Love the camp of Mars, Fair Prussian dames, " earth-treading stars/ To music s strain will float in light, Where one I love will beam to-night ! La ra la, la ra la, la la la, etc. [Exit cheerfully. 314 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT II. SCENE IV. Discovered. Grand Saloon in the Chateau of the Countess LANISKA, arranged for a Fete. The scene opens with dancing and waltzing by the Characters, and discovers the King and retinue, Lords and Ladies of the Court, foreign Ambassadors and Attaches, the Countess LAN- ISKA, ALBERT, WEDGEWOOD, KARL, Girls of the Factory, etc., etc. The Characters are vari ously grouped during the dance ; and while all are observing the King, who, with KARL at his side, is attentively examining the Vases, which are placed on stands on one side of the stage, the Count LANISKA enters, conducting in SOPHIA and FREDERICA. After the dance, the King speaks. KING. The hour has arrived which is to decide the fate of the competitors. (All the Characters ex- press by their looks and actions the utmost anxiety as to the result, and draw near to the King.) KARL (to KING). The inscription upon this vase is in the hand writing of the Count Laniska. KING. >Tis well. SCENE IV.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 315 KARL (aside.) And it is his death-warrant ! KING. Subjects and children : we have reason to be proud of an art that redounds to the honor and gloiy of Prussia. Where all have deserved well, all shall be well remembered. (The Girls of the Factory manifest great joy at these words, and turn to congratulate each other. SOPHIA and LAXISKA stand apart, and watch every action of the King, while the other Characters appear greatly interested for SOPHIA.) This vase, how ever, I select from the rest, as the most beautiful of them all. (SOPHIA clasps her hands in great agitation.) Let this be known to after ages as " THE PRUSSIAN VASE ;" and let the name hera inscribed (looks at and points to the name on the vase) be chronicled throughout these realms. (Takes SOPHIA ly the hand.) Sophia Mansfield is the artist, and she is free ! (SOPHIA, overcome ly her feelings, falls on the bosom of FRED ERIC A. ) CHORUS. Victoria ! victoria ! The Saxon maid is free ! Victoria ! victoria ! etc. 316 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT II. SOPHIA. My heart will break with gratitude ! COUNT. And mine with joy ! KARL (aside) It will be of brief duration. KING (who has regarded SOPHIA with great in terest. ) Let the dance proceed. ( A merry dance and waltz by the Characters, at the termination of which a tableau is formed. The utmost merriment and hilarity mark the action of the scene. At the conclusion of the dance, the King, who has been occupied in carefully examining the Vase, wipes it with his handkerchief, which becomes stained with the paint. KARL draws his attention to the inscription.) KARL. Behold, my liege ! KING. Ha ! What words are these ? (Reads.) " To Frederick the Great Tyrant" Treachery ! (KARL immediately seizes the Vase, and carries it off, without the inscription being seen by any but the King.) Break off the sports ! SCENE IV.] WHO s THE TRAITOR? 3H COUNTESS (greatly astonished.) What means Your Gracious Majesty ? KING. ( Who has taken out his tablets, and written on them in great haste does not regard her, and speaks furiously.) Let all the doors be closed ! Such base ingratitude shall not go unpunished ! Give over your mirth ! Ho ! My guards ! (Drums immediately sound.) My guards ! (Presto ! Enter HAROLD, Corporal, and Grena diers, in great haste. The King hands HAR OLD his orders, and rushes out in a towering passion. Enter WEDGEWOOD. All the Guests are thrown into great confusion. He-enter KARL.) HAROLD (promptly.) Count Laniska, stand forth ! COUNT. What is your business with me, Harold ? HAROLD. You are our prisoner. OMNES. Prisoner ? KARL (aside .) Now I triumph ! COUNT. Under whose orders do you act ? 318 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT II. HAROLD. Those of the king. OMNES. The king ! HAROLD. Sophia Mansfield ! ALBERT. What of her ? HAROLD. She must away with us to the castle of Span- dau. SOPHIA. Heaven, support me ! COUNT (drawing his sword.) Touch her at your peril, Harold ! ALBERT. This is madness ! Give me your sword ! ( Wrests it from him, and gives it to HAROLD. ) Of what are they accused? HAROLD. Of ingratitude and treason ! OMNES. Treason ! Finale. COUNT. Treason ! SCENE IV.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 319 OMNES. Treason ! COUNT. It can not be ! Of treason who accuses me ? HAROLD. The king himself ! These orders read ! (Hands paper to Count J OMNES. The king himself ! COUNT (looking at the papers) T is true indeed ! SOPHIA. Oh, what a fearful change is here ! KARL (aside.) I triumph now ! my vengeance fear ! HAROLD. Your prisoners guard ! No more delay ! (SOPHIA and LANISKA are made prisoners J OMNES. The king s commands let all obey ! COUNT AND SOPHIA. We must obey ! SOPHIA. Oh, how my trusting heart is grieved ! 320 [ACT II COUNT. Our royal master is deceived ! No traitor I ! My loyal heart Spurns with disdain so base a part ! SOPHIA. How vainly Fortune smiled on me ! SOPHIA AND COUNT. Oh, give me death or liberty ! KARL. Tear them apart ! HAROLD AND GRENADIERS. ]S T o more delay ! KARL. To prison, hence ! OMNES. To prison ? HAROLD AND GRENADIERS. Hence ! OMNES. Away ! away ! (As the Guards attempt to separate Count LAN- ISKA and SOPHIA, great confusion ensues, and the act-drop descends.) END OP THE SECOND ACT. SCENE I.] WHO 7 S THE TRAITOR? 321 ACT III. S GENE I. The stage represents part of the Castle of Span- dan, and is arranged as follows : On the left, is a large rock ; above which, in the distance) is the Tower. A large grated door opens upon a platform, surrounded by iron railings. Count LANISKA is discovered leaning upon them. On the right, is an arched cell, with part of the wall jutting from the side, behind which is a secret door. Above this is a fine mew of an open country, and a clear, blue, starlight sky. SOPHIA is seated in the cell, at a table. The whole scene is so managed that, while the Audi ence have a full view of evert/thing, the Prison ers, although they hear, can not see each other. Time, near midnight. The curtain rises slowly to music. DUET SOPHIA AND COUNT. SOPHIA. This gloomy cell is my abode at last ; The sole reward for all my perils past. T is strange that love within the breast should dwell, When hope, dejected, bids the heart farewell ! 21 322 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [AcT III. What sounds are these ? No human form is near, And yet that well-known voice I faintly hear, T was sure the fancied music of the mind, Whose breathings mingled with the midnight wind. BOTH. Yes! T is lost! T is gone! Hark! it conies again, Like distant echoes of a melting strain : In melody {I;?/} spirit floats around ! That voice! These walls are vocal with the sound. I hear its music near me still ! Tis there ! Sure t is some gentle spirit of the air ! (During the duet, the moon has been gradually rising, and the light falls through the grated windoivs of the Prison.) (Enter Jailor,/r0w the Tower, to Count LANISKA.) JAILOR. Count Laniska a friend, with an order from the king. COUNT. I attend him. [Exit Count LANISKA. (Jailor closes the iron door over the grated win dow, locks it, and retires.) SCENE L] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 823 SOPHIA. T was but a dream ! T is past, and all is still again ! [ The bell in the Tower strikes twelve. BRAVURA SOPHIA. Hark ! t is the deep-toned midnight bell, That bids a sad and long farewell To the departed hour ; How like a dirge its music falls "Within these cold and dreary walls, Where stern misfortunes lower ! Ah ! vainly through these prison-bars Glide the pale beams of moon and stars, To cheer this lonely tower ; From evening s close to dawn of day, Hope s star sheds not a single ray To light the solemn hour ! Alas ! what pangs must guilt conceal, When innocence like mine can feel So crushed in such an hour ! I know not whether love be crime But if it is, in every clime T is woman s fatal dower ! I can find no clew to this most cruel treachery. What fiend in human shape has plotted my de struction ? (Sound of chains prison-door is unlocked.) Ah ! Karl here ! 324 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT IIL (Enter KARL, who secures the door through which he came in. He takes a position on the op posite side of the stage, and regards SOPHIA attentively.) KARL. Well, Sophia, we meet at last where we can confer without the possibility of interruption. I came to save you. SOPHIA. My life would not be worth preserving, owing anything to you. KARL. Subdue this unavailing anger, and listen to your friend. SOPHIA. Not to you. The enmity of such a man is a tribute paid to honesty. Friend ! (scornfully.) KARL. I came to give you liberty. SOPHIA. How? KARL. By flight. SOPHIA. Where ? KARL. To Saxony. SCENE I.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 325 SOPHIA. With whom t KARL. The only one who loves you. SOPHIA. Name him. KARL. Behold him at your feet ! SOPHIA. What mockery is this ? Mark me, Karl : I am a weak, friendless, unprotected girl. If your sex is strong, mine is resolute. Abandon your present designs give up this useless suit, and cease to persecute the innocent. KARL. I have heard you ! Now listen to me. You are my destiny. SOPHIA. Wretch ! KARL. I can not and I will not live without you. To secure, if not your love, at least the possession of your person, I have perilled everything. You are mine by right, and I will have my own. SOPHIA. Yours by right ! 326 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Ad III. KARL. Yes! SOPHIA. What right ? KARL. The king gave you to me. SOPHIA. I was not his to give. KARL. You were his bondwoman. SOPHIA. And his bondwoman spurned you, as she ought ! KARL. With scorn you did ! I have not forgotten it. SOPHIA. And does so now again. KARL. You love another ! SOPHIA. I 11 not deny it. KARL. Torture ! (Draws his dagger.) SOPHIA (greatly terrified.) Karl, you would not stain this prison-floor with blood ! SCENE I.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR ? 327 KARL. I would, to strike my rival s heart through yours ! But words may make the blow unne cessary. (Puts up his dagger.) Hear me, Sophia. Till I saw you, I never felt the pangs of love ! I never shed a tear! From manhood s early dawn, my savage nature could not brook reproof ; nor friend nor foe had power over me. Your smile alone subdued this callous heart. Sophia, save me ! Save a repentant, wretched man ! SONG KARL. (German ai r.) Once, mild and gentle was my heart ! My youth from guile was free ! But when love s bonds were torn apart, What joy had life for me ? No words, no threats could daunt my soul, My reckless spirit spurned control Till swayed by smiles from thee ! A wanderer o r er the desert sand, An outcast on the sea, An exile from my native land What r s all the world to me ? Each friend misfortune proved a foe : I scorned the high despised the low Till swayed by smiles from thee t 328 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT III. (At the conclusion of the song, enter, by the secret door, HAROLD, with a carbine, conducting in ALBERT and WEDGEWOOD stealthily.) HAROLD (aside,) I knew that I was right. ALBERT (aside.) Silence on your lives ! WEDGEWOOD (aside.) If it is convenient ! [They conceal themselves. SOPHIA. It is in vain ! KARL. Then you must away with me this very night, this very hour, or perish here ! (KARL advances and takes her by the wrist. ALBERT keeps WEDGE- WOOD and HAROLD off.) SOPHIA. Villain, forbear ! Oh, help me, Heaven ! KARL (drawing his dagger.) You call in vain ! Your doom is sealed ! Die ! (As he is about to stab SOPHIA, WEDGE- WOOD seizes his arm.) WEDGEWOOD. You lie, you infernal scoundrel ! SCENE II.] WHO >S THE TRAITOR ? 329 KARL. Ha ! betrayed ! Have at you, then ! (A struggle ensues between KARL and WEDGEWOOD, in which the former is overcome, and thrown upon the ground. SOPHIA rushes into ALBERT S arms in great agitation. HAROLD advances to the cen tre of the stage, and aims his carbine at KARL. At the same moment, WEDGEWOOD, who has had a desperate struggle with KARL, exclaims ) WEDGEWOOD. Your dagger ! your dagger ! ( Wrests it from him.) Now yield, or die ! (Rises, places his foot upon KARL, and holds the dagger up) If it is convenient ! ( Tableau. Scene closes.) [Exit. SCENE II. Another cell in the Castle of Spandau. Enter Count LANISKA and Jailor. JAILOR. Count Laniska, you bear the king s commission, although a prisoner ; therefore, while I leave you to examine these papers (hands papers,) received 330 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT III. from Mr. Worreiidorf, I rely upon your honor not to attempt to escape. COUNT. Your confidence is not misplaced, believe me. [Exit Jailor.] (Looks at papers.) My friend is unwearied in my cause. But I am a soldier, and have every held my life at the disposal of the king. If Sophia were free and happy, I could look upon death with an undaunted spirit. (Puts up papers.) How like an angel she appeared when last I gazed upon her heavenly face now glistening with the tear, now radiant with the smile of beauty ! SONG LANISKA. The gentle bird on yonder spray, That sings its little life away ; The rose-bud bursting into flower, And glittering in the sun and shower ; The cherry-blossom on the tree Are emblematic all of thee. Yon moon that sways the vassal streams, Like thee in modest beauty beams ; So shines the diamond of the mine, And the rock-crystal of the brine ; The gems of heaven, the earth and sea, Are blended, all, dear maid, in thee ! SCENE III.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 331 SCENE III. An Apartment in the Gallery of Paintings at Sans Souci. Enter ALBERT and WEDGEWOOD in haste, meeting the Countess LANISKA. ALBERT. Have you seen the king ? COUNTESS. His Majesty has not yet appeared. WEDGEWOOD. A crate of mouldy straw for your warlike gov ernment ! (Snaps his fingers. ) That for your soldier-like system of doing business 1 I wouldn t give a broken basin for it ! Why, the command ing officer has only to say, " Hang me up that tall fellow, like a scarecrow," and up he goes tzck ! or, " Give me that short chap the cat-o* nine-tails/ 7 and, whack, he has it or, " Shoot me yonder half-dozen specimens of humanity," and, bang, t is done ! (Enter FREDERICK, followed by HAROLD, unper- ceived, at the back of the stage.) ALBERT. If the king would but listen to reason 332 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acx III. WEDGEWOOD. Ay, but he won t ! I never saw such a resolute old curmudgeon ; and then he ? s so proud, too ! He s like a hard-baked stone jar he won t bend anyhow. I know why he gave me his snuff-box : it was because I happened to help myself to a pinch olit of the dirty old trumpery ! If he, or you, or all of you, by any chance happened to live in England, or any other civilized country, this poor count, and the girl too, would have an impartial hearing before they were condemned. COUNTESS. But under this government we have blessings unknown to yours WEDGEWOOD. But me no buts, madam ! Give me the bless ings of living under a government where no man can be condemned without a fair trial by jury, madam. To you Prussians, this is a matter of favor ; but to us Englishmen, it is a matter of right ! COUNTESS. Would to Heaven that my son and this poor girl could have such a trial ! ALBERT. And would to Heaven I might plead their cause ! SCENE III.] WHO S THE TRAITOR ? 333 ( The King, who has paid great attention to their conversation, walks down the stage, and sud denly stands in the midst of them. They all start, and fall back.) KING. On one condition you shall OMNES. The king ! KING. On one condition, young man, your prayer shall be granted. ALBERT. Name it, sire KING. If you fail to convince the judges of their inno cence, that you shall share their punishment. Do you agree ? ALBERT. I do, and set my life upon the issue. KING. Your life shall answer for it if you fail. (To HAROLD.) Give orders that the hall of the cas tle be immediately prepared for the trial. Use despatch, Harold! {Exit HAROLD.] (To the Countess.) You, madam, I believe to be wholly ignorant of your son s treachery. 334 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acr III. COUNTESS. If he be guilty KING (sarcastically.) If he be guilty, madam ? COUNTESS. Yes, sire ; if he has forgotten what Your Ma jesty has done for Poland, he is no son of mine ! KING. I shall spare you all the reflections I have made on the subject, madam. Tyrant as I am, I shall not punish the innocent mother for the guilty son. But perhaps this gentleman [ALBERT] and you [WEDGEWOOD] recommended trial WEDGEWOOD. Trial by jury ! Your Majesty has said it ! There s freedom in the very words ! KING. How is it to be managed ? WEDGEWOOD. Managed, Your Majesty ? Why, according to law and justice. KING. Good! WEDGEWOOD. Twelve honest, upright, free, and independent men are empanelled to hear the case SCENE III.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR ? 335 KING. Good again ! WEDGEWOOD. All the witnesses are examined, and all the tes timony fairly summed up by learned counsel! KING. Excellent ! WEDGEWOOD. Then the grave expounders of the law the judges charge the jury, who, upon their oaths, return a verdict KING. A glorious institution 1 WEDGEWOOD. The shield and protection of the rights of man the bulwark of civil and religious liberty and the admiration of the whole civilized world ! Democratically odd ! KING. Well we ll well so justice be done, I care not for the means, WEDGEWOOD. By jingo, he >s genuine porcelain ! It s all right fair, square, and above board a clear field and no favor ! 336 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [Acx III. (Enter HAROLD.) HAROLD. Everything is in preparation. The judges are proceeding to their seats ; the jury will soon be sworn, and the prisoners arraigned at the bar WEDGEWOOD (to HAROLD.) "Who s the crier of the court ? HAROLD. That office is not yet filled. [Exit. WEDGEWOOD. That won t do Illegally odd ! KING. Perhaps, Mr. Wedgewood, you would like the appointment yourself ? WEDGEWOOD. If it is convenient. KING. I confer it upon you. WEDGEWOOD. Thank Your Majesty. By Jove, we re sailing with wind and tide a smooth sea below and a clear sky above us ! KING. Well, gentlemen, I wish you a prosperous voy- SCENE III.] WHO *S THE TRAITOR ? 337 age ; but take care that you do not run your ves sel upon the rocks of litigation, and founder among the quicksands of the law. WEDGEWOOD. . No danger. Your Majesty, with such a pilot ! [ALBERT.] (Sudden and loud shouts and con fused noise without. Drums beat to arms.) What is the meaning of all this commotion ? (Enter HAROLD, in haste.) KING. Out with it, Harold ! HAROLD. The rumor of the treachery and ingratitude of the prisoners has spread like wildfire throughout the city KING. Well! HAROLD. The populace are in a ferment at the indignity offered to our beloved monarch, and demand the instant execution of the prisoners. KING. Well, well ; say on. HAROLD. The multitude crowd every avenue to the 22 338 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [ACT III. palace, and the chateau of the countess ; and the royal guards are under arras to preserve the pub lic peace. KING, So, so, so, so COUNTESS. O Heaven ! what will become of us ? KING (proudly). Have you not the king s protection ? I will appear among my children, who are so apprehen sive about my safety, that they sometimes forget themselves, and become a little unruly. They will be satisfied when they hear and see their father. (Seeing the Countess look dejected?) Do not droop, madam ; your guilty son shall have a fair and impartial trial. ( Taking her hand. To ALBERT sternly. ) Look to it, sir ; for if you fail, you know what follows! (Exit FREDERICK and Countess. Immense cheering and beating of drums with out.) WEDGEWOOD. Bravo ! He ? s a trump. Bless me ! a popular commotion! No matter I am crier of the court ! Let me catch any of the little boys making a noise in the halls of justice that s all ! I 11 make the king himself mind his P s and Q s, if he dare to interfere with our grave delibera tions ! I will act as becomes my station. His SOKNE III.] WHO S THE TRAITOR ? 339 Majesty has a jewel in me, and I 11 convince him that authority in my hands is a knock-down argu ment so-fist-ically odd ! SONG WEDGEWOOD. That law s the per feet ion of reason, No one in his senses denies ; Yet here is a trial for treason Will puzzle the wigs of the wise. The lawyers who bring on the action On no single point will agree, Though proved to their own satisfaction That tweedle-dum s not tweedle-dee ! To settle disputes, in a fury The sword from the scabbard we draw ; But reason appeals to a Jury, And settles according to law. Then hey for the woolsack ! for never Without it can nations be free ; But trial by jury for ever I And for tyranny fiddle-de-dee ! {Exit. 340 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [Acx III. SCENE THE LAST. Discovered. The whole stage is thrown open, and represents the Hall of the Palace at Potsdam, arranged as a court-room. On a carpeted plat form is the royal seat of state, occupied by three Judges. On the right and left of them are cushioned seats for the King and his retinue, and Officers of state. In front of the judgment- seat is a large centre-table, on which are vari ous law-books and the Prussian Yase. Around the table are suitable places for the Advocates in the cause. On each side are elevated benches, occupied by the Girls of the Factory, behind whom are stationed platoons of the Royal Guards. At the end of the benches on the right is the jury-box, with twelve Jurors, and the desk of the Crier, on which is a small mal let. Around the whole stage is a large gallery, crowded with, the Citizens of Potsdam. The entire scene is intended to represent an English Criminal Court of Law of the olden time, in full costume, with scarlet robes, ermine gowns, etc. The following Characters are discovered in their respective places : Baron ALTENBERG, the Attorney-General and Advocate for the SCENE IV.] WHO ? S THE TRAITOR? 311 Crown ; the Workmen of the Factory, as Wit nesses ; the Jailor, HANS, GERTRUDE, HAROLD, and Corporal ; Count LANISKA, guarded, at tended by the Countess and FREDERICA ; SOPHIA MANSFIELD, guarded, and attended by Factory- Girls ; ALBERT, as Advocate for the Prisoners, and WEDGEWOOD, as Crier of the Court ; Of ficers of state, Ladies of the Court, Porters of the Hall, and the King. This scene is ac companied by the Orchestra. Music as the scene opens CHORUS. With mercy let justice To mortals be given, For Justice and Mercy Are twiii-born of heaven ! (As Baron ALTENBERG rises, WEDGEWOOD says, in a subdued tone of voice, and very respect- fully.} WEDGEWOOD. Silence in the court ! ALTENBERG. May it please your lordships, these facts are not denied : the inscription in the handwriting of the count ; his free access to the factory ; his frequent use of the word tyrant when speaking of the king ; his earnest interest in the Saxon maid : 342 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [ACT III. her love for the count, and her opposition to the will of our most gracious sovereign for allotting her to the overseer as his bride : and they all unite in establishing their crime, the punishment of which is death. Had not His Majesty chanced to wipe off, with his own handkerchief, the blue paint which concealed the word tyrant, the vase would have been sent to Paris, the king and peo ple disgraced, and the criminals safe in Saxony. Yes, gentlemen (to the, Jury,) this splendid orna ment, which is to be known to all future ages as " The Prussian Vase," is defaced with the trea sonable inscription "To Frederick the Great Tyrant." KING (rising in excitement, and forgetting him- self.) Yes, soldiers and subjects, friends and children, this word is applied to me to your father by these base ingrates here ! CHORUS. Shame, shame, shame ! Long live the king ! etc. WEDGEWOOD (in a commanding tone, and striking the desk with his mallet.) Silence in the court, or I 11 put you in the stocks, juvenile delinquents and all ! What au. odd people ! SCENE IV.] WHO >S THE TRAITOR ? 343 KING. I beg the indulgence of your lordships for my infirmities of temper. Let the cause proceed. ( Takes his seat.) JUDGE. The case for the crown, gentlemen, is fully be- fore you, and is submitted in the confidence that you will discharge your duty faithfully. KING (again forgetting himself.) Ay, discharge your duty faithfully ! WEDGEWOOD (with great authority rapping on the desk.) Silence in the court, Your Majesty ! JUDGE. Let the counsel for the prisoners now proceed. ALBERT. Place Karl in the witness-box. (Enter KARL and HAROLD.) SOLO AND CHORUS. KARL. What outrage more, at whose command Am I thus shackled and restrained ? What mockery >s this ? In this free land The subject s rights should be maintained. 34-i THE MAID OF SAXOXY J OR, [Aox III. CHORUS. The traitor braves the king s command ! KARL. Those whom the lion would ensnare, Should of his reckless fangs beware ! The forest-monarch, held at bay, Will turn and spring upon his prey ! CHORUS. Thus bold will guilt full oft appear ! The sword of Justice let him fear ! WEDGEWOOD (as KARL is placedin the witness-box.) Silence in the court ! CHORUS. With mercy let justice To mortals be given ; For Mercy and Justice Are twin-born of heaven. KARL. Why am I summoned here against my will ? ALBERT. You are here to answer, not to question, sirrah ! KARL. By what authority do you command my an swers ? In these realms the king alone commands. SCENE IV.] WHO 7 S THE TRAITOR? 345 KING (again forgetting himself.) That s true that s very true the king alone commands WEDGEWOOD (shaking his mallet at the King.) What, Your Majesty you will will you 1 KING. Oh, I have forgotten myself again! (Takes his seat) Confound the fellow ! KARL (aside.) The king here ? Then I have one friend at least on whom I may rely. (To King.) Shall I may I speak freely ? KING. The king has no authority now. (Pointing to the jury-box) There are the sovereigns of the people, and to them you must appeal. (Aside.) What a situation for a monarch ! ALBERT (to KARL). You know yon Saxon maid and the Count Laniska ? KARL. I do, and hate the count ! ALBERT. Wherefore ? 346 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT III. KARL. He has thwarted my designs ! No, no, I mean not that! I mean that I hate him because he plotted treason against the king, and wrote Tyrant n upon the vase. ALBERT. Did he write it ? KARL. He did these eyes beheld him. COUNT (aside.] The perjured caitiff ! SOPHIA. Heaven, have mercy upon us ! COUNTESS. They are lost ! (Countess leans on FREDERICA. The King beckons to HAROLD, who goes to him. They engage in earnest conversation, occasionally pointing to KARL. HAROLD is supposed to be informing him of the arrest of KARL in SOPHIA S cell. KARL leaves the witness-box, and is about to retire, but is stopped by HAROLD.) ALBERT. Call the German inn-keeper to the stand. [HANS is placed in the box. SCENE IV.] WHO S THE TRAITOR? 347 KARL (aside) I tremble with apprehension ! ALBERT (tO HANS.) You deal in colors do you not ? HANS. Yaw, mynheer. ALBERT. Have you sold any in Berlin lately ? HANS. Yaw, mynheer ; I sold some of der Prussian blue to der Hungarian overseer of der factory, who gave me monish to say netting about it. He tried der quality upon dis little scrap of baper, vich he forgot, and vich I kept, mit der intention of giving him back ven I saw him again. It is scrawled all over mit der word " Tyrant? KARL (forgetting himself.) That paper ? s mine give it me ! WEDGEWOOD (instantly snatching the paper and holding it up, exclaims in a loud tone) It s not convenient ! (Hands the paper to ALBERT, who reads it to the Judges.) ALBERT. An attempt to imitate the handwriting of the count. Compare it with the word upon the vase 348 THE MAID OF SAXONY ; OR, [ACT III. JUDGE. It is the same ! CHORUS. Huzza ! huzza ! etc. WEDGEWOOD (forgetting himself, after the chorus has finished, shouts out at the top of his voice,) Huzza ! (which the King observing, rises to call him to order ; when WEDGEWOOD, noticing the King, places his hand upon his own mouth ; and looking round, and holding his mallet in a threatening manner over KARL, who is silent, by way of excusing his mistake, says) But silence in the court ! ( The King, shaking his finger at WEDGEWOOD, takes his seat ; HANS leaves the box) ALBERT. Place that workman on the stand. (It is done.) Did you ever see this vase before ? WORKMAN. Yes, sir. ALBERT. Where ? WORKMAN. I saw Karl receive it for the furnace, and I saw him marking upon it with a sharp instrument, SCENE IV. J WHO S THE TRAITOR? 349 which he suddenly hid in his bosom. (KAUL feels for his dagger, and half draws it, looking at SOPHIA ferociously. SOPHIA observes him nar rowly, and with great apprehension^) ALBERT. Who took the vase from the furnace ? WORKMAN. Karl. ALBERT. Who had possession of it afterward ? WORKMAN. Karl ALBERT. Who pointed out the word "Tyrant" to the king at the/efe of the countess ? KING (rising with great emotion, and entirely for getting himself.) Karl ! ALBERT. Who has misled, blinded, and deceived the king ? KING (with great emotion.} Traitorous,* fiendlike Karl ! KARL (aloud J I am stunned with horror ! 350 THE MAID OF SAXONY J OR, [Acx III. KING (leaving his seat, and coming down in great haste WEDGEWOOD raises his- hammer.) By your leave, Mr. Wedgewood. CHORUS (as the KING descends.} Long live the king ! etc. ( The King takes his station in the centre of the stage, and lifts his hat.) KING. If the court please WEDGEWOOD (aside.) Bravo ! His Majesty is becoming a principal witness ! (In a subdued tone of voice.) Silence in the court ! The king speaks ! KING (rapidly.) I see it all ! The case is clear. Karl had my permission to espouse Sophia. She refused him. Laniska loved her. Karl hated him, and planned her destruction ; visited her in prison ; tried to force her to fly the country with him ; she refused, and he would have slain her, had not Mr. AYedge- wood, the Advocate, and Harold who has just told me all struck him to the ground. Karl plotted this mischief Karl bought the paint .Karl wrote the word and Karl shall DIE ! SCENE IT.] WHO >S THE TRAITOR ? 35] KARL (draws his dagger) ^ But not not unavenged ! (He darts toward SOPHIA, and makes an attempt to stalker. SOPHIA shrieks, and runs to LAXISKA. All the Characters rise, greatly excited, and watch the scene with deep interest. The Guards present their pikes to the breast O/KARL, who is seized by HAROLD and Cor pora \-~in the brief struggle with whom, KARL S shirt-sleeve is torn open, and the felon s brand is discovered on his arm. To this ALBERT points in triumph. ~ Tableau. The whole action is in stantaneous.) HAROLD (with great eagerness.} Behold, my liege, the felon s brand ! (Presto! all start with astonishment.) CHORUS. Now, who >s the traitor ? f The Jurymen rise. QUINTETTE AND CHORUS. KARL. The javelin from an unseen hand Was sent that laid me low ! Behold exposed the felon s brand Unto my mortal foe ! CHORUS. Who >s now the traitor ? etc. 352 THE MAID OF SAXONY; OR, [Acr IIL JUDGE (promptly.) What say the jury ? FOREMAN (promptly.) The prisoners are innoceut I (Presto ! att start with joy.) CHORUS. The prisoners are innocent ! etc. (Some of the Characters clasp their hands others embrace. SOPHIA and LANISKA turn to ALBERT, and the Countess and FREDERICA to the King, in gratitude.) KARL. Oh, rage and fury! (KARL is secured by HAROLD and Corporal.) CHORUS. Rejoice ! our loyal hearts we bring As free-will offerings to the king ! SOLO SOPHIA TO KING. Oh, let me to thy ermine cling In gratitude, (Icneek,) God bless the king ! CHORUS. God save the king ! Long live the king ! etc. SCENE IT.] WHO 8 TIIK TRAITOR? 353 (The Workmen and Girls of the Factory, Advo cates, Officers, Soldiers, Ladies and Gentlemen, Spectators, and all the, Characters on the stage, indicate by appropriate and spontaneous action the deep and intense interest they take in the verdict. KARL gasps and faints, and is sup ported by HAROLD and Corporal. WEDGE- WOOD notices the tableau with great self-com placency. [The whole action is simultane ous.^ KARL is borne off by HAROLD and Cor poral. All the Characters then turn, and ly looks and actions congratulate each other, and the scene instantly becomes one of general joy.} KING. This court is now dissolved. ( The principal Characters leave their stations ; and all the Parties, except the Judges and those in the gallery, come upon the stage. To the Judges.) Your lord ships must pardon all irregularities. This is the first trial by jury that ever took place in Prussia. Hereafter, no human power shall interrupt your grave deliberations. (7*0 Count LANISKA.) Count Laniska, I took your sword from you this morn ing : I here present you mine. (Count kneels, and receives it.) COUNT. This, with my life, I dedicate to Your Majesty s service ! 23 354 THE MAID OF SAXOXY ; OR, [ACT III KING (to ALBERT). As for you, sir, the sword, is not your weapon. (HAROLD advances with a golden pen upon a velvet cushion. ALBERT kneels.) Receive this emblem of far greater power than all the imple ments of war, and wield it for the benefit of man kind. Rise, Baron ALBERT. Mansfield, Your Majesty KING (with surprise.) Mansfield ? SOPHIA. My heart was not deceived ! My long-lost brother ! ALBERT (ALBERT and SOPHIA rush into each other s arms.) My dear, dear sister ! KING (looking at them.) So, so, so ! Oh, what an old fool I have been ! (Looking around.) Come hither, Sophia. (She advances; the King takes her hand.) I owe you some amends for your long and patient suffering on my account (taking the Count s hand) and thus I make them. (SOPHIA and LANISKA join hands joyfully.) How well the criminals under stand each other ! (Rubbing his hands, and SCENE IV.] WHO s THE TRAITOR ? 355 walking joyfully about the stage.) Ah, Mr. Wedgewood, I don t care if I take a pinch of snuff out of that same box I gave you the other day. WEDGEWOOD (presenting box.) Your Majesty has added to its value a diamond worth all the rest, in finding it is large enough for two of us. KING. Good ! (Notices FREDERICA.) What ! Freder- ica, my fair namesake and little god-daughter in the dumps ? (Looking at ALBERT.) Oh, I understand. (To Countess.) By your leave, madam. (Hands FREDERICA to ALBERT.) You perceive, Mr. Wedgewood, that I have a large family to look after and provide for ; but I am a happy father, sir mine are good children, very good children I I wish I had more like these. WEDGEWOOD (significantly.) If Your Majesty goes on in this way, there ll be plenty more in time. KING. All are now satisfied at least I hope all are so here. (To the audience.) If, as a king, I may, on another occasion, command an audi ence 356 THE MAID OF SAXOXY ; OR, [ACT III. WEDGE WOOD (forgetting himself, lifting his mal let and flourishing it like an auctioneer.] Going! (Recollecting himself.} I mean (slowly and with gravity) s-i-1-e-n-c-e i-n t-h-e c-o-u-r-t ! (meaning the audience.) KING. These witnesses will, I am sure, attend the next trial of THE MAID OF SAXONY WEDGEWOOD. If it is convenient. FINALE. Our hearts are bounding with delight ! T is Freedom s jubilee \ For right has triumphed over might The bond again are free ! Hurrah ! hurrah I Let the welkin ring ! To Justice and Liberty Paeans we sing ! (Tableau Curtain falls.) END OF THE MAID OF SAXONY. NOTES, PAGE 51. THE DESERTED BRIDE THIS poem was written after seeing Miss FANNY KEMBLE, for the first time, in one scene of " The Hunchback." PAGE 57. THE CROTON ODE. WRITTEN at the request of the Corporation of the city of New York, and sung near the Park Fountain by the members of the New York Sacred Music Society, on the completion of the Croton Aqueduct, October 14, 1842. PAGE 64. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE ! EIDING out of town a few days since, in company with a friend, who was once the expectant heir of the largest estate in America, but over whose worldly prospects a blight has recently come, he invited me to turn down a little romantic woodland pass not far from Bloomingdale. "Your object?" inquired I. "Merely to look once more at an old tree planted by my grandfather, near a cottage that was once my father s." " The place is yours, then ?" said I. " No, my poor mother sold it ;" and I observed a slight 358 NOTES. quiver of the lip, at the recollection of that circumstance. " Dear mother !" resumed my companion, " we passed many happy, hap py days, in that old cottage ; but it is nothing to me now father, mother, sisters, cottage all are gone!" and a paleness over spread his fine countenance, and a moisture came to his eyes, as he spoke. After a moment s pause, he added : " Don t think me foolish. I don t know how it is, I never ride out but I turn down this lane to look at that old tree. I have a thousand recollections about it, and I always greet it as a familiar and well-remembered friend. In the by-gone summer-time it was a friend indeed. Un der its branches I often listened to the good counsel of my pa rents, and had such gambols with my sisters ! Its leaves are all off now, so you won t see it to advantage, for it is a glorious old fellow in summer ; but I like it full as well in winter-time. These words were scarcely uttered, when my companion cried out, " There it is ?" Near the tree stood an old man, with his coat off, sharpening an ax. He was the occupant of the cottage. " What do you intend doing?" asked my friend with great anxiety. " What is that to you ?" was the blunt reply. " You are not going to cut that tree down, surely ?" " Yes, but I am though," said the woodman. "What for?" inquired my companion, almost choked with emotion. " What for ? Why, because I think proper to do so. What for ? I like that ! Well, I ll tell you what for. This tree makes my dwelling unhealthy ; it stands too near the house ; prevents the moisture from exhaling, and renders us lia ble to fever-and-ague." " Who told you that ?" " Dr. S ." " Have you any other reason for wishing to cut it down V" " Yes, I am getting old ; the woods are a great way off, and this tree is of some value to me to burn." He was soon convinced, however, that the story about the fever-and-ague was a mere fic tion, for there never had been a case of that disease in the neigh borhood ; and then was asked what the tree was worth for fire wood. " Why, when it is down, about ten dollars." " Suppose 1 make you a present of that amount, will you let it stand V" " Yes." " You are sure of that?" " Positive." " Then give me a bond to that effect." I drew it up ; it was witnessed by his daughter; the money was paid, and we left the place with an as surance from the young girl, who looked as smiling and beautiful as a Hebe, that the tree should stand as long as she lived. We returned to the road, and pursued our ride. These circumstances made a strong impression upon my mind, and furnished me witli NOTES. S5 9 materials for the song I herewith send you. Extract from a Letter to Henry Russell., the Vocalist, dated New York, February 1, 1837. PAGE 78. THE CHIEFTAIN S DAUGHTER. " EVERY part of the brief but glorious life of POCAHONTAS is calculated to produce a thrill of admiration, arid to reflect the highest honor on her name. The most memorable event of her life is thus recorded : After a long consultation among the Indi ans, the fate of Captain SMITH, who was the leader of the first colony in Virginia, was decided. The conclave resumed their silent gravity. Two huge stones were placed near the water s edge ; Smith was lashed to them, and his head was laid down, as a preparation for beating out his brains with war-clubs. Pow- hattan raised the fatal instrument, and the savage multitude with their blood-stained weapons stood near their king, silently wait ing the prisoner s last moment. But Smith was not destined thus to perish. Pocahontas, the beloved daughter of the king, rushed forward, fell upon her knees, and, with tears and entreaties, prayed that the victim might be spared. The royal savage re jected her suit, and commanded her to leave Smith to his fate. Grown frantic at the failure of her supplications, Pocahontas threw her arms about Smith, and laid her head upon his, her ra ven hair falling around his neck and shoulders, declaring she would perish with or save him. The Indians gasped for breath, fearing that Powhattan would slay his child for taking such a deep interest in the fate of one he considered his deadliest foe. But human nature is the same everywhere ; the war-club dropped from the monarch s hand his brow relaxed his heart soft ened ; and, as he raised his brave daughter to his bosom, and kissed her forehead, he reversed his decree, arid directed Smith to be set at liberty ! Whether the regard of this glorious girl for Smith ever reached the feeling of love, is not known. No favor was ever expected in return. I ask nothing of Captain Smith, said she, in an interview she afterward had with him in England, in recompense for what I have done, but the boon of living in his memory. John Randolph was a lineal descendant of this noble woman, and was wont to pride himself upon the honor of his descent. Pocahontas died in the twenty-second year of her age." Sketches of Virginia. 360 NOTES. PAGE 82. SONG OF MARION S MEN. "SALLIE ST. CLAIR was a beautiful, dark-eyed Creole girl. The whole treasury of her love was lavished upon Sergeant Jas per, who, on one occasion, had the good fortune to save her life. The prospect of their separation almost maddened her. To sever her long, jetty ringlets from her exquisite head to dress in male attire to enroll herself in the corps to which he belonged, and follow his fortunes in the wars, unknown to him was a resolu tion no sooner conceived than taken. In the camp she attracted no particular attention, except on the night before the battle, when she was noticed bending over his couch, like a good and gentle spirit, as if listening to his dreams. The camp was surprised, and a fierce conflict ensued. The lovers were side by side in the thickest of the fight ; but, endeavoring to turn away a lance aimed at the heart of Jasper, the poor girl received it in her own, and fell bleeding at his feet ? After the victory, her name and sex were discovered, and there was not a dry eye in the corps when Sallie St. Clair was laid in her grave, near the river Santee, in a green, shady nook, that looked as if it had been stolen out of Paradise " Tale* of Marion s Men. PAGE 83. JANET MCREA. " WE seated ourselves in the shade of a large pine-tree, and drank of a spring that gurgled beneath it. The Indians gave a groan, and turned their faces from the water. They would not drink of the spring, nor eat in the shade of the tree ; but retired to a ledge of rocks at no great distance. I ventured to approach them and inquire the cause of their strange conduct. One of the Indians said, in a deep and solemn tone : That place is bad for the red-man ; the blood of an innocent woman, not of our ene mies, rests upon that spot ! She was there murdered. The red- man s word had been pledged for her safety ; but the evil spirit made him forget it. She lies buried there. No one avenged her murder, and the Great Spirit was angry. That water will make us more thirsty, and that shade will scorch us. The stain of blood is on our hands, and we know not how to wipe it out. It still NOTES. 361 rests upon us, do what we will. I could get no more from them ; they were silent, even for Indians. It was the death of Miss McEEA they alluded to. She was betrothed to a young American by the name of Jones, who had taken sides with the British, and become a captain in their service. The lovers, however, had managed to keep up a correspondence ; and he was informed, after a battle in which he distinguished himself for his bravery, that his inamorata was concealed in a house a few miles from Sandy-Hill. As it was dangerous for him to go to her, he en gaged a party of confidential Indians to take his horse to her residence and bring her to his tent in safety. He urged her, in his letter, not to hesitate a moment in putting herself under their protection ; and the voice of a lover is law to a confiding wo man. They proceeded on their journey, and stopped to rest under a large pine-tree near a spring the one at which we drank. Here they were met by another party of Indians, also sent by the impatient lover, when a quarrel arose about her which terminated in her assassination. One of the Indians pulled the poor girl from her horse ; and another struck his tom ahawk into her forehead, tore off her scalp, and gashed her breast ! They then covered her body with leaves, and left her under the huge pine-tree. One of the Indians made her lover acquainted with the facts, and another brought him her scalp. He knew the long brown tresses of Miss McEea, and, in defi ance of all danger, flew to the spot to realize the horrid scene. He tore away the thinly-spread leaves clasped the still-bleed ing body in his arms, and, wrapping it in his cloak, was about bearing it away, when he was prevented by his superior officers, who ordered the poor girl to be buried on the spot where she had been immolated. After this event a curse seemed to rest upon the red-man. In every battle their forces were sadly cut up the Americans attacking them most furiously whenever they could get an opportunity. The prophets of the Indians had strange auguries ; they saw constantly in the clouds the form of the murdered white woman, invoking the blasts to overwhelm them, and directing all the power and fury of the Americans to exterminate every red-man of the forest who had committed the hateful deed of breaking his faith and staining the tomahawk with the blood of a woman, whose spirit still called for revenge. It was agreed among the Indians in a body to move silently away ; and by morning s light not a red-man was to be found 362 XO:ES. near the British troops. Captain Jones, too, was no more.. In the battle he led on his men with that fearlessness and fury that distressed minds often do ; but his men grew tired of following him in such perilous attacks, and began to fly. As he returned to rally them he received a ball in his back. Burning with shame, love, and frenzy, he turned and threw himself on the bayonets of the enemy, and at once closed his agonies and ex piated his political offence. He was laid by the side of her he had so ardently loved and deeply lamented." Events of the Revo lution. PAGE 88. They re gone with my last shilling. " THIS is a fact, and no poetic fable." Byron. PAGE. 88. Florence s Saloon. A MUCH-FREQUENTED restaurant in Broadway PAGE 88. Sunny-Side. THE country residence of WASHINGTON IRVING. PAGE 89. The luxury of wo. W-H-O-A ! PAGE 90. A wheel rigged for a tiller. A PECULIARITY of Commodore Christopher B. Miller s yacht, " The Ultra." PAGE 91. Long live the valiant Mayor. " If you want me," said His honor, at the Astor-Place riots, on the evening of the 10th of May, 1849, " you will FIND ME at the New-York Hotel !" NOTES. 363 PAGE 131. THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE. THIS ballad is founded, in part, upon a thrilling story of the "West, related by Mr. COOPER, the novelist. PAGE 146. THE SWEEP S CAROL. WRITTEN to be sung in character, for the purpose of introducing the wild, peculiar, and well-known cry or carol of the sweeps of New York. PAGE 166. THE FALLEN BRAVE OF MEXICO. WRITTEN at the request of the Corporation of the city of New York, for the funeral solemnities to Lieutenant-colonel BAXTER, Captains BARCLAY and PIERSON, and Lieutenants CHANDLER and GALLAGHER, of the New York Volunteers, who died upon the battle-fields of Mexico. Sung by the members of the New York Sacred Music Society, on Wednesday, the 12th day of July, 1848, in front of the City Hall. PAGE 169. THE CHAMPIONS OF LIBERTY. WRITTEN, at the request of the Common Council of the city of New York, for the funeral solemnities in honor of the gallant and lamented Major-General WORTH, Colonel DUNCAN, and Major GATES, late of the United States army. Sung by the Sacred Music Society in the balcony in front of the City Hall, Thursday, No vember 15, 1849. PAGE 182. THE ROCK OF THE PILGRIMS. " The Mayflower having arrived in the harbor from Cape Cod, MARY CHILTON entered the first landing-boat, and, looking for ward, exclaimed, * I will be the first to step on that rock. Ac cordingly, when the boat approached, Mary Chilton was per mitted to be the first from that boat who appeared on the rock, and thus her claim was established." Thacher s "History of Plymouth^ p. 30. 364 PAGE 184. THE SOLDIER S WELCOME HOME. SUNG at the New York Tabernacle, on the evening of April 18, 1849, by Mr. NASH, with a chorus of a thousand voices. PAGE 185. THE ORIGIN OF YANKEE DOODLE. THIS jeu cPesprit was written for and sung by the HUTCHINSON FAMILY. PAGE 189. NEW YORK IN 1826. THIS address, which has a local interest, is republished at the request of several of the author s friends one of whom " desires to preserve it as one of the curiosities of rhyme ;" and another " as a picture of New York, and its belongings, a quarter of a century ago." PAGE 189. STANZA I. " S. W." are the initials of my much-lamented friend, the late SAMUEL WOODWOETH, Esq. She ichispers of coaches, And lockets and broaches refers to the holiday-presents in vogue at the time. PAGE 190. STANZA II. contains the name of an institution whose failure created great consternation in Wall street. PAGE 190. STANZA IV. GAS-LIGHT was introduced into New York about that period, and the gas-burners were formed in the shapes here mentioned. NOTES. 365 PAGE 191. STANZA V. Seats on the Battery. AT the time alluded to there were none ; and there was inces sant warfare between the press and the lessees of Castle Garden, which was finally settled by the interposition of the Common Council, who caused seats to be placed on the Battery for the ac commodation of the public. PAGE 191. STANZA VI. THIS stanza contains the names of the fashionable poets aiid editors of the day. PAGE 192. STANZA VII. LAFAYETTE visited New York during the administration of Governor CLINTON. The stanza also alludes to the then-recent completion of the Erie Canal, and to the troubles in Greece, which occupied much of the public attention. PAGE 192. STANZA VIII. THE Bowery Theatre was built in 1826. PAGE 193. STANZA X. THE Garcia troupe were then performing at the Park Theatre, and they were the first that produced Italian operas in this coun try. The KB AN riot had recently occurred. PAGE 193. STANZA XI. NAMES of the Museums and other shows, giants and Indians being then their principal attractions. 366 NOTES. PAGE 194. STANZA XII. DESCRIPTIVE of the manner in which the New Year was ush ered in. PAGE 195. STANZA XIII. THE "NEW YORK MIRROR" was one of the earliest periodicals devoted to American letters. PAGE 249. THE MAID OP SAXONY. THIS Opera was first performed at the Park Theatre, on the 25th of May, 1842, and ran fourteen successive nights. It was entirely and completely successful, being nightly received with cheers. THE END. w ,<? w K< 1 1