st* 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 I UNIVERSITY OF I 
 VcAUFORNIA/ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Class of 1897 
 

 
 


 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
T1J Z 
 
 SILENT HARP; 
 
 FUGITIVE POEMS 
 
 
 BY MISS ELIZABETH ALLEN. 
 
 But Oh ! how griteful to a wounded hoart 
 The lalo ol' Misery to iinjmrt 
 From other*' eyes hid artless Borrows flow, 
 Au'l raise esteem I;KQ the lni# of \\\* '. 
 
 BURLINGTON: 
 
 EDWARD SMITH, 
 
 (Suectaavr to CAauc*y Goodrick.) 
 
 1832. 
 
accordin to 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1832, 
 
 By ELISABETH ALLEN, 
 in the Clerk's office of the District of Vermont. 
 
 University Frees... .E. Smith. 
 
PUBLISHER'S ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE following pieces of Miss Allen's are not offered to the 
 world with any expectation of pecuniary compensation, be 
 yond the expense of publishing. The situation of their au 
 thoress is sufficiently stated in her biographical notice, and the 
 publisher hopes all who patronize native genius, will purchase 
 her book, when they are informed, the profits are for her 
 benefit. 
 
 Burlington, October, 1832. 
 

PREFACE 
 
 IT may not be amiss to introduce this little volume of poems 
 to the attention of the reader, by giving a brief sketch of the 
 life of its authoress ; as we have been enabled to learn it from 
 her friends and acquaintances. This, we think more appro- 
 priate, since she does not present her \vorks before the public, 
 as a fair subject for fastidious criticism. To her friends she is 
 assured this will prove an acceptable offering, and, from the 
 favorable notice given to many of her anonymous pieces, she 
 is also induced to hope, that no small portion of her readers 
 will be ready to admit that her faults as an authoress, do not 
 exceed her misfortunes. 
 
 Miss Elizabeth Allen was born in Craftsbury, Vt., and there 
 has spent most of her time. The town was then mostly a 
 wilderness, and three or four months' attendance at a district 
 school was the extent of her opportunity for acquiring an edu 
 cation. Under her own tuition, however, she early became 
 fond of reading and well acquainted with all the books which 
 the place afforded ; She also engaged in epistolary writing, 
 and, in accordance with the inspiration of natural scenery, of 
 1* 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 which she was passionately fond, and of her own buoyant and 
 joyful spirit, she made some attempts at poetic composition. 
 She lived poetry, at least, kind hearted and sympathetic ; and her 
 days were happy. But, at the age of sixteen, she was attack 
 ed with a fever which wholely deprived her of hearing. All 
 attempts at relief have been baffled, and her case is now en 
 tirely hopeless. This misfortune gave her thoughts a pensive 
 cast which they did not before exhibit. Thus deprived of so- 
 uial intercourse, her chief amusement has been in attempts at 
 composition, both prose and poetic ; in this manner were the 
 following poems written. With respect to her circumstances 
 in life, she is wholly dependent upon her own exertions; and, 
 whatever pecuniary assistance s"he may receive from the pub 
 lication of this volume, will not prove an offering to ono that 
 needs it nut, or that forarets to be grateful. 
 
APOLOGY 
 
 I ne'er the steep of fame to climb 
 Have sought, by scribbling prose or rhynu 
 Parnassus' mount I've look'd upon, 
 But saw beneath, an abyss yawn : 
 And though inclin'd its height to gain, 
 I feared, and sought the lowly plain* 
 
 There as I roamed my lonely way, 
 Shrill lyres I heard above me play, 
 All from the mount or midway high, 
 Of varied tone and melody. 
 
 But O ! one lyre above the rest, 
 Awak'd emotions in my breast ; 
 'Twas thine, lamented youthful White, 
 I listened to it with delight. 
 Misfortune standing by his side, 
 And as his hand to harp he plied, 
 Slow moved a string his bosom glowed 
 AtTd struck to " Disappointment's Ode." 
 
I listened to its plaintive tone 
 
 And felt each note was all my own; 
 
 When lo ! ' Cornelia' waked a strain 
 
 Which to resist was all in vain ; 
 
 So deep so plaintive low, yet sweet 
 
 Each softer feeling rose to meet ; 
 
 And in the oause of captived thought 
 
 My heart straying echo* caught, 
 
 Which on its pulse, by sorrows chilled, 
 
 Produc'd these notes uncultur'd wild. 
 
THE NEW YEAR 
 
 Old time, on his car, has revolved round again, 
 And Boreas now mildly resumes his old reign, 
 While high o'er his empire pale Luna sails on, 
 And whispers to mortals " one year more is gone." 
 
 How glorious the morn as it rises to view, 
 A new year, my friends, is now dawning on you, 
 Hope smiles on the future and points us to bliss ; 
 Is ought in fruition so pleasing as this ? 
 
 But stay, for a moment, and let us reflect, 
 While of the past seasons we take retrospect- 
 Gone, gone, yes forever, how fleet they have sped ; 
 And thousands gone with them to sleep with the dead. 
 
 The widow laments in the fulness of woe ; 
 The patriot the statesman whose hopes are laid low ; 
 The Muses lament too a favorite son ; 
 Oshorn on the willows his sweet harp has hung. 
 
 What wond'rous events fill the calendar page, 
 Ah ! look at lone Greece, where war's havoc doth rage 
 
10 
 
 Oppress'd by a tyrant her patriots rise, 
 
 And shout " vict'ry or death" aloud to the skies. 
 
 Missolonghi Oh stay drop a tear for her fate, 
 Such valour devotion, what pen can relate ; 
 Hail ! Grecia all hail ! may thy courage remain, 
 'Till the Ottoman tribes leave thy vallies with shame. 
 
 But turn thee and see now the hand of our God, 
 On Columbia's fair land, he hath lifted his rod, 
 And great was the glory that gleam'd from the blow, 
 When Adams and Jefferson, slept with the low ; 
 'Till ages expire the tale shall be told, 
 While kings and their vassals, " with wonder behold." 
 
 /"I ' 
 
 And heard'st thou a -voice from the eastward afar ? 
 
 Has Juggernaut come, on his thundering car ? 
 Ah ! no 't is the voice of a mightier power 
 " The slide of a mountain" tremendous the hour ! 
 
 Ah ! Willey thou martyr how sad was thy doom, 
 Thy wife and thy children, Oh where is their tomb ? 
 Weep daughter of pity ; weep son of the brave 
 A mountain* in ruins hath made them a grave. 
 
 But why should we dwell on the glooms of the past, 
 Since lights have been blended, and lights that shall last, 
 For swift the reformer hath passed thro' our land 
 And thousands submitting, have joined the blest band. 
 
 *Whjte Mountains. 
 
11 
 
 With prayers and with praises, our temples resound, 
 And charity, virtue, and friendship abound. 
 
 All hail ! to thy morning, thou gladsome young year, 
 In thy bosom may solace be found for each tear, 
 While the child of misfortune the victim of grief, 
 Receives from thy bounties, a grateful relief; 
 May philanthropists rise, to awaken the zeal 
 Of all who have spirits, and hearts that can feel ; 
 'Till " slavery" is banish'd from this our free shore, 
 And " debtors imprisoned" are heard of no more. 
 
 Oh! when shall that era, of glory arise, 
 When shall that " New year" beam forth to our eyes ; 
 When envy and discord, shall cease to prevail, 
 And each one his neighbor, as brother shall hail. 
 

 LUCINDA'S GRAVE. 
 
 No willow waves its silent shade 
 On the new turf, that hides her head, 
 No marble stone engraved upon, 
 Tells how much loveliness is gone. 
 
 But o'er the mound, where low she lies, 
 The turf is green, and clovers rise ; 
 And flowrets soon will bud and bloom, 
 To grace Lucinda's early tomb. 
 
 No sacriligious footstep's tread 
 Approaches there her lowly head, 
 But each fond friend, doth lowly bend, 
 While tears upon the grave descend. 
 
 And there the robin wakes his song, 
 And sweetly sings, the whole day long 
 As if her sleep to soothe and keep, 
 While Cath'rine sits to list and weep. 
 
The following was written in answer to Mrs. Sigourney's very pathetic 
 lines "On seeing the deaf, dumb and Hind girl, of the American Asylum, 
 in Hartford, at a festival." The authoress begs leave to differ in opinion, 
 from many others, firmly believing that those who come into the world desti 
 tute of the sense of hearing, and are consequently dumb, in general, are far 
 more tranquil and happy than those who have once enjoyed this blwinsr anil 
 -utfered bereavement. 
 
 Methinks before, I 've heard that note, 
 Sigourney 't is thy plaintive strain : 
 
 Afar the symphony shall float, 
 Then sweetly echo back again. 
 
 But she, to whom thy feeling heart 
 
 Hath paid the tributary lay, 
 May never, by instinct nor art, 
 
 Know the sweet solace they convey. 
 
 She sits in calm asylum's shade, 
 
 Nor knows, nor fears the ills of life 
 
 Nor heeds what slanderous tongues have sekl, 
 So free from noise, from care and strife. 
 
 Her guileless heart has never sighed, 
 Nor throbed with rising passions' glow, 
 2 
 
 
14 
 
 Nor felt the sting of wounded pride, 
 Nor disappointment's heavy blow. 
 
 But calm and peaceful is her breast 
 A little world that 's all her own 
 
 Disturbed by no intrusive guest, 
 And ruled by nature's laws alone. 
 
 And think you, lady, this's the fate 
 Which most demands thy sympathy ? 
 
 And is ""tke most unfortunate 
 
 Of all that dwell below the sky ? 
 
 Ah ! no in northern wild there 's one 
 Who long hath sighed with vain regret, 
 
 While mem'ry brings again the tone, 
 She never, never can forget. 
 
 A tuneful soul to her was given, 
 And in the vocal choir she joined, 
 
 To raise devotion's note to heaven, 
 
 While tranquil peace beamed o'er her mind. 
 
 And friendship's and affection's voice, 
 With thrilling accents, moved her soul ; 
 
 Earth seemed a scene, deep fraught with joys, 
 Where smiling pleasures held control. 
 
 But, ah ! one sad, one fatal hour, 
 While hopes and smiles were beaming gay, 
 
15 
 
 Misfortune, with unfeeling power, 
 Swept every joyful sound away. 
 
 No more can mellifluous note 
 Of sacred song fall on her ear ; 
 
 Nor more can she with joy devote 
 A social hour to friend most dear. 
 
 With flowing tear and heaving sigh 
 She roams thro' Autumn fields alone, 
 
 And oft she lists with wishful eye 
 
 To hear the gay fledged songster's tone. 
 
 But cheerless silence is her lot, 
 
 And anxious care and wasting woe, 
 
 As lett to meditative thought, 
 
 She says, " My God ! why was it so ?" 
 
 And, lady ! thou for her hast sung 
 For Hartford's poor and hapless child : 
 
 Again, then, let thy harp be strung 
 To sing of E in northern wild. 
 
LINES 
 
 Addressed to a volatile young lady. 
 
 I saw a rose bud opening fair, 
 And dew drops glittered on its stem ; 
 
 Sweet violets, too, were rising there, 
 Yet it scarce deigned to look on them. 
 
 But proudly waving high its head, 
 Seemed to defy the blighting powers, 
 
 And said, " I shall not droop and fade 
 Like other less attractive flowers.' 1 
 
 I saw admirers round it move, 
 
 All flattering its loveliness, 
 While each declared unchanging love 
 
 For the fair flower, with fond caress. 
 
 Again I saw that floweret 
 
 Its lovely bloom was all decayed 
 
 And, scattered round the violet, 
 Its faded leaves neglected laid. 
 
17 
 
 And no admirer now was there 
 To drop the tear of fond regret ; 
 
 But O ! I saw them bending where 
 In brightness bloomed the violet. 
 
 flfe sweetly bloomed thai lovely flower ; 
 
 0& modest lively gaily shone, 
 As when the rose, in primeful hour, 
 
 Deigned not its kindred tie to own. 
 
 And thus that maid, who seeks to shine 
 And in false colors blazon forth 
 
 Shall see her influence decline, 
 And tribute paid to modest worth. 
 
 2* 
 
LINES 
 
 Addressed to Mr. S and Mrs. E. Chamberlin on the death of their only child. 
 
 I had a little lovely flower 
 'Twas sweet, and passing fair, 
 
 I tiaw it budding every hour, 
 With promise rich and rare. 
 
 I loved to culture and to prop, 
 
 Till it became my pride, 
 My solace, and my cheering hope, 
 
 I had no flower beside. 
 
 Thus while I nursed, it gaily throve, 
 
 My cares were all repaid, 
 For Oh ! this object of my love, 
 
 Was a sweet smiling bale. 
 
 How was my heart then torn with grief, 
 
 When first I saw it fade, 
 And fondly sought t' afford relief, 
 
 While in my arms it laid. 
 
19 
 
 But Ah ! twas vain in death it slep 
 
 And all my joys were o'er 
 With bleeding heart, I sat and wept, 
 
 But saw my flower no more. 
 
 Oh ! ye whov'e felt the chastening rod, 
 Think what was then my stay 
 
 I called upon my saviour God, 
 
 And save my babe away. 
 
AMERICA'S INVITATION TO POLAND. 
 
 I The authoress has felt a lively interest in the fortunes of Poland since 
 the days when in childhood, she casually took op and perused, Miss Por 
 ter's " Thaddeus of Warsaw." The impressions then received, are nat to 
 be erased. The following is a recent effusion.] 
 
 Son of Poland ! welcome thou ; 
 
 Welcome to our happy home, 
 No victor's wreath entwines thy brow, 
 
 Yet noble patriot come Oh come. 
 
 We have a wreath that thou may'st wear, 
 
 A wreath by Kosciusko won, 
 Who to our foe, his breast Laid bare, 
 
 And fought beside our Washington* 
 
 He fought he conquered, and his name 
 
 Is pass word for his nation's sons, 
 And thou shah share that brilliant fame 
 
 Yes thou and all thy homeless onee. 
 
 Come bring thy daughters, bring thy wives. 
 Our sisters, shall their sistera be, 
 
21 
 
 And we '11 protect them with our lives, 
 Then come Polander, come be free. 
 
 No tyrant's chain shall thrall thee here, 
 Nor petty prince's galling yoke, 
 
 No ties, to wring the heart's warm tear, 
 Shall wantonly be torn or broke. 
 
 America, hath open arms 
 For every patriot son on earth, 
 
 And liberty, with all its charms, 
 
 She claims, and boasts its natal birth. 
 
 Then come Polander, leave thy chains, 
 Our starry banner waves for thee, 
 
 And we have cities, prairies, plains 
 With peace, and plenty come be free. 
 
The following lines were addressed to a stranger, on receiving a commu 
 nication signed H. A M. VV. 
 
 " Life cannot all be pleasure," 
 
 The truth I know too well, 
 And sorrow hath no measure, 
 
 Its bitterness to tell. 
 But there's a soothing power, 
 
 A cordial for the smart, 
 'Tis not from drug nor flower, 
 
 But from the stranger's heart. 
 
 No language hath expression, 
 
 To give that charm its due, 
 Nor even can suppression 
 
 Withhold it from the view ; 
 It shines in every feature, 
 
 Of him that's free from art, 
 It blesses every creature 
 
 And e'en the stranger's heart. 
 
23 
 
 'Tis sympathy for sorrow, 
 
 The pearl is most divine, 
 A ray it doth not borrow, 
 
 Tho' brilliantly it shine. 
 Blest is the heart to feel it, 
 
 More blessed to impart, 
 And heaven will not conceal it, 
 
 But bless the stranger's heart. 
 
TO MISS M. T. C- 
 
 A birth day present. 
 
 See, Mary see the dawn appears 
 
 The day is opening to our view, 
 It seals a lapse of fleeting years, 
 
 Since we were blessed with sight of you. 
 
 The new robed spring, with cheering smile, 
 Salutes the morn with vernal flowers 
 
 And little birds pour forth the while 
 A greeting song, with all their powers. 
 
 Oh may thy life, like this fair day, 
 
 Be blest with hopes, and cheered with smiles, 
 Virtue attend thee on thy way 
 
 To soften all thy cares and toils, 
 
 Yet while these wishes fond I give, 
 I pause, and fain would moralize 
 
 Behold the flowerets, how .they thrive ! 
 And Ah ! they fade before our eyes. 
 
 These sensual pleasures meet our view, 
 And charm us by their vived glow, 
 
25 
 
 But seek for joy, and Ah 'tis true, 
 We find them but a gaudy show. 
 
 'Tis virtue only can impart 
 
 To the young bosom, pure delight ; 
 Ennoble, and refine the heart, 
 
 A.nd guide the mind to moral light. 
 
 Then Mary view the fragile flower, 
 But place no hope in its frail bloom 
 
 'Twas formed to wither in an hour ; 
 But virtue will survive the tomb. 
 
 
TO MY SISTER MARIA. 
 
 Tho' distance my sister our faces divide, 
 And 'tween us rolls widely, Champlain's noisy tide ; 
 Yet the ties of affection unsundered remain, 
 There's nought can dissever it's sweet golden chain. 
 
 I turn me to moments, now vanished and sped, 
 When I shared in thy cottage, and shared in thy bread ; 
 When thy foster hand soothed in affliction's dread hour, 
 Oh the mild balm of sympathy; heavenly power. 
 
 TJhen, thy children came smiling, " a love kiss" to crave 
 And told of the sweet one, just gone to her grave ; 
 And thy husband, with truth beaming bland from his eye 
 Prescribed a oheer cordial, for tear and for sigh. 
 
 There are scenes, on which memory delighteth to dwell ; 
 Emotions., nor absence, nor distance can quell ; 
 Where fraternal affections have played on the soui, 
 And domestic enjoyments held perfect control. 
 
 Then sister tho' doomed from thy presence to pine 
 My prayer is forever, for thee and for thine 
 May adversity never more visit thy cot ; 
 But hdpe, and sweet peace, and content be thy lot. 
 
SOLILOQUY, 
 
 At the grave of a sister addressed to Mrs. M. P. 
 
 Again sweet Laura, at thy tomb, 
 
 The tributary tear I pay; 
 Still mem'ry views thee, in thy bloom 
 
 Yet see's that blooming fade away. 
 
 Sad, solemn hour ! can I forget 
 When o'er thy wasting form I stood ? 
 
 Thine eye's fast waning beam I met, 
 
 And dewed thy cheek with sorrow's flood ? 
 
 No mother's soothing voice was there, 
 To cheer thee on thy path way home ; v 
 
 Our father, and our brother dear, 
 We looked ; but oh ! they did not come. 
 
 With one sweet sister yet a child 
 
 I watched beside thy dying bed ; 
 When Oh ! my heart, with anguish wild, 
 Wished I had laid there in thv stead. 
 
28 
 
 But sister, now thy pangs are o'er, 
 
 Thy dust reposes 'neath this sod, 
 And I shall see thee here no more, 
 
 For thou hast gone to meet thy God. 
 
 To meet our sainted mother too, 
 
 Ali ! yes and never more to part ; 
 Sweet Laura ! sister dear, adieu ! 
 
 And hush emotions of my heart. 
 
 I would not wish thee back ah no 
 For futile are earth's pleasures all : 
 
 But I'd prepare me hence to go, 
 And meet thee at my saviour's call. 
 
 I'll plant around thy grave fresh flowers, 
 
 And where to Heav'en I've knelt and prayed ;- 
 
 When time shall close my mortal hours, 
 Loved one near thee may I be laid. 
 
 

 TO THE APPROACHING COMET 
 
 Oh ! thou dread visitor whence dost come ? 
 
 And whither goest thou with thy train ? 
 For threescore years and ten thy home ? 
 
 Why comest to nether climes again ? 
 
 Thou seemest a wanderer, without shore ; 
 
 Unlinked unknown impelled by chance : 
 No calculator can explore 
 
 Thy swift departures and advance. 
 
 Fleetly thou movest, yet whence or why, 
 
 Is not for human ken to name ; 
 And tho' in haste, who dare imply, 
 
 That thou hast either end or aim. 
 
 Thou'rt not unlike misfortune's child, 
 Placed on an earthly hemisphere ; 
 
 And doomed to trace its deserts wild, 
 Sore dreaded in fay 'lorn career. 
 
30 
 
 Like thee, unfixed, and much inclined 
 To wander from the source of light 
 
 But for that power, who all things binds, 
 Were lost in everlasting night. 
 
 And to that power, on wing of time, 
 Like thee he hastes, a rest to find ; 
 
 Enters at last a changeless clime, 
 But leaves thee, to expire behind. 
 
TO- 
 
 Thou art gone may the bark that conveys thee away 
 Be the care of the God of the .billow ; 
 When darkness succeeds the bland smile of the day, 
 May angels watch over thy pillow. 
 
 If error, thou deemest, thy footsteps have trod 
 Then bow thee, in lowly contrition ; 
 Invoke the forgivness of men and of God 
 And find in sweet virtue, fruition. 
 
 The wounds of thy heart, to sott soothing may yield, 
 And thy bosom yet thrill, to a pleasure, 
 When spring sends her smiles, and the garden and field 
 Are teeming with Flora's rich treasure. 
 
 Then sadness may flee, at the strains of delight. 
 And thy bosom forget its rude wringing ; 
 The " thought of the past" may decline in its might, 
 And thy heart tuned to pleasure be singing. 
 
 Thus fondly my wishes to thee must extend. 
 
 That blessings may 'liven thy bosom ; 
 
 The guardian angel ! thy almighty friend ! 
 
 And thy heart cheered with hope's thriving blossom. 
 
THE POLISH DAUGHTER. 
 
 [ Supposed to have retired with her mother, a few miles into the coun 
 try, to avoid the terrors of an expected attnek npon Warsaw, and is 
 awaked from sleep by the sound of Cannon.] 
 
 Hearest thou ought, upon the soft 
 The whispering breeze of morn 1 List ! 
 Mother list ! 'tis war ! Oh ! direful sound ! 
 The dreaded conflict hath burst forth, 
 And father brother where are they? 
 Warsaw ! thou art my hope. Within 
 Thy sacred walls, myall of earth is pent, 
 Except thee ; mother ! nought without its bounds 
 Hath power, to charm or win one soft affection, 
 Nor to chain me to the love of life. 
 
 Sweet native scene ! 
 
 There first my breath I drew, and with my 
 First perceptions learned in virtue's path to tread. 
 In after years, I, from the borders of that path, 
 Culled odoriferous flowers, and 
 Interwove a wreath, then by ambition led, 
 I wooed, and with it crowned immortal ecrenoe. 
 
33 
 
 Tiiere too, I learned to love, and with that passion, 
 
 I imbibed a hale. Not for my brethren 
 
 Of the Polish band, but Russia's lord, who 
 
 Through the might of power sought t' enslave us. 
 
 My Edward, was a patriot, and at sight 
 
 Of human wrongs, his soul took fire. 
 
 Commissioned to the field he went, 
 
 And as a mark of pure regard, chose 
 
 For his aid my only brother. Now 
 
 Mid that battle's fiery din, where the 
 
 Dread Cannon peals, their youthful valors tested. 
 
 Oh mother ! hear 
 My trembling hope grows faint 
 My heart is sick ! for Ah ! e'en now, 
 Wild fancy brings upon my ear, the 
 Deathly groan the frantic scream, 
 The call for mercy, and my lathers 
 
 'Tis stilled 
 
 My God ! my gracious God ! has Warsaw 
 Fallen ? are Poland's struggles o'er? 
 Are we, the widowed wphaned doomed 
 To bow, as Russia's humbled slaves? 
 Ah ! sooner send us death. And if to 
 ' Father" a response no more shall corne 
 
34 
 
 Nor smile on brother meet heart felt return. 
 Nor lovers true "embrace, then may Pauline, 
 Rest in her early grave. And Mother ! 
 Stay not thou behind. Elude a tyrant's 
 Grasp, and meet in Heaven thy kin, Heaven ! 
 The one spot, where tyrant and oppressor may 
 Not come, where martyrs to a sacred cause 
 At freedom's shrine who fell, 
 Shall wake to peace, and everlasting joy. 
 
 # * * * # 
 
 A messenger approaches 
 
 Fleet he comes woe ! woe ! is on his mien, 
 
 Speak not thou wretched one ! I know it all 
 
 Yet tell me does my father live ? 
 
 My brother and my Edward. " All all 
 
 Have found a grave and" stop no more ! 
 
 Mother farewell ! no sword of steel 
 
 Hath clove my heart, but sorrow rives its strings. 
 
 France ! shall I curse thee ? And 
 
 Thou, America , whose sister arm 
 
 Nerved by the deeds, a Kosciusko wrought 
 
 We fondly hoped, outstretched would 
 
 Save us from this doom thou hast 
 
 Looked on to see us perish, and the blood, 
 
 That crimsons Warsaw's soil, will 
 
 Rise to cry " ingrate " 
 
 Wide yawned the opening grave, 
 
 And Poland's fair, rests low with Poland's brave. 
 
LINES 
 
 Occasioned by the sudden death of Capt. W. G. Corbin, who died at Port 
 .Lawrence, Mich. August 1831, aged 26 years, leaving a bereaved wife and 
 infant daughter sick in a strange land, to mourn his untimely death. 
 
 Lo ! from yon distant western wild 
 A plaintive note assails our ear 
 
 Hark I 't is the wail of sorrow's child 
 Arise, ye feeling souls and hear. 
 
 " Oh distant friends to you I call, 
 Behold me in my widowed state ; 
 
 Beside me lifeless, lies my all 
 My William ! Oh relentless fate ! 
 
 But yesterday in healthful bloom, 
 He wept to see my faded cheek ; 
 
 And feared for me, an early tomb, 
 
 And our sweet babe, so low and weak. 
 
 But lurking death stole softly in, 
 And while we slept, took fatal hold ; 
 
 I waked, and turned my eyes to him, 
 But ail ! I saw him, dead, and cold. 
 
With countless tears, I've dewed his cheek, 
 And heared my babe on " Father" call ; 
 
 He heeds it not, he does not speak, 
 He's gone my love my life my all, 
 
 My all ,'obtmt ! my arms doth cling 
 One treasure yet to bind me here, 
 
 A little helpless, orphaned thing ; 
 To blend with mine, its flowing tear. 
 
 Unwelcome art thou stranger band ! 
 
 Whence will ye tear my love ? Oh say 
 Make not his grave in this strange land, 
 
 While kindred ones are far away. 
 
 Tis o'er they've torn him from my sight, 
 In Michigan they've made his bed ; 
 
 I dread thee, oh ! thou land of blight, 
 Where are thy bright illusions fled ? 
 
 I turn me from thy scenes away, 
 I leave the grave of him most dear ; 
 
 Thou hast no charm to win my stay, 
 Thou hast no sympathetic tear. 
 
 First let me plant a woodbine there, 
 
 And there I'll plant the fragile rose ; 
 A willow waves already, where 
 
 His sacred relic's now repose. 
 
37 
 
 'Tis done and stranger, fare thee well ! 
 
 I feel a sense, I cannot speak ; 
 Who shall my heart's emotions tell, 
 
 While I a homeward passage seek. 
 
 Where parents, tears, with sisters, blend, 
 Where brother sighs and weeps alone ; 
 
 And sorrowing walks abroad the friend, 
 To meditate on scenes by gone. 
 
 Thou God ! who hear'st rny bitter moan, 
 Oh ! in thy tender mercy deign 
 
 To bless these trials of my own, 
 And ease the absent mourner's pain. 
 
 
 
 

 "FAIR M O N T G O M E R Y." 
 
 Addressed to Miss E. Clapp, a much valued friend of iho authoress' 
 
 There is a vaie to me, tis dear, 
 
 Where Goodspeed's dwelling stands ; 
 
 For there I met a friend sincere, 
 In sweet Arcadian lands. 
 
 r 
 
 <io\v oft in mein'ry 1 retrace 
 The hour so dear to me ; 
 
 n first I hailed that rural place, 
 In " fair Montgomery" 
 
 There, through a grassy meadow green, 
 
 A streamlet winds it way ; 
 Imparting magic to the scene, 
 
 On each sweet summer's day. 
 
 And O 1 I love to call To mind, 
 
 The shady ashen tree, 
 Whose blossoms play upon the wind, 
 
 In "fair Montgomery." 
 
I 
 
 39 
 
 Sweet birds upon its branches sing, 
 And make melodious noise ; 
 
 While perching round on fairy wing, 
 They tell their harmless joys. 
 
 And there Eliza sits to think, 
 Beneath the "sacred" tree ; 
 
 That grows upon the river's brink, 
 In " fair Montgomery." 
 
 To share that seat with thee, 
 And friendly fancy e'en at times, 
 Hath sped me o'er the lea. 
 
 While all enraptured I have smiled, 
 
 Thy native scenes to see ; 
 Where gently flows the river wild, 
 
 In " fair Montgomery." 
 
 But summer's sweets are now decayed, 
 The mead^has changed its hue ; 
 
 The blooming tree, is disarrayed, 
 And birds away have flew. 
 
 That stream assumes a sullen look, 
 
 And, on its surface, see 
 The blighted honors it hath took 
 
 From " fair Montgomery," 
 
, f 
 
 40 
 
 Well changing seasons have their course, 
 And flowers are swept away ; 
 
 But friendship shall not feel their force, 
 Nor wither, nor decay. 
 
 The rivers, they may wax and wane. 
 
 And blossoms leave the tree ; 
 But dear Eliza, thou'lt remain, 
 
 And dear " Montgomery." 
 
 I 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
u 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Mother ! thou art not gay as once, 
 
 A thoughtful cast hangs o'er thy brow ; 
 
 I see thee sigh, with full response, 
 To woes that thrill my bosom now. 
 
 Ill-fated from my youth, thou hast, 
 By kind affection, sought to cheer ; 
 
 To throw oblivion on the past, . 
 And dissipate the future's fear. 
 
 Much do I owe thee much I dread, 
 That thou mayest leave me in this vale ; 
 
 For blossoms gather on thy head, 
 And nature'? powers perceptive fail. 
 
 How could I 'dure, to port with thee, 
 
 What breast like thine, my hopes could stay 
 What bopom flow with love so free, 
 
 What power my heart's warm rush allay. 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 I know my wiles have given pain, 
 That I have wounded deep thy breast 
 
 That reparation is in vain, 
 And wishes fond must be suppressed. 
 
 But Mother! thou art more to me, 
 Than all beside earth can impart ; 
 
 And while thy waning powers I see, 
 It binds thee closer to my heart. 
 
 
- 
 
 LINES 
 
 [Addressed to the senior editor of the " North Star" on the death of his wife, j 
 
 A low sound of sorrow hath passed through our valley, 
 And mortals awaking give ear to the sound, 
 
 The note, and its echo, reverberates daily 
 Imparting a gloom through the cottages round. 
 
 Yon " North Star" is clouded, yet faintly is beaming, 
 Arise child of spmpathy, follow its ray , 
 
 It leads to a scene, where the tear fast is streaming, 
 O'er one who lies tranquil and cold in her clay. 
 
 And Oh ! there's a heart that intensely is bleeding, 
 As on the pale ruin he looks and he sighs ; 
 
 Her spirit, as slow from the world 'twas receding, 
 More valued, more lovely, appeared to his eyes. 
 
 No more will the smile which returned his affection. 
 
 Relieve of its sadness his sorrowing heart; 
 Nor more will the voice which he sought for direction, 
 
 With meekness and candor its wisdom impart. 
 
Oh ! weep thou 'lorn mourner a loss such as thine is 
 Demands from the stranger a pitying tear ; 
 
 But her name on the record of virtue divine is, 
 And long will her mem'ry be cherished and dear. 
 
 Though low in the cold grave her dust lie reposing, 
 
 A spirit so noble can never decay ; 
 But like the tired sun when at eve he is closing, 
 
 She '11 rise in a new, a more beautiful day. 
 
 Where care, pain, and sorrow, shall never have entrance, 
 Where stars are unclouded, eternally bright ; 
 
 Where frailty shall never more call for repentance, 
 Each bosom abounds with pure joy and delight. 
 
TO A LADY, 
 
 Who had addressed a "Sympathetic Lay" to the authoress, through the 
 medium of a newspaper. 
 
 Ah ! gentle stranger ! who art them ? 
 
 With tones so sweet, that movest the lyre- 
 Say, art thou earthly ? O, then how 
 
 Should angels thus thy lay inspire ! 
 
 Yes, I have heard thy magic strain, 
 Reverberation thrilled my heart ; 
 
 Like cordial it hath soothed my pain, 
 And gently bade despair depart. 
 
 Like him* of old, of ancient date. 
 Who listened to a " David's 1 ' lay ; 
 
 While 'neath an evil power he sat, 
 
 Till it was charmed and driven away ; 
 
 Thus have I listened to thy tones, 
 
 While clouds of darkness veiled the sky ; 
 
 Till they have stilled my murmuring groans, 
 And light and hope I did descry. 
 *King Saul. 
 
46 
 
 Say stranger, then say, who art them ? 
 
 With heart of nature's finest mould ; 
 Methinks thou hast a noble brow, 
 
 A mind whose treasures are untold. 
 
 I would my thanks thou should'st receive ; 
 And ladyknow that " sorrow's child," 
 
 Should future ills her bosom grieve, 
 
 Will think of her, who soothed and smiled. 
 
 But fare thee well ! I haste away,* 
 Yet on my mind engraved shall be 
 
 Thy sympathetic, friendly lay ; 
 Till death's cold hand shall rest on me. 
 
 And may that power which rules above, 
 Bless thee, with his especial care ; 
 
 May friendship hope sweet peace and Zote, 
 Dwell in thy heart, and flourish there. 
 
 *The authoress was leaving St Lawrence County, for the place of her 
 nativity. 
 
 
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN CHIEF 
 
 He stood in his prime, and there hung on his brow 
 A wreath that was fadeless and blooming ; 
 
 He took from its blossoms a boon to bestow, 
 Yet its graces were hourly resuming. 
 
 And there gleamed from his eye a radient beam, 
 Like the lightning that flashes on ether ; 
 
 His soul soared so lofty, that mortal might deem 
 He sprang not from regions so nether. 
 
 And fondly the crowd came to gladden their chief, 
 While a smile he was gently returning ; 
 
 The widow, the orphan, implored a relief, 
 And gratitude silenced their mourning. 
 
 The " daughter of sorrow" with tear bedimed eye, 
 Bowed lowly, and told her affliction ; 
 
 Inhaled a sweet balm, from his tear and his sigh, 
 And a smile lighted on her dejection. 
 
 No belt of gay wampum, his tall figure graced, 
 No hatchet no pipe, and no feather ; 
 
 Benevolence moved the main spring of his breast, 
 Where the virtues all flourished together. 
 
CHILD OF VIC ISSITU D E. 
 
 <- d 
 
 and 
 
 Deep in a labyrinth of maizy wild, 
 Where mountain rose on mountain, 
 Th' aspiring fir sought rivalship 
 With sister pine, and under their green foliage, 
 Rivers, winding, took their curbless course, 
 And tributary rills lent music to the whole ; 
 Met I one who was misfortune's fated child, 
 Yet not by course of nature, but by stern adoption. 
 
 Born in this wild, and cradled by 
 Its streams, the young Elvina grew ; 
 Preceptress, had she none, save simple 
 Nature, and her lessons were no task, 
 For innate fondness marked her way. 
 
 Bright were her morn of days, when 
 The sweet nightingale at evening 
 Lulled to quiet rest, and the gay lark, 
 Perched on her casement, waked 
 From flowery dreams of cares 
 She had but few, for knowledge soared aloft, 
 
49 
 
 And came not to the mountain glen ; 
 And education sought the classic dome,* ^ 
 The city, or gay town, nor stooped to ,dWW J t - *- - 
 Her costly robe, in rustic cot. 
 
 But smiling friendship op'd her arms, 
 And sweet affection me-C' return 
 From gentle heart of Myra. 
 Nursed was the maid in Academic bowers, 
 And had become of science's, the 
 Wealthy mistress. Sweet was the 
 Interchange of thought between two souls 
 Where fortune had decreed entire reverse ; 
 The one, all knowing deep refined and generous ; 
 The other, simple, gay, imaginary, 
 Soft, and feeling, yet from the other, 
 Each a store of useful knowledge gained. 
 
 N w joy unclouded joy 
 Ran through Alvina's heart, nor wish 
 Had she in store. Each hour came 
 Fraught with new delights, and 
 Friendships multiplied. Even adulation's 
 Dulcet strains upon her ear were poured ; 
 And sounded was her name from 
 Glen to glen ; and fairy dreams, and 
 Gilded hopes, and fancy's spells, 
 Her path illumined ; and future days as 
 5 
 
50 
 
 '< t*. ^^F 
 
 Through a mirror seen, were 
 Laded with fresh joys. 
 
 Deluded maid ! how little did'st 
 Thou know of earth, how false its 
 Colours shone. The forest deep, no 
 Shelter hath, no barrier, and no charm 
 To lure misfortune from her destined track ; 
 Tho' hopes to day unclouded beam upon thy path, 
 To-morrow's sun may meet them blight. 
 
 The lesson this Elvina's doomed to learn, 
 The swelling music of the mountain wide, 
 The river's full toned song, the merry lay 
 Of laughing rill, and bleating of the lamb, 
 And lowing of the herd, with concert 
 Of etherial choir, and Myra's gentler voice, 
 Shall thrill thy ear no more. A mandate 
 From the "King of Kings" by unseen spirit borne. 
 Lays on thy ear a seal, and saith, 
 " Remain! till time with thee is o'er." 
 
 Oh ! man ! who e'er thou art, trust not in 
 
 Fortune's smiles. Vicissitude, awaits thee 
 
 Every step, and blest is he, who when his hopes 
 
 Are seared and chill adversity frowns on his path 
 
 Shall find in sympathy a cordial, and 
 
 In hope a star, to guide him thro' t'lese scenes of change 
 
 To heavenly portals. 
 
 
TO EDWARD, 
 
 [On leaving his native place, for the purpose of acquiring a liberal edu 
 cation.] 
 
 Oh ! fare thee well ! and may kind heaven 
 Safely guide thee on thy way ; 
 
 And may that much loved star of even 
 Lend its influential ray. 
 
 Thou goest to tread the paths of science, 
 And to cull the fadeless flowers ; 
 
 To bid dark ignorance defiance, 
 By thy mind's unfolding powers. 
 
 Then may the voice of wisdom lead thee, 
 From the flights of passion free ; 
 
 May thy active genius speed thee, 
 To thy heart's much wished " degree." 
 
 Yet the ties which long have bound thee, 
 To this v.ll shall not be rent ; 
 
 Fonder friends will ne'er surround thee, 
 Nor the like serene content. 
 
52 
 
 But when in after years returning, 
 The fond welcome smile to meet ; 
 
 Then friendship's torch shall yet be burning, 
 And thy youthful haunts be sweet. 
 
 Grim death may in thy absence revel, 
 On some hearts by thee held dear ; 
 
 O'er yon green field's broken level, 
 Thou mayest shed affection's tear. 
 
 But may that hope which lights thy bosom, 
 That pure ray of love divine ; 
 
 Still with unfading verdure blossom, 
 Through the chilling frosts of time. 
 
 Fare thee well ! God grant to meet thee, 
 On this trasient shore of time ; 
 
 But Oh it not, then may I greet thee, 
 la a heavenly, happier clime. 
 
TO MISS A. M.* 
 
 Thovi art upon this earthly wild, 
 
 An orphan, and thy lot is drear, ; 
 Yet thou art placid, meek, and mild, 
 
 And gently striv'st to hide the tear. 
 
 Oh ! who can view thee, in thy bloom, 
 
 And see thy kind soul-speaking eye ; 
 And say not, " why hath grief so soon 
 
 Wrung from that heart the mourner's sigh ?" 
 
 Full early thou hast learned of earth, 
 
 That hope's fair promise doth deceive ; 
 And those of high and noble birth, 
 
 Alike with humbler souls must grieve. 
 
 Oh ! mayest thou gentle maid pursue 
 
 The path of virtue thou hast trod ; 
 Thy mind's improvement still in view, 
 
 Till thou art called to meet thy God. 
 
 *This amiable young lady (of Newark N. Y.) expired five months subse 
 quently to this address, and but two weeks after her marriage, in consequence 
 of prief for the loss of near relatives. 
 5* 
 
NAVAL SONG. 
 
 When Britain fired with savage rage, 
 A sister nation did engage ; 
 When hill and plain and sandy shore, 
 Were stained with floods of human gore.- 
 
 Not far trom Champlain's craggy side, 
 McDonough's fleet was seen to ride ; 
 While Downie pleased his foe to meet, 
 In hostile row approaced his fleet. 
 
 And manful hearts beat quick and high, 
 As they the solemn scene descry ; 
 And hastening onward sought the strand, 
 Or height, that prospect might command. 
 
 One gentle form with glossy hair, 
 Came too, the mournful view to share ; 
 Clad in a wedding robe her eye 
 Cast upward, while she thus did cry. 
 
 " Oh God of mercy ! hear my prayer ! 
 Let my Philander be thy care ; 
 
55 
 
 And grant him strength to act his part, 
 But guide the death shot from his heart. 
 
 Yet as thou wilt and I'll be still, 
 And own the justice of thy will ; 
 But should thy goodness deign to spare, 
 Thy mercy ever I'll declare." 
 
 But Oh ! the cannon's horrid din, 
 Resounds, and quick resounds again ; 
 A trembling seizes every limb, 
 Pallid her cheek, her eye grows dim. 
 
 Mute as the rock, on which she sate, 
 To wait the dread approach of fate ; 
 No murmur 'scaped, no sigh was heard, 
 Her God was just, and him she feared. 
 
 But hark ! those peals victorious sound, 
 A victor sure his way hath found ; 
 McDonough ! thine must be the day, 
 For heaven had marked thy b tter way. 
 
 Yes comes the bearer " tidings new ! 
 
 McDonough, with his gallant few, 
 
 A victory complete did gain, 
 
 While Downie, with his aids are slain." 
 
 Elvira, long with grief oppressed, 
 Now feels the load forsake her breast ; 
 
56 
 
 Philander comes with laurel crowne'd, 
 And shouts from hills and vales resound. 
 
 And mountains took the echo too, 
 And heralds on fleet pinions flew ; 
 Whilst all Columbia's sons proclaim, 
 Their hero in McDonough's name. 
 
 I 
 
 
 

 
 Addressed to a kinswoman whom I had never seen. 
 
 Thou friend unseen though far away, 
 Yet doth innate affection rise ; 
 
 And lighted on by fancy's ray, 
 
 Weaves round thy heart its kindred ties. 
 
 I would my eye could rest on thine, 
 And read the movings of thy soul ; 
 
 I would thy heart could fathom mine, 
 And see what floods of anguish roll, 
 
 But ah ! thy lot by fortune cast, 
 Is by lake Erie's fertile shores; 
 
 And mine, within the mountains fast, 
 Where Boreas wild and loudly roars. 
 
 Yet doth each soil alike produce 
 
 The finer feeling of the mind, 
 Nor will my Mary's heart refuse 
 
 This simple lay so unrefined, 
 
 I would not murmur at my lot, 
 Though tears bedew my daily bread ; 
 
58 
 
 If through "afflictions furnace" brought, 
 With heavenly hopes I may be fed. 
 
 Oh ! may I, that sweet solace share, 
 Which from the smile of Jesus flows ; 
 
 And place my hopes in regions where 
 Unknown are sorrows, care, and woes. 
 
 ' 
 
 

 
 
 MY NATIVE MOUNTAINS 
 
 My native mountains ! in thy deep 
 Thy wid'ning shades, much doth my heart 
 Delight to roam. Thy health fraught breeze, 
 Thy varied sunbeam opening flower, 
 Progressive plant, and trick'ling rills, 
 Have charms to glad my soul. 
 How sweet, at early dawn, along 
 Thy leafy glens to skip, when waked, 
 From fairy dreams, the serial tribes 
 Pour forth enchanting lays. I love 
 The river's winding course to trace, 
 And on its flowery bank to sit me down, 
 With alders rust'ling o'er my head, 
 And there to watch the passing stream 
 Till, lost in reverie profound, 
 I seem the mystic "course of time" 
 To scan. Or ever and anon, 
 Upon the tide a pebble cast, 
 And sinking, minds me of oblivion's power. 
 
 
60 
 
 Let cities boast their mimic arts, 
 Their mossy domes, their glittering spires, 
 And smoky atmosphere, and 
 Citizens with restless eye, and mind 
 With care distraught, while from 
 Those giddy scenes remote, we 
 Tax the powers of intellect, or beck, 
 The muse, as skipping, light 
 From dell to dell, she dips in crystal stream 
 Her golden cup and meeds to 
 Untaught \vight_a draught as rich, 
 As ever flowed from famed Castato's fount. 
 
 Parnassus, is not in our range, 
 Tis true, nor do our muses court its 
 Dizzy heights. No cloud caped Andes, 
 No Himmelah, nor Arrarat we boast, 
 But a fraternity of mounts, 
 Renowned afar, as virtue's shield, 
 As vice's barrier, as science's friend, 
 As health's preservative, and freedom's soil. 
 
 Sweet wakes the morn ! 
 I see its auburn locks now changed, 
 They glow with burnished gold, and now 
 Appears above yon orient height 
 Her dazzling eye ; creation leaps, 
 With joy the milk maid seeks 
 
 
61 
 
 The fold, while to the field the ploughman hies, 
 The student to his walk, and pleased, 
 The invalid peeps forth and smiles. 
 
 But lo ! 
 
 The breakfast horn, with its shrill note, 
 Peals through the vales, and from the hills, 
 Echoes its sweet response. 
 My native mountains ! much are ye 
 Revered. In your formation grand, 
 Your varied scapes and gushing streams, 
 I see the hand of the Almighty. 
 Yon glassy lake, whose bosom bears 
 The lightsome bark, was his design. 
 He gave it form and marked its bounds ; 
 We reverence his name, his power ; 
 And while with filial love, we 
 View these scenes with countless * 
 Blessings fraught, Oh ! let us humbly, 
 Give the praise, where all is due. 
 
 
TO MARY, 
 
 On removing to a Instance. 
 
 Farewell I 'tis with regret, I : 
 
 But thou must go, the world to pa-re ; 
 While oft the tear will moist thy check. 
 
 Retracing scenes with those youac- 
 
 A. parent's guardian roof to 
 
 To sever ties that bind tb 
 Will not thy feeling bosom grove, 
 
 And yield a tributary tear ? 
 
 Yet why indulge the tender spell, 
 Since we are born to separate ? 
 
 How oft resounds the sad "farev 
 With happy meeting alternate. 
 
 But may thy tears sweet girl be few, 
 Where e'er thy fortune be to rove ; 
 
 Each new found friend be kind and true, 
 And blessings to thy young heart prove. 
 
 Oh then farewell! -farewell' I say, 
 May heaven bless you while you live, 
 
 And when you're absent far away^ 
 My virtues love ray faults forgive. 
 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 I saw her once and she was 
 Loveliness itself. Her dark eye, beaming through 
 Tiio silken lashes of her brow, seemed 
 To bespeak, at the first glance, all the 
 Rich ma Y of her pure soul. In full 
 Array, at once there beamed, 
 Truth, friendship, pity, and mild love ; 
 Yes, and her very look, seemed as 'two uld 
 Blight deception, and her poisonous train. 
 
 Her form was slender, and of sprightly make, 
 And through the maizy dance would wind,' 
 With fairy step, her way, delighting each beholder ; 
 Her voice was music to the ear, 
 And the pure sentiment it did impart, 
 Was life, was light, was joy, to him who listened ; 
 And there was one, who long the 
 Magic of her voice had felt, whose 
 Very soul seemed to exist by gazing on her charms, 
 She knew it not, but smiled, and 
 
64 
 
 In her artless winning way, became, 
 
 As his own sister free. The gay flowers 
 
 Dripping in their dew she culled, 
 
 And formed a wreath to grace his head, 
 
 The rose, her favorite flower, above 
 
 The rest she placed conspicuous, 
 
 And its sweet loveliness did bid 
 
 Him 'mi*<, and how the first of its 
 
 f f- 
 Surrounding train it drooped its head, 
 
 And withered. Racked with foreboding 
 
 Sense of some impending ill, his nights became 
 
 Of measured length and sleepless. But fortune 
 
 Cast on Celadon her frown, and 
 
 Doomed he was, to leave the vale, 
 
 Where Mary dwelt. In prime 
 
 Of health, of beauty, -and of power, he left her, 
 
 And when to his lips the dreaded 
 
 " Farewell !" came, he sighed and faultered ; 
 
 Emotions struggled in his breast, that 
 
 Seemed to say " I cannot live without you !" 
 
 And yet, the modest bashfulness of youth, 
 
 Forbade him to reveal his ardent love. 
 
 Few months had past 
 When forth to watch the moon's pale beam, 
 He went, " And does she too, fair orb, 
 
 * 
 
 1 
 
65 
 
 Note thy pale face, and air serene ?" 
 
 A sound ! falls on his ear, tis Mary's knell on the 
 
 Soft night breeze borne, and hope with 
 
 One high bound burst forth from his lorn heart, 
 
 And took its fatal flight. Years now away 
 
 Have rolled, on mortal things have 
 
 Placed their seal ; and seasons changed their course, 
 
 And Flora decked in flowers the earth, 
 
 Yet doth that blight, that withering dream 
 
 Chain with fixed gaze on one sweet star, his eye, 
 
 He calls it Mary, and before the shrine 
 
 Pays homage constant and divine. 
 
 
 6 
 
THE IRISH EMIGRANTS. 
 
 [The following lines were suggested by the appearance of a family of 
 indigent Irish Emigrants, who were taken in and provided for by the lady 
 of Gov Crafts, whose benevolent character, is well known to the public.] 
 
 To our dear friends in Erin, we gave the last parting, 
 And sighing, set sail for the " new world" afar, 
 
 Our bosoms were heaving, the fond tear was starting, 
 But we saw, and we followed, a bright beaming star. 
 
 And long we were tossed on the wide foaming ocean, 
 E'er anchored in safety light rested our bark ; 
 
 Our bosoms were throbbing with lively emotion, 
 When first we were landed in happy New York. 
 
 But no door was opened with " welcome" to hail us, 
 As homeless, and friendless, we passed through the street ; 
 
 Dispair had already begun to assail us, 
 We bitterly sighed for some happy retreat. 
 
 But the sweet star that led us, we followed, tho' weary, 
 And o'er the Green Mountains we took our lone way; 
 
 Our famishing babes, in our arms strove to carry, 
 And toiled on our journey through many a day. 
 
67 
 
 At last, when frail nature was drooping and tiring, 
 When far from our friends, and our dear native shore 
 
 With hunger and w^jt^jjgs, almost expiring, '| ... * 
 A lady took pity and opened her door. 
 
 She welcomed us all to her hearth cheerly blazing, 
 And spread on her table a bountiful store ; 
 
 Then while on our faces so palid was gazing, 
 
 She wept, and she said, " you shall wander no more. 
 
 The sweet star of hope, by which we were guided, 
 Stood over this mansion, and beamed most divine ; 
 
 For our ease and our comfort, she quickly provided, 
 And bade us no longer, at hardships repine. 
 
 With grateful emotions our bosom's are swelling, 
 Our infants are lisping and prattling the same ; 
 
 Of her, who has found us a home and a dwelling, 
 Afar from the land of oppression and shame. 
 
 May the" smiles of prosperity ever attend her, 
 And free be her bosom from sorrow and care ; 
 
 May guardian angels watch o'er and defend her, 
 Thus fervent shall rise the poor emigrant's prayer. 
 
TO MISS . 
 
 [The reader will perceive, on a preceding page an effusion of similar 
 ideas, in a different dress.] 
 
 I saw in afresh fiowrel bed, 
 A poppy, rear its haughty head ; 
 A 'id overlooking other flowers, 
 Displayed its fascinating powers. 
 
 Attracted by its dazzling hue, 
 Admirers crowded round to view ; 
 Inhaled its opiate powers, and stood 
 Entranced in admirative mood. 
 
 Beneath it, a mild violet grew, 
 And shrinking from the public view ; 
 It bloomed in colours rich and bright, 
 And was Queen Flora's chief delight. 
 
 Yet unassuming was its mien, 
 Where every modest grace was seenj 
 While the vain poppy waved its head, 
 And strove t'immure it in the shade. 
 
69 
 
 At length a wise discerning youth 
 Exclaimed " more vanity than truth." 
 Then in disdain cast down his eye, 
 And the lone violet did descry. 
 
 " Sweet flower" said he, " so mild, so meek, 
 I read thy virtues on thy cheek ; 
 And there's a beaming in thy eye, 
 That tell me of thy constancy." 
 
 Here may that proud assuming maid, 
 Who modest worth fain would degrade ; 
 In the vain flower a semblance see, 
 Of what in time her fate shall be. 
 
 
 
 
TO " S A D I." 
 
 The following pieces, may perhaps require explanation. A person, un 
 known to the authoress, having frequently presented his productions to 
 the public over the assumed name of "Sadi j" some of whicfrwere peculiarly 
 interesting ; she took the liberty to address the annexed verses to him. 
 which met with the following gratifying reply ; which was as the writer 
 assures her, composed forty feet above the deck of the vessel on board 
 which he was a passenger, and on the broad atlantic ocean, to the Ore 
 gon Country on Columbia River. 
 
 Farewell ! ye dear muses, no longer I'll court you, 
 For Sadi has rivalled your favors from me ; 
 
 No shadow of comfort have I to resort to, 
 
 But yield up their favors sweet songster to thee. 
 
 When sorrows have preyed on my heart so unceasing, 
 The muses had pitied and promised their smile ; 
 
 But finding my genius to them was unpleasing, 
 They left me, and lured thee, from Scotia's fair Isle. 
 
 Ah ! sweet flow thy numbers, thou son of the lyre, 
 What heart unaffected shall list to thy strain ; 
 
 And who to excell thee shall vainly aspire, 
 Nor sink to thy magical numbers again. 
 
71 
 
 Our passions awaken," our hearts are on fire, 
 
 While thou, so pathetic, " lorn Grecia" dost paint ; 
 
 And as the deep feeling, the soul we admire, 
 We view, in our "Sadi," an angel or saint. 
 
 Sing on favored songster e'en woodlands shall greet^thee, 
 And thy lays shall resound on thy own native plains ; 
 
 And spirit of Burns in thy musings shall meet thee, 
 To mingle in concord, his soul moving strains. 
 
 
 
THE ANSWER. 
 
 Ada once more, at thy request, the muse, 
 The fond companion of each bitter hour, 
 
 To thee awakes, clad not in rainbow hues, 
 Nor in the strength of Byron's mighty power. 
 
 For faint and feeble, still must be the lay, 
 That Sadi warbles from his rustic lyre ; 
 
 No sparks of genius can his muse display, 
 No Hallock's wit, nor Pierpont's sacred fire. 
 
 Yet 'tis enough that thou hast asked a song, 
 That I my harp should once more string again ; 
 
 'Tis breaking vows,* but vows can't bind me long, 
 When genius asks but for a single strain. 
 
 Ada I love the name which thou dost choose, 
 To give beneath thy offerings for fame ; 
 
 It must be dear to every poet's muse, 
 While Byron's daughter bears thy borrowed name. 
 
 *I had said that I would rhyme no more. 
 
73 
 
 And for his sake the name I would revere, 
 Or aught that e'er he loved when hope was strong ; 
 
 Save her* who urged him on his wild career, 
 And cast her mildew on the " child of song." 
 
 But Ah ! this sounds not like a song to thee, 
 
 Yet thoughts will come and crowd upon the brain ; 
 
 From whose dread power my mind I cannot free, 
 For come they will and mingle with my strain. 
 
 Then smile not though I wander from my theme, 
 Nor think that reason from her throne hath fled ; 
 
 Griefs may corrode the heart, and yet some beam 
 Of reason hover round the Wand'rers head. 
 
 Had I thy powers of song I'd wake a lay, 
 That should be worthy such a pen as thine ; 
 
 For all thy merits I could then display, 
 
 And bid thy genius sparkle through each line. 
 
 But little favored by the tuneful nine 
 
 Am I, sweet warbler, for my muse to dare, 
 
 *I would not be understood to say that his wife alone caused all his 
 aberations from the path of rectitude after their separation, but would say 
 that through her conduct, he was driven from the land of his nativity, and 
 had it not been for this circumstance he would not have left it. Conse 
 quently, the most censurable errors of his life would not have been com 
 mitted, for Italy was the scene of his greatest follies, and these, under 
 different circumstances, it is not probable he would have been guilty of in 
 England. 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 Survey the depths of poesy's bright mine, 
 And bring to light the gems that slumber there. 
 
 Ada ! farewell ! may all thy coming years 
 Be calm as I will wish them. May thy heart 
 
 Ne'er taste of sorrow. May no cloud of fears 
 Bedim thy vision, throughout life's dull part. 
 
RESIGNATION. 
 
 Thou, God of all who hold'st my fate, 
 Dark are thy ways and intricate ; 
 Too deep thy wisdom and designs 
 For ken of our rebelious minds. 
 
 But oh ! may this be e'er in sight, 
 Thy righteous ways are just and right ; 
 What e'er thy wisdom shall decree, 
 May we exclaim " so let it be." 
 
 Since we are atoms of thy dust, 
 
 Thy goondess we would not distrust ; 
 
 But bow submissive to thy will, 
 
 \nd charge our murmuring hearts " be "still.' 
 
 Should thy stern mandate e'en descend, 
 
 To rive us of an CBe friend ; 
 
 'Tis well, may we at once exclaim, 
 
 " Thou gav'st and tkou hast took the same.'" 
 
76 
 
 And should thy hand itself appear, 
 To blind the eye, or close the ear ; 
 Yet firm and safe we then may rest, 
 And lean us on a "Jesus's Breast". 
 
 And were our blessings all removed, 
 Were tut our hearts by thee approved ; 
 We in thy praises would unite, 
 And sing " thy ways are ever right." 
 

 REFLECTIONS ON THE SEASONS. 
 
 TO MISS H. M. S. 
 
 Maria see'st the spring advancing ? 
 
 Hear the full toned choral lay; 
 See the lambkins gaily dancing, 
 
 And behold the wild flower gay. 
 
 E'en in breasts enchained to sadness, 
 Fancy's spell such bonds can break ; 
 
 Welcome universal gladness, 
 Let each grateful sense awake. 
 
 O ! then how must thy feeling bosom 
 
 Throb with ecstacy supreme ; 
 Bending o'er the budding blossom, 
 
 Lost in hope's delusive dream. 
 
 For Oh ! this rising verdure round us, 
 Soon will fade 'neathe summer's glow ; 
 
 And the scenes where pleasure bound us, 
 Scarce a trace of beauty show, 
 
78 
 
 Tims the spring of life hath met us, 
 Giv'n our cheek its vernal bloom ; 
 
 But when summer's suns beset us, 
 
 Life's vigorous hours shall with them come. 
 
 Autumn too, with frost is hast'ning, 
 We must droop beneath his power ; 
 
 Precious hours how fast the're wasting, 
 Like the drops of sunny shower. 
 
 Winter stern will soon be closing, 
 All our powers to him consigned , 
 
 We in silent, grave reposing, 
 Cares and pleasures left behind. 
 
 
 

 LINES. 
 
 [While on a journey to the west, where every face was strange, ti;c ,u; 
 thoress accidentally met, in a canal boat, a young lady, who like herself, w as 
 doomed to suffer the painful deprivation of hearing ; an interview with 
 whom gave rise to the following lines.] 
 
 
 
 Stranger ! list the mourner's wail, 
 
 And pity sure shall I receive ; 
 Come patient hear my mournful tale, 
 
 Tho' sad its truth, thou may'st believe. 
 
 The child of joy I sported gay, 
 
 E'er grief had my young pathway crossed ; 
 And blithsome came each hope fraught day, 
 
 Of treasured tears none had I lost, 
 
 Oh ! happy hours ! oh days of peace ! 
 
 When friendship marked me for her own ; 
 Aff', ction too conferred its bliss, 
 
 And I was as the "gayest" known. 
 
 Why were such hours to mortals given, 
 To mould their hearts to earthly charms ; 
 
 And why of every fond hope riven, 
 ' The illusion just within their arms." 
 
80 
 
 Alas ! there is in earthly things 
 No steady hope, no trust, no stay ; 
 
 Each pleasure hath its unseen wings, 
 To bear its transient gleams away. 
 
 Thus, when my brightest day had come, 
 A sudden cloud obscured the sky ; 
 
 Unceasing raged the fatal storm, 
 
 Till " wrecked! " was the loud piercing ry. 
 
 From that dread hour a wand'rer I, 
 Far from the sound of vocal strain ; 
 
 And strangers weep, to hear me sigh 
 For sounds, that ne'er can charm again. 
 
 Yet as I passed, I met by chance, 
 One who was fortune's favorite ; 
 
 I*FHjTely was his inheritance, 
 A man of fame, of power, of might. 
 
 f asked him for a pittance small 
 To cheer me on my lonely way ; 
 
 He frowned, and gave me none at all ; 
 Thus left my heart to care a prey. 
 
 Then stranger ! ask me not my name, 
 
 It is enough for thee to know ; 
 A favored child on earth I came, 
 
 And now I wear these weeds of woe. 
 
SONG. 
 
 Why slumbers my lyre when the cold winds are blowing, 
 And nature lies drooping beneath the rude blast ? 
 
 The floweret that late was so fragrantly glowing, 
 Upon the rude sod in dishonor is cast. 
 
 I weep for thy fate, Oh ! thou loved summer flower, 
 So soon thou art wasted, thy sweets all decayed ; 
 
 Thou art fall'n in thy prime, in the height of thy power, 
 And low in the tomb, all thy promise is laid. 
 
 Thus Mary was fated a flower of rare beauty, 
 She burst on our sight, onr affections she won ; 
 
 So smiling, so artless so cheerful to duty, 
 
 So charming, so tender, and Heav'nly her tone. 
 
 But the blight worm crept softly and hid in her bosom, 
 True love was its source, she fell sweetly a prey ; 
 
 Tears have been shed o'er our favorite blossom, 
 But sorrow and death have now swept it away. 
 
82 
 
 Oh man ! was thy bosom of adamant cold ? 
 
 Or why was no tear seen to rise at her fall ? 
 Thy years yet to come, shall in sorrow be told, 
 
 For He who is wisdom takes notice of all. 
 
 The sigh of the mourner, and each tearly token, 
 
 Is carried to Heav'n on sacred record ; 
 So the sins of the wretch, who his own vow hath broken, 
 
 Will rise to condemn and ensure a reward. 
 
LINES, 
 
 [On seeing a young lady who was deaf and dumb.] 
 
 Ah ! who art thou, smiling so gay, 
 
 As if thou a grief ne'er had'st known? 
 
 Was misfortune thy parent ? oh say, 
 And under her hand hast thou grown ? 
 
 O ! maiden, how kind was that fate, 
 That markedjthee a path so secure 
 
 Tho' lonely no dangers await, 
 
 Nor ought thy young heart to allure. 
 
 Nor friendship, nor music, have charmed 
 Thy ear which so dormantly grew ; 
 
 Nor anger, nor pride, have alarmed 
 Thy heart whose digressions are few 
 
 Deception thou never hast feared, 
 Nor felt in thy bosom its pain ; 
 
 The songs of the vale, hast not heard 
 And sighed for the music again. 
 

 84 
 
 Then why should that heart ever mourn, 
 Which has nothing on earth to regret ; 
 
 And how can it sigh for return, 
 Ofpleasures its fancy ne'er met. 
 
 No free as thy heart is from care 
 So free is it also from guile ; 
 
 And maiden thou ever wilt share 
 High heaven's beneficent smile 
 
TO LOUISA, 
 
 Louisa see, with drooping heart, 
 I come to take my leave of thee ; 
 
 For native scenes, I now depart, 
 And never more thy face shall see. 
 
 How can I leave thee thus, Ah! me 
 Who shall my heart's emotions tell ; 
 
 This charming ville* no more to see, 
 To bid one long, one last farewell. 
 
 Oh I must oft again recall, 
 
 Sweet hours when we've so gaily met ; 
 The garden, Woodbine willow, all 
 
 E'en little blooming Antonette. 
 
 To thee may future days be blest, 
 Thy even path way strewed with flowers ; 
 
 No thorn e'er rankle in thy breast, 
 Nor cloud to shade thy sunny hours. 
 
 *Newark, NY. 
 8 
 
86 
 
 When I am far from this loved land, 
 Where Erie's waters ne'er shall flow, 
 
 Beneath the moon's pale beam I'll stand, 
 While thought like shooting star shall go. 
 
 And in thy bower I'll greet thee still, 
 And him thy loved and chosen one, 
 
 While joy my saddened heart shall fill, 
 From hours and days, forever gone, 
 
TO MRS. L. D. 
 
 [On the death of her infant ion.] 
 
 Stay stay, oh ruthless death, thy dart, 
 View but thy victim, and relent ; 
 
 Pierce not that pure, that sinless heart, 
 Wreck not that lovely tenement. 
 
 In vain the tyrant power I crave, 
 The mandate stern is from above ; 
 
 He hastes his victim to the grave, 
 And breaks the fondest ties of love. 
 
 Oh Laura ! hush thee, though the while 
 Thy sorrow should be most intense ; 
 
 Mercy doth on the mourner smile 
 Behind a frowning providence. 
 
 And yet to see the clay cold form, 
 And where the smile so sweetly played ; 
 
 To press no more, that cheek that arm, 
 Nor pillow on thy breast its head. 
 
88 
 
 Sure the warm tear unbid may flow, 
 The heart yield up its deepest sigh ; 
 
 And nature droop beneath its woe, 
 Till reason bid thee, look on high. 
 
 There, through that eky of azure blue, 
 
 Where twinkling stajs in clusters ahjne ; 
 There is a dwelling meets our view 
 All bright, all heavenly, all divine. 
 
 Where infant voices loudly swell, 
 In accord with the elder throng 
 
 Who've bid this tiring earth farewell ! 
 And joined the hallelujah song. 
 
 Then mourner, bending 'neatji the rod, 
 Ask then thy bleeding heart, and say, 
 
 Is there upon this earthly sod, 
 
 Aught that was worth thy infant's stay ? 
 
 Me thinks I hear thee say, " Ah ! no,," 
 And fare thee well ! my idol flower ; 
 
 Thou hast escaped an age of woe, 
 By blighting in untimely hour. 
 
 Go to thy lonely rest, and I 
 
 Will strew fresh flowrets rouud thy tomb ; 
 While faith directs above mine eye, 
 
 Thy mem'ry in my heart shall bloom. 
 
TO 
 
 I've bid thee, adieu ! but I cannot forget, 
 
 St Lawrence's calm bosom, the scene where we met, 
 
 Nor my heart's rapid beat, when thou cailedst me thy friend, 
 
 And did thy protection and friendship extend. 
 
 While Ontario's waters I brave now again, 
 I look for thy smile to encourage in vain ; 
 I look for a friend but oh ! where shall I find, 
 A heart that's so noble, so generous, so kind. 
 
 Where e'er thou shalt rove, the fond wish shall attend, 
 That kind Heaven may bless my protector and friend, 
 And grant him when life shall be on its dull wane, 
 A heart free from sorrow, from care and from pain. 
 
 I leave thee, but when I forget thee, may I 
 
 Be forgotten by him who directs in the sky ; 
 
 When I think of thy waters, St Lawrence, sweet stream ; 
 
 My eye with a sister's affecUon shall gleam. 
 
LINES, 
 
 [Addressed to Mrs. E. C. of the Hartford Asylum, who i both daf and 
 dumb.] 
 
 The northern blast has ceased to roar, 
 And spring again resumes her reign ; 
 
 The giddy snows are seen no more, 
 But verdure robes the hill and plain. 
 
 Mild morn awakes, and with her smiles 
 Invites us o'er the flow'ry fields ; 
 
 Spring's beauties now the sight beguiles, 
 And pleasing admiration yields. 
 
 O, come Eliza haste with me, 
 
 And to the meadow's stream repair, 
 
 Where nature's wonders we may see, 
 " Above below in earth or air." 
 
 Behold the leaves the blossoms view, 
 No plush so soft, no silk so fine 
 
 No chemist's dye gives such bright hue, 
 No weaver thus can threads entwine, 
 
91 
 
 And see there nobler statues stand, 
 Their towring tops invade the sky ; 
 
 And planted firm by nature's hand, 
 They the fierce winds of heaven defy. 
 
 On yond green hillock see how gay 
 The little lambkins sport and dance ; 
 
 How blithly pass their hours away, 
 Emblems of virtuous innocence. 
 
 Oh hark ! in yonder shady grove 
 
 Have tuneful songsters raised their note ; 
 Deep fraught with harmony and love, 
 
 Does it upon the soft air float. 
 
 Alas ! dear friend we list in vain, 
 Nor note, nor sound affects our ear, 
 
 And oh, their sweet enchanting strains, 
 We never never more shall hear. 
 
 But hush, our sighs we'll murmer not, 
 Since we unnumbered charms can view ; 
 
 And though to hear be not our lot, 
 We'll see and praise our maker too. 
 
TO C 
 
 Why does so oft, the silent tear, 
 
 Thy pallid cheek bedew ? 
 Thou art, to ev'ry bosom dear, 
 
 And hast of cares but few. 
 
 And yet thou'rt drooping, pale, and sad, 
 
 While all around are gay 
 Can nought thy pensive bosom glad, 
 
 And while thy glooms away ? 
 
 Is't for the joys that early sped, 
 Which mem'ry calls to view ? 
 
 Or are thy tears so often shed, 
 For one who was untrue ? 
 
 Oh ! check the tear it may not fall, 
 Since there's supreme decree 
 
 A God, who wisely ordered all, 
 E'er time began to be. 
 
93 
 
 All yet may end in good and we, 
 Though left in darkness now ; 
 
 Superior wisdom yet shall see, 
 And to that wisdom bow. 
 
 Though grief a while may hold its sway, 
 And nature droop and mourn ; 
 
 Yet to bright joy it shall give way, 
 And happiness return. 
 

 TO MARIA 
 
 Sweet maid ! now in thy morn of years, 
 Like op'ning rose, as sweet as fair ; 
 
 Undimed thy eye, by sorrow's tears, 
 Unknown thy heart to grief or care. 
 
 O, may stern virtues early spring, 
 Upon thy heart's warm genial soil, 
 
 And fruits abundant hourly bring, 
 Rewarding a kind mother's toil. 
 
 'Tis education forms the mind, 
 And virtue to it lustre gives ; 
 
 When Sense and feeling are combined, 
 They form the tender sympathies. 
 
 How vain is all external show, 
 Without a treasure in the mind, 
 
 'Tis like the meteor's transient glow, 
 Or the more noisy, empty wind. 
 
95 
 
 
 As opening years shall wane away 
 Leaving upon thy brow, their trace 
 
 May thy mind's beauty ne'er decay, 
 Nor give to vice nor folly place. 
 
 Maria shall I wish thee more ? 
 
 Then may it be a mind's content 
 And when thy passing hours are o'er 
 
 A consciousness of time well sp 
 
ELEGY, 
 
 [On Dick, a poor old horse, who *as shot.] 
 
 'Tis done the tragic scene is o'er, 
 A cruel hand, the weapon aimed ; 
 
 And Dick has fell, to rise no more. 
 Poor Dick Old Dick, the halt and maimed. 
 
 But once he was both young and gay, 
 With nimble feet and graceful form, 
 
 He pranced around in chaise and sleigh, 
 Well fed and stabled from the storm. 
 
 His carriage was admired indeed, 
 
 The praise of many he did win, 
 He was the " ready friend in need" 
 
 And roguish mood was never in. 
 
 But life's a stage of varied scene, 
 And hours of joy as soon are past, 
 
 As midnight's light and airy dream, 
 Too vivid and too loved to last. 
 
97 
 
 And thus proud Dick, thy fate hath proved, 
 For when misfortunes round thee spread ; 
 
 Thy former favors were removed, 
 And friends deserted thee and fled. 
 
 Nor * nor blanket now for thee, 
 Turned out to meet the chilling blast ; 
 
 No pitying eye thy wants to see, 
 And think upon thy favors past. 
 
 Depressed with hunger, thirst and cold, 
 Thy trembling limbs are useless grown ; 
 
 The murderer lifts his rifle bold, 
 
 Aims at thy life, nor deeds thy moan. 
 
 Oh ! ingrate mortals selfish crew ; 
 When will reflection tame your breasts ? 
 
 When things in their right order view, 
 And learn to pity the distressed ? 
 
LINES, 
 
 [Written in a shady grove, under a pine tree.] 
 
 Sweet tranquil vale ! here oft I'll stray, 
 Oft here will bend my lonely way, 
 And 'neath thy foliage meditate 
 On human hopes and ruthless fate. 
 
 A lone recess from noise so free, 
 My muse ! O come along with me, 
 And here, beneath this waving pine, 
 A wreath to gather, we'll entwine. 
 Yet not for critic's eagle eye, 
 A wreath to twine will ever try ; 
 "Bui friendship shall our lay receive 
 For her a garland we will weave 
 'Twill not adorn her modest brow, 
 But she'll accept it any how. 
 
 But why so sad so lonely here ? 
 No sound of aught salutes my*ear, 
 Why are the lively songsters mute ? 
 To what shall I, the change impute ? 
 
Since all so fair, thy leafy spray 
 Why should contentment flee away ? 
 
 Ah ! lonely vale thou soon wilt find 
 A weight of grief hangs on my mind, 
 And every airy sigh of thine 
 Shall echo the heart-felt of mine ; 
 And faster too, thy flowers may rise, 
 Bedewed with dew drops from my eyes. 
 
 Above my head I see so gay 
 
 A songster sits upon the spray 
 
 Oh ! cease sweet warbler, cease thy note, 
 
 No ear to y# can I devote, 
 
 No I can never list to thee, 
 
 Arise sweet songster rise and flee. 
 
 Yet stay thou charmer stay and sing 
 
 Of pleasures fleet as thine own wing, 
 
 Of blighted hopes of withered joys, 
 
 Of saddened heart, sick of vain toys, 
 
 The mournful theme could'st thou but sound 
 
 And tell where lasting joys are found ; 
 
 Each pasing youth would I implore, 
 
 To stay, and hear thy song .hrice o'er ; 
 
 Could they but hear the truthful tale, 
 
 Temptations seldom would prevail, 
 
 And they would learn in time, to shun 
 
 False pleasures, e'er they were undone ; 
 
100 
 
 Nor place their hopes in things below, 
 Where all is a vain, noisy show 
 But Ah he's fled as swiftly flew 
 My hopes the joys I had in view. 
 But n:t like him, will they return, 
 A pilgrim, through earth's vale I mourn, 
 And sound no more shall reach my ear, 
 My sad, my silent way to cheer. 
 
 Never ? Oh yes there comes a day, 
 When earthly scenes shall pass away 
 When the " Loud trump" shall peal its note- 
 Through the ear's caverns most remote, 
 And Christ himself shall then appear, 
 To whisper in the mourner's ear, 
 The heavenly sound, "be of good cheer." 
 
LINES INSERTED IN AN ALBUM 
 
 Ah ! Mary must I then comply, 
 And must I twine a wreath for thee ? 
 
 The muses coy, my presence fly, 
 And a dread task remains for me. 
 
 Could I express, what now I feel 
 
 A great ul heart, thou then should'st knovr, 
 But language never could reveal 
 
 The tender bosom's overflow. 
 
 In beauty's bloom, in youth's full prime, 
 May all thy coming days be fair ; 
 
 A stranger to like griefs of mine, 
 So mayest thou be to every care. 
 
 Yet while thou lookest with fond delight, 
 On scenes with gay illusion fraught ; 
 
 O ! think thee of misfortune's blight, 
 And turn thee to my hapless lot. 
 
102 
 
 There is a tear that ever soothes, 
 
 And there's a smile can cheer the heart 
 
 The roughest, bleakest way it smooths, 
 And resignation doth impart. 
 
 That tear that smile, are sympathy's, 
 And from the noble heart they spring ; 
 
 That heart to feel kind Mary's is, 
 4.nd Mary's praise I fain would sing. 
 
IN MEMORY, 
 
 [Of Mrs. Lucinda W. Wright, who departed this life, Nov. 13th, 1826, at 
 Aiikhurnah, in the Choctaw nation, where she went with her husband, 
 as "assistant Missionaries."] 
 
 Afar to the west where the tall forests wave, 
 
 Where arts and where genius, repose in the grave ; 
 
 The wolf and the panther, in wild horror prowl, 
 
 And where the rude savage screams forth his dread howl. 
 
 Where sweet sound of gospel had never been heard, 
 But dumb " stocks and stones" into idols were reared ; 
 Dread war whoops were echoed and terrors prevailed, 
 The innocent traveller was met and assailed. 
 
 She went and it was on an errand of love, 
 The mind of the savage to tame and improve ; 
 To weed out the vices matured by long time, 
 And implant in their bosoms a virtue sublime. 
 
 She left her fond home in the land of the blest, 
 And gave to affection a heart wounding test ; 
 As forth came the dread word, " Forever farewell !" 
 And tears like the yain drops abundantly fell. 
 
104 
 
 Now in that loved circle a mother was there, 
 A. father* a brother, and young sisters dear ; 
 But God was her refuge, she looked to the skies, 
 And chid the warm tear as it rose to her eyes. 
 
 To that bleak clime she went and there toiling has fell. 
 And deaf is her ear to the rude savage yell ; 
 She has found in the land she had sought for to save, 
 She has found in that land with loved Mosely, a grave. 
 
 There far from her kindred she rests from her cares, 
 And o'er her deep grave stands her partner in tears ; 
 Can aught that is earthly a comfort impart, 
 Or heal the deep wound that is made in the heart ? 
 
 The child of the forest whom late she had taught, 
 Its mind with the love of a saviour had fraught ; 
 Seeks out the lone spot, drops a tear on the sod, 
 And says " has she gone to the land of her God ?" 
 
 And violets bloom on that grave in the wild, 
 Where the soft dews of evening are gently distilled ; 
 The tall tree is moaning a dirge to her fall, 
 And throws o'er the green sod a shadowy pall. 
 
 And must she remain in that wilderness ground, 
 Till the last trump awakes with its thundering sound ? 
 Then may she come forth with the saint by her side, 
 His glories to sing, who on calvary died. 
 
 *Mrs. W. was the daughter of Col Aaahel Washburn, of Montpelier, Vt. 
 
LINE S. 
 
 [Suggested by a walk abroad, in November, and addressed to Misa R. 1 
 
 Rosanna see ! behold how varied 
 Nature now deplores her doom ; 
 
 While on the wing of whirlwinds carried 
 Is her late enchanting bloom. 
 
 The forest trees themselves forsaken, 
 Tremble moaning to the blast ; 
 
 E'en their last withered leaves are taken 
 Forth in wild confusion cast. 
 
 Whilst the feathered songsters flying, 
 
 To and fro distrest appear; 
 Merry songs are turned to sighing, 
 
 All their gro; -3 are wan and sear. 
 
 The gardens mourn their desolation, 
 And their faded stilts display ; 
 
 No longer viewed with admiration, 
 Flower and perfume swept away. 
 
106 ^ 
 
 And naked fields no more inviting, 
 
 Lonely and resigned remain ; 
 To gaze on universal blighting, 
 
 Cheered no more by sun nor rain. 
 
 Ah ! why this change from gay to sadness, 
 Why this end of summer's bloom ; 
 
 And this look of frantic madness, 
 On sweet vegetation's tomb ? 
 
 Alas ! methinks while wildly gazing 
 
 Whispers soft fall on my ear ; 
 I list and oh almost amazing 
 
 Sounds like this I seem to hear. 
 
 Knowest thou not that power creative ? 
 
 Him who wisely orders all ? 
 He formed his flowers as imitative 
 
 Of fair youth, whose pride must fall. 
 
 Although arrayed in matchless beauty, 
 Praised admired and flattered much ; 
 
 Yet time is faithful to his duty, 
 Blighting by an unseen touch 
 
 But beauty when on virtue founded, 
 While the heart contains true worth ; 
 
 Though outwardly it may be wounded, 
 Yet again 'twill blossom forth. 
 
107 
 
 : 
 
 For like the root of vegetation, 
 Deeply in the soil secured ; 
 
 'Twill long survive cold desolation, 
 Blooming till by age matured. 
 
 Then fondly may we strive, Rosanna, 
 This priceless virtue to obtain ; 
 
 That we may not as have so many, 
 Fade no more to bloom again. 
 
 That when our earthly course is ended, 
 When grim death for us doth call ; 
 
 By virtue peace and heaven befriended, 
 Calm and soft may be our fall. 
 
 And like this vegetation round us, 
 Renovate when comes our spring ; 
 
 And leave the earthly sod that bound 
 In celestial realms to sing. 
 

 LAMENT. 
 
 I had a friend that friend was dear 
 Of modest soul of heart sincere ; 
 Who all my griefs would ever share, 
 And sympathize in every care. 
 
 With her I oft have gaily strayed 
 Into the woodland's leafy shade ; 
 There freely told her ail my heart, 
 While her's in turn she would impart, 
 
 With such a friend full blest was I, 
 To her with every care to fly ; 
 And find her ever still the same, 
 In word in deed friend as in name. 
 
 But fortune's smiles I'll trust no more, 
 For all those tender scenes are o'er, 
 My heart is pained I weep, I sigh 
 But Mary hears no more my cry. 
 
109 
 
 That ear is closed that heart is cold, 
 Where virtues dwelt, as yet untold ; 
 That tongue is mute, that form is laid, 
 To wither in the silent shade. 
 
 And desolate is now the grove, 
 Where arm in arm we used to rove, 
 Each vale each knoll we wandered o'er, 
 Now whispers " Mary is no more." 
 
 Yet lives she, to my mem'ry dear, 
 As well can prove each flowing tear ; 
 And never will that friend depart 
 From the deep centre of my heart. 
 

 VALEDICTION 
 
 TO MRS. R . A . 
 
 Accept dear friend e'er I depart, 
 A grateful tribute from my heart ; 
 And let the warm effusion prove 
 My deep, sincere and lasting love. 
 
 I would my lyre a strain should wake, 
 And from my heart its lesson take ; 
 But oh ! 'tis chilled and pulsless grown, 
 No more its joys shall be my own. 
 
 And yet how oft in former days, 
 I'vo smiled at its uncultured lays ; 
 And felt sweet hope my bosom warm, 
 Imparting to dull life a charm. 
 
 And must I bid my lyre farewell ! 
 And feel no more its soothing spell ? 
 Shall joy shall hope no more illume 
 My lonely pathway to the tomb ? 
 
Ill 
 
 Sweet friend, and shall I then despair, 
 Hath life no balm to lull my care ? 
 Yes friendship ! it is thine t' impart 
 An anodyne to aching heart. 
 
 'Tis she who on life's ocean tost, 
 Whose course, by adverse gale is lost ; 
 Who best can feel, and best declare, 
 What gratitude's emotions are. 
 
 But I must bid the dear adieu ! 
 
 A distant journey to pursue ; 
 
 Where friendship, pure and deep as thine, 
 
 May never on my pathway shine. 
 
 But first I'll wish thee oh ! 'tis vain, 
 A page could not that wish contain ; 
 Nor language can its depth express, 
 But may my God Rebecca bless. 
 
LINES. 
 
 (On retumiug a volume of " Sermons to young people", lent by a pious 
 lady.J 
 
 Go, book and tell thy mistress kind, 
 The hours thou hast engrossed my mind 
 Tell her the " truths" thou didst impart, 
 At times sank deep into my heart ; 
 And as I read thy pages o'er, 
 I longed to " go and sin no more". 
 
 But tell her I am nature's child, 
 Stupid weak depraved and wild ; 
 Nor thou nor all thy lettered race, 
 Can give my heart a "saving grace." 
 
 'Tis God alone the work can do, 
 A sinful mortal to renew ; 
 Yet tell her he has various means, 
 To show our natures and our sins, 
 That thou art under his command, 
 Though given to her careful hand. 
 
 Tell her thou dost return again, 
 
 With hope, thou wert not lifct in vain, 
 
 "\> 
 Convey my thanks and tell O tell 
 
 But sweet instructor, fare thee well ! 
 
ELEGIAC LINES. 
 
 [To the memory of Miss E. Kimball, daughter of J. Kimball Esq. of 
 i, Vt. 
 
 Ba, 
 'Tw 
 
 as in the silent field of rest, 
 The sacred mansion of the dead ; 
 I saw the green turf on her breast, 
 The grey stone standing at her head. 
 
 Few were the days to her consigned, 
 But fourteen years to her were given 
 
 To open and improve the mind, 
 
 And thus prepare the soul for heaven, 
 
 And yet rou'id many a friendly heart, 
 She twined herself with tender tie ; 
 
 'Twas not by caprice "W^rt, 
 But innocent simplicity. 
 
 Mild was the beaming of her eye, 
 Her soul was in its lustre seen ; 
 
 Her cheek had all the rose's dye, 
 And interesting was her mien. 
 
114 
 
 But Ah ! Eliza, thus to fall, 
 Like a sweet rose in its rich bloom; 
 
 Could pity friendship love nor all 
 Thy virtues save thee from the tomb ? 
 
 Ah ! no, the fatal blow 'tis given, 
 The blow that sank thy form to earth ; 
 
 That raised thy spotless soul to heaven, 
 And showed us all thy lovely worth. 
 
 But fancy paints thee far away 
 From the inert and mournful sod ; 
 
 That now protects thy lifeless clay, 
 In blest communion with thy God. 
 
 And oh ! as up through ether way, 
 
 Thy uncumbered soul did fly ; 
 To hail the mansions bright of day, 
 
 What wonderous scenes regaled thine eye. 
 
 Did'st thou not cast a look behind, 
 
 And pity mortals here below ; 
 Who as thou wert, are still confined, 
 
 Nor heavenly joys can feel or know ? 
 
 And when you reached that happy shore, 
 Quick welcomed to thy saviours breast ; 
 
 Did'st thou not for us implore, 
 
 An entrance to that Heavenly rest ? 
 
115 
 
 But sainted spirit ! fare thee well ! 
 
 For thy remove we'll weep no more , 
 Though bitter tears in showers have fell, 
 
 The murmuring drops shall now be o'er. 
 
 Though o'er thy relics with fond gaze, 
 Thy mother sits and deeply sighs ; 
 
 Above that eye she now will raise, 
 And trace thy passage to the skies. 
 
 Then tell her Clara, of thy fate, 
 And how her Nancy passed away ; 
 
 Thus teach how futile is this state, 
 Where all things wither and decay. 
 
 
MIDNIGHT THOUGHT 
 
 'Tis night and the tumult is hu.hed, 
 
 Soft silence is stealing around ; 
 Now nought but the low breeze is heard, 
 
 That sighs o'er yon new risen mound. 
 
 The moon from behind a dark cloud, 
 Sheds a faint and a lingering ray ; 
 
 On that turf where enwraped in a shroud ; 
 Young Almond lies sleeping in clay. 
 
 How transient dear babe was thy stay, 
 
 Six months tho'u hadst scarce been their own, 
 
 When death came and took thee away, 
 And left thy fond parents to mourn. 
 
 Yes yonder I see a lone cot, 
 
 Where Cath'rine still weeps thy remove ; 
 In vain thy fair form has she sought, 
 
 And sighed for the babe of her love, 
 
 Each relic she mournful surveys, 
 
 Then tears flow again from her eyes ; 
 
117 
 
 Oh ! where is my Almond she says, 
 While sobs in succession arise. 
 
 Yet thou canst no more hear her sighs, 
 Thy cheek feels no more her warm tear ; 
 
 Arrived to thy home in the skies, f 
 Thou lookest not on sorrow ^iere. 
 
 But time his swift circuit shall move, 
 And seasons their changes unfold ; 
 
 Till summoned by angels above, 
 Thy visage we there shall behold. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 
 
 Our joys are few and short the date, 
 How soon the transient visions fly; 
 
 All nature blooms in mortal state, 
 
 And all that's blooming soon must die. 
 
 On what shall mortal man depend, 
 
 Of all upon this earthly sod ? 
 Since honors, riches, fame, nor friend, 
 
 Survives the mandate of a God. 
 
 Oh come frail man and view the mound, 
 The grassy turf where Clara lies ; 
 
 And say no more thy hopes are found 
 On ought beneath the ether skies. 
 
 When on a sickly couch reclined, 
 And pains distract her feeble frame ; 
 
 Still under all she was resigned, 
 
 " My God is just" she would exclaim. 
 
 When a loved brother weeping came, 
 
 To bid a long, a last adieu ; 
 He pointed to Jehovah's name, 
 
 To guide her, death's dark valley through. 
 
119 
 
 Remember, said that pious friend, 
 'Tis not by righteous deeds we've done, 
 
 That we to God shall e'er ascend, 
 But through the merits of his son. 
 
 " I know it" smiling she replied, 
 " My hope is in his saving grace ; 
 
 Though it were just I were denied, 
 And all our guilty sinful race." 
 
 As sisters weeping near her stood, 
 She did her trembling hand extend ; 
 
 And as to chide the rising flood, 
 A smile the action did attend. 
 
 Of a kind parent bowed with grief, 
 
 She asked his prayers, for the dread hour ; 
 
 And as he breathod the sweet relief, 
 She fell asleep to wake no more. 
 
 Soft be thy slumbers gentle friend, 
 Aiii peaceful rest thy lowly head ; 
 
 Where ne'er shall cank'ring care attend, 
 Thy hallowed, thy reposing bed. 
 
 And cease the sigh, ye weeping friends, 
 
 Parent brother sister, all ; 
 A providence o'er earth attends, 
 
 And nought without his leave shall fall. 
 
THE AFRICAN. 
 
 Ah ! how unjust, was the decree, 
 Tyranic pride prounounced in spite ; 
 
 There shall a lasting bondage be, 
 Of Afric's sons to lordly white. 
 
 While pity wept and called in vain, 
 On mercy to forbid the deed; 
 
 Ambition firmer drew the chain, 
 And virtue sought in vain to plead. 
 
 Then grace, with placid look and calm, 
 Spake to the mourning black and said 
 
 Come rest in my protecting arm, 
 And thou shalt there be comforted. 
 
 But death, triumphant, called aloud, 
 And said " 'tis I, 'tis / alone, 
 
 Can rescue from the haughty proud, 
 The power to level is my own." 
 

 
 
 
 
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