J. MC PHERSON'S 
 
 Poems
 
 THE ] [BRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CAL IFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 MoPHERSON'S POEMS.
 
 POEMS, 
 DESCRIPTIVE AND MORAL, 
 
 JOHN McPHEESON. 
 
 STYLED BY HIMSELF 
 
 " HARP OF ACADIA," 
 
 HALIFAX, N. 8. 
 
 PRINTED BY THEOPHILUS CHAMBERLAIN. 
 1862. 

 
 "FT? 
 
 INTEODUCTOEY IEMOIE. 
 
 THE literary memorial is, in modern times, a favorite resort 
 against earthly oblivion and forgetful ness. It is one of the least 
 expensive of the monuments to departed ability or worth, and 
 may be the most popular, enduring, and useful. 
 
 The statuary or tablet may fix the attention of friendship or 
 curiosity, the pyramid, looming above the desert sands, may 
 attract the traveller from a distance ; but marble and granite 
 nave but a narrow sphere, a vague and fleeting story, compared 
 with the volume of letter-press. The latter, to some extent, 
 perpetuates the spirit of the departed. It furnishes precept, 
 while it embodies warning or example ; it lies on many a cot- 
 tage window-sill, and bears its more ample record to other 
 generations. 
 
 Subjects deemed appropriate for memoir, however, are com- 
 paratively few. Generally speaking, only to those who stood 
 somewhat apart in life, and who in character or achievement, 
 attained or deserved, a conspicuous position, are such remem-> 
 brancers usually accorded. 
 
 A new country has but few memorials of the past of human 
 history, but few who are distinguished in any of the more 
 select pursuits of life, and it is apt to be neglectful of interest- 
 ing records, until due materials for them pass beyond reach. 
 Under such circumstances, more than the usual excuse, or 
 demand, exists, for occasionally taking advantage of oppor- 
 
 762940
 
 11. INTRODUCTORY MKMOIR. 
 
 tunities, by securing such memories as may tend to usefully 
 distinguish or ornament the social annals. In lands of ancient 
 refinement and renown, the elaborately rich landscape has 
 castle and palace and cathedral, as marks of wealth and pro- 
 gress; in places emerging from the wilderness state, the cottage 
 and the clearing, beside woodland and lake, are deemed worthy 
 of some respectful attention. So it may be with human story. 
 
 Above seventeen years ago, the subject of the present memoir, 
 under circumstances of rapidly declining health, looked fondly 
 forward to such a mode of keeping himself and his writings in 
 some remembrance by his countrymen, and chose the pen for 
 the anticipated work. Since then, amid the vicissitudes of life, 
 the task has been frequently buiFetted from the willing hand ; 
 the times were not propitious for publication of the poems, and 
 annoying postponements took place. Hope of achieving the 
 object, however, was cherished, and the idea was occasionally 
 urged on public notice. Opportunity dawns at last ; and the 
 wish of the departed, and of many living friends, has promise 
 of being realized. 
 
 As the writer of numerous favorite melodies, who lived and 
 died separated from the busy world, intent on maintaining the 
 minstrel's vocation, as one whose ambition was, to be called 
 the Poet of his native Province, and whose hopes, efforts, 
 achievements, and disappointments, aiFord lessons, interesting 
 and useful, McPherson, surely, was worthy of such a tribute 
 to his memory, such a fulfilment of his expectations, as this 
 > volume supplies. 
 
 To trace the emotions and exertions of a mind out of the 
 usual order, may be variously desirable, even though the fine 
 machine did not always run wisely, according to the wisdom of 
 this world. The rude details of every-day experience, encount- 
 ered under very untoward circumstances, may, like the bars of 
 the sky4ark's cage, have prevented higher flight and sweeter 
 music, and caused laceration and early subsidence of song and 
 life ; but the snatches of melody should be appreciated, and 
 the pathetic story win attention in $ leisure hour.
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 111. 
 
 Much of a country's wealth consists in her better minds. To 
 allow the memory of such to disappear with their earthly frames, 
 may be considered about as inappropriate and injudicious, as 
 would be the interring of money wealth when the spirit de- 
 parted. Where the memory of genius is baleful, let it be 
 forgotten, except by way of lament or warning; where it is of 
 beneficial tendency, the light should, as it may, be handed 
 down from generation to generation. Happily, McPhersou's 
 intellectual remains are of the purer kind. 
 
 Nova Scotia cannot afford to lose such property. Within 
 a brief period several names went from the lists of earthly life, 
 the intellect connected with which deserved careful preserva- 
 tion. Where are the eloquent and beautiful passages from the 
 speeches of S. G. W. Archibald, as barrister and " Speaker of 
 the House " ? Where the simply wise and classic observations 
 of the " Philosopher of the Dutch Village " ? Where the his- 
 toric narrative, the local anecdote, the peculiar information in 
 varied departments of knowledge, which other " old inhabi- 
 tants " might have so copiously furnished ? Answers to those en- 
 quiries, in many instances, would be painful. Let McPherson's 
 poems be an exception to the too common rule of young countries, 
 and perhaps other similar memorials calculated to be inter- 
 esting and useful, and those qualities should not be separated 
 may yet furnish valued contributions to Provincial Literature. 
 
 To speculate now, on what the subject of this memoir would 
 have been under more fortunate worldly circumstances, or with 
 more business sagacity and every-day prudence, would be idle. . 
 He was of delicate health, a school-teacher, a writer of verses, in 
 a rural district of a new country ; he experienced, in aggravated 
 form, the privations too often consequent on such circumstances, 
 and had, in addition, delicate sensibility, literary ambition, 
 visions of impracticable achievement, which were calculated 
 to make his position more keenly distressing. 
 
 But, withal, he cherished, almost unwaveringly, a love of the 
 beautiful and the good, of earth ; and fond thoughts, elevating 
 and consoling, of the better country beyond.
 
 IV. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 This small volume affords some characteristics of the man. in 
 reference to the brief narrative of his life; but much more 
 suggestive indications of his mental constitution, of his sufferings 
 and his enjoyments, in the verses which follow ; and which he 
 left lovingly and hopefully to the Province whose bard he de- 
 lighted to be considered. 
 
 Each of the titles under which the poems are arranged, fur- 
 nishes intimations of his moods and experience. " Love of 
 Nature " was pre-eminently a prevailing tone of his mind. The 
 " Social and Domestic " associations and affections might be 
 considered instinctive to his mental constitution. He brooded, 
 either in grief or love, over the " Personal " phases of his 
 troubled life. The " Devotional " tendency appeared in almost 
 every part of his more serious contemplations. Moral Reform, 
 in the way of " Temperance " and otherwise, early attracted his 
 attention, and sometimes engrossed his energies ; and his " Oc- 
 casional " literary efforts were more or less tinged, throughout, 
 with the varied coloring suggested by external nature, by family 
 and individual affections, and by moral and religious impulses. 
 Such was the man, with his defects and his virtues, to save 
 whose memory from oblivion, to some good extent and good 
 effect, is an object of this presentation of his writings, to the 
 public for whom they were composed. 
 
 SOME INCIDENTS OF LIFE. 
 
 JOHX McPHERSON was born in Liverpool, Nova Scotia, the 
 pleasant shire-town of Queen's County, on the 4th of February 
 1817, and continued to reside there, for the most part, until 
 about his seventeenth year. His school education was confined 
 to the common branches usually taught in rural districts. His 
 early teacher was Mr. Stephen Payzant, for whom the poet 
 entertained much respect. 
 
 McPherson's boyhood was distinguished for seriousness, for 
 avoidance of rough boisterous play, for fondness of retirement, 
 and for an ambition to improve his mind, and mayhap to win 
 some literary fame. Probably attention to physical organiza-
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. V. 
 
 tion was made unduly subservient to intellectual culture in the 
 earlier years of his life ; and for such imprudence, nature 
 generally inflicts some penalties both on body and mind. He 
 appears to have had only few opportunities for the improvement 
 after which he yearned,' but those opportunities were highly 
 valued. 
 
 His habit was to study by fire-light, or alone in fields or woods, 
 or in other places of solitude and quiet. His favorite reading 
 consisted of what are considered classic English works, in prose 
 and verse. He was fond of repeating passages from Campbell's 
 and Kirke White's poems ; and his story, in many parts, had 
 much in common with that of the amiable bard who wrote so 
 plaintively of sickness and disappointment, and early departure 
 from the trials of earth. 
 
 At about his seventeenth year he went to live at Brookfield, 
 in what is called the northern district of Queen's County. His 
 place of residence there was the house of his uncle, Mr. D. 
 McPherson, whose daughter the poet married a few years 
 subsequently. 
 
 While at Brookfield he had the benefit of brief tuition, from 
 Mr. A. M. Gidney ; a gentleman of literary taste and talent, 
 who cherished affection for the poet and respect, for his literary 
 abilities. 
 
 This friend relates two interesting incidents relative to Mc- 
 Pherson's early history. The first has reference to the earliest 
 observed indication of the strength of his poetic sensibilities. 
 A young woman, an acquaintance of McPherson, had been, 
 at the time referred to, recently married to one of the young 
 settlers of the district. Her husband had been away from home 
 for some days, at work in the woods, when the relater of the 
 anecdote, McPherson, and the young woman, met in her father's 
 garden, at summer twilight; the hour whose semi-obscurity 
 adds so much to the poetic effects of rural scenery. The bark- 
 ing of a dog interrupted the friendly conversation, and, looking 
 in the direction indicated, the woodman was observed, " plod- 
 ding his weary way," to the homestead. A grateful flush man-
 
 VI. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 tied the young wife's cheek, and the elder of her companions 
 ejaculated : 
 
 " 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
 Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home ; 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
 Our coining, and look brighter that we come." 
 
 The quotation was new music to McPherson ; a remark testi- 
 fied to the charm which it had for his ear and he requested a 
 repetition of the lines, as calling up very pleasing visions to his 
 imagination. 
 
 Soon after, the two friends, preceptor and pupil, were enjoy- 
 ing an evening ramble on the banks of " Pleasant River." 
 They ascended a rising ground, and loitered awhile, gazing on 
 the landscape, under the influences of moonlight. The elder 
 repeated Coleridge's fine ballad of Gsnevieve, commencing 
 with the suggestive lines : 
 
 " The moonshine stealing o'er the scene, 
 Had blended with the lights of eve." 
 
 The melody and pathos of the verse, affected McPherson to 
 tears ; and the interchange of thought which followed, proved 
 to his friend, that the young man was eminently predisposed 
 to those utterances of strong emotion and just sentiment, in 
 fitting words, that constitute so much of the poetic faculty. 
 
 About this time, in a playful contest with a young friend, 
 poor McPherson received severe personal injury, which caused 
 him some months' confinement to the house, and frequent sub- 
 sequent weakness and pain. The friend alluded to, in a letter 
 dated 1861, says: "An accident occurred in our school-boy 
 days which developed some valuable traits, in McPherson's 
 character. In a boyish struggle between us, his ankle was 
 fractured. This caused deep and lasting regret to me, and 
 pain and inconvenience to him, but the event which in ordi- 
 nary minds would have awakened different feelings, only served 
 as an occasion for calling out his spirit of forgiveness, and m;idii 
 him ever after my warmest and most faithful friend."
 
 INTRODUCTUKV MEMOIR. VU. 
 
 Before taking up the employment of School teaching, Mc- 
 Pherson lived in Halifax for awhile, in the capacity of clerk. 
 When approaching manhood, he went a voyage to the West 
 Indies, during which he evinced his proneness to be unduly 
 affected by unfriendly circumstances and prospects and the 
 harsh moods of others. 
 
 He was married on the 12th December, 1841. The match 
 was one of poetry and love, undertaken while heavy clouds 
 impended over his experience and his prospects, but gleams of 
 hope on the horizon more than counterbalanced, to him, the 
 gloom of the present. He indulged cheering visions of poetic 
 fame and pecuniary reward, of a cottage and a small farm, 
 and humble happy independence. 
 
 He moved to Kempt Settlement, Queen's County, and taught 
 school 'or two years. Thence he went to Maitland, Annapolis 
 County, and finally returned to Brookfield, the home of his 
 affections. 
 
 He had intellectual qualifications for the teacher's avocation ; 
 he studied educational topics carefully ; he wrote on some 
 departments of the profession ; but he loved leisure and medi- 
 tative peace, his physical health required repose and solace, 
 his mind was sensitive and yearned for some reasonable worldly 
 competence. Such requirements, natural and praiseworthy in 
 their way, were sadly out of keeping with the noise, and rough- 
 ness, and fagging, and poor pecuniary remuneration, of such 
 schools as came within his personal experience. No wonder 
 that under the changes of locality, incident to his teaching 
 years, his prevailing feelings were those of difficulty and gloom: 
 his chief employment was not congenial or productive, and want 
 of daily means for comfort, became almost a daily fear. 
 
 A letter from his widow, to a friend, referring to a period 
 soon subsequent to their marriage, says : " He continued his 
 teaching, which weighed on him as a heavy task : shut up day 
 after day in a miserable, uncomfortable, unhealthy school- 
 house, and being much oppressed for breath. The labor and 
 care were too much for his delicate health ; he used to come
 
 Vlii. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 home so utterly worn down, so discouraged and so sad ; his mind 
 so low at times, it was fearful beyond description. None but the 
 Almighty knows how much he and I suffered ; I have tried to 
 forget those sufferings ; you are the first person to whom I have 
 spoken of them since his death; I know they will leave no other 
 impression on your mind than they have on my own, pity and 
 love." 
 
 What eloquent indications are here given of the social and 
 inner life of the poor man whose poetry, meanwhile, was afford- 
 ing pleasure to so many minds. What indications, also, of the 
 wretched provision made for teachers and teaching in too many 
 parts of new countries. How often might country school-houses 
 be described as poor sheds on rocky spots at cross-roads, uncom- 
 fortable, and unsightly, instead of being, as they ought, commo- 
 dious and ornamental, cherished landmarks of the invaluable 
 privileges of education. 
 
 " Delightful task to rear the tender thought, 
 And teach the young idea how to shoot." 
 
 Yes, delightful in its abstract nature and objects j not, by 
 any means, undelightful, either, in practice, to the adapted 
 mind, and under favourable circumstances; but many varieties 
 and strong contrasts exist in the profession. Let not those who 
 think highly of it be ready to blame poor McPherson as queru- 
 lous and over sensitive. Neither in body or mind was he fitted 
 for the charge of a wilderness-settlement school ; and content- 
 ment or success, under his circumstances, might well be deemed 
 impracticable. 
 
 McPherson learned somewhat of carpentering, and worked 
 at the business for a short time. His attention seems to have 
 been attracted'diversely, according to moods and opportunities. 
 Occasionally he was led to desire more active employment, at 
 the carpenter's bench, or in the field, as more conducive to 
 health and cheerfulness; occasionally his energies were devot- 
 ed to the school, as a ready and appropriate sphere for a studi- 
 ous mind ; and poetic compositions, sometimes absorbed his
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. IX. 
 
 attention, because he felt and thought poetry, and fondly ima- 
 gined that in so indulging his most cherished propensity, some 
 respectable share of fame and of pecuniary reward, would 
 result. 
 
 During a visit to Halifax in 1843, his demeanor was mark- 
 ed by the quiet retiring characteristics previously alluded to. 
 He appeared to lack curiosity and interest concerning matters, 
 generally found attractive by visitors from the country, and to 
 rather shrink within himself, and within some world of his 
 recollection, from the noise and activity of the world about him. 
 But he could well enjoy the society of persons having literary 
 tastes akin to his own, and therefore readily, though rather 
 dreamily at times, he made one of an evening circle where 
 literature, as a matter of course, would become a theme. 
 
 About this time he became acquainted with Sarah Herbert, 
 whose published verses have had a wide Provincial circulation. 
 Miss Herbert, like McPherson, was warmly attached to poetry, 
 and fond of giving literary exercises a moral and religious ten- 
 dency. She evinced hearty admiration for the sweetness of 
 McPherson's lyre, appreciated his unsophisticated character, and 
 could repeat from memory, with much feeling, several of his 
 best lines. One pleasant evening, a small social party, includ- 
 ing the two writers, was assembled. The conversation, as 
 might be expected, turned on poetry, and Miss Herbert recited 
 with clearness, taste, and due emphasis, his stanzas, entitled 
 " Longings for Spring." The company were much pleased with 
 the plaintively picturesque lines ; but the bard himself, on hear- 
 ing his verse so fluently repeated by a sister melodist, was gra- 
 tified and delighted beyond measure, and forgot, for a happy 
 moment, present cares and gloomy prospects. 
 
 Both writers, and others, then young in years and hope, 
 and who well enjoyed the mental treat of the evening, went ear- 
 ly beyond the " dark river." The memory of that past has 
 eloquently sad homilies for survivors; but may we not hope that 
 the departed have united in higher converse in a better land? 
 Such hopes are required to give a " silver lining " to the cloud
 
 X. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 that so frequently impends over mutations of earth. As Miss 
 Herbert wrote, in memorial verses inscribed to McPherson : 
 
 " The lyre we hear no more, 
 
 He, doubtless, tuneth to a loftier strain ; 
 And its soft music swells, unmixed with pain, 
 In hymns triumphal, on the heavenly shore." 
 
 Poor McPherson indulged some reasonable ambitions, in re- 
 ference to affairs of this life. One of those was, to have a cot- 
 tage of his own ; he fondly dreamed of 'a home, where he might 
 freely indulge his social feelings, might make wife and child 
 happy, and sit at a comfortable fire-side, the kind master of a 
 loving circle. This was but a reasonable ambition ; he felt it to 
 be virtuous and manly ; he made what might indeed be called a 
 death-struggle for its accomplishment; but just as the prize 
 seemed about to be realized, it eluded his enfeebled grasp. 
 The cottage went from his possession, and he, worn out, and ut- 
 terly defeated in his earthly hopes, departed to the " narrow 
 house" which all inherit, and which he had learned to look on 
 as a shelter and a refuge. 
 
 In his building efforts he was aided by Halifax friends. 
 The Highland Society gave him a donation of 20 10s. ; and 
 an association, called the Literary Society consisting chiefly of 
 young men, clerks, store-keepers, and others presented him 
 -with a purse of 30. A gentleman also loaned him, on 
 terms which made the loan equivalent to a gift, a sum of 25. 
 Little was said of this benefaction, or of the benefactor, at the 
 time, for but little was known on the subject ; now, however, 
 when the incident has so long passed by, it may be only right to 
 say, that the money was furnished by Win. Young, Esq., the 
 present Chief Justice of Nova Scotia. 
 
 MePherson accepted those compliments with feelings of gra- 
 titude and of self-respect. He properly considered them as 
 marks of regard for himself and his writings, as consequent on 
 his many contributions to the public by means of the press, 
 and as to be duly accounted for, by pecuniary return in the one
 
 INTRODUCTORY MKMOIR. XI. 
 
 case, and in the others by grateful recollection and future liter- 
 ary services. 
 
 In a letter acknowledging, to the writer of this memoir, a 
 first instalment of the Literary Society's gift, and written in 
 August, 1846, the poet says : " I have received your letter with 
 remittance, and need not say, I am very grateful to the Literary 
 Society for the distinguishing mark of their favor. I desire 
 you would, on some proper occasion, tender a poet's warmest 
 thanks. I was moved even to tears ; the sum is thrice as large 
 as I supposed, and will be of great service just now. * * * 
 The balance could, I suppose, be forwarded by Post, early. I 
 shall have to lock my door o'nights, and be a careful man on 
 getting o'it. * * * I have not quite determined on any 
 very specific course yet, except of remaining here and getting a 
 living by the labor of my hands chiefly, as I find it most con- 
 ducive to health, and self-respect, and sweet cheerfulness. I 
 never feel so satisfied, whatever my fare, as when I have been 
 at work and rightly earned it. * * * I had high hope, if I 
 may be indulged the expression, of being something more than 
 I now wish; of shining, it may be, in some more conspicuous 
 sphere, but as I must depend on the small hand that traces 
 these lines, think it more prudent to venture nothing among 
 competitors of my own caste, ' for fortune's fickle favours.' I 
 have hope, but not enough. I could not support the vagueness 
 of the attempt, because I have been so unfortunate that doubt 
 usurps the place of confidence. Why I sometimes even forget 
 1 am a bard, and start, pleased of course, at the remembrance, 
 and return to my better mood with all the freshness of a first 
 love. I am not writing very sensibly here, and being in haste 
 will close, and hand the letter to the waiting ' carrier.' " 
 
 The disappointments alluded to in the quotation had refer- 
 ence to unfulfilled expectations, relative to prospects of remu- 
 neration for some contributions to the press. By the venturing 
 among " competitors of his caste," he no doubt wished to have 
 understood, some hopes indulged of succeeding as a writer for 
 Magazines, and of publishing a volume of his poems with the
 
 XII. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 view of pecuniary profit. He might well consider such attempts, 
 at that time, as vague and hazardous. He purchased a lot of 
 land, however, and commenced building. He sat down, and 
 as many other speculators had done before and have since, be- 
 gan figuring up his estimates and prospects, imagining his figures 
 to be representatives of realities, and believing, apparently, in 
 the popular notion, that Arithmetical " figures cannot err.'' 
 Very true, indeed, abstract Arithmetic is, in its principles, uner- 
 ring ; but, not unfrequently, a figure insinuates into a problem, 
 which has no business there, and sets the result deplorably 
 askew ; so, the Arithmetic of representing hopes and supposi- 
 tions and appearances by numerical figures and reckoning 
 accordingly, because of the certainty that two and two make 
 four have been sadly abundant in errors, and consequent 
 disappointment and loss. Thus poor McPherson totted up 
 what his cottage could be furnished for, what the outlay on 
 field and garden would amount to, and what return might be 
 anticipated ; but, alas ! the expenditure was more sure than 
 the gains and the house remained unfinished, and the expect- 
 ed harvest ungathered. 
 
 His hopes, concerning building a home and the happy results 
 of such an achievement, were soon overshadowed by gloom and 
 despondency. The money with which he was furnished, though 
 very opportune, and though seemingly a large sum to the reci- 
 pient, was soon nearly expended in paying some small debts, 
 and in purchase of materials and providing for other prelimi- 
 naries. 
 
 A letter dated 12th December, about four months subsequent 
 to that just quoted from, gives evidence of the sad change that 
 had come over his feelings and prospects. It indirectly com- 
 plained of delay, in reference to expected advice concerning 
 publication or sale of some of his poetic writings. Advice 
 could not easily be given : to damp or extinguish hope, would 
 be an ungrateful task indeed ; and profitable sale or publica- 
 tion, at that time, was out of the question. The letter then 
 proceeded as follows : " I am sorry to say that matters do not
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. Xl 
 
 prosper with me as I anticipated. My house is in a very unfit 
 condition for use ; and my health, injured by two months of 
 severe exertion, has broken down, giving but little hope of 
 early or late recovery. Want, and disease, the precursor of 
 want in my case, have embittered life, and now that I have 
 been so kindly, so generously, assisted by friends, to whom I 
 cannot adequately express my gratitude, my prospects are 
 scarcely improved. I had so little, and owed so much, that 
 what was left hardly authorized my building a house for my 
 family ; but I saw no other course, especially as friends would 
 urge this, and I have purchased a spot of land and begun a 
 small house. Health to enjoy, and strength to toil, are, how- 
 ever, withheld, and while some may think it all right, I dare 
 not look at the aspect presented, and fear I shall soon be more 
 completely in the grasp of misfortune than ever before." 
 
 So the poor Poet went on, making efforts towards the com- 
 pletion of the Cottage, and towards profitable employment of 
 his pen ; but disappointment followed disappointment, and the 
 disasters dreaded soon settled around their victim. He had 
 offered to contribute to the Provincial Press, and had made some 
 small arrangements which were not punctually abided by, on 
 the part of others. This caused pain of mind and pecuniary 
 difficulty. Losses and gifts are not to be judged solely by 
 amount. To the poor, small affairs are great. The widow's 
 two mites were declared more, under circumstances, than the 
 munificent gifts of those who cast in of their abundance. So the 
 small deficits were great to the poet. Literary remuneration 
 by publishers in a new country, however, is not to be judged 
 by the standard of old and rich communities. The profits in 
 the former cases are comparatively small ; the custom to pay for 
 occasional literary contributions is but sparingly recognized ; 
 and the capital employed is frequently absorbed in the common 
 routine of establishments, to the practical exclusion of extra ef- 
 forts of much consequence. McPherson might be well pardoned 
 for not reasoning so ; encouragements from respectable sources 
 were reckoned on as something certain, and the absence of 
 2
 
 XIV. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 realization amounted to severe infliction. In a letter written, 
 apparently, towards the close of the year 1844, he complains 
 of repeated disappointments. He says, " After wasting months 
 on such things as ' Longings for Spring,' I have received but 
 l 15s. 6d." Subsequent to allusions concerning difficulties so 
 caused, he remarks : " Were it not for the kindness of others 
 who can receive no other return than that of gratitude, and a 
 little pleasure from my poetry, I could wish that I had never 
 written a single stanza." He meant of course, as a matter of 
 pecuniary consideration ; for, in other respects, love of verse 
 would be its own reward to him. He then proceeds: "the 
 sorrow which such things occasion me is not to be described. I 
 am too sanguine, and too sensitive to live in such a world, and 
 am fast wearing out of it." Poor fellow : his case reminds of 
 that of a tropical plant, requiring genial sun and rich soil, but 
 struggling against cold and aridity, putting forth spasmodic 
 efforts at blooming, yet declining steadily, and disappearing 
 early from the uncongenial scene. 
 
 Subsequent to some explanations, he says : " I have begun a 
 small house, which we call Fairy Cottage, as it is near a stream 
 or river bearing that epithet. The walls are yet unshingled ; 
 the shingles, glass, etc., yet unpurchased, while the expense, 
 thus far, and the support of my little family, with my sickness, 
 have left me nothing to complete it. I hope to be able to re- 
 sume school-teaching, but my health failed me in the fall, and 
 living in an unshingled house has not helped it." Such was his 
 sad experience : physical weakness, an unfinished place of resi- 
 dence, blighted prospects, and his hope, the resumption of 
 the poorly paid toil of school-keeping in a rural district. 
 
 How different was all this, from the ideal of love and poetry 
 in a cottage ; poetry indeed was cultivated, and family love, 
 contrary to the cynic adage, did not " fly out of the window 
 when want came in at the door," but in what sad contrast was 
 the unfinished, unsupplied house, to the home with woodbine- 
 lattice and abundant hearth, which poets delight to picture.
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XV. 
 
 Referring to circumstances under which his verses were writ- 
 ten, he says : " If I had had an education, I might have written 
 more and better. I was obliged to fashion my own implements, 
 and discover my own materials for poetry. * * * I have 
 groped in obscurity and sorrow, and now that I am outworn by 
 the strife, I only wish to rest in the grave." 
 
 Such painful particulars as the foregoing, have to be given, 
 as a means of judging concerning the poet's life, and of esti- 
 mating many parts of his writings. The letter goes on, to 
 express fears that an erroneous judgment might be formed 
 of his literary character after his departure, to refer to the 
 circumstances by which that character was affected, and to 
 anticipate " a brief biographical notice," as introductory to his 
 published poems. He then says : " All that I can hope for my 
 poetry is, that it may serve to direct others, destined to strike 
 the harp of Acadia with less feeble hands." 
 
 He might have added the hope, that his poetry and his story 
 would afford warning also, against making what should be con- 
 sidered an elegant recreation an absorbing business of life ; 
 against depending on very doubtful resources ; against the 
 morbid concentration of mental effort, to the effect of leaving 
 the body feeble and shattered ; against that over-indulgence 
 of sensitiveness and imagination, which results in something 
 very different from the well balanced mind and well braced 
 form, that constitute health. 
 
 In a letter, dated May, 1845, written during a period of sick- 
 ness and depression, he sa) r s : " I expended the money, so 
 opportunely received from friends in Halifax, on a little pro- 
 perty, for the sake of having something like a home, and the 
 luxury of a garden, and a house with two rooms, but the failure 
 of my health, with the failure of means to proceed, has left 
 me in no very enviable situation. My debts left me but a 
 small sum to begin with, and I was obliged to borrow ; the 
 sum I asked was kindly sent, and no security of any kind re- 
 quired. I am not at liberty to mention the name of this good 
 Samaritan, who gives me free choice of time to re-pay." Subse-
 
 XVI. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 quent to remarks relative to his severe indisposition, be again? 
 refers to his building efforts. Having mentioned privations to 
 which himself and his wife had been subjected, he says : " If I 
 had had stnbborn health, matters had been different, but we 
 have patience with our lot, and would be content for it to be no- 
 better in this respect, so that we couki have our little cot more 
 comfortable. The wood material is paid for, I had to sell a 
 cow and a few sheep to help me out, and my work procured 
 some. I bought five dollars worth of sashes, and made the rest 
 myself, making first the sash tools to work with. I have twenty- 
 four acres- of good land, some in grass, wood pasture, and an 
 acre in oats ; this, with house, in money and other means, ccet 
 60 to 70." Affecting allusions to oppressive sickness, to 
 deep despondence, and to occasional glimmerings of hope, fol- 
 low. Part of his debt consisted of medicines, and continuation 
 of these was apparently required for alleviation or cure. 
 
 They moved into the cottage early in December. The walla 
 were unshingled, and therefore wretchedly unfit as a shelter 
 from the frosty winds of a Nova Scotia winter. " Quilts were sus- 
 pended along the walls, to turn aside the chilling wind, and to 
 stop the drifting snow, which would else have fallen on his bed.' r 
 There the little family remained until the first of May, when 
 the health of husband and wife was broken down, and they 
 were removed to the home of his father-in-law at Brookfield ; 
 whence he went, in July, to that other house, which is of sueh 
 gloomy but enduring character. 
 
 The story is soon told, or intimated rather, but how many 
 and melancholy were the particulars of ks stages ; and how 
 keen the slow-moving pangs which the delicately sensitive 
 mind and frame experienced. What sad indications of life are 
 suggested in such a narrative ; what illustration of Society in 
 various phases, relative to isolation, apathy, and misapprehen- 
 sion. At the very moment when poor McPherson was agonized 
 as to how he might maintain himself and his little family, when 
 ie was exhausted in mind and in body by sickness and priva- 
 iiou r when lie gazed mournfully on the departure of loag.
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XV11. 
 
 cherished hopes, and contemplated his own apparently near 
 final departure, and the dependant state of those whom he best 
 loved, at those very moments of gloom and pain, smiles and 
 commendations were elicited, in many comfortable abodes of 
 the land, by melodies in the newspapers of the day over the 
 familiar signature of J. M. The reader knew not that the 
 head and heart whence the verses emanated throbbed with 
 anxiety, that the pen by which they were indited trembled in 
 the feeble hand, and so they smiled and passed to other plea- 
 sures, while he looked aghast at surrounding circumstances, 
 and, amid deep earthly gloom, essayed to gird himself for the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death. Such frequently is life. How 
 thankful should those be who are shielded from the keener 
 inflictions ; how sympathising those, whose experience is that 
 of comparative ease and sunshine. 
 
 DEPARTURE. 
 
 The final scene of poor McPherson's troubled life, may now 
 obtain some brief attention. He died on the 26th July, 1845, 
 in the twenty-eighth year of his age. The brevity of his earth- 
 ly experience, and the suffering it included, should be duly 
 considered in forming an estimate in reference to the number 
 and merit of his poems. He had scarcely attained the age of 
 maturity as a writer, and had enjoyed little indeed of the easy 
 leisure supposed requisite for elegant composition, Avhen he was 
 called to that rest which hushed at once the discords and the 
 harmonies of earth. 
 
 The last stage of the poet's pilgrimage had much to call forth 
 interest and sympathy. He was delicately sensitive to life and 
 its rational enjoyments ; to the beauty of natural objects ; to 
 the ties of friendship and home ; he had indulged hopes of fame 
 and competence ; hut he now became keenly aware that his 
 earthly struggle was about to close, and to close in almost total 
 earthly discomfiture. The battle of humble ambition, of 
 iuimble independence, had been fought and lost He yielded
 
 XV111. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 gracefully and piously, however, commending those he loved 
 to the friends who might wish to evince respect for his memory ; 
 and committing his soul to that inscrutable Providence, which, 
 although sometimes allowing sore besetment, and the teaching 
 of wisdom by defeat, is always abundantly merciful in reference 
 to the higher consolations and triumphs. And so, sustained by 
 faith and hope, McPherson went calmly down into the dark 
 vestibule of immortal light and life. 
 
 Abundant evidence is afforded by McPherson's writings, that 
 he had made himself familiar with the hour which many try to 
 forget. In a letter dated 1844, he says: "I may not hope to 
 live long at the best, and would use the remaining light to some 
 purpose. Should I decease before the appearance of my 
 volume, I trust my friends would call for its publication, and 
 my countrymen afford it liberal encouragement in behalf of 
 my family." His volume had to wait about seventeen years 
 after decease without publication, and yet a kind Providence 
 has permitted the fulfilment of that part of the poet's dying 
 wishes. May we not hope that the " liberal encouragement " 
 also, will be realised ? 
 
 In May, 1845, the month dear to poets, and which McPherson 
 frequently made a subject of his verse, he wrote thus, to Miss 
 Sarah Herbert, who also departed in her youth : " For some 
 weeks past life has seemed ebbing rapidly to its close. * * * 
 I am as little fit to sit and write as can be, but am sitting up to 
 rest, and will try to finish this, lest I fail of power another time. 
 Probably I am dying, I think I am, and a week or month may 
 bring you intelligence of my death. I worked very hard, for 
 my strength, in the fall and first part of winter, and just got 
 under way to get along rather more comfortably than before, 
 when I was laid up by severe illness. * * * I wish to make 
 another effort for life ; but I trust I may be made more and 
 more enabled to submit to the will of God, whose favour, 
 whose pardoning mercy and sustaining grace, I strive earnestly 
 to implore. I am almost unable to read ; the books are, the 
 Bible, and sermons in the Christian Monitor, by the greatest,
 
 INTRODUCTORY MKMOIIl. XIX. 
 
 probably the best, men of the age : Chalmers, Hall, Thorp, Jay, 
 Stephens, James Parsons, and others. My mental power is, at 
 times, almost nothing; I cannot think, I have tried to write 
 some, succeeding poorly. I wished I had an opportunity of 
 seeing some of your literati and friends ; but a kind farewell to 
 you all ; I shall think of you often, as I have done, and pray 
 God to bless you. * * * My wife, hitherto my chief nurse, 
 is very poorly. Poor Irene ! she is like an angel of mercy to 
 me, her strength of mind, her sympathy and support, are all 
 that I have to sustain me of earth, but this too is of heaven ; 
 and the All-beneficent still helps me to call upon his name, and 
 seek him earnestly. May He, for Christ's sake, save me, and 
 take me to himself now, or give me strength to serve him with 
 singleness of heart. Pray for me. * * * I have been out 
 but twice, a few minutes, since the ides of March. The people, 
 particularly the Christian, show me much kindness. They plant 
 for me to-morrow. We have commenced a garden." 
 
 What expressive writing is this ; how like the sobbing of a 
 breaking heai't, and yet a heart cherishing gratitude, affection 
 and fortitude, in its hour of faintness. 
 
 Relative to some friendly allusions, concerning a monumental 
 memorial, he says: "No stone should be given me when I am 
 dead. I may have done something which may, or may not, call 
 for some demonstration of feeling, let it be exerted in behalf 
 of the wife who has cheered and nursed me, by the aid of 
 whose kind love I have been animated to write my best poems, 
 to persevere in continuing to write at all for these three 
 years past. Pardon egotism. I learn that you also have been 
 visited by the hand of disease ; I trust you are getting better 
 fast, that you may live long to be a blessing to yourself and 
 others, and that your departure from earth may be your 
 entrance into heaven." 
 
 These and other extracts from his letters, tend to evince his 
 good literary taste, and his superior qualities of intellect and 
 moral principle.
 
 XX. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 McPhersou's death, as much of his life, was marked by 
 sadness and loneliness, but the melancholy particulars of both 
 had merciful compensations. 
 
 The wife of his love, the subject of many of his verses, ivas 
 the patient attendant at his dying couch, ready, 
 
 " To hear his sad sick tale, and with him pray, 
 "While life's last hours were wearing fast away." 
 
 In a letter concerning this memoir, she says, fluently and 
 well : " I never for a moment doubted his pure love for me. 
 The last words which his voice uttered, as I bent over him, 
 were, ' Poor Irene.' Pie closed his eyes on me and earth. A 
 few tears rolled down his thin pale cheek, and he sank into a 
 calm sweet sleep, from which he never awoke until he awoke 
 in that happy land where sorrow and tears are unknown. 
 Through his last sickness, he was calm, patient, and resigned, 
 ever looking forward to that better rest. He often told me he 
 would like to be buried at the set of sun. I had that wish 
 fulfilled. His remains were consigned to the narrow tomb just 
 as the sun went out of sight." 
 
 The place of burial, alluded to in this quotation, was near 
 Lake Tupper; and had been chosen by himself. The banks of 
 the lake formed the scene of his courtship ; and as such is 
 subject of poetic reference in more than one of his verses. A 
 communication addressed to his wife, during his sickness, says : 
 "This is the dearest spot I have known on earth; I have passed 
 many happy, as well as sad, moments here. Let me be laid in 
 the little grave-yard situated on the East side of the lake. This 
 will be your home ; you can visit my grave here oftener than 
 if in another place." How the sensitive heart clings to the 
 hope, that loving remembrance, and some kind attentions, will 
 survive earthly life, and will be evinced by some simple but 
 expressive observance. According to his wish he was laid at 
 rest on the hill-side which commanded a view that he loved 
 during most of his chequered pilgrimage.
 
 INTKODUCTOUY MEMOIR. XXI. 
 
 The poet's story, of love and sorrow, may well claim some 
 bnef delay, before commencing with his inelifluous verse. And 
 surely a passing tribute of respect may be given to the truth- 
 fulness of a true woman, as demonstrated by the wife of the 
 poet. His consoler in solitude and sickness, his patient and 
 ever ready amanuensis, his refuge from earthly desertion 
 and despair, the smoother of his dying pillow, she now, so 
 many years after his decease, and when the wife of another, 
 encounters various difficulties and privations to have his last 
 wishes fulfilled : to have his poems published, leaving something, 
 if that may be, for the education of his children ; but whether 
 or not, and as beyond compare the chief object, to have them 
 published as a monument to his memory, a realization of hope 
 indulged, when other hope had become estranged from hia 
 mind; as a pleasure and honour to those children, whose 
 welfare he yearned for, when earthly thought for himself had 
 been bidden a last farewell. 
 
 As the world goes it is something to have such evidence of 
 love and constancy; something to have such example of mutual 
 respect and affection under circumstances so painfully calcu- 
 lated to try both emotions ; something, and much indeed, to 
 have such light in darkness as the narrative affords, such 
 alleviation of sadness, and such faith and hope concerning 
 unfading felicity beyond the changes and sufferings of this 
 world. 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS. 
 
 The mind is the true kingdom of the man, and includes his 
 best or worst experiences. None of the localities of McPherson's 
 sojourn appear to have presented attractions or opportunities 
 sufficient to yield contentment. He loved the free untamed 
 scenery of his native land ; he was accustomed to admire the 
 solitary beauties of wood and lake ; and to wander, well- 
 pleased, over the bushy barrens of his neighbourhood. Ideal 
 regions, however, of some scholastic eminence, of literary fame, 
 of worldly competence and humble home pleasures, to which
 
 XX11. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 his mind frequently reverted, but which seemed inexorably 
 barred from his experience, were apt to intervene, and to make 
 actual life still more gloomy by the contrast presented. The 
 indulgence of such moods may excite blame, because practical 
 heroism, a battling with adverse circumstances, and a working 
 out of humble contentment, might be more praiseworthy. But 
 for forming a correct estimate, we should recollect the delicate 
 health, the frequent disappointment, and the honorable nature 
 of the ambition which induced complaint and despondency. 
 In his more gloomy mood he was inclined to langour and debi- 
 lity, or to painful excitement, ; but perhaps much of the mood 
 should be ascribed to the prevailing physical weakness. 
 
 He was very sensitive to slights or rebuffs, and a hasty satiri- 
 cal remark, or even a friendly criticism, could extremely depress 
 his mind, or rouse him to indignant and eloquent reply. On 
 the other hand, a kindly sympathy, a generous appreciation, 
 could impart a most sunny mood, and induce him to repeat his 
 favourite melodies in a quaint recitative voice, very unusual 
 and attractive. In some of his darkest hours, despair and 
 almost desparation beset the sufferer ; in his brighter, a quiet, 
 complacent tone, and a child-like simplicity, gave a rare charm 
 to his company. Both states of mind, and various shades 
 between, are indicated in his poems. 
 
 An early friend of the poet, (now a clergyman) the com- 
 panion with whom the painful accident, previously alluded to, 
 occurred, writes as follows, in a letter relative to this memoir : 
 " Though he was characterised by the keenest sensibilities, yet it 
 was only to the superficial observer that he appeared (what is 
 called) ' sentimental.' He had a manly and high appreciation 
 of what was pure and noble. * * Every where he was to me 
 the faithful friend as well as the entertaining companion. He 
 was most happy in the domestic circle, with the younger mem- 
 bers of the family around him. His ready wit and humour 
 were innocent and profitable. * * * Though he was far 
 removed from fanaticism, he looked on the religion of the 
 Bible as the one thing needful. * * In his friendly visits he
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XX111. 
 
 often carried manuscript poems in his pocket, and to those who 
 appreciated them he was fond of reading his productions. 
 Often have I listened with delight, when the other members of 
 his family had retired, and heard him as he chanted his rhymes 
 in melifluous tones, like the cadence of the rivulet." 
 
 The friendly testimony afforded by this extract, is just, and 
 variously pleasing. 
 
 Another paragraph, in reference to McPherson's poems, from 
 the same letter, is worthy of quotation, thus : 
 
 " I have felt, and still feel, that had he been spared, he 
 would have occupied a large space in the literary world. As 
 it is, as far as I know, he has no superior in his native Pro- 
 vince, and, indeed, none in the British Colonies, as far as 
 his poetry is concerned. * * * His wreath of laurels will, 
 I trust, still be worthy of his noble ambition. * * * In a 
 new country like ours, where little but the elements of refined 
 cultivation exist, and the structure of society is still rough-cast, 
 it was difficult for him to find even a comfortable poet's corner, 
 much more a drawing room of such elegant equipments and 
 pure air as would suit the sweet music of his lyre, and echo back 
 the intense delicacy of his sensibilities. * * Though not 
 fitted to encounter the ignorance, prejudice, and selfishness of 
 the world, we should be unjust in attributing to him a lack of 
 those higher principles which are calculated to purify our 
 atmosphere, and bring about that state of human affairs which 
 would be congenial to his own mind. This is one reason why I 
 wish to see his poems, or the best of them, published. It is not 
 a mere question of profit and loss to his friends, nor yet of 
 embalming his own name and genius in the minds of our people, 
 though these considerations are important; but it is a question 
 of utility to the highest interests of society. * * His writings 
 will speak for themselves; and, I believe, if published, will 
 constitute no unimportant part of our Provincial literature." 
 
 These, and other quotations from the letter alluded to, are 
 honourable to the mind whence they emanated, and the memory 
 which is there subject.
 
 XXIV. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 The poet's recreations were few and simple, and in accord- 
 ance with the general tenor of his mind. He loved to muse by 
 the fire-side or in the woods, conjuring up delicate fancies, and 
 studying the embodiement of these in graphic language and 
 fluent metre. Thus engaged he frequently took long walks, 
 occasionally carrying gun or fishing-rod, but much more as an 
 excuse for protracted solitary rambles than for any spoils of the 
 sportsman. 
 
 His religious feelings were rather subdued and meditational 
 than demonstrative. He could communicate his views freely, 
 in quiet conversation ; but he lacked general confidence, and 
 that readiness which is occasionally valuable, for taking part in 
 efforts requiring some boldness and honest display. Several of 
 his poems, however, prove how often his aspirations assumed a 
 fervent devotional tone, and evince a prevailing influence of 
 religious principles and sentiment. 
 
 He wrote with most facility on the affections, because in so 
 doing he gave utterance to his most frequent and cherished 
 emotions. He remarked to his wife, on more than one occasion, 
 " We make our world, we will have it happy." The proposition 
 was, to a great extent, true, and the accompanying resolution, 
 to a great extent, practicable ; but, for realization, the maxim 
 required, a rare combination of prudence, wisdom, and perse- 
 verance. 
 
 While reading McPherson's poems, pleased with their grace- 
 ful melody, and improved by their morality, and while 
 contrasting his writings with some points of his biography ; we 
 should recollect that his example is by no means set forth, as in 
 all cases a model for imitation. He did not come up to the 
 standard of practical wisdom which he praised and respected. 
 The remark, however, is applicable to many writers, from the 
 time of Solomon and before. McPherson's estimate and plan 
 of daily life, were unsuited to the times and circumstances 
 amid which his lot was cast. In the ancient days of minstrelsy, 
 such an enthusiast would have Baronial patrons, and the 
 quaintly graceful recitation of his melifluous verse would have
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XXV 
 
 been welcome in the hall of many a castle ; with affluence or 
 competence at command, his daily walk would probably have 
 been one of much respectability and practical beneficence, dig- 
 nified by poetic recreations and labours ; but in the utilitarian 
 nineteenth century, and for a poor man in the wilds of a new 
 country, a more stern course had to be studied, as the way to 
 peace and humble prosperity. 
 
 He pined, too constantly, for the Bard's vocation, when daily 
 concerns demanded rude and common-place employment ; he 
 devoted much of his time to the lyre, as if its products could be 
 readily and profitably bartered in the markets of the world, 
 while such results were only practicable to a few of the masters 
 of song. In the struggle with circumstances which were inci- 
 dental to such an experience, his mind, suited to gentle and 
 pleasing emotions, was subjected to a daily agony, and his 
 delicate frame broke down in the contest. 
 
 Others besides poor McPherson, have been sadly tried, by 
 adopting pursuits and following them pertinaciously, which were 
 not adapted to their requirements or circumstances or hopes. 
 The intellectual victory achieved, or the possible good accom- 
 plished, or the worthy fame acquired, may, indeed, to ardent 
 temperaments, make amends for many privations and much 
 suffering ; but then the cost and the penalty, if accepted, should 
 be timely understood and duly considered. 
 
 Notwithstanding the sad tenor of the story of McPherson's 
 life, the great law of compensation, previously alluded to, was 
 aptly applicable to his experience. The darker part of the 
 picture was not without some happy countervailing light. Dis- 
 appointed, harassed, yearning for objects beyond his reach, 
 Buffering from hope deferred, and from impending and foresha- 
 dowing gloom, from sickness, physical and mental ; he yet 
 had some resources far above mediocrity. He possessed ardent 
 sympathies, sincere affections, varied charities of disposition, 
 grateful recollections, solace of poetry, of friends, and of family 
 love, with abiding faith in goodness, and in the great Source of 
 good. Those best acquainted with human nature and social 
 2
 
 XXVI. 1NTKODUCTOKX' MEMOIR. 
 
 history, may readily admit, that in some aspects, he was much 
 more an object of complacency, than some, high in worldly fame 
 and fortune, but irreligious, misanthropic, and at conflict with 
 themselves and with the Creator's system and laws. The world's 
 estimate of human life is, occasionally, very erroneously formed ; 
 and the terms poor and rich, fortunate and unfortunate, might 
 be frequently transposed, without detracting, however, from 
 the active sympathy with which true worth, struggling amid 
 difficulties, should ever be regarded. 
 
 McPherson might, surely, we may presume, if he were more 
 practically wise, have escaped much of the gloom that beset 
 his earthly path, and at the same time have secured the blissful 
 visions of a better world which were among the best compensa- 
 tions of his thorny path. But he has gone from the one, and to 
 the other ; his life-struggle had some victories and trophies to 
 record, his example was not without some beneficial influence, 
 and his memory and verse, in their effects on popular sympathy 
 and improvement, may yet fulfill some of his fondest hopes and 
 best ambitions. 
 
 LOCALITIES. 
 
 Reference to a few localities connected with this biographical 
 sketch given apart, so as not to break the narrative may be 
 deemed not undesirable. 
 
 The town of Liverpool, where McPherson was born, is situ- 
 ated on the South-east shore of the South-west part of Nova 
 Scotia. It is about 100 miles from the. capital of the Province, 
 and at the entrance of the Liverpool river, which, with a small 
 bay, or cove, seaward, forms its harbour. The town is long 
 and narrow, with a rocky basis. Its principal street has, during 
 summer, a pleasant, picturesque appearance, too often unpro- 
 vided for, relative to the country towns of the province. The 
 neat residences at each side have front areas, very agreeably 
 embellished with flowering shrubs, and with chestnut, elm, lime, 
 and other fine shade-trees. The society of the place is consid- 
 ered distinguished for intelligence and respectability, and its
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. Xiv. 
 
 habits, at least in years of the past, were noted for steadiness, 
 good order, and moral enterprise. 
 
 About twenty-five miles North-west of Liverpool, is the settle- 
 ment of Brookfield, the poet's latter place of residence, where, 
 chiefly, his sorrows and his joys were experienced, and where 
 most of his poetry was written. 
 
 It is called the "Northern District of Queen's County." 
 Early explorers of the wilderness found promising tracts of 
 land in that direction, and the first resident settler, William 
 Burke, took up his abode there in the year . This "father 
 of the district," as he was affectionately and respectfully called, 
 appears to have been eminently qualified as pioneer, in a land 
 which required resolution, patience, great industry, and abiding 
 faith. The character ascribed to him by cotemporaries and 
 their descendants, was that of an hospitable Christian patriarch. 
 His success caused several to imitate his laborious enterprise, 
 and thus, slowly but steadily, the various settlements of 
 " Pleasant River," " Caledonia," " Hibernia," and others, were 
 founded. Though surrounded by granite barrens, the district 
 had lakes, and streams, and woods, and wild meadows, and 
 many acres suitable for agricultural purposes, where patient 
 toil might look forward to competence and comfort. To realize 
 prosperity, however, serious difficulties had to be overcome. 
 The first settlers found themselves without roads, carts, mills, or 
 other usual aids to rural residence ; they were separated by 
 twenty-five miles of rugged wilderness, from the county town, 
 while bears and other untamed denizens of the primeval forest, 
 prowled about the " clearings." The people succeeded, how- 
 ever, winning lordship of the soil, not by the sword of maraud 
 or chivalry, but by axe, spade and plough, and the prayerful 
 faith of peaceful heroism. 
 
 A monument to Mr. Burke's memory, evinces the grateful 
 appreciation of those who profitted so extensively by his good 
 example, his kind acts, and his wise counsel. 
 
 In this " Northern District," John McPheraon grew from 
 youth to manhood; and perhaps much extenuation of the appa-
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 rent neglect and harshness that pressed heavily on his mind, 
 might be found in the difficulty which hard-handed conquerors 
 of the wild would experience, in duly understanding the deli- 
 cate lad, who, in such a locality dreamed of literary fame, and 
 made versification a serious business of life. But, assuredly, 
 the wise will value the elegant amenities, as well as the rude 
 essentials of society; and now that another generation has 
 succeeded the men who toiled for lonely clearing and log-house, 
 a monument to the poet, near that raised to the pioneer, would 
 be a gracious tribute to the memory of a gifted son of the dis- 
 trict, and an amiable and prudent acknowledgement of the 
 claims of refinement and the higher civilization. 
 
 " Fairy Lake," to which allusions appear in the poems, is 
 about fifteen miles from bead waters of the Liverpool river, and 
 three below " Fairy Falls," which also furnishes a theme for some 
 verses. The lake has its designation from its Indian name, 
 which includes the idea attached to the English word, Fairy, or 
 Witch. The banks of the lake are strewed with rocks of 
 comparatively soft material, on which are depicted, by a rude 
 process of engraving, figures of ships, boats, men, and wild 
 animals of the forest. The Indian legend ascribed these figures, 
 which would seem so strangely fantastic in such a place, to the 
 creatures of their imagination, as the English peasant, in old 
 times, ascribed the richer tufts of herbage, which marked pas- 
 tures or woodlands, and called them " fairy rings," circlets 
 caused by the 
 
 " Elves, 
 
 "Whose midnight revels, by a forest side, 
 
 Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, 
 
 Or dreams he sees, while overhead, the moon 
 
 Sits arbitrcss, and nearer to the earth, 
 
 Wheels her pale course." 
 
 Others, however, gave a more reasonable but still romantic 
 solution of the picture-writing of the rocks. Many say that the 
 French when defeated at Port Royal, now Annapolis 
 retreated to the coast in this direction, and that resting for 
 awhile by the solitary lake, they inscribed those fanciful figures.
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 to wilo away a time that had many sad realities for them, and 
 to leave a memorial of their last wanderings in Acadia. 
 
 The Lily Lake mentioned in the poems, is a picturesque piece 
 of water in the vicinity of which McPherson taught school for 
 two years. It was so named by himself because of the magnifi- 
 cent white lilies which abounded in its creeks and shoals. The 
 scenery, no doubt, was often enjoyed during, 
 
 " The teacher's pleasant walk from School," 
 
 and his quiet figure may have frequently startled the cautious 
 loon, from the sunny surface of the water ; " 
 
 " I long to see yon lake resume 
 It* breeze-kiss'd azure crest, 
 And hear the lonely wild-fowl boom, 
 Along its moon-lit breast." 
 
 A comparative infrequency of vivid description of natural 
 objects, in " New World " literature, may be accounted for by 
 some local peculiarities. A country like Nova Scotia may have 
 many features of solemn dignified picturesqueness, and beauty, 
 without presenting the salient points for poetry which " Old 
 World" scenery affords. The battlemented castle, the ivy- 
 mantled church, the traditionary hall and grange, have 
 well-recognized claims on fancy and memory ; while the 
 primeval forests of the West, the wood-embosomed lake, the 
 stream which lapses as it wills brawling along the ravine, as it 
 did when the Indian was the only poet of the Continent are 
 comparatively without the historic names and legends which 
 impart a peculiar charm and a kind of personal identity to 
 landscape. New world scenery, indeed, has fine capabilities 
 even in reference to poetic elements, but, for due effect, it 
 requires to be treated on principles of rather a new school of 
 descriptive poetry ; while old country parks, and lawns, and 
 bowers, and hills, are hallowed by what may be called heredi- 
 tary claims, and by ancestral song and picture.
 
 XIX. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 PARTICULARS OF THE POEMS. 
 
 A few observations, relative to some particulars of McPher- 
 son's writings, may tend to increase their interest. A picture or 
 a poem may have its value enhanced by direct association with 
 the history of the painter or the poet. 
 
 One of his longest poems, was entitled " The Victim ;" it was 
 a somewhat disguised narrative of his own life. It is not 
 comprised in this collection, in consequence of its over-querulous 
 tone, and the severity of some of its personal reflections. 
 
 The verses now presented, evince, in many parts besides 
 exact appreciation, fine ear for melody, and an abiding moral 
 sense unusual identification with persons and localities familiar 
 to the writer. 
 
 In the division, entitled " Love of Nature," the lines which 
 are named " Walks in the Woods " are a free transcript of the 
 poet's feelings during his favorite rambles, rather than any 
 attempt at elaborate description or scene painting. 
 
 The scenery and associations of his daily life are exquisitely 
 alluded to, in the much admired " Longings for Spring," and 
 himself is the " teacher," whose " pleasant walk from School," 
 so much required more genial airs than those of declining winter. 
 
 The "Domestic and Social" poems, abound in breathings of 
 his sympathies and experience. To the manuscript of the 
 " Beautiful is Fading," is appended, by his own hand, the re- 
 mark, " Himself dying." What pathos does the piece derive 
 from the circumstance. How different would the lines appear, 
 as a mere fancy sketch, compared with their character as the 
 expression of sad realities of the time being. 
 
 The " Personal," relate, almost exclusively, to particular 
 scenes and incidents and associations of the writer's history. 
 
 The lines entitled " Sunshine and Shade " were composed on 
 the occasion of his receiving a pecuniary tribute of respect from 
 Halifax friends. 
 
 The poem, however, to which reference in this place would be 
 more particularly made, is that entitled " Pleadings for Return."
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XXXI. 
 
 The poet's dark and bright moods may be supposed amply 
 illustrated iu his verse, but his most dark may require the 
 passing illustration which the lines just mentioned afford. 
 
 If a memoir were to be a eulogy, such references might be 
 altogether suppressed, but it' it should be a true mental 
 portraiture, a candid dealing with readers, and a faithful chap- 
 ter of human life, supplying warning as well as example, then 
 the more painful phases have to be noticed, yet not so as to 
 unduly preponderate, or to make the warning of morbid, rather 
 than of healthy, character. 
 
 Many gifted minds, not well balanced, not kept under due 
 control, or constitutionally eccentric or excitable, have at 
 particular junctures, experienced what half-frenzied emotions 
 signify, when reason felt the sceptre almost dropping from its 
 grasp, and maintained some command by agonizing efforts; or 
 regained its sway after a blighting civil war within the breast. 
 
 During a paroxysm, induced by very delicate health, and 
 torturing circumstances, McPherson lost his self-command, 
 and his wild conduct caused his wife to seek temporary shelter 
 under her father's roof. While there he sent her a copy of the 
 verses mentioned. The wailing deprecation of these, the 
 earnest humble entreaty, the kindly allusions, serve at once to 
 exhibit his better qualities, and the distressing abberation to 
 which he had been subject. 
 
 The lines were intended to explain his own view of the 
 occurrence, and to be so used if thought desirable. 
 
 In this melancholy effusion, the tenderness, and high moral 
 perceptions, of the deeply-tried man, gleam out from surrounding 
 gloom, as moon-beams from the murky clouds of a tempestuous 
 midnight. In the lines are perceptible, more fine instinctive use 
 of appropriate poetic language, under the form of melodious 
 metre, than are to be found in some voluminous collections called 
 poetry. The composition is curious as well as characteristic, in 
 exhibiting the workings of an ingenious and gifted mind under 
 extremely painful circumstances. What a contrast, also, does 
 the mood under which it was called for, afford, to that of the
 
 XXX11. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 lines addressed to the same person under very different circum- 
 stances. This will strongly appear by reference to verses 
 inscribed to " lanthe," to " Irene," or those entitled " To my 
 Wife," " To my Sick Wife," and others, in which the prevailing 
 tone of the poet's mind respecting one who had numerous claims 
 on his affection and esteem, is vividly expressed. 
 
 In many parts of the verse designated " Devotional and 
 Reflective" the personal interest is prominent. 
 
 In the dulcet lines, entitled " Dying in Spring," which are 
 found among the " Occasional Poems," and whose cadences 
 may be said to undulate as melodiously as waves of air from an 
 Eolian harp, personal allusion is attached similar to that men- 
 tioned of " The Beautiful is Fading." In a letter previously 
 quoted from, the poor poet says : " I have no strength to copy 
 verses now, and have no amanuensis ; I send you a corrected 
 copy of ' Dying in Spring,' and will try hard to have more 
 soon." 
 
 During a visit to Halifax, McPherson and a friend paused in 
 an afternoon ramble, to observe a party of boys who were 
 engaged sailing their miniature sloops and schooners in a pond 
 near the Horticultural gardens. The poet was challenged to 
 compose some lines on the occasion, but quietly declined. The 
 verses entitled " Pastime," however, were found among his 
 manuscripts, evidently having as a theme, that scene of youthful 
 skill and gaiety. 
 
 Several other allusions, similar to the foregoing, might be 
 suggested by the poems, but these may suffice, as intimating the 
 personal association that prevails, and the interest to which it 
 may minister. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 A few thoughts on Poetry in the abstract, may be considered 
 appropriate in a preface to a book of poems. Notwithstanding 
 the vagueness which some consider characteristic of the depart- 
 ment, that which has distinct existence has distinct character- 
 istics, and these discovered and stated, give definition. We
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XXX111. 
 
 may, therefore, presume to enquire, very briefly, What is 
 Poetry? What are its most suitable themes? What should be 
 its objects ? Searching for poetry, then, as endorsed by com- 
 petent judges, we may ascertain where the article is, and then, 
 by analysis, what it is. Pursuing this course, may we not 
 arrive at the conclusion, that Poetry consists of the essentials of 
 strong, just thought, aided by fervid, well-regulated imagina- 
 tion, and expressed in appropriate, and for the most part, 
 musical, language. By the essentials of thought we understand, 
 those latent constituents of idea and emotion, which, when duly 
 exhibited, make sublime and mysterious themes familiar, and 
 minute and common place, interesting. Thus, one discourses, 
 eloquently, of a daisy and a field-mouse, and another brings 
 to the hearth and the window-sill, glowing thoughts of Pan- 
 demonium, Paradise and Heaven. 
 
 The themes of poetry, surely, are those numerous subjects 
 deserving of eloquent thoughts and melodious words, which 
 appeal to the fancy, the affections, the emotions. 
 
 The true objects of poetry, doubtless, are, to arouse, to soothe, 
 to please and to improve. Accordingly, in the better works of 
 writers alluded to, we find a material and a moral beauty, hand 
 in hand. Milton paints with equal force, the garden planted 
 by the Lord, the strife of angels, and the triumph of pious 
 fidelity. Shakspeare, in his purer moods, makes his virtues walk 
 the scene, as vividly as do his ladies and knights. Burns, when 
 under the best influence of his muse, teaches charity and piety, 
 while singing of hill-sides and cottage-hearths; and Cowper 
 interweaves gracious sympathies with summer rambles and 
 winter-evening enjoyments. One or two of those writers, unfor- 
 tunately, descended at times, from the moral eminence ; but 
 the general tenor of the higher products of fine art, is to 
 demonstrate that an intimate union should subsist between 
 beauty and usefulness, and that tho sacred office of the artist, 
 is rightly considered, only when his desire to improve is as 
 governing as his wish to please. 
 
 McPherson's verse, we presume, will bear the more severe
 
 XXXtV. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 test. His thoughts are new and just, his words appropriate, 
 his rhythm melodious ; he treats of external nature, and of the 
 inner life of the home and the heart ; his aspirations tend to 
 purify and exalt the reader. 
 
 A critical remark has been made, to the effect, that the true 
 poet does not seek themes of distant and general interest, and of 
 majestic character, so much as those to which he has a near 
 relation, and of which he knows more and cares more than most 
 others ; and that he evinces peculiar perception of the beauty in 
 familiar objects which lie about his path. No doubt the mere 
 rhymer, and the true poet, are often distinguished, by the 
 straining after grand effects in the one case, and in the other, by 
 the keen appreciation of beauty and interest as discoverable in 
 the more simple and comparatively humble subjects. We should 
 recollect, however, that there is an order of intellect that 
 instinctively aspires to the "heaven of heavens" of poetic effort, 
 as well as another which is most efficient in those nearer topics, 
 that, while of earth, properly direct and lead to heaven. 
 McPherson had, evidently, the sympathies which distinguish 
 the latter class. He seldom attempted the distant and obscure ; 
 the flowers of the locality, the stars seen from his cottage 
 window, the friends of his counsel, the pleasures and pains of 
 his lot, the fears and hopes which excited his own breast, suggest 
 much more frequently topics of his verse, and are treated with 
 much more clearness, freedom and effect, than abstract themes. 
 
 The originality of McPherson's poems may be judged by 
 taking some of his themes and considering how similar subjects 
 would have been worked out by other writers, or how the reader 
 himself might be inclined to treat them. Take for instance 
 " Walks in the Woods" : What sun-glimpse and broad-shade, 
 and green vista, and shut-in nooks, and figures of deer and bird 
 and woodman, would be suggested to most minds by the theme ; 
 and then see, for better or worse is not the question, how 
 McPherson has treated it. What simple and delicate allusions 
 he makes to the more unobtrusive particulars of the scene ; to 
 the flowers b}' the alder-shaded brooks, AN Inch smile up to the
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. XXXV. 
 
 meditative man ; to the eternal bowers which the forest groves 
 typify ; and to the features of social and domestic life, which 
 generally obtain from him more than a passing tribute, what- 
 ever the immediate topic may be. 
 
 His writings, as elsewhere intimated, illustrate, to an unusual 
 degree, the mood of the writer at the moment. They are 
 simple heart expressions, rather than ideal creations elaborated 
 by means of imagination and rhetoric. His verse, in many 
 parts, may appear deficient in that fascinating kind of descrip- 
 tion known by the term " Word Painting," but it abounds in 
 picturesque suggestion, illustrative of kindly sympathies and 
 moral or religious aspirations. 
 
 He pined for more cheerful circumstances, for domestic 
 comfort and quiet, for judicious and friendly advice, and for 
 educational opportunities, believing that with these, his 
 writings would be much more worthy of the public regard. 
 Several of his poems were composed during indisposition, and 
 while harassed by fears of want, and by tantalizing memories 
 of hopes deferred, and of plans which had but very unsubstan- 
 tial foundation. 
 
 In preparing this brief biographical sketch, the presumption 
 was, not that its subject was very greatly exalted above his 
 fellows, and that therefore some public record of his life was 
 demanded, -but that he had claims on the memory of Nova 
 Scptia, as one who wrote much under the hope that he was 
 earning the title, " Bard of Acadia," and whose writings have 
 been to a good degree, acknowledged as giving right to that 
 distinction ; also, that in the comparative sadness and isolation, 
 and yet achievements of his experience, there were several 
 points to interest and instruct. A great writer has said, 
 
 " One touch of nature makes the whole world kin," 
 
 and poor McPherson's story had many touches of nature. The 
 history of one heart, having peculiar instincts and aspirations, 
 has interest for every other well constituted heart ; the subject 
 of this memoir had a path very distinct from the common walki
 
 XXXVI. INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 of life, his ambitions were those of Poetry, Education, and 
 kindred subjects. He experienced, with the sensitiveness of an 
 enthusiast, literary delight, worldly despair, supernal hope ; he 
 indulged ardent and constant affections; he cultivated sound 
 principles perseveringly, and, therefore, as has been intimated, 
 a few pages telling what he was, and how he lived, may be 
 deemed an appropriate accompaniement to the better memoir 
 of his own poetry. 
 
 ARRANGEMENT AND OBJECTS. 
 
 The Editor has taken the liberty of arranging the Poems in 
 different classes, supposing such a mode conducive to perspicuity 
 and interest. He has, also, for the sajne reason, divided them 
 into two Parts. The first Part, containing three of the classes, 
 includes those more immediately illustrative of the life, resi- 
 dence, and society of the Poet ; the other Part, also of three 
 classes, comprise the poems of more general character and 
 reference. 
 
 The arrangement was not without considerable difficulty, in 
 consequence of the state of much of the copy, and because 
 thoughts appropriate to various titles were found in single 
 poems. The principal characteristic, however, is taken, without 
 too careful reference to coincidence or uniformity. 
 
 A chief source of gratification derived from being instru- 
 mental in publishing the verses, is the belief in the mental 
 pleasure and moral profit that will arise therefrom. Another 
 source is, the consciousness that the publication is the fulfilment 
 of some of the last earthly wishes of the departing poet ; and 
 certainly another may be found in the realization of the long- 
 deferred but never relinquished hope of the " Irene " of the 
 volume, one so faithful to old memories and duties. 
 
 A collection of comparatively brief articles on various sub- 
 jects, may be of interest and usefulness in its way, and for 
 leisure moments, as is the more pretending and important 
 work for more severe study. The latter may be a mentor for 
 counsel and guidance; the former, a more equal companion,
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 with some claims also, as a means of valuable improvement 
 With such view, the volume is respectfully commended to that 
 Public which formed the poet's world ; which was to him such 
 an object of solicitude, and on which rested so many of hig 
 cherished earthly hopes. 
 
 Introductory to the poef s own portraiture of his mind, in his 
 verse, and as a means of enhancing the pleasure with which his 
 poems will be read, a glance may be taken at the man, as he 
 appeared more than seventeen years ago. John McPherson 
 was of delicate frame, with cast of countenance, mild, sad, and 
 thoughtful. His general manner was that of one not inquisitive 
 or curious, but rather abstracted, and influenced by some pre- 
 vailing mood, or some recollected or imagined objects. Like 
 the ancient minstrel, he was evidently well pleased at due 
 opportunity for repeating his compositions to an attentive circle. 
 He appeared to much advantage, seated by the friendly fire- 
 side, the seniors of his audience kindly sympathetic, the juniors 
 attracted and observant. So circumstanced, he gave delightful 
 proof of the heartiness and good faith of his poetic feelings, 
 repeating verse after verse, with deliberation, clearness, and 
 quaint musical cadence, and accompanying the recitation with 
 illustrating comments, marked by simplicity and good taste. At 
 such times a cheerful serenity would be imparted to the poet 
 himself, and a kind of old-world romantic charm, to the even- 
 ing hour. 
 
 In the brief memoir now presented, are some intimations 
 of McPherson's life and character, let his poems be opened 
 with some of the better sympathies which dictated them. They 
 surely invite kind and friendly, rather than critical, audience ; 
 they address those, chiefly, who are willing to be pleased with 
 praiseworthy effort, and to be improved by the more gentle 
 wisdom, that should ever accompany, and may so materially 
 enhance the value of, pastoral melody and picture. 
 
 July, 1862. J. S. T.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 i 
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 Page. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, ........ i 
 
 Incidents of Life, ........ iv 
 
 Departure, xvii 
 
 Characteristics, . . . . . . . . xxi 
 
 Localities, . . . . xxvi 
 
 Poetry, .......... xxxii 
 
 Arrangement and Objects, . xxxvi 
 
 Title, Part I, 1 
 
 Mottoes, 2 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 LOVE OF NATURE. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, , .3 
 
 Walks in the Woods, No. 1, 5 
 
 ' " " No. 2, 7 
 
 " No. 3, 9 
 
 Morn, 10 
 
 Twilight, 12 
 
 Evening, . 13 
 
 Night, .... - 14 
 
 Longings for Spring, 16 
 
 Voice of Spring, 19 
 
 Spring, 20 
 
 May, ' 22
 
 xlii INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Wild Flowers, 24 
 
 The May Flower, 25 
 
 Summer is Coming, , . . 26 
 
 Summer Morning, 27 
 
 Autumn, 29 
 
 Autumnal Musings, 31 
 
 Winter, 32 
 
 Scenes, 33 
 
 Fairy Falls, 34 
 
 Notes, 38 
 
 DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, 39 
 
 Evening Thoughts, No. 1, 41 
 
 " " No. 2, 42 
 
 " " No. 3, ....... 43 
 
 " " No. 4, 44 
 
 " " No. 5, ....... 45 
 
 Winter Evenings, 46 
 
 The Bride of Beauty's Bower, 48 
 
 The Beautiful is Fading, 49 
 
 Minstrelsy, 50 
 
 The First Fond Hopes, 51 
 
 The Sick Room, 53 
 
 Sympathy, 56 
 
 Maternal Duty, J 57 
 
 Sing to me, 59 
 
 The Poor Man, 60 
 
 Counsels, . . . 62 
 
 Dying in Spring, 63 
 
 When shall I again Behold Thee, 64 
 
 To a Pupil, 66 
 
 Charity, 68 
 
 The Pilgrim Sleeps, 70 
 
 Notes, 71 
 
 PERSONAL. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, 73 
 
 Address to A. M. G., . . . , . . . .75
 
 INDEX. xliii 
 
 Page. 
 
 To Samuel Elder, 80 
 
 Winter, .82 
 
 To Irene, . . 85 
 
 To lanthe, 86 
 
 To My Sick Wife, 87 
 
 Sonnet to lanthe, 89 
 
 Pleadings for Return, ........ 89 
 
 To Laura, 94 
 
 To a Student of Acadia College, 97 
 
 Lament, 98 
 
 Hope in Gloom, 100 
 
 Possessions, . . . . . 102 
 
 The Invalid, 103 
 
 Compensations, 105 
 
 Memory, 107 
 
 Anticipating June, . . . . . . . . . 108 
 
 Sunshine and Shade, ... 110 
 
 Why my Song is sad, . . . . . . . .111 
 
 Take back the Lyre, . . . . . . . .113 
 
 A Lucid Interval, . . . . . . . . .115 
 
 Forget Me, 117 
 
 Forget Thee, 117 
 
 The Light of thy Sunny Eye, 118 
 
 I would I were a Child Again, . . . . . .119 
 
 The Buds have Burst First, 119 
 
 One Day Nearer, 120 
 
 Departing, 122 
 
 To my Wife, 123 
 
 The Wish, 124 
 
 Notes, . . 126 
 
 DEVOTIONAL, &e. 
 
 Title, Part 2, , .... 127 
 
 Mottoes, Part 2, . . 128 
 
 Introductory Remarks, . . . . ._ . . .129
 
 INDKX. 
 
 Page 
 
 Praise, 131 
 
 Worship, .132 
 
 Praise and Prayer, 133 
 
 Prayer Meeting Melody, 134 
 
 Sabbath School Hymn, 135 
 
 The Compensation, . . . . . . .135 
 
 Hope, 136 
 
 The Rest, 137 
 
 Heavenly Guidance, . . . 138 
 
 Bereavements, 138 
 
 A Night Thought, 139 
 
 Mourner, 140 
 
 Resignation, . . . . . . . . . . 141 
 
 Earth, 141 
 
 Earthly Joy, 143 
 
 Votary of Pleasure, . . . . . . . .144 
 
 To a Christian Friend, 146 
 
 What we shall Be, 148 
 
 Hebrew Melody, 149 
 
 Wasted Gifts, 151 
 
 Our Lot, . .152 
 
 Reproof, 153 
 
 Recovery, 154 
 
 Joy and Innocence, . . . . . . . .155 
 
 Mortal and Immortal, . 156 
 
 Providence and Grace, 157 
 
 Christian Sympathy, 158 
 
 The Soul, 159 
 
 So Live, ' 160 
 
 Invitation, . . 161 
 
 Pilgrimage, 163 
 
 Pilgrim, 164 
 
 The Passing Bell, 165 
 
 The Blessed, 166 
 
 Enquiry, 167 
 
 On Zion's Hill, . . .168 
 
 Harvest, . . .169 
 
 The Present Help 170
 
 INDEX. Xv 
 
 Page. 
 
 Probation, 172 
 
 Oh, Give the Glorious Spirit Wings, 173 
 
 Earthly Happiness, . . 174 
 
 True Happiness, 175 
 
 Prayer, 177 
 
 Praise, 178 
 
 Solicitation, 179 
 
 Sorrow may her Vigils Keep, 179 
 
 Whom have I but Thee, . 180 
 
 Neglected Mercies, 181 
 
 The Life Beyond, 182 
 
 The Better World, . 183 
 
 Notes, . . . 184 
 
 TEMPERANCE. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, 185 
 
 The Praise of Water, . .187 
 
 The Effort, 196 
 
 Song of the Freed, 197 
 
 Right Perseverance, 199 
 
 Temperance, 200 
 
 A Monarch, 200 
 
 The Moderate Drinker, 201 
 
 The March of the Drunkards, 203 
 
 Remonstrance, ......... 205 
 
 The Field, 206 
 
 Abjure the Bowl, ..... .... 207 
 
 The Progress of Temperance, 208 
 
 Temperance and Peace, . . . . . . . .212 
 
 Notes, 213 
 
 OCCASIONAL. 
 
 Introductory Remarks, 215 
 
 Cheerfulness, .......... 217 
 
 Shun the Path of Foolish Pleasure, 218 
 
 Changes 220
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Nature's Lessons, 221 
 
 Visions, 222 
 
 Night Thoughts, 223 
 
 The Evening Shades of Life, 225 
 
 Beholding the Promised Land, 227 
 
 So Brief is Life, 229 
 
 The Prisoner of the Bastile, 231 
 
 Dream, 233 
 
 Invocation to Sleep, 234 
 
 Lost at Sea, 235 
 
 The Shipwrecked, 237 
 
 Mariner's Song, 238 
 
 The Retired Sailor, ........ 239 
 
 To the Mariner, 240 
 
 Mariner's Return, 241 
 
 Lines for the Ladies, 242 
 
 " " 244 
 
 Separation, 246 
 
 Vanished not Lost, 247 
 
 Benevolence, 248 
 
 The Yellow Leaf, 248 
 
 Daily Mercies, 250 
 
 Notes, . .251 
 
 General Note, 252
 
 PART I. 
 
 aroiUDnra irenoxs urxnu: 
 
 "LOVE OP NATURE," 
 
 "DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL," 
 
 "PERSONAL"
 
 " For I have loved the rural walk, through lanes 
 Of grassy swarth." 
 
 " Sure there is need of social intercourse, 
 Benevolence and peace, and mutual aid." 
 
 " Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
 A man of letters and of manners too."
 
 LOVE OP NATURE. 
 
 BT the phrase "Love of Nature," as used to designate a collection 
 of verses, we understand, Love of Natural Scenery : appreciation and 
 admiration of landscape, or of particular appearances of natural 
 objects. This sympathy, in verse, is of different orders and degrees 
 of manifestation. With some it amounts to an excitement, a passion ; 
 with others to a pleasing consciousness merely ; and with others 
 neither the pleasure nor the consciousness is more than dimly recog- 
 nized. Some again are deeply attracted by the glimmer of the 
 evening star, by the moon walking in brightness, by an um- 
 brageous tree, or a blooming flower, who fail to appreciate, 
 except languidly and vaguely, the charms of wood-land, lake, and 
 varied field, as spread out in combination and perspective ; while 
 others, with a sense of design, of composition, of the higher claims 
 of outline, light and shade, and colour, luxuriate in the landscape, 
 with but comparatively feeble taste for the isolated beauty of detached 
 parts. 
 
 The aggregate and the particular appreciation, the high and the 
 low degree, of the elegant sense of natural picture, might be illus- 
 trated by quotations from much-lauded poets ; some exhibiting 
 exquisite instincts relative to the essentials of graphic force and 
 beauty ; and some, of equal ability in other departments of verse, 
 feeble, vague, and dull, in attempts at translating scenery into words. 
 
 The poems which follow may not be of the more comprehensive 
 order of word-painting ; but neither are they of the vague class. 
 They belong rather to the minute and suggestive, than to the grand 
 and definite ; but they evince fine susceptibilities and good taste ; 
 they contain just thought, appropriately expressed, and in many 
 parts, might compare more than favorably, with pictorial efforts of 
 some widely celebrated pens.
 
 WALKS IN THE WOODS No. I. 
 
 (Note 1.) 
 
 The simple flowers ofbudding May, 
 
 In simple charms arrayed ! 
 Yet love I passing well to stray 
 
 Where they adorn the glade. 
 O'er sunward slopes in forest nooks, 
 
 O'er meadows green and gay, 
 And down by alder-shaded brooka 
 
 That murmur oa their way. 
 
 They smile up to my human face 
 
 With quiet looks of love, 
 And bless my spirit with the grace 
 
 Of sweet thoughts from above. 
 They are of heaven those lovely flowers 
 
 That lend the earth their dyes 
 To type the beauty of the bowers 
 
 Eternal in the skies.
 
 MCPHEP.SON'S POEMS. 
 
 Much hath he lacked the lonely man 
 
 "Who hath not turned to flowers 
 For solace in the trial-span 
 
 Of weary, vexed hours. 
 Much hath he lacked who bath not strayed 
 
 In spring time to behold, 
 The Mayflower in the wildwood shade, 
 
 The violet and the gold. 
 
 The snow-drop sweetly less than these, 
 
 Comes in the same glad time, 
 To woo the first adventurous bees 
 
 That try Acadia's clime, 
 But, though so small and frail a thing, 
 
 It hath a mystic voice, 
 An odorous Eden-scented wing, 
 
 That bid the world rejoice. 
 
 Go forth, man ! at sunny morn, 
 
 Bright noon or sunset eve, 
 That flowers may make thee less forlorn 
 
 And less inclined to grieve. 
 And if the simplest forest gem 
 
 Can wake no heartfelt tone, 
 I deem thee poor with diadem 
 
 And proud Imperial throne. 
 
 For me a bard the love of flowers 
 
 Is deep within my soul, 
 And blooms in dark desponding 
 
 To make my spirit whole.
 
 WALKS IN THE WOODS. 
 
 It dwells among the thousand things 
 
 I hoard with miser care, 
 And fans ray fevered brow with wings 
 
 Refreshed in Heaven's own air. 
 
 What marvel if I prize them, then, 
 
 And love o'erwell to stray 
 Beside the brooklet in the glen 
 
 From noon till eve in May? 
 The bondsman hath his truant hours, 
 
 I, who am free, have mine, 
 And give them wings where wildwood flowers 
 
 Make earth a holy shrine. 
 
 teach the young the whole of heart 
 To nurse the love of flowers, 
 
 Or cultured by the pride of Art, 
 
 Or found in forest bowers, 
 Not for their loveliness alone, 
 
 Their influence on the air, 
 But for the deep inbreathing tone 
 
 With which they soothe our care. 
 
 WALKS IN THE WOODS. No. II. 
 
 1 come, ye lovely wild-wood groves, 
 Where placid contemplation roves 
 
 And breathes untroubled air ; 
 I come to woo your genial sweets, 
 To wander in your green retreats, 
 
 And lose the sense of care.
 
 MCPUEKSON 3 POEMS. 
 
 I turn to you from human guile 
 
 That wears the mask of friendship's smile 
 
 I turn from human ways, 
 Because man's dark self-seeking fills 
 His fairest, happiest haunts with ills 
 
 That should not cloud his days. 
 
 Unformed to brook the vulgar strife, 
 And heartlessness of worldly life, 
 
 I court your silent gloom 
 Where Thought may nurse, without annoy, 
 The soothing sense of native joy 
 
 The soul's inherent bloom. 
 
 Receive me to your fostering arms 
 Surround me with your varied charms 
 
 Of birds and streams and flowers ; 
 And bless me with the sweet repose 
 That crowns the simple thoughts of those 
 
 Who love your leafy bowers. 
 
 fr 
 
 Here, in the ancient forest maze, 
 Remote from Mammon's specious ways, 
 
 And wandering at my will, 
 Herbs, flowers, and trees, shall be my friends, 
 And birds and streamlets make amends 
 
 For much of earthly ill. 
 
 Yet, give me here a kindred tie 
 Affection's sympathetic eye, 
 And kind consoling tone ;
 
 WALKS IN THE WOODS. 
 
 For though the multitude are cold, 
 And anxious most for sordid gold, 
 I would not live alone. 
 
 The heart the heart is human still, 
 And yearns for trusting love to fill 
 
 Its frequent, aching void ; 
 Unless partaken with our kind, 
 The sweetest joys of sense and mind 
 
 Are not enough enjoyed. 
 
 Then will I seek, repose from strife, 
 The tender ministries of life, 
 
 And Peace, the timid Dove, 
 In one still calm, one dear retreat, 
 The circle of my cottage sweet 
 
 The home of wedded love. 
 
 SEQUEL TCT WALKS IN THE WOODS. 
 
 In yon low^cot far down the dell, 
 My babe and|my babe's mother dwell 
 
 Aloof from life's annoy, 
 And I will nurse my minstrel soul, 
 And keep its healthful feelings whole 
 
 In their calm heaven of Joy.
 
 10 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 That mother's smile that infant's voice 
 So make my inmost heart rejoice, 
 
 So cheer where wealth is not, 
 That I might doff a diadem, 
 Its pride of glittering gold and gem, 
 
 To share their humble lot. 
 
 But am I not a monarch now ? 
 Behold the crown is on my brow 
 
 The crown that love has wrought 
 " In outward aspect still serene, 
 And glittering inly with the sheen 
 
 Of gladdening, golden thought." 
 
 MORN. 
 
 " Tbe breezy call of incense-breathing morn." GRAY. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 i 
 
 What a blessing comes with the quick fresh breeze 
 
 That wakes with the summer morn, 
 To toy with the leaves of the forest trees, 
 
 And the poor man's smiling corn. 
 It has soft wings for the youthful cheek 
 
 Grown pale o'er " the midnight oil " ; 
 It has whispered hope for the worn and weak, 
 
 And strength for the man of toil.
 
 HORN*. 11 
 
 I remember well in the time of Spring, 
 
 After months of pain and care, 
 How my heart came back, and my soul took wing, 
 
 At the touch of the balmy air ! 
 The sun shone bright, and I caught his light, 
 
 Through a lattice of young leaves near, 
 While the sounds of birds and of flocks and herds, 
 
 Fell sweet on my charmed ear. 
 
 I remember, too, that the cheek's pale cast 
 
 Gave place to the rose's dye, 
 And my limbs grew strong, as in young days past, 
 
 'Neath the smile of the Summer sky ; 
 Then, the world looked bright with a new sweet light 
 
 Which seemed of another sphere, 
 And my mind was fraught with the high-toned thought 
 
 To the soul of the minstrel dear. 
 
 Sweet scenes ! what a world of pleasant sights, 
 
 And of cheerful sounds are thine ! 
 How formed for supernal calm delights ! 
 
 How meet for the poor man's shrine ! 
 Glad eyes look up from the violet's cup, 
 
 Like the gems of an eastern bride ; 
 Gay glances flash where the waters dash 
 
 And sing on the green hill side. 
 
 Arise from thy bed of down, Proud Wealth, 
 Arouse from the chamber dim,
 
 1'2 [MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 And seek for the rapture of moral health, 
 While the wild birds chant their hymn. 
 
 Arouse from the mad debauch, weak youth, 
 From degrading wassail roar, 
 
 And, baring thy brow to the breeze's truth, 
 Return to thy cup no more. 
 
 Arouse from the pillow moist with tears, 
 
 Fair maid of the beauteous brow, 
 And scatter the load of thy loving fears 
 
 To the wings of the soft winds now. 
 Instead of curtained and lonely room, 
 
 See thy favorite birds and bowers ; 
 May thy pale sad face soon outvie the bloom 
 
 Of thine own love-tender flowers. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 When fades the glorious light of day, 
 
 And twilight's gentle lights descend, 
 From human haunts I love to stray, 
 
 Alone the tranquil hour to spend. 
 O'er hill and dale, by grove and stream, 
 
 Or near the sea-beat shore I go 
 And, gazing on the parting gleam, 
 
 Recall my hours of joy and woe.
 
 EVENING. 13 
 
 As that last look of daylight dies, 
 
 So passed the light of youth away, 
 And like the gloom that round me lies 
 
 Is that which clouds my later day. 
 My earth-born hopes have been in vain, 
 
 Though long their trembling light was dear ; 
 My transient joys have closed in pain, 
 
 And love has left me darkling here. 
 
 Yet come there in this holy hour, 
 
 Deep spells that bid my sorrows cease 
 Pure thoughts that heavenly comfort pour, 
 
 And yield the soothing balm of peace. 
 The few I loved I see no more 
 
 Yet comes there to my soul a voice, 
 Which says, when this dim life is o'er, 
 
 The lov'd may all rejoice. 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 (*) 
 
 The task is done, the sun, who set 
 
 With glory round him rolled, 
 Arrays the far horizon yet 
 
 With purple and with gold : 
 But twilight fades and starlit evo 
 
 Brings on the silent hours, 
 That yield their calm and sweet reprieve 
 
 To life's exhausted powers.
 
 14 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Now, wearied with the world's cold ways, 
 
 The rich man seeks his hall, 
 To taste the quiet that repays 
 
 Tbe ills that come to all ; 
 While, resting from his daily cares, 
 
 Beneath his cottage-dome, 
 The humblest son of Labour shares 
 
 The dear delights of home. 
 
 Now heart goes out to loving heart, 
 
 And mind to kindred mind, 
 Where'er content and peace impart 
 
 The smiles that bless our kind. 
 While from the world-enlightening Truth 
 
 Of Wisdom's various page, 
 We gather mental light for youth, 
 
 And sweet repose for Age. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 " How beautiful is night ! " SOUTHEY. 
 
 Earth ! thou art beautiful when Night 
 Her mystic mantle o'er thee throws, 
 
 And in the soft and silvery light 
 The dim and shadowy things repose ! 
 
 As beautiful as when by day 
 
 The sun displays his burning ray.
 
 NIGHT. 15 
 
 No living thing appears no sound 
 To break the solemn spell is heard. 
 
 So deep the silence, so profound, 
 
 The summer leaves are scarcely stir'd. 
 
 The calm untroubled prospect seems 
 
 Like those we sometimes see in dreams. 
 
 My spirit with the still night hour 
 Holds sweet communion and I feel 
 
 Its star-born, pure, mysterious power 
 Like holy rapture o'er me steal. 
 
 Though sunk in worldly cares by day, 
 
 By night she soars from earth away. 
 
 Day is the glorious it may be 
 
 Bright with the sun's empyreal blaze 
 
 The heavens from clouds and darkness free ; 
 But Night the moon's undazzling rays 
 
 The stars, the shades, the silence all 
 
 Hold the full soul in deeper thrall ! 
 
 Night is a Spirit ! From her throne 
 To man she wondrous knowledge shows ; 
 
 She makes what day denies us, known, 
 And pure poetic fire bestows. 
 
 The Hebrew worshipped in her shrine 
 
 And felt her influence divine ! 
 
 Yes, learn of Night the Sybil, Night I 
 Bead well her vast ethereal scroll,
 
 16 MCPHERSON'S POEMH. 
 
 Illumined by her orbs of light 
 
 Around unnumbered worlds may roll I 
 Yes, learn of Night her lore sublime 
 May help thee Heaven itself to climb ! 
 
 LONGINGS FOR SPRING. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 I long for Spring enchanting Spring, 
 
 Her sunshine and soft airs, 
 That bless the fevered brow, and bring 
 
 Sweet thoughts to soothe her cares. 
 I long for all her dear delights, 
 
 Her bright green forest bowers ; 
 Her world of cheerful sounds and sights, 
 
 Her song-birds and her flowers. 
 
 Even while the brumal king maintains 
 
 His reign of death and gloom, 
 How much of solid good remains 
 
 To mitigate his doom. 
 Sweet then, to taste the well-earned cheer 
 
 When day's dull toil is o'er, 
 And sit among'Our Own, and hear, 
 
 The elemental roar. 
 
 Then, when the snow, drifts o'er the moor, 
 And drowns the traveller's cry,
 
 LONGINGS FOB SPRING. 17 
 
 The charities of poor to poor 
 
 Go sweetly up on high ; 
 Then, while the mighty winds accord 
 
 With Mind's eternal Lyre, 
 Our trembling hearts confess the Lord, 
 
 Who touched our lips with fire. 
 
 Yet give me Spring, inspiring Spring, 
 
 The season of our trust, 
 That comes like heavenly hope, to bring, 
 
 New life to slumbering dust ; 
 Restore, from Winter's stormy shocks, 
 
 The singing of the birds, 
 The bleating of the yeaned flocks, 
 
 The lowing of the herds. 
 
 I long to see the grass spring up, 
 
 The first green corn appear, 
 The violet ope its azure cup, 
 
 And shed its glistening tear. 
 My cheek is wan with stern disease, 
 
 My soul oppressed with care ; 
 And, anxious for a moment's ease, 
 
 I sigh for sun and air. 
 
 I long to see the ice give way, 
 The streams begin to flow ; 
 
 And some benignant, vernal day, 
 Disperse the latest snow.
 
 18 MCFHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 I long to see yon lake resume 
 Its breeze-kiss'd azure crest, 
 
 And hear the lonely wild fowl boom 
 Along its moon-lit breast. 
 
 Oh, I remember one still night, 
 
 That bless'd the world of yore, 
 A fair maid with an eye of light, 
 
 Was with me on that shore. 
 I look upon the same calm brow, 
 
 But sweeter feelings throng, 
 She, wedded, sits beside me now, 
 
 And smiles upon my song. 
 
 The Robin has returned again, 
 
 And rests his wearied wing, 
 But makes no music in the glen, 
 
 Where he was wont to sing. 
 The Black bird chants no jocund strain ; 
 
 The tiny wild-wood throng, 
 Still of the searching blast complain 
 
 But make no joyful song. 
 
 The ploughman cheering on his team, 
 
 At morning's golden prime, 
 The milk-maid singing of her dream, 
 
 At tranquil evening time, 
 The shrill frog piping from the pool, 
 
 The swallow's twittering cry, 
 The teacher's pleasant walk from school, 
 
 Require a kinder sky.
 
 VOICE Of SPRING. 
 
 Oh ! month of many smiles and tears, 
 
 Return with those bright flowers, 
 That come like light, from Astral spheres, 
 
 To glad Acadia's bowers ! 
 Young children go not forth to play, 
 
 Life hath small voice of glee, 
 'Till thy sweet smiles, oh genial May ! 
 
 Bring back the murmuring bee. 
 
 19 
 
 VOICE OF SPRING. 
 
 Joy in the laughing vallies, 
 Joy in the mountain glen 
 
 Wherever Nature rallies 
 And springs to life again. 
 
 Stern Winter's blasts are dying 
 O'er forest, field and stream, 
 
 And balmy winds are sighing 
 Beneath the vernal beam. 
 
 Bright flowers are gaily springing 
 On meadow, hill and lea, 
 
 And birds, glad birds are singing 
 Their wild notes full and free.
 
 20 KCPHERSON'S POEJCS. 
 
 The waters brightly glowing, 
 From icy fetters freed, 
 
 With murmur'd strains are flowing 
 Through many a flow'ry mead. 
 
 Away with undue sadness ; 
 Let every bosom turn, 
 
 To sing with Nature's gladness 
 A song for Spring's return. 
 
 Joy in the laughing rallies, 
 Joy in the mountain glen 
 
 Wherever Nature rallies 
 And springs to life again. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 A HEBREW MELODY' 
 
 FOR, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers 
 appear on the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is come, and 
 the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." Solomon's Song, Chap. 
 ii. Verse 11, 12. 
 
 The glance of heaven hath chased the gloom 
 
 9f Winter's sterner sway ; 
 The mountains smile, the vales resume 
 
 Glad Nature's green array.
 
 SPRING. 21 
 
 Sweet sounds of re-awakening mirth 
 
 Borne on the South wind's wing, 
 And bright things bursting into birth 
 
 Declare the enchantress, Spring. 
 
 The singing of the little birds, 
 
 The turtle's melting voice, 
 The bleating flocks, the lowing herds, 
 
 Bid Judah's sons rejoice. 
 
 Then, 0, like these, no longer mute,. 
 
 Awake the tribute dear ; 
 Bring forth the timbrel and the lute, 
 
 And hail the opening year. 
 
 Shall we forego the pleasing theme ? 
 
 Shall we be silent long, 
 When hill and dale and gushing streamr 
 
 Are jubilant with song ? 
 
 No, Hebrews, be the duty ours 
 
 To bid glad echoes leap 
 From favored Salem's holy towers 
 
 To Judah's farthest steep. 
 
 Rejoice, for these salubrious skies, 
 These tender stems and flowezs, 
 
 Like love's pure light in youthful eyes, 
 Betoken happy hours.
 
 22 MCPIIKRSON'S POKMS. 
 
 Rejoice, for e'en the winged air, 
 The green and flowery sward, 
 
 Are grateful for the smiling care, 
 And kindness of the Lord. 
 
 0, let His awful Praise impart 
 Its power to every voice, 
 
 Great gladness bound from every heart, 
 And every soul rejoice. 
 
 MAY. 
 
 I love thee, pleasant Month of May, 
 
 Because thy genial wing 
 Is gladdened by the first bright ray 
 
 That wakes Acadia's spring. 
 I love thy soft reviving breeze 
 Thy tender grass thy budding trees 
 
 Thy birds that gaily sing ; 
 But most the sweet yet simple flowers 
 That first illume thy wildwood bowers. 
 
 These emanations from above 
 That make our earth so fair 
 
 These tokens of the tender love 
 That make all-made Its care
 
 MAY. 
 
 Come oft like soft wings from the skies 
 To waft us sweet unearthly sighs 
 
 And purify our air, 
 To calm the spirit's weary mood, 
 And leave the wayward heart subdued. 
 
 The school-girl binds them on her brow 
 
 With fond yet artless care ; 
 My gentle favourite wears them now 
 
 To deck her silken hair : 
 I love them, for they look like youth, 
 And breathe of innocence and truth, 
 
 And scenes exceeding fair ; 
 I love them, for they yield a voice 
 That bids my feeble heart rejoice, 
 
 I love to seek them on the heath 
 
 At day's most balmy hour, 
 And weave a sweet, a dewj wreath 
 
 lanthe ! for thy bower ; 
 I feel as pleased and calm and blessed 
 When I have placed upon thy breast 
 
 The tribute of a flower, 
 As while in childish years we strayed 
 With glad hearts o'er the sunny glade. 
 
 Sweet Firstlings of Acadia's hope 
 Ye sometimes meet the blast 
 
 On some warm southern wood-side slope 
 Among the fallen " mast" ; W
 
 54 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Why smile ye in a time so drear, 
 If not to tell our hearts-of-fear 
 That Mercy yet will last ? 
 That light shall shine and beauty bloom 
 Like ye, above, the Mayflower's tomb ! 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Though gay exotics reared with care 
 
 May please a cultured taste, 
 Give me the flowers the vallies bear 
 
 The wildlings of the waste. 
 
 These, nursed in Flora's native bowers 
 
 On earth's uncultured sward, 
 Come to this northern land of ours 
 
 All smiling from the Lord. 
 
 But one, our Country's Emblem dear, 
 
 The lovely flower of May, 
 Springs in the wild our hearts to cheer 
 
 While vernal suns delay ! 
 
 I love its amaranthine leaf, 
 
 I love its simple bloom ; 
 It 'whispers, " Hope I" and counsels Grief 
 
 To look bevond the tomb.
 
 THE MAYFLOWER. 25 
 
 * 
 
 It breathes of some untroubled scene- 
 Some land divinely fair; 
 
 Of skies ineffably serene 
 Of pure immortal air ! 
 
 THE MAY-FLOWER. 
 
 Sweet child of many an April shower, 
 First gift of Spring to Flora's bower, 
 Acadia's own peculiar flower, 
 
 I hail thee here ! 
 Thou com'st, like Hope in sorrow's hour, 
 
 To whisper cheer. 
 
 I love to stray with careless feet, 
 
 Thy balm on morning breeze to meet 
 
 Thy earliest opening bloom to greet 
 
 To take thy stem, 
 And bear thee to my lady sweet, 
 
 Thou lovely gem. 
 
 What though green mosses o'er thee steal, 
 And half thy lovely form conceal 
 Though but thy fragrant breath reveal 
 
 Thy place of birth^ 
 Gladly we own thy mute appeal, 
 
 Of modest worth 1 
 2*
 
 26 HCPHERSON'S POEM 
 
 Thy charms so pure a spell impart r 
 Thy softening smiles so touch my heart r 
 That silent tears of rapture start, 
 
 Sweet flower of May ! 
 E'en while I sing, devoid of art, 
 
 This simple lay. 
 
 Yet thou, like many a gentle maid, 
 la beauty's radiant bloom arrayed , 
 O'er whom, in early youth decayed, 
 
 We breathe the sigh, 
 E'en thou art doomed, the lov'd, to fade 
 The lov'd to die ! 
 
 SUMMER IS COMING. 
 
 Sweet music is springing 
 O'er valley and hill 
 
 The red breast is singing 
 Beside the free rill. 
 
 The wild bee is humming 
 Among the sweet flowers ; 
 
 Bright Summer is coming,. 
 And gladness is ours !. 
 
 Lo ! Summer is illuming 
 The forest with green ; 
 And blossoms are blooming 
 In old sylvan scene.
 
 SUMMER MORNINO. 27 
 
 SUMMER MORNING. 
 
 Sweet Summer Morn ! how cheering. 
 
 How beautiful thou art ! 
 How like a bride appearing 
 
 To glad her bridegroom's heart ! 
 
 To those who greet thee duly 
 
 Thy genial dew appears 
 As exquisitely pearly 
 
 As Rapture's sparkling tears. 
 
 The radiance of the flowers 
 That ope to meet thy smile, 
 
 Might bless the fadeless bowers 
 Of an Elysian Isle. 
 
 Thy friendly light hath found them 
 Amid their green retreats, 
 
 Presenting all around them 
 A Paradise of sweets- 
 
 While fairy beings, hasting, 
 With low sounds, o'er the lea, 
 
 Are delicately tasting 
 The nectared tribute free.
 
 28 HCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Sweet Summer Morn ! thy feature* 
 Bid every thing rejoice, 
 
 And man, of all Heaven's creatures,. 
 Lift up his spirit voice. 
 
 Thine Orb of wondrous brightness 
 
 Is as a glorious eye, 
 And Zephyr in his lightness 
 
 A yearning bosom's sigh. 
 
 The vermil dye arraying 
 
 Thy glad etberial way, 
 Is like the blush betraying 
 
 What loving lips would say. 
 
 The chrystal waters gushing 
 Beneath thy golden beam, 
 
 Make music like the rushing 
 Of soft wings in a dream. 
 
 The choral matins ringing 
 From meadow hill and lea, 
 
 Is Nature's pulse upspringing 
 In pure ecstatic glee. 
 
 Sweet Summer Morn ! how cheeringv 
 How beautiful thou art I 
 
 How like a bride appearing 
 To glad her bridegroom's heart L
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 There hath been frost, the forest wears 
 
 A thousand gorgeous hues, 
 Affording man, amidst his cares, 
 
 A feast of pleasing views. 
 The hills present a rainbow sheen 
 
 Of every radiant dye ; 
 The vales, the dark relieving green, 
 
 So grateful te the eye. 
 But these are withering, day by day, 
 
 Before the north wind's breath; 
 So this world's glory fades away ! 
 
 So bright things bow to death 1 
 A fitful sound of spectral wings 
 
 Is heard in all our bowers; 
 It is the dirge that nature sings 
 
 Above her faded flowers. 
 She sits in gloom her beauty fled 
 
 Her glory gone and grieves, 
 Like love beside the early dead, 
 
 Among her falling leaves. 
 
 Since earth came smiling from her source, 
 
 She, like a summer day, 
 Has seen but one unchanging course 
 
 Of progress and decay ! 
 Yet this is but the mystic art, 
 
 That wisdom has designed 
 
 29
 
 SO MCPHERSON'S POEMS, 
 
 To open Plenty's liberal heart, 
 
 And satisfy mankind. 
 In all around, beneath, above, 
 
 The grateful cannot miss 
 To mark His hand outbeld in love, 
 
 With varied stores of bliss. 
 We sow our seed in early spring, 
 
 In Autumn, bind our sheaves ; 
 And rest, when frost and tempest bring 
 
 The time of falling leaves. 
 
 Sweet now to wander by the lake, 
 
 Amid the forest hoar, 
 Whose silvery waters joy to make 
 
 Soft music on the shore, 
 And mark, beneath the ealm sad light^ 
 
 The tall trees drooping low, 
 And pining o'er their mirrored blight 
 
 Like Beauty in her woe. 
 Sweet now to rove with minstrel thought 
 
 Amid the fair decay, 
 And mark the wondrous changes wrought 
 
 Around our pilgrim way. 
 And sweet, at holy hush of day, 
 
 To walk by murmuring rill, 
 And think of loved ones far away, 
 
 The heart remembers still : 
 !For, soothing to the soul the tears, 
 
 With which Affection grieves 
 O'er Feeling's beautiful past year,. 
 
 Among her falling leaves..
 
 AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 
 
 And sweet laborious summer past 
 
 To take the calm repose 
 That patient toil enjoys at last, 
 
 At Autumn evening close ! 
 Sweet Spring came bearing infant Hope 
 
 Bright Summer nursed the child, 
 But Autumn gave it strength to cope 
 
 With Winter's changes wild ; 
 Sweet, therefore, after all our care, 
 
 To hoard our little store, 
 And breathe the warm, the grateful prayer, 
 
 That heaven rewards with more. 
 When, round the harvest board, we share, 
 
 The boon of temperate joy, 
 Smile, smile we not at all the pain 
 
 The trouble and annoy ! 
 For soft the pillow which we press, 
 
 When, garnered all our sheaves, 
 We sink to sleep, and, dreaming, blesa 
 
 The time of falling leaves. 
 
 81 
 
 AUTUMNAL MUSINGS. 
 
 Flowers will fade though Love may rear them, 
 Leaves, though born of spring-time, fall ; 
 
 Autumn winds will blight and sear them, 
 Winter spread their snowy pall.
 
 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Day, though calmly, brightly shining, 
 Clear and glorious, will not stay ; 
 
 Sunlight from the sky declining, 
 Night will triumph in her sway. 
 
 But though flowers and leaves may wither 
 
 From the sad earth's fading bowers, 
 Time again will bring them hither 
 , Spring-time leaves, and summer flowers. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Albeit o'er Acadia lowers 
 
 An oft inconstant sky, 
 She boasts a thousand fragrant flowers, 
 
 Of Flora's fairest dye : 
 But one her native emblem dear 
 
 The little flower of May- 
 Comes meekly forth with looks of cheer 
 
 While vernal suns delay. 
 
 Yet are our country's changeful skies 
 
 Not always wrapped in gloom, 
 E'en when as now the landscape lies 
 
 In Ruin's herbless tomb ; 
 For, oh, how beautifully bright 
 
 When Night is coldly clear, 
 Are yon unnumbered orbs that light 
 
 This dim departing sphere.
 
 SCENES. 83 
 
 The great First-Cause, Who placed them there, 
 
 Imparts their added glow, 
 And makes the rugged clime still fair 
 
 Amidst its frost and snow. 
 He bids the flowers smile up to man, 
 
 The stars look down in love, 
 To sanctify our suffering span 
 
 And guide the soul above. 
 
 Yet not in flowers and stars alone 
 
 Is nature's God displayed ; 
 His equal attributes are shown 
 
 In all that He has made. 
 He, watching o'er the brumal wild 
 
 As o'er the living green, 
 Imparts an aspect fair or mild 
 
 To every varied scene. 
 
 SCENES. 
 
 I love the sunny smile that plays 
 On Beauty's coral lip the light 
 
 That sparkles in the innocent gaze 
 Of lovely eyes with instinct bright 
 
 The voice whose touching tones impart 
 High visions to the poet's heart.
 
 34 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 I love to see the bud unfold, 
 
 In summer's warm and sunny ray 
 
 The hues of purple and of gold, 
 
 Which tell of scenes that pass away, 
 
 When Autumn over the landscape throws 
 Bland Nature's brumal rich repose. 
 
 I love at night's mysterious hour, 
 To muse beside the solemn sea, 
 
 And feel its strange mysterious power, 
 And mark its waves, the wild the free, 
 
 While hallowed visions sway the soul 
 Resigned to thought's sublime control. 
 
 FAIRY FALLS. 
 
 (7.) 
 
 Go to ! I have a leisure hour, 
 And would enjoy its priceless dower 
 
 Of freedom and delight, 
 And cause its memory to be blest, 
 With calmness, if not joy, of breast, 
 
 Eternizing its flight. 
 
 Then, having roam'd mid change of scene, 
 Marked Nature's often-varying mien, 
 
 And breathed refreshing air, 
 Return, renewed to gentle task, 
 Resume my place, nor wish to ask 
 
 Exemption from its care.
 
 FAIKY FALLS. 35 
 
 Is toil an ill ? I say not so : 
 
 Its first-fruits are the cheerful flow- 
 The body's destined health ; 
 
 Its greater good is peace of mind, 
 
 With kindly feelings for our kind 
 Its lesser guerdon, wealth. 
 
 Much real rest much ease accrues 
 To those who reverently use 
 
 The moments of their trust ; 
 For time, our capital, employed. 
 Yields interest to be enjoyed, 
 
 That well repays the just. 
 
 Yet there are seasons of repose 
 That come with angel wings to those 
 
 Who prize true Pleasure's zest, 
 Content with nature's courtesy, 
 Though ignorant of the art to be 
 
 Elaborately blest. 
 
 Such now is mine to use not waste, 
 Then while its winged moments haste 
 
 Will I improve their flight, 
 With some meet scene suggesting thought, 
 Some impress of that MIND that wrought 
 
 All life and all delight. 
 
 Thus, in the absence of a friend, 
 With whose true soul my own could blend, 
 I will abroad, alone
 
 36 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 And where Rosignol winds his way 
 Through parted forests, weave a lay, 
 Of calm and healthful tone. 
 
 I love my own, my native stream, 
 To stay my feet, and dream my dream, 
 
 Beside thy Fairy Falls, 
 Where rushing down with gladsome din, 
 From rock to rock and lin to lin, 
 
 Thy spirit half appals. 
 
 Here olden Indian legends say, 
 Mysterious beings wont to stray, 
 
 And etch on cliffs of slate 
 Dark characters of mortal doom, 
 Prelusive of the earthly gloom 
 
 That shrouds the Micmac's fate. 
 
 But less romantic annals show 
 That when Acadians fled their foe 
 
 Some loitered on their way, 
 Depicting thus, by lake and grove, 
 Memorials with which exiles love 
 
 To soothe the darker day. 
 
 So let the untutored Indian roam 
 Through fairy regions of his home 
 
 Along this Naid stream, 
 For born beneath a mystic star, 
 Less dear to him the things that are 
 
 Than those which only seem.
 
 FAIRY FALLS. 
 
 Howbeit this wild scene hath power, 
 Beyond the accidental power 
 
 Of fancied fairy's art ; 
 Sufficient in itself to please 
 A minstrel-soul a mind at ease, 
 
 It asks no borrowed part. 
 
 Here, in her solemn pristine charms, 
 Great Nature waves her awful arms 
 
 Majestically free ; 
 
 Here on her own uncultured sward, 
 Her spirit walks with Nature's Lord, 
 
 As on the mighty sea.
 
 NOTES TO "LOVE OF NATURE." 
 
 (1.) These verses are alluded to in the Introductory Memoir, as 
 indicative of the peculiar treatment of some of the themes of the 
 volume. 
 
 (2.) Concerning rural out-door occupations, at early Morn, 
 opinions of modern Hygeists tend to depress the ardour of the poets, 
 by asserting that the air at early hours, is not so salubrious as when 
 the sun's influence has drawn off the exhalations of night. 
 
 (3.) McPherson's personal feelings, and the sadness of incidents 
 of his story, mark his verse, when the theme would not indicate such 
 atone. 
 
 13(4.) The remark, that the themes of the different divisions of tb? 
 volume, appear to blend occasionally, is applicable here. The verses 
 would be almost as suitable for the "Domestic and Social" depart' 
 ment, as for that of " Love of Nature." 
 
 (5.) This has been a special favorite, with admirers of McPher- 
 son'is verse. 
 
 (6.) A peculiar delicacy of thought and metre, mark these lines, 
 as well as several which follow. 
 
 (7.) The scene of these verses is alluded to in memoir, under title 
 " Localities."
 
 DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL, 
 
 THE Circles of home and of Society, of the house and the neigh- 
 borhood, will ever have strong claims for the man who is not a cynic 
 or worse ; who has not from unfortunate circumstances, or more 
 unfortunate disposition allowed apathy to wrap him in the cold 
 cerements which cause decay of wholesome energy, and isolation of 
 soul. The circles of heart and home and sphere are substantially 
 those of the man ; beyond, he may extend his sympathies until the 
 worlds of earth and sky are included, but the domestic and the 
 social form the fitting centre of all proper expansion of the earthly 
 affections ; and, in one sense, of the super-earthly also. If ye have 
 not charity for your brother whom ye have seen, how can ye be 
 expected rightly to love the great Being whom we have not seen ? 
 Various degrees mark the regions of sympathy : At one extreme is 
 the churlish disposition which enquires, " Am I my brother's 
 keeper " ; at the other, the abounding benevolence which "gloried in 
 tribulation " that ministered to the good of others, and, chief, the 
 wonderful abnegation of Him Who freely " gave his life as a ransom 
 for many." 
 
 "Well has Charity been called the perfect gift, the bond of unity, 
 the fulfilling of the law. The writer to whose poems these pages are 
 devoted, whatever his personal difficulties and sorrows, seemed never 
 to have divested himself of the social feeling, of the kindly sympathy, 
 which commisserates, and condoles, and aids, where aid is practi- 
 cable : " The Charities of poor to poor go sweetly up on high." In 
 the verses which follow, and indeed in each department of this little 
 volume, the domestic and social virtues either copiously predomi- 
 nate, or indirectly appear, giving indication of the genial strata which 
 underline every variety of surface. No doubt, one of the chief con- 
 solations of the Poet was, the hope or belief, that his verse would 
 extensively minister to the amenities which he yearned after ; and 
 assuredly we may have confidence that such result will be among the 
 most abundant effects of the long-desired publication. 
 
 : ^.131 J3
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. No. I. 
 
 (Note 1.) 
 
 How sweet is day's delightful close, 
 
 When night begins to fall 
 And spreads the curtain of repose, 
 
 Kind Heaven designs for all ! 
 How welcome that auspicious hour 
 
 To those who all the day, 
 Are absent from affection's bower, 
 
 Unsunned by Beauty's ray. 
 
 Then man, whose task of daily care 
 
 Makes nightly rest so sweet, 
 Keturns, the sacred joy to share 
 
 Of Love's serene retreat. 
 Then with his partner by his side, 
 
 His children at his knee, 
 He thanketh Heaven with humble pride, 
 
 Beneath his own roof-tree.
 
 42 MCPHEKSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Albeit error bows the soul 
 
 Created to aspire, 
 And Time's unholy things control 
 
 Its pure immortal fire, 
 Yet still our Maker sends us much 
 
 Our thankfulness to claim, 
 Our hearts with sacred love to touch 
 
 And fan Devotion's flame. 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. No. II. 
 
 When leaves the busy world the sun, 
 
 And shadows dim the west, 
 His daily task appointed, done, 
 
 The Peasant seeks his rest ; 
 His wife, beside his cheerful fire, 
 
 Receives him with a smile, 
 His little ones his heart inspire 
 
 With pure delight the while. 
 
 The clean uncostly table spread, 
 
 They share the frugal meal, 
 And offer up for daily bread 
 
 The gratitude they feel. 
 Then, sung the solemn evening psalm, 
 
 They breathe the ardent prayer, 
 That He who gives Domestic calm 
 
 May keep them still his care.
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 Oh, even in the humblest sphere, 
 
 Whate'er our share of ill, 
 The grateful heart may find, to cheer, 
 
 Unnumbered comforts still. 
 None, none, however poor, need say, 
 
 His life is all of gloom ; 
 Along the lonely desert way 
 
 The fairest flower may bloom. 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. No. III. 
 
 When shuts its balmy cup the flower 
 
 Beneath the parting light, 
 How welcome is the twilight hour, 
 
 The dusk approach of night. 
 I joy to mark the shadows fall, 
 
 I joy the stars to see, 
 For these thy happy husband call, 
 
 To thee, my love, to thee. 
 
 I grieve not that my toilsome days 
 
 Are spent from thee apart, 
 For well thine added love repays 
 
 The purpose of my heart. 
 That purpose is to make thy lot 
 
 As blest as it can be 
 To render this, our humble cot, 
 
 A pleasant home to thee.
 
 44 MCPHEESON'S POEMS. 
 
 * My wife, my own, my faithful wife, 
 
 Content my lot to share, 
 Thy tenderness imparts to life 
 
 A balm for many a care. 
 Possessed of fond Affection's light, 
 
 To gentle worth allied, 
 I feel that I have reached the height 
 
 For which so long I sighed. 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. No. IV. 
 
 How sweet the hour when daylight dies ! 
 
 How passing dear to me 
 The hour in which my spirit flies, 
 
 My own true love, to thee ! 
 
 The wind went murmuring softly by, 
 The stars were bright above, 
 
 When last I saw that beaming eye 
 And heard thy voice of love. 
 
 Not now that soft wind comes to me. 
 
 Those stars above me shine ; 
 Not now that look of love I see., 
 
 And hear thee call me thine.
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. t5 
 
 I view not now the genial sky 
 
 That smiles above my home : 
 My native scenes remotely lie 
 
 Beyond the ocean's foam. 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. No. V. 
 
 As sinks yon glorious purple-vestured sun 
 Beneath old ocean's ever-heaving breast, 
 
 Even so the Christian, when his race is run, 
 
 Smiles love's farewell, and seeks his place of resi. 
 
 No wind-lashed wave disturbs the murmuring sea 
 No cloud obscures the blue ethereal scene ; 
 
 So parts the spirit longing to be free, 
 Unmoved by fear, and solemnly serene. 
 
 The sun has set but lo 1 the constant star 
 Of dewy Evening glimmers in the "West, 
 
 Like some bright beacon beaming from afar, 
 
 To wh'sper hope to some poor wanderer's breast. 
 
 Soft shades lie round us on the earth, above 
 The myriad lights of heaven's blue halls appear, 
 
 To soothe the soul with gentleness and love, 
 And aid its visions of a holier sphere.
 
 46 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 There hovers o'er us at this mystic hour 
 An angel- presence, which is not of earth, 
 
 Whose still small voice of deep unearthly power, 
 Reminds the listener of his heavenly birth. 
 
 "What marvel if at such a pure appeal, 
 We grow indignant of a world's control, 
 
 Sigh for the spirit's liberty, and feel 
 New and immortal impulses of soul. 
 
 I would that I had wings with which to soar 
 Amid the light of yon celestial spheres, 
 
 Rejoicing in the privilege to explore 
 
 Forgetful of a cold world's gloom and tears. 
 
 For I have yearnings for a better life 
 
 Than this, of want's dread influence o'er the soul ; 
 And sink o'erwearied with the hopeless strife 
 
 That mocks my wishes for a peaceful goal. 
 
 WINTER EVENINGS. 
 
 Improve the winter evening hours, 
 Those pleasant seasons of repose, 
 
 Still lent us to augment the powers 
 That mitigate our woes.
 
 WINTER EVENINGS. 47 
 
 A useful book will well repay 
 
 A thoughtful reader's patient care, 
 Lend much to light our troubled way, 
 
 And purify its air. 
 
 Let not those hours of ease and light 
 That smile when summer's sun has set, 
 
 Wound like the Parthian in his flight, 
 With deep tho' late regret. 
 
 Forbid thy wayward feet to roam 
 
 With those who take no heed of time ; 
 
 For sweet the pleasures found at home 
 In Love's own hallowed clime. 
 
 There, while parental smiles invite 
 The look, the tone, the smile of cheer, 
 
 The Genius of serene delight 
 Shall make the fire-side dear. 
 
 Oh ! turn not from the peaceful light 
 Of sacred Wisdom's word and way, 
 
 To follow aught, however bright, 
 Which shines but to betray. 
 
 Improve the hours, that they may leave 
 
 Sweet recollections of their flight, 
 And glad Life's latest winter eve 
 
 With Truth's enlivening light.
 
 48 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PRIDE OF BEAUTY'S BOWER. 
 
 She shone beneath Affection's ray, 
 The pride of Beauty's bower, 
 
 She, like the earliest bloom of May, 
 Acadia's emblem flower, 
 
 Was all too beautiful to stay 
 Where adverse aspects lower. 
 
 She lived a soul of gentlest grace 
 
 Exalted and refined ; 
 Less prized for radiant form and face 
 
 Than wealth of heart and mind ; 
 And memory keeps her faintest trace 
 
 In Love's own temple shrined. 
 
 Though round her last low dwelling here 
 Autumnal leaves are strown, 
 
 Still falls upon the dreaming ear 
 Her voice in dulcet tone ; 
 
 But, life without her light is drear, 
 And, oh ! the heart is lone !
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL IS FADING. 49 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL IS FADING. 
 
 (M 
 
 The baautiful is fading, 
 
 The loved and youcg must die, 
 The film of death is shading 
 
 The soft and lustrous eye. 
 Much hadst thou to endear thee 
 
 In hours of joy or woe, 
 And new, that death is near thoe, 
 
 We mourn to let thee go. 
 
 Love true love well requited, 
 
 Weeps o'er thy pale sad brow 4 
 And friendship, early blighted, 
 
 Dissolves in sorrow now. 
 But though the fond hearts round thee, 
 
 Implore thy longer stay ; 
 The time of flowers hath found thee 
 
 In fair and sad decay. 
 
 Sweet rose, (we hoped to nourish, 
 
 With fond parental care,) 
 Shall we not let thee flourish 
 
 In pure immortal air? 
 Thou canst not now be given 
 
 To all our tears and sighs ; 
 But we rejoice that heaven 
 
 Is dawning on thine eves.
 
 MINSTRELSY. 
 
 Touch, Minstrel, touch thy lute for me> 
 
 And wake thy voice of song, 
 And set my wearied spirit free, 
 
 From sorrow suffered long ; 
 For I, whom smiling Fortune slights, 
 
 Am one condemned to roam 
 Remote from all the dear delights 
 
 And tender cares "of home. 
 
 Recall that dearest cot on earth, 
 
 Long faded from my view, 
 My mother's home, my place of birth, 
 
 Where my glad childhood grew. 
 Recall my sire, whose calm eye beamed 
 
 With kind protecting love, 
 My sister, whose affection seemed 
 
 The softness of the dove. 
 
 lap me in the fairy dreams 
 
 Of these untroubled hours, 
 That held their flight by murmuring streams, 
 
 And wreathed their wings with flowers. 
 Recall the sweet, sweet feelings, crossed 
 
 Ere life's glad zest had flown, 
 And give mo now my loved and lost 
 
 My beautiful- -my own.,
 
 IIRST FO MB HOPES, 51 
 
 Sing on, sing on, I love to hear 
 
 The strain that wakes the past, 
 And bids the lov'd and young appear 
 
 As when we saw them last. 
 Sing on, my spell-bound ear hatk caught 
 
 A sense of spirit-wings ; 
 My friends draw near, for in my thougkt 
 
 Old footstep music rings. 
 
 Cro, gifted spirit ; thy control, 
 
 The gentle and the deep, 
 Has waked the woman in my soul, 
 
 And I am fain to weep. 
 Yet will I bless thy magic sway, 
 
 If sad thoughts, nursed for years. 
 Confess the momentary sway 
 
 Of wlid relievbg tears. 
 
 THE FIRST FOND HOPES. 
 
 The first fond hopes of artless youth, 
 
 In kindred feeling, blighted 
 Our trembling trust in loving truth. 
 
 And life-long friendship, slighted. 
 The torn heart's wild and bitter tears, 
 
 UH chased by smiles of gladness, 
 May flow, like fiery rain for years, 
 
 From brimming founts of sadness.
 
 82 MCPHERSON r S POEMS- 
 
 To love to woo, a gentle mind, 
 
 Receive a plighted token, 
 Yet find our fondest trust betrayed", 
 
 The chain that bound us, broken r 
 To see, love, beauty, all depart, 
 
 And all around grow dreary, 
 Ts sad experience for the heart, 
 
 And makes the world o'er weary. 
 
 To mark the cheek of vermil dye 
 
 Forego its beauteous blooming, 
 To see the lustrous loving, eye 
 
 Submit to care's dark dooming ; 
 These these are trials, though severe,. 
 
 Less desolately blighting, 
 And make the mortal lot less drear 
 
 Than love and friendship's slighting, 
 
 Though o'er the Churchyard's grass-green heaps- 
 Affliction bends, like -Rachel, weeping, 
 
 The heart has something which it keeps 
 Sweet memories of the lost one sleeping. 
 
 Last words, last looks, _last smiles come back, 
 To tell of love and truth undying, 
 
 And shed around the lone one's track 
 
 Sad lights, that make its gloom less trying- 
 
 But when our living idols change, 
 
 And mock, unveiled, our fond believing,-. 

 
 THE BlCK HOOM. 
 
 When hearts grow cold and eyes grow strange, 
 And truth shrinks back from their deceiving.; 
 
 The fearful priee which we have paid, 
 Tka rich ore mined in vain endeavour, 
 
 The loving trust despised, betrayed, 
 These wreck the early hope for evec. 
 
 THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 -the bitter hei'b, pain, we may extract the anodyne, patience.* 
 
 (3.) 
 
 1 long to leave this cheerless room, 
 
 Inhale tbe free, refreshing air, 
 And feel my faded cheek resume 
 
 The hue that Hebe loves t wear; 
 But ah J my limbs refuse to bear 
 
 The frame which they so lithely bore; 
 And I must dwell with wasting care, 
 
 And share in active life no moreJ 
 
 I try to read but Learning's welt 
 
 Hath no sweet draught for stern disease, 
 
 And Thought no calm oblivious spell 
 No aeodyne for -pangs like these. 
 
 O give me what cun duly please, 
 
 Give back my long accustomed toil 
 
 '3The parent of .content and ease, 
 culture of my native soiL
 
 54, MCPUERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 My brothers hail day's rosy blush, 
 
 They scent the flowers, inspire the gale, 
 And hear the hill-side water* gush 
 
 And murmur onward to the vale ; 
 While I, afflicted, restless, pale, 
 
 And worn with premature decay, 
 Find earthly solace sadly fail, 
 
 And sigh my very soul away. 
 
 I turn and turn, but find no rest 
 
 Upon my weary couch of pain ; 
 Sad feelings labour in my breast, 
 
 And dark thoughts rack my burning brafe. 
 I know that human aid is vain 
 
 For one so maimed and sick as I, 
 Who, though sweet ties my heart detain, 
 
 Must die on manhood's threshold, die ! 
 
 My father wears an anxious brow, 
 
 Speaks to me with a faltering tongue ; 
 My mother more than mother now 
 
 With sympathetic anguish wrung ; 
 They cannot bear that I, so young, 
 
 Of late so full of life, and gay, 
 To whom their hearts so long have clungv 
 
 Should wither from them day by day. 
 
 Yet sad as is my early fate, 
 
 And sharp as is this wasting pain.
 
 THE SICK ROOM. 55 
 
 In looking o'er our mortal state, 
 
 I feel that I should not complain. 
 What though my feeble frame has lain 
 
 Long months beneath increasing ill, 
 Am I not linked in Nature's chain, 
 
 And blest with hourly mercies still ? 
 
 Home, kindred, love's kind care are mine, 
 
 With much that sickness most requires ; 
 While thousands wearily decline 
 
 Far distant from their household fires. 
 Thou by whom the world respires, 
 
 Thy love has been so great to me, 
 That, taught how vain are earth's desires, 
 
 I yield my chastened soul to Thee ! 
 
 The spirit suffers with the clay 
 
 In which it tabernacles here, 
 But soars at intervals away 
 
 To regions exquisitely clear. 
 Oh, if this passing world be dear 
 
 With all its weariness and pain, 
 How should we deem that better sphere 
 
 That smiles undimmed by Error's stain ! 
 
 The time is near, when yon blue skies 
 Shall vanish like a closing scroll, 
 
 And all that anxious worldlings prize 
 Be dust and ashes to the soul :
 
 Ot> MCPHERSOX'S POEMS. 
 
 God ! assist mo to control 
 The warring of undue desire, 
 
 That I may reach Thy blissful goal, 
 And praise Thee in Thy day of fire. 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 The heart has hours of 
 
 That must be all its own, 
 But cold and callous is the breast 
 
 That beats for self alone. 
 Communion lessens every care, 
 
 Enhances every zest, 
 And makes the spirit strong to bear 
 
 The ills that break her rest. 
 
 The rich man flies from Fashion's strife, 
 
 The poor man from his care, 
 To taste the healing sweets of life, 
 
 And breathe affection's air. 
 Though specious pleasures oft invite 
 
 The wayward heart to roam, 
 We turn with ever new delight 
 
 To friendship, love, and home. 
 
 Magic of domestic bliss ! 
 How soft thy silken chain,
 
 MATERNAL DUTT. 57 
 
 How bright thy smile, how chaste thy kiss, 
 
 How exquisite thy reign ! 
 The heart that vainly sighs to share 
 
 Its light and joyous tone, 
 Might break if it were doomed to bear 
 
 Its weary lot alone. 
 
 MATERNAL DUTY. 
 
 Young mother with how pure a heart, 
 
 How firm a soul, shouldst thou 
 Perform the dear delightful part, 
 
 Entrusted to thee now. 
 In that fair child's immortal mind, 
 
 But lent thee from the sky, 
 Instill sweet mercy for its kind, 
 
 And aspirations high. 
 
 Of all that, born in virtue's air, 
 
 Subserves our noblest ends, 
 How much upon maternal care 
 
 And faithfulness, depends ! 
 That bud of moral being, nursed 
 
 By fond affection's hand, 
 May into wondrous beauty burst 
 
 And bless a smiling land.
 
 58 MCPHEBSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Young mother, sow betimes the seed 
 
 Of all things good and fair, 
 And let not Folly's hurtful weed, 
 
 The place of wisdom share. 
 Fulfil maternal duty's part, 
 
 Confiding in the Lord, 
 And Ho, observant of the heart, 
 
 Will give the great reward. 
 
 If aught on this unstable sphere 
 
 Is like the world above, 
 So sacred, beautiful and dear, 
 
 It is a mother's love ; 
 Use, then, this firm enduring band, 
 
 This sweet controlling tie, 
 To lead thy child through this dark land, 
 
 To glory in the sky. 
 
 Oh, with what joy the mother meets 
 
 In that bright world of bliss, 
 All pure amidst the golden streets, 
 
 The child she nurs'd in this ! 
 For in that land of " living green," 
 
 Around the Eternal Throne, 
 The blest shall see as they are seen, 
 
 And know as they are known.
 
 3ING TO MB. 59 
 
 SING TO ME. 
 
 Sing to me, Dear, as David sang 
 
 To Israel's troubled king, 
 When music's magic numbers rang 
 
 Along each conscious string. 
 My soul is sick of worldly strife 
 
 And burthened with despair, 
 And song may haply take from life 
 
 Some burthen of its care. 
 
 Then sing to me, of those sweet ties 
 
 That, strong in guileless truth, 
 Give sunshine to the darkest skies 
 
 That dim the hopes of youth. 
 Sing to me of the loved and young 
 
 Who faded in their bloom, 
 And left a heart intensely wrung 
 
 To bear a sombre doom. 
 
 They passed from this cold place of graves, 
 
 This desert land of death, - 
 When all that fond Affection craves 
 
 Hung trembling on their breath. 
 But, taken to a cloudless clime 
 
 Of pure immortal streams, 
 They wear the spirit's glorious prime, 
 
 And realize their dreams.
 
 eo 
 
 MCPIIERSON 8 POEMS. 
 
 Yet, Sweet, forgive if I recall 
 
 Wild memories of thine own, 
 That left thy silent tears to fall, 
 
 Thy day to pass alone. 
 Oh ! share the sobbing of my breast, 
 
 Since we alike deplore, 
 The dead who are not dead, the blest 
 
 Who come to us no more. 
 
 Less dear to me the charms of song, 
 
 Whate'er the minstrel's art, 
 Than those sweet sympathies which throng 
 
 The suffering human heart. 
 Then raise no uncommutual strain 
 
 Of withered hopes for me, 
 But of thine own deep woes complain 
 
 And I will weep with thee. 
 
 THE POOR MAN. 
 
 (*) 
 
 Lord grant the poor man daily health, 
 
 To toil for daily bread, 
 He has small other earthly wealth, 
 
 And must be clothed and fed. 
 The proud of place may grind his face, 
 
 The hard withhold his hire, 
 Great Parent ! heed his piteous case 
 
 And guard his cottage fire.
 
 THE POOR MAX. 61 
 
 Thou carost for the little birds 
 
 That own no earthly lord ; 
 Thou carest for the flocks and herds 
 
 That crop the flowery sward ; 
 flear'st the young ravens when they cry, 
 
 Heed'st the young lion's roar, 
 And wilt regard the poor man's sigh, 
 
 And meek petition, more. 
 
 The rich man may see little need 
 
 To pray for plenteous bread ; 
 The poor man, of a nobler creed, 
 
 Asks daily to be fed. 
 His wife, the angel of his cot, 
 
 Demands his constant care, 
 The children, sent to bless their lot, 
 
 Require their humble fare. 
 
 Oh grant the poor man daily health, 
 
 And strength for daily toil, 
 With sweet content, the precious wealth 
 
 Of weary mortal moil. 
 And grant him power to rule his mind, 
 
 To prize affection's sway, 
 And nurse the charities, designed 
 
 To smooth his pilgrim way. 
 
 Assist thou him to keep his heart, 
 
 To walk in virtue's light, 
 And act, whate'er assails, a part, 
 
 Praiseworthy in Thy gight. 

 
 62 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Then, when his little span has past 
 Amidst privations here, 
 
 Oh take him to Thyself at last 
 In rest's immortal sphere. 
 
 COUNSELS. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 My fellow man ! whate'er thy name, 
 Blest with a low or lofty lot, 
 
 Content, or struggling on to fame, 
 Or young, or old it matters not : 
 
 Thou art my brother, and I feel, 
 
 Oh ! deeply, for thy spirit's weal ! 
 
 Shun sinful Pleasure ! Though she seem 
 That which the erring heart desires, 
 
 She will not realize thy dream, 
 She is not what thy soul requires : 
 
 She dims the mid-day sun, and brings 
 
 Deep night and death beneath her wings. 
 
 The Syren has a thousand smiles 
 
 To win her thoughtless victim's trust, 
 
 A thousand bland yet specious wiles 
 To hide her heart of rank disgust; 
 
 Beware, whoe'er thou art, beware ; 
 soft allurement hides a snare. '
 
 DYING IN SPRING. C3 
 
 If thou hast touched abjure, the bowl ; 
 
 If thou hast not rejoice with me ; 
 Preserve the beauty of thy soul, 
 
 And as thou art, continue, free. 
 When tempted, supplicate the sky ; 
 God sees thee He is ever nigh. 
 
 Our human strength is weakness, we 
 May fall when seemingly secure ; 
 
 But tried and trembling dust may flee 
 To One whose aid is always sure. 
 
 Vain-glory hath its own reward ; 
 
 Look thou for succour from the Lord. 
 
 Be steadfast. Duty's path is plain, 
 The simplest need not err therein ; 
 
 Put on no self-enslaving chain, 
 Make no companionship with sin ; 
 
 Hope smiles not, peace is never found, 
 
 Joy springs not, but on Sacred Ground. 
 
 DYING IN SPRING. 
 
 (6.) 
 
 Bright skies are o'er thee shining, 
 Soft breezes fan thy brow ; 
 
 Yet thou, the lov'd, art pining, 
 With secret sorrow now.
 
 64 MC?HERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Fair flowers are springing round thee, 
 In foi-est, field, and bower ; 
 
 But Spring's bright hues have found thee, 
 Thyself a fading flower. 
 
 Where hearts have been the lightest, 
 
 Thine own has been most light ; 
 Where smiles have shone the brightest, 
 
 Thine own has shone most bright. 
 But now a cloud lies o'er thee, 
 
 The young cheek's bloom hath flown ; 
 This life may not restore thee, 
 
 The joys which thou hast known. 
 
 Not now thy footstep boundeth, 
 
 Among the opening flowers ; 
 Not now thy sweet voice soundeth, 
 
 As oft in former hours. 
 Thy soul is sadly sighing, 
 
 Thy loved harp lies unstrung ; 
 And thou in spring art dying, 
 
 Our beautiful and young. 
 
 WHEN SHALL I AGAIN BEHOLD THEE? 
 
 When shall I again behold thee ? 
 
 When those lineaments review, 
 Fondly to my heart enfold thee, 
 
 And the bright hours past renew ''.
 
 VTHEN SHALL I AGAIN BEHOLD THEB. ft'3 
 
 Since I saw thy look of gladness, 
 
 Since thy sweet voice cheered me last, 
 
 Left to linger on in sadness, 
 Life with me has poorly passed. 
 
 Has thy path been bright before thee, 
 
 Through those long eventful years ? 
 Has no tempest, bursting o'er thee, 
 
 Quenched thy hopes in gloom and tears ? 
 If thy fond heart, lost to gladness, 
 
 Shrinks from dark, dark years to be, 
 Then, remember, in thy sadness, 
 
 Thou hast yet thy God and me ! 
 
 Though my eheek has somewhat faded, 
 
 Though my heart has greatly changed, 
 Though my brow is sorrow-shaded, 
 
 I am not from thee estranged. 
 If thy faith is still unshaken, 
 
 If thy love its truth retains, 
 Then, whatever time has taken, 
 
 One sweet solace yet remains. 
 
 What though we have wasted treasure, 
 
 And experienced much of ill, 
 Life's pure fount of dearest pleasure 
 
 TremHes in our bosoms still. 
 Our pledged hearts are fondly beating 
 
 Our true spirits deeply stirred ; 
 (Sad our parting !) sweet our meeting 
 
 After years of hope deferred !
 
 00 MCPHERSOX'S POEMS. 
 
 But, shall I again behold thee, 
 
 Those dear lineaments review, 
 Wildly to my heart enfold thee, 
 
 And the sweet hours past renew '' 
 Dearest lost one if still living, 
 
 Though remote as pole from pole, 
 I, the loving and forgiving, 
 
 Give thee welcome to my soul. 
 
 Come, then ; come ! with hearts still youthful, 
 
 We shall soon forget our care ; 
 Come, O come! with souls still truthful, 
 
 Life shall yet again be fair. 
 Haste, while Hope continues burning ; 
 
 Fly, ere life's glad pulse be o'er, 
 Still I watch for thy returning 
 
 Wilt thou come to me no more ? 
 
 TO A PUPIL. 
 
 Enough enough, my conscious boy, 
 
 Thy daily task is done, 
 And thou that art a thing of joy, 
 
 Shalt laugh, and leap, and run ; 
 Go with thy happy mates to play, 
 
 Beneath the open sky, 
 And win the feelings fresh and gay 
 
 Denied to such as I.
 
 1 TO A PUPIL. 67 
 
 Gather ripe berries in the fields, 
 
 Partake the limpid rill, 
 And simple joys that nature yields, 
 
 But fall not into ill. 
 The pleasures which are pure and good, 
 
 Are never found apart 
 From duty, rightly understood, 
 
 And innocence of heart. 
 
 Away the cloud-attended sun 
 
 Is sinking in the west, 
 The weary day will soon be done, 
 
 And all things go to rest ; 
 Away improve the pleasant hours 
 
 Endeared by school-boy dreams, 
 And list the birds, and mark the flowers, 
 
 That shade the wild-wood streams. 
 
 Yet, first fulfil affection's part 
 
 To thy young mother meek, 
 That she may clasp thee to her heart, 
 
 And press thy blooming cheek. 
 boy, return her fond caress, 
 
 Requite her patient care, 
 And make her hours of loneliness 
 
 Not all too hard to bear. 
 
 When thou her beautiful, her own, 
 
 Art absent from her side, 
 She feels as widowed as alone, 
 
 As when thy father died ;
 
 68 MCPHERS05TS POEMS. 
 
 The love that his last hours beguiled 
 Of half their gloom and tears, 
 
 Has turned to thee, her only child. 
 With all its hopes and fears. 
 
 Then, go assure the lonely heart 
 
 Of which thou art the stay, 
 And if an anxious tear should start, 
 
 Wipe thou that tear away. 
 Thy gentle mother, much for thoe 
 
 Unmurmuringly has borne ; 
 O, boy, continue kind, and she 
 
 May haply cease to moura. 
 
 CHARITY, 
 
 Stern " Winter rules the inverted year"- 
 
 The genii of the tempest meet, 
 The sky is dark, the landscape drear 
 
 With drifted snow and driving sleet j 
 The houseless ehivers in the street, 
 
 The poor man cowers beneath his shod, 
 While calmly in his warm retreat 
 
 The rich man feasts on dainty bread, 
 
 O rich man .! think of those who pine 
 Beside the fearful gulf of vice,
 
 GHARITT. 
 
 While large luxurious good is thine, 
 Without the pain that's oft the price ; 
 
 Then ere thy generous state entice 
 To proud display, to rich repast, 
 
 Reserve a part that shall suffice 
 Some humble soul on bounty cast. 
 
 Yet veil thine hand from suffering's view ; 
 
 For Charity, though kind, is coy, 
 And loves, as often virtues do, 
 
 Some modest way of giving joy. 
 The donor's pride should not destroy 
 
 The gratitude that ought to start, 
 Unchecked by shame's impure alloy, 
 
 From out the glad receiver's heart. 
 
 Let Nature teach thee to be kind, 
 
 Unostentatious, prudent, right ; 
 Heaven-trusted with a loving mind, 
 
 Thou need'st the guide of Heavenly light. 
 The bounteous dews distil at night, 
 
 The stream comes forth from founts concealed, 
 Be, then, the deeds which these incite,. 
 Not few, albeit unrevealed.
 
 70 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE PILGRIM SLEEPS. 
 
 (70 
 
 The Pilgrim sleeps his wearied form 
 Its last long silent rest is taking ; 
 
 He feels not now the ruthless storm, 
 His heart no more with grief is aching. 
 
 The Pilgrim sleeps his deathless soul, 
 So meet for joy, and formed for soaring, 
 
 Escaped from this dark life's control, 
 Is some more glorious scene exploring. 
 
 Though he to many a heart was dear, 
 And friendship held her empire o'er him, 
 
 He seemed a weary wanderer here, 
 
 And why should such as we deplore him. 
 
 He dwells in yon bright world of joy, 
 
 Where sweet unfading flowers are springing, 
 
 Where love is pure from death's alloy, 
 And blissful souls are sweetly singing ! 
 
 The Minstrel sleeps. His soul has passed 
 From Time's (eventful) shore ; 
 
 The fettered bird is freed at last 
 Through heavenly light to soar ; 
 
 He feels not fortune's bitter blast, 
 He wakes to pain, no more !
 
 NOTES TO "DOMESTIC AND SOCIAL.' 
 
 (1.) The "Evening Thoughts" of this section, may be consider- 
 ed by some, at first sight, as ranging more appropriately under the 
 designation "Love of Nature;" additional examination, however, 
 may satisfy that the " Domestic and Social " element predominates, 
 and that the verses belong to the division so called. 
 
 (2.) These lines were entitled "A Melody" by the writer. 
 Their flowing metre and musical cadence give good claim to the 
 designation. 
 
 (3.) With much appearance of being "personal" these verses 
 have internal evidence of being general, though the emotions were 
 the dictates of experience. How graphically are sad circumstances 
 dwelt on, relieved by a hope supernal at the close. 
 
 (4.) The Poet's aptness to blend moral with personal picture is 
 evinced in these and many other lines of the collection. 
 
 (5.) One of many evidences of McPherson's Christian sympathy 
 and charity. Keen sinsitiveness to his own cares was kept well 
 apart from querulous selfishness. Sympathy blended with complaint, 
 and generally raised him far above the reality, or the affectation, of 
 the vice of misanthropy. 
 
 (6.) An unusual expression of sad thoughts, in very musical 
 verse. 
 
 (7.) An appropriately soothing sequel to the troublous scenes 
 previously alluded to, or described : "The Pilgrim Sleeps."
 
 PERSONAL. 
 
 THE Personal characteristic forms an important part of literary 
 composition, though in some works it is but sparingly introduced, in 
 reference to the writer's identity. Shakespeare alludes only indi- 
 rectly and briefly to himself and his friends. Milton's majestic verse 
 has exquisite, but not copious, references to the Poet's circumstances 
 and history. Self and its associations, pervade much of Byron's 
 more celebrated poems. Cowper employs the "Personal" freely, 
 and with much pathos and beauty. It forms the basis of the plain- 
 tive philosophy of " Young's Night Thoughts." 
 
 Painters imbue their works with such personality as consists of 
 familiar figures and favorite localities : the portraits of themselves and 
 their acquaintances, pictures of the river banks where they loved to 
 loiter, of the trees which shaded their noontide walk, of the cottages 
 and halls of familiar neighbourhoods. Poets have more ample 
 means and more copious sources of the Personal at command ; and 
 have sometimes been tempted, in this respect, beyond the bounds 
 which prudence would dictate. 
 
 The Personal tendencies of poets differ in nature as in degree. 
 Inflated adulation, scathing satire, malignant denunciation, mark the 
 mood, with some, about as freely as do true kindly feeling, and loving 
 graphic description. 
 
 Not much of the morose of personality will be found iu the verses 
 which follow ; but, instead, some melancholy wailings, earnest yearn- 
 ings for sympathy, occasional overshadowing of earthly despair, 
 and, in happy moments, kindness, gaiety, and cheerfulness. McPher- 
 son's muse, untrained to continued control, luxuriated in the melan- 
 choly, or the joyous, in accordance with the lowering cloud, or the 
 sunburst, which marked the landscape of life.
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 ADDRESS TO A. M. G. 
 
 (Note 1.) 
 
 Dear Sir, in reading your last sheet, 
 I really felt inclined " to greet," 
 It was so 'tender and so sweet 
 
 From first to last ; 
 In fact it set me on my feet, 
 
 Though much downcast 
 
 It breathes a sympathetic glow 
 Which is not merely specious show ; 
 For you, as I have cause to know, 
 
 Are quick to feel 
 The influence of another's woe, 
 
 Another's weal. 
 
 I nurse a strong desire to see 
 Your face, of late too strange to me, 
 And blend in conversation free 
 
 Led by your voice ; 
 But, as this pleasure cannot be, 
 
 I waive my choice.
 
 76 MCPHEKSON r g FOJ3SSU 
 
 I nave a wife, a daughter too 
 (The last is really something new, 
 At least it may be news to you ;) 
 
 So I am tied 
 To narrow bounds as if I grew 
 
 At my hearth's side. 
 
 But I can send you BOW and then, 
 The rough rude products of my pen, 
 Which you can scan in some lone glen, 
 
 By some glad stream 
 Aloof from some sad bores, called men- 
 
 Who break one's dream. 
 
 So now, while borne on song's wild wave, 
 
 I give you what I often crave, 
 
 A few thoughts humourous or grave 
 
 As things may tend, 
 Not mere appearances to save ; 
 
 But eheer my friend. 
 
 I trust such intercourse, (begun 
 
 Beneath an inauspicious sun,) 
 
 Is now renewed, through life to run 
 
 With fixed regard ; 
 For neither of us ought to shun 
 
 His brother bard,.
 
 ADDUES8 TO A. M. <J. 77 
 
 You say, you priz'd my homely lyre, 
 My (would you say ?) poetic fire, 
 For you have feelings that aspire 
 
 To Fame's proud height ; 
 Dear Sir, good wings to your desire, 
 
 And write soon write. 
 
 For me, as it regards content, 
 
 I have no reason to repent 
 
 That my glad hours are now unspent 
 
 In musings lone ; 
 My " ladye " has a prudent bent 
 
 A social tone 
 
 She seems to have but one defect, 
 Which is, a certain warm respect, 
 For one who cannot brook neglect 
 
 Of his poor muse ; 
 With sense sufficient to detect 
 
 And chase "the blues." 
 
 I've laid " the birchen sceptre" down, 
 
 Foregone the glory of the crown 
 
 The approving smile, more frequent frown, 
 
 And " penny-pay," 
 To serve the state, and win renown 
 
 Some other way.
 
 78 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 So, as your "Justiceship" may see, 
 My heart is light, my spirit free 
 From those dull cares which ill agree 
 
 With studious thought, 
 And which have often harrassed me 
 
 Till nigh o'erwrought. 
 
 Thus freed, I find that I can soar 
 As I have never done before, 
 And may yet reach the spirit-shore 
 
 Of lordly minds, 
 Above the loud tumultuous roar 
 
 Of adverse winds. 
 
 "There is a tide in men's affairs" 
 Which, taken at the flood, prepares 
 The way to seats which merit heirs 
 
 As her estate ; 
 Neglected all our after cares 
 
 May be too late. 
 
 Yet should I realize my aim, 
 Secure a proud poetic name, 
 Nay " rival all but Shakespeare's fame/ 
 
 My heart shall still 
 Respond to friendship's gentle claim, 
 
 And love's sweet thrill.
 
 ADDRES3 TO A. M. Q. 79 
 
 You say friend Elder all a bard 
 Has mentioned me with warm regard ; 
 Just tell him not to toil too hard 
 
 For his degree, 
 Lest he revisit that " Grave-Yard" 
 
 Unseen of me. 
 
 I need not say how well he writes ; 
 Though sometimes, like myself, he slights 
 Poetic language and affrights' 
 
 The nymph of Grace ; 
 Not one of all Acadia's wights 
 
 Could fill his place. 
 
 In closing this most learned sheet, 
 I hope your visions may be sweet 
 Until we fortunately meet 
 
 No matter when 
 If but in some far city street, 
 
 Both laurelled men. 
 
 My best respects to lady G, 
 
 Whom my dear spouse desires to see, 
 
 Because she was so kind to me, 
 
 When I was less, 
 And showed a friend's anxiety 
 
 For my success.
 
 SO MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Farewell ! I have till now deferred 
 
 This brief but melancholy word, 
 
 By which corarautual hearts are stirred 
 
 Even to the core ; 
 Farewell ! a sound that must be heard 
 
 On this doomed shore ! 
 
 TO SAMUEL ELDER. 
 
 (20 
 AN ADDRESS. 
 
 " Dear brother of the mystic tie," 
 
 I would that thou wert here, 
 To gaze with me on yon fair sky 
 
 And yon receding sphere. 
 The evening air is cool, though calm, 
 The waving fields are breathing balm ; 
 
 Oh would that thou wert near, 
 To sit with me on this green hill, 
 While thoughts sweet essences distil. 
 
 Yet thou canst feel, where'er thou art, 
 
 All beauty glory power, 
 The stirring of the conscious heart, 
 
 The mind's immortal dower. 
 All nature, measureless and free, 
 Is pregnant with delight for thee 
 
 In every varied hour ; 
 For thine the genius that pursues 
 Meek wisdom in whate'er it views.
 
 TO SAMUEL ELDER. 81 
 
 Thy spirit walks with Nature ; thou 
 
 Hast wooed her peerless charms, 
 And won and haply winnest now 
 
 Chaste rapture from her arms ; 
 And found with her, in converse sweet, 
 A safe and sanctified retreat 
 
 From busy life's alarms ; 
 And caught her cheerful smile and tone, 
 And made her gushing heart thine own. 
 
 Her constant love has lent thy mind 
 
 A fond enthusiast's fire, 
 And called the soul of thought refined 
 
 From out thy youthful lyre. 
 Till thou hast winged a lofty flight, 
 And breathed an air, and gained a height, 
 
 To which but few aspire ; 
 But thy best happiness and worth, 
 And dearest hope, are not of earth. 
 
 Thou hast a dearer, purer choice, 
 
 A higher, holier aim 
 Than this world's vain inconstant voice, 
 
 And unsubstantial fame : 
 Go, Warrior of the Holy Cross ! 
 And, counting earthly aims as dross, 
 
 Secure a deathless name ; 
 Go on, increasing in desire 
 For souls, and souls shall be thy hire.
 
 82 
 
 MCPHERSON S POEMS . 
 
 Go, chosen Militant, and wield 
 
 The armour of the Lord, 
 Go, strong in faith, and take the field 
 
 Against the thing abhorred ; 
 Go grapple with the world of sin, 
 And fight the righteous fight, and wia 
 
 The infinite reward 
 The glory yet to be revealed 
 To all by the Redeemer sealed ! 
 
 WINTER, 
 
 AN ADDEESS. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 " Dear brother of the mystic tie," 
 
 The landscape wears a snowy shroud, 
 And those wild minstrels of the sky, 
 
 The winter winds, are piping loud ; 
 Whilst many a black, portentous cloud 
 
 Unfurls its huge wings to the blast, 
 And trees of giant growth are bowed, 
 
 Before the tempest, hurrying past. 
 
 No pleasant sounds of wandering rills, 
 No songs of birds iu beechen bowers, 
 
 No flocks and herds upon the hills, 
 
 Now cheer this changeful clime of ours,
 
 WINTER. 83 
 
 Stern winter's desert aspect lowers 
 
 Where'er we turn the asking eye'; 
 But gentle thought and love are powers 
 
 That soften even a polar sky. 
 
 I long for spring congenial spring 
 
 Her sunshine and elysian air, 
 That aid the soul to lift her wing, 
 
 And soar above the clouds of care. 
 But though the fields are now so bare, 
 
 The Summer of affection's smile, 
 Makes home, that sweet oasis, wear 
 
 The beauty of a blissful isle. 
 
 When sunless day and stormy night 
 
 Make dreary winter doubly drear, 
 The fireside hath a new delight, 
 
 The social face an added cheer. 
 The smiles of fond companions dear, 
 
 The music of the household band, 
 Makes winter's aspect less austere, 
 
 And ours a happy, happy land. 
 
 This is the season of repose, 
 
 When frugal toil takes sweet reprieve, 
 In cheerful sleighing o'er the snows, 
 
 And pleasant visits paid at eve. 
 The Novascotian need not grieve 
 
 That Heaven has sent him northern skies, 
 For with them come the valued leave 
 
 To culture all that man should prize.
 
 84 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 How sweet to those that love to give, 
 
 Is now the charitable deed, 
 To merit, struggling hard to live, 
 
 In destitution's hour of need ! 
 How sweet, the farmer says, to feed, 
 
 One's cattle on a stormy day, 
 While they look up, and we may read 
 
 The silent gratitude they pay. 
 
 I love to hear the winter wind 
 
 Rave round my cottage eaves at night ; 
 But more congenial to my mind 
 
 Glad summer's tones of dear delight. 
 My form, poetically slight, 
 
 Dreads winter with instinctive fear, 
 But health may still resist his blight, 
 
 And bear me through another year. 
 
 Another year ! shall such be mine, 
 
 To bring, as all the past have brought, 
 More days of gloom than hours of shine, 
 
 More anxious than delightful thought ? 
 Enough let trial come unsought, 
 
 And peace, on unexpected wings ; 
 Sufficient to a heart o'erwrought 
 
 The trouble that each moment brings. 
 
 Thus, Angus, I have poorly tried 
 To breathe a passing thought to thee, 
 
 Irene seated by my side, 
 And little Mary at my knee,
 
 TO IRENE. 85 
 
 Adieu, my friend : if thou shouldst see 
 A poor man struggling hard to rise, 
 
 Oh ! take him by the hand for me 
 And point him to his native skies. 
 
 TO IRENE. 
 
 Dearest ! if rightly I divine 
 
 From that expressive eye, 
 The hidden life of mind is thine 
 
 Pure thought and feeling high, 
 It is not in her form or face, 
 
 That woman's empire lies ; 
 Possessed of no superior grace, 
 
 Soon other beauty dies ! 
 
 Then dearest seek, yet more and more, 
 
 The charms that ne'er decline, 
 That, when the bloom of youth is o'er, 
 
 The heart may not repine ; 
 That, whether life to thee be bright, 
 
 Or shadows o'er it lower, 
 Thou still wilt have a source of light 
 
 Beyond its transient power !
 
 MCPHERSON S POEMS. 
 
 TO IANTHE. 
 
 (*> 
 
 lanthe, when thou art oppressed, 
 And shorn of thy patience, and tried, 
 
 Come hither, recline by my breast, 
 And weep till thy sorrows subside. 
 
 I love thee oh dearly, and feel, 
 Amid my own multiform woes, 
 
 Much care for thy temporal weal, 
 But more for thy spirit's repose. 
 
 Our roof-tree is low, but its shade, 
 Is always delightful and dear ; 
 
 None daring to make us afraid 
 In rational liberty's sphere. 
 
 Yet while we enjoy the sweet ties 
 That daily our station requires, 
 
 Our treasure is stored in the skies 
 Our hope in the God of our sires. 
 
 Then yielding ourselves to His will, 
 Transformed by the word of his power, 
 
 let us serenely fulfil 
 The duties of life's little hour.
 
 TO MY SICK WIVE. 
 
 87 
 
 Yet, dearest, when thou art oppressed, 
 And shorn of thy patience, and tried, 
 
 Come hither, recline by my breast 
 And weep till thy sorrows subside. 
 
 TO MY SICK WIFE. 
 
 When thou wast well I joyed to gaze 
 
 Upon thy form of grace, 
 Observant of the light that plays 
 
 Around thy lovely face. 
 I felt such gladness in thy sight, 
 
 Such solace by thy side, 
 As lent my tranquil soul a light 
 
 That absence vainly tried. 
 
 But thou art sick and suffering now, 
 
 And I will be, to thee, 
 The faithful minister that thou 
 
 Hast often been to me. 
 Yet need I more than self to bear 
 
 The thought that thou mayst die, 
 And leave me in a world of care 
 
 Without a kindred eye. 
 
 That self that bitter self thou art 
 And aid'st me to sustain
 
 MCFHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 The fears tbat rend my human heart, 
 And rack my anxious brain. 
 
 With words of hope and looks of love 
 I try to comfort thee, 
 
 But, Angel, sent me from above, 
 Thy patience comforts me ! 
 
 Thy words of cheerfulness control 
 
 The ills that break my rest, 
 Thy sacred sympathies of soul 
 
 Make e'en affliction blest. 
 But when I gaze on that dim eye, 
 
 And on that pallid brow, 
 I inly importune the Sky 
 
 To spare thee to me now. 
 
 My spirit scarce could mount above 
 
 The dark'ning ills of earth 
 Without thy pure devoted love, 
 
 Thy meek retiring worth. 
 May He who gave thee to my prayer 
 
 Dispel my anxious fears 
 Still make us His parental care, 
 
 And give us happy years !
 
 PLEADINGS FOR RETURN. 
 
 SONNET TO IANTHE. 
 
 lanthe, spirit, who canst wield the power 
 
 That wakes my lyre to minstrel melody ; 
 I dedicate my simple song to thee, 
 
 For thou hast guerdoned it with thy rich dower 
 Of heavenly smiles, and it has many a flower 
 
 For use and ornament that came to me 
 With the glad sharer of my poverty, 
 
 The industrious mistress of my cottage-bower. 
 Thou hast an influence I may not control 
 
 A queenly sway in which I am most free, 
 The music of thy love has charmed my soul 
 
 And taught my song its better ecstacy. 
 Heaven bless thee, and thy babe, our dear, dear spirit, 
 
 Whose blue eyes beam with beautiful delight, 
 
 PLEADINGS FOR RETURN. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 Oh blame not him whose heart is wrecked 
 
 In all its fondest hopes for thee, 
 If sometimes, something like neglect 
 
 Restrain the feelings once so free. 
 Think, pitying think, that it may be 
 
 O'erwhelmed with care, when fancied cold, 
 For, oh ! it still beats true to thee, 
 
 And keeps thee in its warmest fold.
 
 90 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 If, uttered at a time like this, 
 
 Some harsh word pain thy gentle breast, 
 Come to me with thy smile and kiss, 
 
 And soothe my spirit into rest. 
 That, spirit too, too oft, oppressed 
 
 With weary thought for thee and thine, 
 Is only still and calm and blessed 
 
 When thou forbid'st it to repine. 
 
 Tbou canst not think, thou may'st not know 
 
 How my love deepens with despair ; 
 Though sometimes life's exterior show 
 
 Would seem to speak it light as air. 
 For I have grief which none may share, 
 
 And proudest reason doth not quell, 
 Which, yet, might yield to thy kind care, 
 
 Thy pious patience cherished well. 
 
 Men called me gifted and I toiled 
 
 To reach proud Fame's immortal steep ; 
 But, ah ! thou know'st how darkly foiled 
 
 Are all the hopes for which I weep ! 
 Oh plunge me in no deeper deep, 
 
 Bid not my sun go down ere noon ; 
 But come in pardoning love, and keep . 
 
 The poor heart which will break too soon. 
 
 Oh never, though so much to blame, 
 Have I been inly false to thee ; 
 
 And this poor heart is still the same, 
 Though tossed on sorrow's shoreless sea.
 
 PLEADIN'GS FOR RETURN*. 91 
 
 Life now can lend no charms to me 
 
 But such as centre in thy smile ; 
 Then, oh ! forgive thy wrongs, and be 
 
 Its sweeter light, a little while ! 
 
 A little while ! a brief sad hour ! 
 
 For, oh ! I have not long to stay ! 
 And thy dear love should lend its power 
 
 To cheer the couch of pale decay. 
 I ask but this, sweet wife ! to lay 
 
 My aching head upon thy breast, 
 To press thy lips, and pass away, 
 
 Forgiven, to my final rest. 
 
 I weep, not that I am alone 
 
 Though this were much for me to bear 
 But, that thy tears must not be shown, 
 
 Thy sighs be breathed to empty air ; 
 Whilst /, who caused thy grief, should share, 
 
 And, sharing, lessen all thy woes ; 
 And thou should'st soothe my soul of care, 
 
 And chase the clouds that round me close. 
 
 Come back, MY LOVE MY LIFE ! come back, 
 
 To prove me all which thou canst ask, 
 And tread with me the barren track 
 
 That gives my soul no easy task. 
 I will not chide I will not masque 
 
 Life's light in cold and jealous guise, 
 But bid content and pleasure bask 
 
 Beneath our calm domestic skies.
 
 92 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Write no forgiveness words are weak, 
 
 And will not not soothe my wild unrest, 
 But, come and press it on my cheek 
 
 And weep it on my contrite breast. 
 My errors have been all confessed 
 
 Before the Eternal's mercy throne, 
 And He, I trust, will deign to bless 
 
 The soul which thou shalt joy to own. 
 
 Come back come home and we will rear 
 
 In our low cot an humble shrine, 
 Look up to God in love and fear, 
 
 And ask, in faith, the Guide divine. 
 Gome home, Irene angel mine ! 
 
 With household Peace, the white-winged Dove, 
 And feel my fond heart true to thine 
 
 My soul repay thee with its love. 
 
 I will not tell how much I feel ! 
 
 How writhes my heart ! how aches my brow ! 
 For I would have my life reveal 
 
 How deep the change that rules me now. 
 Come listen to my better vow, 
 
 And bathe my cheek, and smoothe my bed ; 
 Nor tarry long away lest thou 
 
 Shouldst but be called to mourn me dead. 
 
 Dead ! couldst thou bear to have me die 
 And thou, my wedded wife, not near 
 
 To catch my spirit's parting sigh, 
 And shed the tributary tear ?
 
 PLEADINGS FOR RETURN. 
 
 by the ties once held so dear 
 By all we have been and may be 
 
 Come back to be cheered, and to cheer, 
 And live a life of love with me. 
 
 What more shall deep repentance say ? 
 
 What more the suffering soul repeat ? 
 surely tkou wilt not delay 
 
 Whilst /shalt listen for thy feet. 
 My inmost heart goes out to meet 
 
 The loved one who shall rule my home, 
 Make e'en remembered sorrow sweet, 
 
 And lighten every care to come I 
 
 Irene, listen to my sigh 
 
 My heart's contrite bewailing groan j 
 And do not, do not let me die, 
 
 As I may but deserve, alone. 
 But come with kind consoling tone, 
 
 And smiling through thy parting tears, 
 Confirm Heaven's pardon with thine own, 
 
 And crown my hopes for future years. 
 
 Come thou whose love so sweetly smiled, 
 
 And brightened even my dreary lot ; 
 Come to me, mother of my child 
 
 Lov'd mistress of my lowly cot. 
 Let past afflictions be forgot 
 
 Let sweet hope be once more renewed 
 And come to me, distrusting not, 
 
 And prove my deep, deep gratitude.
 
 94 MCPHKRSON'S POEMS. 
 
 It is the last time this the last 
 
 That I shall hope to move thy soul, 
 So let Oblivion veil the past, 
 
 And bless me with thy first control ! 
 If this prove vain the frozen pole 
 
 Is type of what my breast shall be ! 
 I ask thy love undoubting, whole 
 
 For I all fondly yearn for thee ! 
 
 TO LAURA. 
 
 O Loved One Lost, I have again been straying, 
 
 Where we so oft in happy converse strayed 
 Where, Youth's glad zest and Hope's gay light obeying, 
 
 Our footsteps lingered while our hearts delayed. 
 But sad to me the well remembered places, 
 
 That held the objects which I prized of yore, 
 Because alas ! their old familiar faces 
 
 And kind sweet voices, gladden them no more. 
 
 The harp that answered to thy fairy fingers 
 
 Has long been mute within thy faded bower, 
 But still its music's mournful memory lingers 
 
 Among the dreams that are my spirit's dower. 
 A desert aspect meets me from the dwelling, 
 
 Whose humble roof-tree sheltered thee so long, 
 For there I saw thy maiden bosom swelling 
 
 With that sweet love which saddened me to song.
 
 TO LAURA. 95 
 
 Cold strangers now look out upon the roses 
 
 That blessed thee yearly with their light and bloom, 
 Beneath the casement which no more discloses 
 
 The gentle tenant of that quiet room. 
 Alas ! Life needs no great events to make it 
 
 Forego the visions of its sunny prime 
 The loving heart no outward force to break it, 
 
 Enough, enough the silent lapse of Time. 
 
 We walk not now where Summer flowers, bestowing 
 
 Elysian odours on the wooing wind, 
 Made those bright eyes, those fervent tones more glowing, 
 
 That fond kind heart still fonder and more kind. 
 We sit not now in social conversation, 
 
 Beside the hearth that smiled with wintry cheer, 
 As oft we sat before the deprivation 
 
 That quenched our hopes, and wrung the burning tear. 
 
 Yet, think not that thy name is now unspoken 
 
 By those who loved thee when thy days were few : 
 Think not the lorn heart slights the simple token 
 
 That moves to tears whene'er it meets the view. 
 Thou wert beside us in our days of gladness, 
 
 And, though departed to a stranger shore, 
 Art still remembered in our years of sadness 
 
 As_one long hoarded in the bosom's core. 
 
 The few, that loved thee, valued thee not lightly, 
 
 And will retain thine image to the last ; 
 And thou, though widely distant, will do rightly 
 
 To cherish still the friendships of the past ;
 
 96 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 For, should the friends of later days neglect thee, 
 Those few whose fond hearts have not yet grown cold 
 
 Will take thee to their bosoms and protect thee, 
 As in the days that were so dear of old. 
 
 Farewell, again ! This may be my last greeting 
 
 On this unstable and illusive shore. 
 We two may have our next enraptured meeting 
 
 Where love ne'er pines from lack of glittering ore. 
 Methinks thy sufferings must have taught submission 
 
 To that great Power that holds thee in His hand, 
 Thy soul be meeter for the bright fruition 
 
 Of endless glory in the spirit land. 
 
 One more such hour of moonlight and of dreaming 
 
 With thee, the thoughtful, and superb of brow, 
 With that soft eye in lustrous beauty beaming, 
 
 Would waft me back to Boyhood's Eden now. 
 One more such hour as I have passed with thee, love, 
 
 When glad rills murmured music for the free, 
 Were worth what else that earth could yield to me, love, 
 
 For life's best light appeared and waned with thee. 
 
 Yet, what remains but sighs of mortal sorrow 
 
 Where sweet hopes have been and must be deferred 
 
 Where Expectation looks for no bright morrow, 
 And memory wanders like a widowed bird ;
 
 TO A STUDENT OP ACADIA COLLEGE. 97 
 
 What bat a sign of parting and of blessing, 
 That hath no voice but in this world of ours, 
 
 Where lorn love waits for purified caressing 
 Amid the beauty of undying bowers. 
 
 Then Loved One Lost, to be forgotten never 
 
 By those who hold thee in the tried heart's core, 
 Be blest through this short life be blest forever 
 
 On this dim orb and on the Eternal shore. 
 Be thy path brightened with those kind, sweet faces 
 
 That make this being calm to its decline, 
 And, after long years passed in pleasant places, 
 
 Be boundless rapture of the Ransomed thine. 
 
 TO A STUDENT OF ACADIA COLLEGE. 
 
 Art thou so wedded to the Saviour's cause 
 
 That, bidding farewell to thy native land, 
 
 Thou wilt embark for India's distant strand 
 To teach the Heathen mild Religion's laws ? 
 Thou art, for Heaven hath fitted thee for this 
 
 By giving thee that knowledge of the truth, 
 And that sweet earnest of immortal bliss, 
 
 Which stamp decision on the aims of youth : 
 Then, though we still would keep thee here depart 
 
 Constrained by that great love that rules thy inmost heart. 
 
 5*
 
 HCPHERSONS 
 
 Go, with our feeble aid, our fervent prayers, 
 Go, with thy God to comfort thee, to guide 
 The bark that bears thee safely o'er the tide,. 
 
 And give thee strength for Missionary cares. 
 
 Go, holding not thy life's frail tenure dear, 
 As counting all the hopes of earth but dross, 
 
 That but some other souls may hear 
 
 Of the salvation purchased on the Cross, 
 
 And casting down their senseless idols, own 
 
 The Lord our God Most High, who sits upon the Throne I 
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 SUGGESTED BT THE DEATH OF MR. JAMES KNATJT, AND GRIEy 
 OF HIS BROTHER. 
 
 Thou art buried, my Brother, 
 On a distant island shore ; 
 
 We were dear to one another, 
 But the happy past is o'er ; 
 
 Thou shalt come to charm thy mother 
 And the homestead scene no more. 
 
 If our human hearts were aching 
 When we caught thy parting sighs, 
 
 And their love has since been waking 
 With the hope that seldom flies, 
 
 They are bruised now and breaking 
 O'er a thousand severed ties.
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 We were glad when thou wast near us, 
 Youthful, beautiful, and brave ; 
 
 We have none like thee to cheer us 
 As we breast affliction's wave.; 
 
 If we call, thou eaast not hear us 
 In thy resting-place, the grave. 
 
 Yet we may again behold thee, 
 
 Not on this unstable strand, 
 But where love may long enfold thee, 
 
 In the glorious spirit land ; 
 Where the deathless have enrolled thee 
 
 In their bright rejoicing band. 
 
 Brother, whom to lose seem'd madness 
 Happy brother, thou hast crossed 
 
 O'er the fitful sea of sadness, 
 Where the soul is wildly tossed, 
 
 To the land of life and gladness } 
 Thou hast gone, but art not lost 
 
 So, while life's quick pulse is beating, 
 We will think, to soothe our heart 
 
 Of the moment of our greeting 
 In the country where thou art, 
 
 And the rapture of the meeting 
 Where the happy do not parti
 
 100 KCPHEKSON'S 
 
 HOPE IN GLOOM. 
 
 What though no present prospects opey 
 
 To cheer the hearts that pine, 
 Come let us cherish hope, sweet hope,. 
 
 That better days will shine. 
 Life's shadows cannot always last, 
 
 Joy's sun at length will rise, 
 And we shall smile at trouble past,. 
 
 Beneath auspicious skies. 
 
 True, we Bave proved the sickly care 
 
 Of promised bliss delayed, 
 And sternly struggled with despair, 
 
 Uncbeered by earthly aid. 
 Yet, we but bear what all have borne 
 
 The common lot of ill, 
 And though our human hearts are tom r 
 
 Hava source of comfort still. 
 
 Though want and pain combine to crush- 
 
 A frame net over-strong, 
 Their dismal boding cannot bush 
 
 The spirit yoice of song. 
 True, they may wake impassioned: griefv 
 
 And waste my being's spring ;. 
 But I shall soar, to seek relief, 
 
 Where thought is free to sing.
 
 HOPE IN GLOOM. 101 
 
 Cut off, for lack of promised aid, 
 
 From common worldly weal, 
 I hasten to the silent shade 
 
 That sorrow's wounds may heal ; 
 There will I rear my humble cot, 
 
 A home of love and peace, 
 And toil, contented with my lot, 
 
 Till all my sorrows cease- 
 
 Our fields of yellow ripening corn 
 
 Shall rustle in the breeze, 
 And birds of blessing sing at morn, 
 
 Amid our laden trees. 
 Our humble toil shall crown our board 
 
 With coarse but welcome fare, 
 And we shall use our little hoard 
 
 Without the sigh of eare. 
 
 Then, though no present prospects ope, 
 
 To cheer the hearts that pine, 
 Come, let us cherish hope, sweet hope, 
 
 That better days will shine. 
 Life's shadows cannot always last, 
 
 Joy's sun at length will rise, 
 Acd we shall smile at trouble past 
 
 Beneath auspicious skies.
 
 102 MCPHEBSON'S POEMS. 
 
 POSSESSIONS. 
 
 A eot for shelter from the storm, 
 
 A couch for calm repose ; 
 A fireside comfortably warm 
 
 When winter sheds bis snows ; 
 A little farm woo from the wild, 
 
 By years of toil and care ; 
 A happy wife a laughing child, 
 
 Make all my prospects fair. 
 
 These are the little and the much. 
 
 That give existence zest, 
 And aid the grateful thoughts that touch 
 
 The fountains of the breast. 
 I own a portion of the earth 
 
 On which Thy smiles are shed, 
 A mind exultant in the gift 
 
 Of bliss as well as bread. 
 
 Great Parent I how shall I express 
 The gratitude I feel ? 
 
 With what impassioned words address 
 The Source of all my weal ? 
 
 Formed, fostered by Thy heavenly 
 And woo'd to thy control, 
 
 I give Thee back thy priceless dower- 
 Hushed heart, and soaring
 
 THE IKTALID. 103 
 
 THE INVALID. 
 
 (6.) 
 
 I long to breath the free glad air, 
 
 The balmy breath of spring ; 
 To gaze on all things bright and fair, 
 
 And hear the wild birds sing. 
 I long to feel thy genial heat 
 
 " Thou world-reviving Sun ;" 
 And taste again the waters sweet 
 
 That down the hill-side run. 
 
 Confined to this delightless room 
 
 For weary weeks of pain, 
 I sigh to bask amidst the bloom, 
 
 Of nature's vernal reign. 
 I long throughout the breezy day 
 
 To rove in yonder fields, 
 And win the spirits fresh and gay 
 
 That life in action yields. 
 
 Not yet its glorious leafy bower 
 
 The forest reassumes, 
 But sweetly, in its sheltering bower, 
 
 Acadia's emblem blooms. 
 Bright birds amidst the woodlands sing, 
 
 Their summer loves begun ; 
 Gay insect tribes are on the wing, 
 
 Disporting in the sun.
 
 104 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Though Spring may not rejoice ray sight, 
 
 It is a joy to me 
 To know that others bless the light 
 
 That shines upon the free. 
 I hear the blithsome song at morn, 
 
 The holy hymn at eve ; 
 And hope, of tribulation born, 
 
 Forbids my heart to grieve. 
 
 Methinks I knew not how to prize 
 
 Young health's delightful glow, 
 Till sickness dimmed my lustrous eyes, 
 
 And laid my vigour low. 
 Perhaps, ungrateful for the good 
 
 With which my cup was crown'd, 
 The Giver was misunderstood 
 
 Until His mercy frown'd. 
 
 So be it : Let me humbly bear 
 
 The afflictive portion given, 
 Since e'en affliction shows the care 
 
 And tender love of Heaven. 
 Amidst the still-increasing pains 
 
 Of this frail form of dust, 
 Still more of Him my soul attains, 
 
 Still more to Him I trust.
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 Oft when I feel tbe tide of song 
 
 Rush o'er my fitful heart, 
 Misfortunes dark attendant throng, 
 
 And mental pain, depart. 
 Though "Fate" withhold Affection's smile, 
 
 And damp my native fire, 
 Sweet spells my lonely hours beguile 
 
 Whene'er I strike the lyre. 
 
 Communing with the glorious things 
 
 In earth, and sea, and sky, 
 A living well of gladness springs 
 
 In deserts parched and dry. 
 Though poor in this world's needful gold, 
 
 And doomed to sigh alone, 
 E'en I have mental wealth untold 
 
 O'er all creation strewn. 
 
 True I have sighed for Learning's Fount, 
 
 And spread my feeble wing, 
 But may not scale the rugged mount 
 
 That guards the sacred spring. 
 The cares that vex the generous soul, 
 
 The common needs of life, 
 Pain, sickness, hope-deferred, control 
 
 The mind's immortal strife. 
 
 105
 
 106 
 
 MCPHEKSON S POEMS. 
 
 Yet what though adverse fate oppress, 
 
 If man has learned to soar 
 Above the deep condign distress 
 
 That dims this earthly shore ? 
 He hath rich scenes of calm delight, 
 
 When, conscious of her wings, 
 The spirit gains her starry height, 
 
 And in her sadness, sings. 
 
 Thus, though too oft o'erwhelmed in gloom 
 
 That love may shrink to share, 
 There still is much to make my doom 
 
 Not all too hard to bear. 
 And though so wearied with the strife 
 
 Of this world's rugged ways, 
 I feel that patience sweetens life, 
 
 And brings some sunny days. 
 
 Then leave me to the lot of tears, 
 
 To which I strive to bow 
 And which, familiar with my years, 
 
 Ye may not alter now. 
 I have small earthly wish or aim, 
 
 But to employ my span, 
 Preserve an independent name, 
 
 And die an honest man. 
 
 Bid others hope assist the young, 
 Whose hearts are buoyant yet ; 
 
 ~For mine has been too darkly wrung ; 
 My earthly hope has set.
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 107 
 
 I know that life must henceforth be 
 
 A pilgrimage of pain, 
 But, oh ! I trust I hourly see 
 
 The chastening not in vain. 
 
 MEMORY. 
 
 Dost thou ever think of the days gone by, 
 
 When our hearts were young and free, 
 When I was the star of thy loving eye, 
 
 And thou wast a world to me ? 
 Dost thou yet remember the happy time, 
 
 When, singing a song of glee, 
 I gathered the flowers of thy own dear clime, 
 
 From the wild-wood bowers, for thee ? 
 
 Dost thou ever think of our walks of love, 
 
 When our hearts into one heart grew, 
 As the shining hosts of the halls above 
 
 Look'd out from their realms of blue ? 
 Oh ! past, long past, are those happy days, 
 
 But my first love still is true, 
 And I feel so worn by the world's cold ways, 
 
 That I wish those hours were new. 
 
 Dost thou ever visit the haunted glen, 
 Where the brooklet's song was sweet, 
 
 And, freed from the gaze of inquisitive men, 
 I sat at thy maiden feet ?
 
 108 MCPHEKSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Dost thou ever visit the wood-bine bower, 
 
 That lent us its cool retreat, 
 When the summer beams at the noon-tide hour 
 
 On the fields in fervor beat. 
 
 Art thou still sheltered by that dear home 
 
 Where we sat when the storm was high, 
 And the wind rushed on like a cheerless gnome, 
 
 With the wail of the wintry sky ? 
 Dost thou still make one of the household band 
 
 For whose social smiles I sigh, 
 Or art thou afar from thine own dear land, 
 
 And alone in the world, as I? 
 
 ANTICIPATING JUNE. 
 
 raise me from my couch of pain, 
 And bear me to the door, 
 
 That I may see the green glad earth, 
 And clear blue sky once more. 
 
 What myriads wing the quick fresh breeze, 
 From dawn to close of day, 
 
 While such as I, diseased and pale, 
 Sigh feeble life away. 
 
 1 love the hill-top, the green heights, 
 
 My soul hath freedom there ; 
 
 And in rny days of dear delights, 
 
 Health came upon their air.
 
 ANTICIPATING JUNE. 109 
 
 And now, though worn with weary toil, 
 
 And weak with wasting pain, 
 I long to trace their winding paths, 
 
 And taste their sweets again. 
 
 But stay ; the winds are yet so chill 
 
 The enjoyment might be death, 
 For I am much too weak and ill 
 
 To meet their searching breath. 
 May hath been wet, and cold, and dark, 
 
 But June may set me free ! 
 And I retrace my favorite walks, 
 
 Along the flowery lea. 
 
 But why this clinging to the world, 
 
 Whose cherished hopes decay ? 
 Is it to bend at mammon's shrine ? 
 
 Or walk in wisdom's way ? 
 Give me to choose the better part, 
 
 The truth that makes us free, 
 And yield the lowly contrite heart, 
 
 O gracious Lord, to Thee ! 
 
 Thus, whether life continue long, 
 
 Or death's cold touch be nigh, 
 Teach me to sing salvation's song 
 
 Or let me joy to die. 
 Thou hast upheld my feeble soul, 
 
 Through varied good and ill, 
 And now, that waves of trouble roll, 
 
 Thy love supports me still.
 
 110 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 
 
 Once more my much loved Harp, once more 
 
 I touch thy tuneful string, 
 For half my care might well be o'er 
 
 And hope consent to sing. 
 Kind friends have smiled upon my gloom 
 
 And cheered my wayward fate, 
 But Oh, this little bit of bloom 
 
 Has haply come so late ; 
 
 So late ! The pain that racks my breast, 
 
 Denoting quick decay, 
 Forewarns me that I soon shall rest 
 
 Beneath Oblivious clay, 
 Yet will their kindness soothe the grief 
 
 Of premature decline, 
 Their generous presents bring relief, 
 
 If not to me, to mine. 
 
 I go from heart-consuming care, 
 
 From yearning sighs for peace, 
 To sleep in death's cold chambers, where 
 
 Life's withering troubles cease. 
 Yet seems it hard for one so young, 
 
 So fraught with fancies high, 
 To leave his much-loved harp unstrung, 
 
 Resign his hopes, and die. .
 
 WHY MY SONG IS SAD. HI 
 
 Yet I am all unmeet, unmeet, 
 
 To struggle with my lot, 
 And now my weary pilgrim feet 
 
 Would seek some quiet spot. 
 Oh ! lay me, after all my pain, 
 
 On earth my mother's breast, 
 And grieve not that ye miss my strain, 
 
 For I shall be at rest ! 
 
 Say ! what have I to live for here 
 
 When health and hope have fled, 
 But desert prospects far too drear, 
 
 For feeble steps to tread ? 
 What, but the sinking of the heart 
 
 Beneath despair's control, 
 Wild tears of anguish wept apart, 
 
 And bitterness of soul ? 
 
 WHY MY SONG IS SAD. 
 
 Ye ask me why my song is sad 
 
 In life's meridian day ; 
 I answer, How can it be glad 
 
 When Hope withholds her ray ? 
 She has not shed her warmer beams, 
 
 Upon my night of gloom, 
 And now withdraws her faint cold gleams, 
 
 And leaves me to my doom.
 
 112 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Spring came I scarcely breathed her air, 
 
 Or looked upon her sky ; 
 And Summer's charms, exceeding fair, 
 
 Passed half-regarded by. 
 Now Autumn, crowned with golden sheaves 
 
 Brings bread and bliss to toil, 
 But mine are but the withered leaves 
 
 The crushed heart's piteous spoil. 
 
 Unconscious, unafraid of guile, 
 
 I build my tower on dust ! 
 Alas ! how man can smile and smile, 
 
 And break his brother's trust. 
 What change of fate can make amends, 
 
 What after smiles repay, 
 The pangs infixed by friends, strange friends, 
 
 That flatter and betray ! 
 
 The wronged Athenian sought a cave 
 
 Beside the lone sea-shore, 
 And I, too long a suppliant slave, 
 
 Will trust the world no more ; 
 Taught, by the sorrows of the past 
 
 How scathe the false world's fires, 
 Will shun the noisy scene at last 
 
 And nurse subdued desires. 
 
 But who can brook the bitter thought 
 
 That earthly trust is vain ! 
 The wisdom is all dearly bought 
 
 That brings such burning pain.
 
 TAKE BACK THE LYRE. 113 
 
 We waste the sunny years of youth, 
 
 We lavish manhood's prime, 
 To prove, and weep, the cold, cold truth 
 
 So oft revealed by time ! 
 
 Then ask not why my song is sad, 
 
 My soul forlorn and drear ; 
 Can high-wrought minstrel souls be glad 
 
 When hope forgets to cheer ? 
 Can hearts bowed down to earth, maintain 
 
 Sweet patience, and be still, 
 No earth experience but of pain 
 
 Small prospect, but of ill ? 
 
 The birds, that all the bright day long, 
 
 "Breathe rapture on the ear, 
 Have sorrow in their sweetest song, 
 
 When Winter rules the year ; 
 So, when life's glorious rainbows fail, 
 
 And hope forsakes our sky, 
 The proudest spirits inly quail, 
 
 The coldest bosoms sigh. 
 
 TAKE BACK THE LYRE. 
 
 give me back the lyre whose strain 
 Sent light o'er life's unclouded spring, 
 
 The lyre that long hath idly lain, 
 
 That ceased with youthful Hope, to sing.
 
 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Perchance I yet again may wake 
 The voice of dim departed years ; 
 
 Perchance this icy spell may break 
 And melt to sad yet soothing tears. 
 
 Alas ! my youthful fire is o'er 
 The strain is sad and lifeless all ; 
 
 This time-worn lyre can but deplore 
 
 The grief, which holds my heart in thrall. 
 
 The loved who woke its voice of mirth, 
 Have ceased their radiant light to shed ; 
 
 And life to me is dark, and earth 
 Has gloom from deserts of the dead. 
 
 Away, away take back the lyre ! 
 
 I cannot wake its gladdening tone 
 I cannot now its chords inspire, 
 
 Each cherished earthly hope has flown. 
 
 Take back the lyre its mournful strain 
 Accords not with its notes of yore ; 
 
 And oh, it adds but more of pain 
 To think its last glad song is o'er.
 
 A LUCID INTERVAL. 115 
 
 A LUCID INTERVAL. 
 
 The spirit of the dreamy past 
 
 A bright perspective drew ; 
 But wakeful life is all o'ercast, 
 
 With truth's ensomber'd hue ; 
 I could not in my joy believe 
 
 The warning of the wise, 
 That pleasure smileth to deceive, 
 
 And Peace but sings and flies. 
 
 I longed for Manhood's active prime, 
 
 But now I turn, in tears, 
 Unto my Boyhood's happy time, 
 
 My unreturning years ; 
 I linger o'er their treasured things, 
 
 As misers o'er their gold, 
 And weep that young Delight has wings 
 
 That may not be controlled. 
 
 For me to sigh foi Learning's store, 
 
 Is but to feel the sting 
 That waits on those who try to soar 
 
 On poor Misfortune's wing. 
 ' ' The cares that vex the generous soul 
 
 The common needs of life 
 Pain, sickness, hope deferred, control 
 
 The mind's immortal strife."
 
 116 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 My lot has been a wearied lot, 
 
 With only, at the most, 
 The limits of a little spot 
 
 That clt/uds had not engrossed. 
 But thougt^ .he gloom that marks my brow, 
 
 Is cold w.^uin my heart, 
 My soul has^arnered much, that now 
 
 I would not have depart. 
 
 \ 
 
 The Past instructs the Present, I 
 
 Have learned with one of yore, 
 That all is vain beneatH-^he sky 
 
 Unless we seek for more. 
 Life has a bitter cup at best 
 
 But if its hopes be all, 
 Its pleasures lack their native zest, 
 
 And prematurely pall. 
 
 When want restrained my youthful fire, 
 
 I bade my harp complain ; 
 But now along each trembling wire 
 
 There breathes an humble strain : 
 The night that closed around my way 
 
 Is still without a morn, 
 But, oh; ! of sacred Reason's ray 
 
 A steadfast star is born.
 
 FORGET ME. 117 
 
 FORGET ME. 
 
 Forget me ! all my love and care, 
 
 My smiles and tears forget ; 
 My youthful hopes were br'mt and fair, 
 
 But Fortune's light hath -et. 
 Through life these last sad -vords of mice, 
 
 This hour, do not recall ; 
 I would not that a tear of thine 
 
 For one so lone should fall. 
 
 Forget me ! think of me no more 
 
 Or let my memory be 
 Like that of one whose strife is o'er, 
 
 Whose wearied soul is free. 
 My youthful hopes were bright and fair, 
 
 But Fortune's light hath set : 
 Forget me all my love and care, 
 
 My smiles and tears, forget. 
 
 FORGET THEE T" 
 
 Forget thee ? Oh ! it may not be 
 
 Thy love hath o'er me cast 
 A spell that still will turn to thee, 
 
 And wake the happy past. 
 When first in thb cold world we met, 
 
 And heart communed with heart, 
 A seal upon my soul was set, 
 
 That may not hence depart,
 
 118 MCFIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Forget thee ? Yes, when these worn eyes 
 
 In dreamless sleep shall close 
 When this lone heart that loves thee, lies 
 
 In Death's serene repose. 
 Through life will I the past recall 
 
 On thee iny thoughts shall rest, 
 For thee my frequent tears shall fall, 
 
 My sighs be unrepressed. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THY SUNNY EYE. 
 
 The light of thy sunny eye once more 
 
 On my pallid brow is beaming, 
 But, dearest, my joyous days are o'er, 
 
 And the zest of my heart's fond dreaming. 
 My lip may be seen to wear a smile, 
 
 The wreck of my youth illuming, 
 But the shade that passes my face the while 
 
 Tells that no earth hopes are blooming. 
 
 Full quickly the silver cord of life 
 
 Will the spoiler's cold touch sever, 
 And my soul shall be freed from its pain and strife, 
 
 And return to its bourne forever. 
 Like a bird unbound from its weary chain, 
 
 Aloft in its gladness springing ; 
 Even so may I soar to the heavenly plain 
 
 Of its joyful freedom singing.
 
 I WOULD I WERE A CHILD AGAIN. 119 
 
 I WOULD I WERE A CHILD AGAIN. 
 
 I would I were a child, again 
 
 To sit among the flowers, 
 And gathering garlands for my hair, 
 
 In summer's sunny hours. 
 I would I were a child again, 
 
 As careless and as gay 
 As when I laughed as others laugh, 
 
 And played as others play. 
 
 Oh, happy times ! how soon exchanged 
 
 For after years of care, 
 The darkly trying lot of earth, 
 
 That man is doomed to bear. 
 Oh, happy time ! when on her hope 
 
 My tender mother smiled 
 I would I were a child again 
 
 A young and happy child ! 
 
 THE BUDS HAVE BURST FORTH. 
 
 The buds have burst forth into beautiful flowers, 
 And the birds that I love have returned to my bowers, 
 The green leaves are glistening, the grass and the grain 
 Give promise of harvest to gladden the swain.
 
 120 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 But I have no pleasure, no "sense and no sight, 
 In all that once gave me such purer delight. 
 I know there are greenness, and beauty and flowers, 
 And fairy birds singing in favourite bowers ; 
 
 But sickness of body, and sweet hopes deferred, 
 Have rent the sweet chords which the joy-spirit stirred, 
 And now the fond poet of nature and truth, 
 Is wasting away in the summer of youth, 
 
 Going down to the grave, leaving kind friends to weep, 
 And a loved wife to mourn with a sorrow too deep ; 
 And a young child to miss him and ask for his face, 
 When a cold chilling void shall have darkened his place 
 
 Yet God gives me patience I wish to be still, 
 Behold his salvation, submit to His will ; 
 And I trust that my hope in His mercy and Love, 
 Is an earnest of rest in the mansions above. 
 
 ONE DAY NEARER. 
 
 One day nearer to the grave 
 Swiftly suns and shadows roll, 
 
 Bringing on the solemn time 
 
 Which shall try the trembling soul.
 
 ONE DAY NEARER. 121 
 
 day nearer to the grave 
 I ana hastening to its bourne, 
 I am withering from the world, 
 Never, never to return. 
 
 Well, the Will of Heaven be dono- 
 I have toiled for humble bread, 
 
 While the better part the soul 
 Sighed, neglected, pined, unfed. 
 
 'Tis an awful thing to die 
 
 Even the Christian feels it such; 
 
 ^Shrinks to close the weary eye, 
 Dreads the last congealing touch. 
 
 But, Maker of my frame, 
 
 Thou, if sought aright, wilt give ; 
 
 I have sinned incurred thy wrath ; 
 Christ has died and I may live. 
 
 Ctive me earnestly I crave 
 
 Faith, and hope, and perfect love- 
 Save me, in Thy mercy save ! 
 Take me to Thyself above ! 
 
 Thou canst justify the soul 
 
 Which has sinned, and yet be just, 
 Justify, and make me whole 
 
 Whole in heart, and spirit-trust
 
 122 MCBBERSON'S POEMS, 
 
 DEPARTING. 
 
 Thej tell me that the smiles of Spring; 
 
 Are bright upon the earth, 
 That every green and flowery thing 
 
 Is bursting into birth. 
 
 They tell me of the songs of birds, 
 The murmuring of the rills, 
 
 The cheerful sounds of flocks and herds- 
 Upon a thousand hills. 
 
 In vain for me, the birds sing cheer, 
 The flowers unfold their dyes ; 
 
 The sights I see, the sounds I hear, 
 Are human tears and sighs. 
 
 Yet why should I lament the doom 
 
 That gives this mortal, rest, 
 Ere thousands lose their youthful bloom 
 
 And buoyancy of breast ? 
 
 Why should my loving friends deplore 
 
 My premature decay ? 
 I long to spread my wings and soar 
 
 To everlasting day.
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 should not grieve because I go, 
 Oa glad wings like a dove 
 From sia and suffering below 
 To endless peace above. 
 
 .My hope is strong I have no fears-: 
 I hear my Saviour's voice 
 
 - O friends, O kindred, dry your tears, 
 Look heavenward, and rejoice. 
 
 (7)) 
 
 'Oh give me music in my pain, 
 
 To wrap me from my care, 
 -Sing, dearest, sing, some holy strain, 
 
 To some old sac-red air. 
 Thou canst not raise me from my bed, 
 
 Of early sad decay, 
 With all the tears which love may shed, 
 
 Or vows which love would pay. 
 But thou eanst bear my spirit up 
 
 Upon thy winged voice, 
 Till I forget life's bitter cup, 
 
 Breathe freely, aad rejoiee. 
 
 Sf poor our lot, and small our hope, 
 If brief as thought our bloom, 
 
 Oh, let us trust that light will ope 
 To eheer this hour of gloom-
 
 124 HC PHERSOS'S 
 
 My heart, long pierced with various pain,- 
 
 Sees gleams of light divine, 
 And still would labour to retain 
 
 Some hope for thee and thine, 
 I ask no long protracted stay, 
 
 To waste my midnight oil ' r 
 But strength to smooth our humble way,. 
 
 And health for useful toil. 
 
 But He who rules with gracious sway, 
 
 May other path decree ; 
 And I, at life's meridian day, 
 
 Be wrapped in earth frora thee t 
 But let not grief, too bitter, rend, 
 
 But trust, and trusting pray, 
 The widow's God, the orphan's friend,, 
 
 Will be thy staff and stay. 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 0, make my lone and lowly grave 
 Beneath the bright unbounded sky,. 
 
 And let no cypress o'er it wave, 
 No marble meet the traveller's eye. 
 
 I would not be, among the crowd, 
 In common sepulchres inhumed ; 
 
 I would not with the rich and proud 
 Be mid the pomp of State entombed.
 
 THE WISH. 125 
 
 Enough for me, if while I live 
 
 I strive my wayward heart to keep ; 
 
 My foes if I have foes forgive, 
 
 Love all, and weep with those who weep. 
 
 Enough for me, if when I die 
 
 I leave no heart which mine hath wrung, 
 No tear but in Affection's eye, 
 
 No I'me the good may wish unsung. 
 
 Enough, if o'er ray dreamless rest 
 
 The Mourner, Night, comes down to weep ; 
 
 If there, as oft in moments blest, 
 
 The stars keep wateh, the moonbeams sleep. 
 
 Why trouble where we leave our clay, 
 When summoned to the spirit spkere ; 
 
 Yet I this wearied frame would lay 
 In seme sweet spot to feeling dear. 
 
 Thea make my lone and lowly grave 
 
 Beneath the bright unbounded sky, 
 'Where flowers may bioom, and green grass wave, 
 wild birds sing, .and soft winds sigh I
 
 NOTES TO "PERSONAL. 
 
 (1.) The correspondent addressed in these Tines, was the person 
 mentioned in memoir, as an early friend of the Poet . At tlie date of 
 the lines, Mr. G. was editor of a Provincial paper, and in its columns 
 had made complimentary reference to Mr. MePherson. The Mr. 
 Elder mentioned in one of the verses, was, at the time, a candidate for 
 the Baptist ministry. He had written poetical pieces above the com- 
 mon order, one of those, entitled "The Grave Yard," is alluded ta 
 ; n the Address to Mr.G. Mr. E,.died before he had attained to what 
 , called, the prime of life. 
 
 (2.) By the term "mystic tie" as used- in this and one or two- 
 other places, is to be understood,, the poetic sympathy : the bond of' 
 literature, taste and habits, which is supposed to influence minds 
 having poetic propensities and training. 
 
 (3.) These lines are also addressed to Mr. G. Each stanza ha* 
 its own suggestive scene, expressed in picturesque words, and finely- 
 flowing metre; and each is worthy of separate study. See the paint- 
 ings of the Season, of the anticipation of Spring^ and of the social 
 enjoyments, which the little pastoral includes. 
 
 (4.) lanthe was taken as an, occasional designation, instead oS' 
 Irene, for the same person. 
 
 (5.) See Memoir, under tkle " Particulars of Poems," for some 
 explanation in reference to. these lines. 
 
 (&.} This little piece is characteristic of McPherson's mose : The- 
 sympathy with nature, the personal waitings, the consolation in 
 good experienced by others, the devotional tendency, and the liquid; 
 flowing of metre, iave echoes in many parts of the volume. 
 
 (7.) This loving lament is marked as McPherson's "last" 
 poetical effort. What thoughts are suggested by the 
 ao.d by the tone of mind expressed..
 
 PART II, 
 
 INCLUDING I 
 
 "DEVOTIONAL," 
 
 "TEIPBEANCE KEFOKM," 
 
 4 'OCCASIONAL"
 
 " The noblest claim ! 
 To walk with God, to be divinely free, 
 To soar, and to anticipate the skies." 
 
 " 'Tis nurtur'd thirst, 
 Of ruinous excess, that frequent prompts, 
 The baser action, and imbrutes the man." 
 
 " Studious of Song, 
 And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
 I would not trifle merely."
 
 DEVOTIONAL, 
 
 THE humble aspirations of the heart towards Divine power and 
 goodness, the elements of worship, love and constant service, are 
 understood by the term Devotion. The Poet says " An undevout 
 Astronomer is mad " ; but should not the reproof have much wider 
 range ? Man, in his nature and history would be the problem of the 
 universe, if divested of that linking with Divine excellence, which is 
 characteristic of true Devotion ; which refines and harmonizes hu- 
 man life. 
 
 The natural history of humanity proves how almost universal is 
 the instinct of Divine worship ; in its higher and purer Christian 
 aspects it doubtless develops the highest order of man ; the most dig- 
 nified, beneficent and happy condition of the human race, created, 
 to some extent, in the likeness of the Creator. 
 
 The different ranks of Society, have greatly different objects and 
 principles of daily life; but sincere devotion harmonizes every 
 grade. In this respect, the Queen on the throne, and the most 
 obscure cottager, have the same great Centre of solicitude, of prayer, 
 of praise, and of consolation. 
 
 The Poet has been called the priest of nature : one who stands, as 
 it were, between the seen and unseen worlds ; who allures to the 
 genial and beautiful and good ; who gives a language to the other- 
 wise inarticalate principles of animate and inanimate existence, 
 causing appreciation and concord, where otherwise ignorance and 
 confusion might prevail. Such an estimate may include much of 
 poetic license, but it also includes much of the real essentials of the 
 poet's office, and except it apply, to some good degree, a student 
 may labor at rhetoric and rhyme, with but few claims to the title of 
 true Poet. 
 
 The verses which follow are pervaded by much of the aspiration 
 and genuine philosophy of acceptable devotion, while the melody of 
 the language, and vividness of the thoughts, will be found, in many 
 parts, calculated to combine feelings of interest and pleasure with 
 those of utility and duty.
 
 DEVOTIONAL, 
 
 PRAISE. 
 
 (Note 1.) 
 
 Let ocean, the Creator praise ; 
 
 Let rolling floods adore Him ; 
 Your song, ye lofty mountains raise, 
 
 Ye hills, be glad before Him. 
 
 Ye winds take up the lofty lay, 
 And, on your mystic pinions, 
 
 The wonders of His fame convey 
 Throughout his vast dominions. 
 
 Ye storms that war with ocean hoar, 
 Are heard the chorus swelling ; 
 
 Still in your elemental roar, 
 Of great Jehovah telling 
 
 Ye lightnings which attend his car, 
 Ye loud o'erwhelming thunders, 
 
 Proclaim his awful name afar 
 And speak his gracious wonders.
 
 132 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 To Him, ye trees, your honours wave, 
 Rejoicing on the mountains ; 
 
 To Him ye streams, the vales that lave, 
 Leap gladly from your fountains. 
 
 Let all his creatures sing his praise, 
 Let sinners fear before him ; 
 
 Let saints the grateful anthem raise, 
 And every soul adore Him. 
 
 WORSHIP. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 " It is good to be here." PETEK. 
 
 Saviour ! it is good for us 
 
 To be assembled here ! 
 For when we meet to worship thus, 
 
 Thou art divinely near. 
 
 We cannot see Thee, as of old 
 
 Thy favored people saw ; 
 We cannot, as they did, behold 
 
 Thy look of love and awe ! 
 
 Yet where Thy trusting servants meet, 
 
 In Thy most holy name, 
 Thy presence makes devotion sweet, 
 
 And purifies its flame.
 
 PRAISE AND PRAYER. 133 
 
 Thy smiles such peace and joy impart 
 That doubt and darkness flee, 
 
 And leave the altar of the heart, 
 Not all unmeet for Thee ! 
 
 PRAISE AND PRAYEK. 
 
 Creator of this mortal frame 
 
 With mystic sense inwrought, 
 And glowing with the vital flame 
 
 Of heaven-aspiring thought ; 
 To Thee, Lord, enthroned above 
 
 In glory's holiest glow, 
 How deep a debt of thankful love 
 
 Do we, Thy creatures, owe. 
 
 Each day and every hour displays 
 
 Thy Providential care ; 
 Thine eye is over all our ways, 
 
 Thy influence every where. 
 Then aid, aid us to maintain 
 
 The birthright of the free, 
 And strengthen thou the golden chain 
 
 That binds our hearts to Thee !
 
 134 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 PRAYER MEETING MELODY. 
 
 ! Thou at whose coming the glad heavens bow, 
 Shed on us the light of Thy countenance now ; 
 Let Thy love to this waiting assembly appear 
 To the souls of Thy servants be graciously near. 
 
 Thou hast promised that thus when Thy followers meet 
 Thy presence shall bless them their union be sweet ; 
 Then, 0, to Thy people who seek Thee, draw near, 
 That we all may confess " it is good to be here ! " 
 
 We would fain give ourselves to our Lord in our youth, 
 To be kept by the Spirit of Meekness and Truth, 
 To be taught by Thy wisdom to walk in Thy light 
 Until sin shall have vanished, and faith become sight. 
 
 Then, 0, to Thy worshipping servants impart 
 
 Due fervor of soul and contrition of heart, 
 
 That, released from the sins that beset and enthrall, 
 
 We may serve Thee with freedom and love Thee o'er all ! 
 
 teach us henceforth so to number our days 
 
 That the works of our hands may be done to Thy praise, 
 
 That all who our patience and faithfulness see, 
 
 May learn of our Master, and glorify Thee.
 
 SABBATH SCHOOL HYMN. 135 
 
 SABBATH SCHOOL HYMN. 
 
 Saviour ! we have come to-day 
 To be guided in Thy way, 
 To be led in early youth 
 In the peaceful paths of Truth. 
 
 "We are seekers and would find 
 Singleness of heart and mind ; 
 We are learners and would be 
 Great Instructor ! taught of Thee ! 
 
 Bless our faithful pastor's cares, 
 Bless our Sabbath teacher's prayers ; 
 Make them useful, fervent, wise, 
 Righteous leaders to the skies. 
 
 Bless this sacred Sabbath day 
 Bless Religion's widening sway ; 
 Into thy good hands we fall 
 Guide, protect, instruct us all ! 
 
 THE COMPENSATION. 
 
 What matter where our lot be cast, 
 
 If we perform our part, 
 And bear the sunshine and the blast 
 
 In purity of heart ;
 
 13G -MCPHERSON'S POKMS, 
 
 What matter bow obscure tbe place 
 In which we run our earthly race, 
 
 Or how these bodies smart, 
 If we secure a home above 
 An interest in a Saviour's love. 
 
 The trials of this sinful sphere, 
 
 This darkly passing shore, 
 Though oftimes many and severe, 
 
 Shall soon afflict no more ; 
 Will be forgotten when we gaze 
 On glory's bright undazzling blaze, 
 
 And heavenly heights explore ; 
 For He who sits upon the Throne 
 Has fadeless pleasures for His own ! 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Did Hope, that fails the righteous never, 
 No light beyond the grave impart 
 
 Did Death divide our souls for ever, 
 How sad were the surviving heart ? 
 
 There is a land of life unending, 
 
 Where those who serve the Lord shall meet, 
 A land where soul with soul is blending, 
 
 Where love is pure, and service sweet.
 
 THE REST. 137 
 
 % 
 
 Though here, by many sorrows riven, 
 
 Though here, the prospect cheats our eyes, 
 
 To faith the glorious hope is given, 
 Of boundless bliss beyond the skies. 
 
 Then let us, our intent declaring, 
 
 With steadfast faith and constant prayer, 
 
 The ills of life with patience bearing, 
 For that eternal rest prepare ! 
 
 THE REST. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 Rest, for all the broken-hearted, 
 Joy, for all oppressed with grief; 
 
 Uliss, for all the good departed, 
 And for every ill, relief ! 
 
 Think, who lay in lowly manger ! 
 
 Who contemned the world's vain pride ! 
 Who was deemed a wandering stranger ! 
 
 Who Heaven's gates hath opened wide ! 
 
 Joy, then, Joy ! and onward pressing, 
 Toil ye for the glorious prize ; 
 
 Sweet the rest, the promised blessing, 
 Which shall greet the ransomed eyes !
 
 138 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 * 
 HEAVENLY GUIDANCE. 
 
 Christian, life, like yonder ocean, 
 
 Teems with dangers dark and drear 
 Now, its waves, in wild commotion, 
 
 Now, in tranquil rest, appear. 
 "From its shining, peaceful seeming, 
 
 Christian, thou hast much to fear, 
 But with heavenly beacon beaming, 
 
 Thou thy bark may'st rightly steer. 
 
 Then, should stormy wrath assail thee ! 
 
 Crowding ills thy lot betide ! 
 Fear not, help shall never fail thee ; 
 
 Deity thy guard and guide. 
 Though nor time, nor space can bound Him, 
 
 He can in the heart abide, 
 Peace and joy diffusing round Him, 
 
 Strength and solace, by thy side. 
 
 BEREAVEMENTS. 
 
 0, why from all things which the heart 
 
 Delighted, fain would keep, 
 Is hapless man decreed to part 
 
 In anguish wild and deep ? 
 0, why must sad bereavement's tears 
 
 In hopeless grief be shed, 
 While love lament through lonely years 
 
 The absent and the dead ?
 
 A NIGHT THOUGHT. 139 
 
 Sin, sin, that erst from Eden's bowers 
 
 Exiled the primal pair, 
 Has marked this weeping world of ours, 
 
 With cold sepulchral air. 
 Hence, all that spring on earth must fade ; 
 
 And all of mortal born, 
 Descend to silent solemn shade, 
 
 Waiting the rising morn. 
 
 Then, bursting from the silent tomb, 
 
 Shall all, the crown that win, 
 In bright unwithering beauty bloom, 
 
 And endless life begin. 
 While sweetly through unbounded space, 
 
 Beneath unclouded skies, 
 Glad songs of praise, for saving grace, 
 
 From golden harps shall rise ! 
 
 A NIGHT THOUGHT. 
 
 As purely in the human breast 
 
 Should Virtue's image lie, 
 As in the lakelet sank to rest, 
 
 The mirrored, starry sky. 
 But lured by Pleasure's phantom, man. 
 
 Unmindful of his goal, 
 Seeks not to gild bis little span, 
 
 The light that guides the soul.
 
 140 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 MOURNER. 
 
 Mourner, hath thy friend departed ? 
 
 Beams no more the loved one's eye ? 
 Art thou lone and broken-hearted 
 
 Worn with woe, and prone to die. 
 Though thy path be dark before thee, 
 
 Though there seem no cheering ray, 
 Light will rise, and shining o'er thee, 
 
 Turn the darkness into day. 
 
 Maiden ! youth and health may leave thee, 
 
 All thy young delights depart, 
 Time, of mortal joy bereave thee, 
 
 Earthly love forsake thy heart ; 
 Yet, if when thy path is shaded, 
 
 Thou canst soar above its gloom, 
 O'er thine earthly prospects faded, 
 
 Brighter scenes for thee shall bloom ! 
 
 Mourner, weak and worn with sorrow, 
 
 Grief but for a while will last ; k 
 Joy returneth with the morrow, 
 
 And the night will soon be past. 
 Much to cheer thee still, is given 
 
 Much to chase away thy fears ; 
 Feelings wearied, worn and riven 
 
 Boon shall know no bitter tears.
 
 RESIGNATION. 141 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 (4.) 
 
 Mortal ! o'er thy lot repining, 
 Lift above thy tearful eyes \ 
 
 Earthly ills, our hearts refining, 
 Fit us for our native skies ; 
 
 Earthly joys when most declining 
 Seein to bid us most to rise. 
 
 If thy heart too proudly clingeth 
 To this changeful world of ours, 
 
 Marvel not if sorrow springeth 
 E'en from out its fairest flowers ; 
 
 Earthly passion surely bringeth 
 Darkness o'er its brightest bowers, 
 
 Think bow oft thou blindly swervest 
 From the light and life divine 
 
 Think how little thou deservest, 
 While so much of good is thine, 
 
 And, if Heaven thou rightly servest, 
 Thou wilt then no more repine ! 
 
 EARTH. 
 
 (3.> 
 
 Cling not to Earth her frequent smile, 
 
 Polluted in its spring, 
 Is oft the changing phase of guile 
 
 The charm before the sting.
 
 142 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 She mocketh those who love her makes 
 Their wiser actions gross mistakes, 
 
 And clips the spirit's wing. 
 Cling not to earth her flowers depart, 
 And leave a wintry dearth of heart. 
 
 We labour more to live unblest 
 
 To nurse these sensual fires, 
 Than to secure the glorious rest 
 
 Reserved for pure desires. 
 The life to come is shaped in this, 
 Which hath sweet preludes of the bliss 
 
 To which our hope aspires j 
 But though we sigh for happier skies, 
 We trust the world, and miss the prize ! 
 
 Thou scorn'st the tyranny of man, 
 
 Stoop not to that of lust, 
 Which desecrates his little span, 
 
 And bows him to the dust, 
 Obscures the glory of the soul 
 Ambitious of a heavenly goal, 
 
 And violates her trust ! 
 Alas ! that he who frees the slave 
 Should tread on Moral Freedom's grave ! 
 
 Cling not to earth, but cease to prize, 
 
 That syren, Sensual Joy, 
 Which, fair to inexperienced eyes, 
 
 Allures but to destroy.
 
 EARTULY JOY. 143 
 
 Not all the blandishments of art 
 
 Can hide the worm that gnaws her heart, 
 
 And works the soul annoy ; 
 Blight lurks beneath her balmiest breath, 
 Her straying feet take hold on death. 
 
 Seek Wisdom ; she is knowledge, truth, 
 
 The soul's superior sight, 
 The fountain of immortal youth, 
 
 And ever new delight. 
 Her right hand offers length of days, 
 Her left, true riches, pleasure, praise, 
 
 And all things pure and bright. 
 Her ways are pleasantness and peace ; 
 Time fails, but her rewards, increase. 
 
 EARTHLY JOY. 
 
 I ask not earthly joy 
 
 Which cannot long endure, 
 
 But that which Time may not destroy 
 The exquisite and pure. 
 
 I would not linger here 
 When called to rise and go 
 
 To that all-radiant upper sphere, 
 Unstained by sin and woe.
 
 144 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Earth's frail and feverish clay 
 Suits not the rising soul, 
 
 That loves to wing her joyful way 
 To her eternal goal. 
 
 E'en now, as on the verge 
 
 Of mortal life I stand, 
 There come sweet angel-thoughts that urge 
 
 My thoughts to that far land. 
 
 Yes, I will bear this strife, 
 And wait with hope, till He 
 
 Who spake the world to light and life, 
 Speak my hushed spirit free. 
 
 VOTARY OF PLEASURE. 
 
 Thou that now in youth enjoyest 
 
 That which seems sufficient bliss, 
 Thou that all thy powers employest, 
 
 Like thy precious years, amiss ; 
 That immortal soul debasing 
 
 At the world's unholy shrine, 
 There thy fond affections placing, 
 
 How can lasting peace be thine ?
 
 IHE VOTAEY 0* PLEASURE. 
 
 He who yields to dark temptation, 
 
 He who perseveres in sin, 
 Thoughtless of his high vocation 
 
 Feels an aching void within. 
 Virtue's peaceful paths forsaking, 
 
 Wandering ftom the ways of right, 
 Grief for guilt our souls o'ertaking, 
 
 We partake the penal blight. 
 
 Wisdom long hath loudly spoken, 
 
 Though she speaks too oft in vain, 
 'That when Nature's laws are broken 
 
 Man must suffer varied pain : 
 Use the world, as not abusing 
 
 That which to well-being tends-; 
 Take thy lot without refusing 
 
 Teachings, Heavenly Goodness sends. 
 
 Though the things of time are twining 
 
 Round the young and ardent heart, 
 Yet, their specious lures declining, 
 
 Wisely choose the better part. 
 Hail the light that, shining o'er thee, 
 
 With its pure prophetic ray, 
 Will dispel the gloom before thee 
 
 And make sure the doubtful way. 
 
 This is but the dawn of being, 
 This, Probation's trial hour ; 
 Here, man seeth not, or seeing, 
 
 Slumbereth on where troubles lower, 
 7*
 
 148 MCPHERSON'S 
 
 Then, no longer idly dreaming, 
 Life's corrupting pleasures fly ; 
 
 And, thy precious years redeeming, 
 Lay up treasures in the sky. 
 
 TO A CHRISTIAN FRIEND: 
 
 My Brother ! though thy lot be low, 
 
 Thy burthen hard to bear, 
 Thy earthly pleasures dashed with woe, 
 
 Thy earthly peace, with care ; 
 Hast thou not still amidst the gloom 
 Some little tints of heavenly bloom, 
 
 Some flowers serenely fair 
 Some pure bright antepasts of joy 
 " Which time shall never dare destroy?"" 
 
 Those lights that cheer thee on thy way 
 
 Are shadows of a sphere, 
 To which, as fades our evil day, 
 
 The spirit draws more near : 
 Then faint not thou, but fix thine eye 
 In patient hope beyond the sky 
 
 Till that bright world appear : 
 Life's little ills will soon be o'er, 
 And sin and sorrow vex no more.
 
 TO A CHUI8TXAN FRIEND. 147 
 
 No matter where our lot be cast, 
 
 If we perform our part, 
 And bear the sunshine and the blast 
 
 In lowliness of heart ; 
 No matter how obscure the place 
 In which we run our earthly race 
 
 Nor how these bodies smart, 
 If we secure a home above 
 An interest in a Saviour's love. 
 
 The trials of this sinful sphere 
 
 This doomed and passing shore, 
 Which, though, at intervals, severe, 
 
 Shall soon afflict no more 
 Will be forgotten when we gaze 
 On Glory's empyrean blaze, 
 
 And all of heaven explore ; 
 For He who sits upon the Throne 
 Will give us pleasures like his own-, 
 
 This state'of trial may be best 
 
 To fit us for the sky, 
 If here the soul were fully blest 
 
 The body might not die ; 
 Even Enoch, of angelic worth, 
 Who died not, was not left on earth, 
 
 But taken up on high. 
 This life is lent us to prepare 
 For endless habitations there
 
 148 src PETERSON'S POEMS; 
 
 Then, when thy spirit is oppressed 
 
 And wearied with its clay, 
 took upwards to thy home of rest, 
 
 And faint not in the way. 
 Be ever faithful to the Lord, 
 Nor wander into paths abhorred, 
 
 But watch, and, watching pray. 
 Yea listen for the Master's voice, 
 That thou mayest answer and rejoice ;- 
 
 Kemember, He who bore our sins 
 
 Was tempted as are we ; 
 And know, the triumph but begins 
 
 When suffering sets us free. 
 Submit implicity to Him, 
 Before whom bow the Cherubim, 
 
 And he will succour thee ; 
 He knows our frame, that we are dust. 
 And well rewards our bumble trust. 
 
 WHAT WE SHALL BE. 
 
 Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard*,. 
 
 And thought doth not conceive 
 How great the bliss to be conferred 
 
 Oa those that hear the Saviour's wosd>- 
 
 And hearing, it, believe*
 
 HEBREW MELODY, 149 
 
 Not pleasures that ra Eden smiled. 
 
 However bright and fair, 
 Ere sin the peaceful haunts defiled. 
 
 Can with that bliss sons pare. 
 
 We know there is a better shore 
 
 By no dark eloud o'ereast, 
 To which the joyful soul snail soar 
 And dwell delighted, evermore, 
 
 When earthly life is past. 
 
 We know not what we taere shall fee- 
 Yet not unlike to Him, 
 
 At whose bright presence earth shall S&9 
 And every star be dim. 
 
 HEBEEW MELODY. 
 
 'jThe sky relieved of Wintry gloom 
 
 Is smilingly serene, 
 The dews descend t be fields resume 
 
 Their garb of eheerful green, 
 
 .Sweet sounds of re-awakening mirtk 
 Borne on the scuth wind's wing, 
 
 And bright things bursting into birtfe, 
 Jell of the balmy Spring,
 
 150 MC PHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 The singing of tire little birds 
 The turtle dove's soft voice 
 
 The bleating flocks, the lowing herds 
 Bid Judah's sons rejoice. 
 
 Then, oh L like these, no longer mute,. 
 
 Awake the tribute dear ; 
 Bring forth the timbrel and the lute, 
 
 And hail the opening year.. 
 
 Shall we forego the pleasing theme t 
 
 Shall we be silent long, 
 "When hill and dale and gushing stream 
 
 Are jubilant with song ? 
 
 No ! Hebrews, be the duty burs 
 
 To bid glad echoes leap, 
 From favored. Salem' s holy towers 
 
 To Judah's farthest steep. 
 
 Eejoice, for these salubrious skies, 
 These tender blades and flowers, 
 
 Like love's pure light in youthful eyes,. 
 Betoken happier hours. 
 
 Kejoica, for e'en the winged air, 
 The green and flowery sward, 
 
 Are grateful for the smiling care* 
 Of Israel's glorious Lord.
 
 WASTED GIFTS. 151 
 
 Let pious thankfulness impart 
 
 Its music to the voice, 
 Great gladness gush from every heart, 
 
 And every soul rejoice. 
 
 WASTED GIFTS. 
 
 Man, gifted with a glorious soul, 
 Oft grovelleth in the dust, 
 
 Unmindful of its native goal, 
 Its pure immortal trust. 
 
 Time, talents, many a precious gift 
 That Sovereign Bounty lends, 
 
 Are wasted in the wild unthrift, 
 On poor precarious ends. 
 
 Though lapsed from happy first estate 
 In Eden's peaceful bowers, 
 
 Thou mightst again be good and great 
 With such angelic powers ! 
 
 But why despair ? Did Jesus die, 
 And will not Heaven forgive ? 
 
 Oh ! Faith, lift up the tearful eye, 
 And Hope shall whisper Live.
 
 152 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Poor trembler ! Heaven has done its part 
 
 In love to ransom thee ; 
 Yield thou the broken contrite heart, 
 
 And Grace shall set thee free. 
 
 OUR LOT. 
 
 Our lot in the world may be dreary, 
 
 Our portion of comfort but small, 
 The spirit bo joyless and weary, 
 
 And sorrow the bosom enthrall. 
 Even then, from kind Heaven appeareth 
 
 A light, in the midst of our gloom, 
 The soul of the lone one it cheereth, 
 
 And causeth the desert to bloom. 
 
 The fortune we trust may deceive us, 
 
 The friends that we love may depart, 
 But sunshine will never all leave us 
 
 If virtue has home in the heart. 
 Albeit we journey in sorrow, 
 
 Remote from the regions of rest, 
 Yet here, even here, we can borrow 
 
 A beam from the land of the blest.
 
 REPROOF. 153 
 
 REPROOF. 
 
 What boots it now for me to live ? 
 
 The few that loved me once are dead ! 
 The joys which social love can give, 
 
 No more their sunshine o'er me shed. 
 
 I long for Nature's last reprieve 
 That quiet which the weary crave ; 
 
 This darkened earthly scene to leave 
 And sleep serenely in the grave. 
 
 Hush, mortal, hush ! Thy Maker's will 
 Has placed thee in this world of care, 
 
 And thou its hour of seeming ill 
 
 In patient hope shouldst humbly bear. 
 
 Though earthly joy has veiled its ray, 
 And thou hast wept its dim decline, 
 
 The transient cloud may pass away 
 And pure unfading light be thine. 
 
 Oh ! why should mortal man complain 
 Of tribulation's just award, 
 
 If all this weary load of pain 
 
 Prepares the soul to meet her Lord.
 
 154 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Be this our being's primal aim 
 Chief end for which we sojourn here- 
 
 To laud our glorious Maker's name, 
 And seek a higher, nobler sphere ! 
 
 RECOVERY. 
 
 Disease's hand was on my heart, 
 And darkness on my mind ; 
 
 The frequent tear would sadly start, 
 And hope was half resigned. 
 
 But Mercy's healing angel came, 
 And bursting through the gloom, 
 
 Restored the eye its former flame, 
 The cheek its early bloom. 
 
 As if by some supernal power 
 Revived, the spirits spring ; 
 
 The soul forgets her darkened hour, 
 And Thought resumes her wing. 
 
 Great Being whom with awe we nam 
 From whom all blessings flow ! 
 
 Restorer of my fevered frame 
 How much to thee I owe !
 
 JOY AND INNOCENCE. 
 
 When comes at last, as come it must, 
 Since we are doomed to die 
 
 The hour when dust returns to dust, 
 take my soul on high ! 
 
 JOY AND INNOCENCE. 
 
 The hosts around the eternal throne, 
 
 Began a louder song, 
 As man mid Eden's flowery zone, 
 
 Joined Adoration's throng. 
 As bowing lowly, pure and calm, 
 
 And free from guileful art, 
 His morning hymn and evening psalm 
 
 Were offered from the heart. 
 
 That pristine song was soon unsung, 
 
 For sin's impending doom 
 Darkened the scene so fair and young, 
 
 And soil'd the spirit's bloom. 
 But, oh ! again that song shall rise, 
 
 Amidst the courts above, 
 When Death shall give us to the skies, 
 
 To sing Redeeming Love. 
 
 Nay when this strife shall vex no more, 
 That glorious strain shall be 
 
 More sweetly grateful than before 
 Ascending from the free.
 
 156 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 The radiance of her native source 
 The beauty of her spring 
 
 Will give the soul more grateful force, 
 And more exultant wing. 
 
 MORTAL AND IMMORTAL. 
 
 To lay the wearied body down 
 And soar beyond the sky, 
 
 To wear an everlasting crown, 
 Why call we this to die ? 
 
 To die ? Pure spirits do not die ; 
 
 They but resign their clay 
 To dwell in endless life on high, 
 
 To triumph o'er decay ! 
 
 For them, to close the mortal sight, 
 To yield the mortal breath, 
 
 Is but to rise to Heaven's own light, 
 To wake from sin and death ! 
 
 Then who would dread ihe mystic change 
 
 That gives him to the sky, 
 Through all the unexplored to range, 
 
 From star to star to fly ?
 
 PROVIDENCE AND GRACE. 157 
 
 PROVIDENCE AND GRACE. 
 
 Lord over all ! thy countless creatures making 
 The daily objects of thy pitying care 
 
 Not e'en the humblest in its path forsaking, 
 Warm thou our hearts, inspire our humble prayer. 
 
 All beings bow to thy behest before Thee 
 Archangels veil their faces with their wings, 
 
 Cry, Holy ! Holy art Thou ! and adore Thee, 
 
 With songs harmonious, Sovereign King of kings. 
 
 We, too, whom thou in innocence created, 
 
 But who have gone like foolish sheep astray, 
 
 Kindred to dust, yet to the skies related, 
 
 Would seek Thy footstool, and be taught Thy way. 
 
 Our myriad sins rise o'er us like a mountain, 
 But since Thy mercies evermore endure, 
 
 We would approach the rich exhaustless fountain 
 By which the vilest may be rendered pure. 
 
 We come to Thee, of all our sins repenting, 
 Our purpose open to Thy searching view; 
 
 Then righteous father, in thy love relenting, 
 Absolve our souls, create our hearts anew.
 
 158 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 We plead no merit of our own before Thee 
 On no self-righteousness we urge our case 
 
 But, still, as our great Refuge, we adore Thee, 
 And plead the influence of redeeming grace. 
 
 Hear us in Heaven, Thy eternal dwelling, 
 Grant gracious solace to the laboring breast, 
 
 And soothe our sorrow with the peace, foretelling 
 Abundant entrance to our glorious rest. 
 
 CHRISTIAN SYMPATHY. 
 
 Every human bosom beareth 
 Griefs that must be all its own, 
 
 But the heart is cold that careth 
 For itself alone. 
 
 Not in solitary places, 
 
 Not in deserts let me dwell ; 
 But where cheerful human faces 
 
 Wear affection's spell. 
 
 Would we but perform our duty 
 But fulfil the law of love, 
 
 Earth would shine in moral beauty 
 Like the world above. 

 
 THE SOUL. 159 
 
 It is sin that makes us weary 
 
 Of the objects half-divine 
 Sin that makes the green earth dreary, 
 
 And the soul repine. 
 
 All supernal spirits holy, 
 
 Ever in their songs rejoice ; 
 And when men are meek and lowly 
 
 They have one glad voice. 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 When this fair world, this peopled star, 
 
 Sprang into life and light, 
 And music echoed from afar 
 
 To hail the wondrous sight ; 
 The Sovereign Power who moulded then 
 
 This perishable dust, 
 Inspired it with a deathless mind 
 
 A high and holy trust. 
 
 He meant not^that this glorious spark 
 
 Of spiritual fire 
 Should gleam awhile amidst the dark 
 
 Then moulder and expire ; 
 But that, though placed on changeful earth, 
 
 It should continue pure, 
 Increase in knowledge and in worth, 
 
 And endlessly endure.
 
 160 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 But this bright spark the aspiring soul, 
 
 The light of earthly frame, 
 Has wandered from the mild control 
 
 Of Him from whom it came ! 
 She still has thoughts of that glad sphere, 
 
 Fount of essential beams, 
 But holds the " passing world " too dear, 
 
 And glories in its dreams. 
 
 Oh ! had she kept her pristine state 
 
 Of innocence unstained, 
 What mind could tell how great 
 
 The bliss she might have gained ; 
 E'en now, if guided by the light 
 
 That shines around her way, 
 She may secure a glorious height 
 
 Amidst the realms of Day. 
 
 SO LIVE. 
 
 Begin the day with praise and prayer, 
 
 Nor let the dews of evening fall, 
 Without invoking still the Care 
 
 That guides, supports, protects us all. 
 So live that still remote from strife, 
 
 Your heart the song of Peace may sing, 
 And life the Christian's happy life 
 
 Be shielded by a seraph's wing.
 
 INVITATION, 161 
 
 So live that when ye come to die, 
 
 Ye may not fear the herald, Death, 
 But close in peace the weary eye, 
 
 And calmly yield the ebbing breath. 
 So die, that when ye reach the shore 
 
 To which the ransomed wing their flight, 
 Your souls may bask for ever more 
 
 Amidst its uncreated light. 
 
 Begin the day with praise and prayer, 
 
 Nor let the shades of evening fall, 
 Without invoking still the Care 
 
 That guides, supports, protects us all, 
 Where'er whate'er your earthly lot, 
 
 Though low or lofty, love's retreat, 
 Make HOME a consecrated spot, 
 
 A place for Heavenly spirit meet, 
 
 INVITATION. 
 
 Ho ! all ye sons and daughters 
 
 Of Adam's fallen race, 
 Come to the living waters 
 
 Of reconciling grace. 
 Come to the Meek and Lowly 
 
 The Heavenly and the High, 
 Who makes the contrite holy, 
 
 Preparing for the sky.
 
 162 JICPHEKSON'S POEMS. 
 
 He comes to you perceive Him, 
 
 As all that man most needs ; 
 He speaks to you believe him, 
 
 And follow where he leads 
 Accept his great salvation 
 
 In this the day of grace, 
 And run, through all temptation, 
 
 The Christian's faithful race. 
 
 Forsake the worldling's madness ; 
 
 Shun sin's polluting breath ; 
 Earth's joy is often sadness 
 
 Its hopes and fears bring death. 
 Avoid the tempting Charmer 
 
 Though he seems e'er so wise ; 
 But put on heavenly armour 
 
 And win the priceless prize. 
 
 Be patient in your duty 
 
 Be humble, harmless, wise, 
 And walk in moral beauty, 
 
 The path to peaceful skies. 
 Make lowly meek confession 
 
 Before the Throne of Grace ; 
 Be prayerful in depression, 
 
 Worthy, in time and place. 
 
 So shall ye win approval 
 From God's benignant eye, 
 
 And realize removal 
 To homes above the sky.
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 So shall ye find life's measure 
 Run o'er with peace and joy, 
 
 Prelusive of the pleasure 
 
 Which time shall not destroy I 
 
 PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 When wearied in the toilsome way 
 O'er which to future worlds we wend, 
 
 How sweet to think that life's dim ray 
 
 With heaven's transcending light shall blend. 
 
 That we may quit this suffering clay, 
 And bask in bliss that ne'er shall end. 
 
 Oh ! if there were no brighter sphere 
 To which our better thoughts could rise, 
 
 How joyless were our sojourn here 
 How wintry most that meets our eyes I 
 
 But Hope, the child of Faith, can cheer, 
 And point him to his native skies. 
 
 Then let not tears our vision dim 
 Nor wasting woes our soul oppress ; 
 
 There with the glorious Seraphim, 
 May we, in blissful songs, confess 
 
 Our ever grateful love to Him 
 Who gave abounding happiness.
 
 164 MCPHEBSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Oh ! faint not. Pilgrim, in tbe way 
 That leads to that immortal clime, 
 
 Bright with the beams of seven-fold day. 
 And lovelier far than Eden's prime j 
 
 But gladly hail its faintest ray, 
 
 That gilds the sombre wings of Time. 
 
 There, in those bright unwithering skies, 
 That home of changeless peace and joy. 
 
 No heart-wrung tears shall dim the eyes, 
 No want, no care, no sin anuoy ; 
 
 But Love's eternal incense rise, 
 And praise be our divine employ. 
 
 PILGRIM. 
 
 Pilgrim, is thy pathway dreary? 
 
 Are its earthly hopes denied ? 
 Is thy spirit sad and weary ? 
 
 Fear not, God is still thy guide. 
 His all-seeing eye beholds thee 
 
 E'en when dark afflictions lower 
 His almighty arm can hold thee 
 He be thy eternal tower. 
 
 Hoping Pilgrim 1 thus surrounded 
 Thus assisted and sustained, 
 
 All thine earthly foes confounded, 
 AH infernal foes enchained,'
 
 THE PASSING BELL. 165 
 
 Though thy lot be somewhat dreary 
 
 While thy spirit sojourns here, 
 Be not sad, nor faint, nor weary, 
 
 Thy heavenly mansion near. 
 
 THE PASSING BELL, 
 
 The Minster's solemn toll 
 A warning voice I hear ; 
 
 It tells me that another soul 
 Has left this changing sphere I 
 
 35ut, Ah ! from that deep knell 
 The listener may not know 
 
 Whether the parted soul shall dwell- 
 In endless joy or woe ! 
 
 Whatever life may give, 
 
 Where'er I pass my days, 
 Oh ! let me like the Christian liye- 
 
 In Wisdom's pleasant ways. 
 When that dread hour draws nigh 
 
 In which this life must cease, 
 Then let me like the Christian die 
 
 Oh ! let my end be peace 1
 
 166 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE BLESSED. 
 
 *' Blessed and holy is he who hath part in the first Resurrection ; on 
 such the second death hath no power." REV. 20, 6. 
 
 Blessed he who sojourns here, 
 
 Mindful of the law of love, 
 Which would draw this nether sphere 
 
 Nearer to the world above. 
 
 Blessed he who loves the light, 
 
 And pursues eternal Truth ; 
 She shall smile upon his night 
 
 And renew his spirit's youth. 
 
 Blessed he whose days are pass'd 
 
 In the service of his Lord ; 
 He shall win the Crown at last, 
 
 He receive the great reward. 
 
 Blessed he who shuts his eyes 
 
 On the "earth's sepulchral sward," 
 
 In the hope that he shall rise, 
 To the bosom of his Lord. 
 
 Death and Hell shall have no power, 
 
 No control o'er such as he ; 
 Death shall be his triumph-hour 
 
 For bis soul shall then be free.
 
 ENQUIRY. 167 
 
 Free to wing her joyful flight 
 To the glad immortal streams, 
 
 Which reflect their living light 
 On her peaceful pilgrim-dreams. 
 
 Free to sing eternally 
 Free and happy to accord 
 
 Glory, honor, majesty, 
 And dominion to her Lord ! 
 
 ENQUIRY. 
 
 Shall I explore the clime 
 
 Of Life's immortal prime ? 
 The land of Love, whose atmosphere is' Truth? 
 
 Should I attain that sphere 
 
 Whose Hope is now so dear ? 
 And wear the white robe of eternal youth ? 
 
 And quit this poor estate 
 
 To soar away elate, 
 Behold God's glory, listen to His voice 
 
 Join the Redeemed Throng, 
 
 Whose rapture speaks in song 
 Dwell in the Heaven of heavens and rejoice ?
 
 168 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 If so, then let me cope 
 la faith and patient hope 
 
 With this enfeebled and polluted dust ; 
 let me now begin 
 The race that seeks to win 
 
 The great reward provided for the just. 
 
 ON ZION'S HILL. 
 
 On Zion's everlasting hill 
 
 The Lord of Glory reigns, 
 Performs his own eternal will 
 
 And awful state maintains. 
 
 HE reigns ! let all the earth beware, 
 
 Her myriad isles obey; 
 The wonders of his name declare, 
 And bow before His sway. 
 
 Let sinners, ere to-day be o er, 
 Or fierce his anger burn 
 
 Confess Him, Lord, His aid implore, 
 And to His altars turn. 
 
 For soon to judge the assembled world 
 The mighty Judge shall come, 
 
 And, Time's vast chronicle unfurled, 
 Strike rising nations dumb.
 
 HARVEST. 169 
 
 Then shall the wicked trembling fly, 
 
 Beset by galling chains ; 
 The righteous rise to world's on high 
 
 Where their Redeemer reigns. 
 
 Prepare, my trembling soul, prepare 
 Walking in wisdom's way 
 
 To meet thy Saviour in the air 
 At that last awful day. 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 Ye favoured of the earth, whose hands 
 
 Have tilled the fruitful soil, 
 And who with joyful hearts have reaped 
 
 The sweet reward of toil ; 
 
 When, garnered all your goodly wealth, 
 
 The festal board is spread, 
 Forget not those that, favored less, 
 
 May lack, yet ask not, bread. 
 
 Give, as the All-Bountiful provides, 
 
 Much, from your teeming store, 
 And He, observant of the heart, 
 
 Will bless your lot with more. 
 
 8*
 
 170 MCPHEBSON'S POEMS. 
 
 To Him whose goodness crowns the year, 
 Your hearts and voices raise, 
 
 For all his wondrous mercies past, 
 In grateful prayer and praise ! 
 
 If haply o'er the waving fields 
 The mildew's breath has passed, 
 
 And left the tender ears unhurt 
 To crown your hopes at last : 
 
 Oh ! think how little man deserves, 
 And thank the Lord of All, 
 
 Who bids His sun serenely shine, 
 His rain benignly fall. 
 
 THE PRESENT HELP. 
 
 " GOD is our refuge and strength, a very present help iu 
 trouble." Ps. 46 and 1. 
 
 Though rough at times our path appears, 
 
 And dark our earthly sky, 
 Yet still, amidst our anxious fears, 
 
 The Lord, our help is nigh. 
 
 Since He is our defence the soul 
 
 May be unmoved by fear, 
 Though from their seats the mountains roll, 
 
 The earth forsake her sphere.
 
 THE PRESENT HELP. 
 
 His strong right arm from every ill, 
 
 His trusting servants saves ! 
 His voice the troubled deep can still, 
 
 Though loud the tempest raves. 
 
 To simple souls, opprest with woe, 
 The meek, the pure in heart, 
 
 Will He His wondrous mercy show, 
 His sovereign grace impart. 
 
 And as a father to his child 
 
 The tenderest pity shows, 
 He visits us in mercy mild, 
 
 And healing balm bestows. 
 
 His strong right arm, His saints upholds- 
 Their comfort, strength and stay ! 
 
 His love our feeble hearts enfolds, 
 And cheers our thorny way. 
 
 Though round us lie a world of gloom, 
 
 If He His smile bestow 
 The wastes rejoice, the deserts bloom, 
 
 And living waters flow. 
 
 Then faint we not in all the way, 
 
 Since thus upheld we roam 
 As pilgrims of a transient day, 
 
 Who seek a fairer Home ! 
 
 171
 
 172 MCPIIERSON'S 
 
 PROBATION. 
 
 "We are here to redeem the fleeting timo ; 
 
 Of the few and evil days, 
 To journey in hope to the better clime 
 
 On which the believing gaze. 
 We are here to- encourage the lowly heart, 
 
 To cherish the purer flame, 
 And to parry the wily tempter's dart 
 
 With the shield of a righteous aim. 
 
 The future depends on the path we choose 
 
 On the right of the race we run ; 
 We have heaven's bright summit to gain or lose, 
 
 We have hell's dark depths to shun. 
 Then such be our course that our friends may say 
 
 At the close of our weary strife, 
 That we rest from the toil of our pilgrim-way 
 
 In the land of eternal life. 
 
 THE SPIRIT'S DESTINY. 
 
 This frame will vanish death control 
 
 The glory-throned eye ; 
 But life's true life, the inbreathed sou!,. 
 
 May, king-like, death defy. 
 Say, midst ethereal space around, 
 What sphere her parting flight shall bound, 
 
 What region pure and high ?
 
 OH, GIVE THE GLORIOUS SPIRIT WINOS. 178 
 
 Shall she escape the abyss profound, 
 And rest where angel songs abound- 
 In heaven, her native sky? 
 
 The choice is hers, for she is free 
 
 To now no longer stray, 
 To bow the heart and bend the knee 
 
 To walk in wisdom's way. 
 That peace which nought beside secures, 
 This high prerogative ensures, 
 
 Then why will she delay ? 
 Why spurn for earth the abundant joy 
 Which shall not feel the world's alloy, 
 
 Nor fear the world's decay ? 
 
 OH, GIVE THE GLORIOUS SPIRIT WINGS. 
 
 0, give the glorious spirit wings, 
 
 That she may take her way 
 Beyond the bounds of earthly things- 
 
 The presence of decay ; 
 And hold her high career along 
 The regions that are glad with song 
 
 And bright with upper day. 
 For sin hath made the world so drear 
 That she is but an exile here.
 
 174 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS.- 
 
 Instruct her to revere her powers 
 
 As like to those above, 
 Where rapture wings the endless hours, 
 
 And all the clime is love. 
 Instruct her so that she may soar, 
 And soaring reach her native shore 
 
 Returning, like the dove, 
 To that glad home, that heavenly ark, 
 Her refuge when the skies are dark. 
 
 EARTHLY HAPPINESS. 
 
 If while we sojourn here we find 
 
 An object of delight 
 A kindred heart a cultured mind 
 
 An eye serenely bright, 
 How briefly is the spirit blessed, 
 
 How soon the phantom flies, 
 And leaves the lone and joyless breast 
 
 The thought that latest dies ! 
 
 A few fond meetings of the heart, 
 
 A few impassioned hours, 
 A wild farewell and then we part 
 
 To weep our faded flowers ! 
 Even if in Love's sweet ties we spend 
 
 A long bright life of joy, 
 The thought that this must surely end 
 
 May much of bliss alloy.
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 
 But this cold region of decay 
 
 Is not our final goal ; 
 This load of perishable clay 
 
 Can not detain the Soul. 
 When life's refining fires are o'er, 
 
 Her triumph-song may rise 
 Upon her own immortal shore, 
 
 Beneath her own glad skies. 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 
 Mortal ! on whose fancied bliss 
 
 Falleth Disappointment's blight, 
 Learn how much of peace we miss 
 
 When we seek not joy aright. 
 Though for happiness we sigh, 
 
 Not from evanescent things 
 Not from aught beneath the sky, 
 
 But, from heavenly Hope, it springs. 
 
 True, in Nature's sacred ties, 
 
 In the eye with feeling bright, 
 Much of hallowed rapture lies, 
 
 Much of sanctified delight. 
 Yet the sacred ties of love 
 
 Can refined delight impart, 
 But when He, who dwells above, 
 
 Purifies the wayward heart. 
 
 175
 
 176 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 I to this passing scene have clung, 
 
 Dreaming not its flowers could fade, 
 I have wept the loved and young, 
 
 In her last low dwelling laid. 
 But though earthly hope has flown, 
 
 Though I meet no kindred eye, 
 Though I pass my days alone, 
 
 Sweetest solace still is nigh. 
 
 Soon will mortal life be o'er, 
 
 Soon, to dwell in bliss complete, 
 On the glorious spirit-shore 
 
 Pious love the lost shall meet. 
 Brightly, from that distant sphere, 
 
 Beams there on the soul a ray, 
 Which, when hope is buried here, 
 
 Still the drooping heart can stay. 
 
 Worldlings hoard their treasures here, 
 
 Christians in the realms of day, 
 In that bright unsullied sphere 
 
 Which shall never fade away. 
 Therefore seek with earthly love 
 
 That which ever will endure ; 
 Place thy thoughts on scenes above, 
 
 Heaven's triumphant hope secure.
 
 PRAYER. 177 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Father, sin is still oppressing, 
 Yet to mercy's fount we flee, 
 
 And, our wretchedness confessing, 
 Look for present help from thee : 
 
 Send, oh ! send Thy choicest blessing, 
 Set our drooping spirits free. 
 
 Saviour ! sin is sorely trying ; 
 
 But wert not Thou more sorely tried ? 
 Therefore, all our wants supplying, 
 
 Pity us thou Crucified ! 
 Meek in heart and self-denying, 
 
 Keep us near Thy healing side. 
 
 Comforter ! Who long hast led us 
 By the still small mystic voice, 
 
 And in desert places fed us 
 
 With the bread of Mary's choice ; 
 
 Now, as oft aforetime, aid us, 
 And instruct us to rejoice. 
 
 Lord, the Father ! hear, Oh ! hear us, 
 And thy sacred cause defend ; 
 
 Lord, the son ! be ever near us, 
 Intercessor, Saviour, friend ; 
 
 Lord, the Holy Spirit ! cheer us, 
 And be with us to the end.
 
 178 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 PRAISE. 
 
 Great Being ! whose omniscient Eye, 
 While wearied Nature sleeps, 
 
 O'er all beneath the starry sky 
 Untiring vigil keeps. 
 
 To Thee, our Guide through dangers past, 
 
 Our fathers' God and ours, 
 Beneath whose smile our lot is cast, 
 
 We consecrate our powers. 
 
 To Thee we lift the glowing heart 
 
 And bend the willing knee ; 
 For Thou dost light and life impart, 
 
 And we would worship Thee. 
 
 For this fair world, for yon bright sun, 
 For health and length of days 
 
 For all which Thou for us hast done, 
 Thine holy Name we praise. 
 
 Grant that Thy Saints may more and more 
 Thy pure requirements see, 
 
 More humbly at Thy feet adore, 
 More fitly worship Thee.
 
 SORROW MAY HER TIGILS KEEP. 
 
 For, sweet on Zion's sacred mount 
 The voice of prayer to raise, 
 
 Thy wondrous goodness to recount, 
 Thine holy Name to praise. 
 
 SOLICITATION. 
 
 Glorious Author of Creation 
 Being holy, wise, and just ! 
 
 Turn not from the adoration 
 Of Thy creatures of the dust ; 
 
 But, accept our poor oblation, 
 And confirm our humble trust. 
 
 In the conflict of temptation 
 
 In affliction's darkest hour, 
 Thou hast been our great salvation, 
 
 Van and rear-ward shield and tower 
 Aid us in the extollation 
 
 Of thy ever gracious power ! 
 
 SORROW MAY HER VIGILS KEEP. 
 
 Mortal from whose path has fled 
 That which made existence bright, 
 
 Tears may well be freely shed 
 O'er thy star's extinguished light.
 
 180 MCPUERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Since thy friend has passed " that bourne 
 Whence no traveller returns," 
 
 Mourn but not as those who mourn 
 One, whom hopeless love inurns. 
 
 Sorrow may her vigils keep, 
 
 Tears may o'er the lost be shed ; 
 
 Heav'n in mercy lets us weep 
 Jesus wept o'er Lazarus dead ! 
 
 WHOM HAVE I BUT THEE? 
 
 Almighty, whom have I but Thee 
 
 On earth beneath, in heaven above ? 
 Thy Sovereign power created me, 
 
 Thy spirit gave me life and love. 
 If friendships of the world be poor, 
 
 And ill repay the trusting breast, 
 Thy friendship, infinite and pure, 
 
 Contents the heart with perfect rest. 
 
 Yes ! when I rightly ask relief, 
 
 Thine ear is open to my cry ; 
 The world may fail to heed my grief, 
 
 But Thou wilt succour from on high. 
 As, when Thy chosen asked for bread, 
 
 Sweet manna strewed the desert way, 
 So Faith looks heavenward, and is fed, 
 
 And guided to the realms of day.
 
 NEGLECTED MERCIES. 181 
 
 NEGLECTED MERCIES. 
 
 O shame! that in a " Christian Land" 
 
 Where pure Religion's light is shining, 
 There are who still that light withstand, 
 
 The blessing which it gives, declining. 
 shame ! that talents wisely lent 
 
 Are still by most unwisely wasted, 
 The days of this short life, misspent, 
 
 And mercy's living streams untasted ! 
 
 Alas ! that such should be the case 
 
 Of any who have heard the story 
 Of Him, the Lord ! whose wondrous grace 
 
 Can make us meet for endless glory ! 
 But pride, self-will, some favourite aim 
 
 And that dire sin "Procrastination" 
 Make deaf our ears to virtue's claim 
 
 And bar us from a great salvation ! 
 
 Thou who art enthroned above, 
 
 Great source of this mysterious being, 
 Whose nature and whose name is Love 
 
 Unseen of mortals, yet All-seeing ! 
 Aid me, a creature of the dust, 
 
 Whose soul is clogged with earthly leaven, 
 To place with Thee my constant trust, 
 
 That I may dwell with Thee in Heaven.
 
 182 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 THE LIFE BEYOND. 
 
 To think that all were starless night, 
 
 When mortal life is o'er, 
 Would quench the friendly, lingering light 
 
 That cheers this pilgrim shore. 
 
 For e'en while sunk in sordid gloom, 
 We doubt the Sceptic's creed, 
 
 And shrink from cold Oblivion's doom 
 As from a hideous deed. 
 
 Lives there a sojourner on earth 
 
 Alive to due control, 
 Who mourns not for the primal worth 
 
 That blessed the human soul. 
 
 Hence hope we for a sinless sphere, 
 
 A land of life and light, 
 Whose skies are always soft and clear, 
 
 Whose bowers are ever bright. 
 
 Oh, with what sighs, the wearied long 
 To taste the living streams ; 
 
 To sing the everlasting song, 
 And realize glad dreams !
 
 THE BETTEB WORLD. 183 
 
 Yet wait they man's appointed time, 
 
 Augmenting still the fire 
 That, caught from that unsullied clinic, 
 
 Will to its source aspire. 
 
 THE BETTER WORLD. 
 
 " There is another and a better world.' 
 
 " Another and a better world !" 
 
 What comfort to the heart, 
 What gladness to the troubled mind 
 
 Does that high thought impart ! 
 " Another and a better world !" 
 
 How pure the soul should be 
 That dares in humble faith to hope 
 
 That better world to see ! 
 
 From that immortal glorious sphere 
 
 Beyond the darkened tomb, 
 A single star, but dimly seen, 
 
 May light us through the gloom. 
 And, oh ! how soon would Reason fail, 
 
 Without that brighter ray, 
 To guide us to the better world 
 
 Along so dark a way !
 
 181 we PIIEBSON'S POEMS. 
 
 I hear a deep mysterious voice 
 
 That oft the heart has stirred ; 
 It tells of songs of endless joy 
 
 By mortal ears unheard ; 
 It tells the Pilgrim darkling here 
 
 To fix his weary eye 
 Upon that land of living light, 
 
 That " better world " on high ! 
 
 NOTES TO "DEVOTIONAL." 
 
 1. This may be considered as illustrative of a remark in intro- 
 ductory paragraph of this section. The Poet essays to give a 
 reasoning voice to inanimate nature. 
 
 2. Another instance, that McPherson's verse consists of simple 
 heart-expressions, rather than of more pretentious elaborations. 
 
 3. This reminds of the effects of a " sunburst " on the landscape. 
 Clouds break, glory streams down, and a pulse of admiration pervades 
 nature. 
 
 4. A little melody, casting rays of light on the dark places of expe- 
 rience. 
 
 5. A piece of fluent moral philosophy. 
 
 6. This and verses succeeding, such as Immortality, Better World, 
 &c., afford cheering contrast to the mournings and laments that 
 precede.
 
 TEMPERANCE, 
 
 THE Temperance Reformation attracted the attention, and enlisted 
 the sympathies, of McPherson, at nn early period of his more mature 
 life. One of his first literary efforts, of any pretension, was an 
 address on the subject, read at a meeting in the locality where he 
 resided. He frequently gave a ready aid in carrying out organiza- 
 tions by means of varied services, although he lacked either the gift 
 or the habit, of extempore speaking in public. 
 
 A reflective mind, of a moral tone, and vivid perception, would be 
 apt to adopt very fervid sentiments in relation to the effects of the 
 common traffic in intoxicating liquors, and to the toleration and coun- 
 tenance of such traffic, by those from whom a different course of con- 
 duct might be expected. 
 
 In the verses which follow this notice, zeal for a good cause will be 
 visible ; and tho same quality is still more observable in verses 
 which remain unpublished. 
 
 In reference to Temperance, McPherson took the higher position ; 
 his creed was, that intoxicating liquors were non-requisite, were 
 always dangerous, were frequently productive of varied evils, and 
 that the good of society demanded the total abolition of the common 
 traffic in such articles. Who can gainsay the principle? Principles 
 move slowly however, and a quarter of a century has, perhaps, effected 
 as much as might reasonably be expected, when appetite and habit, 
 and other influences, were arrayed in opposition to a question of 
 moral and social' improvement. The triumphant days, hoped for by 
 the poet, are yet in the future ; he had the honour, however, of 
 being among those who saw and rejoiced in the prospect, and who 
 faithfully strove for its early realization.
 
 TEMPEEANCE. 
 
 THE PRAISE OF WATER. 
 (EXTRACTS FROM A PRIZE POEM or THAT TITLB.) 
 
 (1.) 
 The essence tortured from the vine 
 
 Creates insatiate desire ; 
 But water, Nature's choice and mine, 
 Cools, quenches thirst's consuming fire. 
 
 This, fresh from Heaven's creative hand, 
 Descends profusely from the sky, 
 
 To fertilize the barren land, 
 
 And yield the world a rich supply. 
 
 The native of the torrid zone, 
 And he. in polar circle drear, 
 
 Pleas'd with such beverage alone, 
 Prize duly its refreshing cheer. 
 
 The traveller on the desert waste 
 Athirst and worn, imagines this 
 
 As grateful to his eager taste 
 As nectar to the groves of bliss.
 
 188 MC PIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 The product of the fiery art 
 
 Would mock him, as the mirage, there, 
 Pour hot Siroccos on his heart, 
 
 And drive to frenzy and despair. 
 
 But one sweet draught from some lone spring, 
 O'er which the rippling north wind blows, 
 
 Would recompense his toil, and bring 
 A kind oblivion of his woes. 
 
 So pants the hart for Judah's streams 
 Rejoicing in their mountain course, 
 
 So longs the pilgrim, tired of dreams, 
 To drink at Joy's eternal source. 
 
 Pure sparkling water yields a dower 
 Of exquisite enjoyment yields 
 
 Fresh beauty to the rich man's bower, 
 Fresh vigor to the poor man's fields. 
 
 The poor man hath a peer's delight, 
 When Heaven descends in genial rain, 
 
 To call his labours into sight, 
 
 And bless him with his waving grain. 
 
 Our own Acadia's Emblem dear, 
 Spring's earliest gift to merry May, 
 
 Receives full many an April tear, 
 Before it blooms beside our way.
 
 THE PRAISE OF WATER. 189 
 
 Acadia, country of my birth, 
 
 Thy streams may not, be known to Fame, 
 But those who love thee feel thy worth 
 
 In all that human hearts can claim. 
 
 Glad rivers course thy fertile vales, 
 Bright lakes refresh thy verdant hills, 
 
 Brooks sing to brooks along thy dales, 
 Where clear springs run to rippling rills. 
 
 We lack not water ! but we thirst 
 
 For those sweet streams that fill the mind ! 
 For that deep Fount ordained to burst 
 
 With mental blessings for mankind, 
 
 Ah ! knowledge is a precious boon ; 
 
 For Thought, our Angel, has desires, 
 Wisely to be supplied and soon 
 
 With that which feeds her glorious fires. 
 
 Pure water ! even the name seems bliss ! 
 
 lanthe, bring the draught I crave, 
 That I may catch its smile, and kiss 
 
 The cooling chrystal of its wave. 
 
 What marvel that the Hebrew Chief 
 Who felt strong thirst's constraining spell, 
 
 And sought kind nature's sweet relief, 
 Desired it fresh from Bethlehem's well.
 
 190 MC PHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Brethren, when its simple cheer 
 Prompts, as it may, the heart to sing, 
 
 Glad thought should seek her native sphere, 
 And drink at pleasure's primal Spring. 
 
 Oh ! precious gift, who hath not seen 
 Its glory in the rainbow's hue, 
 
 And in the limpid sparkling sheen 
 Sent from the diamond drops of dew. 
 
 It takes a myriad wondrous forms 
 Now floats in mist along the vale 
 
 Now soars in clouds now falls in storms 
 Of rain, and snow, and sleet and hail. 
 
 Now, forced by man's arch-agent fire, 
 
 It rises into giant Steam, 
 Takes mighty wings that doth not tire, 
 
 And measures distance as a dream. 
 
 How sweet to bathe the fervid cheek, 
 To cool the thought-encumbered brain, 
 
 In some glad stream that seems to speak, 
 Of buoyant health to every vein ! 
 
 How sweet to see it glance along 
 In sunlit radiance to its rest, 
 
 To listen to its murmured song 
 
 When eve is mirrored on its breast :
 
 THE PRAISE OF WATER. 191 
 
 The inebriate cannot prize its kiss, 
 Its pleasant smile its cheerful song ; 
 
 For sinless nature veils her bliss 
 
 From him that works his spirit wrong. 
 
 Oh ! will he sink to baser ways, 
 
 To swine-like wallowing in the mire 
 
 By vitiation which obeys 
 
 The tyrant call of low desire ? 
 
 Can he fulfil a spirit's lot 
 
 Or represent the Eternal Mind ? 
 The drunkard is himself a blot 
 
 Disgrace and sorrow of his kind ? 
 
 The charities that banish strife, 
 
 The smiles that bid unrest depart, 
 The harmonies of loving life, 
 
 Possess weak hold upon his heart. 
 
 His kindred must we raise the veil, 
 
 To let his fellow-men behold 
 That mournful mother, weak and pale, 
 
 Those children wretched, ragged, cold ? 
 
 His step was music doubly dear, 
 
 When he was kind and hope was nigh, 
 
 But now they shrink from it in fear, 
 And dread to meet the " evil eye."
 
 192 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 But, ah ! how changed his human voice. 
 
 How chill and strange its warmest tone ! 
 Oh fallen man ! is this thy choice 
 
 This dark transforming act thine own ? 
 
 Our song would grow prolix to tell. 
 How his example spreads his vice ; 
 
 His followers know its power too well 
 Their dark experience should suffice. 
 
 As are the sinful, were the pure, 
 
 The glad, the free may bow to thrall, 
 
 Let those that think themselves secure, 
 Regard their standing, lest they fall. 
 
 For ah ! the Circe of the bowl 
 Beguiles in so occult a way, 
 
 That men are neath her fell control, 
 Ere hardly conscious of her sway. 
 
 The drunkard, like a baleful star, 
 
 Casts doubt and dread within his sphere ; 
 
 He acts as if to rudely mar 
 
 The blessings love considers dear ; 
 
 To aggravate his mother's cares, 
 
 And mock affection's fondest trust ; 
 
 To bring his father's hoary hairs 
 In silent sorrow to the dust.
 
 THE PRAISE OF WATER. 
 
 His brothers, loved in life's young day, 
 Confess not now his birthright ties, 
 
 But pass him in the public way 
 
 With burning cheek and down-cast eyes. 
 
 His sisters utter not the name, 
 
 Which they, the good, must blush to hear ; 
 It has become a word of shame 
 
 To all to whom it should be dear. 
 
 His friends ! but has the drunkard friends ? 
 
 Can friendship breathe in tainted air; 
 Howe'er his course began, it tends 
 
 To isolation, doubt, despair. 
 
 Who would not fly with timely haste 
 
 To stop him in his dread career, 
 And bring him back to be replaced 
 
 In life and love's protecting sphere ! 
 
 O Friends ! Christians ! having shown 
 That, fearing God, ye love your kind, 
 
 Restore the drunkard to his own 
 Restore him to the man the mind. 
 
 Heav'n spares him that he may repent- 
 Then take him by the trembling hand, 
 And woo him, from his evil bent, 
 
 To strengthen Virtue's happy band. 
 9*
 
 19 MC PITERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Go seek him when the fiend has fled, 
 When Beason reasserts her sway, 
 
 That ye may take him from the dead, 
 To walk in "Wisdom's pleasant way. 
 
 Go bid him hope he needs your aid 
 Your effort, to support his grief, 
 
 Yet bear him to his God, afraid 
 To trust to any less relief. 
 
 So shall ye save a soul from death, 
 And hide a multitude of sins 
 
 So gain the zeal-sustaining breath 
 
 From him who smiles when virtue wins. 
 
 Pleased heaven shall shed her gentle light, 
 In peaceful halos round your heads 
 
 And angel-guardians of the night 
 
 Bring balmy sleep to bless your beds. 
 
 Whilst, where the savage drunkard frowned, 
 And famine waved her vulture wing, 
 
 Contenting Plenty shall be found, 
 
 And those that sorrowed, learn to sing. 
 
 His wife, who watched for him in fear, 
 While anguish rack'd her matron breast, 
 
 Shall smile beside her evening cheer, 
 And welcome home her husband-guest.
 
 'THE PRAISE OF YTATKR. 195 
 
 His little ones shall run to greet 
 
 The father they were taught to flee, 
 Inspire him with endearments meet, 
 
 And prattle on the parent knee. 
 
 His hoary sire shall bless his son 
 His mother clasp her ransomed boy 
 
 The grateful household, every one, 
 And even the stranger, share his joy. 
 
 Pure water ! were the cup confined 
 
 To thy sweet influence alone, 
 What ills would cease to vex mankind 
 
 What powers of darkness be o'erthrown. 
 
 Pure water ! I rejoice to hear 
 
 Thy low sweet murmurs in my dreams, 
 For they have wings with which I near 
 
 The music of the Eternal streams. 
 
 When Hagar watched her fainting child, 
 An angel showed a fountain nigh ; 
 
 When Israel thirsted in the wild, 
 A rock gave out the sweet supply. 
 
 But miracles as great as these 
 
 The wise observe around them wrought, 
 Good yielded, evil turned aside, 
 
 By ways for which they take not thought.
 
 196 
 
 MCPHERSONS POEMS. 
 
 For He, who gave tbe soul her dower,. 
 
 And taught her to revere her trust, 
 Confers new mercies every hour 
 
 New forms of life from slumbering dust. 
 
 The rock still changes to a spring 
 The desert still has bread and quails, 
 
 The living still look up and sing, 
 Because His goodness never fails. 
 
 Why, man, abuse His gifts, and toil 
 To work yourself and others ill ~ r 
 
 Enough the bounty of the soil, 
 The largess of the crystal rill. 
 
 THE EFFORT. 
 
 (TO THE PATRONS OF THE " OLIVE BKANCH.") 
 
 (2.) 
 
 The river of Death was still mighty and dark, 
 When, praying that its waters might cease, 
 
 Ye sent forth the Dove from the Temperance Ark, 
 With the ' Olive Branch,' embleming peace. 
 
 Although ye have met with but one partial succesa, 
 When compared with the talents employed, 
 
 Ye have laboured for Him who has promised to bless, 
 And whose smile is already enjoyed.
 
 THE TFEn>. 197 
 
 Ye have freed some poor wretch from Ebriety's thrall, 
 
 And restored him to freedom's repose ; 
 Ye have rescued some spirit from Danger's appal, 
 
 And dispelled the deep gloom of his woes. 
 
 Ye have entered some home which the language of strife, 
 
 And the chains of oppression profaned, 
 And have left it a scene where the kindness of life 
 
 And the worship of God are maintained. 
 
 Take courage, and, gath'ring your strength for the fight, 
 
 With the Demon of Drink and his woe, 
 Press onward, diffusing additional light 
 
 O'er the way in which mortals should g0. 
 
 Your reward, which is richer than gold, ye shall find 
 In the Disenthralled's blessing and love 
 
 In the sweet sense of having done good to mankind, 
 And the Voice speaking peace from above. 
 
 SONG OF THE FREED. 
 
 We are free the strong chains of our bondage are broken, 
 Our banner of triumph is broadly unfurled ; 
 
 And the halo of smiles that we bear is the token 
 That we live a new life and enjoy a new world. 
 
 We have turned with firm souls from the cup that decoyed' us, 
 To the s\Feet gushing waters of hillside and lea ;
 
 193 MC PHEP.SON*'S POKMS. 
 
 We have burst from the spell that haJ well nigh destroyed its, 
 And re-entered the homes of the happy and free. 
 
 We are free from the grasp of the hideous Constrictor, 
 
 That entices his prey with the basalisk eye, 
 And in each of our homes the glad glance of a victor 
 
 Carries joy to the hearts that were ready to die. 
 Our wives that were long and unkindly neglected, 
 
 Look forward with hope to the bright years to be ; 
 Our children, that shrunk from their sires, are respected, 
 
 As the proud happy heirs of the ransomed and free. 
 
 We are free and bright flowers are blooming around us, 
 
 Our pathway is strewn with rich gifts from above ; 
 For the beautiful Spirit of Temperance has found us, 
 
 And restored us to much of life's Eden of Love. 
 We are plenteously fed by the Genius of Labor, 
 
 With the sweet fruit that teems on our liberty tree ; 
 We are blessed with the kindness of friend and of neighbo; 
 
 And content with our lot, because sober and free. 
 
 We have pledged to be slaves to the tempter no longer, 
 
 We have turned from the mocker that smiles to destroy, 
 And our fair phalanxed band shall wax stronger and stronger, 
 
 Till the round ransoned world swell the anthem of joy, 
 Heaven smiles on our efforts our banners are brightening 
 
 On hill-side and valley, on island and sea, 
 We pray that the truth shall go forth as the lightning, 
 
 Till the whole human race raise, the Song of the Free !
 
 RIGHT PBRSEVEHANCE. 199 
 
 RIGHT PERSEVERANCE 
 
 (TO THE PATKOXS OF THE " OLIVE BRANCH.") 
 
 (3.) 
 
 Go forth, with the Emblem and Motto of Peace, 
 
 And visit the homes of our land, 
 Till the sorrows that flow from Intemperance cease, 
 
 At the touch of Sobriety's wand. 
 
 Go forth in a spirit determined, yet meek, 
 
 To admonish, to pity, to soothe, 
 To strengthen the strong and encourage the weak, 
 
 In the search after wisdom and truth. 
 
 Aye, forward, confiding in Him who looks down 
 
 On your poorest endeavour in love ; 
 For He, having sanctioned your mission, will crown 
 
 Your efforts with aid from above. 
 
 If ye ever should think of relaxing your wing, 
 
 As ye faint with the toil of the day, 
 Contmeplate the hearts that made happy, will sing 
 
 When the Cause that ye plead shall bear sway. 
 
 If ye rescue but one from the maelstrom of vice, 
 
 From the pit of the morally slain, 
 Even one, re-illumined and freed, is of price, 
 
 And your labour has not been in vain.
 
 200 MOPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 But forward, and marshal the hosts of tho land 
 In the phalanx that never shall fall, 
 
 Till the foe feel the touch of Sobriety's wand, 
 And the triumph be echoed by all ! 
 
 TEMPERANCE. 
 
 The man who striveth for the mastery 
 Is temperate in all things disinclined 
 To aught that can contaminate the mind, 
 
 Placid of brow lord of himself, and free. 
 
 Blest with the glorious privilege " To BE," 
 He is most careful to preserve his heart 
 From every snaring blandishment of art, 
 
 And all excess, which is idolatry. 
 
 For what is life to him who is the slave 
 Of Appetite, or unallowed desire ? 
 
 The GOOD control the lusts that are the grave 
 Of human peace and joy ; the good aspire : 
 
 And recognizing Virtue's high pursuit, 
 
 Seek Wisdom's tree and share immortal fruit, 
 
 A MONARCH. 
 
 A monarch, resting from the fight, 
 And fainting on tho battle even, 
 
 Deferred his own intense delight, 
 
 And gave the precious draught to heaven.
 
 THE MODERATE DRINKER. 201 
 
 thou, my brother, hear the call 
 
 Beware the inebriating wine, 
 And, bursting from the tempter's thrall, 
 
 Propitiate the Power Divine. 
 
 Escape from Folly's mildew breath, 
 
 From sinful Pleasure's charnel air ; 
 To tamper with disease, is death ; 
 
 To sin against the soul, despair. 
 
 Thou hast a better sense than lust, 
 
 A nobler life than Passion's fire ; 
 rise, indignant of the dust, 
 
 Be free, and, day by day, aspire. 
 
 THE MODERATE DRINKER. 
 
 (*) 
 
 Friend, thou niay'st hate a cause of shame, 
 
 And feel too strong to fall, 
 But he who bears the drunkard's name, 
 
 And gropes in night's appal, 
 Was once as confident and proud, 
 And scorned to think that he could bow 
 
 To so debased a thrall. 
 But mark the instructive sequence well 
 He trusted to himself, and fell.
 
 202 MC PIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Allured by Fashion's specious guile, 
 
 He sought the cheating bowl, 
 And, lur'd by mocking Pleasure's smile, 
 
 Kesigned his self-control ; 
 Then basely, wildly, madly drank, 
 Till unconsulted reason shrank 
 
 In deep eclipse of soul ; 
 And he whom love had blessed, became 
 An object of contempt and shame ! 
 
 Alas ! how fearfully deranged 
 
 The likeness of his Lord ! 
 The " human face divine " how changed, 
 
 How forfeit high reward. 
 His mind, once toned to cheerful thought, 
 Became a fearful waste, where nought 
 
 But hideous fancies rise ; 
 And gibbering fiends, with ghastly glare, 
 Whisper delirium and despair. 
 
 0, shun the rock where he was wrecked, 
 
 The snare by which he fell ; 
 Preserve true manhood's self-respect, 
 
 And honor virtue well. 
 False joy may have a syren breath, 
 But ah ! her feet go down to death, 
 
 Her steps take hold on hell. 
 Then leave, Oh, leave her slippery way ; 
 Seek virtue's path, and reason's ray.
 
 THE MARCH 03? THE DRUNKARD. 203 
 
 Reflect, how false tbe lurid light 
 
 That centres in the bowl ; 
 Reflect, how ruinous the blight 
 
 Of Error's fell control. 
 Then use the boon of life's brief hour 
 To keep still pure the glorious dower 
 
 Of life's best life the soul ; 
 Blessed in thyself, by heavenly plan, 
 Be blessing to thy fellow man. 
 
 Feel'st thou the bands are waxing strong ? 
 
 Assert thy freedom now ! 
 And stand amidst tbe ransomed throng, 
 
 With heaven-aspiring brow. 
 The good will take thee by the hand, 
 And greet thee to their happy band, 
 
 And hear thee breathe their vow ; 
 Oh, turn from folly's dark'ning way, 
 To wisdom's bright and bright'ning day. 
 
 THE MARCH OF THE DRUNKARDS. 
 
 They come fronTpalaces and halls 
 They come from festal shrines, 
 
 They come from bare and joyless stalls, 
 Where meagre famine pines.
 
 204 MCPHEKSON'S POEMS. 
 
 They come to break the kindly ties, 
 To cloud the world with woe, 
 
 To mock the groans, they cause to rise, 
 The tears, they cause to flow. 
 
 Can music rise where drunkards tread ? 
 
 Can sounds but those of fear ? 
 Their shuddering world is one of dread 
 
 Deep sigh and scalding tear. 
 
 Wronged suffering woman's maniac cry- 
 Weak childhood's piteous wail 
 
 The broken heart's last withering sigh, 
 Rise o'er them on the gale. 
 
 The wide world hath few forms of woe 
 Like those which haunt their air ; 
 
 The dark abyssmal depths below, 
 Give type of their despair. 
 
 Men speak of loving life's sweet ties, 
 Of glorious claims of soul, 
 
 Such have slight beauty in the eyes 
 Which seek the blighting bowl. 
 
 They hear of Nature's drink divine, 
 The chrystal from the spring ; 
 
 Why ask that spirit of the vine 
 That holds the spirit's sting ?
 
 REMONSTRANCE. 205 
 
 They take the luring draught, designed 
 
 To drown all high desire, 
 And madiy quench remorse of mind 
 
 With floods of liquid fire. 
 
 They change the " human face divine," 
 
 To loathsomeness and shame, 
 They desecrate the spirit's shrine, 
 
 And spurn the soul's high aim. 
 
 They bear a galling weight of chains 
 
 That press them to their graves, 
 Yet serve the demon that maintains 
 
 Dread empire o'er his slaves. 
 
 Oh ! stop, nor steep your souls in crime, 
 
 Nor earn an outcast name, 
 Nor madly seek, with varied woe, 
 
 The drunkard's doom of shame. 
 
 REMONSTRANCE. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 Forbear, ye Mammonites, to ply 
 
 The man-debasing trade, 
 Which, rife with crime's condemning dye, 
 
 Is active to degrade. 
 Forbear, for filthy lucre's sake, 
 
 The higher laws of heaven to break.
 
 206 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 How vast the sum of human woe, 
 The ills that ache the heart; 
 
 From wholesome plants and genial fruit, 
 Distilled by wicked art ; 
 
 The spirit forced from genial grain 
 Has men in many myriads slain. 
 
 Where'er Heaven's blessings are abused 
 There is no smile for peace ; 
 
 Where'er the liquid fire is used 
 The better feelings cease ; 
 
 And lust and wrong and cruel strife 
 Shut out the charities of life. 
 
 But ah, the soul, the deathless soul, 
 Overwhelmed with sinful gloom, 
 
 Unmeet to reach yon blissful goal 
 Shall dread a penal doom ; 
 
 May sink in deep self-sought despair 
 The victim of Corruption's snare ! 
 
 THE FIELD. 
 
 The free must arm for more effective war 
 Against the demons whom their souls abhor. 
 Rise, fellow men ! the banners which we kc-ep, 
 For moral Freedom, brook no idle sleep.
 
 ABJUKE THE BOWL. 207 
 
 To rest from action ere our field be won, 
 
 Is to forego, the good already done 
 
 To lose the auspicious day the hour of prime ! 
 
 And give the Spoiler fearful rallying-time ! ! 
 
 To breast the billows of so vast a sea 
 Of opposition, good men should agree. 
 Ours be the ear responsive to the call, 
 To save the drunkard from perdition's thrall ; 
 Ours be the eye, that while it loves the light, 
 Fails not to see the poor inebriate's night ; 
 Ours be the unwavering, persevering part, 
 And ours the generous, genuine Temperance heart, 
 That nobly vigorous, faints not in the way, 
 O'ercomes all obstacles, makes no delay ; 
 And deems the greatest of its conquests small, 
 Compared with triumphs which may rescue All ! 
 
 ABJURE THE BOWL. 
 
 Abjure the bowl the tempting bowl 
 
 Which lends but frantic joy, 
 And is not " wreathed with flowers of soul " 
 
 But chains that oft destroy. 
 
 It is to poor deluded man 
 
 As Circe's cup of yore, 
 And desecrates his mortal span 
 
 With ills unknown before.
 
 208 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Strange that a Toeing half divine, 
 Possessed of deathless trust, 
 
 Should madly tarry at the wiuo 
 And grovel in the dust ! 
 
 Indulge thy laudable desire 
 
 For flights mid purer air, 
 But bow not to the liquid fire 
 
 That scathes with fell despair. 
 
 As thou wouldst break Oppression's chain, 
 
 Spurn Appetite's control ; 
 If thou art free from darkening stain, 
 
 Preserve " the whiteness of thy soul." 
 
 Let not so dark, so foul a blight, 
 
 Obscure thy earthly span, 
 Assert in heaven-inspiring might 
 
 The dignity of man. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 The cry of mortal misery went up 
 From myriads drugged with desolation's cup ; 
 Weak tender babes, and mournful mothers pale. 
 The drunkard's victims, raised their piteous wail ; 
 Heaven felt compassion for their bitter woes, 
 And the bright Star of Temperance arose.
 
 THK PROGUE3S OF TEMPERANCE. 209 
 
 Then crowds, thought lost, returned with gladdening song, 
 
 And brought new peace to bosoms outraged long ; 
 
 Then proved man's heart the light of woman's truth, 
 
 While woman found the lover of her youth ; 
 
 Then little children, old in grief and care, 
 
 First learned to smile, and breathe Affection's air ; 
 
 While fervent Hope, and Peace, the timid dove, 
 
 Returned with Plenty, at the call of Love, 
 
 To make the rescued spirit doubly gay, 
 
 And guide it, singing, on its heavenward way. 
 If mortal man may hear the voice of fame, 
 
 The moral champion hath the foremost claim ; 
 
 But ho, so bold in every righteous cause, 
 
 Is apt to shrink from popular applause ; 
 
 His heart best pays him ho hath inward store 
 
 And, Hoaven approving, what can Earth give more? 
 
 False fame may stalk with armies in its train ; 
 
 True, bids each strive for blessing, not in vain. 
 
 The world may raise the martial victor's name, 
 
 No sufferings dim the moral hero's aim ; 
 
 And, when the laurel hath foregone its bloom, 
 
 Sweet flowers of memory strew the good man's tomb. 
 
 What though no column pointing to the sky, 
 May tell the pilgrims where his ashes lie, 
 His name, in honour kept, from day to day, 
 May live, when towering cenotaphs decay. 
 
 Some will have wealth, though wrung from misery's grasp, 
 And forced from famine in its final gasp, 
 And hence Distilleries and their adjuncts, rise, 
 
 Fountains of ill mocking the angry skies, 
 
 Belching thick blackness o'er the realms o mind.
 
 210 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 O'er health, and hopes, ami homes of humankind. 
 Much hath been done ! but piteous still the case 
 Of countless myriads of the human race. 
 Day dawns upon us faintly from afar, 
 And slowly rises Reformation's Star ! 
 That star shall culminate, that Moral Day 
 Extend its healing animating sway ; 
 Peace, like a river of refreshing flow ; 
 And smiles of joy succeed the tears of woe ! 
 
 Oracular voices, heard in many a clime, 
 Proclaim the auspicious movements of the time. 
 Faith lifts her eye, and Hope's angelic wing 
 Ripples the waters of Recovery's spring ; 
 Improvement's flag is gloriously unfurled ; 
 The bow of promise spans the suffering world ! 
 
 Much hath been done ; but what stern toil remains 
 Herculean task, to break the drunkard's chains 
 Control false custom free the moral slave 
 And raise the soul from Mammon's iron grave ! 
 But who will falter ? who withhold his name 
 To save a brother from the paths of shame ? 
 
 Sons of Freedom ! well might bitter tears 
 Bewail the carelessness of thoughtless years. 
 Proceed in faith impenetrably strong, 
 Cheered by sweet hope with a celestial song, 
 And though the victory make long delay, 
 Be found still constant still in duty's way. 
 Head, heart, and hand, should be united now, 
 The strong, the weak, to speed the Temperance plough. 
 Gold is not spared to dazzle and deceive, 
 Give ye of yours to strengthen and retrieve.
 
 THE PROGRESS 0V TKMPER \NCE. 211 
 
 Men placed on high, like watch-towers, ought to show 
 True light and guidance to the crowds below ; 
 But crowds, the sinews of the world, should feel 
 That they, themselves, can help or mar their weal 
 Can shun the pathways of disastrous fate 
 And rise superior, tho' of low estate. 
 But in high place, is low example, too ! 
 Which tens of thousands may have cause to rue. 
 
 Love ye your neighbours, Ministers of Peace, 
 Who hold aloof and see men's woes increase ? 
 Say is your faith evinced, your pity proved, 
 Your duty done, if ye pass by unmoved 
 Some poor weak wretch who asks your aid to rise, 
 From dark abasement, to be good and wise ? 
 Shrink ye from contact with such men as these ? 
 Shrank your Great Master from earth's dire disease? 
 Unglove your white hand, seek the poor man's shed, 
 And raise him, temperate, from the living dead. 
 But go beyond, and point him to the skies, 
 And lure him kindly, till ye gain the prize. 
 Withhold no longer join the Temperance cause, 
 And stand true Champion for its righteous laws ; 
 Think not of supererrogation here 
 Your Christian duties call you to our sphere ; 
 Give name example varied talent all 
 And work, for blessings, if ye preach, like Paul !
 
 MCPHEBSOx'fl POEMS. 
 
 TEMPERANCE AND PEACE. 
 
 As pierceth Day's brigbt orb, the gloom 
 
 That nightly o'er the earth prevails, 
 E'en so shall Temperance Truth illume 
 
 That darkness which the soul assails ; 
 That worse than Stygian gloom, dispersed 
 
 By Christian Charity's pure ray, 
 The wondering world shall hail the burst 
 
 Of moral Freedom's glorious clay ! 
 
 Oh ! haste the bright the happy time 
 
 When man shall war no more with man, 
 When all on earth in every clime 
 
 Shall share Salvation's gracious plan ; 
 When hearts, Heav'ns altars, now profaned, 
 
 Shall duly feel their priceless worth, 
 When Paradise shall he regained, 
 
 And, oace more, angels walk on earth ^
 
 NOTES TO "TEMPERANCE." 
 
 (I.) A small prize, offered for the best poem on the subject of 
 Temperance, resulted in the verses entitled " Praise of Water." The 
 article was printed in a pamphlet form, and rather extensively cir- 
 culated. The extracts given contain about half the poein as 
 published. It was one of those efforts whose money reward was by 
 no means commensurate with the labor and talent required for its 
 production. 
 
 (2.) Several years ago a periodical devoted to Temperance, and 
 appropriately designated the " Olive Branch," was published in Hali- 
 fax. It was edited, for some time, by Miss Sarah Herbert ; John 
 McPherson occasionally contributed to its columns. Verses entitled 
 " The Effort," and other pieces in this section, were written for the 
 " Olive Branch." 
 
 (3.) The virtue of perseverance has been found of special con- 
 sequence in Temperance ; it is a great requisite in all good causes. 
 The lines to which this note has reference, were among those written 
 for the " Olive Branch." 
 
 (4.) Moderate drinking, as a support of the liquor traffic, and 
 as affording temptation to excess, has frequently been a subject of 
 Temperance advocates. 
 
 (').) This, and other pieces in the collection, and more especially 
 some lines not printed, might be understood as paraphrases on some 
 very emphatic passages of Scripture. McPherson was a student of 
 Scripture, well inclined to be influenced by its teachings on themes- 
 which he adopted. If any suppose that his zeal was evinced by over- 
 warm expression, they may find that the sacred writings gave good 
 precedent for more earnest remonstrance.
 
 OCCASIONAL. 
 
 INCLUDING PIECES DESCRIPTIVE, DIDACTIC AND PERSONAL. 
 
 THE term " Occasional," as applied to literary efforts, is generally 
 understood as signifying those literary products, which, instead of 
 being parts of series, or in accordance with some pre-arranged plan 
 are rather the effects of some passing thought or suggestion. 
 
 The verses which follow have been so designated, because they did 
 not appear to come distinctly under any of the preceding sections, 
 although they may approach one or other of them at several points. 
 
 Many scenic allusions may recall the division entitled " Love of 
 Nature." Those relating to the household and the family circle, 
 may remind of the verses more immediately "Domestic and Social." 
 Others are fraught with incidents related to the " Personal." The 
 religious characteristic so prevails as in some places to suggest the 
 "Devotional" classification; while moral and reformatory features 
 will be found to link the section with that of " Temperance." 
 
 Thus the closing division of McPherson's poems may be deemed, 
 as in some degree, harmonizing the other parts. The hope is that 
 they may convey both pleasure and profit ; that the volume will be 
 welcomed in many circles as conducive to the utility which was 
 among the poet's fondest ambitions, as well as to the enjoyments 
 arising from innocent sources, to which his mind was so sensitive. 
 
 The blending of exterior comeliness or beauty with usefulnessi 
 seems specially provided for in the works of the Creator : the stream 
 adorns while it fertilizes the smiling valley ; the herbage is delicately 
 elegant, as if grass and grain were intended as much for ornament as 
 sustainment; the clouds which waft refreshing vapours hither and 
 thither, present, in form and colour, objects of great attraction to the 
 cultivated vision ; He who crowneth the year with His goodness, 
 clothes the lily ot the field in textures which outvie the robes of 
 Solomon. Rational nature, surely, might learn lessons from this, so 
 that beneficence might become one of the daily attributes of intellect.
 
 OCCASIONAL. 
 
 CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 W 
 
 The outward world is cheerful the pure air 
 And its gay winged inhabitants rejoice, 
 The flocks and herds that make the hills their choice 
 
 As they the wold's luxuriant herbage share ; 
 The winds and waters have a low sweet voice, 
 
 And breathe the same soft murmurs everywhere. 
 
 All things seem grateful to the Sovereign care 
 
 That erst pronounced the new Creation " Good! " 
 And bade the soul be happy, if it would, 
 
 In that sweet garden which He made so fair ! 
 
 Light laughs upon the billows, which seem glad, 
 Making wild music round the good ship's way ; 
 
 O man, immortal, why art thou so sad, 
 Whilst all things else are innocently gay. 
 
 The outward world is cheerful : Beauteous flowers 
 (That yield their sweetness to the murmuring bee, 
 Their perfume to the winds that fan the lea, 
 
 And woo the village maidens to their bowers, 
 
 To pass the golden noon in guileless glee) 
 10*
 
 218 MCPUERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Burst into bloom beneath the genial showers I 
 "Whilst where AcacUa's A.pril day-orb pours, 
 
 Through parting clouds, his more than April beams 
 
 By wood-nymph-nooks and naiad haunted streams 
 Gay fluttering myriads sport away the hours. 
 The outward world is cheerful ; Nature's brow 
 
 Is wreathed with rapture as a face with smiles 
 When first chaste love has scaled its sacred vow, 
 
 And breathed its Eden o'er the heart's green isles. 
 
 The outward world is cheerful. Man, alone 
 Of all heaven's creatures, willfully repines, 
 And, like a peevish school-boy, frets and whines, 
 
 And vents his heart-wrung anguish in his groan r 
 Because, though yonder genial sun still shines, 
 
 His Maker's will accords not with his own ! 
 
 Oh ! were his principles of action shown 
 In wise observances of Nature's laws, 
 And right submission to the great First Cause, 
 
 How would he thrill at Rapture's mystic tone ! 
 
 did he yield to such serene control, 
 
 What springs of grateful happiness would start, 
 
 From deeply pious impulses of soul, 
 
 And wells of gladness gushing in the heart I 
 
 Too humble for the festive halls of Pride 
 Too gentle for the jealousies, so rife 
 Among the lucre-loving sons of strife 
 
 The Enchantress, Cheerfulness, loves to reside 
 Where, finding the amenities of life,
 
 SHUN THE PATHS OF FOOLISH PLEASURE. 219 
 
 She may sit down with Concord, side by side ; 
 For she, coy Nymph, still loveth to confide 
 
 Her high endearments to the quiet cot 
 
 Where honest toil, contented with his lot, 
 And temperate youth and vigorous age abide. 
 Yet is she limited to no abode, 
 
 Restricted to no rank or class of mind, 
 But ready to relieve from carking load, 
 
 And bless with sinilo benign, all human kind. 
 
 SHUN THE PATH OF FOOLISH PLEASURE. 
 
 Shun the paths of foolish Pleasure, 
 
 Which with vain allurements shine 
 Shuu the sordid, seek the treasure 
 
 Which will not with Earth decline. 
 Trust not Fortune's specious seeming, 
 
 But, while youth and hope are thine, 
 Time's eventful hours redeeming, 
 
 Seek the light and life divine 1 
 
 Then, though many ills assail thoe. 
 
 Though thy fondest dreams decay, 
 Though all earthly comfort fail thee, 
 
 God will be thy constant stay. 
 Heavenly hope shall sweetly cheer thee, 
 
 Peace and joy attend thy way, 
 Heavenly aid be always near thee, 
 
 And thy strength exceed thy day !
 
 BIC PHEBSONS POEMS. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 (2.) 
 
 Alas I how fortune changes, 
 
 How health and hope decay I 
 How poverty estranges 
 
 The friends of life's yonng day 
 The goodly tree I cherished, 
 
 Expectant of sweet fruit, 
 Has prematurely perished 
 
 With eanker at the root. 
 
 We leave the'elear bright fountain,. 
 
 The sweet flowers springing nigh,. 
 And climb the rugged mountain, 
 
 To reach a genial sky ; 
 But when our feet, o'erweary, 
 
 Require the promised land, 
 The scene grows dark and dreary 
 
 We gaze on desert sand. 
 
 Look upwards, suffering mortals, 
 
 Who sigh for living streams ; 
 Heaven lights her glorious portals 
 
 With myriad guiding beams. 
 Look upwards to the regions 
 
 Beyond expression fair, 
 And seek to join the legions 
 
 Who rest enraptured there-
 
 NATURE'S LESSON' 221 
 
 NATURE'S LESSOX. 
 
 Bright watchers o'er this vale of tears 
 
 Sun, moon, and myriad stars, 
 Ye move in your appointed spheres 
 
 Unmoved by worldly jars ! 
 Ye still, as at the first, obey 
 
 Your great Creator's voice, 
 Roll duly on your heavenly way, 
 
 And ceaselessly rejoice , 
 
 Man, too, hath his allotted part 
 
 High duties to fulfil, 
 To bind all goodness to his heart, 
 
 And shun each tempting ill? 
 But when, assertive of his soul, 
 
 And mindful of his trust, 
 Will he despise the base control, 
 
 The bondage of the dust? 
 
 Roll on, rejoicing in your light, 
 
 Ye wonders of the sky. 
 Prophetic visions glad my sight 
 
 The dawn of heaven seems nigh ! 
 Dark hate and dreadful war shall cease, 
 
 The fiercest foes be kind ; 
 And trusting love and gentle peace 
 
 Brood o'er the human mind.
 
 222 MCPHEKSON'S POEMS. 
 
 VISIONS. 
 
 Fair Maiden of the lustrous eye, 
 
 And pale, pure intellectual brow,- 
 Beloved of the days gone by, 
 Where art thou now ? 
 
 Thy smile was like a living beam 
 Upon the desert of my breast ; 
 But thou hast gone and I must dream 
 In wild unrest. 
 
 Unsunned by that celestial eye, 
 
 Uneheeved by that persuasive tone, 
 Unblessed by that responsive sigh,. 
 I feel alone. 
 
 When thou, my gentle love, wast near, 
 My heart was light, my spirit glad ;. 
 But thou hast left this darkened sphere,. 
 And I am sad. 
 
 Yet, in my visions of the night 
 
 I feel as if I could rejoice ; 
 For I behold thy form of light ? 
 And hear thy voice.
 
 NIGHT THOUGHTS. 23 
 
 Thou seemest of tbe spirit-land, 
 
 And speakest of that world above, 
 Whose bowers are bright, whose air is bland 
 Whose life is love. 
 
 Well I will pass as best I may 
 
 The years that seem so drear and long, 
 And then, lay down the load of clay 
 And join thy song. 
 
 NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 (3.) 
 
 I asked the Spirit, Sleep, 
 
 (That is so like to death, 
 Pulseless, and passionless, and deep, 
 
 In all but mortal breath.) 
 
 What things dost thou behold 
 
 In earth, or sea, or sky ? 
 What radiant mysteries unfold 
 
 Before thy dreaming eye ? 
 
 Sleep seem'd to answer " Much 
 From waking eyes concealed, 
 
 Of such as I may tell, and such 
 As may not be revealed."
 
 224 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 What seest thou, Sleep ? 
 " A pure immortal shore 
 Where those who wake on earth to weep 
 Shall wake to weep no more." 
 
 * 
 
 What dost thou yet behold ? 
 
 ' ' A still more glorious dream 
 A city having streets of gold 
 
 Beside a living stream." 
 
 Who dwells therein, Sleep ? 
 
 " The ransomed of the Lord, 
 Who, brought through tribulation's deep, 
 
 Enjoy the great reward. 
 
 With these a glorious band 
 
 Who were not doomed to die 
 
 The bright ones of the spirit land 
 The dwellers in the sky." 
 
 Again what seest thou ? 
 
 " The throne of the Great King, 
 Before whom men and angels bow 
 
 And strike their harps and sing." 
 
 What hearest thou, Sleep ? 
 
 Songs of enraptured praise 
 Which high intelligences keep, 
 
 And sainted spirits raise.
 
 THE ETENINO SHADES OF LIFE. 225 
 
 The burthen of their song 
 
 Is " Holy is the Lamb, 
 And might and majesty belong 
 
 Unto the great I AM ! " 
 
 " THE EVENING SHADES OF LIFE." 
 
 When day's last gleam of glory dies, 
 
 And Evening breathes her tranquil tone, 
 I love to stray from human eyes, 
 
 And pass sweet memory's hour alone. 
 Morn speaks of prospect dear to youth, 
 
 And wears a countenance of cheer, 
 But Evening tells a tale of truth 
 
 That sad experience sighs to hear. 
 
 Our course began with hopeful trust 
 
 In kindred love and friendly aid ; 
 But, lo ! our idols dashed to dust, 
 
 Our altars, trampled and decayed ! 
 While spectres of departed years 
 
 Flit round us with regretful sighs, 
 And move the wearied heart to tears 
 
 For lost delight and broken ties. 
 
 The wise, whose hearts had ceased to yearn, 
 Forewarned us of the world's deceit ; 
 
 But generous youth is loath to learn 
 That life's fair aspect hides a cheat.
 
 226 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Yet, when we rise to manhood's scale, 
 And ask to gaze on promised skies, 
 
 Experience lifts the shining veil, 
 
 And blights the trusting victim's eyes. 
 
 Untutored in the world's cold ways, 
 
 And hopeful in its proffered tone, 
 The young and joyous heart obeys 
 
 Too oft, no impulse but its own. 
 It looks at will on cloudless skies, 
 
 That love would weep to see o'ercast, 
 And fondly deems that smiling eyes, 
 
 Will lend it sunshine to the last. 
 
 But (oh ! that earthly thought could range 
 
 On subjects free from grief's appal !) 
 Time flies, and brings a mournful change 
 
 Youth fades and feels affliction's thrall. 
 How blest, then, he that timely, here 
 
 Looks forward to his heavenly rest, 
 Before "the evening shades" appear, 
 
 And life forgoes its early zest. 
 
 This vex'd probationary state, 
 
 Whose hours of rapture seem so brief, 
 Is not the sport of penal fate 
 
 Not all a pilgrimage of grief. 
 Though earth's fond votaries shall see 
 
 Their gold grow dim with time's alloy, 
 The truth that makes the captives free 
 
 Imparts an endlessness of joy.
 
 BEHOLDING THE PROMISED LAND. 227 
 
 BEHOLDING THE PROMISED LAND. 
 
 Obedient to his early vow 
 
 His Maker's high behest 
 The Prophet stood on Pisgah's brow 
 
 And viewed the Land of Kest ; 
 To which through long and weary years 
 Amidst alternate hopes and fears, 
 
 Jehovah's chosen pressed ; 
 And which, with all its living streams 
 Was daily present in their dreams. 
 
 The clime of many a mountain scene 
 
 Magnificently grand, 
 The clime of bright perennial green, 
 
 By fragrant breezes fann'd, 
 The clime denied to Israel's tears 
 Till faith should have resigned her fears, 
 
 Was gloriously at hand 
 And, far and near, enriched his sight 
 With one wide prospect of delight ! 
 
 But sadness o'er his spirit fell, 
 And tears were prone to start ; 
 
 For feelings, that at times rebel, 
 Surcharged his human heart : 
 
 He knew that ere the host he led 
 
 Could reach the land before him spread, 
 His spirit should depart :
 
 228 JIG PHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 He saw it with his failing eyes, 
 But might not rest beneath its skies. 
 
 The thought that he should sit at last 
 
 Within its verdant bowers, 
 And, all his weary wanderings past, 
 
 Repose among its flowers 
 The thought that still from day to day 
 Had nerved his heart throughout the way, 
 
 And oft renewed his powers, 
 That thought, the nursed of years, had flown, 
 And left his heart a sombre tone. 
 
 But turning to his Father Lord ! 
 
 The Patriarch-prophet bowed 
 In meek submission to the word, 
 
 That sometimes smites the proud. 
 He felt how frail was mortal dust, 
 Confessed his last sad trial just, 
 
 Shook off the darkening cloud 
 And giving up his wayward will, 
 Adored Eternal Goodness still. 
 
 The hope that had his soul sustained 
 
 Along the Desert's way, 
 The hope of better life, remained, 
 
 To cheer his latest day ! 
 He knew that, though he might not sleep 
 Where Hebrew maids at eve would weep 
 
 And Gentile pilgrims pray,
 
 SO BRIEF IS LIFE. 229 
 
 His spirit, ready for her flight, 
 
 Should dwell with Jacob's God in lio;ht. 
 
 He might not join the songs of Praise, 
 
 The grateful and the deep, 
 That Israel's rescued sons would raise 
 
 On many a starlit steep 
 But, he may hold sublimer Lyre 
 Aiding the blest celestial choir, 
 
 Who heavenly anthems sweep ! 
 So, bursting from the ties of Time, 
 He sought the glorious spirit-clime. 
 
 SO BRIEF IS LIFE. 
 
 Death equals ! Yes, the rich, the poor, 
 Whom little vulgar aims divide, 
 
 Must all the same sad change endure 
 And darkly moulder side by side ! 
 
 So brief is life so insecure ! 
 So vain a thing is human pride ! 
 
 The rock of Tyre the proud remains 
 That o'er Zenobia's city lie, 
 
 The rubbish on a thousand plains 
 
 Where once a world sent up its cry, 
 
 All prove that man, despite his pains, 
 Must loose his hold on earth, and die.
 
 230 MCPHERSOjfs POEMS. 
 
 The wretch who makes his gold his god, 
 The suffering outcast whom he spurns, 
 
 Alike, beneath the valley's clod 
 The hoary sexton, Time, inurns : 
 
 The glittering wealth for which we plod 
 And bow to crime, to dust returns. 
 
 Confining infinite desires 
 
 To this poor perishable scene, 
 
 We miss what most the heart requires 
 That peace unspeakably serene, 
 
 With which the Lord of Life inspires 
 The wise who on His mercy lean. 
 
 Here, Sin obscures and saddens all ; 
 
 Here towering minds to meanness stoop ; 
 Here private wrongs and outrage, gall 
 
 More deeply than misfortune's swoop ; 
 Here vile detraction's arrows fall 
 
 The wicked thrive the righteous droop. 
 
 But when our baseless hopes are o'er 
 When death asserts his dreaded claim 
 
 And, conscience, wakes to dream no more, 
 How will the soul endure her shame ! 
 
 How, ail-regretfully deplore 
 
 The dark perversion of her aim !
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE BASTILE. 231 
 
 Since He Whose word directs our way 
 
 Will be to all our wanderings just, 
 Why stand we idly all the day 
 
 Regardless of our glorious trust ? 
 Why do we Wisdom's work delay 
 
 Until the grave demands our dust ? 
 
 THE PRISONER OF THE BASTILE. 
 
 Unbar not now my dungeon door 
 
 Set not the helpless free ; 
 Ye cannot youth and hope restore, 
 
 And what is light to me ? 
 My heart from every human tie 
 
 Long years ago was wrenched : 
 Then may the old and friendless die 
 
 Where life's best lights were quenched. 
 
 They led him forth ; he felt the air 
 
 Beheld the earth and sky 
 But nature seem'd no longer fair 
 
 To his delightless eye. 
 He wandered on, but saw no face 
 
 At which his bosom thrilled ; 
 He sought his own another race- 
 
 The old possessions filled.
 
 232 MCPIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 " Take take me back !" the old man said; 
 
 The world is dark and strange 
 None live to shield my aged head, 
 
 I cannot bear the change. 
 Let that bright orb the world illume 
 
 For earth's tyrannic lords, 
 But give me back the place of gloom 
 
 That with my fate accords. 
 
 My soul was torn from beings dear, 
 
 At manhood's busy stage, 
 What now, alas ! remains to cheer 
 
 My dim and joyless age ? 
 I speak, yet hear no fond reply 
 
 No kind consoling tone ; 
 I gaze yet meet no kindred eye ; 
 
 ! give me back my own. 
 
 If I could weep, perchance this gloom 
 
 This frenzy might depart, 
 But quenchless care seems now to doom 
 
 My outraged human heart. 
 
 Affliction's wild, yet sweet relief, 
 Has not been mine for years, 
 
 And worn by uncompanioned grief 
 These eyes have now no tears. 
 
 Then take me back ; the dungeon's gloom 
 
 Hath so familiar grown 
 That light were but a stranger doom 
 
 Than life liv'd out alone.
 
 DREAM. 233 
 
 Farewell ! ye prove not all too cold 
 
 To mourn for such as I, 
 Farewell, ye leave the poor and old 
 
 Whose hour of rest is nigh. 
 
 DREAM. 
 
 ' I had a dream that was not all a dream." BTROK. 
 
 ' O that for me some home like this would smile." CAMPBELL. 
 
 Methought I had a pleasant dream, 
 
 Of scenes, in which I loved to stray 
 And find the objects of my theme, 
 
 From sunny morn till close of day. 
 While hope, that sometimes comes to cheer 
 
 The poor man's path with cheerful gleam, 
 Half whispered " If a friend were near 
 
 This dream would not be all a dream." 
 
 A cottage veiled by waving pines 
 
 That taste had left to please the eye 
 A home that held some sacred shrines, 
 
 Looked upwards to a smiling sky. 
 Farm-buildings, barn, and lattice near, 
 
 Screened from the north by circling trees ; 
 An orchard there a garden here 
 
 And gay flowers fragrant to the breeze.
 
 234 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 Green waving fields of grass and grain, 
 
 Rich pastures cropped by peaceful kine 
 And placid flocks that clothe the swain, 
 
 Bade frugal labor cease to pine. 
 " that some home like this were mine " 
 
 Burst from my full heart like a prayer 
 What cheering Sun-beams then would shine 
 
 Upon my dark cold night of care ! " 
 
 Then, when the fire of Genius flamed, 
 
 And thrilled the proudly conscious soul, 
 The eagle, Thought, might soar unblamed, 
 
 And spurn depression's dull control. 
 Then love, while circled by its own, 
 
 Would meet their gaze with happier eyes, 
 And breathe a more ecstatic tone 
 
 And balm, inhale from brighter skies. 
 
 INVOCATION TO SLEEP. 
 
 Balmy power ! whose silken wing 
 Lulls the wearied frame to rest, 
 
 Come, come, and sweetly bring 
 Solace to my aching breast. 
 
 Toil and Fortune feel thy balm 
 Softly o'er their senses steal ; 
 
 let Sorrow, know thy calm, 
 Want and ivoe, thy soothing feel.
 
 LOST AT SEA. 235 
 
 Let me in thy silent bower 
 
 Taste of Lethe's fabled stream- 
 Feel thy sweet oblivious power, 
 Sleep, without a restless dream. 
 
 Or if dreams my couch attend, 
 Let them wear no sable frown ; 
 
 But the raptured spirit lend 
 
 Such as sleep with blessings crown. 
 
 Balmy sleep ! whose silken wing 
 Lulls the wearied frame to rest, 
 
 Come, come, and sweetly bring 
 Solace to my aching breast. 
 
 LOST AT SEA. 
 
 (4.) 
 
 When thy daring bark departed 
 
 O'er the waste of waters blue, 
 And Affection's tribute started 
 
 For the gentle and the true, 
 We expected soon to greet thee, 
 
 To thine own, thy native shore, 
 But on earth we may not meet thee, 
 
 For thy mortal race is o'er.
 
 2' 6 MCPHERSO/S POEMS. 
 
 Oft, from vision'd sleep awaking, 
 
 Bade we yon dim taper burn ; 
 Oft, the sleepless couch forsaking, 
 
 Watched we for thy hoped return. 
 Long ere darkling doubt assailed us, 
 
 Friendship at thine absence wept ; 
 And, when life's last solace failed us, 
 
 Love his aimless vigils kept. 
 
 Yet, amidst our tribulation, 
 
 One sweet solace still remains, 
 In the light of that salvation 
 
 Which the wearied soul sustains. 
 Though we still must sadly mourn thee 
 
 As the lov'd and lost of Time, 
 Have not guardian angels borne thee 
 
 To their own immortal clime ? 
 
 Freed we trust art thou from sadness, 
 
 In a world exceeding fair ; 
 And we hope that, crowned with gladness, 
 
 We may breathe its balmy air ; 
 We would greatly joy to greet thee 
 
 E'en on this sepulchral shore, 
 But we hope that we shall meet thee, 
 
 Where the happy part no more !
 
 THE SHIPWRECKED. 237 
 
 THE SHIPWRECKED. 
 
 As Day's last parting light was shed 
 
 I sat beside the deep, 
 And thought upon the shipwrecked dead 
 
 That in its waters sleep ; 
 The brave, the fair, the young, the old- 
 The rich with all their shining gold, 
 
 O'er whom its billows sweep ! 
 Beneath the dark insatiate wave 
 What thousands find a watery grave ! 
 
 When burst the dark tempestuous storm 
 
 Araidst the lightning's glare 
 When frowned Destruction's awful form, 
 
 What frantic fear was there 1 
 When life's last hour drew near its 
 What loud tumultuous cries arose 
 
 What shrieks of wild despair ! 
 No rescue nigh earth's visions o'er 
 The seaman sank afar from shore 1 
 
 Ye wanderers of the dark blue wave, 
 
 The sport of every gale, 
 Whom nought but help from Heaven can save 
 
 When storms your path assail 
 Where'er life's fragile bark is cast, 
 The soul is safe from adverse blast, 
 
 If moored " within the veil ! " 
 gallant hearts ! much need have ye 
 To trust in Him, who rules the Sea !
 
 238 MC PIIERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 MARINER'S SONG. 
 
 The sun has set, the shades of eve 
 Glide softly o'er the sea, 
 
 And bring to all a sweet reprieve, 
 A dream of love to me. 
 
 For, freed from toil, I fix my gaze 
 
 Upon the first pale star 
 That wakes with soft religious rays, 
 
 Fond thoughts, of scenes afar 
 
 At this calm hour a lady mine, 
 tfAVho dwells beside the sea, 
 Is constant at the vesper shrine 
 To pray to Heaven for me. 
 
 She, too, observant of her vow, 
 
 " The registered above," 
 Beholds that glimmering planet now, 
 
 And names her absent love. 
 
 I almost think I see her face 
 Her sweet yet chastened smile, 
 
 And o'er her lovely features trace 
 Her inmost thoughts the while.
 
 THE RETIRED SAILOR. 239 
 
 She wakes the blissful moments fled 
 
 The looks of fond regret 
 The sighs we breathed the tears we shed 
 
 Our hopes when last we met. 
 
 waft our gallant ship, ye winds, 
 
 The bounding billows o'er, 
 Till it the destined haven finds, 
 
 And I my native shore. 
 
 THE RETIRED SAILOR. 
 
 When first I heard the thrilling tale 
 
 Of mighty ocean's reign, 
 I longed to hoist the adventurous sail 
 
 And cleave the liquid plain. 
 But would the dream to leave my home, 
 
 To try the changeful sea 
 Oh ! would the restless wish to roam 
 
 Had never come to me. 
 
 Tossed by the spirit of the blast 
 
 Where warring waters rave, 
 Upon the high and giddy mast 
 
 Above the yawning grave, 
 Remote from all the heart holds dear, 
 
 Sick, sick upon my cot, 
 With none to speak a word of cheer, 
 
 This oft has been my lot.
 
 MC PIIERSON S POEMS. 
 
 Dread hunger, thirst, and polar cold, 
 
 Let others brave for gain ; 
 Keep, merchant, keep your proffered gold, 
 
 I cease to tempt the main. 
 Beside my own hearth's cheerful blaze, 
 
 Content, though small my store, 
 I pass my unambitious days 
 
 In peace unknown before. 
 
 TO THE MARINER. 
 
 Hail Mariner ! whose feelings are as warm 
 And simple as in childhood who has won 
 The name of " Ocean's simple-hearted son " ; 
 
 Hail, thou, familiar with the Almighty's form, 
 Seen in the lightning's far-surrounding flash 
 Heard in the thunder's overwhelming crash 
 
 And all the voices of the mid-sea storm. 
 
 Remember Him, Who lets the waters bear 
 
 Thy gallant bark, wherever thou wouldst roam, 
 Who holds the winds that waft the traveller home, 
 
 And makes His children His peculiar care. 
 O, then, remember Him, in storm or calm, 
 In Morn's glad hymn, in Evening's solemn psalm, 
 
 And in the life-breath of unceasing prayer.
 
 THE MARINER'S RETCBH. 
 
 MARINER'S RETURN. 
 
 I wandered far from ray native land, 
 
 O'er many a stranger scene, 
 But I look once more on the rugged strand, 
 
 And the hill tops gaily green. 
 The surf that breaks OB her seaward rocks, 
 
 Hath a welcome in its roar, 
 To a heart that, tired of the word's rude shocks, 
 
 Would mix in its wars no more. 
 
 I come I come to the laughing streams 
 
 That will greet me with sweet song 
 To the dear old scenes of my school-boy dreams, 
 
 And the happy household throng. 
 I come from the busy world's alarms, 
 
 With a new and strengthening zest, 
 To household friends in whose fostering arms 
 
 My cares shall be lulled to rest 
 
 I suffered much since I left them last : 
 
 Fierce heat and polar cold ; 
 But the future joy may redeem -the past, 
 
 And repay me a thousand-fold. 
 I have braved the storm on the wave-washod deck- 
 
 I have run on a dread lee-shore 
 Yet escaped with life from the shattered wreck, 
 
 To return to my own once more. 
 11*
 
 MC PHERSONS POEMS. 
 
 I wandered far with the hope of wealth 
 
 That was destined to depart, 
 But I thank Thee, Lord, that I si ill have health, 
 
 And the boon of a grateful heart. 
 My " lov'd ones " long to be once more blest 
 
 With the sight of my storm-beat face ; 
 My roof- tree waits for a weary guest, 
 
 I haste to the dear old place ! 
 
 I wandered far, but my native vale 
 
 Shall hear my soul rejoice, 
 And the cheek of the watcher growing pale. 
 
 Be bright at my well-known voice. 
 I come from the angry tempest's roar, 
 
 From the deep sea's troubled foam, 
 To the quiet scenes of my native shore, 
 
 And the clear delights of home. 
 
 LINES FOR THE LADIES. No. I. 
 
 TO ACCOMPANY THE PIANO OR THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 
 
 (5.) 
 
 Girls ! how highly pleased we feel 
 
 With humble admiration, 
 When blushes on your cheeks reveal 
 
 Fair Hebe's bright carnation. 
 But, ah ! we cannot brook to see 
 
 A lass her form defacing, 
 We cannot bear that you should be 
 
 Self-sacrificed to "lacing!' 7
 
 LINES TO THE LADIKS. 243 
 
 Consumption, fragile beauty's foe, 
 
 Among the sex so frequent, 
 May be, as learned Doctors show, 
 
 On " modern lacing" sequent. 
 And then by fragile shoes and hose 
 
 Which fashion-traders take, you 
 May both your bloom and comfort lose 
 
 May health indeed forsake you. 
 
 If ye were fashioned out of taste 
 
 We might excuse the passion 
 For living delicately laced 
 
 And dying "in the fashion." 
 But, trust me, Nature, when she made 
 
 Dear woman's form of beauty, 
 Knew how the shape should be arrayed, 
 
 But fashion swerves from duty, 
 
 We read that men, in former days, 
 
 Armed " cap a pie," when banded, 
 But women had no name for stays, 
 
 Their waists at will expanded. 
 And that the dames, in times of old 
 
 Of mighty men, were mothers, 
 Is proved by Greece and Rome, and told, 
 
 By Homer and some others. 
 
 I had a sweetheart once a maid 
 
 Whose form was fairly moulded, 
 Whose eye beneath its silken shade ,"^ 
 
 A lofty soul unfolded.
 
 244 MC PHERSON T S POE3SB>. 
 
 I hoped in troth, a happy lot,. 
 
 The futwe fondly tracing ; 
 But, wher* about to share my cot,. 
 
 She fell a prey to lacing I 
 
 I mourned her loss in- silent woe 
 Like any other lover, 
 
 Until a lass who lacked a beau 
 I happened to discover. 
 
 Her cheek was like ' the red, red rose : 
 Her waist a proper feature ; 
 
 There was no hectic near her nose- 
 She was a prudent creature. 
 
 E'en now (but lately marie a bride) 1 
 
 In wedded beauty blooming, 
 She sits her clean-swept hearth beside,. 
 
 My humble home illuming. 
 I hope with her to see good days, 
 
 Because, unlike the other, 
 She does not patronise the stays,. 
 
 Her gentle heart to smother. 
 
 LINES FOR THE LADIES. No. II. 
 
 There goes an honest man to Jail I 
 
 His wife has debts contracted, 
 Though she might know his means would fail 
 
 To pay them when exacted.
 
 LIXES FOR THE LADIES. 24 
 
 Poor thing ! had she not sense to know 
 
 The course she was pursuing, 
 Might bring herself deserved woe, 
 
 And end in his undoing ? 
 
 Her pride or mayhap want of thought, 
 
 Has sported sundry dresses, 
 Which to her humble hearth have brought 
 
 Distraint and sore distresses. 
 O Woman ! must my pen record 
 
 A truth so melancholy 
 As this that man Cieation's lord 
 
 Has cause to weep tby folly ? 
 
 From man's mistakes, from worldly strife. 
 
 We have enough of sorrow, 
 From woman, oft a hope of life. 
 
 More care we sometimes borrow ! 
 Ye wives be good, be prudent wives 
 
 Guard well your husband's earnings.; 
 Yourselves will lead far happier lives 
 
 If pride forego its yearnings. 
 
 Ye girls read wisdom's sage " Adviee" 
 
 Rather than dreamy novels ; 
 A useful book of trifling price 
 
 May keep some out of hovels. 
 Be prudent act a careful part, 
 
 Shun pride that so-disgraees, 
 And tears less frequently will start 
 
 To spoil your pretty faces.
 
 246 
 
 MC FHERSON S POEMS. 
 
 Instead of many precious hours 
 
 In slothful dreaminga wasting, 
 Improve the mind's immortal powers, 
 
 The sweets of knowledge tasting. 
 Instead of, dull to healthful shame, 
 
 Some slander-theme retailing 
 Be tender of another's fame ; 
 
 You too, may have a failing. 
 
 Shun Fashion's vain unthinking crowd- 
 
 And life with virtue filling, 
 Not even of houswifery be proud ; 
 
 Save wisely many a shilling ! 
 Pardon me, and forget not this, 
 
 That, what we all are craving, 
 The sunshine of Domestic Bliss, 
 
 Has much to do with saving; ! 
 
 SEPERATION. 
 
 As one who roams the wild at night 
 Yet hails no friendly star, 
 
 So reft am I of calm delight 
 When forced from thee afar. 
 
 I love not thus my bark to steer 
 Across the ocean's foam, 
 
 Unless, with every hour, I near 
 My own delightful home.
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 We now can converse but in thought, 
 But sweet is Fancy's power ; 
 
 And Hope, from kindred feeling caught, 
 Foretells a brighter hour. 
 
 VANISHED NOT LOST. 
 
 Day, in starless gloom expiring, 
 
 Winds may wail and dew-drops weep ; 
 
 Yet the shades of night retiring, 
 Morn will mantle tower and steep. 
 
 But the loved whom Sickness blighted 
 Whom our memory still deplores, 
 
 While we wander undelighted 
 Neither Spring nor Morn restores. 
 
 Many a glad smile hath been banished, 
 Many a cherished hope been crossed ; 
 
 But the spirits who have vanished, 
 Though departed are not lost. 
 
 I 
 
 We who loved them long may mourn them, 
 
 Yet we trust an angel band 
 O'er the shadowy vale hath borne them 
 
 To their own all-glorious land.
 
 248 MCPHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 " Charge them that are rich in this world that they do good, and 
 be glad to give." 
 
 O ye who bask beneath tbe constant beams 
 Of Fortune's golden sun whose lot is east 
 
 Among earth's greenest spots, by pleasant streams- 
 Whose days in peace and affluence are pass'd, 
 
 Consider that the bounteous hand of heaven 
 
 Your ample stores for righteous ends hath given. 
 
 Lo ! distant lands, lands sunk in moral night, 
 TV here dreadful scenes the deathless soul degrade, 
 
 Are loudly calling for the lamp of light ! 
 send the blessing be the call obeyed. 
 
 Ye are the stewards of your Master's treasure, 
 And He demands the willing, flowing measure. 
 
 Go feed the hungry clothe the shivering, go ; 
 
 The widow and the orphan claim your care ; 
 The house of mourning visit, and bestow 
 
 The balm of joy on those who languish there. 
 Thus shall your peace flow onward like a river, 
 
 Your soul be blessed. He loves the cheerful giver. 
 
 THE YELLOW LEAF. 
 
 When life, which Truth calls, brief, 
 
 And likens to a day, 
 Is in " the sere and yellow leaf'"' 
 
 Of natural decay,
 
 DAILY B1ERCIES. 
 
 We love to lift the pall 
 
 Of by-gone hopes and fears, 
 To pause, look youth wards, and recall 
 
 Our " beautiful past years." 
 
 Fond Memory waves her wand 
 
 And distant scenes draw near ; 
 And first fond hopes, a shadowy band, 
 
 And buried joys appear. 
 She gives the calm sweet face 
 
 The kind consoling tone 
 The thrilling touch, the true embrace, 
 
 That linked us to our own. 
 
 But meteor lights that shine 
 
 Upon our earthly ways 
 The forms that bow at Pleasure's shrine, 
 
 Shrink from our "feeble days." 
 While spectres of the past 
 
 That tell of broken ties, 
 Flit by on the autumnal blast, 
 
 And utter mournful sighs. 
 
 Sometimes in her refluent dream 
 
 Of visionary truth, 
 The founts of human feeling seem 
 
 Reanimate with youth. 
 But, ah ! we wake to find 
 
 Earth's life without its zest, 
 And bow to weariness of mind, 
 
 And think of better rest. 
 
 249
 
 250 MC PHERSON'S POEMS. 
 
 DAILY MERCIES. 
 
 Throughout the earth, the sea, the air 
 
 Around beneath above 
 Life, light, and all bright things declare 
 
 That nature's source is love. 
 Day, night, successive months, bestow 
 
 Unasked, unpurchased good, 
 But He " from Whom all blessings flow " 
 
 Is oft misunderstood. 
 
 With so much lent us to enjoy, 
 
 We seek for ills, unsent ; 
 And thus, with wilfuluess, destroy 
 
 The source of wise content. 
 Weighed we our merits with our lot, 
 
 Sweet patience would be given, 
 To gild earth's darker, drearier spot, 
 
 With happy beams from heaven. 
 
 Forgive, Lord ! the darkling thought, 
 
 Direct the wayward will ; 
 The soul, which Thou Thyself hast taught, 
 
 Regard in mercy still. 
 We would not wander from Thy fold, 
 
 Nor pious trust resign, 
 But Oh ! our drooping hearts uphold ; 
 
 Inspire with life divine !
 
 NOTES TO "OCCASIONAL." 
 
 (1.) The lines here given, are but extracts from a comparatively 
 long poem, composed of a series of sonnet-like verses. Part of the 
 remaining passages were nearly illegible, and to others objections 
 might appear, which would require correction by the. author. In. 
 this, and other of his poems, McPhcrson evinced very strong feelings 
 on the subject of war; he saw great present evils vividly, and thought 
 he might speak out plainly, as became his idea of a true bard. 
 
 (2.) The writer's own experience evidently tinges these and 
 Evening Shades of Life, and other verses of this section, as it did so 
 prevailingly, the "Personal" poems. 
 
 (3.) The strain here is more imaginative and ambitious than 
 usual, in McPherson's poetry. Its management tends to prove, that 
 to the additional training and experience which he so much desired, 
 he might, if spared, have aimed above the sweet lyrical department 
 to which he had chiefly devoted his attention. 
 
 (4.) This, and pieces which immediately follow, remind of the 
 Author's experience in sea affairs : they are indicative of a class of 
 subjects apt to be familiar to a Nova Scotian, who finds waters of 
 Ocean, or Bay, or Gulf, in comparative proximity to every acre of 
 the Province. 
 
 (5.) The lively, and somewhat sarcastic and playful style, indulg- 
 ed in these and next succeeding verses, appear in strong contrast 
 with the laments which had become so frequent in consequence of 
 privation and disappointment. McPherson has more than once 
 intimated, that his literary powers should not be judged exclusively 
 by what he had accomplished, but rather by what might have been 
 ejected under happier circumstances.
 
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