E535 oc IC-NRLF OF THi UNIVERSITY CF OCCASIONAL THOUGHTS, IN VERSE. BY WILLIAM D. EMERSON, SPRINGFIELD, 0. i PUBLISHED BY GEO. D. EMERSON it CO. 1851 . PREFACE. THE following is a selection from a variety of articles, with which the author has amused his leisure moments, snatched from the last fifteen years of severe physical and intellectual labor. They were written substantially at the times indicated, and all of them, except a few at the close of the volume, have been kept more than the "nine years." Some have been already published in periodicals, but the author is not conscious of having bored the Editorial corps very often with his trifles. Whatever opinion may be formed of their merits, he can truly say, thai their com position has cheered many a weary hour of his life. Should their perusal produce the same effect on the mind of a single reader, the author will think their publication not altogether in vain. CONTENTS. Page. A Dawn in Winter, __85 A Rhapsody, -100 A Summer Day in the Woods, _ _ . - - 101 A Site for a Seminary, 70 A Peep through the Backwoods, 67 Athens, Ohio, --32 Evening Stanzas, 11 E vening, 78 Faith, --12 Fashionable Literature, 75 Freedom, 79 Hill Scene, 87 Humility, 90 Hymn beneath Dawalageri, I m all alone,_ 29 La Belle Riviere, 40 Life, 74 Lines written in an Album, _ _ 1 4 Marietta, --16 My Pocket Bible, 53- On the Death of Mrs. Frances Price, --95 Schoolhouse Stanzas, 38 Stanzas, __22 Stanzas, - 35 CONTENTS. Page. Stanzas, 83 Sun shine, 20 Teacher s Melody, 45 The Consumptive, 59 The Explosion, 55 The Hills, 58 The Invitation, 81 The Old Town Clock, 97 The Rich, . 47 The Schoolmaster, 50 The West, 88 To a Locust Tree, 64 To the Ohio River, 17 To the Woods,. __24 Co tfcr (B IT nil glorious Sky! along thy dizzy height How sparkling planets do delight to rove, And wink at feeble mortals, when the night Invites them out to wonder and to love. There solemn grandeur walks serene above, And calls each floating world of light its own; And there benevolence, celestial dove, Is hovering o er the waters, where alone The Almighty maker builds his everlasting throne. Window of heaven ! through which the royal sun Shines on the earth, that in his radiance glows ; From his fair front what streams of glory run, And from his eye what lightning fire he throws ! Then kindles life, and into beauty grows. How beauteous then thine own transparent blue ! So mild and modest ; not the violet knows More modesty than thou, whene er thy hue Is calm and cloudless bright and how majestic, too ! TO THE SKY. And thoii art heaven s laboratory, where The elements are compounded, and the dread Voice of the thunder hurries from their lair The savage tempests, quickening e en the dead The battle clouds in quick array are spread, While roars the trumpet of the storm, and flee The arrowy lightnings on from bed to bed Of mists contending like a mighty sea; The cloud-shot dashing down from heaven s artillery. But see that venerable oak, that bends, Not to the wintry storm, nor hurricane; How trembles it before a power that rends Its massy trunk in splinters; and the rain Doth moisten now its broken limbs in vain. And one great family in ruin lies, The growth of centuries; the forest plain Beholds its pride a carcase, and the prize Of one resistless flash, that dazzles while it dies. Thou art the same blue sky forever, while Th Almighty holds thee in His nursing hand; No tempest leaves thy stately dome a pile Of crumbling ruins, nor thy sacred band Of flashing stars, to grim decay s command. The moon rides gaily still her circuit round, And nightly watches o er the sleeping land; The roving comets, visiting thy bound, Dare not disturb the scene, nor raise one rebel soun TO THE SKY. g But yet thou changest countenance, and now I see the gathering clouds can make thee pale; Then anger sits upon thy darkening brow, And frowns that make the sailor s heart to quail; While o er the sea each wild unfettered gale, Fresh from its prison, pours a freeman s song; The ships that proudly walked the sea bewail Their shattered limbs, while waves in armies throng, And march to music dire, the trembling shores along. Yet even when thy features are severe, How bounteous thou! upon the thirsty earth Descends a storm of blessings; far and near A million plants are springing into birth, Where yesterday there reigned the sickly dearth; The fields smile sweetly, robed in gentle green; The freshened air is full of songs and mirth, And straggling vapors round that mount are seen, That looked upon the storm with majesty serene. I Map of the Universe ! where man may view Those climes he may not travel; which the tread Of fancy reaches not; a scattering few Parts of a drop on ocean s boundless bed, There flows the milky River, that has fed Unnumbered systems with its living light; But o er those trackless highways who has sped? Those unknown paths that mock an angel s sight, And guide from world to world the cornet s eagle flight. TO THE SKY. Thou art a brilliant canvas, where are spread Aurora s golden tints, oh wonder, Art! Upon the gazing clouds are softly shed Such lovely hues; while ruddy heralds start From the sun s kingly chariot, now they part, Bearing from one red center, each his way, Over thine azure plain; earth s children start In ecstacy from sleep, as though the day Would bring the Heavens down to dwell in realms of clay. And there is pictured evening, pensive maid, Sitting upon the western clouds in splendor; The modest blush upon her cheek has paid The warm adieu of Phoebus; oh how tender Those beams that dazzled noonday! he must render His throne unto the fair, but colder moon; But e en that robe of white the Sun doth lend her, And though he hides himself from earth so soon, He sends her silver rays, and she reflects the boon. Thou lookest down from yonder lofty towers, Upon the earth, with all thy million eyes; Silent spectator! Guardian of the hours! Marking each scene as whirlingly it flies : Field, forest, ocean, land, before thee lies; Hindoo or Greenlander looks up to thee, The same blue heaven; untrodden mountains rise In vain to reach thy border; how can we Search out thy wonders, then, home of eternity? dt>|f Him! when sunset s hectic flush The day s declining glory lightens, And Nature s loveliest colors rush, To deck the smile that dying brightens. Oh come! when every breeze is still, And every leaf is calmly sleeping; And yonder sky, whose eyelids fill With dewy tears, is gently weeping. Oh come! when forest songsters notes Grow plaintive as their lays are dying, And many a golden vapor floats Around the couch where twilight s lying. Oh come! and teach thy heart to burn For angel wings, to heaven darting, And bid thy softened spirit learn To take from earth so sweet a parting. /uttl). 9 SHIH a father swim the wave, Beneath each billow yawned a grave Each billow seemed a wreck. Oh, calm the eye of yonder child ! He gazed upon the storm, and smiled ; He clasped a father s neck ! I saw a sailor, on a ship, He watched the plunging vessel dip A deadly rock before : " Were I the one to guide the helm, The rock would crash, the ocean whelm Our pilot knows the shore." I saw a soldier in the field, His foes what fearful weapons wield ! Yet fights he boldly on : " My captain s coming with his troop, He 11 make their haughty banners droop, And then the victory s won." FAITH. I saw a traveller on the sand, No shrub or spring o er all the land All is one pebbly sea ; And yet his eye is clear and bright, A caravan is just in sight, Why should he fearful be ? I saw the man of faith the storm Of death beat round his wasted form, But moved him not a hair ! He raised to Heaven a trusting glance, " I love thy kind Omnipotence, My Father, every where." MARIETTA 1836. inrs written in an IS life is but a morning dream, Tis full of woe, tis full of glee; The darkest night has some gay beam, A shadow follows every gleam, Yet be the vision sweet to thee ! This life is like a mountain rill, Whose rippling waters haste to flee; Young Hope is dancing to its trill; May Memory s silver fountain fill A cup of purest joy for thee! This life is like a sunset cloud, Uprising from a boundless sea; Now wrapt in misery s purple shroud, And now in rainbow glories proud Its brightest glories shine on thee! LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. This life is like the vernal song, That rings from yonder flowering tree; It tells of one who sails erelong Where richer strains and flowers belong That heavenly music flows for thee. Life is the Evening Beauty s swell; It wakes the sinking day to see; As if to bid the Sun farewell, And catch the twilight s holy spell, T is sad to say farewell to thee. Thy life be like thy calm blue eye, Thy flowing form, thy smile so free; If thou look brightest at the sky, That smile in death shall scarcely die, And death itself be life to thee. There is another life prepare; A friend in need oh bow the knee ! When thy freed spirit cuts the air, T will find some sister angel there, To ope the gates of heaven to thee. INDIANA, 1837. 15 ^Marietta. , where two meeting rivers fringe the plain, O er which the semicircling green hills tower, The Pioneer city stands; its streets a chain In graceful folds, of cottage, tree and flower. Here Learning loves to build her shady bower, And, like a magnet, draws the mind from far, Giving that mind its own magnetic power, Freighting the mental and the moral car, And sprinkling all the West with many a radiant star. 1836. to iljf I)i0 Btmr. (B ft Bit of Rivers ! when thy infant rill Was yet upon its mother mountain, say, Who fixed for aye thy hesitating will Why to the East did st thou not dance thy way. And o er the precipices waste thy spray ? He who created man, commissioned thee, And sent thee forth to work thy bed of clay, And bear thy load of waters, pure and free, Until their wealth is stored in the unbounded sea. The earth has mightier streams : old Amazon Comes like a Titan down from Andes height The brimming Nile a longer track has gone St. Lawrence thunders louder; and the flight Of wild Missouri, how untired and bright ! THOU art the majesty of loveliness ; thy steam Is an unfaltering thunder ; and the night Brings on thy garden banks the sweetest gleam That Cynthia s orb can lend to Nature s loveliest dream. TO THE OHIO RIVER. But thou art not all made of dreams; the day Shows thee more beautiful than night, and morn Wakes thy calm features, exquisitely gay, While heaven sits on thy canvas, newly born. And when from thine embrace the sun is torn, He wraps thee with a sheet of saffron fire; The kneeling trees with deeper fringe adorn Thy placid marge; and clad in gold attire, Day sees himself in thee, and bows him to expire. Overflowing Autumn makes thee all alive With floating granaries, and swifter barks, Those winged palaces, for victory strive, Whose morning voice is hoarser than the lark s; They stir thy face to anger, but the marks Of wrath are quickly washed away; the shore Receives a gentle beating, while the sparks Of fancy s fire are flying gaily o er Thy ripples, and thy face grows brighter than before. A century ago and what wast thou? The red man chased the wild ox o er the wild; The birch canoe was then thine only plough, And Navigation was an unformed child; The Indian war-whoop woke thy slumbers mild; Thou wert a giant beauty, in the robe Of untamed nature; cities had not smiled On blooming farms, and Sol could scarcely probe The forest, while he bathed in thee his golden globe. TO THE OHIO RIVER. 19 I love thee, radiant stream! thy banks are free; The Pioneer has tinged with thee his soul; His bold and steady mind doth image thee; Those waters which have borne him to the goal Of his far reaching enterprise, shall roll Forever past his grave, to History dear; Thy bells of Commerce o er his sod shall toll, But not the notes of woe ; his spirit s here, And walks the richest fields, when Spring renews the year. The torrent is the tyrant Anarchy; It wars through fortresses of famine, where Rocks are the only dwellings; is it free? Passion, not reason, is the sovereign there; Who would be safe, at distance let him stare. Thy features with serenest beauty glow; As some vast planet through the boundless air, Thou flowest nobly on; thy waters know Their track sublime, and forth in even grandeur flow. Thy years shall number on, till Time doth kindle To all devouring flame; and aged Earth Burn whirlingly upon her polar spindle; Her mountains melt to fire; her ocean girth Expand to scorching steam, and bursting forth From its creation grave, the granite fly A world of atoms and a newer birth Spring out of chaos; then, when Death must die, Shall this immortal soul look where thou wast and sigh. ;?tt the sky is mild and blue, And the light drops down like dew, I will sit me neath the shade, And look out upon the glade. How blessed the shine, To the sheep and the kine; To the dropsical plant, To the architect ant; To the farmer in the weeds, To the gardener with his seeds, To the starving washerwoman, To the harvest gathering yeoman; To the sailor on the sea, To the dreamer like of me; To the buoyant-souled equestrian, To the landless gay pedestrian, SUNSHINE. Who looks on all, With the eye of one, Who can dare to call The world his own; For all mankind are brothers, And what is one man s is another s, The vast estate of one Kind Sire; The Sun is but a family fire! INDIANA, 1837. $ t a n 3 a mountain goat is on the rock, Where man ne er trod, and cannot tread; What landscapes on his vision break! What grandeur bows beneath his head! And I could wish that I were there, To melt in rapture, rise in prayer. A bird is on the sunny cloud, The blooming world is spread below, And all enwrapt with silver shroud, Hills, vales, and cities brightly glow; He seems an angel in his flight, Why have I not his wings of light? The whale ploughs up a sea of ice, Searches the gardens of the deep; And there are gems beyond all price, O er which the seasnakes idly creep; Where man may sink mid ocean s fern, But whence he never may return. STANZAS. 23 The little drop of rain may pierce Earth s bosom to its rocky core, And see awake the earthquakes fierce, That snatch the city from the shore; Science would throw ^way her pride, And in that fragile vessel glide. The white bear walks the Pole alone, To him the blasts are gentle breezes; Where man in furs would turn to stone, He knows not that it even freezes; Could Ross put on his frame of brass, He soon would find the Northwest pass. And there are thousand things that live, Where man would give his life to go; And theories and dreams must weave, Because he cannot, cannot know; He should rejoice, the world s so full That all its flowers he cannot cull. INDIANA, 1837. tlje IU00&5. l Ulimfrs! the leafy covering of the Earth, Guarding from Summer s heat and Winter s cold; Save where the white bear quaffs his vigorous mirth, Amid the icy mountains bright and bold; The parasols that May and June unfold; The furs of temperate climes that shed the storm; The green robes of the Past, that ne er grow old; Tis yours to keep the soul of Nature warm, To throw the charms of health and beauty o er her form. The woods the pastures where the Indian roved; As homeless as the deer, or buffalo; And as they changed their country, so he changed, Still going where his untamed herd would go, Through marshes where the ranks of Cypress grow,, Or ever verdant meadows of the cane, Or up the hills where weaker forests bow, Or where the cotton-woods embower the plain; Ye were his fenceless farm, but ne er shall be again. TO THE WOODS. 25 He s gone far driven toward the rocky West; In other wilds he hears the panther s scream; The grisly bear comes growling on his rest, And eyes of other deer yet mildly gleam; Oh! does he of his long lost country dream? His own, his father s wrongs yet wake the fire, Revenge alone can quench? or does the beam From Calvary s Sun melt down his fiercer ire, To love for paler sons of his Eternal Sire? Ye vast republics! ever firm and free; Children of Time! that slow, but surely rise; Long centuries rear up the giant tree; Like noble souls, it emulates the skies; Beneath, the plant of groveling spirit lies, Content to borrow from its mighty shade; The vigorous sapling, as the patriarch dies, Lifts to the Sun of glory its green head, And feeds on rays intense which once its parent fed. As neath their boughs, a pigmy form, I rove, They seem so many pillars of the sky; The clouds are resting on their tops above; And birds, like angels, lighting from on high, Heaven s hymns rehearse, or on it s errands fly; While breezes whisper softly through the trees, And scattered gleams the dewy branches dry; Cheering each opening flower that gently heaves, And mingling that rich cup the wandering bee receives. TO THE WOODS. Zephyr awakes a little world of sails, And bids them revel in his rich perfume; Myriads of insect voyagers bless the gales, And fatten on the fast reviving bloom; Nor think how soon their world shall be their tomb The smallest leaf that falls destroys a race; An Autumn makes an Universe of gloom! Oh could our eyes each scene of ruin trace, How we would think the earth was but a burial place ! But when the autumn has disrobed each limb, And laid it bare to wintry sleet and snow, And light comes through the thicket cold and dim, And hurricanes their fearful furrows plough, How meekly to adversity ye bow ! Ye know that flowers will bloom above the dead, And bid frail man be ready, even now, For that great change, which may exalt his head, Above the clouds that o er the forests make their bed. Ye tuneful woods! ye love the joyous song; The warbler s melody enchants the grove; Ye are the empire of the birds, and long They linger in the bowers they dearly love; And when rich human voices soar above The murmurings of care to gratitude, How sweetly by your echoes ye approve! Swiftly the strains fly through the solemn wood, As if it felt how blest were man if pure and good. TO THE WOODS, 27 Unceasing worshippers! whose verdant palms Are stretched forever toward the bounteous sky; Nor yet in vain ye ask of heaven alms; Light, heat, rain, dew, descending from on high, The drooping raise, the dead revivify. Would man surrender up his soul to prayer, His years might number yours, and as they fly, More deeply might he drink of heavenly air, Until he quits his clay, scarce knowing when or where. But there ye stand outwearing centuries, That seem to make you mightier foes of death; Though age his wrinkles deepen on the trees, Yet Spring has newer leaves for Summer s breath, Unheeding those November casts beneath; Gaily they dance their summer strength away, Till Autumn a new harvest gathereth; The naked trunks with tempests yet will play, While empires and their purple glory pass away. The ocean ebbs and flows from age to age; Tis an eternity of liquid change; The " Falls " are the sublimity of rage, Boiling like outraged spirits for revenge; And prairies seem like solid oceans strange : In solemn grandeur ye surpass them all; No storms your sturdy phalanx disarrange; Ye answer proudly when the thunders call; And where ye stood for life, whene er ye mus 4 -, ye fall. 28 TO THE WOODS. Ye were the temples where the Saviour went, To call down mercy on a thankless race; Ye bowed your heads in reverence as he bent, While Nature gazed enraptured on his face; Sublimer scene than fancy e er can trace! For when beneath the starry crown of even, He kneeled, ye felt that God was in the place ! For this, what songs go up from souls forgiven, Beneath the trees of Life, those vocal Woods of Heaven! KENTUCKY, 1837. all Hflttf cold and dark the night around! The breezy Autumn day is gone; But still remains the wind s low sound To tell me I am all alone. Far, far away am I from home; Its visions crowd my thoughts upon; Where er I go, while thence I roam, I m still alone, I m still alone. We brothers neath that old oak tree, Gave up our hours to cheer and fun; But many a nobler oak I see, To mind me that I m now alone. From yonder field, how rich the song That hails me ere the morning Sun! Delight then swells my spirit strong, Till I bethink me I m alone. I M ALL ALONE. I see a bright young form go by, His kindly look my heart has won; My earliest friend had such an eye But now he s left me ah 1 alone. Amid the city s blaze of art, How many such one glance have thrown, Then left an unknown brother heart To sing with me, " I m all alone!" Yet lonelier far the worldly great, Upon his sword encircled throne; Whom all obey, and fear, and hate I joy that I m not thus alone. But even in the darkest night, When round my path the storm has blown, I ve sung, and from the unseen height Has echo answered, " Not alone." And here is spread a cheerful hoard, To wake the care-worn spirit s tone; A family sits round the board I ll think that family my own. Before me climbs the murmuring fire, A sight to thaw a heart of stone; Would thus my kindling thoughts aspire, Twere even bliss to be alone. I M ALL ALONE. Then let the world without be cold, My spirit shall not inly moan; Hope shall a second self unfold, A warmer soul I m not alone. What though no friend bestow a smile, Or lend to transient grief a tear; And none, of whom oblivion s wile May never rob this heart, appear. Yet while I hear my Maker s voice, All hearts and homes seem mixed in one; While Him I love, I may rejoice That I can never be alone. ILLINOIS, 1838. Athens! the home of learning and beauty, How I long for thy hills and thy rich balmy air; For thy wide spreading greens, smiling sweetly on duty, And the valley beneath, and the stream wending there! On the North the high rock, on the South the lone ferry; The ville on the East, and the mill on the West, The lawn where the gravest at play hours were merry, And the walks by the footstep of beauty made blest: The old college building where Enfield and Stewart Oft found me ensconced in the cupola cool; While I glanced now and then, mid the study of true art, At the names graven there by the pocket edge-tool; Oh, time has diminished the strength of my spirit, The visions of youth are my glories no more; But still one estate from thee I inherit, The old right of way to the stars and their lore. ATHENS, OHIO. 33 What eloquence rang from yonder broad staging! Old Cicero s spirit was certainly there; And there was some youthful Demosthenes raging, Or Chatham or Webster was sawing the air: Our essays the teachers endured them how meekly, As well as oar sermons on virtue and truth; But they heard not, as we did, the doggerel weekly, The talk of smart fellows and promising youth. Then the fun of the blunders at each recitation ! The roasting coal fire beneath the blackboard The hard lessons darkening anticipation The way idle scholars were scolded and scored The answers from book where the coat-tail concealed it, The dawnings of genius that stole o er the slate, The awkward excuse, when a side view revealed it The broad hint Professor gave lazy eyed Late. And then our Societies, oh how we boasted Of what we would do, and of what we had done! How oft in debate were our opponents worsted! What golden opinions our literature won ! What a fuss we were in at th examination Pitty-pat went our hearts, and our faces turned red ! What a shout on the stairs, just before the vacation ! .What a funny life through interregnum we led! 34 ATHENS, OHIO. Sweet Athens! o er thee love and light hold dominion; They poured their rich harmony full on thy breeze! Oh, would but some gentle dove lend me his pinion, How soon would I perch mid thy soft locust trees! But where is his reverend form, who presided, Alive with strong intellect, feeling and power; Whom we loved and revered, and in whom all confided, The Washington guiding through danger s dark hour? Bright Athens, farewell! if thy green slopes should never Loom up in the distance to welcome me more, Thy scenes are engraved on my heart, and forever Shall memory faithfully keep them in store; I think of thy rills, and my blood, richly flowing, Leaps freshly as erst through every vein; And thy landscape with distance and time brighter growing, Seems all made anew in the heavenly plain. away moments, Yet bear me with you, To some brighter region, Where pleasure is true. Nay let me remain Tho my bliss were all spent, If I make it my own, I can live on content. Fly away hours! Yet lend me your wings; I will go to the bowers Where Hope sweetly sings; Nay shall I be cheated By Hope yet again? I will learn here to gather My pleasure from pain. 36 STANZAS. Fly away days! And welcome the night! To the moon s colder rays I would flee from the bright: Meditation! that dwell st In the dim spangled sky, In that pale burning star, I will seek thee on high. Fly away weeks! The faster ye go, The more Sabbath breezes Around me shall blow; leave not a moment From duty released, Lest regret on my feelings, Like a vulture, should feast. Fly away months! Even change is delight, When gazing intently Has weakened my sight; Yet stay, till remembrance Shall gleam from past sorrow, Some lesson of wisdom, To brighten the morrow. STANZAS. 07 Fly away years! Ye measure my life; Begone, all my fears, And welcome the strife: Welcome care, welcome toil, Let my pathway grow rougher; I will climb with a will, Since to be, is to suffer. ILLINOIS. 1838. <@5JjE rose of the morn Entrances the sight; And the Spring in her dawn Seems an angel of light; So the cheek has its roses Of beauty and youth; And each one discloses A heavenly truth: Oh brighter than morn, with its rosy light, Are the visions that glimmer in childhood s sight; And lovelier far than the dawn of the Spring, Is the flight of the soul when it first takes the wing! The bird who so fair, Dipped his plume in the Sun, Quitteth beauty for care; To his nest he is gone. Go thou to the skies, Wrap thyself in their glory; Then brighten young eyes, With the robe they fling o er thee: SCHOOLHOUSE STANZAS. And richer by far than the beams of the Sun, Is the light which the embryo spirit has won; And higher than ever the lark hath flown, Is the flight of the soul, when its wings are grown. That stream was a rill, A raindrop of the mountain, And would have been still, Had it ne er left its fountain; That oak was an acorn, Alone in the wood There the eagle has taken Her nest and her brood: That soul is a drop, and that mind is a grain; The eagle shall follow its soarings in vain; T will be strong as the oak, and wide as the river; Flow onward, and widen, and deepen, forever, ILLINOIS, 1838. 39 iiitiim. on, majestic River! A mightier bids thee come, And join him on his radiant way, To seek an ocean home; Flow on amid the vale and hill, And the wide West with beauty fill. I have seen thee in the sunlight, With the summer breeze at play, When a million sparkling jewels shone Upon thy rippled way; How fine a picture of the strife Between the smiles and tears of life! I have seen thee when the storm cloud Was mirrored in thy face. And the tempest started thy white waves On a merry, merry race; And I ve thought how little sorrow s wind Can stir the deeply flowing mind. LA BELLE RIVIERE. I have seen thee when the morning Hath tinged with lovely bloom Thy features, waking tranquilly From night s romantic gloom; If every life had such a morn, It were a blessing to be born! And when the evening heavens Were on thy canvas spread, And wrapt in golden splendor, Day Lay beautiful and dead; Thus sweet were man s expiring breath, Oh, who would fear the embrace of death! And when old Winter paved thee For the fiery foot of youth; And thy soft waters underneath Were gliding, clear as truth; So oft an honest heart we trace, Beneath a sorrow-frozen face. And when thou wert a chaos Of crystals thronging on, Till melted by the breath of Spring, Thou bidst the steamers run; Then thousands of the fair and free, Were swiftly borne along on thee. 41 42 LA BELLE RIVIERE. But now the Sun of summer Hath left the sandbars bright, And the steamer s thunder, and his fires No more disturb the night; Thou seemest like those fairy streams, We sometimes meet with in our dreams. How Spring has decked the forest! That forest kneels to thee; And the long canoe and the croaking skiff, Are stemming thy current free; Thy placid marge is fringed with green, Save where the villas intervene. Again the rush of waters Unfurls the flag of steam, And the river palace in its pomp, Divides the trembling stream; Thy angry surges lash the shore, Then sleep as sweetly as before. Then Autumn pours her plenty, And makes thee all alive, With floating barks that show how well Thy cultured vallies thrive; The undressing fields yield up their grain, To dress in richer robes again. LA BELLE RIVIERE. 43 Too soon thy brimming channel Has widened to the hill, As if the lap of wealthy plain With deeper wealth to fill; Oh ! take not more than thou dost give, But let the toilworn cotter live. Oh! could I see thee slumber, As thou wast wont of yore, When the Indian in his birchen bark, Sped lightly from the shore; Then fiery eyes gleamed through the wood, And thou wast often tinged with blood. The tomahawk and arrow, The wigwam and the deer, Made up the red man s little world, Unknown to smile or tear; The spire, the turret and the tree, Then mingled not their shades on thee. Now an hundred youthful cities Are gladdened by thy smile, And thy breezes sweetened through the fields, The husbandman beguile; Those fields were planted by the brave, Oh! let not fraud come near their grave- 44 LA BELLE RIVIERE, Roll on, my own bright River, In loveliness sublime; Through every season, every age, The favorite of Time ! Would that my soul could with thee roam, Through the long centuries to come! I have gazed upon thy beauty, Till my heart is wed to thee; Teach it to flow o er life s long plain, In tranquil majesty; Its channel growing deep and wide May Heaven s own sea receive its tide! 3 llkl my little scholars, I like them, every one; The little lass with the lily face, And the poor man s ragged son. As they sit upon their benches, They seem like rows of flowers; And as I watch their busy eyes, How sweetly pass the hours! There s something in the faces Of freshly blooming youth, That is the very portraiture Of innocence and truth. And as I watch the sparkling Of a mildly beaming eye, I seem to be a gazer on The pure millennial sky. ,* TEACHER S MELODY. And if there is a Paradise Upon this guilty earth, T is in a school, where Virtue leads The song of genial mirth. Oh ! what is there which minds one Of Eternity s long day, Like the bursting of the mental bud, That ne er shall know decay! ILLINOIS, 1838. IB 1)0 is the rich? Is it the million-moneyed miser, But none the better, or the wiser; Who wakes at night, from fear to lose The gold he never means to use; Whose head is half a quarter s rent, Whose heart is only six per cent; Who starves himself to have at death, That which he loses with his breath? Throughout his life he wades a ditch, And is most miserably rich. The happy rich? Is he the dashing profligate, Who bonfires many a large estate; Who boasts o er soul destroying dinners, How much it costs such glorious sinners; And breaks, to prove that he is smart, A parent s fortune and his heart; 48 THE 1UCH. Or fearing to be reckoned poor, Exhausts himself to famine s door? Experience, with her iron switch, Will teach him he was never rich. Who then the rich? The lordling of a boundless realm, Of some vast government the helm; Whom Fortune scorches with her favors, And Fame but sickens with sweet savors; Beset by flatterers, as by mice, The slave of passion and of vice; His virtues mangled by his errors; His fears wrought up to thousand terrors; His dearest friend a hungry leech? Heaven save me then from being rich! The truly rich? Is he the heir of lofty mind, Whose ken may compass all mankind; Whose mental plains Time s swelling river Shall flood with deeper soil forever; Yet o er them filthy waters lie, Where Vice may flourish, Virtue die, And weeds of thought enwrap the grave Of Peace where sullen willows wave? The bittern s doleful note shall teach Who virtue wants, can ne er be rich. THE RILH. Then who the rich? T is he thro whose deep channelled soul, The steady stream of Time shall roll, And leave its gold and gems behind, To fill the coffers of the mind; Who has a home in every clime, A heavenly Friend in every time; Who calls the blooming Earth his mother, And every son of Earth his brother: Heaven keeps for him a golden niche He has the world, and he is rich. 49 f jjf $clja0lmaster. (Dtj! who is so merry as the merry schoolmaster? True mirth is his fortune, and none spends it faster; Though his cheek may be hollow, his locks may be gray, He lives to his last mid the dawn of the day. Tho the flowers of the field bathe our eyes in the light, T is the bloom of young faces enraptures the sight; The one may breathe fragrance, the other breathes soul, How it gleams through the eyes that bewitchingly roll! Oh! give me the rose, the sweet rose that can blush, And the blossom that wears a sweet thought in its flush; Oh! give me the eye, like the sun on the lake, And the ripples of life o er the features that break ! Full many a day, o er the rusty old stove, Have those features been lighted with life and with love; While the whistling of Winter came thro the thick walls, And the music of Storm from his cloud covered halls. THE SCHOOLMASTER. 5| Tho the earth should seem melted to mud and to water, As sure as the Sun, comes the dear little daughter; And when the whole sky is falling in snow, With a wool covered back pops in little Joe. For their lessons to learn is more fun than sleighing, And to read about Kitty is better than playing; And the praise they receive for perfection in spelling, Soon puts them above all conceit of rebelling. At recess they frolic like birds on the wing ; How thrilling their shout as they chase round the ring! When they catch out each other, while playing old cat, And the ball is sent back by the broad pointed bat. Then the loud and long call, or the bell, or the rap; Each bows at the door, as he pulls off his cap; Then hush their loud mirth, and with faces too red, They sit o er their lessons, as still as in bed. Yet never a nod, or if there should be, The sleepy head s waked by the laughing, you see; While his big eyes roll round neath the weight of their lids, He grins at the sport he reluctantly heeds. Then out comes a class, and in turn or together, They read of the world, or the wolf, or the weather; Some clear as a flute, and some soft as a rill. And some with the tones of a clarion shrill. 02 THE SCHOOLMASTER. And as for the rest the cyphering, writing, The spelling, the scolding, the occasional smiting; J T is the pepper and salt to a schoolmaster s dish, To be a schoolmaster then pray do n t you wish? In a school you will live in perpetual youth; Your companions, sweet innocence, beauty and truth; On your deeds will your own world around you be fed, And you live in a thousand hearts when you are dead. ILLINOIS. 1838. little Pocket Bible, I would not part with thee, If thou could st purchase all the gems at the bottom of the sea; For that one word, that single word, on which I dropt a tear, As I gave my heart to heaven, I 11 hold thee ever dear. When wearied out with vanity, my spirit sighs for home, I open thee, and hear a voice, "Come heavy laden, come;" The load falls off my shoulders, I feel the strength of wings; And with its lowly place content, my raptured spirit sings. All glory seems ascending to God from whence it came, And gratitude seems burning in every starry flame; All loveliness and beauty, the truthful and the grand, Shine on thy pages, like the streams and hills on Canaan s land. Thou art the tongue of heaven that speaks to mortal ear, In tones of love and pity, yet faithful and severe; That warns us from the steep which hangs o er wickedness and woe, And bids us follow yonder star of brilliant eastern glow. 54 MY POCKET B I B L E The star that shines so bright on earth, how much more bright in heaven, The Sabbath of the week of Time that sanctifies the seven! Where eyes too strong for mortal gaze, like eagles search the sun, And wings of ecstacy ascend toward the Eternal throne! ILLINOIS, 1838. SUGGESTED BY THE BLOWING UP OF THE MOSELLE. up the fires! The cord wood crowds the stove ; The pent up flame is flashing through the flues; Furious the steam is bursting from above, Watering the highest deck with boiling dews: "Put on all steam!" the Captain shouts, "and we Will teach the very lightning how to flee!" Man loves to triumph over Nature; nay, He longs to prove that she is but his slave; Her forces, struggling for their freedom, may Work out his will; but oft, with instinct brave, When in his heart the tyrant passions burn, With terrible energy upon him turn. The wheel turns once the Sampson bursts his chain A flash as all heaven s lightning gathered there ! A roar as if the earth were rent in twain! A horrid rain that darkens all the air! As if another Sodom met its doom, Or time s last trump awoke the boundless tomb! fifi THE EXPLOSION. All came at once, the shriek, the splash, the yell One moment, Chaos mounted toward the sky, The next, it strewed the earth. Then sudden fell On either shore, on pavement, turret high, And shattered roof and on the far off field, All that Destruction s harvest there could yield. There lies the Captain on the bank, stone dead, And he who had provoked the ruin, low Lies near a fragment driven through his head. Son, daughter, mother, sire, where are they now? Rich, poor, friend, foe, wise, wicked sink together, Or mingle with the splinter or the feather. Oh! could we feel that moment s agony, A hell extinguishing itself; undone Unnumbered ties; two hundred souls set free; A million deaths all crowded into one! We could but think it mercy to our frame, To quench so suddenly life s fated flame. Less sad their doom, whose anguish was so vast, It forced the maddened life at once away; At once they leaped the future from the past, Nor neath the weight of shattered senses lay But dreadful was their fate, who lingered still, The captives that grim Death must torment ere he kill. THE EXPLOSION. 57 The Sun went down upon the awful scene In sombre majesty, the skies seemed blood The river smiled no more from his red sheen; And that dim night like Death s own silence stood On stream and shore, while eyes too dark for tears Searched by the lantern light, with hopes outweighed by fears. And dreadful were the visions seen that night By clouded eyes in intervals of slumber; And many a mother screamed and woke with fright, Dreaming her son was of the fated number; And when the shutters opened, pensive dawn Saw many a once bright feature withered, pale and wan. But other shutters locked the morning ray From some who had survived a night of anguish, Or from the rooms where shivered corses lay, Where friends are too much shocked to grieve or languish; While gazing thousands hear from yonder shore, The lesson that a cursed Ambition reads once more. ILLINOIS, 1839. pine for the verdured plain, Some long for the boundless sea; And some for the mountain above the rain, But the hills, the hills for me ! How bright is the swelling sail, As it mingles with the sky! How rich the snow cap, resting pale On the peak where the breezes die ! Here from this blooming hill, The wave and the mount I see; The plain and the river that winds at its will- The hills! the hills! for me. The hills fear not the storm; Disease delights in the vale; Here the head is cool, and the heart is warm- Hail to the green hills, hail! 51 htotljn and three sisters came to school; They were the children of adversity; Their manners easy, quiet, kind, yet cool; Their chastened spirits never rose to glee; A something like entreaty filled their eyes; Their virtues seemed above their years to rise. A tender mother was their only staff; The father was an invalid for years; With resignation s smile they learned to quaff Contentment s cup, half sweetened by their tears: To nurse a growing cough, the boy at home Remained, and soon his sisters ceased to come. Again they came with paler cheeks, but staid Scarce half a week; for now the mother saw His illness was a lingering death delayed; And tho the book ceased not his heart to draw, He still loved play, and as he chased the ball, Would often stop, with sudden cry, or fall. ^ THE CONSUMPTIVE. So kept at home, he read while mother spun; And oft she stopped the loom to mark his tears; While little Martha s eye was often won By an unearthly look of his, and fears Of something she knew not would touch her heart, And she from waking dreams would shuddering start, A little garden long had won his care A nursery round it, and a vigorous tree, Just twice his height, but not of age to bear, Was in its midst; he loved to sit and see The yellowing leaves now dropping one by one, As if he sympathized with bloom so nearly gone. One day his eye grew brighter, and he seemed The portrait of returning health. The sisters thought That never had his face so sweetly beamed, And by unwonted animation sought To keep his spirits up; they gathered round, And talked of all that once had made his heart to bound. He smiled upon their fondness; mother smiled; Even the father s ghastly features lit; But while John s eye grew bright, t was growing wild ; " Sister, my little garden tend it yet When the first apple from my young tree falls. Then listen, and believe t is John that calls." THE CONSUMPTIVE. "Mother, this Bible I give back to you; Let Martha read for me to father; when Here he stopped short and sunk it was too true ! His features marble ne er to change again; Astonishment first kept their eyelids dry Then burst the mother s, then the sisters cry! Two days had passed, when slowly came a train Of bending forms, and pensive downcast eyes, To that green spot upon the wooded plain, Behind the nook whereon the schoolhouse lies; The children stood around the grave, and wept O er him who in that long red coffin slept. No more in social play or study, he Whose cheek is ghastly cold and pale shall join; The coffin lowers in the grave, while she, Who held him dearest, utters one deep groan; A brother s feelings in each young heart swell, And every eye expresses a farewell. Then fell the clods upon the coffin lid, And every stroke thrilled thro a mother s heart. A mound is soon erected o er the dead; A roof of poles laid on with rustic art, To guard the sleeping place from vulgar feet, While head and foot boards make the bed complete. 61 02 THE CONSUMPTIVE. No funeral service o er the grave was spoken, No pompous mourning dresses flaunted there; But every saddened feature was a token Of the deep mourning feeling hearts can wear; And when, the burial o er, the crowd had gone, The scholars sung a little dirge to John. Farewell, brother, we have laid thee Underneath the lofty oak, That last summer used to shade thee From the Sun s meridian stroke: Did we think, while neath its cover, Here we read our lessons over, Round thy grave we soon should hover? Could we think, when lovely morning Found thee at the schoolhouse door, With its rose thy cheek adorning, Soon that rose would bloom no more? When to Teacher we recited, Would his smile so bland have lighted, Knew he thou would st soon be blighted? When at noon we used to call thee, To the base, or hole or den, Had he told what would befal thee, Would we have believed him then? THE CONSUMPTIVE. 63 Sure to strike, and quick to parry, Brisk at play, though seldom merry Rest thee, brother, thou art weary. Could we go but half way with thee, To the place beyond the tomb, We with farewell flowers might wreathe thee, Catch a glimpse of thy new home. Fare thee well a spirit blooming, Hither should st thou e er be roaming, Brother, tell us of thy coming! ILLINOIS, 1838. to ii fflfust trcr 3 IflflB thee, locust tree, Where er or when I see, Not for thy form in which I trace The gently curving lines of grace; But for those forms of glee Thou bringst to memory, My earliest playmates neath the merry locust tree. I love thee, locust tree, Not for the breezes free, That play with thy velvet fingered leaves; Nor the fragrance thy rich blossom gives To the ever busy air, But for those faces fair Bathed in the locust s cooling shade again I see them there. I love thee, locust tree, For the song that rung from thee, Like an angel choir, when the morning beam % Awakened me from a glorious dream. TO A LOCUST TREE. 65 The song it came unsought Through the window of my cot, And roused a thrill of gratitude for my happy humble lot. I love thee, locust tree, For my mother seems to be Now at my side, as wont of yore, When she taught me nature s noblest lore ; I see her now as oft, With hand and voice so soft, She pointed through the boughs of green and bade me look aloft! I love thee, locust tree; My father, where is he ? When the thunder roared, and the lightning came, And wound the locust with wire of flame, How sudden was my cry! He searched my frighted eye, "Son, fear the voice of Him who thunders from on high." I love thee, locust tree T was a mournful day to me, When rieath the shade in front of our cot, My sister s coffin was slowly brought; And a dying leaf did fall From the locust on the pall, And I wept as we bore her clay not her to the narrow funeral hall. 9 6g TO A LOCUST TREE. I love thee, locust tree, Thou seem st a family, That I may never see again, Till the car of Death bear us o er the plain* But if a landscape sweet Our meeting eyes shall greet, In another, happier world, neath a beast may we m33t! ILLINOIS, 1838. prep i&rongl) tlje (Dllt West, a certain edifies is built In one day and a half, by twenty man, Of black oak logs; and half the cracks are filled With fjnce rails, mud and mortar; now and then A hole is left to let in light of day The other half are filled in the same way. A something called a chimney, at one end, Is reared of rock, clay, shingles, laths and logs; And these in strata regularly ascend; Two chunks of rjtten wood may serve for dogs; A door will whine on wooden hinges, and Yon bench is built so high, to sit will be to stand. A roof is weighed with several cords of wood; The shingles fastened down without a nail, Through which the storms occasionally intrude, And save the lugging water in a pail, To wash the floor, which is by no means tight, The windows have no glass to dim the light gg A. PEEP THROUGH THE BACKWOODS. To make these airy openings water proof, Long boards on hinges of sole leather play; The lizards walk the rafters, nor aloof Big spiders stand, almost as big as they; The mice, too, have a race path on the chinking, At which the little scholars oft are winking. The furniture a kitchen chair split bottom Which answers Pedagogus for a throne; The benches wonder where the people got em; Unbacked, they seem saw-horses overgrown; A bucket, tincup, and six nails for hats; A swallow s nest now occupied by rats. A county road meanders half way round The Seminary yard; and noise of cattle, The oaths of drivers, and the rumbling sound Of passing chariots, and the ox cart s rattle, Serve to relieve the tedious eight hours study But oftener to interrupt a body. The inmates of this model backwoods college Are twenty barefoot youngsters of all sizes; Who give their time by halves to corn and knowledge, And leave their trundle beds ere Phoebus rises; You see them dropping in from seven till nine, And some who come from far remain to dine. A PEEP THROUGH THE BACKWOODS. (j Their raiment is not, more than they, of silk; Yet think not that their hearts are cold as pone, Nor yet their faces sour as buttermilk, Although their dinner pails nought else may own; They keep, by rubbing them from morn till night, Their hoes, their hearts, their heads, their honor bright. ILLINOIS, 1839. Jl Sitt for a Snninanj. all the settlement the paths converge, To one rich grove upon a central spot, Through which the teamsters ne er the oxen urge, In which the feathered songster ne er is shot; No girdled trees decay, no lofty oak Rebellows to the woodman s sturdy stroke. But there sweet quiet breathes among the trees, That whisper to the zephyrs as they fly; And he whose broken spirit inly grieves, There nurses pensive dreams his tears that dry; There meditation finds a cheerful home, Devotion gazes on the azure dome. The plain swells gently to the centre, where A modest building rears a lofty spire ; Its form is full, and its complexion fair; Its front door faces Phoebus earliest fire; The short side ranges with the northern star, And Phoebus mounted on his noonday car. A SITE FOR A SEMINARY. 71 Around the roof extends a walk, with seats; And from its elevation one may see A boundless prairie country, with its streets. Its charming groves, each like one spreading tree; Its painted mansions, and its sea of flowers, The sport of breezes thro the summer hours. While on the north a snow capped mountain gleam?, A rich cloud hanging from the heavens to earth; Hill after hill declining from it, seems The staircase to the halls of heavenly mirth; "With beauteous swells abounding, and with groves, O er which the eye enkindles as it roves. And on the east is seen a lovely lake, That every morn is plated o er with gold; Whose stillness no in trading tempests break; A mirror for the sky, in which are told The stories of the stars and sun and moon, Varying their loveliness from night to noon. While on the south, a broad meandering river Sweeps off an hundred steamers to the sea; Winding in graceful majesty forever, Like Time in chase of vast Eternity; And their hoarse thunder, softened thro the wood, Is liko a low wind speaking to the solitude. 72 A SITE FOR A SEMINARY. Afar is seen a city, whose rich hum Floats on the wings of the south-western gale; And Nature in her noonday slumbers dumb, Smiles as if hearing some sweet spirit s tale; The stream winds round the plains so neatly drest, As if it clasped the city to its breast. But when the eye is tired of far off views, It rests with calm content on scenes at home; The armies of young corn, all bright with dews; The giant oaks, where rich voiced singers come On morning colored wings to chant their joys, Whose merry sports no fowler e er annoys. Around extends a yard of lovely green, Fenced in by double rows of locust trees; Where, as the Sun s fast shortening shade is seen, The children play; their minds and hearts at ease; Their faces flushed with warm and cheerful blood; Their joyous laugh long ringing thro the wood. Behold that slender form instinct with mirth, Now bent to aim, and now to shun a stroke; Then straightened up to pride, as if his worth Were doubted, or his word he never broke; Suddenly fired against his dearest friend, But softened by a look to former bend. A SITE FOR A SEMINARY. 73 Then mark that sweet blue eye, those saffron locks A speck of heaven amid the golden clouds; How gay in yonder vine hung chair she rocks ! While round her hear the rich tones growing loud; The songs, that speak the spirit s reckless glee, Are measured by the pend lum swinging from the tree. But who is that fast striding up the path, Marking the new born flowers, the new tuned birds? Whose face and eye are apt for smile or wrath; Sweetness and strength are mingled in his words; He waives his hand, and bows, and bids good morn, While all to him and to the schoolhouse turn. And there he rales a little realm of thought, The faithful gardener of life s opening flowers; He gains a glory, glory knoweth not, Touching the spring that moves all human powers; A world of love is gathered in that room; Is he not happy in his heart built home? 1839. fiff. is a bud of early growth, And Death is winter s latest frost; How oft the bud is nipped before Tis known how sweet a flower is lost! Life is the Morning Glory; pure And white it meets the earliest Sun; But ere he gains the zenith, lo ! The glory of the flower is gone. Life is the Althea; long it bears The frosts of autumn, keen and chill y When lovelier colors all are fled; But age itself at last will kill. Life is the Evening Beauty; bright In sunset hues it opes and dies; As at the eleventh hour, a soul Awakes in time to reach the skies. 1839. fttrratnre. $lj? miserable s the modern true sublime, And reckless vice the shortest way to reach it; Plunge into ruin, you can plunge in rhyme; Learn by experience, and you can teach it; Poet of passion, you will popular be, Since men are wretched, and want company. Some writers with the powers of good and evil Claim like acquaintance; they are cicerones, Ready to introduce to God or devil; They make but slight distinction tween the thrones; Their hobby is effect, and so you are Their followers, will lead you do n t care where. While others gather flowers from every land, And for the richest jewels search the sea; For golden dust sift History s moving sand, To deck their goddess, sensuality; On worthless objects ruin mental worth, And if they could, would turn heaven into earth. FASHIONABLE LITERATURE. To Virtue pay a compliment to-day, And then to Vice a neater one to-morrow; To all the meaner passions make a bow, And whine the rest of life in reckless sorrow; Or build, like Egypt, a most splendid pile, For what? a temple to a crocodile. Again our criticism is sometimes this Talent was only given to be displayed; Tis not the crime to aim wrong, but to miss; No matter what you do to help your trade; The end is chaff, when ripened well the means The end is but the pod to hold the beans. Rich men make great expenditures, and shave The poor, not for their own, or others good; But just to show the world how much they have, (Since cash or no cash makes refined or rude;) So geniuses may cut all Nature s rules, To show that they can handle fine edged tools. Some clever soul a knowledge of the world Will give you, if you only buy his book; But erelong in his fancy chariot whirled From scene to scene, for something else you look; Perchance you find too late his trade to be To lead you into bad society. FASHIONABLE LITERATURE. 77 Yon novelist shows how pretty a thing is vice, And that a rascal is a right fine fellow ; That knowledge should be had at any price; That one may be devotional and mellow; Incense to heaven he sometimes offereth, But even then you smell a drunkard s breath. We wish well to our country, but such lore For hope is far from palatable food; And yet a time is coming, when no more The darkness shall be light, or evil good ; When Truth and Right become sublimity, Then, and not till then, man is truly free. 1839. lj West is red, The river is flame, Like the mind that is wed To the light of Fame; The Day, like the saint just ripe for the skies, Gives the Earth one heavenly smile and dies. And lo the hill Hath a golden hue! And the fairies fill The flowers with dew; And now let the heart to its Maker given, Look up till the eye hath a tinge of heaven. The stars are around The pensive moon; And the far off sound Of the spheres in tune, Comes over the heart like a voice of love, To tell that the Earth has a Friend above! /m&ont. lark! in the vale a sweet voice, Bids the hill and the vale rejoice, And the blast has hushed its noise, And the cataract roar falls dead on the ear, And the rocks of the mount hang out to hear; The tyrant is pale, For the breeze tells the tale, As sings the bold spirit that ne er bent the knee, "I am free." A shout on the angry sea! Strikes not the flag of the free, Though the foe the stronger be; There s a flash from the sky, and a flash from the gun. And their thunderings mingle into one; The lightning s ire To the foe sets fire. While the free ships ^hout, as they sink in the sea, "We are free!" 80 FREEDOM. On the verge of creation, a star Unbinds the ray that afar Rides forth on the lightning car; And it glances quick on the passing worlds, Bidding the universe read as it whirls, What it doth write On the tablet of night, And the sky reflects to the mirror sea, "I am free." Hark! hark! the chains are breaking, And a trampled race is waking, And the old Blue Ridge is shaking "With a chorus thrown back from the walls of the sky, Till the blessed ones pause in their song on high; Our country has spoken, And the chains are broken, And millions are singing, half mad with glee, "We are free!" 1841. f&f ^imitation. [At the request of Edward Postlethwayt Page, the High Priest of Modern Astrol ogers, the author wrote a few stanzas with the above title, which the High Priest recited at his temple as part of the service. They are not folly recollected, but were something like the following.] , come to the Temple with gladness and wonder, And see a Pegasus, his neck clothed with thunder; On his back sits the wisdom of every age ; He comes to salute you, Time -conquering Page. Come, come to the Temple of Wisdom with mind, From the grossness of earth s double darkness refined; Forget, for a season, political rage, And take a short ride to the North star with Page. He will take you far up in Thought s ample balloon, Till you hang up your hat on the horns of the moon; While you hear the deep tones of the seer and the sage, And Mercury and Mars give nine cheers for Page. 11 82 THE INVITATION. He will charter a comet, and then he will run A new opposition fast line to the Sun; Fare, gratis then jump in at once I 11 engage, Your head will be steady, while riding with Page. He will yoke up the bears in a lumbering team, And haul to the Dogstar the Poles for ice cream; He will harness the Dragon and Wolf in the stage, Through the Universe running the mail line of Page. He will take out the zigzag from Lightning s red line, And compel e en the Thunder to sing Auld Lang Syne; The fiery temper of Storm will assuage, And teach him the mild, graceful manners of Page. The Militia he 11 place under Grand Marshal Mars, And to general muster will call out the stars; Gainst Bigotry then the battle will wage, Till Victory dances a hornpipe for Page. He will make a great wedding between Thought and Love, And invite all the first constellations above; The ring shall be Saturn s, the prayer book the Praj Anatha Yuga, and the Priest the great Page. From the Milky-way s depths with the Dipper he 11 draw The most glorious banquet Creation e er saw; Then come, see his Pegasus bear the great Sage, And all o er the Universe canter with Page ! 9 lODB the morn, the ruddy morn, When first she leaps from yonder East, And bids her herald wind his horn, To wake from slumber man and beast; For on the Day s returning youth, Is deeply graved immortal Truth. I love the noon, the dazzling noon, When Nature lies in quiet wonder; And hurried to his height so soon, Yon orb has rent the day asunder; It images man s ripened breath, Alike removed from birth and death. I love the evening she receives The hues which Day has left behind; A robe of peerless beauty weaves, As if to clothe the deathless mind; The graves of Day s departed hours She richly strews with starry flowers. STANZAS. I love the night, the dark, dark night, For then I seek the spirit s home; The inner world grows clear and bright; And from the spirit mansions come Sweet voices, melting on my ear They tell me that my God is near. 1841. Jl $)att)it in Diittfr. 4KJIB moon is dying in the West, A few bright stars are lingering still, The night wind slowly lulls to rest, The dawn is creeping o er the hill. A bridge of purple cloud is thrown Across the sky from peak to peak; And o er its centre shines alone A star of aspect mild and meek. And o er the hillock, where the Day Has bid the wood no more be hush, Light clouds are hovering, gilt with ray, That seems the hue of angel s blush. The rosy gleam spreads o er the sky, It paints the zenith like the even; Those smiles of love, how fast they fly All o er the fair round face of heaven! A DAWN IN WINTER. Along the horizon, ranks of trees, Yon hills lift up to fringe the blue, Seem, in their frost-knit draperies, The far off Beautiful and True. Beneath the snowy earth and sky, How dark they stood but yesternight; Now blossoming, to every eye They seem a wilderness of light. But lo! the morn streams o er the plain, As if the bridal of the Skies And Earth had won from heaven again, The long lost flowers of paradise. Oh Winter! glorious is the scene Thou spread st o er Vegetation s tomb; As if some landscape doffed its green, And borrowed from the stars their bloom! So when life s luxuries are dead, And adverse winds its comforts freeze, The Virtues o er the heart can shed The blossoms of Hesperides. 1843. Sttnt. (D UlIjBn in this world could I find a retreat, More accordant with pleasure than mine, On the verge of my own native village so sweet, On the hill side enclasped by the vine. Tho steep the ascent, so pure is the air, It thrills you with joy as you rise; The azure above so invitingly fair, You seem to ascend to the skies. The rills as they dance on their way to the vale, Look up in your face with a smile; And the leaves, as they spread to the breezes their sail, Your heart with their music beguile. And here would I stand and look out on the world, As if it were gathered all there; May the banner of Truth and Peace widely unfurled, Make a home for my heart every where. 1846. West! the West! the sunset clime, The last, the loveliest path of Time; Where Glory spreads his loftiest flight, Ere Fate shall bid the world good night, And Spirit rises high and higher, Above the old earth s funeral pyre ! The West! the West! the favored East Has spread for thee her treasured feast; Her commerce brings that science here, Which cost a dozen centuries dear; And Liberty, that fled her shore, Rises on thee to set no more ! The West! the West! where is the West? Twas here tis on the prairie s breast; It follows the declining Sun Along the banks of Oregon; It will be where he lays his pillow Upon the wide Pacific s billow. THE WEST. The West! the West! and o er the sea, Fast as the Sun the shadows flee; Religion, Learning, Freedom high, Their mantles drop while passing by; On China s towers their flag is gleaming, And wakes whole empires from their dreaming. The West! the West! still onward west; And now the Earth indeed is blest; Lo! here the spot where Eden stood, And there where Jesus shed his blood! The morning star above suspended! The East and West together blended! CINCINNATI, 1847. DttmUitt). C0JJQ is the humble? Is it he That yields to man, but dares his God? A slave to slaves consents to be, But slights his mighty Master s rod? Or he who knows himself a man, And begs to give, of Him who can? Who is the humble? Is it he That stoops from Duty s path to creep, Or clips the wing, or bends the knee, That he may have a chance to sleep? Or he whose thoughts, once set on fire By love, to glorious deeds aspire? Who is the humble? Is it he That droops beneath a weight of pride; Well pleased that men in him should see Such lowliness and meek outside? Or is it he whose sunlit soul, Lightened of self, can reach its goal? HUMILITY. 91 Who is the humble? Is it he That makes humility a blind? Who fawns to all the powers that be, That he the way to power may find? Or is it he whose active zeal Prefers to his, another s weal? Humility it is the sky The simple azure of the soul; The giving up of little I, To share Creation s boundless whole; The quiet eye, so clear, so bright, That yields itself to truth and light. 1848. $t)inn jf01l awful form, that risest far, Far up into the darkening sky, Until beneath yon glittering star, Thou seenTst an iceberg hung on high; Oh say if saints acclimed in heaven, E er meet, on thee, when skies are fair, Earth s excellent, whose souls are riven, One hour, from clay and chaos there? Far, far above the realms of dew, Upon the earth thou lookest down; And on thy shoulder rests the blue, Cemented round thy dazzling crown. So near the stars thou seem st to dwell, Did not thy base reveal the birth Of these wild flowers, t were hard to tell If thou wert part of heaven or earth. HYMN BENEATH DAWALAGER1. 93 Thou Pyramid of Nature s build, That sham st the loftiest piles of man; With Nature s secrets thou art filled, Let Time reveal them if he can. No beast -god lurks within thy halls; No mummied monarch sleeps in thee; But Chemist Nature, neath thy walls, Works ever undisturbed and free. The Himmalehs! a temple reared By God himself, o er Asia s plain; And thou its spire and Asia feared His name of yore Oh! when again? Amid yon lesser peaks t is thine To rise, the loftiest minaret; Still on those hundred millions shine Thy Maker they shall worship yet. Thy cone doth pierce the firmament, As if its azure to adorn With some archangel s rainbow tent, Upon thy summit pitched at morn. Oh hadst thou but a listening ear, When gather Heavenly Councils round, Perhaps the secret thou might st hear. When the last awful trump shall sound. HYMN BENEATH DAWALAGERI. I gaze until my eyesight fails Although thy rocky base is broad, Thy summit seems a cloud, that sails And mounts toward the throne of God. Oh tell me, if from yonder star, That through thee seems to shoot its ray, Thou hearest tones, that come afar From spheres lit up by endless day? Thou loftiest spot of Earth, no trace Has mortal left upon thy height; Art thou a way-side resting place For yon pure messengers of light? Could I be there, when Earth and Sky Shower all their glories on thy even, Say, could I see those angels fly Adown the soul s highway to heaven? In vain I gaze and long thy tower, Though dazzling as the peaks of fame, Is cold as highest height of power, That freezes all but heaven born flame. Thou shalt. when Man has dropt the clod, The world s observatory be; Life-kindled at the throne of God, He then shall melt his path to thee. CINCINNATI. 1849. n tfte Iffltl) of JMrs. /runccs 3 S (I III her, when her eye was lit with youth, Deep thoughts and pure were written on her brow; Her features were the beautiful of truth; Her kind and silvery voice, I hear it now; Then to her charms did many a true heart bow; In her, by all observed, beloved, admired, How generously Nature can endow, We clearly saw; in her we saw attired The grace of Goodness, and a Conscience all inspired. I saw her, when a wife; she made her home First happy for her husband, then her friends; Toward the house of God she loved to roam, Nor elsewhere, save for sympathy that lends Beauty to life, or charity that spends The heart most freely both for joy and pain; While those two blossoms in whom Nature blends The sire and mother, it was hers to train That they might ripen here, and bloom in heaven again. 96 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. FRANCES PRICE. I saw her, when the Pestilence was stealing So noiselessly among us. It was morn, And on her cheek was health and buoyant feeling. Light was his footstep, when he came to warn But anxious with her duties to adorn The hours, she toiled till the destroyer threw His poison in her blood. It left forlorn Her icing heart she sunk away till flew Speech, consciousness and life, ere day was made anew. I saw her spirit going to its God! Her track was, to my mind s eye, bright and clear. Then weep not bitter tears upon her sod, Husband, and little ones, and friends so dear, To her the glorified; she still is here, In all but flesh and blood; and yet have ye A wife, a mother, and a friend, so near The throne ! Behold her when ye bend the knee ! She waits at heaven s door, till ye can come and see ! CINCINNATI, 1850. (DID Conn Clock. old Town Clock- As if beating on a rock, See him delve, Striking Twelve! While we hear a gentle tread, As of watchers round the bed Of the Day that "lies a dying" neath the stars weeping there ; And a calm, deep and dead, Fills the air. The old Town Clock, Like a distant thundershock, Heard and gone, Striking One! Hark! it seems a single gun, Just fired to welcome on The slow and silent coming of the new born infant Day; While we see the dead and gone Borne away. 13 98 THE OLD TOWN CLOCK. The old Town Clock, Father Time s knock, knock Perchance he knocks for you, Rudely striking One, Two! Then would you find a charm Against impending harm, From the scythe he has been whetting, for whom, ah! who can tell? If you lean on Mercy s arm, All is well. The old Town clock- Is he breaking through a lock, In search of guilty me, Striking One, Two, Three, That bailiff of the skies? Coming on me by surprise, Doth he summon me to answer before the only True, While his stern and piercing eyes Thrill me through? The old Town Clock- As if Justice o er the block, Where the axe waits its banquet of gore, Struck the signal, One, Two, Three, Four! Lo! I wake as from a dream, And the lights of heaven seem Hung around a lofty hall from the river to the hill, And amid the City s gleam, All is still! THE OLD TOWN CLOCK. QQ Now the old Town Clock, As if himself to mock, The voices of the hours shall revive, Striking One, Two, Three, Four, Five! Like a rocky hollow, peals With the rumbling of the wheels, The stone shod street, then away flies the sound; And the footstep steals O er the ground. List! the old Town Clock, Above the motley flock, Whose rattle, rumble, tramp and murmur intermix, Faintly striking One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six; While the Sun is seen to rise With the red in his eyes, And he drops his golden card at the Town Clock s door, As the solemn voice dies Mid the roar. CINCINNATI, 1850. ()Jj could we hear each voice that soars above, In prayer or praise, from church, or cot, or wood; And mark each saintly look, engraved by Love On count nances with tears of joy bedewed; Could we, this moment, in a million eyes, Behold a million images of Jesus rise; And call each voice, each cheek, each eye, each heart, A father s, mother s, sister s, or a brother s; What ecstacies of Gratitude would start From these o er burdened bosoms! Every other s Best gifts would be the heir-looms of each soul, (Tho not possessed entire, till clay has turned to coal.) Then wrought into each other s being, we Would die to self, and live to wage the strife, Who should, by serving most, become most free. Did we but die indeed, oh what were life ! Did we but live indeed, oh what were death ! Who would not, then, exchange for Heaven a single breath? SPRINGFIELD, 1S50. Bummer |at) in t|K iKIjE leaves are humming a sweet tune. They dance, As if to cheer the grave old oaks. The thrush Is glancing through the boughs so tremblingly! You feel kind Nature drawing out your soul Towards all her feeblest children. Here a stream Rolls by majestic, talking to himself Of the great Ocean he is soon to swell; And finds an echo in your heart, for there Doth Feeling roll its river on to Bliss. Now Fancy offers Hope a passage free. Now Love sits on the soul like softened light. Now thought seems all enchantment, strangely cairn Like waters seemingly at rest, because Their sky-reflecting channel is so smooth. So let us often glide away from care, And bathe our spirits in the quiet grove. And then let Memory, like a genial friend, Uncalled for, come, and seat her by us here. Our happy souls shall bid her welcome, for She visits this sweet spot with none but Peace. CINCINNATI, 1850. YB 1 3750 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY