Gift of Mrs, Prank Good C^x OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. Circlerille Watchman. " THE sentiment that runs through the whole work, is elevating and instructive. There is a sweet spirit and depth of imagination in every sentence, that at once, places the authoress in the front rank of the first poets of the age." Ohio Statesman. " For the first time, we have seen this unpretending collection of poems, the production of one of Ohio's own daughters'. They are chaste ind natural in style. Many of the pieces abound in patriotic, and some :n humorous sentiment." Kentucky flag. " It is certainly a work of high merit, and one which should be liber- illy patronized by all." Democratic Vnion. "The gifted authoress is endowed with a clear perception of the real ind the true. Many passages of the work evince a substantial apprecia tion of the ' poets' art ;' and bear the unmistakable impress of a vigorous ntellect." Cincinnati .Enquirer. " That the book possesses high poetic merit we must allow, this, by he way, is the concession of our judgment not the mere mouth-praise >f gallantry for the sex. Her style is simple, pure and sweet, tinged vith a melancholy spirit, which is often rather a charm to poetry than i defect." 5 OPINIONS OK T H K 1' K E S S . 'Mn- Cincinnati Times. "We may add, that a mere hurried glimpse of two or three of its taste fully printed pages, has impressed us favorably with the character and powers of the fair and fanciful authoress." The Cincinnati Atlas. " The poems are smoothly and pleasantly written, and display consi derable skill." Cincinnati Commercial. " A softness, an ease, and a sweet simplicity pervades them, that will reach the unsullied heart and impart pleasure to the reader. " ' The Indian's Bride,' The Return,' ' The Parting,' ' The Contrast,' A Legend of the South,' and other pieces denote a genuine appreciation of what belongs to the art divine." The Western Texian. " Mrs. Truesdell has recently published a book of Poems, the chaste- ness of style, the purity of composition, and elevated sentiment of which challenge our admiration, and establish the fame of the fair authoress." San Antonio Ledger. " There is beauty and purity written upon every page, elevating and instructive to the mind of those who delight to drink from the pure streams of poetic fancy and sentiment." POEM S. ... * BY MRS. HELEN TBUESDELL. ' THIRD EDITION, CINCINNATI: PUBLISHED BY E. MORGAN" & 00., NO. Ill MAIN STREET. 1854. CONTENTS. PiQB. Jt LEGEND OF THE SOUTH, . . . . . .13 SCOTLAND, , . . . . - . . 24 LAMENT FOR THE LATE NATHANIEL M'LADf, "Jv . . 28 THE INDIAN'S BRIDE, . jj . . j . - . 32 THE CAPTIVE QUEEN, . " J^j ** * " . .37 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI, . . . : . * . 41 REPLY TO BYRONA, . . . ' . .45 ODE TO FRIENDSHIP, .** . . . 48 THE RETURN, . . . * . . t . . .49 A TALE "WITHOUT A NAME, ..... 52 THE Vow, ' - . "*'^ T . : . . .56 THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER, % ... 58 STANZAS SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF SAMUEL MILLIKAN, . . 62 THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT, . " , . . 64 A MIDNIGHT SONG, . _ ' , t * , . .69 LlNES "WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM, ..... 71 FARITWELL, . . . : ' . . .73 THE TRIUMPHS OF WAR, . , ' " f ., . 76 THE MISERIES OF WAR, . . ' . . .78 A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER, ..... 80 CONTENTS. * . A THE PARTING, ........ THE CONSUMPTIVE, . . . , . .* JOSEPHINE'S REMONSTRANCE, ...... THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME, . if" . ELEGIAC LINES ON THE DEATH OF J. J. STEWART, . . . To A NEGLECTED ARTIST, ..... I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL, . i I . . LlNES ADDRESSED TO MY SlSTER AT SCHOOL, ^,. MUSINGS, ..'":. . . . . THE GIFT, . . . ,; . SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID, |W "~ . . THE CONTRAST, . f . . . . . LINES TO A BIRD, * . "> . . . . THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT, . . . . . GEORGIANA, . , lr . 1^. , ' . IDA, . . J . . . ^. 4 ; ^ 123 THE IRISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA, .* . . . 125 THE YOUNG WIFE'S SONG, ^ . . 9 , J .-./ . . 128 PRESENTIMENTS, .."' jt,- .130 ANNIE ADAIR, . * . . . ^ 131 LlNES ON BEING SHOWN A TRESS OF HAIR, . . . .133 LlNES ACCOMPANYING A BOUQUET OF LlLIES AND ROSES, . 136 THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR'S LAMENT, ..... 138 THE NEGLECTED WIFE, . r . - . . . 140 THE MISSIONARIES, . 8 '* *j ' ' ^^ I WILL HOPE, . . . . . ** . "^ 4 ' ^^ I SHALL THINK OF THEE, * !f . . . ., J .152 .... f .. . j* _; ,>a>B rn:t WELCOME TO KOSSUTH, . . . . . .154 ., . . : H'-Y;?, .7^ BIRD OF THE SUMMER, . . . . . .157 4 . * * '' ' t -I. ' . STANZAS TO . , . ' , r , 159 . . .. P. * AN AFP: p TO QUEEN VICTORIA IN BEHALF OF THE IRISH, . 162 LlNES ADDRESSED TO A STRANGER WHOM I MET ON THE CARS, . 1G5 CONTENTS. XI 4 - PAGE. To A COQUETTE, . . * . . . 168 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MBS. E. BBOWN, .... 170 Ax INVOCATION, . . _ . . . . . 172 AWAKE, AWAKE, MY GENTLE MUSE, . . . . .174 WITHERED VIOLETS, . . . ... . . 175 RELIGION, ......... 178 HALLOWED GROUND, . . ' . . . 180 A WISH, . . \ ' . , . . ... 182 STANZAS, . . . . . . . ..',183 To MY LITTLE NIECE, . . . .',-. 186 APOSTROPHE TO MY HUSBAND-, . . . . . 188 LOVE, . .:'".* ... . ^ . 190 To A FRIKND, . . . .'.- '*> . 192 LITTLE WILLIE, . ^v. it.," .... 194 COUNTRY LIFE, . ,-,. "'.. . : ,'\ * . . . 196 I LOVED HIM, . . . 'i-\ '[ > '; . . .198 THE LONKLY GRAVE, .& . . .' . . 200 LlNES ON RECEIVING A NUMBER OF THE REPOSITORY, . . 202 AUTUMN FLOWERS, . , . ^ ' * ^^ REMORSE, . .'*'.' . i . . . 205 HOSE, . ....... 207 EDITH TO MOUTON, . T ". ' . , ~-\_ . . . 209 I'M WITH You, DKAR SlSTEHS, . . . . .211 POEMS A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. PART FIRST. 'TWAS eve, sweet eve: a southern sky Had flung its thousand lights on high, And many a fair and lovely scene Silvered beneath the moon's pale beam; While, stretching southward far away, Lake Pontchartrain in beauty lay, 'Mid scenes so fair, when on her strand You 'd almost de^em it fairy land ; And just beside, a noble wood, Draped in the moonlight, proudly stood, Where Pan, the god of sylvan shades, Held revels 'mid these woodland glades. The broad magnolia's leaves unfold Beside the aster's flowers of gold; 2 13 - I* 14: A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. OF The columbine and lupine wreathed Garlands, which fragrance only breathed; And birds of every hue and wing, Gayly amid the flowerets sing. No dreary winter visits here, But spring, sweet spring-time, all the year. And now my strain is sung to thee, I'll tell a tale as told to me : 'Tis said, amid those lovely wilds A lonely hermit dwells, * Apart from man, and shunning all, To none his tale he tells. ^ . 'Tis told by those who near him live, That many years before, ,He came from Italy's fair clime, And sought our Western shore. Cleft in the hollow of a rock, Mis lonely home is made; The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round, And form a vernal shade. 1S*T * A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 35 ' k . ' 4 At early morn he seeks for game, For well he loves the chase, The red deer trembles when he sees The time-worn hermit's face. And oft he climbs the loftiest steeps, \Vhere soaring eagles feed, To gaze upon a stormy sky, As if he sought to read The destiny of one so strange, Self-exiled from his home An alien from his own sweet land, Amid our shades to roam. A poet and an artist, he Dwelt 'neath his native sky ; Amid those* glorious works of art Too beautiful to die. Fame and ambition made for him A halo round his brow ; Alas, for all those lovely dreams ! Where have they flown to, now ? 16 A LEGEND OF THK SOUTH. He loved it is a simple tale, And one that 's often told ; For she he lvcd was beautiful, And rich in lands and gold. ' * The daughter of a lordly house, A Baron's only pride For whose fair hand the proudest peers Of many a realm had sighed. jQ -t, / t > fsr^Jtr~t**^^*~' 'Twas in his studio first they met: Her friends had brought her there, To see if art could picture forth A sculptured form so fair. &j With trembling hand and heart of fire, He sought her form to trace ; But ah, despair was on his brow, For who could give that face ? The heavenly beauty of the mind, ..... The spirit's sparkling light, The eye whose gentle radiance shone, Soft as the stars of night. A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 17 Enshrined within his heart of hearts Each look of hers now lay A breath of summer o'er his soul, Too soon to pass away. &r~6^. &J * PART SECOND. 'Tis night, a night in Italy: How to the mind it brings O Bright visions of that lovely land's All high and glorious things ! 'Neath a myrtle and an orange grove, On a bed of violets sweet, Sat this gentle high-born maiden, With the artist at her feet. The sunlight from the mountains Had faded quite away, And the misty shades of evening "Were gathering thick and gray, A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. When from her father's castle That maiden fair was seen To glide, with noiseless footsteps, Along the shadowy green. Is this the Baron's daughter, The peerless Isabel, Who wanders in the moonlight Alone by lake and fell? Her lover's watching for her, X-c He's waited for her long, With a heart of burniDg eloquence, And lips and tone of song. And oh ! what wondrous tenderness Is falling from his tongue, And with what fond and earnest faith Unto his words she clung. "Love me ever," said the maiden, And her voice was soft and low, ' Like the sighing of the south winds Amid the myrtle's bough. A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 19 PART THIRD. * ' Grim and silent, in the moonlight, An ancient chapel stood, Where dwelt a priestly anchorite The humble and the good. With swift and quiet footsteps The lovers bent their way, Ah ! toward this ruined chapel, Guided by the moon's soft ray. They have passed the lonely threshold. The holy man is there, Before him is a crucifix, Beside, a book of prayer. - There 's a deadly pallor resting Upon the maiden's brow, As they kneel with pious fervor, To take the solemn vow 20 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. That binds them to each other. The words were scarcely said, When through the vaulted chapel Rang a voice as from the dead " Forbear, forbear, my children ! 'i All turned in wild alarm, And, lo! beside the doorway Stood a proud and noble form. The face was deeply shaded, But amid the gathering gloom, The maiden knew her father, By the waving of his plume. "Forbear!" again he uttered, And his voice was stern and deep, " Let thy words be all unspoken, That vow thou must not keep. " Ye are both, O God ! my children, The same by birth and name Thine, thine will be the anguish, But mine has been the shame." A LEGEND OP THE SOUTH. 21 4* 4 Then he told how he had wandered To a distant land away, To a fair and smiling valley, Called the Valley of Glenstray; Where he wooed an humble maiden, And won her for his bride; Fearing his father's anger, But more his mother's pride, He had wedded her in secret; They had never told the tale, Though his gentle bride grew sorrowful While her brow grew sad and pale. The beautiful and timid girl S Drooped daily by his side, Yet still he would not claim her As his own, his wedded bride. But the Friend unto the wretched Came swiftly to her aid, And soon all quietly she slept Within the church-yard's shade. A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. But ere she died, she'd given Unto his arms a son f5 *'" "Thou, thou," exclaimed the father, . "Art that wronged, forsaken one!" Pale, pale as death, the maiden Sank fainting to the floor, While with wild and speechless agony Her brother bent him -o'er. ' ^r > That face of matchless beauty, That fair and fragile form. Lay like a blighted lily Smitten by a sudden storm. Oh. who can tell the agony ''r)0|Hfl fl That filled that brother's breast, ji." As on his sister's snowy brow One holy kiss he prest ! Then turned away all sorrowful, All sorrowful and lone, Bound to a far-off distant land, Forever from his own. A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 23 And soon within a noble ship, Upon a bounding sea, The beautiful, the free! He came unto our own fair land, And here upon our Southern shore, Where breezes softly play, 'Mid orange bowers almost as fair As those of Italy, Cleft in the hollow of a rock, His lonely home is made ; The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round, And form a vernal shade. SCOTLAND. LAND of the mountain and the dale 1 Thou land of deathless fame ! I proudly write on this fair page Thy ever-during name. I fling my banner to the breeze, I loudly call on thee To aid me by my power of song, Bright land of minstrelsy ! \ *' * Ye sons of genius, who would seek A shrine whereon to lay The purest offering of your heart, 'Tis Scotland points the way. SCOTLAND. 25 Not to the wealthy or the great, Doth intellect belong, The poet in his low thatched cot Can pour his soul in song. And while I for a model seek, Mine eye instinctive turns, And fondly wreathed around my heart, I find the name of BURNS. Who does not love the author well, Of that enchanting tune, Which sweetly steals across the heart The "Braes o' Bonnie Boon?" I loved it in my happier hours; I love it better now; Since I, like that lone one, have learned To mourn a broken vow.-* ;|g And should my fancy seek to rove 'Mid scenes of beauty wild, I'd turn to thee, thou gifted Scot! Fair Scotia's darling child 1 26 SCOTLAND. Should warriors, too, engross my pen, And claim from me their due, I'd twine a wreath for gallant BBUCE, And one for "WALLACE too. _ ------ -il Sure, bolder chieftains never trod, E'en on our own loved shore, Than they, with belt and tartan plaid, Their Highland heather o'er. Statesmen! the mighty MANSFIELD stands A pattern for you all; 'Xt.;- -, . Vis/ s A nobler voice was never heard In council or in hall. Divines! you too may emulate The Covenanter's zeal; "Who seeks, by penitence and tears, His every sin to heal. . Behold in burrows of the earth, "With fasting and with care, The persecuted Christian kneels, &*-*> And lifts his soul in prayer. -*> SCOTLAND. 27 In this religion has he lived, His purposes are high, And like his gentle, captive Queen, For it h 'ed even die. LAMENT FOR THE LATE NATHANIEL M'LAIN. INSCRIBED TO HIS SISTEE, MRS. MILTON M. HALE. " That soldier had stood on the battle-plain, Where every step was over the slain ; But the brand and the ball had passed him by, And he came to his native land to die." L. E. L. MY brother ! O my brother 1 My soul is sad to-night: I'm thinking of the fatal news The dark and withering blight That fell upon my spirit, When on lightning wings it sped, And told me thou, beloved one, "Wert sleeping with the dead. t When rang the deadly clarion Beneath a southern sky, r hou, thou wert there, my brother, To dare, to do, or die; LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL M'LAIN. 29 Yea, ever 'mid the thickest fight The bravest of the brave Willing to share a soldier's fate, Or fill a soldier's grave. But thou wert spared amid it all, To see thy home once more; Yea, borne on Neptune's friendly waves. Didst reach thy native shore : And loving friends, and tender ones, Came forth thy steps to greet, Oh, it was joy, the dearest joy, Those early friends to meet! Our gray-haired sire beside thee stood, While pride thrilled through his breast, Murmured thy name in tender tones And, brother, thou wert blest: Our mother, too, oh ! who can tell The deep unselfish love That thrilled each fiber of her soul, As angels thrill above! 30 LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL M 5 LAIN. t But not for me, oh ! not for me, To look upon thy face, Only the mournful task is mine, This record sad to trace: For now, O brother of my soul ! From earth thou'st passed away, And that warm, generous heart of thine. Lies 'neath the cold, cold clay. In sable garb, with saddened step, And sadly-waving plume, They laid thee with thy young renown, Low in the silent tomb ; With laurels fresh upon thy brow, They laid thee down to rest Within thine own dear native land Fair Yalley of the West ! ;-'' , Our father's joy is turned to grief; Our mother's hopes have fled ; The visions that we cherished, all Like withered leaves lie dead : LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL M 5 LA1N. 31 And she, the chosen of thy heart, The tender and the true, Has gazed her last upon thy face, And wept her last adieu. Yet vain our sorrows, vain our tears ; Though never vain the spell That lingers round a sister's heart, When she has said farewell To one, who e'en from childhood's hour Has grown up by her side, From all its witching tenderness, To manhood's joyous pride. Then bid me not to dry my tears. Nor bid me cease to mourn, The deep, deep love that stirs my soul, With life's first breath was born. Brother! the memory of thy worth Shall live within my breast, And point me to that sacred home, Where thou hast found a rest. [I remember, when a child, reading an account of an Indian Chief, who went from America to England, and married the fair daughter of an English house. She is represented as approaching the altar with the greatest enthusiasm.] THE INDIAN'S BRIDE. " Holy and pure are the drops that fall, When the young bride goes from her father's hall : She goes unto love yet untried and new She parts from love which hath still been true." MBS. HKMANS. " OH ! bind the bridal veil," she said, " Sweet sister, on my brow, And let me to the altar go, To take the sweetest vow " That ever passed from woman's lips, Or thrilled through woman's breast; ' Without it, love is but a dream, And life is all unblest." THE INDIAN'S BRIDE. 33 i Gently the bridal veil was bound Amid those tresses i'air, Which hung, like rays of golden light, So beautiful they were, Around the maiden's sylph-like form, So full of perfect grace, You 'd rarely see so fair a form, With such a lovely face. The high, fair brow, the loving lips, The sad, yet tender eyes, Whose color only could be matched By heaven's own azure dyes. And then the small fair hands were clasped ; The maiden knelt in prayer; And her sweet voice went floating out Like music on the air. But strange the contrast! he who stood To claim her for his bride, A dark-browed Indian Chief was he, The forest's fear and pride. 3 34 THE INDIAN 'SKRIDE. What wild emotion moved his heart? Say, should we call it love, 04** That brought the eagle from on nigh To mate him with the dove ? tj/ Was there no maiden of his tribe, - No dark-eyed, dusky one, fisi^O Who dwelt within his native wilds On toward the setting sun, Could bear his burden by his side ? With him the hills could roam ? And dress for him the mountain deer, And tend his forest home? But must he woo this lovely flower ^M.^ From Albion's distant shore, To wither 'neath a foreign sky, And pine in sorrow sore ? What will she, with her costly gems, v.J-^' That she has worn with pride? The feather and the shell were best To deck the Red Man's bride. THE INDIAN'S BKIDE. 35 What will she, for her happy home, Where peace and plenty smile 2 , -jjvJ Oh, cruel was the heart, methinks, That could her steps beguile! And when the wild romance is past The foolish dream is o'er Will she not think upon the home Which she shall see no more? (f ^..^ &_^r^. Will not her mother's voice, at eve, Steal 'mid those woods so dim, Borne on the fragrance of the breeze, Soft as a vesper hymn ? jg ! 'Q..-$L Her sister's, too, the gentle girl, Who bound the flowerets fair, While tear-drops fell, like glittering pearls, Amid her golden hair ? And her fond father, he who strove, In tones of choking woe, To bless his darling ere he bade Ah, sadly bade her go, THE INDIAN S BRIDE. To cheer the Indian's wigwam rude, Far o'er the shadowy main, Leaving behind fond precious hopes She ne'er can know again. Q &sr$$" * ^UL -<~.s THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. " I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Where happy I hae been ; Fu' lightly rose I in the morn, As blithe lay down at e'en : And I 'm the Sovereign of Scotland, And mony a traitor there, Yet here I lie, in foreign bands, And never-ending care." BUENS. ""&&. 'JjL SHE sat alone yes, all alone within that gloomy tower, For she, though young and beautiful, had felt oppres sion's power ; She had each lovely attribute that ladies ever prize, The sylph-like form, the fairy step, the bright and starry eyes. , A^^UK^f & And ne'er a loftier intellect had fallen' to woman's lot ; A fame, that malice tried in vain on which to fix a blot. 'The sun threw out its gorgeous rays o'er mount, and *", vale, and hill. And seemed the very earth and air with joyousness to fill. 898717 38 THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. . ' r But though it shed its genial rays, no joy could it impart, To soothe the agony and care that weighed the Cap tive's heart; She gazed upon the glorious scene through bitter, blinding tears, And hurriedly her mind went back to earlier, happier years. But where were now those happy hours, the step and spirit free? The thousand warriors, who had deemed it pride to bend the knee To one so good and beautiful, the Dauphin's gentle bride, Heir of fair Scotia's royal crown, and France a dower beside ? Where were ye, lords of Scotland, all, and gentlemen of France ? Why came ye not, with valorous hearts, to break for her a lance ? And where were ye, ye courtly dames, in proud and rich array, Who dwelt within your Sovereign's court, and owned - her gentle sway ? THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 39 And MURRAY, them of princely blood, near to the royal line, Hadst thou no offering to lay upon thy sister's shrine? Did no avenging spirit wake within thy haughty breast? Or didst thou coldly fold thine arms, as faithless as i ; ^ 40 THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. But, MAKT, in thy darkest hour some happiness was thine ; For thou didst lay thy trusting heart upon a holy shrine. :' 3B &l*W* 'Jiti'iit bi'it " r b[r' limit 1 f >i f \ " ift For though thine was an erring faith, 'twas beautiful to see Thy steadfast love, thy earnest zeal, thy tender constancy; All Europe looked with pitying eyes upon thy closing fate, And mourned for Scotland's Koyal Flower the lone, the desolate I APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. INSCRIBED TO MKS. H. TBUESDELL. " To a kindred spirit these lines belong A daughter of Genius, a child of Song." BYROHA. As on thy waters now I gaze, Another by my side >_' . i Follows, with sad and tearful eye, Thy dark and turbid tide. A widowed heart it is that bends In grief beside me here, A heart bereft, in early youth, Of all it held most dear. 4:2 APO8TEOPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. And thou, engulfing waters, thou Didst rob this sorrowing one Didst snatch the idol from its shrine, And leave the heart alone. Scarce had the bridal flowers grown pale, "Which loving hands had wreathed, Scarce had the husband's tender vows ' f ( A In happiness been breathed, Ere from the altar he had reared, That shrine of love a home, The guardian of that temple dear By cruel fate was torn. He trusted to thy treacherous waves, Thou dark, uncertain stream ; But of the fearful doom thou 'dst planned, How little did he dream! 'Twas sounding still upon his ear Love's fond and last adieu; And, as each wave still bore him on, The absent dearer grew. - ** APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 48 He gazed on thee, and thought, perchance, Of bliss till now unknown ; When thy relentless billows part, And claim him for thine own. ,/.X ! ' - r '" The bridal wreath so fondly worn, "Was withered in an hour, Crushed by a fearful weight of woe, There lay a tender flower. The fragrance of that opening flower, Was given to the morn, And ere the evening sun was low, Its sweet perfume was gone. The mournful cypress now replaced The lovely orange wreath ; And sable robes were gathered close This emblem sad beneath. An emblem fit it was to wear, For truthfully it spoke ; A loving nature has been crushed A gentle spirit broke. - , . 44 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI; Sorrowing stranger! mingling tears Are flowing fast with thine: Would they could thy spirit heal These heart-felt tears of mine ! BYBONA. REPLY TO BYRONA. How shall I thank thee? not with words; ' These burning tears can speak, This bitter agony of heart, This blanching of the cheek. For thou hast touched a mournful chord, That vibrates every hour, "With all a poet's gentle skill, A woman's gentle power. /I^^L Thou'st brought me back to other days, The tender and the good, Who's sleeping in his silent home, 'Midst woodland solitude. 46 REPLY TO BYRONA. But not more lonely is the grave Of him for whom I pine, Than are these faded hopes which still Round early memories twine. Ten years ! ten long and weary years, Passed like a scroll away, Since last I stood upon that spot, Upon that fatal day. I'm gazing on a manly form, And on a manly face, \w*l n* And clasped, with all a husband's love, ; ! YC^*"'^ *U>)iM * : If'.' In one long, fond embrace. Ifr^iJ&JZ* j-'Jt 'to gaijionaltl aWT ** . WT . - * ' And words of tenderness are breathed Of happiness and home, And promises that ne'er again, And make thine every sorrow light By sympathy and prayer. And when at eve thy work was done, I'd sit and sing to thee ci/tXlf / *&* Songs of our own loved mountain home, Far o'er the deep blue sea. Or else, perchance, I'd mind thee of The talks we'd had together, And many little pleasant walks, In pleasant summer weather. With friends who then were far away, That we had left behind, But whose loved images still dwelt Imprinted on each mind. 60 THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HEK LOVEB. Oh! who would ask a happier lot? I would not change it now For all the bright and glittering gems That deck a monarch's brow. For well the great Philosopher Of poets truly said, A "golden sorrow" is their lot, Encircled round their head. -- " You think that I must weep, to leave The home I love so well ; The deep devotion of her heart, A maiden may not tell. $f$*f Long as the object of her love Is worthy in her eyes, She never dreams that she can make Too great a sacrifice. 0A#. ! And when unto the Western wilds I go, thy home to bless, Thou then perhaps will learn the depth Of woman's tenderness. THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. 61 But I have written quite enough, For thy fond eyes to see The weakness of thine AMY'S heart, So now good night to thee! ^rjii!?)' u EIVP0' *' ' a*/jb 'aril /; STANZAS SACKED TO THE MEMOKY OF SAMUEL MILLIZAN, WHO DIED IN CALIFOBNIA, NOVEMBER 25TH, 1851. IN the far-off land of the stranger's home, Where the south winds fan the breath, Amid lovely flowers, and "golden dreams," They laid him down in death. A lone tree marks the sacred spot, Where he sleeps in his dreamless sleep, And the moaning winds with a pitying sound, Their nightly vigils keep ; And beauteous birds with their silvery wings, Will nestle upon that tree; And spring's sweet violets deck the grave Which his loved ones ne'er can see; STANZAS. 63 And oft will the stranger's careless foot Pass the lone and sad spot by, Nor think of one who came so far From his native land to die! Oh, sad was the day and fatal the hour, When his spirit sighed to roam; When he turned from the dear and sacred joys, That clustered around his home! Q THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. "On! mother, I am sorrowful; There's sadness in my heart; I know not why it is, and yet All day the tears will start. >-.' "They tell me of a better land; O mother, is it so, That they who reach those radiant shores, No pain or sickness know? "And, mother, in my sleep, last night, There o'er my spirit fell A strange sweet dream, I scarce know why, But fain to thee would tell. THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. 65 "I thought that, robed in spotless white, A crown upon my head, Surrounded by a fairy band Of children, I was led "By a tall figure, clothed in black A scepter in his hand, And every one to whom he spoke Sprang forth at his command. "He led us on through darksome scenes, And damp unwholesome air ; And then there burst upon my sight, A scene so heavenly fair "A city, all of purest gold, Set round with radiant gems, And, every place I looked, I saw Ten thousand diadems; "And countless numbers tuned their harps, In strains of music sweet ; And angels, bearing golden lyres, Came forth our steps to greet. ] 66 THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. "They led us to a lofty throne, Of ivory and gold : But, ah ! the beauty of that place Must still be all untold; "For could my childish lips assume An angel's heavenly tone, Fruitless and vain my words would prove, And useless be the loan. " Then wonder not I 'm sorrowful, And have been so all day ; For though I love my own dear home, I fain would always stay "Amid those scenes so beautiful, So gladdening to the eye : But, ere I reach that lofty home, Dear mother, I must die." The mother's cheek grew deadly pale, Her eyes were filled with tears, She placed her hand upon her heart, As stifling all her fears; THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. 67 But when she spoke, her words were calm As an unruffled stream, And gentle, tender, pure and kind As her own loved one's dream: " Thy prayer is heard, my beautiful, My loving one and bright! Thy lips to me too soon will breathe Their last yes, last 'Good nightl'" " Yes, mother, for I hear again The music softly flow, And see the angels beckon me, I 'm weary, and would go " To join that high and holy throng Who worship there above, One kiss, dear mother! 'tis the last, Last pledge of earthly love !" She placed a kiss upon her child, In fondness, but in woe ; Then knelt in that deep agony, Which none but mothers know. 68 THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT But when she rose the storm had ceased; She felt as one who'd given, With all its pure and sinless truth, An angel back to heaven. A MIDNIGHT SONG. I AM alone, 'tis midnight hour, And midnight breezes fan my brow: How, with a deep and holy power, Are early memories gathering nowl Tell me, ye pale and tranquil stars, That in such placid beauty shine, While anguish deep my spirit mars, Hold'st thou the lost and loved of mine ? Or art thou, like our own dark world, Redeemed by precious blood, set free? From thy proud innocence been hurled? Didst nail thy Savior to a tree? > 70 A MIDNIGHT SONG. * Of if thou art what first thou seemed, A heaven where all is bright and fair, "Where are those loving ones, who beamed In visioned loveliness while here? *HO THSMEUIK A _ t woil Ittiimhhit fcij" ? <>cln KA I i.{* vm fui- fci.xo'v.u! : '.:!. ; r:ii^ v !-i-; A. f -oH LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. To write a few lines in your Album, my friend, Shall engross a few moments my thoughts and my pen : But in these few moments oh, what shall I say ? "Where shall I begin, or where leave off, I pray ? In the first place, I '11 speak of the wind and the weather, With its clouds, and its storms, and its sunshine together; 'Tis a picture of life, all a moral may glean From each withering flower and murmuring stream. Oh ! the dreams of my childhood were brilliant and gay; But, like perishing flowers, they faded away: Like perishing flowers, they were born but to bloom, Then wither, and die, and sink in the tomb. 72 LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. So bright were my visions, I oft would retreat To some lovely fountain, with flowers at my feet, And there such fair dreams of happiness frame As are known in this cold selfish world but by name. But ere eighteen brief summers had passed o'er my brow, The hope of my heart in the grave was laid low :> Since then, who can tell, who can dare to divine, The sorrows and cares that have ever been mine ? T&'ilA A -$TJ 71 4X1 lAltl'-* Thou too, dearest friend, a deep sorrow hast known ; But I trust from thy spirit forever it 's flown : May the fair hopes that linger and dwell round thee yet, Soothe every sorrow and soften regret ! May thy son, like the oak, the forest's proud tree, Be a shelter, protection, and comfort to thee ! May thy daughters be gentle, obedient, and kind, And possess every grace both of person and mind ! FAREWELL. *;! " Farewell ! -we shall not meet again, As we are parting now, I must my beating heart restrain, Must veil my burning brow." L. E. L. r.' i i FAREWELL ! the sorrow of that tone Falls sadly on mine ear: It was not hard to learn to love, But hard to learn to fear. Oh! sad indeed, to doubt the faith Of one once loved so well, There 's anguish in the very thought, And madness in the spell. 74 FAREWELL. That seems to wreath itself around This wounded heart of mine, Alas, that 'mid our dearest joys A dark wreath should entwine! When first I met thee, thou didst seem All that was fond and gay; Thy gentle voice, thy winning mien Could chase e'en care away. 1 / But now, thy voice has ceased to charm; Thy mien is cold and proud ; And that once sunny brow of thine 4 Forever wears a cloud. What changed thee thus? what changed thee thus I can not dare surmise: Perhaps thou hast found a faire lace ? Perhaps some brighter eyes ? Oh, yes, they tell me thou art false, And love another now! Then be it so, I'll wear again The cypress round my brow. FAREWELL. 75 When others join the festive train, And seek bright hours to keep, I'll turn me to my silent home, In solitude to weep. THE TRIUMPHS OF WAR. " No blood-stained victory, in story bright, Can give the philosophic mind delight No triumph please ; while rage and death destroy, Reflection sickens at the monstrous joy." BLOOMFIELD. PROUD was the chariot that bore the bold warrior Swift were the steeds that sped him along; Wild were the strains of deep martial music That broke from their ranks in the soul of their song. Bound was the brow of the victor with glory ; Bright, as the laurels the proud Roman wore, Glittered his helmet, beneath the broad sunlight Floated his banner in triumph before. THETKIUMPHSOFWAR. 77 Forth from each village, and city, and hamlet, Came the glad people their Chieftain to greet, Beautiful maidens with flowers they had gathered Gathered to strew at the conqueror's feet. "Long live our Chieftain! the boldest the bravest! "Long live our Champion!'- re-echoed afar; Proud grew his breast in that moment of triumph, But dark was his hand with the crimson of war. Wide flew the gateways that led to the palace: Banners were floating from turret and dome ; Fair ladies joyously waved him a welcome, Welcome once more to his beautiful home. Bright flowed the wine that night at the banquet; Pages presented it, bending the knee: Young maidens danced to the gayest of measures, Shouting aloud, " We are free ! we are free ! " THE MISERIES OF WAR. " After the brightest conquest, what appears Of all the glories 'i For the vanquished, chains ! For the proud victors, what ? alas, to reign O'er desolated nations ! " HANNAH MOOKK. DAKK was the battle-field dark with the carnage, Red with the blood of the wounded and slain ; Low plaintive moanings broke on the night winds Meanings of anguish, moanings of pain. Pale gleamed the moonlight o'er the dead warriors ; Sad looked the stars on that desolate sight : Proud forms had perished that day in the battle ; Fond hopes had died 'mid the thickest of fight. THE MISERIES OF WAR. 79 Hoof-trodden, scarred by the sword and the saber, All showed the place where the foemen had striven ; Mournfully mingled the laurel and cypress, Broken hearts wept for the ties that were riven. Sad sighed the Wind Spirit 'mid the lone branches, Sad as a requiem or dirge for the slain ; Pale watchers looked from their lone far-off dwellings, Dreaming of loved ones they 'd meet not again. Paused I a moment beside a bold warrior;* Slowly his spirit was passing away, Grasped in his hand was the standard of battle, Bravely he'd fought for his country that day. *' Scenes of my childhood," he murmured, in sadness, "Wife of my bosom, and children, adieu! Farewell, my country ! I fought for your freedom, There are tears for my loved ones, but glory for you." A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. MAY no dark sorrow ever fling Its shadows round thy path, But all things lovely, all things fair, Be thine in life and death ! It was evening, gentle evening, "Twilight dews were falling fast;" Day, with all its radiant splendor, Like a brilliant dream had passed: 1 sat musing, sadly musing, On this weary world of ours, " True," I said, " life has its pleasures, Sometimes thorns, and sometimes flowers ; A PRAYER FOR MY SISTEK. 81 * . . "But the thorns I've always gathered, For they in my pathway lay, Shunning never the few flowers That were scattered by the way." As I thus sat sadly musing, Thy sweet voice fell on mine ear, Ringing out so glad and joyous, Bird-like, musical and clear. " Thou art happy, dearest sister," Thus I murmured sad and low, "May no darkling shadow ever Dim thy pathway here below; "But like yonder flowing river, Like that fair and silvery stream, May thy life glide sweetly onward, Happy as a poet's dream " Like that far-ofi' land of sculpture, That sweet sunny, southern clime, Where 'tis always smiling summer, Never chilly winter time ! " 82 A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. This the prayer, O dearest sister! This the prayer I breathe for thee, That thy life be ever happy, In time and in eternity! IdO THE PARTING. " Bnt there was weeping far away ; And gentle eyes, for him With watching many an anxious day, "Were sorrowful and dim." BBTANT. iw "Ye woods and wilds," how bright ye seem! As green the mantle on your boughs, As when in days now long gone by, Ye listened to my Edmund's vows. - -;b^f ooj.i ;^ktai oiH now ^u3 The birds sang out their happiest song; The wild-flowers wore their brightest hue; The skies in beauty o'er us bent, Robed in their softest, loveliest blue. 84 THEPARTING. Oh! were not those delightful hours When every hope of life was young ? How, with fond woman's trusting powers, Upon each tender word I hung ! But, ah ! the blessed charm soon fled ; For they who loved were doomed to part,- The one to die in foreign lands, The other bear a broken heart. .07 I ' ** / * / "We parted: each returning morn I came to look upon the sea ; And every eve I sat me down Beneath the shadow of this tree. Forever hallowed be the spot, Where first and last I sat with him ! I Ve gazed upon the sacred place Until my very sight grew dim. f TmHf;i;\ ort- i*rf -.7 But soon the fatal news came back It sped like wildfire through my brain That he, the loved and gifted one, In battle on the seas was slain. THE PARTING. 85 For many a long and weary month, I wandered forth a maniac wild, Until a mother's tender care Restored the reason of her child. Since then, with fond but faded hopes, I Ve wandered through the earth alone ; Cheered by the high and holy hope, I yet shall meet with him I mourn. THE CONSUMPTIVE. . " Can this be death 1 There 's bloom upon her check I But now I see it is no living hue, But a strange hectic like the unnatural red Which autumn plants upon the perished leaf." , % 'TWAS on a lovely sabbath eve, I walked me forth to take the air, When, 'neath a vine-clad cottage roof, I saw a young and lovely pair: v The youth was tall and finely formed, But in his dark, expressive eye Some deep laid sorrow seemed to dwell, And from his bosom came a sigh. The lady, 1 fair and slightly formed, Her eyes were dark, and lustrous too, But, oh ! that lovely cheek of hers Wore far too deep the roseate hue. TI1ECONSUMPTIVE. 87 .*'** .^ I listened, but no word was spoken ; A low, deep cough broke on mine ear, It was enough, I turned aside To dry away a starting tear. The lady spoke at length, and said " Dearest ! I soon from thee must part, But I shall bear, e'en unto death, Thine image graved upon my heart? Thy watchful love, thy tender care Of me, I never can requite; But there is One who dwells above, - t "' - ^^| And will reward in power and might." * :.?[/,/ ; -HJ: "Nay! talk not thus," he wildly said " So young, so fair, so lately wed ! I can not bear to think that thou Must wear the cypress o 'er thy brow ; I can not bear to yield thee up ! God give me grace to drink the cup ! " "Cease thy repinings vain indeed, For, oh ! I feel death on me now : 88 THE CONSUMPTIVE. $&& Here, clasp me closer to thy heart, And lay thy hand upon my brow; And say, beloved, when I am gone, Thou wilt not mourn for my return; '/tit *-'& Life's feverish dreams are almost o'er, We part, dear friend, to meet no more On earth ; but ties, thus rudely riven, "Will soon be fondly blent in heaven ! " . 3 She spoke no more, her breath failed fast, She gave one look it was the last 'Twas full of faith, and hope, and love; Then raising her dying eyes above. He sadly bowed himself and wept: The servants deemed their lady slept, And wondered at the grief so wild That bowed their master like a child ; But soon the truth upon them broke She wept indeed, but never woke ! Not long he lingered here below, With none to soothe his silent woe: THECONSUMPTIVE. 89 They sleep together, side by side The bridegroom, and his fair young bride ; Not on a downy couch they lay, But in their prison-house of clay ; Their bodies rest beneath the sod Their spirits dwell, I trust, with God. t .5r*T'P*'14 3 >> * i - . JOSEPHINE'S REMONSTRANCE. " Bonaparte, behold that bright star ; it is mine ! and remember, to mine not thine has sovereignty been promised. Separate, then, our fates, and your star fades." ff yn NAY, bid me not depart from thee! Thou hast not said the word ; Or it is all forgotten now, Or else not rightly heard. *, f /?/4*4* . / A < Speak quickly! tell me 'tis not so! I have not heard aright! Thou wouldst not cast upon my soul This dark and withering blight! Napoleon ! in that fatal hour Peace will from thee depart ; And not alone shall I be doomed To bear a broken heart. > *.* * .' '. - JOSEPHINE'S REMONSTRANCE. 91 " V , .< . **'" *- . Yet think not that I wish 't were so, God knows this heart of mine, That dear and precious to my soul, Is every wish of thine. Yet bear in mind, the crown you wear Was promised unto me; That I, not thou, have ever been The Child of Destiny. Apart from me thou canst not live, Thy fortunes will decay, And thou, Napoleon! in that hour, Wilt think on what I say. And yet I would not seek to move Thy purpose, firmly set ; But, oh! forgive the tender hopes That cling to memory yet! THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. THOU canst not forget me: I know that thy heart Will cherish my memory wherever thou art; My image will rise, like a spirit, to thee, Thou mayst strive, but, alas ! thou canst never be free. 'Midst the gay and the giddy, thou 'It seek to forget, But vain are thy strivings, thou still must regret: The hopes thou hast blighted, the heart cast away, Will linger around thee till life's latest day. . ' '/- T ^ And I oh, my spirit is dark as the night, When I think of the hopes thou hadst power to blight! But think not I hate thee ; no, still in my heart Thou art shrined, and from memory thou ne'er canst depart. t * . THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 93 When evening's soft shadows shall wreathe round my head, And the day in its splendor and beauty hath fled, Oh ! then in my spirit thou surely shalt claim A place, and in prayer I will murmur thy nam Oh! wilt thou not turn from the snares that allure, And seek for the joys that are holy and pure ? 'Twill save thee from sorrow, from folly and vice, Then seek for one gem 'tis the pearl of great price. 'ft^VjCff jfftl ,4 ;&; f n MBiroijj. ' Ah, no ! for hope is ever strong And bright within the breast, And phantoms ever lure us on, And say we shall be blest. And blest, indeed, thou yet shalt be, In that bright heaven to which he 's gone It is no idle promise now, It is no phantom, lures thee on. TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. - " Divinest Art 1 the stars above Were fated on thy birth to shine I, Oh, born of beauty and of love, What early poetry was thine !" HAVE you been abroad to a far-off land, To win for yourself a name? With an aching heart 'neath a foreign sky, Have you toiled for the breath of fame ? If not, then away with your easel now, Your paint and your pencils too ; For, could you draw with a mightier skill Than the art of a Raphael knew, 98 TO A NEGLECT ED ART 1ST. / 'T would avail you not : they would pass you by, They would coldly hurry on To one who had come from a distant clime A rare and a wondrous one. But you say, you love your native land ; That her hills, all bathed in light, Are scenes that an artist holds most dear A fair and a lovely sight. 'T is true ; we can boast of noble trees, Broad streams, and fairest flowers; That a thousand varied beauties dwell In this happy land of ours. But heed them not away ! away ! Though the loving and the true Should linger around with a holy spell, Oh, bid them a long adieu ! But you say, that your mother's heart would break ; That you are her only stay ; That her cheek would pale, and her eye grow dim, While you 'd " tempt fame's dangerous way." TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 99 Then be content with your lowly lot, And time to jon may bring Something more worthy of your art, Than a poet's offering. I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. I WAS not always sorrowful, Nor was I always sad; Nay, fond hopes once dwelt in iny heart, And made my spirit glad. But now those hopes have passed away Hopes far too bright to last ; They faded when the autumn flowers "V*>. MM" Sank 'neath the autumn blast. I Those gentle hopes have passed away Hopes unto mortals given, That they may have a foretaste, here, Of their blest home in heaven. * I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 101 - Oh! once I had a blessed dream, It filled me with delight: A vision full of happiness Stole o'er me in the night. I thought the absent and the loved Was standing by my side, In all his youthful loveliness In all his manhood's pride. At first, amid a .crowd he stood ; But quick to me he came, And, in his soft, endearing tone, He fondly breathed my name. I started up I would not lose, For worlds, a single word ; For every feeling of my soul By that dear voice was stirred. He said "Oh! I am happy now, Far happier than when here; Then cease to wear a saddened brow, Or shed for me a tear. 102 I WAS NOT ALWAYS SOKKOWFUL. " For could you see ray happy home Those mansions of the blest, Where all can hang confidingly Upon their Saviour's breast, u You would not wish to call me back To this dark world of woe ; Not e'en thy voice could bid me stay, Then, dear one, let me go." Long years have passed since that dear form Last lingered on nay sight, And Hope hath woven many a dream To cheer the gloom of night ; But never to nay spirit yet, One, half so sweet, was given, As that which came with gentle hopes To point my soul to heaven. LINES ADDRESSED TO MY SISTER AT SCHOOL. " The flush of youth soon passes from the face, The spells of Fancy from the mind depart : The form may lose its symmetry and grace But time can claim no victory o'er the heart." MRS. DIXNIEB. DEAR sister ! could I bring to thee Gems from the purest mine, And all the treasures of the earth In one great whole combine, A better, nay a holier gift, To thee could not be given, Than that which education brings, With a true faith in heaven. 104 LINES. These blessings are within thy grasp, Oh ! haste to seize them now ; May modest virtue fill thy heart, And laurels crown thy brow ! From the church spires by thy side, Goes forth the voice of prayer, And thou mayst sing thy hymns of praise Free as the birds of air. The bird that gayly sings her song, And fluttering spreads her wing, Breathes not a purer air than thou May not more freely sing. Born 'neath the happiest sky on earth, What homage shonldst thou render To Him, who with such holy care "Watches thy years so tender. v And now in youth, in early youth, Indulge not freaks of folly, Lest after years should bring to thee Regret and melancholy: LINES. 105 But prize thy blessings, prize them well, Oh ! clasp them to thy heart; And never, never, e'en through life, From these best gifts depart. MUSINGS. " The poor, oppressed, honest man, Had never sure been born, Had there not been some recompense, To comfort those that mourn." BUBNS. 'T WAS by a flowing river, on a green and mossy bed, I, in silent sadness, pondered, and reclined my weary head ; My thoughts went flowing, flowing like a wild and rapid stream, But it was no theme of fancy no sweet, poetic dream That pressed upon my spirit, but the bitter ills of life, With which this world, though beautiful, is ever, ever rife : 'T was of the widowed mother, who toils both day and night, To feed her orphan children, and earn her widow's mite. MUSINGS. 107 .<" '"-..* * c '"fc'-' With a worn and weary spirit, with a sad and aching brow, To the bitter ills of poverty how hardly does she bow! Oh! cruel are the heartless ones, who could the poor oppress, Nor ever seek to aid them, amid their deep distress. The rich, the gay, the happy, how swiftly do they glide Adown the sunny stream of life, in pleuteousness and pride ; They seldom think upon the poor, who toil from year to year, "With heavy grief upon their hearts, and none their tasks to cheer. No bright dreams of the future, no sweet dreams of the past, But a fund of bitter memories, their spirits overcast ; How languidly the needle is plied with bitter pain, Comes sickness, direst evil ! amid the meager train. 108 MUSINGS. : * Oh ! many are the sorrows that press upon the poor : May God, who watches o'er them, give them strength but to endure; And when their days are ended, may they dwell amid the blest, And hear the welcome summons, "Come, ye weary ones, and rest." V * THE GIFT. ;.J$AJ/L';' - ' ' 11T r <(T& You ask of me a lock of hair : E'en then so let it be, A fond memento of my love, A gift, dear friend, for thee. s ' , a ; r n yirfr . Others may seek for gaudy toys, And some for jewels rare, But as a pledge of friendship, I Will give a lock of hair. Wilt thou not lay it with thy gifts Of fond friends far from thee, And prize it for the giver's sake, Thy absent friend, H. T. ? *jf * ' % * ' SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. I DWELL in the mountains, far away From the busy scenes of strife, Where the flowers in their shadowy beauty lay, And the air is with fragrance rife; Where the ringdove fills the groves with song, And all the birds of spring Their lovely matin notes prolong, While the dew's on each glittering wing. A lovely and sheltered cot is mine, Closed round with its summer screen Of many a fair and clustering vine, On a carpet of tufted green: SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. Ill My father and mother bless me oft, For I am their only child; And their gentle accents, sweet and soft, Bring joy to the mountains wild. 10 ; iliii bur, dtis >d ?s l o-. 5tfoi v/ek/ i)(ir& ">'. ' . ujJ jj a THE CONTRAST. " Oh, listen in mercy, ye sons of wealth, Basking in comfort, and glowing with health ! Give whate'er ye can spare, and be ye sure, He serveth his Master who aideth the poor." ELIZA COOK. THE night was cold, and drear, and shrill The winds blew loud o'er heath and hill ; The darkening clouds were gathering fast, And strong trees bowed 'neath the sullen blast; While a few pale stars with faint ray shone O'er a lowly cot and a stately home. That stately home was a palace fair, And comfort and light and warmth were there, And young feet danced with footsteps light, And fair forms shone in the clear lamp-light ; No fears for them had the storm without They answered it oft with a merry shout. THE CONTRAST. 113 But a different place was the humble shed Where the widow toiled for her daily bread: Lonely she sat by her scant fireside, And with weary fingers her needle plied ; While the feathery snow came drifting through, And the winds more loudlv and wildly blew. With quiet step to the cradle she crept, / Where her youngest, fairest darling slept, (J And o'er it bent with a look of love, Like a parent bird o'er a nestled dove. " Sleep, dearest, sleep," she murmured low, In the broken tones of grief and woe : "In yon castle proud there are feastings fair, For the birth-night's come of their noble heir, And he proudly stands in his manhood's age, And claims broad lands for his heritage. I, too, had a son, but he's gone from me, They have made his grave 'neath the churchyard tree. 114 THE CONTRAST. pr. Oh ! little ye think, ye rich and great, As ye proudly revel in halls of state, Of the lone and poor, who pine and die 'Neath the chilling blasts of a winter sky ! When a few kind words, and a little part Of your gold, might save a broken heart. LINES TO A BIRD. THOU pretty, little, sparkling bird ! Why dost thou come so near ? Say, dost thou see me quite alone, And come my heart to cheer ? 'T is true, I do seem quite alone : But, ah ! it is not so ; For lofty thoughts are in my heart, Nor would I let them go, To mingle with the giddy ones, Who bow at fashion's shrine ; For they the diamonds only wear, While I secure the mine. 116 TO A BIRD. Then, as they gayly float along I'll sing this song for thee; But, oh ! it is not half so sweet As thine own minstrelsy. /Vi 1' i' -laoil '-: -i !< ;?<.'!!'> HO . i THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. 'TWAS night, the midnight hour: A thousand stars lit up the calm blue vault Of heaven. The moon, so fitly named The Regent of the sky, sat like a queen Amid her glittering train, shedding her Silvery rays upon a stately mansion, One of England's proudest homes. Around were Hoble trees, yea, ragged oaks, that bore upon Their brows the age of centuries ; broad walks, Reflecting back a thousand rays from many Tinted shells ; sweet flowers, whose gentle breath Went floating out like incense on the air; Bright founts and lovely streams were murmuring On, like strains of distant music. All, all Was hushed ; no sound disturbed the sleeping 118 THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. Beauty of the scene. But who is this, that Comes -with pallid cheek and feverish brow. And gazes out upon the midnight sky, As though he sought to read his destiny ? Silent, with fylded arms, he stood: but now He speaks " Man's race is short, short from the crad To the tomb ; and then he sleeps forever. The Grecian sages thought not thus, but they Were 'dreaming bigots;' The Christian's hope's a: Idle mockerv." fi$ ' : ' Jh-l^S^~ ''A^L~J> "Presumptuous man) vain dreamer Of unholy dreams ! away with such a creed !" Wildly he started back, more pallid grew His brow ; for, lo ! beside him stood a female Form, clad in the cold habiliments of Death. Then Memory, faithful to her trust, Rushed o'er his guilty soul, and conjured Up the past. "Dim, shadowy Form!" he murmured " Pale visitant of other days ! what dost Thou here ? Say, dost thou come to mock me with The past, or warn me of the future ?" THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. 119 Again The Specter spoke " Proud man ! thy days are num bered : Ere the sun shall rise and set and rise again, Thou wilt be far hence; thy disembodied Spirit will have passed into the presence of that God Whom thou, with impious breath, hast dared to Scorn. Ah ! we shall meet again at that dread Bar, where all are equal. And now, farewell, Thou, who didst whisper in mine ear words Poisonous as the deadly Upas tree, Whose very shades are death ! didst rob my youth Of innocence, betray my too confiding Love, and leave me in a world so dark, that Not one ray of light e'er pierced its dreadful Gloom ! farewell ! But ere I go, the spirit Of an erring but redeemed mortal, Bids me tell thee, thou mayst yet repent LA.nd live." Slowly the dim form faded from His sight. Silent he sought his lonely couch, To toss all night in restless dreams. 11 120 THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. Next morn he sought his friends, And with a mocking lip, that ill concealed The heavy weight that preyed upon his soul : He told his tale, but said he would survive the tim That day his voice was heard amid his country's hall Charming a thousand hearts, By its rare power of Eloquence. But, lo ! 't was night : ^*. A Again he stood beside the casement ; Gazing upon the lovely scene without. '.4M*r*&S Sudden he shrank away, /L JV>^ As if it was too fair for him to look upon. Muttering strange words, he fixed his eye fc-.-v^. # Upon the dial of the clock And when the hand reached twelve, he shrieked, T . And thus the Skeptic died. ' GEORGIANA. ' Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, And dashed it out." MBS. SIGOUBNBT. THEY laid her in her little grave, With flowers upon her breast, A lovely blossom for the sky, So fragile yet so blest. V In shadowy beauty o'er her brow, The lifelike tresses lay ; Her eyes were closed, as closed in sleep- Death scarce had dimmed their ray. We grieved to lay the gentle child Within the darkening tomb, When the sweet flowers were putting forth Their loveliness and bloom. 122 But, ah! it was a selfish grief: In yon bright world of bliss, She '11 never know the bitter care That dims our path in this. IDA. DISTURB not her slumbers, but let her sleep on, In her beauty and innocence there : The world was too dreary, too dark and too cold ; She too lovely, too fragile and fair. The soft breath of summer just passed o'er her brow, As the gentle dew kisses the flowers, "When she faded away, like a beautiful dream, To the land of Elysian bowers. Sad, sad is the heart of that fond mother, now, Since the pet of her household is gone, And faded away the sweet hope of her life, Which a halo around her had thrown. 124: IDA. Oh ! why put our trust in the frail things of earth, When we know they so soon must decay ; Why make ourselves idols, and cling to them still, When we know that those idols are clay! W THE IRISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA, COLD and dreary blew the night winds, Sad, oh ! sad this heart of mine, I ,. : When, like some lone pilgrim weary, First I sought these shores of thine : Stars and stripes were proudly floating, Freely fluttering in the breeze, Which, with low and solemn cadence, Sighed amid the leafless trees. Many a broad and shining river, Like fair sheets of silver lay; Snow-capped hills and towering mountains Glittered 'neath the moon's soft ray ; 126 THE IKISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA, Birds had sought a kindlier climate 'Neath the myrtle's gentle shade, Or amid the orange flowers, Their little nests had made. Home, with all its fond endearments, " Home, sweet home,'' was far away ; Not a single thought had cheered me Through that live-long winter's day: Then came worn and weary slumbers, Sadly broken through the night; But I woke and saw thy banners Proudly floating in the light. Then I murmured, Erin ! Erin ! Thou bright Emerald of the sea, Fain I'd linger always near thee, But, alas ! thou art not free ; Tyrant hands have strongly bound thee, Fettered power and might and will, Yet thou still art precious to me: "With thy faults, I love thee stil still." THE IRISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA. 127 But beneath these stars so glorious, Far from kindred, far from thee ; Though all other ties are broken, Let me dwell amid the free! THE YOUNG WIFE'S SONG. I LIST for thy footsteps, my darling; I've waited and watched for thee long: The dim woods have heard my complainings, And sorrow has saddened my song. & The last rays of sunset are gilding The hill-tops with purple and gold ; And. lo ! in yon azure dominion, Does a beautiful rainbow unfold. Like the hues of that rainbow, my spirit All fondly is blended with thine ; Then how canst thou linger away, love, When thou know'st this fond spirit will pine? * . ./ THE YOUNG WIFE'S SONG. 129 The game and the chase are alluring, I know, my bold hunter, for thee ; But when borne on thy swift Arab courser, Do thy thoughts ever wander to me ? Or e'er to the home of my childhood, The beautiful cot far away, Where the birds sang so sweet, in their gladness, And I was as happy as they? The lone willow droops in its sadness ; The stern oak stands sturdy and still ; But a loved form is seen in the distance, And footsteps are heard on the hill. "'Tis he! 'tis my Ulric ! I hear him, I see him ; O ! joy, he is here ! " She threw back her curls in her gladness, And silently brushed off a tear. There were low murmured words of forgiveness ; Fond clasping of hands, and a kiss. The past ! ah ! the past is forgotten. What could mar such a moment as this! PRESENTIMENTS. rtX 1 OH ! why this utter loneliness of heart ! These deep, wild throbbings, and these tears that start This heavy sorrow spurning all control, And painful thoughts which crowd upon the soul ? '" And why these shadows, which around me gleam, Like the wild phantoms of a midnight dream, With words half spoken, thoughts but half expressed, Robbing my days of peace, my nights of rest ? vt V ANNIE ADAIR. "THERE'S not in this wide world" A maiden more fair Than the one I love best, My sweet Annie Adair ! Soft, soft are her tresses Of fair golden hue, But more soft are her bright eyes Of loveliest blue. Her form's like a sylph, Her step's like a fawn, As gayly she trips Over meadow and lawn. 132 ANNIE AD AIR. V * * .- r T The violet scarce bends 'Neath her delicate tread, And the lily just bows down Its beautiful head. There's not in this wide world A maiden more fair Than the one I love best, My sweet Annie Adair I '***' * . LINES ' - ' *' ON BEING SHOWN A TRESS OP HAIR. INSCRIBED TO MBS. A. SMALLEY, OF KENTUCKY. THIS little tress of soft, fair hair, I've kept for many years, Embalmed it with a mother's love, And watered it with tears. With trembling hand 1 severed it From off a brow so fair: Alas! of all so beautiful, This death alone could spare 134 THE TRESS OF HAIR. . Unto my aching, frenzied sight ! Each tear I would repress : But vain ; for woman's grief breaks forth In gushing tenderness. A fragile plant to me was given ; I nurtured from its birth, And watched to see my flower expand It blooms, but not on earth. I found it was not given to me To me 't was only lent ; And now, with heavenly choirs above, My radiant flower is blent. Be still, be still, each murmuring thought ; Dost hear that music's flow ? More sweetly stealing o'er my soul Than touch of lute-chords low. . * It is my darling's voice I hear ; It thrills with rapture wild : Fain would I break these bonds of clay, To clasp my/angel child. THE TRESS OF HAIK. 135 But I am earthly, earth's dark stain Is on my spirit still : Unmurmuringly I bow my head "My Father, 'tis thy will." 12 LINES lap, '..-..,- * ACCOMPANYING A BOUQUET OP LILIES AND E08E8. " In eastern lands they talk in flowers, In garlands they tell their loves and cares." No purer offering could I bring To lay, sweet lady, on thy shrine, Than this fair gift of humble flowers, This simple, floral gift of mine. . An emblem of thyself, fair girl, They bloom in beauty and in pride ! The Rose, though queen of all the flowers, An humbler flower will ne'er deride; THE BOUQUET. 137 But ever spreads its sheltering leaves To screen the Lily's drooping head : Be this thy task, O gentle, maid ! To cheer the lone whose hopes have fled. THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR'S LAMENT. " My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, But rusted with a vile repose ; For they have been a dungeon's spoil, And mine has been the fate of those To whom the goodly earth and air Are banned and barred forbidden fare." BYRON Prisoner of ChMon. AGAIN the morning sun returns, To gild the Eastern sky, Yet still, a captive lone I pine, A captive must I die ! '. * x Oh ! shall I never tread again, With step and spirit free, The hills I 've trod a thousand times, In days of boyhood's glee ? THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR'S LAMENT. 139 The poorest serf can idly roam, And none will ask him why; Whilst I, a warrior true and tried, A helpless captive lie ! Oh ! for my steed, my noble steed, My good and gallant gray, To bear me to the battle-field, Or perish" by the way ! Methinks it is a glorious death, In freedom's cause to die, While shouts of victory round us peal, And foes before us fly ; But thus to linger day by day, Amid this dungeon's ^gloom, This sepulcher of all my hopes, This worse than living tomb! What ! drops of weakness, will ye come ? No shame that ye should start ; The tear that stains a warrior's cheek Is from a patriot's heart. THE NEGLECTED WIFE. "Is it him? is it him? do I hear his step?" And with trembling haste to the window she crept "No, 'twas but the rustling of the breeze 'Mid the autumn woods, as they cast their leaves. " I have waited long, I have looked in vain O God ! will he never return again ?" Long, long had she stood by the casement there, "With her settled look of deep despair ; Ever her cheek would flush and pale As she heard the rude winds of the early gale : "He is gone!" once more she murmured in pain, " He is gone, and I dare not even complain. THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 141 " Just, just is thy sentence, O God ! and I bow With a broken spirit before thee now, Had I heeded the words by my father spoken, Or a mother's prayer ere her heart had broken ; " Not turned a deaf ear to a brother brave, Nor slighted the warning he kindly gave ; I should not have wept, and wept in vain, For that faithless one to return again." ur fyfr. THE MISSIONARIES. PART FIRST. 'T WAS evening : all was calm and still ; No sound, save the lone whippowil, Broke on the stillness of that hour, Within that gloomy woodland bower; Fair Cynthia shone with ray serene O'er hill and valley, clothed in green ; And hill and valley, lake and wood, "Were wrapped in deepest solitude. The stars were, round their nightly queen, Arrayed in splendid silvery sheen, And Nature in her loveliest mood, Seemed holding converse with the good. THE MISSIONARIES. 14:3 / It was, indeed, a lovely night ! The wild birds all had winged their flight Home, to their lofty nests on high, Beneath the broad and azure sky. hoow ^nri^xuuy pt,b * tj** And 'mid the forest, I have found A spot of consecrated ground. Now stretch thine eye o'er yonder plain, O'er yonder sloping wide domain, And look again, upon the sod They 've pitched their tents to worship God. ' '. "'; njf "They! whom?" methinks I hear you say They who came o'er the watery way ?" No, but the converts God has given To these devoted sons of heaven ; Behold, a band of warriors brave, ' '"' < .' ,'i- :m Mtv; - . All stately, dignified, and grave ; Slowly they wend their way along, Chanting aloud a solemn song. List ! list ! and you their lay may hear, As they approach draw near, draw near. " Our weapons of warfare we 've grounded, 'Gainst Jesus no longer we fight, But join now in deep adoration To our Saviour in solemn delight. 148 THE MISSIONARIES. " Oh ! blest be the day when the White Man First sought 'mid our forests to roam, Forsaking the land of his birthplace, And leaving his own cherished home. " In ignorance and darkness we wandered, No man for our souls seemed to care ; But what will not truth oft accomplish, Accompanied by teaching and prayer ?" A new scene now awaits our view, A scene of all that 's good and true : A ring was formed, where on the ground Benches and chairs were strewn around ; A table in the center stood, Roughly formed of oaken wood ; The minister was standing there, Lost in deep though tfulness and prayer. An emblem in his hand he bore, A pledge of love, which ne'er before Had the untutored forest child Beheld, within that western wild ; THE MISSIONARIES. 149 . f ** And now he took the bread, and brake, And kindly bade the Red Man take " Memorial of his love for thee ; Do this, He said, and think of me." They ate the bread, and drank the wine, And thought upon that glorious Vine ; And as they rose, each wood and glen Re-echoed with a loud "Amen!" r-%. * I WILL HOPE. I WILL hope, I will hope, Though my pathway be set With the darkest of sorrows, And deepest regret. ^>^ ff I will hope, I will hope, Though youth's visions may flee ; I '11 believe there is something In future for me. I will launch my frail bark, I will breast every gale, Though my rudder be riven, And shattered my sail. I WILL HOPE. 151 Hope's anchor shall guide me, And bring me aright, When the world's fleeting visions Shall fade from my sight. I SHALL THINK OF THEE. I SHALL think of thee at morning, When the birds sing loud and free, And the carol of their pleasant tones Will mind me oft of thee. I shall think of thee at noontide, When the sun shines bright and high The language of thy gentle voice, And of thy soft, dark eye. 1 shall think of thee at spring-time, When the flowers bud and bloom, And shed abroad their fragrance rare. With beauty and perfume. I SHALL THINK OF THEE. 153 And when July's hot, sultry sky Shall mind me spring is past, I '11 think, like thy affection, 'Twas bright, but could not last. WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. " Gearing the bells, and fire the guns, And fling the starry banner out ; Shout, ' Freedom !' till your lisping ones Give back their cradle shout." WHITTIKB. WELCOME, thou noble chief! Welcome, thy peril's o'er! A million freemen greet thee now, On fair Columbia's shore. Welcome to Freedom's land ! Our stars and stripes, unfurled, Invite thee to a peaceful home, Within our Western World. WELCOME TO KOBSUfH. 155 Cut light the billows, thou fair ship A precious freight is thine ; Thou bearest an exiled Patriot To Freedom's holy shrine ; Thou bearest a warrior from afar, Freed from a galling chain, And withered be the arm that seeks 1 To bind the brave again. Children of Hungary ! thy wrongs Awake our pitying care ; At morn, at night, at noon, at eve, "We breathe for thee a prayer, That thou mayst yet be free indeed, Free as the mountain breeze That plays upon our own broad streams, And murmurs 'mid our trees. May Freedom's watchword yet ring out Amid thy hills so blue ; And thine be yet the happiest home That freemen ever knew. 156 WELCOME TO KO88UTH. t Austria ! thy dark, despotic power Is resting over all ; But false ambition's round thee thrown, And sure will be thy fall. A nation's tears are on thee now, "Widows and orphans weep, And stern men in their souls have vowed Their high resolves to keep. i.A xuir) :rt />Ybuiji!<] 0.5^ [As I sat alone by my chamber window, a few evenings after the death of a beloved friend, a beautiful bird, of a peculiar kind, came and stood on my "work-basket. There was something so plaintive in its low, melancholy note, it touched a chord of sym pathy, and immediately turning over the leaves of my Scrap-Book, I inserted the following lines.] soa'jf I iduill "ifT BIRD OF THE SUMMER. BRIGHT bird of the summer ! From whence hast thou flown ? Ah! speak, pretty warbler, Art left all alone? . .tfc Have thy playmates all left thee? Thy companions all gone ? Come, then, to this bosom I too am alone ! 158 BIKD OF THE 8DMMEE. * Not so, in the proud day of pomp and of pride, All courted my favor, all sought the gay bride; But now, I in sadness arn left here to mourn, And grieve for the joys that can never return. Then stay, pretty warbler, and sing me a song! Oh ! sing me a requiem for joys that are gone ! Thy beautiful notes, though so plaintive and sad, Will fall on mine ear, and make my heart glad. Thou wilt not! thou sayest? Then unhurt fly away, O'er mountain and stream, Thy flight I '11 not stay : ' J a if i a But my hopes shall go with thee, And wish to the last, \mn Q6Q8tt'# moil Like thee, pretty one, I could fly from the past. Ifs tiyf -trA sf vrf* Otfi mitfa f */".; ; wjiti!