,i 
 
 VERITAS-PER-NA 
 TURAM-LIBROS-AT 
 QUE-RES-HOMINUn 
 
 MELUNCER-EDWARD-HENRY 
 FLORENCE-STOKES-HENRY 
 
 
^\5"S& 
 
 
T.IBRARF 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 

- 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE; 
 
 A POEM: 
 
 BY JOHN PIERPONT, ESQ. 
 
 I love to breathe, when Gilead sheds her balm; 
 I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm; 
 I love to wet my foot in Hermon's dews; 
 I love the promptings of Isaiah's muse: 
 In Carmel's holy grots I'll court repose, 
 And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless rose. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
 
 B. Edes, printer. 
 
 1816. \ C \ 
 
District of Maryland, ss. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on this thirteenth day of November, in the 
 forty-first year of the Independence of the United States of America, John 
 Pierpont, Esquire, of .the said District, hath deposited in this Office, the 
 Title of a Book, the right whereof he claims as author, in the words fol 
 lowing 1 , to wit: 
 
 "Mrs of Palestine, a Poem, by John Pierpont, Esquire, 
 
 *I love to breathe, when Gilead sheds her balm; 
 
 "I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm; 
 
 "I love to wet my foot in Hermon's dews; 
 
 "I love the promptings of Isaiah's muse: 
 
 "In Camel's holy grots I'll court repose, 
 
 "And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless rose." 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled 
 "an act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, 
 charts and books- to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during 
 the times therein mentioned," and also to the act, entitled "an act, supple 
 mentary to an act, entitled an act, for the encouragement of learning, by 
 securing the copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprie 
 tors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned,'* and extending 
 the benefits thereof, to the arts of designing, engraving and etching his 
 torical and other prints. PHILIP MOORE, 
 
 Clerk of the District of Maryland. 
 
 

 E'en in a Bishop, I can spy desert; 
 Seeker is decent; Rundel has a heart; 
 Manners and candour are to Benson given; 
 To Berkley, every virtue under Heaven POPE. 
 
 To a reverend gentleman, to whom may be 
 attributed all that Pope has here said, both of 
 Benson and Berkley, I intended to dedicate 
 my poem. With that view, the following re 
 marks were written. From motives which do 
 credit to his honesty and prudence as a Di 
 vine, and in a manner honourable to his sin 
 cerity as a gentleman, he declined receiving 
 what I intended as a compliment to his ta 
 lents and virtues. But "what I have written, 
 I have written;" and if it must go, unprotect 
 ed by the patronage of a name, let it go, and 
 stand upon its own merits, or fall through its 
 own weakness. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 M564053 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 REV. AND DEAR SIR, 
 
 WHEN the claims of Charity are to be urged, 
 the eye falls naturally and irresistibly upon 
 him, who is at once the eloquent advocate in 
 her courts, and the liberal minister at her al 
 tar. Shall I then seek any other apology 
 than what this consideration affords, for re 
 questing of you, the permission to exhibit 
 your name upon a page, that is devoted to her 
 service? By Charity, I mean not only the ac 
 tive benevolence which opens the hand for the 
 relief of suffering poverty, but the more en 
 larged and exalted love that opens the heart, 
 with wishes and with hopes for the happiness, 
 here, and hereafter, of the great family of 
 man. 
 
 Sacred Music is of vital importance to 
 every thing else that is sacred. The cultiva 
 tion of it, as a science, and the practice of it. 
 
 
Viii DEDICATION. 
 
 as an art, or as an exercise of devotion, have 
 employed the attention, the time, and the 
 talents of the legislator, the prophet, the mu 
 sician, and the poet, from the earliest ages of 
 Scripture History. I say of Scripture History, 
 for though ample materials would have crowd 
 ed upon my hands from profane history; in 
 pursuing the subject of Music generally, I 
 have chosen to confine myself exclusively to 
 Sacred Music, with the exception, perhaps, 
 of one or two notices of well authenticated 
 facts, calculated to exhibit, in a strong point 
 of view, the effect of Music upon animals. 
 Hence, though I have occasionally opened 
 the volume of nature, to sketch a few of the 
 numberless scenes that are there presented to 
 the religious eye, or have perhaps, in a few in 
 stances, drawn entirely from my own imagi 
 nation, most of my topics have been taken 
 from that great fountain of Religion, Poetry, 
 and Music the BIBLE. 
 
 I do not pretend to have gone fully into the 
 subject, if by that is to be understood, a par 
 ticular attention to all the accounts of the ef 
 fects of Sacred Music, or of the evidences 
 of the divine approbation, of worship, offered 
 
DEDICATION, 
 
 in that manner, which are recorded in the sa 
 cred volume. Many striking and eloquent 
 accounts have been necessarily passed over 
 in silence: perhaps, many which I do not re 
 collect, but certainly not a few which have 
 occurred to me, but which, though very im 
 pressive, I have not considered as sufficiently 
 prominent, compared with those to which I 
 have adverted, to atone for the offence of ad 
 ding unreasonable length, to the other subjects 
 of complaint, which the critical eye will find 
 in my poem. The difficulty has been, not to 
 collect materials, because they were few; but 
 in the multiplicity which presented them 
 selves, to select those which were best adapt 
 ed to my purpose. To write more, would 
 have been easy: may others find it so, to read 
 what I have written. 
 
 As to the manner of treating my subject, it 
 is my own, and I must be indulged in it. I 
 mean this, as purely and exclusively a reli 
 gious poem. Yet T have endeavoured to avoid, 
 as much as possible, the technical phrases of 
 your profession.* And here, my dear sir, 
 
 * Or, to convey my idea in one short, though inelegant word 
 'Cant. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 allow me to observe, I have followed the ex 
 ample of one, whose authority, I am sure, you 
 will not be disposed to question: an example 
 of which, as of your whole style of preach 
 ing, I cannot avoid this opportunity of ex 
 pressing my most unqualified approbation. 
 Charge me not with flattery: reproach me 
 not with adulation: I have never practised 
 the one, and have little to expect of any man 
 for attempting the other. Least of all, will 
 I attempt to pass that currency upon one 
 who is under a solemn, an official obligation, 
 not to put off the same coin in repayment. 
 Not to "prophecy smooth things," is a duty, 
 which, as a minister of our holy religion, you 
 cannot forget. It would, therefore, be taking 
 an unfair, an ungenerous, an ungentlemanly 
 advantage of you, to offer you incense, which 
 you cannot avert from yourself, by turning it 
 back upon him who holds the censer. Yet, 
 strange as it may seem to some, who do not 
 know that eminence, in any department of 
 literature, is like great wealth in civil society, 
 in that it is always taxed, for the benefit of 
 those who have never attained what so uni 
 formly attracts their admiration, you, sir, will 
 
DEDICATION. XI 
 
 not be astonished to find, that this very ex 
 ample, which I so joyfully hail, is the cause 
 of your being called upon, to extend your 
 hand to one who had long wished to see, but 
 had almost despaired of seeing, that bright 
 example set to those who minister at the al 
 tar. 
 
 In this attempt to present to your eye a re 
 ligious production, divested of the technical 
 jargon of which I have been complaining, and 
 of which I shall go on complaining, a little 
 longer; I have consulted not my ease, but my 
 feelings, as to what is proper, and my convic 
 tion, as to what is profitable. Nothing would 
 have been more easy, for one who has at 
 tended church for twenty-five years, during 
 which time, he has repeatedly heard the 
 whole set of changes rung upon the bells of 
 the schools, to have collected words enough 
 to make a book larger than that, which now 
 solicits your patronage; which might have 
 passed, and even been praised, as an orthodox 
 production; but I imagine it would have con 
 tained little poetry, and as little religion. 
 
 I hope, sir, the few sheets that follow, con 
 tain internal evidence of the author's respect. 
 
Xll DEDICATION. 
 
 not to say high veneration, for the Christian 
 religion, and for the sacred volume that pro- 
 mises us a better and a happier world. On 
 that point, then, I shall make no professions: 
 they are better spared than lavished. But I 
 care not how soon it is understood, that I have 
 no respect for a language, or rather a dialect, 
 that owes its birth to schools and councils, of a 
 dark and barbarous age; schools, forever con 
 tending about words darkly metaphysical, 
 and councils, passing sentence upon the doc 
 trines of religion, in a manner very irreligious; 
 whose proceedings were blindly and bitterly 
 dogmatical, and whose individual members 
 were, too often, bound together by only one 
 common tie, a profession of Christian love, 
 and actuated by only one common principle, 
 a most unchristian hostility. Still, do not mis 
 take my meaning. In their intemperate zeal, 
 they failed in judgment, and we pity them. 
 Their passionate proceedings, their deadly 
 hostility, their mutual recriminations, and 
 bitter persecutions are to be deplored, for 
 they threw a cloud over the morning of Chris 
 tianity* But it is their language towards 
 which I feel this want of respect. The men 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 were certainly the great men of their respec 
 tive times; possessing, in many instances, the 
 highest natural endowments, and rendered il 
 lustrious by the greatest attainments, not only 
 in literature, such as it was, but in piety, as 
 then understood; displaying, in the acquire 
 ment of the one, an indefatigable industry, 
 and in the defence of the other, an unparallel 
 ed, an unshaken fortitude. We owe these 
 saints and patriarchs, in the early ages of our 
 religion, much for their labours, much for their 
 zeal; but still, we owe our Saviour and his par 
 ticular friends and disciples more. While, 
 therefore, we pity the intemperance and fa 
 naticism exhibited at Nice and Constantino 
 ple, we cannot too much admire the sweet, 
 the sacred simplicity, the pure, modest, meek 
 deportment, displayed by the great Preacher 
 upon the mount; who perplexed not the un 
 derstanding of his hearers, by abstruse meta 
 physics, nor heated their enthusiasm by fa 
 natical, but unintelligible declamation; why 
 not imitate, or at least strive to imitate, that 
 divine, that charming simplicity! Must we 
 not admit that our Saviour was as capable of 
 exhibiting, in his own bright example, the best 
 
XIV DEDICATION. 
 
 manner of inculcating the doctrines of his re 
 ligion, as lie was of communicating to his fol 
 lowers that religion itself? He came to teach 
 others, and he therefore addressed their un 
 derstanding. He opened his lips in accents 
 of love, and they melted the heart. Sweet, 
 however, and simple as was the language of 
 Jesus Christ, it was elegant, it, was figura 
 tive, it was poetical. 
 
 Let me not here be understood, sir, for 
 I am fully aware, while upon this ground, 
 with what caution it is incumbent upon me to 
 tread, as meaning to discountenance or dis 
 courage the inculcating and enforcing of the 
 truths of our religion, by appeals to the un 
 derstanding, by reason, argument, logic. Far 
 from it A religion that could not bear all 
 the fair scrutiny, and all the dissecting light 
 of these, is no religion for me. Why? be 
 cause, a religion to satisfy me, must be 
 founded upon a revelation from God to man. 
 But a revelation to man, is a revelation to 
 his understanding. That is the balance, in 
 which every proposition of it should be weigh 
 ed, before it should be suffered to pass current 
 in my religious creed. It is the forum at 
 
DEDICATION. XT 
 
 which my tenets should be arraigned, article 
 by article. And therefore, while we cannot 
 too faithfully and studiously imitate the irre 
 sistible and insinuating addresses of our Sa 
 viour, and the melting, tender eloquence of 
 John, we cannot but admire the clear, forci 
 ble, masculine reasoning of Paul: nor must 
 such a logician go off the stage, without our 
 warmest and loudest applause. Nor, to say 
 no more of his nervous argument, did he ne 
 glect those other departments of science, 
 which, laying aside his divine inspiration, en 
 abled him to dress his thoughts in such a mas 
 terly style. But the logic of St. Paul, was con 
 versant with ideas, not merely their shadows; 
 something that was palpable to his mental 
 organs, and which he has rendered visible to 
 ours, presented as they are to the eye, in robes 
 so rich and flowing. Did he disdain to address, 
 or w r as he unable to address, the polite, the 
 learned, those high in office the proconsul of 
 Judea, or the citizens of Athens, in a language 
 that should attract the attention of his audi 
 tors, for its elegance and classical purity? 
 Let the refining sectary, who opens the door 
 of Heaven only for himself, and his few blind 
 
XVI DEDICATION. 
 
 and cringing followers; who has enveloped 
 his bible, so completely in the folds of mysti 
 cism, that it can scarcely be recognized; or 
 has buried it so deeply in the "dust of the 
 schools" that the venerable volume is hardly 
 conscious of its own identity; open to the text 
 of Paul, and he will there* find, not only re 
 ference to the polite literature of the day, but 
 a quotation from one of the popular satyric 
 poets, absolutely embodied in an epistle, that 
 was to descend to posterity, and not unworth 
 ily, with the stamp of divine inspiration. 
 
 No sir, the religion you preach, thanks not 
 those who spread mantles over it, for the pur 
 pose of concealment. It is the religion of 
 light, and courts the congenial effluence. Is it 
 necessary, at this late day, to recur to the opin 
 ion of the great apostle, of whom I have been 
 speaking, to determine as to the profit of speak 
 ing "in an unknown tongue?" For the sake of 
 the reputation of Christianity,, and of Christian 
 teachers, I should hope not; yet how serious is 
 the fact, if we may judge from the too frequent 
 practice in our churches, that such recurrence 
 
 * Titus i. 12. 
 
DEDICATION. XVii 
 
 is seldom had, though so constantly necessary! 
 And is it not as profitable to me, to be address 
 ed in Hebrew, that I never have learned, as in 
 English, that I never can learn? It is all Hebrew 
 to me Away, then, with mysticism; and away 
 with cant! for so intimately are they connected, 
 that it seems impossible to inflict a wound up 
 on the one, without a sympathetic groan from 
 the other. 
 
 But, to say nothing of the policy of the cler 
 gy, as it respects themselves; or their hones 
 ty, as it regards their master are we not en 
 titled to a fairer treatment? Shall we, when we 
 ask of our teachers the bread of life, be sent 
 away with a stone, which even the metaphys 
 ical patriarch of Constantinople candidly ac 
 knowledged he could not digest? Why may we 
 not be addressed, upon theological subjects, in 
 the same intelligible language that we have a 
 right to claim upon topics of incomparably mi 
 nor importance? I do not pay, still less do I 
 pardon, the lawyer, whom I consult upon ques 
 tions relating to my civil rights, if he opens 
 upon me in his technical language, in which, af 
 ter he has advised me an hour, I know no more 
 of my case than I did before I consulted him. 
 
 3 
 
XVJ11 DEDICATION. 
 
 Still I may have a great respect for the laws, 
 and presume they are salutary, and adapted 
 to the exigencies of society. Am I satisfied 
 with the physician, who, when I am writhing 
 with pain, mysteriously explains to me the na 
 ture of my disorder, and prescribes a remedy, 
 and both in a jargon, as foreign to my compre 
 hension as would have been a verbal prescrip 
 tion of Hippocrates, or as enigmatical as a re 
 sponse of the Pythian oracle? No though I 
 may be convinced of the power of medicine, 
 and have a respect for the science, I suspect 
 at once the talents and the honesty of the em 
 piric, and despise and dismiss the quack. 
 
 Why, then, in questions of Religion; ques 
 tions on which not my fortune, not my life, but 
 my salvation depends, am I not entitled to be 
 advised in a language that I understand: a lan 
 guage of every day's use in polite conversa 
 tion, and elegant writing; rather than in the 
 antiquated and obsolete vocabulary of the 
 schools? Schoolmen may understand it; or, as 
 was the case with the doctors of the Sorbonne, 
 may agree to use it without understanding it; 
 but how much the wiser, or the better, will it 
 make the farmer, the mechanic or the mer 
 chant? 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Are we to be told, that the venerable char 
 acter of Religion will be endangered by dress- 
 ing her in conformity to the fashion of the 
 present day? that it will degrade the child of 
 heaven, to strip her of the shreds and rags, 
 with which she was hung in an age of dark 
 ness and barbarism, and which time has ren 
 dered not more dignified, but more disgusting? 
 As well might she be invested again from the 
 wardrobe ofLaTrappe, or starved with asce 
 tics, in the caverns of Thebais. 
 
 But still are we told that Religion must de 
 pend, for a favourable reception by the world, 
 in some measure, upon the garb in which she 
 is made to appear? Granted: This is my own 
 position, and to this end let her wear the robes 
 which are chosen by the well dressed of the 
 present age. Is our language less copious, less 
 polished, less dignified, less worthy of being 
 the medium of divine communications to man 
 kind now, than it was when Wickliffe wrote, 
 and Cranmer was burnt? Do we revere the 
 old and grey-headed, because he wears the tat- 
 tered garb of other days; or is it not rather, be 
 cause the frost of time, that has bleached his 
 locks, has also frozen the boiling tide of pas, 
 
XX DEDICATION. 
 
 sions, prompting to evil, and purified the soul, 
 while it has whitened the head; so that we re- 
 gard the silver honours of the one, as emble 
 matical of the rich and spotless purity of the 
 other? Because the light of love has so long 
 beamed through his eye, that the heavenly ray 
 and its earthly medium have become insepara 
 bly incorporated? Because the smiles of be 
 nevolence, and the charities and graces of hu^ 
 manity have played upon his lip, till they have 
 left upon it their vestiges, indelibly imprinted? 
 
 Still it may be urged, that if we change in 
 any particular the costume of Religion, the 
 multitude, who are incapable of examining and 
 judging for themselves, will think, that with 
 her dress, Religion has also changed her char 
 acter. 
 
 Without stopping to examine the real force 
 of the objection, let us allow it at once, the 
 whole weight that those who advance it will 
 demand. Now, is it a truth that the religion 
 of the fifteenth century, and still more that of 
 the fourth and fifth centuries, was more pure 
 than the religion of the nineteenth? that the 
 spirit of Christianity was better understood? 
 that its disciples were more enlightened? -its 
 
DEDICATION. XXI 
 
 precepts more faithfully practiced? its doc 
 trines more intelligently and cordially em 
 braced? To answer in the affirmative, is at 
 once to overthrow the pious labours of centu 
 ries: to spread over Christendom, particu 
 larly over Protestant Christendom, the gloomy 
 pall of ignorance and superstition: to smother 
 the light that blazes from the volume of in 
 spiration; and to restore the empire of the 
 faggot and the rack. Still more, it is to im 
 peach the testimony of Eternal Truth; in that 
 it goes to prove, that the light which shone 
 from heaven in the religion of Jesus Christ, 
 shall not grow "brighter and brighter until the 
 perfect day," but that those dawnings, that 
 "day spring from on high," shall fade, and be 
 come more and more equivocal, till the world 
 shall be lost in total night. 
 
 Why, then, should we dress Religion in the 
 rags of poverty, which must excite our pity; 
 or of negligence, which must awaken our con 
 tempt; rather in such habiliments as will ren 
 der her acceptable to the scholar, the gentle 
 man and the philosopher; to the learned, the 
 fashionable, and the polite; to the lawyer and 
 the physician; to the merchant and the me- 
 
XX11 DEDICATION, 
 
 chanic; to fathers and to children; and, since 
 we do not subscribe to the Mohammedan no 
 tion, that women have no souls; why may not a 
 subject so highly interesting to the warmest 
 feelings, the most delicate sympathies, the 
 fondest affections, be treated in a manner suit 
 ed, at once to their refinement and delicacy, 
 and to its own native beauty and simplicity? 
 Why must their tenderness be wounded by 
 the severity, or their modesty shocked by the 
 grossness, or their unsophisticated minds per 
 plexed by the mysterious abstruseness, in 
 which it is so often, and let me add, so repul 
 sively presented to their ear? Is it indeed true 
 that "pure religion and undefiled, " "that com- 
 ethfrom the Father of Lights," was intended to 
 be the "closet skeleton" for ourselves, or the 
 Gog and Magog of our children, rather than 
 their smiling and instructive play-fellow, and 
 our cheerful fireside companion; who is ever 
 anxious and studiously attentive to soften the 
 asperities of life; and to whom we look, nor 
 look in vain, for consolation in death? 
 
 I am sometimes induced to think that the 
 ancients, with all the heathenism with which 
 we, in the abundance of Christian humility, are 
 
DEDICATION. XXlll 
 
 so apt to reproach them, understood this thing 
 better than ourselves. The highest efforts of 
 Grecian intellect, the most polished produc 
 tions of Athenian taste and fancy, were de 
 voted to the interests of Religion. And in 
 what costume did the poets, the painters and 
 the sculptors of Greece exhibit their divinities? 
 Take a single example. Minerva, the patroness 
 of Athens, whom the mythology of the coun 
 try represented as having sprung from the 
 very brain of their highest celestial intelli 
 gence, was considered a subject worthy of all 
 the exquisite art of Phidias, encouraged by the 
 patronage of the accomplished and popular 
 Pericles. She was presented, in a form and a 
 drapery worthy of her dignity and her birth. 
 What was the consequence? The polite, the in 
 genious, the metaphysical, the skeptical Athe 
 nian bowed at her altar with a reverence, and 
 worshiped in her temple, with a warmth of de 
 votion, a depth of veneration, too rarely wit 
 nessed around altars dedicated to the Chris 
 tian's God. 
 
 Shall we do less for the One God, who cre 
 ated us, than Heathens did for the host of 
 Gods, whom they created? Shall a false reli- 
 
XX1T DEDICATION. 
 
 gion gain believers by her rich, I do not mean 
 gaudy, but chaste and elegant robes, and yet 
 a true religion make unbelievers, by the beg- 
 garly and disgusting apparel in which she was 
 clothed, by the wrangling logomachists of a 
 barbarous age? 
 
 But still another will tell me, that the simple 
 city of the Gospel is above decoration that 
 "loveliness needs not the foreign aid of orna 
 ment, but is when unadorned, adorned, the 
 most." My reply is brief, for I find the sub 
 ject has led me farther than I at first intended 
 to follow it it is this: I ask not for decoration; 
 I want simplicity. Besides, you cannot pre 
 sent Religion to mankind divested of all cover 
 ing; in her pure and native loveliness, as Eve 
 came from the hand of her Maker. In some 
 garb or other she must be dressed. We write 
 in words, we speak in words, we think in 
 words, and every process of reasoning is con 
 ducted by means of words; for no sooner is 
 the infant conception embodied, than it is 
 dressed in language, and ready to be ushered 
 into the world I say, I want simplicity. But 
 simplicity does not imply poverty, any more 
 than richness implies gaudiness. But I do not 
 
DEDICATION. XXV 
 
 love to see the light, that has emanated from 
 the Deity, obscured "by words without know 
 ledge;" words which may mean any thing, or 
 nothing at all, either what is partially right, or 
 what is totally wrong, according as he, who 
 uses them, may find it an object to mislead the 
 careless, or blind the diligent inquirer. 
 
 The object of the poem which follows, and 
 which I have taken the liberty to recommend 
 to your notice, is one^ the interest of the reli 
 gion of Jesus Christ of pure unaffected piety. 
 I know you will not suspect me of a design of 
 encroaching unlawfully upon your grounds; 
 and therefore, hope you will not frown upon 
 one, who thus volunteers his feeble aid, not to 
 your particular province, but to the empire in 
 general. Do not invoke upon me the punish 
 ment of Uzzah, for touching the ark of the 
 Lord. I do not fear it will fall; and I hope I 
 do not touch it with irreverent hands. 
 
 If, however, reverend sir, I am culpable, in 
 laying my hand upon that, which is under the 
 special charge of the Levites, I am not sure 
 that you will not yourself be implicated, as 
 particeps criminis. The first sermon I ever 
 heard from your pulpit was, almost exclusive- 
 4 
 
XXVI DEDICATION. 
 
 ly, calculated to do justice to the claims, which 
 Sacred Music has, to an important station, 
 among the devotional exercises of a Christian 
 Church. I need not say whether I listened 
 with pleasure: nor need I remind you how 
 much better the subject was handled by your 
 self, than by me But you are a clergyman: 
 I am a layman: and perhaps a few may be 
 persuaded by the novelty of the layman's po 
 etry, who had slumbered under the greater 
 eloquence of the clergyman's prose; to open 
 the BIBLE, for flowers that were scattered 
 there by the hand of God; and for songs, 
 which, though they may be despised by the 
 fashionable connoisseur, have attracted the 
 ear, and won the applause of Angels. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 SUMMER'S dun cloud, that, slowly rising-, holds 
 The sweeping tempest in its rushing folds, 
 Though o'er the ridges of its thundering breast, 
 The King of Terrours lifts his lightning crest; 
 Pleas'd we behold, when those dark folds we find, 
 Fring'd with the golden light, that glows behind. 
 So when one language bound the human race, 
 On Shinar's plain, round Babel's mighty base, 
 Gloomily rose the minister of wrath; 
 Dark was his frown, destructive was his path; 
 That tower was blasted, by the touch of Heaven; 
 That bond was burst that race asunder driven: 
 Yet, round the Avenger's brow, that frown' d above, 
 Play'd Mercy's beams the lambent light of Love. 
 
 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 All was not lost, though busy Discord flung 
 Repulsive accents, from each jarring tongue; 
 All was not lost; for Love one tie had twin'd, 
 And Mercy dropp'd it, to connect mankind: 
 One tie, that winds, with soft and sweet control, 
 Its silken fibres round the yielding soul; 
 Binds man to man, sooths Passion's wildest strife. 
 And, through the mazy labyrinths of life, 
 Supplies a faithful clue, to lead the lone 
 And weary wanderer, to his Father's throne. 
 
 That tie is Music. Ho^ supreme her sway! 
 How lovely is the Power, that all obey! 
 Dumb matter trembles at her thrilling shock; 
 Her voice is echo'd by the desert rock; 
 For her, the asp withholds the sting of death, 
 And bares his fangs, but to inhale her breath; 
 The lordly lion leaves his lonely lair, 
 And crouching, listens when she treads the air; 
 And man, by wilder impulse driven to ill, 
 Is tamed, and led by this Enchantress stilt 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Who ne'er has felt her hand assuasive steal 
 Along his heart That heart will never feel. 
 'Tis hers to chain the passions, sooth the soul, 
 To snatch the dagger, and to dash the bowl 
 From Murder's hand; to smooth the couch of Care, 
 Extract the thorns, and scatter roses there; 
 Of Pain's hot hrow, to still the bounding throb, 
 Despair's long sigh, and Grief's convulsive sob. 
 
 How vast ber empire! Turn through earth, through air, 
 Your aching eye, you find her subjects there; 
 Nor is the throne of heaven above her spell, 
 Nor yet beneath it, is the host of hell. 
 
 To her, Religion owes her holiest flame: 
 Her eye looks heaven-ward, for from heaven she came. 
 And when Religion's mild and genial ray, 
 Around the frozen heart, begins to play, 
 Music's soft breath falls on the quivering light; 
 The fire is kindled, and the flame is bright; 
 And that cold mass, by either power assail'd, 
 Is warm'd made liquid and to heaven exhaled. 
 
 1 
 
4 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Here let us pause: the opening prospect view: 
 How fresh this mountain air! how soft the blue, 
 That throws its mantle o'er the length' ning scene! 
 Those waving groves those vales of living green 
 Those yellow fields that lake's cerulean face, 
 That meets, with curling smiles, the cool embrace 
 Of roaring torrents, lull'd by her to rest; 
 That white cloud, melting on the mountain's breast; 
 How the wide landscape laughs upon the sky! 
 How rich the light, that gives it to the eye! 
 
 Where lies our path? though many a vista call, 
 We may admire, but cannot tread them all. 
 Where lies our path! a poet, and inquire 
 What hills, what vales, what streams become the lyre! 
 See, there Parnassus lifts his head of snow; 
 See at his foot, the cool Cephissus flow; 
 There Ossa rises; there Olympus towers; 
 Between them, Tenape breathes in beds of flowers, 
 Forever verdant; and there Peneus glides 
 Through laurels whispering on his shady sides. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE, 
 
 Your theme is Music: Yonder rolls the wave, 
 Where dolphins snatch'd Arion from his grave, 
 Enchanted hy his lyre: Citheron's shade 
 Is yonder seen, where first Amphion play'd 
 Those potent airs, that, from the yielding earth, 
 Charm'd stones around him, and gave cities birth. 
 And fast hy Hsemus, Thracian Hebrus creeps 
 O'er golden sands, and still for Orpheus weeps, 
 Whose gory head, borne by the stream along, 
 Was still melodious, and expired in song. 
 There Nereids sing, and Triton winds his shell; 
 There be thy path for there the Muses dwell. 
 
 No, no a lonelier, lovelier path be mine: 
 Greece and her charms I leave, for Palestine. 
 There, purer streams through happier valleys flow, 
 And sweeter flowers on holier mountain's blow, 
 I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm; 
 I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm; 
 I love to wet my foot in Hcrmon's dews; 
 
 love the promptings of Isaiah's muse: 
 
 I 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 In GarmePs holy grots, I'll court repose, 
 
 And deck my mossy couch, with Sharon's deathless rose. 
 
 Here arching vines their leafy harmer spread, 
 Shake their green shields, and purple odours shed; 
 At once repelling Syria's burning ray, 
 And breathing freshness on the sultry day. 
 Here the wild hee suspends her murmuring wing, 
 Pants on the rock, or sips the silver springy 
 And here as musing on my theme divine, 
 I gather flowers to hloom along my line, 
 And hang my garland in festoons around, 
 Enwreath'd with clusters, and with tendrils bound 5 
 And fondly, warmly, humbly hope the Power, 
 That gave perfumes and beauty to the flower, 
 Drew living water from this rocky shrine, 
 Purpled the clustering honours of the vine* 
 And led me, lost in devious mazes, hither, 
 To weave a garland, will not let it wither: 
 Wond'ring, I listen to the strain sublime. 
 That flows, all freshly, down the stream of time. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Wafted in grand simplicity along, 
 The undying breath, the very soul of song. 
 Down that long vale of years, are sweetly roll'd 
 The mingled voices of the bards of old; 
 Melodious voices! bards of brightest fire! 
 Where each is warm, how melting is the quire! 
 Yet, though so blended is the concert blest, 
 Some master tones are heard above the rest. 
 O'er the cleft sea, the storm in fury rides: 
 Israel is safe, and Egypt tempts the tides: 
 Her host, descending, meets a wat'ry grave, 
 And o'er her monarch rolls the refluent wave. 
 The storm is hush'd: the billows foam no more, 
 But sink in smiles: there's music on the shore. 
 On the wide waste of waters, dies that air 
 Unheard; for all is death and coldness there. 
 But see! the robe that brooding Silence throws 
 O'er Shur, reclining in profound repose, 
 Is rent, and scattered, by the burst of praise, 
 That swells the song th' astonish'd Hebrews raise. 
 
 5 
 

 8 AIRS OE, PALESTINE. 
 
 That rending anthem on the wild was flung, 
 From Miriam's timbrel and from Moses' tongue: 1 
 The first to Liberty that e'er was Sung. 
 
 But if, when joy and gratitude inspire, 
 Such high-ton'd triumph walks along the lyre, 
 What are its breathings, when pale Sorrow flings 
 Her tearful touches, o'er its trembling strings? 
 
 At Nebo's base, that mighty bard resigns 
 His life and empire, in prophetic lines. 2 
 Heaven, all attention, round the poet bends, 
 And conscious earth, as when the dew descends, 
 Or showers as gentle, feels her young buds swell, 
 Her herbs shoot greener, at that fond farewell. 
 Rich is the song, though mournfully it flows: 
 And as that harp, which God alone bestows, 
 Is swept in concert with that sinking breath, 
 Its cold chords shrink, as from the touch of death. 
 It was the touch of death! Sweet be thy slumbers. 
 Harp of the prophet! but those holy numbers. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 That death-denoting, monitory moan, 
 Shall live, till Nature heaves her dying groan. 
 From Pisgah's top, his eye the prophet threw, 
 O'er Jordan's wave, where Canaan met his view. 
 His sunny mantle, and his hoary locks 
 Shone, like the rohe of Winter, on the rocks. 
 Where is that mantle? Melted into air. 
 Where is the prophet? God can tell thee where. 
 
 So, on the brow of some romantic height, 
 A fleecy cloud hangs hov'ring in the light, 
 Fit couch for angels; which, while yet we view, 
 ? Tis lost to earth, and all around is blue. 
 
 Whose veteran arm, already taught to urge 
 The battle stream, and roll its darkest surge, 
 Hangs over Jericho's devoted towers, 3 
 And like the storm, o'er Sodom, redly lowers? 
 The moon can answer, for she heard his tongue, 
 And cold and pale o'er Ajalon she hung. 4 
 The sun can tell: O'er Gibeon's vale of blood, 
 Curving their beamy necks, his coursers stood, 
 
10 AIRS O* PALESTINE. 
 
 Held by that hero's arm, to light his wrath, 
 
 And roll their glorious eyes, upon his crimson path. 
 
 What mine, exploding, rends that smoking ground? 
 
 What earthquake spreads those smouldering ruins round? 
 
 The sons of Levi, round that city, hear 
 
 The ark of God, their consecrated care, 
 
 And, in rude concert, each returning morn, 
 
 Blow the long trump, and wind the curling horn. 
 
 No blackening thunder smok'd along the wall: 
 
 No earthquake shook it: Music wrought its fall. 
 
 The reverend hermit, that from earth retires, 
 Freezes to love's, to melt in holier fires, 
 And builds on Libanus his humble shed, 5 
 Beneath the waving cedars of his head; 
 Year after year, with brighter views revolving, 
 Doubt after doubt in stronger hopes dissolving; 
 Though neither pipe, nor voice, nor organ's swell, 
 Disturbs the silence of his lonely cell; 
 Yet hears enough, had nought been heard before, 
 To wake a holy awe, and teach him to adore. 
 
AIRS or PALESTINE, 11 
 
 For, e'er the day with orisons he closes, 
 Ere on his flinty couch, his head reposes, 
 A couch more downy in the hermit's sight, 
 Than heds of roses to the Sybarite; 
 As lone he muses on those naked rocks, 
 Heaven's last light blushing on his silver locks, 
 Amid the deep'ning shades of that wild mountain, 
 He hears the burst of many a mossy fountain, 
 Whose crystal rills in pure embraces mingle, 
 And dash, and sparkle down the leafy dingle, 
 There lose their liquid notes: with grateful glow, 
 The hermit listens as the waters flow, 
 And says there's music in that mountain stream, 
 The storm beneath him, and the eagle's scream. 
 
 There lives around that solitary man, 
 The tameless music, that with time began; 
 Airs of the Power, that bids the tempest roar, 
 The cedar bow, the royal eagle soar; 
 The mighty Power, by whom those rocks were pil'd, 
 Who moves unseen, and murmurs thro' the wild. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 "What countless chords docs that dread Being strike! 
 Various their tone, hut all divine alike: 
 'Tis Mercy now, in balmy softness stealing; 
 'Tis Anger now, the Mighty One revealing; 
 There, 'tis a string that sooths with slow vibration, 
 And here, a burst that shakes the whole creation. 
 
 By Heaven forewarned, his hunted life to save, 
 Behold Elijah stands by Horeb's cave; 
 Griev'd that the God for whom he'd warmly striven, 
 Should see his servants into exile driven, 
 His words neglected, by those servants spoken, 
 His prophets murdered, and his altars broken. 
 His bleeding heart a soothing strain requires: 
 He hears it: softer than ^Eolian lyres, 
 "A still, small voice," like Zephyr's dying sighs, 
 Steals on his ear: he may not lift his eyes, 
 But o'er his face his flowing mantle flings, 
 And hears a whisper, from the King of Kings. 6 
 
 Yet from that very cave, from Jloreb's side, 
 Where spreads a prospect desert, wild and wide; 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 13 
 
 The prophet sees, with reverential dread, 
 
 Dark Sinai rear his thunder-Masted head; 
 
 Where erst was pour'd on trembling Israel's ear, 
 
 A stormier peal, that Moses quak'd to hear. 
 
 In what tremendous pomp Jehovah shone, 
 
 When on that mount he fix'd his burning throne! 7 
 
 Thick, round its base, a shuddering gloom was flung: 
 
 Black, on its breast, a thunder cloud was hung: 
 
 Bright, through that blackness, arrowy lightnings came, 
 
 Shot from the glowing veU, that wrapp'd its head in flame. 
 
 And when that quaking mount the Eternal trod, 
 
 Scorch'd by the foot of the descending God, 
 
 Then, blasts of unseen trumpets, long and loud, 
 
 Swelled by the breath of whirlwinds, rent the cloud, 
 
 And Death and Terrour stalk'd, beneath that smoky shroud. 
 
 Seest thou that shepherd boy, of features fair, 
 Of eye serene, and brightly flowing hair, 
 That leans, in thoughtful posture, on his crook, 
 And statue-like, pores o'r the pebbly brook? 
 
14 AIRS OF PAXESTINE. 
 
 Yes: and why stands lie there, in stupor cold? 
 Why not pursue those wanderers from his fold? 
 Or, mid the playful children of his flocks, 
 Toss his light limbs, and shake his amher locks, 
 Rather than idly gaze upon the stream? 
 That boy is lost in a poetic dream: 
 And, while his eye follows the wave along, 
 His soul expatiates in the realms of song. 
 For oft, where yonder grassy hills recede, 
 I've heard that shepherd tune his rustic reed; 
 And then, such sweetness from his fingers stole, 
 I knew that Music had possessed his soul. 
 Oft, in her temple, shall the votary bow, 
 Oft, at her altar, breathe his ardent vow, 
 And oft suspend, along her coral walls, 
 The proudest trophies that adorn her halls. 
 Even now, the heralds of his monarch tear 
 The son of Jesse from his fleecy care, 8 
 And to the hall the ruddy minstrel bring, 
 Where sits a being, that was once a king. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 15 
 
 Still, on his brow the crown of Israel gleams, 
 And cringing courtiers still adore its beams, 
 Though the bright circle throws no light divine, 
 But rays of hell, that melt it while they shine. 
 
 As the young harper tries each quivering wire, 
 It leaps and sparkles with prophetic fire, 
 And, with the kindling song, the kindling rays 
 Around his fingers tremulously blaze, 
 Till the whole hall, like those blest fields above, 
 Glows with the light of melody and love. 
 
 Soon as the foaming demon hears that psalm, 
 Heaven on his memory bursts, and Eden's balm; 
 He sees the dawnings of too bright a sky; 
 Detects the angel, in the poet's eye; 
 With grasp convulsive, rends his matted hair; 
 Through his strain'd eye-balls shoots a fiend-like glare; 
 And flies, with shrieks of agony, that hall, 
 The throne of Israel, and the breast of Saul; 
 Exil'd to roam, or, in infernal pains. 
 
 To seek a refuge from that shepherd's strains, 
 
 6 
 
16 AIRS OF PAIJ1STINE, 
 
 The night was moonless: Judah's shepherds kept 
 Their starlight watch: their flocks around them slept.' 
 To heaven's hlue fields their wakeful eyes were turn'd, 
 And to the fires that there eternal hurn'd. 
 Those azure regions had heen peopled long, 
 With Fancy's children, hy the sons of song: 
 And there, the simple shepherd, conning o'er 
 His humble pittance of Chaldean lore, 
 Saw, in the stillness of a starry night, 
 The Swan and Eagle wing their silent flight; 16 
 And, from their spangled pinions, as they flew, 
 On Israel's vales of verdure, shower the dew: 
 Saw there, the brilliant gems, that nightly flare, 
 In the thin mist of Berenice's hair, 
 And there, Bootes roll his lucid wain, 
 On sparkling wheels, along the etherial plain; 
 And there, the Pleiades, in tuneful gyre, 
 Pursue forever the star-studded Lyre; 
 And there, with bickering lash, heaven's Charioteer 
 Urge round the Cynosure his bright career. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 17 
 
 While thus the shepherds watch'd the host of night, 
 O'er heaven's hlue concave flash'd a sudden light. 
 The unrolling glory spread its folds divine. 
 O'er the green hills and vales of Palestine; 
 And lo! descending angels, hovering there, 
 Stretch'd their loose wings, and in the purple air, 
 Hung o'er the sleepless guardians of the fold: 
 When that high anthem, clear, and strong, and bold, 
 On wavy paths of trembling ether ran: 
 "Glory to God; benevolence to man; 
 Peace to the world:" and in full concert came, 
 From silver tubes, and harps of golden frame, 
 The loud and sweet response, whose choral strains 
 Lingered, and languished, on Judea's plains. 
 Yon living lamps, charm'd from their chambers blue, 
 By airs so heavenly, from the skies withdrew: 
 All? all, but one, that hung and burn'd alone. 
 And with mild lustre over Bethlehem shone. 
 Chaldea's sages saw that orb afar, 
 Glow unextinguished; 'twas Salvation's Star. 
 
18 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Hear'st thou that solemn symphony, that swells 
 And echoes through Philippi's gloomy cells? 
 From vault to vault the heavy notes rebound, 
 And granite rocks reverberate the sound. 
 The wretch, who long, in dungeons cold and dank, 
 Had shook his fetters, that their iron clank 
 Might break the grave-like silence of that prison, 
 On which the Star of Hope had never risen; 
 Then sunk in slumbers, by despair opprest, 
 And dream'd of freedom in his broken rest; 
 Wakes at the music of those mellow strains, 
 Thinks it some spirit, and forgets his chains. 
 *Tis Paul and Silas; who, at midnight, pay 
 To Him of Nazareth, a grateful lay. 
 Soon is that anthem wafted to the skies: 
 An angel bears it, and a God replies. 
 With thundering crash, are burst bolts, bars and locks; 
 Rent are their chains, and shivered are their stocks; 11 
 Strong tides of light gush through the yielding doors, 
 Glance on the walls, and flash along the floors. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 19 
 
 Fix'd in dismay, the shuddering keepers gaze 
 At the bright suns, on Freedom's brow that blaze, 
 As she descends to break the prisoners' bars, 
 Whose music charmed her from her kindred stars. 
 
 'Tis night again: for Music loves to steal 
 Abroad at night; when all her subjects kneel, 
 In more profound devotion at her throne: 
 And, at that sober hour, she'll sit alone, 
 Upon a bank, by her sequestered cell, 
 And breathe her sorrows through her wreathed shell. 
 Again 'tis night the diamond lights on high, 
 Burn bright, and dance harmonious through the sky; 
 And Silence leads her downy footed hours, 
 Round Sion's hill, and Salem's holy towers. 
 The Lord of Life, with his few faithful friends, 
 Drown'd in mute sorrow, down that hill descends. 
 They cross the stream that bathes its foot, and dashes 
 Around the tomb, where sleep a monarch's ashes; 12 
 And climb the steep, where oft the midnight air 
 Received the Sufferer's solitary prayer. 
 
20 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 There, in dark bowers imbosomed, Jesus flings 
 
 His hand celestial o'er prophetic strings; 
 
 Displays his purple robe, his bosom gory, 
 
 His crown of thorns, his cross, his future glory; 
 
 And, while the group, each hallowed accent gleaning, 
 
 On pilgrim's staff, in pensive posture leaning 
 
 Their reverend beards, that sweep their bosoms, wet 
 
 With the chill dews of shady Olivet 
 
 Wonder and weep, they pour the song of sorrow, 13 
 
 With their lov'd Lord, whose death shall shroud the morrow. 
 
 Heavens! what a strain was that! those matchless tones, 
 
 That ravish "Princedoms, Dominations, Thrones;" 
 
 That, heard on high, had hush'd those peals of praise, 
 
 That seraphs swell, and harping angels raise, 
 
 Soft, as the wave from Siloa's fount that flows, 
 
 Through the drear silence of the mountain rose. 
 
 How sad the Saviour's song! how sweet! how holy! 
 
 The last he sung on earth: how melancholy! 
 
 Along the valley sweep the expiring notes: 
 
 On Kedron's wave the melting music floats: 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 From her blue arch, the lamp of evening flings 
 Her mellow lustre, as the Saviour sings: 
 The moon above, the wave beneath is still, 
 And light and music mingle on the hill. 
 
 The glittering guard, whose viewless ranks invest 
 The brook's green margin, and the mountain's crest, 
 Catch that unearthly song, and soar away, 
 Leave this dark orb, for fields of endless day, 
 And round th' Eternal's throne, on buoyant pinions play. 
 
 Ye glowing seraphs, that enchanted swim, 
 In seas of rapture, as ye tune the hymn 
 Ye bore from earth say, ye choral quires, 
 Why in such haste to wake your golden lyres? 
 Why, like a flattering, like a fleeting dream, 
 Leave that lone mountain, and that silent stream? 
 Say, could not then the "Man of Sorrows" claim 
 Your shield of adamant, your sword of flame? 
 Hell forc'd a smile, at your retiring wing, 
 And man was left to crucify your King. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 But must no other sweets perfume my wreath, 
 Than Carmel's hill and Sharon's valley breathe? 
 Are holy airs home only through the skies, 
 Where Sinai thunders, and where Horeb sighs? 
 And move they only o'er Arabia's sea, 
 Bethesda's pool, the lake of Galilee? 
 And does the hand that bids Judea bloom, 
 Deny its blossoms to the desert's gloom? 
 No: turn thine eye, in visionary glance, 
 To scenes beyond old Ocean's blue expanse, 
 Where vast La Plata rolls his weight along, 
 Through worlds unknown to science and to song, 
 And, sweeping proudly o'er his boundless plain, 
 Repels the foaming billows of the main. 
 Let Fancy lap thee in Paraguay's bowers, 
 And scatter round thee Nature's wildest flowers; 
 For Nature there, since first her opening eye 
 Hail'd the bright orb her Father hung on high, 
 Still wraps the mantle round her virgin breast, 
 In which her smiling infancy was drest. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 3 
 
 There, through the clouds, stupendous mountains rise, 
 And lift their icy foreheads to the skies; 
 There, blooming valleys and secure retreats 
 Bathe all thy senses in voluptuous sweets: 
 Reclining there, beneath a bending tree, 
 Fraught with the fragrant labours of the bee, 
 Admire with me, the birds of varied hue, 
 That hang, like flowers of orange and of blue, 
 Among the broad magnolia's cups of snow, 
 Quaffing the perfumes, from those cups that flow. 
 
 But, is all peace, beneath the mountain shade? 
 Do Love and Mercy haunt that sunny glade, 
 And sweetly rest upon that lovely shore, 
 When light retires, and nature smiles no more? 
 No: there, at midnight, the hoarse tiger growls: 
 There, the gaunt wolf sits on his rock, and howls: 
 And there, in painted pomp, the yelling Indian prowls. 
 
 Round the bold front of yon projecting cliff, 
 Shoots on white wings the missionary's skiff, 
 7 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 And, walking steadily along the tide, 
 Seems, like a phantom, o'er the wave to glide, 
 Unfolding to the breeze her light cymar, 
 And bearing on her breast the Apostolic star. 
 That brilliant orb the bless'd Redeemer hurl'd, 
 From his pierc'd hand, ere he forsook the world. 
 Lanch'd by that hand, the sphere, divinely bright, 
 Has left on eastern clouds, its path of light, 
 And, in a radiant curve, descends to bless 
 Parana's wave, Paraguay's wilderness. 
 See! it has check'd its lucid course, and now 
 Lights on the intrepid Jesuit's humble prow, 14 
 Brightens his sail, with its celestial glow, 
 And gilds the emerald wave, that rolls below. 
 
 Lo, at the stern, the priest of Jesus rears 
 His reverend front, plough'd by the share of years. 
 He takes his harp: the spirits of the air 
 Breathe on his brow, and interweave his hair, 
 In silky flexure, with the sounding strings: 
 And hark! the holy missionary sings. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 'Tis the Gregorean chant: with him unites, 
 On either hand, his quire of neophytes, 
 While the boat cleaves its liquid path along, 
 And waters, woods and winds protract the song. 
 
 Those unknown strains the forest war-whoop hush: 
 Huntsmen and warriours from their cabins rush, 
 Heed not the foe, that yells defiance nigh, 
 See not the deer, that dashes wildly by, 
 Drop from their hand the bow and rattling quiver, 
 Crowd to the shore, and plunge into the river, 
 Breast the green waves, the enchanted bark that toss, 
 Leap o'er her sides, and kneel before the cross: 
 While warm tears, mingling with baptismal waters, 
 Wash from the soul, the stain of savage slaughters. 
 
 Hear yon poetic pilgrim of the west, 
 Chant Music's praise, and to her power attest. 1S 
 Who now, in Florida's untrodden woods, 
 Bedecks, with vines of jessamine, her floods, 
 And flowery bridges o'er them loosely throws; 
 Who hangs the canvass where Atala glows, 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 On the live oak, in floating drapery shrouded, 
 
 That like a mountain rises, lightly clouded; 
 
 Who, for the son of Outalissi twines, 
 
 Beneath the shade of ever whispering pines, 
 
 A funeral wreath, to hloom upon the moss, 
 
 That Time already sprinkles on the cross, 
 
 Rais'd o'er the grave, where his young virgin sleeps, 
 
 And Superstition o'er her victim weeps; 
 
 Whom now, the silence of the dead surrounds, 
 
 Among Scioto's monumental mounds; 
 
 Save that, at times, the musing pilgrim hears 
 
 A crumbling oak fall with the weight of years, 
 
 To swell the mass, that Time and Ruin throw, 
 
 O'er chalky bones, that mouldering lie below, 
 
 By virtues unembalm'd, tinstain'd by crimes, 
 
 Lost in those towering tombs of other times; 
 
 For where no bard has cherish'd Virtue's flame, 
 
 No ashes sleep in the warm sun of Fame. 
 
 With sacred lore, this traveller beguiles 
 
 His weary way, while o'er him Fancy smiles. 
 
AIRS PALESTINE. 27 
 
 "Whether he kneels in venerable groves, 
 Or through the wide and green savanna roves, 
 His heart leaps lightly on each breeze, that bears 
 The faintest cadence of Idumea's airs. 
 Now, he recalls the lamentable wail, 
 That pierc'd the shades of Rama's palmy vale 16 
 When Murder struck, thron'd on an infant's bier, 
 A note, for Satan's, and for Herod's ear. 
 Now, on a bank, o'erhung with waving wood, 
 Whose falling leaves flit o'er Ohio's flood, 
 The pilgrim stands; and o'er his memory rushes 
 The mingled tide of tears, and blood, that gushes 
 Along the valleys, where his childhood stray'd, 
 And round the temples, where his fathers pray'd. 
 How fondly then, from all but Hope exil'd, 
 To Z ion's woe recurs Religion's child! 
 He sees the tear of Judah's captive daughters 
 Mingle, in silent flow, with Babel's waters; 
 While Salem's harp, by patriot pride unstrung, 
 Wrapp'd in the mist, that o'er the river hung, 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Felt but the breeze, that wanton'd o'er the billow, 
 And the long, sweeping fingers of the willow. 
 
 And could not Music sooth the captive's woe? 
 But should that harp be strung for Judah's foe? 
 
 While thus the enthusiast roams along the stream, 
 Balanc'd between a revery and a dream, 
 Backward he springs: and, through his bounding heart, 
 The cold and curdling poison seems to dart. 
 For, in the leaves, beneath a quivering brake, 
 Spinning his death-note, lies a coiling snake, 
 Just in the act, with greenly venom'd fangs, 
 To strike the foot, that heedless o'er him hangs. 
 Bloated with rage, on spiral folds he rides; 
 His rough scales shiver on his spreading sides; 
 Dusky and dim his glossy neck becomes, 
 And freezing poisons thicken on his gums; 
 His parching jaws, with anger rise and swell; 
 On his keen eye there lies a spark of hell; 
 While, like a vapour, o'er his writhing rings, 
 Whirls his light tail, that threatens while it sings. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 29 
 
 Soon as dumb Fear removes her icy fingers 
 From off the heart, where gazing wonder lingers. 
 The pilgrim, conscious of the unequal fight, 
 Conscious of danger, too, in sudden flight, 
 From his soft flute, throws Music's air around, 
 And meets his foe, upon enchanted ground. 
 See! as the plaintive melody is flung, 
 The lightning flash fades on the serpent's tongue; 
 The uncoiling reptile, o'er each shining fold, 
 Throws changeful clouds of azure, green and gold: 
 A softer lustre twinkles in his eye; 
 His neck is burnished with a glossier dye; 
 His slippery scales grow smoother to the sight, 
 And his relaxing circles roll in light. 
 Slowly the charm retires: with waving sides, 
 Along its track the graceful listner glides; 
 While Music throws her silver cloud around, 
 And bears her votary off, in magic folds of sound. 
 
 On Arno's bosom, as he calmly flows, 
 And his cool arms round Vallombrosa throws, 
 
30 AJ-RS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Rolling his crystal tide through classic vales, 
 
 Alone, at night, the Italian boatman sails. 
 
 High o'er Mont Alto, walks, in maiden pride, 
 
 Night's queen: he sees her image on that tide, 
 
 Now, ride the wave that curls its infant crest, 
 
 Around his prow, then rippling sinks to rest; 
 
 Now, glittering dance around his eddying oar, 
 
 Whose every sweep is echoed from the shore; 
 
 Now, far before him, on a liquid bed 
 
 Of waveless water, rest her radiant head. 
 
 How mild the empire of that virgin queen! 
 
 How dark the mountain's shade! how still the scene! 
 
 Hush'd by her silver sceptre, zephyrs sleep 
 
 On dewy leaves, that overhang the deep, 
 
 Nor dare to whisper through the boughs, nor stir 
 
 The valley's willow, nor the mountain's fir, 
 
 Nor make the pale and breathless aspen quiver, 
 
 Nor brush, with ruffling wing, that glassy river. 
 
 Hark! 'tis a convent's bell: its midnight chime. 
 For music measures even the march of Time:- 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE.- 31 
 
 O'er bending trees, that fringe the distant shore, 
 Gray turrets rise: the eye can catch no more. 
 The boatman, listening to the tolling bell, 
 Suspends his oar: a low and solemn swell, 
 From the deep shade, that round the cloister lies, 
 Rolls through the air, and on the water dies. 
 What melting song wakes the cold ear of Night? 
 A funeral dirge, that pale nuns, rob'd in white, 
 Chant round a sister's dark and narrow bed, 
 To charm the parting spirit of the dead. 
 Triumphant is the spell! with raptur'd ear, 
 That uncaged spirit hovering lingers near; 
 Why should she mount? why pant for brighter bliss, 
 A lovelier scence, a sweeter song than this! 
 
 On Caledonia's hills, the ruddy morn 
 Breathes fresh: the huntsman winds his clamorous horn. 
 The youthful minstrel from his pallet springs, 
 Seizes his harp, and tunes its slumbering strings. 
 Lark-like he mounts o'er gray rocks, thunder-riven, 
 
 Lark-like he cleaves the white mist, tempest driven, 
 
 8 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 And lark-like carols, as the cliff he climbs, 
 
 Whose oaks were vocal with his earliest rhymes. 
 
 With airy foot he treads that giddy height; 
 
 His heart all rapture, and his eye all light; 
 
 His voice all melody, his yellow hair 
 
 Floating and dancing in the mountain air, 
 
 Shaking from its lose folds the liquid pearls, 
 
 That gather clustering on his golden curls; 
 
 And, for the moment, gazes on a scene, 
 
 Ting'd with deep shade, dim gold, and brightening green; 
 
 Then plays a mournful prelude, while the star 
 
 Of morning fades: but when heaven's gates unbar, 
 
 And on the world a tide of glory rushes, 
 
 Burns on the hill, and down the valley blushes; 
 
 The mountain bard in livelier numbers sings, 
 
 While sunbeams warm and gild the conscious strings, 
 
 And his young bosom feels the enchantment strong, 
 
 Of light, and joy, and minstrelsy, and song. 
 
 From rising morn, the tuneful stripling roves, 
 Through smiling valleys and religious groves; 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 33 
 
 Hears there, the flickering blackbird strain his throat, 
 Here, the lone turtle pour her mournful note, 
 Till night descends, and round the wanderer flings 
 The dew drops, dripping from her dusky wings. 
 Far from his native vale, and humble shed, 
 By nature's smiles, and nature's music led, 
 This child of melody has thoughtless stray'd, 
 Till darkness wraps him in her deep'ning shade. 
 The scene he smil'd on, when array'd in light, 
 Now lowers around him with the frown of night. 
 With weary foot the nearest height he climbs, 
 Crown'd with huge oaks, giants of other times; 
 Who fed, but fear not autumn's breath, and cast 
 Their summer robes upon the roaring blast, 
 And glorying in their majesty of form, 
 Toss their old arms, and challenge every storm. 
 Below him, Ocean rolls: deep in a wood, 
 Built on a rock, and frowning o'er the flood, 
 Like the dark Cyclops of Trinacria's isle, 
 Rises an old and venerable pile. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Gothic its structure,' once a cross it bore, 
 
 And pilgrims throng'd to hail it and adore. 
 
 Mitres and crosiers awed the trembling friar, 
 
 The solemn organ led the chanting quire, 
 
 When in those vaults the midnight dirge was sung, 
 
 And o'er the dead, a requiescat rung. 
 
 Now, all is still: the midnight anthem hush'd: 
 
 The cross is crumbled, and the crosier crush'd. 
 
 And is all still? No: round those ruin'd altars, 
 
 With feeble foot as our musician falters, 
 
 Faint, weary, lost, benighted and alone, 
 
 He sinks, all trembling, on the threshold stone. 
 
 Here, nameless fears the young enthusiast chill: 
 
 They're superstitious, but religious still. 
 
 He hears the sullen murmur of the seas, 
 
 That tumble round the stormy Orcades, 
 
 Or, deep beneath him, burst with boundless roar, 
 
 Their sparkling surges on that savage shore; 
 
 And thinks a spirit rolls the weltering waves 
 
 Through rifted rocks, and hollow rumbling caves. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 35 
 
 Round the dark windows, clasping ivy clings, 
 Twines round the porch, and in the sea-breeze swings; 
 Its green leaves rustle: heavy winds arise: 
 The low cells echo, and the dark hall sighs. 
 Is that some demon's shriek, so loud and shrill, 
 Whose flapping robes sweep o'er the stormy hill? 
 No 'tis the mountain blast, that nightly rages, 
 Around those walls, gray with the moss of ages. 
 Is that a ghost's red eye, beneath his shroud? 
 No 'tis a star that glimmers through a cloud. 
 Is that a lamp sepulchral, whose pale light 
 Shines in yon vault, before a spectre white? 
 No: 'tis a meteor, swimming through the hall, 
 Or glow-worm, burning greenly on the wall. 
 What mighty organ swells its deepest tone, 
 And sighing heaves a low, funeral moan, 
 That murmurs through the cemetery's glooms, 
 And throws a deadlier horrour round its tombs? 
 Sure, some dread spirit o'er the keys presides! 
 The same that lifts these darkly thundering tides; 
 
36 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Or, homeless, shivers o'er an unclosed grave; 
 
 Or shrieking, off at sea, bestrides the white-maned wave. 
 
 Yes! 'tis some Spirit that those skies deforms, 
 And wraps in billowy clouds that hill of storms. 
 Yes: 'tis a Spirit in those vaults that dwells, 
 Illumes that hall, and murmurs in those cells. 
 Yes: 'tis some Spirit on the blast that rides, 
 And wakes the eternal tumult of the tides. 
 That Spirit broke the poet's morning dream, 
 Led him o'er woody hill and babbling stream, 
 Lur'd his young foot to every vale that rung, 
 And charm'd his ear in every bird that sung; 
 With various concerts cheer'd his hours of light, 
 But kept the mightiest in reserve till night; 
 Then, thron'd in darkness, peal'd that wildest air, 
 Froze his whole soul, and chain'd the listner there. 
 
 That Mighty Spirit once from Teman came: 
 Clouds w r ere his chariot, and his coursers flame. 1 
 Bow'd the perpetual hills: the rivers fled: 
 Green Ocean trembled to his deepest bed: 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 37 
 
 Earth shrunk agast: eternal mountains burn'd, 
 And his red axle thunder'd as it turn'd. 
 
 O! Thou Dread Spirit! Being's End and Source! 
 0! check thy chariot in its fervid course. 
 Bend from thy throne of darkness and of fire, 
 And with one smile immortalize our lyre. 
 Amid the cloudy lustre of thy throne, 
 Though wreathy tubes, unheard on earth, are blown, 
 Swelling one ceaseless song of praise to thee, 
 Eternal Authour of Eternity! 
 Still hast thou stoop'd to hear a shepherd play, 
 To prompt his measures, and approve his lay. 
 Hast thou grown old, Thou, who forever livest! 
 Hast thou forgotten, Thou, who memory givest! 
 How, on the day thine ark, with loud acclaim, 
 From Z ion's hill to Mount Moriah came, 
 Beneath the wings of Cherubim to rest, 
 In a rich vail of Tyrian purple drestj 
 "When harps and cymbals join'd in echoing clang, 
 When psalteries tinkled, and when trumpets rang, 
 And white rob'd Levitcs round thine altar sang; 
 
38 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 Thou didst descend, and, rolling through the crowd, 
 Inshrine thine ark and altar in thy .shroud, 
 And fill the temple, with thy mantling cloud. 18 
 And now, Almighty Father, well we know, 
 When humble strains from grateful bosoms flow, 
 Those humble strains grow richer as they rise, 
 And shed a balmier freshness on the skies. 
 
 What though no Cherubim are here displayed, 
 No gilded walls, no cedar collonade, 
 No crimson curtains hang around our quire, 
 Wrought by the ingenious artisan of Tyre; 
 No doors of fir on golden hinges turn; 
 No spicy gums in golden censers burn; 
 No frankincense, in rising volumes, shrouds 
 The fretted roof in aromatick clouds; 
 No royal minstrel, from his ivory throne, 
 Gives thee his father's numbers or his own; 
 If humble love, if gratitude inspire, 
 Our strain shall silence even the temple's quire, 
 And rival Michael's trump, nor yield to Gabriel's lyre. 
 
AIRS OF PALESTINE. 30 
 
 In what rich harmony, what polished lays, 
 Should man address thy throne, when Nature pays 
 Her wild, her tuneful tribute to the sky! 
 Yes, Lord, she sings thee, but she knows not why. 
 The fountain's gush, the long resounding shore, 
 The zephyr's whisper, and the tempest's roar, 
 The rustling leaf, in autumn's fading woods, 
 The wintry storm, the rush of vernal floods, 
 The summer bower, by cooling breezes fann'd, 
 The torrent's fall, by dancing rainbows spann'd, 
 The streamlet, gurgling through its rocky glen, 
 The long grass, sighing o'er the graves of men, 
 The bird that crests yon dew-bespangled tree, 
 Shakes his bright plumes, and trills his descant free, 
 The scorching bolt, that from thine armory hurl'd, 
 Burns its red path, and cleaves a shrinking world; 
 All these arc music to Religion's ear; 
 Music, thy hand awakes, for man to hear. 
 Thy hand invested in their azure robes, 
 
 Thy breath made buoyant yonder circling globes, 
 9 
 
40 AIRS OF PALESTINE. 
 
 That bound and blaze along the elastic wires. 
 
 That viewless vibrate on celestial lyres, 
 
 And in that high and radiant concave tremble, 
 
 Beneath whose dome, adoring hosts assemble, * 
 
 To catch the notes, from those bright spheres that flow, 
 
 Which mortals dream of, but which angels know. 
 
 Before thy throne, three sister Graces kneel; 
 Their holy influence let our bosoms feel! 
 FAITH, that with smiles lights up our dying eyes; 
 HOPE, that directs them to the opening skies; 
 And CHARITY, the loveliest of the three, 
 That can assimilate a worm to thee. 
 For her our organ breathes; to her we pay 
 The heart-felt homage of an humble lay; 
 And while to her symphonious chords we string, 
 And Silence listens while to her we sing, 
 "While round thine altar swells our evening song, 
 
 And vaulted roofs the dying notes prolong, 
 
 i 
 The strain we pour to her, wilt thou approve, 
 
 For LOVE is CHARITY, and THOU art LOVE. 
 
NOTES. 
 

 NOTES. 
 
 1 That rending anthem on the wild was flung, 
 From Miraim's timbrel and from Moses* tongue. 
 
 For the song of Moses, on this occasion, see Exodus xv. 1 22. 
 
 2 At Nebo's base, that mighty bard resigns 
 His life and empire, in prophetic lines. 
 
 See the whole of the pathetic and eloquent valedictory ad 
 dress of Moses to the Israelites, in the xxxii. chapter of Due- 
 teronomy, from the beginning to the 43d verse. His death, and 
 other events here mentioned, follow in regular course. 
 
 3 Hangs over Jericho's devoted towers, 
 
 And, like the storm o'er Sodom, redly lowers. 
 
 For the account of the destruction of Jericho, by the Jews, 
 under the com >nand of Joshua, see Joshua vi. particularly verse 
 20th, "So the people shouted, when the priests blew the trum 
 pets; and it came to pass, when the people heard the sound of 
 the trumpets, and the people shouted with a great shout, that 
 the wall fell down flat, so that the people went up into the city, 
 every man straight before him, and they took the city." 
 
 4 And cold and pale o'er Ajalon she hung. 
 
 Then spake Joshua to the Lord, in the day when the Lord 
 delivered up the Amorites before the children of Israel, 'Sun, 
 stand thou still upon Gibcon, and thou Moon, in the valley of 
 Ajalon. And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until 
 
44 ROTES. 
 
 the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.' Josh. 
 x. 12, 13. 
 
 8 And builds on Libanus his humble shed, 
 
 Horeb et Sinai, le Carmel et le Liban, le torrent de Cedron, 
 et la vallee de Josaphat, redise encore la glorie de 1'habitant de 
 la cellule et de Vanachorete du rocher. Genie du Christian- 
 isme, torn iv. p. 48, Lyons Edit. 
 
 6 But o'er his face his flowing mantle flings, 
 And hears a whisper, from the King of Kings. 
 
 And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the 
 fire; and after the fire, a still small voice. And it was so, when 
 Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and 
 went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave. And be 
 hold there came a voice unto him, and said, what dost thou here. 
 Elijah?! #ings,xix. 1213. 
 
 7 In what tremendous pomp Jehovah shone, 
 When on that mount he fixed his burning throne! 
 
 See the sublime account of the descent of God upon Mount 
 Sinai. Exodus xix. particularly from the 16th to the 19th 
 verse, as also Heb. xii. 18 21. 
 
 Even now, the heralds of his monarch tear 
 
 The son of Jesse from his fleecy care. 
 
 Wherefore Saul sent out messengers unto Jesse, and said, 
 Send me David thy son, which is with the sheep. And Jesse 
 took an ass, laden with bread, and a bottle of wine, and a kid, 
 and sent them by David his son unto Saul. And David came 
 to Saul, and stood before him; and he loved him greatly, and he 
 became his armour-bearer. And Saul sent to Jesse, saying, 
 Let David, I pray thee, stand before me; for he hath found fa 
 vour in my sight. And it came to pass that when the evil spirit 
 
NOTES. 
 
 from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played 
 with his hand; so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the 
 evil spirit departed from him. 1 Sam. xvi. 19 &3. 
 
 9 The night was moonless: Judah's shepherds kept 
 Their starlight watch; their flocks around them slept. 
 
 And there were in the same country, shepherds abiding in 
 the field, keeping watch over their flocks, by night. And lo, 
 the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the 
 Lord shone about them. See the whole account, Luke ii. 815. 
 
 1 Saw, in the stillness of a starry night, 
 The Swan and Eagle wing their silent flight. 
 
 To the reader, who is but superficially acquainted with as 
 tronomy, no explanatory note is here necessary. To others it 
 is enough to observe, that the Swan, the Eagle, Berenice's lock, 
 Bootes, the Pleiades, the Lyre, and Auriga or the Charioteer, 
 are the names of constellations, or the parts of constellations, 
 visible in the northern hemisphere of course in Palestine." 
 Cynosure is the classical name of the Pole-star. 
 
 W With thundering crash, are burst bolts, bars and locks; 
 Rent are their chains, and shivered are their stocks. 
 
 And when they had laid many stripes upon them, (Paul and 
 Silas) they cast them into prison, charging the jailer to keep 
 them safely, who having received such a charge, thrust them in 
 to the prison, and made their feet fast in the stocks. And at 
 midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God, and 
 the prisoners heard them. And suddenly there was a great 
 earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken, 
 and immediately the doors were opened, and every one's bands 
 were loosed. Actsi xvi. 23 26. 
 
46 NOTES. 
 
 12 They cross the stream that bathes its foot, and dashes 
 Around the tomb where sleep a monarch's ashes. 
 
 The valley of Jehoshaphat is between Jerusalem and the 
 Mount of Olives, on the east. Through this valley flows the 
 brook Kedron, orCedron: on the eastern bank of this river, 
 stands the tomb of Jehoshaphat. 
 
 they pour the song of sorrow, 
 
 With their lov'd Lord,- 
 
 In this deeply interesting scene, I have taken the liberty of 
 varying the order in which the events of the evening before 
 the crucifixion occurred; in that I have supposed the hymn to be 
 sung after crossing the Kedron, and ascending the mount of 
 Olives rather than in the supper chamber, as stated by Mat 
 thew. With this acknowledgment, I presume the license will be 
 excused. I considered the scene thus laid, more poetical and 
 not less solemn or religious. See Malik, xxvi. 30, 31. 
 
 M Lights on the intrepid Jesuit's humble prow. 
 Let not the Protestant reader be alarmed at seeing a Jesuit, 
 in company with Music and Religion. I do assure him, it is a 
 supposable case. I am not ignoran t of the fact, that many ac 
 counts of the arts and ambition of this order of Christians, have 
 been given to the world, which are not the most favourable to 
 the purity or disinterestedness of their piety; and I am well 
 aware, that, if poetry and fiction are synonymous terms, there is 
 but little poetry in too many of these accounts. But let the 
 protestaut reader recollect, that most of these views have been 
 drawn by protestant pencils. *"Let us lions be the painters," 
 say the Jesuits, and we will shew you a very different picture. 
 One of their pieces of coloured canvass I will lay before my 
 readers, as well to shew that I do not think the above request 
 
NOTES. 
 
 47 
 
 unreasonable, as to explain what may want explanation, in this 
 scene of my poem: 
 
 "II restait encore, aux pieds des Cordilieres, vers le cote qui 
 regarde 1' Atlantique, entre VOrenoqm et Rio de la Plata, tin 
 pays immense, rempli de Sauvages, ou les Espagnols n'avaient 
 point porte la devastation. Ce fut dans ces epaisses forets 
 que les missionaires entreprirent de former une republique 
 chretienne, et de donner du moins aun petit nombre d'Indiens, 
 le bonheur qu'ils n'avaient pu procurer a tous. 
 
 "Us commencement par obtenir de la cour d'Espagne la lib- 
 erte de tous les Sauvages qu'ils parviendraient &, reunir. A 
 cette nouvelle, les colons se souleverent; ce ne fut qu'a force 
 d'esprit et d'addresse que les Jesuites surprirent, pour ainsi 
 dire, la permission de verser leur sang dans les forets du Nou- 
 veau-Monde. Enfin, ayant triomphe de la cupidite et de la 
 malice hurnaine; meditant un des plus nobles desseins qu'ait ja- 
 mais coneusun coeur d'homme,ils s'embarquerent pour Rio de 
 la Plata. 
 
 "C'est dans ce grand fleuve que vient se perdre cet autre 
 fleuve, qui a donne son nom au pays et aux missions, dont nous 
 retracons 1'histoire. Paraguay, dans la langue des Sauvages, 
 signifie le Fleuve courronne, parce qu'il prend sa source dans 
 le lac Xarayes, qui lui sert comme de couronne. Avant d'al- 
 ler grossir Rio de la Plata, il re^oit les eaux du Parama et de 
 1' Uruguay. Des forets qui renferrnent dans leur sein d'autres fo 
 rets tombees de vieillesse, des marais et des plaines entierement 
 inondees dans la satson des pluies, des montagnes qui e'evant 
 des deserts sur des deserts, torment une partiedes vastes re 
 gions que le Paraguay arrose. Le gibier de toute espece y 
 abonde, ainsi que les tigres etles ours. Les bois sont remplis 
 d'abeilles, qui font une cire fort blanche, et un miei tres par- 
 fume. On y voit des oiseaux d'un plumage eclatant, et qui 
 10 
 
IS NOTES. 
 
 ressemblent a de grandes fleurs rouges et bleues, sur la verd 
 ure des arbres. Un missionnaire Fran^ais, qui s'etait egare 
 dans ces solitudes, en fait la peinture suivante. 
 
 "Je continual ma route, sans savoir a quel terme elle devait 
 aboutir, et sans qu'il y eut personne qui put me Penseigner. 
 Je trouvais quelquefois au milieu de ces bois des endroits en- 
 chantes. Tout ce que Petude et Pindustrie des hommes ont 
 pu imaginer pour rendre un lieu agreable, n'approche point 
 de ce que la simple nature y avait rassemble de beautes. 
 
 "Ces lieux charmans me rappelerent les idees que j'avais cues 
 autrefois, en lisant les vies des anciens solitaires de la The- 
 baide: il me vint en pensee de passer le reste de mes jours dans 
 ees forets oii la Providence m'avait conduit, pour y vaqueruni- 
 quement a Paftaire de raon salut, loin de tout commerce avec 
 les hommes; mais comme je n'etais pas le inaitre de ma des- 
 tinee, et que les ordres du Seigneur m'etaient certainment 
 marques par ceux de mes suprieurs.je rejatai cette pensee 
 eomme une illusion." 
 
 <; Les Indiens que Pon rencontrait dans ces retraites, ne leur 
 ressemblaient que par le cote ailreux. Race indolente, stu- 
 pide et feroce, elle montrait dans toute sa laideur Phomme 
 primitif degrade par sa chute, llien ne prouve davantage la 
 degeneration dela nature Immaine, que la petitesse du Sauvage, 
 dans le grandeur du desert. 
 
 "Arrives a Baenos Jlyres,, les missionnaires remonterent Rio 
 de la Plata, et entrant dans les eaux du Paraguay, se disperse- 
 rent dans ses bois sauvages. Les anciennes relations nous les 
 repres6ntent, un breviaire sous le bras gauche, une grande croix 
 a la main droite, et sans autre provision que leur confiance en 
 Dieu. Us nous les peignent, se faisant jour a travers les forets, 
 inarchant dans des terres marecageuses ou ils avaient de Peau 
 jusqu'a la ceinture, gravissant des roches escarpees, etfuretant 
 
I 
 
 NOTES. 49 
 
 dans les antres et les precipices, au risque d/y trouver des ser- 
 pens et des betes feroces, au lieu des hommes qu'ils y cher- 
 ehaient. 
 
 "Plusieurs d'entr'eux; y moururent de faim et de fatigues 
 d'autres furent massacres et devores par les Sauvages. Le 
 pere Lizardi fut trouve perce de fleches sur un rocher; son 
 corps etait a demi dechire par les oiseaux de proie, et son bre- 
 viare etait ouvert aupres de lui a 1'office des Morts. Quand un 
 missionnaire rencontrait ainsi les restes d' un de ses com- 
 pagnons, il s'empressait de leur rendre les honneurs funebres; 
 et plein d'unegrandejoie, il chantait un Te Deum solitaire sur 
 le tombeau du Martyr. 
 
 De pareilles scenes, renouvelees a chaque instant, etonnaient 
 les hordes barbares. Quelquefois elles s'anetaient autour du 
 pretre inconnu qui leur parlait de Dieu, et elles regardaient le 
 ciel que 1'apotre leur montrait; quelquefois elles le fuyaient com- 
 me un enchanteur, et se sentaient saisies d'une frayeur etrange: 
 le Religieux les suivait en leur tendant les mains au nom de 
 Jesus-Christ. S'il ne pouvait les arreter, il plantait sa grande 
 croix dans un lieu decouvert, et s r allait cacher dans les bois. 
 Les Sauvages s'approchaient peu a peu pour examiner 1'etend- 
 ard de paix, eleve dans la solitude; un aimant secret sem- 
 blait les attirer a ce signe de leur salut. Alors le mission 
 naire sortant tout-a-coup de son embuscade, et profitant de la 
 surprise des Barbares, les invitait quitter une vie miserable 
 pour jouir des douceurs de la societe. 
 
 "Quand les Jesuites se furent attache quelques Indiens, ils 
 eurent, recours a un autre moyen pour gagner des ames. Ils 
 avaient i emarque que les Sauvages de ces bords etaient fort sen- 
 sibles a la musique: on dit meme que les eaux du Paraguay ren- 
 cjent la voix plus belle. Les missionnaires s'embarquerent done 
 sur des pirogues avec les nouveaux catechumenes: ils remontor- 
 
50 
 
 ent les fleuves, en chantant de saints cantiques. Les neophytes 
 repetaient les airs, comme des oiseaux prives chantent pour 
 attirer dans les rets de Poiseleur les oiseaux sauvages. Les 
 Indiens ne manquerent point de se venir prendre au doux 
 piege. Us descendaient de leurs montagnes, et accouraient 
 an bord des fleuves, pour mieux ecouterces accens. Plusieurs 
 d'entr'eux se jetaient dans les ondes, et suivaient a la nage la 
 nacelle enchantee. La lune, en repandant sa lumiere mys- 
 terieuse surces scenes extraordinaires, achevait d'attendrir les 
 cceurs. L'arc et la fleche echappaient a la main du Sauvage; 
 Pavant-gout des vertus sociales, et les premieres douceurs de 
 de 1'humanite, entraient dans son ame confuse. II voyait sa 
 femme ct son enfant pleurer d'une joie inconnue; bientotsub- 
 jugue par un attrait irresistible, il tombait au pied de la croix, 
 et melait des torrens de larmcs aux eaux regeneratrices qui 
 coulaient sur sa tete. 
 
 Ainsi la religion chretienne realisait dans les forets de 1'A- 
 merique, ce que la fable raconte des Amphion et des Orphee: 
 reflexion si naturelle, qu'elle s'est presentee meme aux mission- 
 naires; tant il est certain qu'on ne dit ici que la \eriteen 
 ayant 1'air de raconter une fiction." Chateaubriand 9 Genie du 
 Christianisme, torn. vni. chap. iv. p. 40- 48. 
 
 15 Hear yon poetic pilgrim of the west, 
 Chant Music's praise, and to her power attest. 
 
 Chateaubriand. -Perhaps I ought to apologize to this gentle 
 man, perhaps I owe the apology to the reader, for so frequent 
 ly making use of his name. The truth is, I find him very use 
 ful. If the facts stated by him are adapted to my purpose, I 
 have a right to use them; if the truth of his stories is question 
 able, his is the responsibility, not mine* I screen myself from 
 blame, if 
 
 ' 
 
JVOTES 
 
 "I tell the tale as 'tis told to me." 
 
 This gentleman, it seems, has travelled through the United 
 States, from the mouth of the Mississippi to the St. Lawrence. 
 In Florida and the western States, he has laid the scene of his 
 "Atala," an exquisite little assemblage of beauties and absurd 
 ities. This little poem, or rather episode, forms a part of his 
 great work 'Genie du Christianisme,' or the Beauties of the 
 Christian Religion. It has been translated separately and 
 will be read with pleasure, by most lovers of polite literature. 
 The allusions here to Atala may be briefly explained by ob 
 serving that Chactas, son of Outalissi is the hero, and Atala the 
 heroine of the poem that Atala poisons herself rather than vio 
 late an oath of celibacy, imposed by little less than the legal 
 duress per minas; and this act, upon which a coroner's inquest 
 would return a verdict either of suicide, or insanity, is consid- 
 edby our author, as an unequivocal proof of her piety. The 
 Florida scenery the live-oak, mantled in its loose mossy 
 drapery the laurel the jessamine that hangs in graceful fes 
 toons over the waters are all beautifully described, because 
 the painting is from the life. His notice of the celebrated and 
 wonderful barrows, or monumental tumuli, upon our western 
 rivers, and his story of the serpent, charmed by the flute of 
 the Canadian, will be seen in the psssages here introduced 
 from his work. 
 
 As to the story of the snake, what he says he saw, we may 
 perhaps believe, particularly as accounts somewhat similar are 
 given by others. Besides, though M. de Chateaubriand cer 
 tainly does tell tales, that occasionally happen to partake of 
 the marvellous, I do not know that he has yet been publicly 
 convicted of stating what is false, in regard to what has fallen 
 under his own observation. There are those, indeed, who 
 question his veracity even there where he has nothing to do 
 
52 STOTES, 
 
 with saints or legends and I must, for myself, confess that my 
 own opinion of his veracity has been somewhat shaken, by a 
 French gentleman, a general officer under Bonaparte, and for 
 sometime a member of the National Institute, who tells me 
 that he knows M. de Chateaubriand personally, though not inti 
 mately for he claims to be a man of honour, and appears to be 
 so and that he knows him not only to be, but to have been, in 
 in the pay of the French police, as a spy upon his fellow cit 
 izens and that he therefore ought to be, and is universally 
 despised. So much for the author of the Genie du Christian- 
 isme, Martyrs, Travels, $*c. Here, then, follows a part of 
 what I have made use of, remembering always that I am not 
 writing history, but poetry, Of the "Monumental mounds' 7 
 he says: 
 
 "On adecouvert depuis quelques annees, dansl'Amerique 
 septentrionale, des monumens extraordinairessur les bords du 
 Muskingum, du Miami, du Wabache, de 1'Ohio, et sur-tout 
 du Scioto, ou ils occupcnt un espace de plus de vingt licues en 
 longueur. Ce sont des murs en terre avec des fosses, des 
 glacis, des lunes, demi-lunes et de grands cones qui servent 
 de sepulcres. On a demande, mais sans succes, quel peuple 
 a laisse de pareillcs traces. L'hoinme est suspendu dans le 
 present, entre le passe etl'avenir, comme sur un rocher entre 
 deux gouffres: derriere lui, devant lui, tout est tenebres; a 
 peine apper<;oit-il quelques fantomes qui, remontant du fond 
 des cleux abymes, surnagent un instant a leur surface, et s'y 
 replongent pour jam ais." 
 
 "Pour nous, amant solitaire de la nature, et simple confes- 
 seur de la Divinite nous nous sommes assis sur ces ruines. 
 Voyageur sans renom, nous avons cause avec ces debris, com 
 me nous-meme ignores. Les souvenirs confusdes homines, et 
 les vagues reveries du desert, se melaient au fond de notre 
 
NOTES. 53 
 
 ame. La nuit etait au milieu de sa course; tout etait muet, et la 
 lune, et les bois, et les tombeaux. Seulement a longs inter- 
 valles on entendaitla chute de quelque arbre, que la hache du 
 temps abattait, dans la profondeur des forets: ainsi tout tombe, 
 tout s'aneantit." 
 
 "Enfin,ces monumens prennentleurs racines dans des jours 
 beaucoup plus recules que ceux oul'on a decouvert 1'Amerique. 
 Nous avons vu sur ces ruines un chene decrepit, qui avait 
 pousse sur les debris d'un autre chene tombe a ses pieds, et 
 dont il ne restait plus que 1'ecorce; celui-ci a, son tour s'etait 
 leve sur un troisieme, et ce troisieme, sur un quartrieme. 
 L'emplacement des deux derniers se marquait encore par 1'in- 
 tersection de deux cercles, d'un aubier rouge et petrified 
 qu'on decouvrait a fleur de terre, en ecartantun epais humus 
 compose de feuilles et de mousses. Accordez suelement trois 
 siecles de vie a ces quatre chenes successifs, et viola une 
 epoque de douze cents annees que la nature a gravee sur ces 
 ruines." Genie du Christianisme, Tom. i. pp. 212,215, 276-7. 
 
 As to the nature of the serpent generally, and his taste for 
 Music, in particular, this is the account of our authour: 
 
 "Notre siecle rejette avec hauteur tout ce qui tient de la 
 merveille: sciences, arts, morale, religion, tout reste desen- 
 chante. Le serpent a sou vent ete 1'objet de nos observa 
 tions; et si nous osons le dire, nous avons cru reconnaitre ett 
 lui cet esprit pernicieux et cette subtilite que lui attribue 
 1'Ecriture. Tout est mysteneux, cache, etonnant dans cet in 
 comprehensible reptile. Ses mouvemens different de ceux de 
 tous les autres animaux; on ne saurait dire oii git le principe 
 de son deplacement, caril n ? a ni nageoires, ni pieds, ni ailes; 
 et cependant ii fuit comme une ombre, il s'evanouit magique- 
 ment, il reparait, disparait encore, semblable a une petite fu- 
 ri'azur, ou aux eclairs d'un glaive dans les tenebres. Tan- 
 
NOTES. 
 
 tot il se forme en cercle, et darde une langue de feu; tantot, 
 debout sur 1'extremite de sa queue, il marche dans une attitude 
 perpendiculaire, comme par enchantement. II se jette en 
 orbe, monte et s'abaisse en spirale, roule ses anneaux comme 
 une onde, circule sur les branches des arbres, glisse sous 
 1'herbe des prairies, ou sur la surface des eaux. Ses couleurs 
 sont aussi peu determinees que sa marche; elles changent a 
 tous les aspects de la lumiere, et comme ses mouvemens, elles 
 ont le faux briilant et les varietes trompeusee de la seduction. 
 
 "Plus etonnant encore dans le reste de ses inceurs, il sait, 
 ainsi qu'un homme souille de meurtre, jeter a 1'ecart sa robe 
 tachee de sang, dans la crainte d'etre reconnu. Par une 
 etrange faculte, il pent faire rentrer dans son sein les pet its 
 monstres que 1'amour en a fait sortir. II sommeille des mois 
 entiers, frequente des tombeaux, habitc des lieux inconnus, 
 compose des poisons qui glacent, brulent ou tachent le corps 
 de sa victime des couleurs dont il est lui-nieme marque. La> 
 il leve deux tetes menaeantes; ici, il fait entendre une son- 
 nette; il siffle comme un aigle de montagne; il mugit comme 
 un taureau. II s'associe naturellement a toutes les idees mo 
 rales ou religieuses, comme par une suite de Pinfluence qu'il 
 eut.sur nos destinees: objet d'horreur ou d'adoration, les 
 hommes ont pour lui une haine implacable, ou tombent devant 
 son genie; le mensonge 1'appelle, la prudence le reclame, Pen- 
 vie le porte dans son cceur, et Peloquence a son caducee; aux 
 enfers il arme les fouets des furies, au ciel Peternite en fait 
 son symbole; il possede encore Part de secluire Pinnocence; 
 ses regards enchantent les oiseaux dans les airs; et sous la fou- 
 gere dela creche, la brebis lui abandonne son lait. Mais il se 
 laisse lui-meme charmer par de doux sons; et pour le dompter. 
 le berger n'a besoin que de sa flfite. 
 
KOTKS. 05 
 
 " Au mois de juillet 1791, nous voyagions dans le Haut-Can- 
 ada, avec quelques families sauvages de la nation des Ononta- 
 gues. Un jour que nous etions arretesdans une grande plaine, 
 au bord de la riviere Genesie, un serpent a sonnettes entra 
 dans notre camp. II y avait parmi nous un Canadien qui jouiat 
 de la flute; il voulut nousdivertir, et s'avan^a contre le serpent 
 avec son arme d'une nouvelle espece. A Papproche de son 
 ennemi, le superbe reptile se forme en spirale, aplatit sa tete, 
 enfle ses joues, contracte ses levres, decouvre ses dents empois- 
 onnees et sa gueule sanglante; sa double langue brandit comme 
 deux flammes; ses yeux sont deux charbons ardens; son 
 corps, gonfle de rage, s'abaisse et s'eleve comme les soufflets 
 d'une forge; sa peau dilatee devient terne et ecailleuse; et sa 
 queue, dont il sort un bruit sinistre, oscille avec tant de rapi- 
 dite, qu'elle ressemble a une legere vapeur. 
 
 "Alors le Canadien commence a jouer sur sa flute, le serpent 
 fait un mouvement de surprise, et retire la tete en arriere. A 
 mesure qu'il est frappe de 1'effet magique, ses yeux perdent 
 leur aprete, les vibrations de sa queue se ralentissent, et le 
 bruit qu'elle fait entendre, s'affaiblit et meurt peu a peu. Moins 
 perpendiculaires sur leur ligne spirale, les orbes du serpent 
 charme, par degres s'elargissent, et viennent tour & tour se po 
 ser sur la terre en cercles concentriques. Les nuances d'azur, 
 de verd, de blanc et d'or reprennent leur eclat sur sa peau fre*- 
 missante, et tournant legerement la tdte, il demeure immobile 
 dans 1'attitude de 1'attention et du plaisir. 
 
 "Dans ce moment le Canadien marche quelques pas, en ti- 
 rant de sa flute des sons doux et monotones; le reptile baisse son 
 cou nuance, entr'ouvre avec sa tete les herbes fines, et se met 
 k ramper sur les traces du mugicien qui 1'entraine, s'arretan t 
 lorsqu'il s'arrete, et recomrnen^ant k le suivre, quand il recom 
 mence a s'eloigner. II fut ainsi conduit hors de notre camp, 
 11 
 
56 NOTES. 
 
 au milieu d'une foule de spectateurs tant Sauvages qu'Euro- 
 peens, qui en croyaienta peine leurs yeux, k cette merveillc 
 de la melodic: il n'y eut qu'une seule voix dans 1'assembUe, 
 pour qu'on laissat le merveilleux serpent s'echapper." 
 
 Ibid. pp. 174179. 
 
 16 Now, he recalls the lamentable wail, 
 
 That pierc'd the shade of Rama's palmy vale, 
 
 See Matthew, ii. 1618. 
 
 i? That Mighty Spirit once from Teman came: 
 
 Clouds were his chariot, and his coursers flame. 
 God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Pa- 
 ran, &c. See Habak. iii. 5 17. 
 
 is Thou didst descend, and, rolling- through the croud, 
 Inshrine thine ark and altar in thy shroud, 
 And fill the temple, with thy mantling cloud. 
 
 And it came to pass, when the priests were come out of the 
 holy place, (for all the priests that were present were sancti 
 fied, and did not then wait by course: Also the Levites, which 
 were the singers: all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, 
 with their sons and their brethren; being arrayed in white 
 linen, having cymbals and psalteries, and harps, stood at the 
 east end of the altar, and with them an hundred and twenty 
 priests, sounding with trumpets:) It came to pass, as the trum 
 peters, and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard 
 in praising and thanking the Lord; and when they lifted up 
 their voice with the trumpets and instruments of music, and 
 praised the Lord, saying For he is good, for his mercy endu- 
 reth forever; that then the house was filled with a cloud, even 
 the house of the Lord; so that the priests could not stand to min 
 ister by reason of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord had filled 
 the house of God. 2 Chron. v. 11-^14. 
 
^J