P S 
 281*5 
 15 
 G76 
 
 MAIN 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B 2 
 
GROUPED THOUGHTS 
 
 AND 
 
 A COLLECTION OF SONNETS. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 jurriB," "SOUTHERN PASSAGES AKD PICTURES," &c. 
 
 RICHMOND, VA. 
 
 Printed by Wm. Macfarlane, Mestengcr Office : 
 1845. 
 
A1ATAJ 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
GROUPED THOUGHTS, &c. 
 
 ) 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 that dwcllcst in the opening flower, 
 Ami bathcst in the morning * earliest dcw,- 
 Thou that hast wings to hurry on the hour, 
 
 And makest that lovely which were else but true- 
 ^ iclding frrsh odor for the hungering sense, 
 Teaching the zephyr mournful eloquence, 
 And, when he brings his worship to the rose, 
 That pivcsi such heavenly sweetness to his tone, 
 That fancy straightway deems it music s own ! 
 Come to me, spirit, from thy far domain 
 ^ Fain would I, with a tenderness like thino, 
 To her I love, of her I love, complain; 
 
 For she hath beckon d me to seek her shrine, 
 Beholds me there, yet nothing heeds my pain 
 
6 
 
 SYMPATHIES. 
 II. 
 
 I will breathe music in the little bell 
 
 That cups this flower, until it takes a tone 
 For every feeling human heart has known ; 
 Though hearts their secrets may not often tell, 
 Mine is the charm to win them : I will wake 
 
 Strains, which though new to men, they shall not fail 
 To tremble as they hear, as an old tale, 
 Will with new joy the absent wanderer take, 
 Moving his spirit with a strange delight ! 
 
 Love will I win from friendship the old lure 
 
 Will I make new, and all the new secure ; 
 
 And beauty never thence shall fade from sight ! 
 
 Think not I mock thee spells of higher power 
 
 Are gathered in the blue depths of this flower. 
 
 TO THE SISTER OF MY FRIEND. 
 
 in. 
 
 Sweet Lady ! in tho name of one no more, 
 Both of us loved and neither shall forget, 
 
 Make me thy brother, though our hearts before, 
 Perchance, have never in communion met ; 
 
 Give me thy gentle memories, though there be, 
 
 Between our forms some thousand miles of sea, 
 
"Wild tract and wasted desert : let me still, 
 Whate er the joy that warms me, or the thrill. 
 
 That tortures, and from which I may not dec, 
 Hold ever a sweet place within thy breast ! 
 In this my spirit shall be more than bless 
 And in my prayers, if, haply, prayer of .nine 
 Be not a wrong unto a soul like thine, 
 
 There shall be blessings from the skies for thcc. 
 
 DEATH IN YOUTH. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They icll us whom the Gods love, die in youth 
 
 Tis something to die innocent and pure ; 
 
 But death without performance, is most sure, 
 Ambition s martyrdom worst death, in truth, 
 To the aspirin? temper, fix d in thought, 
 
 Of high achievement ! Happier far are they, 
 Who, as the Prophet of the Ancients taught, 
 
 Hail the bright finish of a perfect day ! 
 With fullest consummation of each aim, 
 
 That wrought the hope of manhood with the crown, 
 Fix d to their mighty brows, of amplest fame, 
 
 Who smile at death s approaches and lie down, 
 Calmly, as one beneath the shade tree yields, 
 Satisfied of the morrow and green fields. 
 
8 
 
 SABBATH IN THE WOODS. 
 
 v. 
 
 Let us escape ! This is our holiday 
 
 God s day, devote to rest; and, through tlio \vood 
 We ll wander, and, perchance, find heavenly food, 
 
 So, profitless it shall not pass away. 
 
 Tis life, but with sweet difference, methinks, 
 Here, in the forest ; from the crowd set free, 
 
 The spirit, like escaping song-bird drinks 
 Fresh sense of music from its liberty. 
 
 Thoughts crowd about us with the trees the shade 
 Holds teachers that await UH : in our car, 
 Unwonted, but sweet voices do wo hear, 
 
 That with rare excellence of tongue persuade : 
 
 They do not chide our idlesse, were content, 
 
 If all our walks were half so innocent. 
 
 FLOWERS AND TREES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 March is profuse in violets at our feet 
 They cluster, not in pride but modesty ; 
 The damsel pauses as she passes by, 
 
 Plucks them with smiles, and calls them very sweet. 
 
 But such beguile me not ! The trees are mine, 
 These hoary headed masters ; and I glide, 
 
9 
 
 Humbled, beneath their unpresnming pride, 
 And wist not much what blossoms bud or shine. 
 I better love to see yon grandsire oak, 
 Old Druid-patriarch, lone among his race, 
 \Vith blessing, out-stretched arms, as giving grace, 
 "W hen solemn rites are said, or bread is broke : 
 Decay is at his roots, the storm has been 
 Among his limbs, -but the old top is green. 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 vn. 
 
 The pine with its green honors; cypress gray. 
 
 Bedded in waters; crimsoning with bloom, 
 The maple, that, irreverently gay, 
 
 Too soon, methinks, throws oiF his winter gloom; 
 The red bud, lavish in its every spray, 
 
 Glowing with promise of the exulting spring, 
 
 And over all the laurel, like some king, 
 Conscious of strength and stature, born for sway. 
 I care not for their spcciea never look 
 For class or order in pedantic book, 
 Enough that I behold them that they lead 
 
 To meek retreats of solitude and thought, 
 Declare me from the world s day-labors freed, 
 
 And bring roe tidings books have never brought. 
 
10 
 RELIGIOUS MUSING. 
 
 vm. 
 
 The mighty and the massy of the wood 
 Compel my worship : satisfied I lie, 
 With nought in sight but forest, earth and sky, 
 And give sweet sustenance to precious mood ! 
 Tis thus from visible but inanimate tilings, 
 We gather mortal reverence. They declare 
 In silence, a persuasion I must share, 
 Of hidden sources, far spiritual springs, 
 Fountains of deep intelligence, and powers, 
 That man himself pursues not; and I grow 
 From wonder into worship, as the show, 
 Majestic, but unvoiced, through noteless hours, 
 Imposes on my soul, with musings high, 
 That, like Jacob s Ladder, lifts them to the sky ! 
 
 SOLACE OF THE WOODS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Woods, waters, have a charm to soothe thine ear, 
 When common sounds have vex d it. When the day 
 Grows sultry, and the crowd is in thy way, 
 And working in thy soul much coil and care, 
 Betake thee to the forests. In the shade 
 Of pines, and by the side of purling streams 
 
11 
 
 That prattle all their secrets in their dreams, 
 Unconscious of a listener, unafraid, 
 Thy soul shall feel their freshening, and the truth 
 
 Of nature then, reviving in thy heart, 
 Shall bring thee the best feelings of thy youth, 
 
 When in all natural joys, thy joy had part, 
 Ere lucre and the narrowing toils of trade 
 Had turn d thcc to the thing tliou wast not made. 
 
 POETRY OF THE FOREST, 
 x. 
 
 These haunts arc sacred, for the vulgar mood 
 
 Loves not seclusion. Here the very day 
 Seems in a Sabbath dreaminess to brood, 
 
 The groves breathe slumber the great tree-tops sway 
 Drowsily, with the idle-going wind ; 
 And sweetest images before my mind 
 
 Persuade me into pleasure, with their play. 
 Here, fancies of the present and the past 
 
 Delight to mingle, till the palpable seems 
 
 Inseparate from the glory in my dreams, 
 And golden with the halo round it cast : 
 
 Thus do I live with Rosalind, thus stray 
 With Jacques ; and churning o er some native rhyme, 
 Persuade myself it smacks of the old time. 
 
12 
 FANCIES. 
 
 XT. 
 
 Here, on this bank of bruised violets, 
 
 That the crush d odor comes from, lay thee down, 
 
 And listen to the silence, and leaves blown, 
 Until thy overtask d, sad heart fory i 
 
 The sleepless struggle of yon b jsy town ! 
 There, every passion sickens ere tis spent, 
 
 Here, others follow ere the first are done, 
 Each, like its fellow, meetly innocent, 
 
 Soul sweetening, and most easy to be won! 
 And woman ! thou shall see her as at first, 
 
 When, on a bank like this, in Eden sleeping, 
 On sight of its lone habitant she burst, 
 
 Suddenly bright, as heavenly rainbow leaping, 
 From the retiring cloud where it was nurst. 
 
 THE WINDS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 These are God s blessed ministers, methinks, 
 These winds that whisper to the heart subdued, 
 
 So winningly, that still the sad ear drinks 
 Their messages of mercy, and the mood 
 
 Grows chaste and unresentful while the blight 
 Passes from off the spirit that, but late, 
 
13 
 
 Gloom d with the gloomy progress of the night, 
 And spoke defiance to the will of fate. 
 
 Comforts they bring \\ith the submissive thought 
 That teaches, sorrow still is the best friend, 
 
 And moves to bless thechastener, that has brought 
 The heart to tremble and the knees to bend, 
 
 Counselling that belter hope, that born of fears, 
 
 Is nursed in trembling and baptised in tears. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Moonlight is down mong shadow-keeping hills, 
 And bright o er placid waters : let us go : 
 1 would not seek my couch while such a show 
 
 Of beauty all the blue empyrean fills. 
 
 Give open brow to joy throw wide the vest 
 
 To the fair angel that would make us blest ; 
 
 Welcome the vision, fresh and beautiful, 
 
 And shame to snatch it with a spirit dull ! 
 
 Look, where the shadows of the houses cast, 
 Grow sick with the gay loveliness of night ; 
 
 And as her living beams flock, hurrying past, 
 How shrink they, as if shuddering at the bright 
 
 Let us away, dear heart, tis beauty s hour, 
 
 And we must share her smiles, and smiling seize her flower. 
 
14 
 HARBOR BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The open sea before mo, bathed in light, 
 As if it knew no tempest ; the near shore 
 
 Crown d with its fortresses, all green and bright, 
 As if twere safo from carnage ever more ; 
 
 And woman on the rampurta; while below 
 Girlhood, and thoughtless children bound and play 
 As if their hearts, in one long holiday, 
 
 Had sweet assurance gainst to-morrow s wo : 
 
 Afar, the queenly city, with her spires, 
 Articulate, in the moonlight, that above, 
 
 Seems to look downward with intenser fires, 
 As wrapt in fancies near akin to love ; 
 
 One star attends her which she cannot chido, 
 
 Meek as the virgin by the matron s side. 
 
 MEMORIES OF FANCY. 
 
 xv. 
 
 This fairy vision gladdens us no more, 
 As in our days of boyhood ; it is gone, 
 
 The glory which in fancy s eye it wore, 
 The crown of spiritual semblance it put on, 
 
 The lustre and the holy tenderness, 
 Appealing, as it were, to glimmering ties, 
 
15 
 
 Of some past being, that we love not less, 
 Uecause beyond our memory s reach it lies. 
 
 And yet, even now, these mellow smiles of light, 
 That aad and sinking star these silent woods, 
 
 Sprinkled with gleams, that, as we gaze, take flight 
 \Vakc strange, sad thoughts, and still superior moods, 
 
 And in the eyes that once they filled with joy, 
 
 Tears gather, and the man is twice the boy ! 
 
 THE NATAL STAR. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 There is a pale and solitary star, 
 
 That, with a sudden but a sweet surprise, 
 
 Nightly, with little heed of bolt or bar, 
 
 Peeps in upon my couch and opes mine eyes. 
 
 The office of so pure a visitor, 
 
 Must be for healing. Lovely was the thought, 
 
 That, in the dreams of old astrologer, 
 
 Such influence, with the fate of mortal, wrought ! 
 
 Nor, though this presence robs me of my rest, 
 And makes me sad with lifeless memories, 
 Shall it be curtain d from my weary eyes : 
 
 As my twin-angel, blessing still and bless d, 
 
 I welcome it, and still lament the night, 
 
 When storm or cloud obscures it from my oight. 
 
16 
 NIGHT STORM. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 This tempest sweeps the Atlantic ! Nevasink 
 Is howling to the Capes! Grim Ilatteras cries, 
 
 Like thousand damned ghosts, that on the brink 
 
 Lift their dark hands and threat the threatening skies ; 
 
 Surging through foam and tempest, old Roman, 
 Hangs o er the gulf, and with his cavernous throat, 
 Pours out the torrent of his wolfish note, 
 
 And bids the billows bear it where they can ! 
 
 Deep culleth unto deep, and from the cloud, 
 Launches the bolt, that bursting o er the sea, 
 
 Rends for a moment the thick pitchy shroud, 
 And show* tho ship the whore luMioath her lea: 
 
 Start not, dear wife, no dangers here betide,- 
 
 And sec, the boy, Htill sleeping at your side ! 
 
 SLEEPING INFANT. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Sweetness and gamesome images turround 
 Thy rest, young pilgrim ! Pleasant breezes come, 
 
 And bear the odors of the blossoming ground, 
 And wavn their wing* nlwvn thy forrltntulVi bloom 
 
 And O ! that life may glide away with thco 
 In infantile enjoyment ! while J pray 
 
17 
 
 Above thy baby couch, that thou may st bo 
 
 (luarded by nn^-ln, innocent us they, 
 I would deny tlico the vain hopes that crowd 
 
 Tho child-heart s being ! Thou should st never dream 
 Tlin^o jrrcat, gay visions that make boyhood proud ; 
 
 Nor hhould deceitful fancy lend 0110 gleam, 
 To lead theo blindly through those perilous years, 
 \Vhirh the extravagant hopo Mtill thrones with cares! 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Not blind to mine own weakness, whicl lacks power 
 To save, though thing*, the drarcsl to mine eye, 
 Sink, needing help, and vainly to me cry, 
 I cry to thee, O ! (Jod ! in this dark hour! 
 Spare me in mercy .let thy chaxtenin? blows 
 Fall lightly ! Thou hast taken from my heart 
 The friond* of youth , lh o yc have ncen depart 
 All my hopc b dear ones, ;>nd the herd of woes 
 llavo wolvcd on my alTcctions, till I stand 
 Almost alone i the forest! To my years 
 Be merciful, and to my feeble prayers, 
 Accord the littlo breatli of one whoso sand 
 Of hfo is just begun ! Spare mo this child, 
 For the dear mother bparc, Eternal sire ! he mild. 
 2 
 
18 
 THE AGE OF GOLD. 
 
 xx. 
 
 These times deserve no song they but deride 
 
 The poet s holy craft, nor his alone ; 
 
 Methinks as little courtesy is shown 
 To what was chivalry in days of pride : 
 Honor but meets with mock : the worldling shakes 
 
 His money-bags, and cries "my strength is here; 
 Overthrows my enemy, his empire takes 
 
 And makes the ally serve, the alien fear !" 
 I love the object ? Cash is conqueror, 
 
 Wins hearts as soon as empires puts his foot 
 Upon tiie best affections, and will spur 
 
 His way to eloquence, when Vaith stands mute ; 
 And for Religion, can we hope for her, 
 
 When love and valor serve the same poor brute ! 
 
 THE OLD MASTERS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 I reverence these old masters men who sung 
 Or painted, not for love of praise or fame ; 
 
 Who heeded not the popular eye or tongue, 
 
 And craved no present honors for their name : 
 
 Who toil d because they sorrow d ! In their hearts 
 The secret of their inspiration lay ; 
 
10 
 
 When these were by the oppressor s minions wrung, 
 The terrible pang to utterance forced its way. 
 
 And hence it is, their passionate song imparts, 
 To him who listens, a like sensible wo, 
 
 That moves him much to turn aside and pray 
 As if his personal grief had present claim ; 
 
 Thus Dante found his muse, the pride and shame 
 
 Of Florence ; Milton thus, and Michael Angelo ! 
 
 AIMS. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 There have been earnest fancies in my soul, 
 A wilder summons, deeper cares than these, 
 
 That now possess my spirit and control, 
 Subduing me to forests and green trees ; 
 
 Thoughts have availed me in my solitude, 
 Of human struggle ! and within mine ear, 
 Still and anon, a wiuspering voice I hear, 
 
 That mocks me with my feebleness of mood; 
 
 The puny toil of song the idle dance . 
 
 Of metaphor, and shadows of romance ! 
 
 Points to superior struggle paints the cares 
 Of Empire, the great nation in the toils 
 
 Of impotence, that still in blindness dares, 
 And what it cannot elevate despoils. 
 
20 
 VITALITY OF STATES. 
 
 xxin. 
 
 Sudden, the mighty nation goes not down ; 
 There is no mortal fleetness in its fate : 
 Time, many omens still anticipate 
 
 The peril that removes its iron crown, 
 
 And shakes its homes in ruins. Centuries 
 Fleet by in the long struggle ; and great men 
 
 Rush, mounted, to the breach where victory lies, 
 . And personal virtue brings us life again ! 
 
 Were it not thus, my Country ! were this hope 
 Not ours, the present were a fearful time ; 
 
 Vainly we summon mighty hearts to cope 
 With thy oppressors, vanity and crime 
 
 These ride thce, as upon some noble beast, 
 
 The scoundrel jackal, hurrying to his feast. 
 
 HOME SERVICE. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Would wo recal our virtues and our peace ? 
 
 The ancient teraphim we must restore ; 
 
 Bring back the household gods we loved of yore, 
 And bid our yearning for strange idols cease. 
 Our worship still is in the public way, 
 
 Our altars are the market-place ; our prayer 
 
21 
 
 Strives for meet welcome in our neighbor s ear, 
 And heaven affects us little while we pray. 
 
 We do not call on God but man to hear ; 
 Nor even on his affections ; wo have lost 
 
 The sweet humility of our home desires 
 
 And flaunt in foreign fashions at rare cost ; 
 Nor God our souls, nor man our hearts, inspires, 
 
 Nor aught that should to God or man be dear. 
 
 PROMISE, 
 xxv. 
 
 Another yet, and still another height, 
 
 And still the last most wearisome ; hut hark ! 
 
 Comes not, like bless d starlight through the dark, 
 Smiling with soft but most effectual light, 
 The confident look of hope, that cheers us still 
 Mocks at the toilsome waste of wood and hill, 
 And with most sweet assurance of a joy, 
 
 That wails and beckons at the cottage door, 
 Takes off the oppressive toil, the day s annoy, 
 
 And teaches that the task will soon be o er, 
 Forgot in arras we love : then, if we tell 
 
 Of the day s journey, wearisome and sad, 
 Twill be, in thanks and blessings, that so well 
 
 It ended, in a night so bright and glad. 
 
22 
 APPROACH OF WINTER. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Comes winter with an aspect dark to me, 
 
 Harried with storms so long ? Are his brows stern, 
 Speaks he a language of asperity 
 
 Unfit for him to speak or me to learn ? 
 And do I shrink from the impending stroke 
 
 That follows his keen chiding * Would I fly 
 The terror of his presence, and that yoke, 
 
 Borne with so long and so reluctantly 1 
 No ! from its prison-house of care and pain, 
 
 My spirit dares defy him. Well inured 
 To trial, I have borne it not in vain, 
 
 Since conquered is the destiny endured 
 Endured with no base spirit ! I have grown, 
 Familiar with the future in the known. 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Yet bitter were the lessons of that past 
 
 When life was one long winter! Childhood knew 
 
 Nor blossom, nor delight. No sunshine cast 
 
 The glory of green leaves about mine eye ; 
 No zephyr laden with sweet perfumes blew 
 
 For me, its Eastern tribute from a sky, 
 
23 
 
 Looking down love upon me ; and my mood 
 Yearn d for its kindred for the humblest tie 
 
 To human hopes, and aspirations true ! 
 
 Sickness, and suffering, and solitude 
 CouchM o er my cradle : cheerless was the glance 
 
 That watched my slumbers in those feeble hours, 
 
 When pity, with her tears, her only power*, 
 Might have brought hope if not deliverance. 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 xxvni. 
 
 That season which all other m?r. regret, 
 And strive with boyish longing to recal, 
 
 Which love permits net memory to forget, 
 And fancy still restores in dicams of all 
 
 That boyhood worship d, or believed, or knew, 
 
 Brings no sweet images to me was true, 
 
 Only in cold and cloud, in lonely days 
 
 And gloomy fancies in defrauded claims, 
 Defeated hopes, denied, denying aims ; 
 
 Cheer d by no promise lighted by no rays, 
 
 Warm d by no smile no mother s smile, that smile, 
 
 Of all, best suited sorrow to beguile, 
 
 And strengthen hope, and by unmark d degrees, 
 
 Encourage to their birth, high purposes. 
 
24 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT, 
 xxix. 
 
 Why should I fear the winter now, when free 
 
 To meet and mingle in the strifes of man ; 
 The danger to defy which now I see, 
 
 The oppressor to o erth.ow whom now I can ! 
 Childhood ! the season of my weaknesses, 
 
 Is gone ! the muscle in my arm is strong ; 
 No longer is there trembling in my knees, 
 
 And my soul kindles at the look of wrong, 
 And burns in free defiance ! never more 
 
 Let me recal the hour when I was weak, 
 To shrink, to seek for refuge, to implore ; 
 
 When I was scorn d or trampled, but to speak, 
 When anger, rising high, though crouching low, 
 Should, like the tiger, spring upon his foe. 
 
 STRUGGLE. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yet, in recalling these vex d memories, 
 
 Mine is no thought of vengeance ! If I speak 
 Of childhood, as a time that found me weak, 
 
 I utter no complaint of injuries ; 
 
 These tried, but did not crush me ; and they made 
 
 My spirit rise to a superior mood, 
 
25 
 
 Taught me em urance, and meet hardihood, 
 And all life s better energies array d 
 
 For that long conflict which must end in death, 
 Or victory ! and victory shall yet he mine ! 
 
 They cannot keep me from my right the spoil 
 
 Which is the guerdon of superior toil- 
 Devotion that, defying hostile breath, 
 Ceased not to " watch and pray," though stars refused to shine ! 
 
 MANHOOD. 
 
 Manhood at last ! and, \vith its consciousness, 
 
 Arc strength and freedom ; freedom to pursue 
 The purposes of hope the godlike bliss, 
 
 Born in the struggle for the great and true ! 
 And every energy that should be mine, 
 
 This day, I dedicate to its object, Life! 
 So help me Heaven, that never I resign 
 
 The duty which devotes me to the strife ; 
 The enduring conflict which demands my strength, 
 
 Whether of soul or body, to the last ; 
 The tribute of my years, through all their length, 
 
 The future s compensation to the past ! 
 Boy s pleasures are for boyhood its best cares 
 Befit us not in our performing years. 
 
26 
 LIGHT WITHIN. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Not wholly dark the darkness ! The shut eye 
 Ts but an intimation to the soul, , 
 
 That thenceforth spreads a wing without control, 
 
 And seeks its light in immortality ; 
 
 Beating its upward wing against the sky, 
 Impatient of the invisible, and still, 
 
 Catching such golden glimpses of the goal, 
 As make new pulses to emotion thrill, 
 
 And a new spirit waken ; though denied 
 Fruition of the promise, till that life, 
 Which now makes upward flight a thing of strife, 
 
 Yields to the better virtue in our gift; 
 
 And we unclose an eye that makes us lift 
 Vans mighty, that must bear us far and wide. 
 
 SAME SUBJECT, 
 xxxiii. 
 
 And night is full of competence, and brings 
 A presence to the soul that fills the hour, 
 Else dark and vacant, with a native power, 
 
 Which clothes the common thought with mightiest wings ; 
 
 And we sail on with fancy, and in pride, 
 To the dominion which is over earth ; 
 
27 
 
 And glorious spirits gather at our side, 
 And fill the teeming echoes with rare mirth, 
 
 Hopes horn of best affections loving dreams, 
 That have no taint ; passions that still delight 
 
 In excellence, and virtue s better themes; 
 That inako all life one starlight to the sight 
 
 A realm of sweet re-union with the blest, 
 
 Who leave their own to hallow thus our rest. 
 
 AMBITION, 
 xxxv. 
 
 Descend, ye dark brow d ministers of thought, 
 Ye that are of the mountains! In your shapes, 
 
 Gigantic, I discern great shadows, wrought 
 
 Like those which to my eyes have risen unsought, 
 In midnight visions, and my soul escapes, 
 
 Joyful, triumphant, borne aloft, along 
 
 Your gloomy dwellings of the crag, with song, 
 Whose thunder-tones have riven it, and yet roll, 
 Subsiding, o er the steeps of each far hill, 
 That feels the ample voice and trembles still ! 
 
 Descend, ye glorious phantoms, vast and strong! 
 Proud agents of the swift and sleepless soul, 
 
 Whose ceaseless longings, not to be control d, 
 Toil for the mighty eminence ye hold. 
 
28 
 ITS DANGERS. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Yet, is there danger, if, in that wild flight, 
 
 The tongue founts the spell-word ! If the soul 
 Sinks in its terrors, and the aching sight 
 
 Grows dim and dizzy, while the thunders roll, 
 And the clouds thicken ! Bitter is the mock 
 
 Of those dark spirits, bred of elements, 
 That revel in the tempest, love its shock, 
 
 And glory in the extreme and the intense ! 
 
 IIuiTd from their pinions down the eminence, 
 They flout the impotent spirit that would dare 
 
 Invoke the slaves it could not sway assume 
 The wand of power that, waved aloft, would scare 
 The soul of its usurper ! Dread the doom, 
 If heart, and voice, and eye, fail in that hour of gloom! 
 
 SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And yet, to perish were the kindlier fate, 
 For one thus feebly striving. Not to die, 
 
 Leaves him a puny clamorer for the state, 
 Denied forever, evermore too high ; 
 The scorn of all who mark the yearning eye 
 Forever straining upward, with no wing 
 
29 
 
 The height to overcome, the space o erleap, 
 And pluck tnc sullen honors from the steep! 
 He toils amid the sterile hills of Time 
 
 That mock him with delusions which still fly, 
 Kven as he seeks them, like th Arabian spring ; 
 
 Leaving a desert waste, a gloomy clime, 
 A weary track before him, gloomier yet, 
 Night btooping down in storm, and the bright sun long set, 
 
 INVOLUNTARY STRUGGLE. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Not in the rashness of warm confidence, 
 
 Too vainly, self-assured, that I was strong, 
 To struggle for, and reach that eminence, 
 
 Around whose rugged steeps such terrors throng; 
 Did I resolve upon the perilous toil 
 
 Which calls for man s best strength and hardihood, 
 Krc he may win the height and take the spoil ; 
 
 Hut that a spirit stronger than my mood, 
 Stood ever by and drave me to the task ! 
 Oh ! not in vain presumption did I chooso 
 
 The barren honors of the unfruitful Nine, 
 Sure that no favor from them did I ask; 
 
 Small resolution did it need of mine, 
 To bind me to the service of the Muse ! 
 
30 
 SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Kvcn as the boy whom the atom prophet siro 
 
 Devotes, in some deep forest, with a vow 
 So, with no thought of mine, and no desire, 
 
 Was I constrained to seek, and sworn to bow, 
 At altars whose strange Gods did never tire 
 Of service, but commanded night and day ! 
 I knew no sports of comrades, when, in play, 
 
 My young companions shouted, I was sad ; 
 Fill d with strange yearnings, smnmonM still away 
 
 To that lone worship watchful, yet not glad ! 
 Shall it ho doom d a voluntary mood 
 
 That leads tho boy from boyhood, sports he loves,- 
 The merry games of comrades, still to brood, 
 
 While others laugh, in melancholy groves 1 
 
 RECOMPENSE. 
 
 XXXIX, 
 
 Not profitless the game, even when we lose, 
 Nor wanting in reward the thankless toil ; 
 
 Tho wild adventure that tho man pursues, 
 Requites him, though ho gather not tho spoil 
 
 Strength follows labor, and its exercise 
 Urines independence, fuurlcsancas of ill, 
 
31 
 
 ami pride, all attributes wo pmo ; 
 Though tlicir Trulls full, not the less precious still. 
 
 Though fame withholds the trophy of desire, 
 And men deny, and the impatient throng 
 
 Grow heedless, and the strains protracted, tiro; 
 Not wholly vain the minstrel and the song, 
 
 If, striving to arouse one heavenly tono 
 
 In other s hearts, it wakens up his own. 
 
 SAME SUBJECT. 
 XL, 
 
 And this, mctliinks, were no unseemly boast, 
 In him who thus records th 1 experience 
 
 Of one, the humblest of that erring host, 
 
 \\ hose labors have been thought to nnrd defence. 
 
 Wliat though ho reap no honors, what though death 
 
 Uisc terrible between him and the wreath, 
 
 That had been his reward, ere, in the dust, 
 Ho too is dust; yet hath ho in his heart, 
 
 The happiest consciousness of what is just, 
 
 Sweet, true and beautiful, which will not part 
 
 From his possession, In this happy faith, 
 He knows that life is lovely that all things 
 Are sacred that the air is full of wings 
 
 Kent heavenward, and that bliss is born of scailh : 
 
32 
 SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And other lessons of humanity. 
 
 That fill the earth with blossoms teach to feel 
 That man is better than he seems to be, 
 
 And he declares himself, and deeds reveal : 
 Not of good wholly fruitless was the tree 
 
 Whose fruit was death ; and, from the crowd apart, 
 There beckons one, first-born of poesy, 
 
 A gentle power, that from his darkled eyes 
 Removes all scales, and sets the vision free, 
 
 And teaches mercy fr the erring heart, 
 Not always wilful ! We may nought despise, 
 In God s creation ! Erring we, not wise ; 
 Given up to passion, hateful of the just, 
 Prone to blind toils, strange follies, crime and dust. 
 
 BEAUTY-VISIONS. 
 
 XLI I. 
 
 I saw it in my dream ! () ! could I task 
 My sense again to slumber, nor awake 
 
 So long as the dear vision were in sight ; 
 I will not do it so much wrong to make 
 My rude words show the picture thou dost ask :- 
 Behold it in my passion a delight 
 
33 
 
 Trembles through nil my utterance ! O ! I feel, 
 
 In the devoted beatings of my heart, 
 That I should look enjoyment, nor appeal 
 
 To vain resource of language to impart 
 This vision of a most rare happiness 
 
 That rapture, it would madden to reveal, 
 Which song itself would render spiritless ; 
 It was such sweet, such sad, heart-touching tenderness. 
 
 SPIRIT-WANDERINGS. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Ah, me ! that sleeping like Kndymion, 
 
 I ;on a gentle hill.lupe, flow r bestrewn, 
 
 1 could be laid to wait the coming moon, 
 And her fresh smile, as some rich garment, don ! 
 Let the winds gather round me, and the dell, 
 
 That breaks into the valley, catch the sound, 
 
 And, with its many voices, speed around 
 The airy rapture, till the natural spell 
 
 Rouse up the wood-nymphs to delight my sleep; 
 While she, my mistress, from her ocean cell, 
 Ascends to the blue summits, with a swell 
 
 Of those sweet noises from the caverns deep, 
 Where blue eyed Nereids sport on ocean s shell, 
 
 And to old Triton s conch, in long procession sweep. 
 3 
 
34 
 GLIMPSES. 
 
 XL1V. 
 
 Upon the Poet s soul they flash forever, 
 
 In evening shades, these glimpses strange and sweet; 
 They fill his heart betimes they leave him never, 
 
 And haunt his steps with sounds of falling feet : 
 He walks beside a mystery night and day ; 
 
 Still wanders where the sacred spring is hidden ; 
 
 Yet, would he take the seal from the forbidden, 
 Then must he work and watch as well as pray ! 
 How work 1 How watch ? Beside him in his way, 
 Springs without check the flow r by whose choice spell, 
 More potent than " herb moly," he can tell 
 
 Where the stream rises, and the waters play ! 
 Ah ! spirits call d avail not ! On his eyes, 
 Sealed up with stubborn clay, the darkness lies. 
 
 LOVE THE PURIFIER. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Lady, when o er my heart thy smile was cast, 
 Like moonlight o er the waters, thou didst wake 
 
 That passion of song within me which must last, 
 Less for its own frail worth than thy dear sake. 
 
 The muse thus hallows fond devotion s pray r, 
 Though lowly ; lifts the worshipper on high 
 
35 
 
 To mounts of song in the Olympian air, 
 And makes earth pregnant with divinity. 
 
 Love thus, itself, converts to excellence, 
 
 Clay that was meanest ; purges it of dross ; 
 
 Lights the dull eye with raised intelligence, 
 And makes a gain to good of evil s loss. 
 
 Thus hath that smile of thine uplifted me ; 
 
 How can the heart be ill thus full of thee! 
 
 AUTUMN TWILIGHT. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 With what a si-rene glory sinks the day 
 
 Into his ocean chamber, while the sky, 
 Vnvexed by wild complaint, though clad in gray, 
 
 Is touch d by wondrous tints that, spreading high, 
 Are met, and in their tenderness outdone, 
 
 By glimmerings of the Queen, who, borne aloft, 
 Blends with her own their violet hues to one, 
 
 While all her floating robe flows silvery soft! 
 Thus stilly sure, the harbinger-glory winds 
 
 O er earth, through Heaven s blue arches, till they glow 
 Like a transparent sea, that never finds 
 
 The Southern hurricane too rudely blow ; 
 But where the sun sets ever in a smile, 
 The stars slow stealing on his steps the while. 
 
36 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 XLVll. 
 
 Though wrong d, not harsh my answer ! Love is fond, 
 Even painM, and rather to his injury bends, 
 Than chooses to make shipwreck of his friends, 
 
 By stormy summons. He hath nought beyond, 
 For consolation, if that these be lost ; 
 And rather will he hear of fortune cross d, 
 
 Plans baflled, hopes denied, than take a tone 
 Resentful, with a quick and keen reply 
 To hasty passion, and impatient eye, 
 
 Such as by noblest natures may be shown, 
 When the mood vexes ! Friendship is a seed, 
 Needs tendance : You must keep it free from weed, 
 
 Nor, if the tree hath sometimes bitter fruit, 
 
 Must you for this lay axe unto the root. 
 
 DAWNINGS OF FANCY. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Voices are on the winds ! I hear them now, 
 Floating around me, musical and sweet, 
 As are the waves of ocean when they meet, 
 
 Combing and flashing round some sunny prow ; 
 
 Then, as if seeking softer melody, 
 
 Back shrinking from the lately sought embrace . 
 
37 
 
 Even as the new-won virgin, bashfully, 
 Love in her heart, but doubt upon her face ! 
 
 How exquisite, and yet how sad withal, 
 
 Those murmurs, that fond meeting, and faint fall ! 
 
 They swell upon my spirit s ear by night, 
 And morning brings them on her purple wings, 
 Oh ! Fancy ! as if feeding u t thy springs, 
 
 They took from thee all voices of delight. 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 XLVII1. 
 
 Nor only of delight! The music swells 
 To sorrow, as the rosy day declines, 
 And folding up his wing among the vines, 
 
 The wandering zephyr of his garden tells 
 
 By the Euphrates. Exiled from its flow rs 
 
 His* \\ing is wearyhe forgets its powers, 
 And his heart sinks with the decaying light, 
 
 Most wretched, the Capricious! three long hours! 
 Ere dawn he plumes his wing for fresher flight, 
 
 Dreams of enduring joys in other bowers, 
 And wild his song of rapture that same night! 
 
 Rapture in sadness finds his fit repose, 
 As toil in sleep ; and Fancy s self rebels, 
 
 Denied her evening bow r and brief repose. 
 
38 
 CONTINUED. 
 
 Whoso denies this wholesome, natural want, 
 Endangers her existence! She must bask 
 Among the woods she rifles, free from task, 
 The master s eye, and hard command, and nap, 
 Where nature yields her groves and matron lap; 
 Where birds sing slumber, and the hunted doe, 
 Assjred of safety, stops awhile to pant! 
 Thus resting, she arises, prompt and strong, 
 With eye all vigor, wing prepared to go, 
 Rapt, heavenward, in the upward-gushing song ! 
 Poised like the great sea-eagle in his state, 
 
 Sovereign mongst rolling clouds, careering free 
 Or, like the meeker lark, at heaven s own gate, 
 That, in her love, proclaims her liberty. 
 
 REPROACH AND CONSOLATION, 
 
 LI. 
 
 Well said the master,-" The worst grief of all, 
 Is to remember, in our hours of wo, 
 How blest we have been !"* It were rightly so, 
 If, like Adam s memory of his wretched fall, 
 To the keen thought of pleasures ever gone, 
 There be the sting of self-reproach, to say, 
 * Dante. 
 
39 
 
 "The seed is of thy planting go thy way, 
 And let the curse be on thy head alone!" 
 This is the bitterer truth, but it is one, 
 In bitterness thrice blessed, if it brings, 
 Repentance, that, with healing on its wings, 
 Will cheer the future, and the past atone : 
 It were a grace to pray for, night and day, 
 In ashes, while the world is out at play. 
 
 WARNING. 
 LH, 
 
 IIo\v went the cry in Greece, an ominous sound, 
 When Elatea fell disaster dread, 
 Presaging Chocronea ! Is the tale read- 
 Is there no moral in that history found, 
 That we grope on, with tidings each day brought 
 
 Of outposts lost to the enemy our foe 
 That saps our liberties through the popular thought, 
 
 And in our stupor, brings our virtues low. 
 Yet may we not despair a nation sleeps 
 
 Not always : she may need repose for strength, 
 And, at the perilous moment, break at length 
 Her bonds, as from his lair the lion leaps, 
 To conquest, in the pride of all his power* : 
 Ah ! Chceronea never shall be ours ! 
 
40 
 FAERY GLIMPSES. 
 
 L1I1. 
 
 The spirits that do dress the flow rs with dew, 
 And trip it on the green sward, by the moon, 
 And play fantastic tricks both late and soon, 
 
 When March with blossoms promises the Spring, 
 
 Have been about me in the merriest ring : 
 Methought among their forms were some I knew ; 
 They came with hushing laughter, for I slept 
 Beneath ouv willows slyly round me crept, 
 And prankt my brow with blossoms, in my ear, 
 Whispered the wildest dreams of elfin land, 
 Then, in a circle, dancing hand in hand, 
 Sung me a ditty from the Moon s own sphere : 
 Starting from slumber, in the dear delight, 
 Of such a vision, it was gone from sight. 
 
 CHILD FANCIES. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 A plague upon your knowledge books and laws, 
 Sciences, theories and doctrines cold, 
 
 Maxims and principles, and rules, and saws, 
 That, propagating nothing, from the old, 
 
 Lop off tbeir generations : where are now 
 Those fancies rare, those superstitions wild 
 
41 
 
 That kept the heart, in wonders, still a child ; 
 That taught the mind to dr -am, the soul to glow, 
 That peopled air with glories fill d the mine 
 With its inhabitants, fiory-mailrd forms, 
 That traversing earth s avenues in swarms, 
 Met Oberon s light legions, line for line? 
 Give me these visions of my youth restore 
 Its youth, which dwelt in such as these, once more. 
 
 SYMPATHY WITH NATURE. 
 
 LV. 
 
 W e are a part of all \ve hear and see, 
 We share in their existence we are taught 
 By what they suffer with their feelings fraught, 
 
 Are bound by their captivity, or free, 
 
 In their fresh impulses; the earth, the air, 
 Master us through our sympathies we share 
 
 The life that is about us, and thus flee, 
 
 From our own nature to a converse strange 
 
 With other natures to the rock and tree, 
 
 The bird, and the sleek animal that glides 
 
 Still happy in deep thickets. Thus we range, 
 
 Capricious, still obedient to the tides 
 
 That chide or soothe our streams, as winds impel the sea. 
 
42 
 PROGRESS IN DENIAL. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " Yet, onward still !" the spirit cries within, 
 Tis I that must repay thee. Mortal fame, 
 
 If won, is but, at best, the hollow din, 
 
 The vulgar freedom with a mighty name ; 
 Seek not this music ask not this acclaim, 
 
 But in tho strife find succor ; for the toil 
 Pursued for such false barter ends in shame, 
 
 As certainly as that which seeks but spoil ! 
 
 Best recompense he finds, who, to his task, 
 Brings a proud, patient spirit, that will wait, 
 
 Nor for the guerdon stoop, nor vainly ask, 
 
 Of fate or fortune, -but with right good will, 
 
 Go, working on, and uncomplaining still, 
 Assured of fit reward, or soon or late ! 
 
 WORLD CONFLICT. 
 
 LVll. 
 
 Thousands must perish in this hopeless strife, 
 And other thousands withering as they stand, 
 
 Grow old in the long conflict waged for life! 
 The conflict not for homes, or gold, or land, 
 But tho rare privilege of rule, -command, 
 
 Over the meaner spirits that surround 
 
43 
 
 And worship while they mock that starry band, 
 They call ambitious ! Rivalry and Blame 
 
 Attend their footsteps, envy, and the host 
 Of reptile passiors that delight to wound 
 
 The spirits whom their hatred honors most , 
 And worse, Ingratitude ! that still from fame 
 Plucks its best laurel, as if loth to know, 
 How much it owes, and cannot help but owe. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND. 
 
 LVIll. 
 
 Ambition owns no friend, yet be thou mine ! 
 
 1 have not much to win thee, yet if song 
 
 Born of affliction, may one name prolong, 
 My lay shall seek to give a life to thine. 
 Let this requite thee for the honoring thought 
 
 That has forgiven me each capricious mood ; 
 
 Dealt gently with my phrenzies, school d my blood 
 And still with love my sad seclusion sought. 
 And when tho gray sod rises o er my breast, 
 
 Be thou the guardian of my deeds and name, 
 
 Defend mo from the foes who hunt my fume, 
 And, when thou show bt its purity, attest 
 Mine eye was ever on tho sun, and bent, 
 Where clouds and difficult rocks made steep the great ascent. 
 
44 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 LIX, 
 
 Oh ! precious is the flow r that Passion brings 
 To his first shrine of beauty, when the heart 
 Kuns over in devotion, and no art 
 Checks tlio free gash of tho wild lay ho sings ; 
 Hut tho rnpt eye, and tho impetuous thought 
 Declare tho pure uflection ; and a speech, 
 Such as tho ever-tuned affections teach, 
 Delivers love s best confidence iinhnnglit;- 
 And all is glory in tho o er-arching sky, 
 And all is beauty in the uplifting earth, 
 And from tho wood, and o or tho wave, a mirth, 
 Such us mocks hopo with immortality, 
 Declares that nil the loved ones are at hand, 
 With still tho turtle s voice, the loudest in the land. 
 
 IIEEDLESSNKSS. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Wo aco tho flow r decaying as wo pass, 
 Pale with tho coming cold, and, on tho grass, 
 Write ruin, with our footsteps, every hour, 
 Yet pause not in our process, though a pow r, 
 As much superior to ourselves, as wo 
 
 To these dumb suiTrers of the predestined earth, 
 
45 
 
 Beholds us rapidly passing from our birth, 
 To a like ruin with the tilings we sec ; 
 And, from our side, as little heeded, goes, 
 Drawn by invisible cords, the treasured thing 
 That lias our heart, in keeping ; yet we sing 
 As idly as if lifo wcro free from foes, 
 And lovo wcro sure gainst danger ; thero i.j one, 
 Who, speaking near me now, of death, is heard by none ! 
 
 WASTE. 
 
 LXL 
 
 Days vanish, and still other days arise, 
 
 Like these to disappear, and still we cravr, 
 From time indulgence, with a yawning grave, 
 Beneath us, that, with ceaseless utterance cries, 
 u Yc ripen fast for methe moment flies 
 
 When ye should ripen for eternity ; 
 13e diligent, if ye would take the prize, 
 Wrought for performance in humility, 
 In. exercise of goodness make ye wise, 
 Each toiling m his station as is meet ; 
 For still, however slow, the hours will fleet, 
 Too fast for the most diligent ! Your eyes, 
 Will close on mightiest projects, still unwrought, 
 That were the favorite creatures of your thought." 
 
46 
 BY THE SWANANNOA. 
 
 LXIf. 
 
 Is it not lovely, while the day flows on 
 
 Like some unnoticed water through the vale, 
 Sun-sprinkled, and, across the fields, a gale, 
 Ausonian, murmurs out an idle tale, 
 
 Of groves deserted late, but lately won. 
 
 How calm the silent mountains, that, around, 
 Bend their blue summits, as if grouped to hear 
 
 Some high ambassador from foreign ground, 
 
 To hearken, and, most probably confound ! 
 While, leaping onward, with a voice of cheer, 
 
 Glad as some schoolboy ever on the bound, 
 
 The lively Swanannoa sparkles near ; / . 
 
 A flash and murmur mark him as he roves, 
 Now foaming white o er rocks, now glimpsing soft through groves. 
 
 SONNET AT TONGEVILLE. 
 
 XL11I. 
 
 Somers, if to thy courts the robin comes 
 Still cheerily chirping, and the gipsy throng 
 
 That, in the thorny thicket, hourly hums 
 In noon-day yellow, with a thoughtless song 
 
 That stirs with spleen the rnockbird, till he pours, 
 Beneath thy very eaves, such resolute strain, 
 
47 
 
 As takes the voice from nature, nor restores, 
 Till he has pleased lo yield her ears again ;- 
 
 If theso surround thy footsteps, nor complain; 
 
 If, in thy walks, the timorous dove appears, 
 Timorous no longer, nor inclined to flee; 
 If these unharmed ones thus speak with me, 
 
 Thou hast an evidence that nobly cheers, 
 And with no scruple I award it thee. 
 
 DESPONDENCY OF AMBITION. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Thou wilt remark my fate when I am dead, 
 Let not fools scoff above me, and proclaim, 
 That I had vainly struggled after fame, 
 
 Till the good oil of my young life was shed, 
 
 And I became a mockery, and fell 
 Into the yellow leaf before my time ; 
 A sacrifice, even in my earliest prime, 
 
 To that which thinn d the heavens and peopled hell ! 
 
 Hu\v few will understand us at the best, 
 
 How few, so yield their sympathies, to k;iow, 
 
 What cares have robb d us of our nightly rest, 
 How stern our trial, how complete our WD, 
 
 And how much more our doom it was than pride, 
 
 To toil in devious ways with none who loved beside. 
 
48 
 TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 My child, my innocent child, when I am gone. 
 Strangers and time will have untaught thee all, 
 
 Thy faiher s love, his care for thee alone, 
 Surviving hope s defeat and fortune s fall ; 
 
 And I shall leave behind me nought that may 
 Teach thee thy loss, unless it be my song, 
 And that, perchance, will scarcely linger long 
 
 To keep my memory coupled with my lay 
 Sad lay, invoked by sorrow, tuned by wrong ; 
 
 But, rude and harsh, still coupled with one tone, 
 
 To spell the ears of love, and, in the soul, 
 When days are happiest, to awaken thought, 
 
 Which pleasure cannot hush, nor pride control, 
 
 Of him, by whom thy lessons first were taught. 
 
 MORAL CAPRICE. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 There is a mood that sometimes makes us cry 
 In very weariness of soul. " Twere well, 
 
 Methinks, if I could lay me down and die ;" 
 There is no terror in the solemn knell, 
 
 That ushers to the grave, which gently opes 
 Its peaceful arms, and promises repose 
 
From vexing strifes and still deceiving hopes, 
 Friends failing, and the sleepless herd of foes." 
 
 And then we find similitude in things, 
 
 Beneath us, the poor leaf and flovv r which dread 
 
 The blight of winter, and the recoiling springs 
 That shiver as the wind sweeps overhead : 
 
 Thus fevering, till awakes the manlier mood, 
 
 When we go forth and conquer in warm blood. 
 
 ATTICA. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Sterile but proud, beneath her own blue sky, 
 Sleeps Attica, there bounded by the sea, 
 There by Eubo?a ; yet how boundless she, 
 
 In sole dominion; with her realms that lie, 
 
 Wherever winds can wing, or waters bear 
 
 The proofs of her great magic ; magic wrought, 
 By genius, on the stern and shapeless thought, 
 
 Which thenceforth took a form that cannot fear 
 
 Whatever Time may threaten. Overthrow 
 Her altars, yet how certain that the God, 
 Still from the eminence sends her breath abroad 
 
 Spelling the nations with her soul alone ; 
 
 The soul that makes soil sacred, and from earth, 
 
 Triumphant plucks the doom of death that came -with birth. 
 
 4 
 
50 
 POPULAR MISDIRECTION. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 We are no more a people of the free ; 
 A change is on our fortunes we forget 
 
 The high design that made our liberty 
 A thing of hope and wonder, and have set 
 
 Our hearts on earthly idols, vanities, 
 
 The childish wants of fashion, and a crowd 
 Of sordid appetites that clamor loud, 
 
 The eager ear of emptiness to please. 
 
 The nobler toils that only to high thought, 
 Patience, and inward struggle, yield the prize, 
 Are ours no longer ; we no more devise 
 
 Conquests of self and fortune ; all unwrought 
 
 That glorious vein our father s struck of yore, 
 
 Which, left unwork d, but makes us doubly poor. 
 
 TO DEPARTING FRIENDS. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The friends that still would keep thee from thy home, 
 Yet pray that when thou leav st them, winds may be 
 
 MeeTc and submissive ; and the ocean foam 
 Unroused by tempests ; and the obedient sea, 
 
 A docile steed that needs no spur to goad, 
 Nor yet the anxious leash which Terror s hand 
 
51 
 
 Grasps, doubting, lest, all reckless of command, 
 The untamed creature Hies the appointed road ! 
 Skies favor thee and fortune keep from ills, 
 
 Make thee to reach thy haven and embrace 
 
 The pillars of thy ancient dwelling-place, 
 Hear all the well-known voices of thy hills, 
 And those that, prattling up from new-found rills, 
 
 Grow happier, as they look into thy face. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Weave me, sweet minstrel, into gentlest song, 
 
 The story that I bring thee, of a maid, 
 Who, blessing earth with beauty, did not long 
 
 Withhold from heaven the treasure that it pray d , 
 She died, tis sr iJ, for love of one whose heart, 
 
 Wantor. as winning, did from hers withdraw, 
 When that, persuaded of his faith by art, 
 
 She knew no other life, no other law ; 
 And while all wondering, worship d, he, alone, 
 
 Mook d at the holy truth that never err d, 
 Save once, when by his baleful homage won, 
 
 Him, o er all others, hapless, she prefer d ! 
 She died of heart-break, though, what earth his riven, 
 If loving truly, is made whole in heaven. 
 
52 
 INSENSIBILITY. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Methinks, there is no blindness such as this 
 To know not, though the treasure near us lies ; 
 Love s treasure, first and dearest, which the skies 
 
 Vouchsafed, when earth had lost all right to bliss; 
 
 The treasure of a true heart ; which, to roof 
 Lowly brings life ; and, when all fortune spent, 
 
 Cheers with devotion and the sweetest proof, 
 So that, the sufferer freshens with content ; 
 
 And, in the desolation at his door, 
 Sees hut the sweet security of all, 
 Which, lost to hapless Adam at the fall, 
 
 Eden regained, had left possession poor ! 
 
 Yet daily, in our blindness, we rush on, 
 
 Though hearts around us cry imploring to be won. 
 
 ATTRIBUTES OF LOVE. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 If Love had not an understanding eye, 
 If Love s eye had not comprehensive speech, 
 
 If Love were not a thing of memory, 
 
 Or if to aught but Love, Love aught could teach, 
 
 How much, sweet heart, have I said fruitlessly, 
 How much fond speech were thrown away on thee ; 
 
53 
 
 How much have both rcmember d bootlcssly, 
 How much have others seen, who should not see ; 
 
 How profligate our hearts of moments wasted ; 
 How vain the fond expectancies that led ; 
 
 How wild the dreams whose raptures sleep u ilasted 
 How sad the sweet delusions which have fed ; 
 
 The hearts whole being from this danger shrinks ! 
 
 Yet Love is no such profligate, methinks ! 
 
 SYMPATHY BETWEEN THE PAST AND 
 FUTURE. 
 
 LXXI1I. 
 
 Would we go forward boldly, and gain heart 
 For farther progress, we must pause awhile, 
 And gaze upon the path, for many a mile, 
 
 We follow d, when we first grew bold to start ; 
 
 That so much has been traversed, is a goad 
 To fresh endeavor ; and the eye grows bright, 
 With expectation, as the baflled sight 
 
 Would vainly compass all the o er-trodden road ; 
 
 The pathways of the future will grow clear, 
 When the first fresh beginnings of the march, 
 Lie bright beneath the broad and sheltering arch ; 
 
 And, re-possessed of childhood, we are near 
 
 Heaven s sources, for the true humanity, 
 
 Keeps past and future still in either eye. 
 
54 
 DESIRE AND FRUITION. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 Three children play d beneath a spreading tree, 
 In an old garden, a secluded clime, 
 With orange laden, citron and the lime : 
 Two were twin-children, and the first who camo 
 Men called Desire ; the second bore Love s name; 
 The third, Enjoyment, sweetest of the three ! 
 How strove the twins then for his young embrace, 
 With panting heart, wild eye and eager face , 
 But, delicate by nature, in the strife, 
 O erpowYd, the child soon rendered up his life ! 
 Then fell the two that once had loved, apart, 
 
 And knew no more each other ; then a gloom, 
 Settled upon the garden, while each heart 
 Grew cold, and Joy s first birth-place was his tomb. 
 
 LIFE IN LOVE. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Oh ! what is there of magic in the name, 
 
 That thus my heart should tremble, though long years 
 Have pass d, since, following that delusive flame, 
 
 I learn d how little profit came from tears, 
 How great the shame of weakness, what the scorn 
 
 Of power, at meek devotion, and, how vain, 
 
When pride finds pleasure in bestowing pain, 
 
 To hope that nobler feelings may bo bora 
 
 In the tyrannic bosom ! Shall it be, 
 
 That, from the passion which has brought me shame, 
 The sacrifice of human hope and fame, 
 
 The Fates deny my spirit to go free ? 
 
 Ah ! wherefore love if thus ? but love reproves 
 
 The murmur, since he lives alone who loves ! 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF INTELLECTUAL ART. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Methinks each noble purpose of man s heart, 
 Declared by his performance, crowns his works 
 With a becoming spirit, which still lurks 
 
 In what he builds, nor will from thence depart, 
 
 Though time bestows it on the solitude, 
 The solitude on Ruin, and her gray, 
 In moss and lichen, honoring decay, 
 
 Makes her a refuge, where a nobler mood 
 
 Had rear d a temple to diviner urt, 
 And based its shrines en worship. In the stone 
 Dismember d, sits that guardian shape alone, 
 
 Twin-being with the precious trust whose birth, 
 Brought down a wandering genius to a throne, 
 
 And gave him thence a realm and power on earth. 
 
56 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thy thought, but whisper d, rises up a spirit, 
 Wing d and from thence immortal. The sweet tone, 
 Freed bv thy skill from prisoning wood or stone, 
 
 Doth thence, for thine, a tribute soul inherit! 
 
 When from the genius speaking in thy mind, 
 Thou hast evolved the godlike shrine or tower, 
 
 That moment does thy matchless art unbind 
 A spirit born for earth, and arm d with power, 
 
 The fabric of thy love to watch and keep 
 From utter desecration. It may fall, 
 Thy structure, and its gray stones topple all,- 
 
 But he who treads its portals, feels how deep 
 
 A presence is upon him, and his word 
 
 Grows hush d, as if a shape, unseen, beside him heard. 
 
 THE SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 LXXV1II. 
 
 At every whisper we endow with life, 
 
 A being of good or evil, who must, thence, 
 Allegiance yield to that intelligence, 
 Which, calling into birth, docrood the strife, 
 Which ho must seek forovcr ! Tho good thought, 
 Is horn a blcssnl angol, that goes forth, 
 
57 
 
 In ministry of gladness, through the earth 
 Still teaching what is love, by love still taught ! 
 The evil joins the numerous ranks of ill, 
 And, born of curses, through the endless years, 
 Till Time shall be no more, and human tears 
 Dried up in judgment, must his curse fulfil! 
 Dream st thou of what is blessing or unblest, 
 Thou tak st a God or Demon to thy breast ! 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF DEPARTING OBJECTS, 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 How beautiful, thus fading from the eye, 
 
 Arc the sweet things we scarcely saw before ; 
 Scenes that, till now, ne er challenged smile or sigh, 
 
 How lovely seem they, fleeting evermore ; 
 We feel, too late, our blindness and would buy 
 
 From memory, all that memory can restore ! 
 Thus, the o crburthcnM form, as on the bed 
 
 Of Death, and the last trial, it reposes, 
 New freshness feels in all around it spread, 
 
 And finds new sweetness in the leaves and roses. 
 Till now there had been nothing in the things, 
 
 Most precious near us, and our eyes unfold, 
 
 Even as they close forever, to behold 
 How dear the gifts of homo our blindness from us flings. 
 
58 
 
 THE PURITANS, 
 
 ON SEEING WEIR S NATIONAL PICTURE. 
 LXXX. 
 
 Men were ye ! foarloss and strong hoartod men, 
 Firm in endurance, resolute for right, 
 
 Ready to board the Lion in his don, 
 And, slow to conflict, slower still in flight ! 
 
 I heed not of your bigotry, that grew 
 From a too-easily persuaded self; 
 Nor yet of your strong appetite for pelf, 
 
 Hard toils and slender gains might prompt that too ! 
 
 I3nt ye wnrti men ! brave, earnest, whole-soul d men, 
 Forever battling in the good old cause, 
 Of man! IUH right*, his liberties and laws, 
 
 And, over all, his progress ! lie it then, 
 
 Your glory to have struggled through the strife, 
 
 Renewed, and sure of still-renewing life. 
 
 BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 The record should be made of each great deed, 
 That brings unnumbered blessings for its fruits, 
 So, that, while gazing on the vigorous shoots, 
 
 Our children may possess the generous seed ; 
 
 Nor, aught forgetting of the glorious past, 
 Lay good foundations in the future s womb ; 
 
69 
 
 So, when the hardy sire descends at last, 
 
 The emulous eon shall still defend his tomb! 
 Thus chronicled, the mighty deed begets 
 
 Still mightier, and the column that mounts high, 
 Where brave souls met to conquer or to die, 
 Speaks histories the good son ne er forgets, 
 And joys if he can emulate ! Thus stand, 
 Gray, granite speaker, still, to glad and guide the land. 
 
 THE FALL OF WARSAW. 
 
 LXXX1I. 
 
 Thy sun has set, and yet the *un shines on, 
 Sad City ! not a ray obscured, and bright, 
 
 As on the eve before thy hope went down 
 
 Jn blood, and battle, and o erwhelming night, 
 And thou wert made a ruin, shrunk in blight, 
 
 Not by thy foes alone ! but traitors too 
 
 Were there to thwart, if not to shame, the few, 
 \V ho, to the last sad hour, maintained the fight ; 
 
 And clung to the red ashes of their land, 
 
 As to a mother s grave, nerved by a strength 
 Which, though defeated and subdued, at length, 
 
 Proves nobly what the soul of man may do, 
 Cheer d, by a generous hope, to wield the brand, 
 
 In battling for the cause it holds more true. 
 
60 
 THE PEACE OF THE WOODS. 
 
 LXXXIIl. 
 
 Thou hast enamorM me of woodland scenes, 
 Good shepherd, for thou show st them with an air 
 Of truth, to win even wilder hearts to hear, 
 Than his who sits beside thee, and thus gleans 
 Thy secret from thee of true happiness, 
 Inbred content and quiet humbleness, 
 That cannot be overthrown by rising high, 
 And vexeth not the glance of envious eye. 
 They blessings are of that serener kind, 
 
 Which, as they rouse no passions up, must be, 
 Lik d to that breeze benign that strokes the sea, 
 Till it subsides in murmurs. No rude wind 
 Disturbs thy world s smooth waters, and defames 
 The glory of its peace, with its unreasoning storms. 
 
 THE ANCIENT RIVULET. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Sit thee beside me for awhile, and rest, 
 On these green marges of the slope, and hear, 
 As yon sly brooklet sends up to the ear 
 
 Its chaunt of murmurs, like a strain repress d 
 By sobbings of the heart that pours it out ! 
 I mind me, friend, that it is now about 
 
Cl 
 
 Somo thirteen summers, since I laid me down 
 Beside this little streamlet, as I left, 
 
 Grieving with boyhood s heart, my native town ! 
 To this I now return, of youth bereft, 
 
 And thorns about my head in place of crown. 
 Then all was, " lo ! the triumph !" in my breast, 
 
 My thought, heart, eye, on one achievment set; 
 
 Now ! all ia changed save this poor rivulet. 
 
LOAN DEPT 
 
 ow, or 
 
 LD 2lA-40m-ll, 63 
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