POEMS BY ALONZO LEWIS. The primal duties shine aloft, like stars ; The charities, that soothe, and heal, and bless, Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers. WORDSWORTH, BOSTON. JOHN H. EAST BURN. 1831. Copy-right secured, according to Act of Congress- PREFACE GENTLE READER ! The susceptibility of poetic enjoyment is dearer than all the treasures, and most of the honors, which can be conferred on man. While the sounds of war are abroad on the winds of Europe, and rude spirits are jarring the world with civil commotion, it is grateful to repose in the shade of peaceful life, to participate the pleasures of learning, the joys of social intercourse, and the delights of song. In the calm wood-land scene, undisturbed and unmolesting, delighted by the harmony of birds, lulled by the sound of waters, and re freshed by the melody of winds, the spirit is revived by the greenness and the freshness of nature, the mind holds pure converse with the wise and good of past ages, and the loved of the present, and the soul, amid the secret operations of such natural beauty and order, becomes prepared, almost uncon sciously, for the happiness of heaven. The principal objects of poetry are Pleasure and Instruc tion. The former is the predominating endeavor of poets, but it should never be the ultimate one. The most delight ful and purely imaginative poetry, like that of Coleridge, may instruct ; but no poetry, however excellent in its moral quality, which does not please, can be permanently popular. The fairest method of estimating poetry is by the pleasure which it affords us. In passing through a forest, if we meet with a delightful spot, enlivened by the murmur of a solitary stream, and filled with sweet flowers, which look up to the sky with a loveliness peculiarly their own, we do not inquire if it be the garden of Eden, nor complain because it is not M&55516 PREFACE. filled with houries. If a cup of water from its fountain has refreshed us, if we are delighted with the beauty of its sun- assuming flowers, and forget, for a few moments, the weary miles we have wandered, we view it as a relief in the land scape of life and recur to its idea with pleasing recollections. The purest subjects of poetry are devotion, the social affec tions, particularly friendship and love, and descriptions of na tural scenery. The unapproachable sublimity of the Bible has thrown such a sanctity over the realms of devotion, that- few minds may hope to explore them with success. But though no one can expect to gather the splendid fruits of David and Isaiah, the humble and devoted- worshipper of the heavenly muse, should not be discouraged invhis attempt to pluck a few of the beautiful flowers, whie# bloom on the borders of the holy land. That the contents of the following pages alone will entitle their author to the glorious appellation of Poet, I scarcely dare hope ; though it may well be remembered, that " a man may be a poet, without being Homer." If it shall appear that I have imparted in the least degree to the gratification of any thinking mind, it will be something added to the hap piness of my future life. Of one satisfaction I may not be deprived ; the enjoyment of that glorious perception of poetic beauty, of which the following are but imperfect emanations. CONTENTS. PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE 7 SHADY GROVE 25 NAHANT. 49 THE SCHOOLMASTER. : 63 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 89 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 101 God 101 The Frosted Trees 103 The Wanderer of Africa 104 Land of our Birth 105 Indian Death Song 106 The Farmer s Fire Side. 107 The Star of Bethlehem. . . 108 The Christian s Joy 109 The Ne\v-Englander at the South. 110 To a Flock of White Snow Birds Ill May Morning 112 Song 113 Stanzas 114 Milton. 116 Wordsworth 117 On the Sea Shore 117 Sonnet 118 Sonnet. 118 Storm at Nahant 119 Keep It 119 Thanksgiving 120 4 CONTENTS- To a Poetess - 12 The Last Song of the Greeks at Missolonghi. . . 121 Slander. The Mourning of Rizpah 123 Epithalamium A Sentimental Sketch 128 To the Evening Star. 1 s0 To Ellen 132 When thou shalt see the sun arise. ..... 133 Oh Lady, when thine eye shall look. . . .-" - 133 Ballad. I 34 Oh there is a bright shining beautiful moon. ** . ". 135 In this dark vale of Sorrow 136 Mehama. . . . " 137 Stanzas. . . / - 138 The Trial of Friendship 139 To . 141 To . . . . 142 The Evening Bell 143 They heard his words with scorn. . . . 144 Sacred Melody. 145 Friendship . . . 146 My Country 146 How happy is the humble soul 147 There is a Star. . . 148 Memento Mori 149 The Tolling Bell. ... 150 The Minstrel s Love 151 When shall I see her 151 There are pleasures in life 152 Stanzas. 153 Stanzas. ... 153 A Recollection 154 Devotion. 155 May Day. 155 Written in an Album 156 Sketch from Real Life . . x 15S To a Lady at the South. ...:...;. 157 CONTENTS. Monody v -; ^^9 Nahant. . . ^:. ,. .> . . . : 161 Address. 163 Morna 16 * The four delights of life. ......... 168 The Sun-flower of the Soul 168 Thanksgiving Hymn 169 Hymn for Christmas 170 The Day of the Sacrament. . . 171 Lament for the Slave 172 Epitaph 173 Ode. . . . . . . 174 To 175 Mental Improvement 176 Human Life. 177 Childhood s Heart 178 Anthem. 179 The Flag of Freedom 180 Responsive Chorus. . 181 Anthem. 182 Sabbath Morning 183 Serenade. 186 On the Death of a Beloved Child 187 The Beacon Tree 189 Monody 190 Ballad. 191 Morning ... 192 Epitaph. 193 Weep not for the youthful dead 193 When shall we meet 194 Sonnet. 195 To Mary. 195 Threnody 196 On the Death of Bishop Hobart 197 Sacred Melody, 193 The Faded Water Lilies 198 Rachel s Tomb. 199 The Sachem s Death. . 200 6 CONTENTS. Comparison 201 The Idiot Mother 202 Sonnet 203 To Gondoline 204 To . . > 204 Fable. . ; 205 The Last of the Saugus Tribe - 205 The Poet ". 207 Domestic Love. . . 43 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. THRONED in high Heaven, eternal ages past, And reigning there, while ceaseless time shall last, Her sacred love BENEVOLENCE displays, Beyond all limit, and above all praise. Ye deathless Spirits of the Great and Good ! Who love to dwell in Virtue s solitude, With silent wings around my pencil fly, And tinge its impress with immortal die ! And thou, Eternal Truth, whose pure retreat Is Heaven s bright throne, beside the mercy seat, Inspire my heart with thy supernal ray, And pour thy lustre on my rising way, That I may trace celestial Virtue s road, The holy path that leads to thy abode. When Nature slept in chaos undefined, The light shone forth from the creative Mind ; Systems and suns through endless space were hurled, Star glowed to star, and world arose on world ; Seraphic hosts their new made anthem sang, And heaven s wide realm with their loud paean rang. Benevolence first gave those beings birth, Formed sun, and star, and the green rolling earth , Bade mountains rise, waves roll, and rivers run ; Called light and heat from the refulgent sun ; ?),LA.SURES OF BEPJ EVOLENCE. Rolled cJoud*on. .cloud across the azure skies ; Bade showers descend, and vegetation rise ; Sent forth the hail, the lightning, and the storm ; Gave varied life its being and its form ; Made day on day, on darkness darkness roll ; And crowned her work with man s eternal Soul. Behold yon islands of the liquid sky ! God formed them there, and bade them roll so high. His voice along the depths of chaos passed ; The gathering atoms rose upon the blast ; Resplendent rays did each thick mass enfold, And blazing orbs along the darkness rolled. There pours the ceaseless sun his steady light; There the round moon gives glory to the night, Across the sky an arch of beauty bends, Where the bright Galaxy its lustre lends. High in the north, behold the Pole Star rise, Shining, like Virtue, through the darkened skies > While round its orb the faithful Pointers veer, And aid the seaman his lone bark to steer. So, o er the waves of this inconstant life, Above the storms of wo, and passion s strife, Religion s star with ceaseless lustre glows, To lead the pilgrim to his last repose ! While, by the tossing deep, with friendly hand, The faithful ministers of Jesus stand, Pointing aloft to that celestial ray, Which shines to light the darkness of our way ! Benignant Power ! how fair thy works appear ! How full thy glories in each burning sphere ! The Northern Harp, with strings of twinkling gold, Pours forth its silent harmony untold ; And bright Arcturus holds his lamp on high, To light the secret chambers of the sky ; While, in a shining group, the gentle band Of sister Pleiads hold each other s hand, And dance all night along the spangled plain, To the rich music of the heavenly strain. PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. $ Far in the west the Star of Love is seen, Shedding her smiles on hearts of gentle mien ; While mightier planets through the darkness roll, At once the wonder and delight of soul. All these for man their kindly rays dispense; All are thy work, divine Benevolence ! Turn we our gaze to earth ; here we behold This massy globe, which has for ages rolled ; Whose yearly bound was fixed by God s own hand, When ancient Chaos heard his dread command. To farthest climes old Ocean spreads his waves, Rolls gently on serene, or madly raves. Within, his depths the finny millions throng, And sportive play, or swiftly glide along ; While, on the surface of his foaming tide, The tall white ships through rippling surges ride, Bearing thy gifts, Benevolence ! afar, To distant isles beneath the southern star. The wild birds chant thy praises on the wing, Or their soft lays in shady coverts sing. The brook, that murmurs down the mountain side, And draws from secret springs its crystal tide, For the support of human nature flows, And sings thy praises as it onward goes. All good and fair to thee existence owe, The heaven above, the bright green earth below, T was God that made us, all the planets cry ; T was God that formed us, all the stars reply. At his command the scene from darkness changed, Bright worlds arose, and suns through chaos ranged, By one great Soul the varied view was warmed ; Each faithful orb its destined task performed. The theatre, complete in every part, Sends its deep moral to the human heart. There were two forms within a garden fair, One had high looks, and short and wreathy hair, A broad pale forehead, and a thoughtful eye, That now looked deeply in the silent sky, 10 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. Now upon her beside him. She stood there, A form all gracefulness, serene and fair. Her long dark locks flowed round her marble neck, And in the sunlight threw their shadowy fleck Across a breast so delicately pure, That mortal spirit might not well endure To gaze, and love not. But within her eye, There shone a light as from eternity ! She was all poetry ! so pure and fair, She seemed a spirit of the upper air, A form to love and worship. And they stood Beside each other in that solitude, That living solitude of birds and flowers, While strange imaginings and swift winged hours Flitted all gaily by them. From the sky They drank sublime emotions, and their eye Received delight from the enticing hue Of the rhodora with its living blue ; And long with rapture was their vision set On the bright tulip and the rose of jet. l All things around were delicate and fair, Sublime and sunlike ; for a spirit there Had breathed its fragrance and its living hues Through kindling sunlight, and inspiring dews ; And all the scene so rich and tranquil glowed, As God had formed it for his own abode ! Thy sacred hand, Benevolence ! arrayed That garden in its charms ; thy skill displayed Each bright hued flower, and every waving tree, In the light morning breeze gave praise to thee ! Those godlike ones, as they together stood, With their fair forms reflected in the flood, Raised their glad eyes toward the lighted sky, And poured their praises to their God on high. Down the long course of Time s eventful stream, Has human life been brightened by thy gleam ! O er Sorrow s path thy soothing light has shone, And from its ray Despair s dark clouds have flown ! PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 11 When Israel wandered in a foreign land, Her children crushed beneath a tyrant s hand ! Benevolence sent forth her cloud by day, To light her tribes along their untried way ; And though the darkness of each fearful night, Her presence blazed, a never failing light ! By Cherith s brook the holy prophet stood, Where the wild ravens brought his daily food ; And in Zarephath blessed the widow s toil, Increased her meal, and filled her cruse with oil ; Breathed back the soul into her lifeless son, And bade once more the vital currents run ! Such were thy works, Devotion s Friend, of yore, To teach mankind to listen and adore. But most thy love, Benevolence ! was known, When Heaven s pure light on sacred Jordan shone, And the white dove came from the holy tree, That blooms in Paradise eternally ! O er the glad earth a wreath of glory hung, Whose purple rays o er yon blue arch were flung ; And stillness reigned, unbrokeby man or bird, Till God s own voice was through the silence heard. " T is my beloved Son !" the Spirit cried ; " Hear him !" We hear ! the trembling earth replied ! Then awestruck man adored the Power sublime, Who sent Benevolence to rule o er Time. Her accents flowed through Bethlehem s holy vale When seraph anthems bade the shepherds hail ! Her voice was heard on Carmel s sacred hill, When lips divine pronounced the holy will. Then stood a form benigaant on the shore, And spake to men as man ne er spake before ! His knowledge passed the lore of ancient Greece, His voice was music, and his doctrine peace. Before his face Philosophy was mute, And human Wisdom trembled to dispute. 12 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. Each earthly ill was subject to his nod, And all his converse told of heaven and God. With skill divine the holy way he taught, Which bards and prophets had for ages sought. Where er he passed some sacred lustre sprung, And on his themes delighted thousands hung. With kindest voice he spake the words of grace, And Sin s dark empire trembled to its base. A clearer light through deep creation blazed, And holy spirits gladdened as they gazed. Friend of the wretched ! in that sacred hour, T was thine to prove how strong thy kindly power. Thy holy Star glowed o er Judea wide, And shone in Galilee s transparent tide. Its genial ray inspired each humble soul, And faith s pure flame blazed up beyond control. When by Bethesda s pool the Saviour stood, And saw the vast impatient multitude, The tame and sick, who by the waters lay, Waiting the hour the angel should convey The healing power into the troubled well, With kind compassion did his bosom swell; He spake the word, and from his lowly bed The sick man rose, and Pain and Palsy fled. Beside the couch where parted life was laid, The weeping friends stood round the sleeping maid; Their tears deplored death s early victim there, And Jairus turned away in cold despair. The Saviour came, with healing in his eyes, And spake the holy mandate, " Maid, arise !" The spirit came again ! through each warm vein The life blood flowed ; and to her conscious brain Came Hope and Memory, with returning sense, To hail thy power, supreme Benevolence ! But chief, supernal Spirit ! shines thy light, To pour its lustre on our mental sight. PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 13 Thy holy word the path of virtue shows, Thy Gospel leads our Spirits to repose. In that our souls undoubtingly confide, A faithful friend a never failing guide ! From thy pure spring what hallowed blessings flow, Balm of our life and solace of our wo! Thine is each charm to light our lonely way Through life s dark vale, to realms of brightest day ; The tender tear, that falls for others wo, The feeling heart, that would each bliss forego, To be the messenger of kind relief To soothe the children of Remorse and Grief. Does Sickness languish on the couch of Pain, And lift imploring eyes for help in vain? Benevolence, with silent footstep flies To the lone couch, and bids the sufferer rise. Does Poverty extend his dusky pall O er nature s dearest joys, and bury all? Her gentle hand dispels each anxious fear, Heals Sorrow s wounds, and dries Misfortune s tear, How sweet to follow in her steps, and spread A warmer vestment o er the freezing bed; To wipe the moisture from the languid brow, And bid Distress to healing Mercy bow. How sweet to visit Sorrow s lonely cell, Where burning Thirst, and pining Hunger dwell; To load the board, which Want has claimed her own, With pure reviving viands, long unknown; To light the ashes of the sleeping hearth, And cheer the mourner with the voice of mirth. What varied bounty it is yours to give, Ye sons of Fortune, who with Plenty live ! Let not the gifts, which Heaven vouchsafes to pour On your blest lot, sleep in ungrateful store. Yours is the power to carry in your train Ease and contentment to the house of pain; Yours be the joy to see new vigor flow In veins that long have known the power of wo; 14 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. Yours be the bliss to hear the orphan pray, " Heaven bless the hand that wipes my tears away." Ask ye the recompense of so much care ? Search your own hearts and find the answer there! What nobler cenotaph can mortals rear Than that which glitters With the orphan s tear ? What higher honors can this world dispense, Than thy sublime reward, Benevolence! In that cold season when the low hung cloud, Spreads o er the earth its thick and frosty shroud ; When Nature, trembling with the sighs of wo, Hides half her beauties with a veil of snow ; I wandered forth, along the frozen moor, By many a cold and lonely cottage door, Through which the dreary winds of Winter stole, Sighing sad music to the sick man s soul. The sun s last ray was struggling through a cloud, Whose gloom above the western mountain bowed, Gilding the tall top of an aged oak, Whose frosty boughs the reckless tempest broke, And faintly gleaming o er a waste of snow, Whose dreary surface coldly spread below. Along my path, as I in silence went, I saw an aged man, who feebly bent Beneath the weight of yeetrs, that on his head The snows of time in slender wreaths had spread. I marked the tremor of his aged frame, When from his lips these moving accents came. " I stood at Monmouth, when the field was dyed With the warm currents of the patriot tide ! I heard the groans, and saw the life blood start From many a young, and many a gallant heart. Two sons stood with me on that glorious day, And fell beside me, like the fresh mown hay. My wife, the rainbow of that battle cloud, Lies buried deep beneath her snowy shroud. PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 15 My gentle daughter, in her beauty s years Hope of my age, has drawn my latest tears ; And now in loneliness on life s dark wave, My only hope awaits me in the grave !" Just then approached my side a slender girl, Whose hair was wreathed in many an artless curl, But whose thin robe, pale cheek, and sunken eye, Told, more than words, the grief she might deny. u Oh, come," she cried, " within our cottage door, And help my father, ere his griefs are o er ! My mother long has toiled our hopes to save, But now she rests within her peaceful grave." In a slight cottage, on. his bed of hay, Sick, and in want, the wretched father lay. His mind was tortured by Misfortune s pains, And Fever s pangs shot through his trembling veins; While Poverty scowled grimly at the door, To keep Contentment from the humble floor. I sighed to think man s fated lot below, Should feel such sad variety of wo ; Yet joyed to find Benevolence had power To aid the wretched in his darkest hour. I passed along ; the eve grew wild and chill, And night came down upon the snowy hill. I saw a maid upon the lonely beach, Whose voice was mingled with the curlew s screech, Sad and disordered seemed she in despair, Loose were her locks, and floating in the air. A few wild words came trembling from her tongue, Heard mid the peals by the loud tempest rung. " Be still my heart ! no more thus wildly beat ! Oh, the cold snow how cold beneath my feet ! I hear the storm rage o er the ocean s breast; When will he come ? when will my griefs have rest ! Perhaps he sleeps beneath the wintry wave ! And I shall sleep how sweetly in the grave ! 1> PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. The night grew dark, and louder came the roar Of wild waves, breaking on the rocky shore. It ceased a moment and the signal gun Told that a ship was near a suffering one ! It pealed again and then was heard the cry Of shipwrecked seamen, bursting wild and hig-h. Why starts that maid, as if she heard the peal, That but once more may wake her heart to feel ? It was the voice of him, who, doomed to part, For love he took, left madness in her heart. The rifted clouds diverge the silent moon Looks forth in tears from her dark midnight noon. A single gleam shone down upon the spray That shewed old ocean shipless in the fray. " Roar on, ye Winds !" she cried, " Ye Tempests rave ! Your rage is vain within the tranquil grave !" For woes like these, for pangs that rend the heart, What aid can kind Benevolence impart ? She pours the cup to cheer the sick man s bed, She finds a shelter for the poor man s head, She soothes the wretched with her accents mild, And throws her vestment o er the freezing child. She plucks the seaman from the midnight surge, When winter winds have raised the shipwreck dirge; Restores him to the arms of love and home, And saves from madness, and the ocean foam. Such were thy tasks, dear Lady ! such thy care, To save from sorrow, sickness and despair ! May fortune smile, thy onward steps to cheer, And thou ne er want the solace of a tear. In every varied scene of earthly wo, To bring relief, oh, when was Woman slow ! Trace each remotest clime and you will find The female heart forever warm and kind ! From palace halls, to poverty s lone shed, Haa human sorrow heard her welcome tread. PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 17 The proudest prince, and the most abject slave, Her step has flown to succor and to save. From the most humble grave in village gloom To the repose of Calvary s honored Tomb, Where er distress has twined its ample fold, Her priceless tear of sympathy has rolled. A vision spreads on my admiring sight, Dim seen amid the darkness of the night. A dusky ray of pensive starlight falls On a vast pile of massy granite walls. The moss of years has gathered o er their face, As though they were some hermit s dwelling place, And each dim room is grated with thick bars, As if its dwellers might not view the stars ! It seems some fabric of barbarian might, Before Religion spread her sacred light. A thin pale form, but with a cheerful eye, Like spirit from an another world glides by, A folded scarf across her arm is flung, As if some secret treasure there were hung ; And a small lamp sends forth its friendly ray , To light her footsteps on her silent way. What seeks she there, in that dark, lonely hour, VVhen evil spirits most exert their power ? A gate unfolds, with a dull, creaking sound, And that fair form looks cautiously around. Again, she stands within a dreary cell, Where none but wretches could endure to dwell, Her lamp displays a pale and wasted man, Who has endured all that the wretched can. His world is bounded by dark walls of stone, Through which no joyous sunlight ever shone ! Her tears are poured upon his marble brow, As o er his slumber she is seen to bow. He wakes to taste the treasures from her hand To drink the music of her accents bland, And share the freedom which her words dispense Ask ye her name ? it is Benevolence ! 18 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. To every form of wo her power is shown, And Afric s sons have oft her kindness known ; They, the oppressed, in Freedom s happy land ! The wretched forms who bow at Wealth s com mand ! Who toil and bleed, for those whose fathers bled, To free their country from Oppression s tread ! And there are men, in this enlightened time, Who deem that Slavery is not a crime ! Who think that man, the image of his God ! Was made to tremble at a tyrant s nod And is it so ? then perish noble hearts ! Who feel the glow Benevolence imparts ! Come forth, Algiers, and shake thy gallant brow, Thy plume is spotless as the mountain snow ! Ye pirate hordes round Barataria s shore, Your cause is just, and ye shall bleed no more ! There is no truth, no wrong, on earth s dark sod, But Power is Right Expedience is God ! Oh thou Almighty One ! whose goodness made Of kindred blood all nations, though arrayed In various hues, drive such opinions hence, And teach mankind thine own benevolence ! My Country ! mansion of the brave and wise ! When wilt thou wake, and rend the dark disguise Which selfish men around thy brow have bound, While they are thriving on thy honor s wound ? Ye humble men, who earn your daily bread By daily toil, and feel the tears ye shed When sorrow mantles o er you, hear the call, And fly to man your father s battle wall ! In Freedom s cause exert your strength of power ; Let thraldom know the worth of Virtue s hour! Teach men that Liberty is what it seems ! That Freedom shines with no fallacious gleams, Say, with a voice to reach the Slave s distress, We will not be oppressed nor oppress ! PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 19 Pure as the dew, which falls from cloudless skies, Chaste as the tears, that drop from Pity s eyes. Bright as the gems, which gild the torrid night, And sweet as thoughts, that hail an angel s flight, Benevolence descended from above, To spread the bliss of universal love. She came, the daughter of Almighty Grace, Parent of smiles, and friend of human race, To soothe the sorrows man is doomed to know, And ward the ills that wait on life below. Her steps are not where palaces arise, And stately columns nearest meet the skies ; Not on the marble floor is heard her tread, But on the straw beside the sick man s bed. Her hand is not across the timbrel flung, But holds the cup to cool the fevered tongue. In concerts proud her voice is seldom heard, But breathes to wo the softly whispered word. Not on the splendid couch her limbs are spread, Where costly vases their rich odors shed ; But in dim lighted rooms she lends her eyes, To watch all night where burning anguish lies. Yet has her form been found in stately hall, And her escutcheons grace the storied wall, In Rome s proud court her gentle voice was heard, When worth received what Medicis conferred ; 2 Sidney for her maintained his high regard, 3 And poured her treasures on the living bard ; And oft her genial light is seen to fall On the bright floors of Harvard s classic hall. Benevolence ! upon thy splendid shrine, In every land the fruits of Genius shine ! The Poet s gifts are on thy altars flung, And his rich treasures round thy Temple hung. The path of life is brightened by thy skill, And fairer flowers spring upward at thy will ; Earth is divested of its woes and crime, And glows celestial, as in early time ! o 20 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. Friend of mankind ! at thy divine behest, Science unfolds the secrets of her breast ! Commerce for thee each hidden cell explores, Seeks distant climes, and scans remotest shores ! At thy command, Art bids her wonders shine, And imitates her Maker s skill divine ! Celestial Power ! in thy supreme control Is all that brightens and exalts the soul ! Inspired by thee, the lofty spirit glows, And forms its plans to lighten human woes. By thy decree, devotion brighter burns, And human thought each selfish motive spurns. The wretched seeks a shelter in thy dome, In thy abode the orphan finds a home ; The poor receive instruction at thy hand, And Sabbath Schools arise at thy command. 4 For thee the missionary roams afar, Thy word his law, thy light his polar star. For thee he looks at Death in all his forms, Climbs Andes top, and braves Atlantic storms, Flies o er the deep, to realms beneath the pole, Where cheerless waves round icy mountains roll ; Or dwells in climes beneath the burning sun, Where failing streams through sandy deserts run. Thy voice is known to yonder desert shores, Where Winter frowns, and Desolation roars ! On cold Krisuvik s cliff thy temple stands, Thy banner waves o er Mesurada s sands, On Orizaba s top thy shrine is seen, And Toobonai beholds thy smile serene. Cross of the South ! 5 how oft thy midnight ray Has shone upon the ocean wanderer s way, As toiling through the billows of the sea, His hopes were freshened at the sight of thee ! Daughter of Heaven ! thy deathless love to man Framed Virtue s laws, and formed Religion s plan ! PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. 21 At thy divine command the Church arose, Celestial safeguard from eternal woes ! Her altar s incense heals the soul s despair, And every wo may find its solace there ! He, who to man the breath of being gave, Has endless mercy to support and save ; Some act of goodness every hour unfolds, And wisdom governs what his power upholds. The holy word to man in kindness spoken, When past the mighty flood, remains unbroken. The faithful year, observant of His will, Brings day and night, summer and winter still. The blooming spring her freshest incense burns ; And to the field the harvest hour returns. The blazing lightning clears the sultry air, The snow s bright mantle wraps the earth with care; And o er each varied scene of hill and plain, The same wise Power preserves His steady reign. Man only changes. Man, the foe of man, Mars the bright work eternal Love began. Malignant passions in his bosom burn, And heaven s pure dews to noxious vapors turn. As desert fountains send their waters clear, To the bright flowers that on their banks appear, But through foul regions as they onward glide, Collect dark stains, and roll a turbid tide ; So gush pure thoughts in youth s extatic glow, Which sink in age to scenes of crime and wo. Pledge we Religion ! That restores the bloom, Which glowed in Eden ere creation s doom, Spreads its bright charms o er scenes of darkest ill, And new moulds earth to its Creator s will. Come, thou pure Light, which first in Eden glowed, And threw thy splendor round man s calm abode, Ere desolation marked the path of Time, And earth was sullied by the hand of crime. 22 PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. Wake in our hearts that pure, seraphic glow, Which lightens toil, sooths pain, and conquers wo ! Breathe through the world a calmer, purer air, And shine on earth till it shall grow more fair. With kindling heat, dry up the vapors dank, Which earth s dark bosom has from evil drank ; Dispel the mists that o er man s vision glide, The tranquil joys of purer scenes to hide ;, Chase the dark passions from their latent cell, Bid peace return again on earth to dwell ; Teach men how spirits live in realms above. And fill their hearts with universal love ! This happy lot be ours to see an age, When men shall cease unholy war to wage ; When evil passions shall no longer send Their dark obstructions between friend and friend ; When Virtue s power shall every heart imbue, And be extensive as her laws are true. May latent malice yield to honor s sway, And evil fade in truth s refulgent ray ; Till time again shall be to glory given, And God be loved on earth, as He is loved in heaven ? To bless the state of man s exalted birth, Benevolence came down to dwell on earth, I see her form in silent grandeur stand, And graceful wave her kind, persuasive hand, She speaks religion trembles on her tongue, And words that should to seraph harps be sung ! She bids the gentle for her train prepare ; To bind no wreaths around her graceful hair ; But, like the good and wise of ages past, To shield the wretched from misfortune s blast j To imitate the human power divine, And lay your hearts a tribute on her shrine ! She bids me say, that on the scroll of Time, Where human deeds are marked with pen sublime, PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE. The true criterion of all mortal state, Is not Despair s, but Virtue s estimate. In that dread moment, when the Final Voice Shall call mankind to tremble or rejoice, The question then will be, not what accord Our hearts have given to hail our, Master, Lord ! But have we sought to do our Maker s will, And each glad day with Duty s toil to fill ? Were all our powers of body and of mind, To aid the cause of God and truth resigned ? To such, our hearts believe, the shining gate Of heaven shall open, where forever wait, Not as reward for no reward can buy The good man s deeds, his hopes are built too high But as the privilege of noble souls, Exalted scenes, where endless knowledge rolls. There shall thy worth, Benevolence, appear, Bright through the glowing space of Heaven s eter nal year. NOTES. 1. On the bright tulip and the rose of jet. p. 10. The black rose, found in the southeastern part of Asia, is a beautiful flower, well known to naturalists. It has recently been introduced into our gardens. 2. When worth received what Medicis conferred, p. 19. Giovanni de Medici, afterward Pope Leo X. born at Flo rence in 1475, was one of most munificent patrons of learn ing and genius in the Italian history of letters. Among those who shared in his bounties were Ariosto and Raphael. 3. Sidney for her maintained his high regard, p. 19. It is related in the Life of Spenser, that Sir Philip Sidney presented the poet with three hundred pounds, for the plea sure which he received in reading a portion of the Fairy Queen. 4. And Sabbath Schools arise at thy command, p. 20. Sunday Schools were first opened by Cardinal Borromeo, Archbishop of Milan, about the year 1570. The modern plan of Sunday Schools was commenced in 1781, by Robert Raikes, a minister of the Church of England. The first Sun day School in America was opened in 1791, at Philadelphia. Of the institution by which it is supported, the venerable Bishop White is President. The first Sunday School in New- England was established in 1815, in connexion with Christ Church, Boston. 5. Cross of the South ! p. 20. The Cross of the South is one of the most beautiful con stellations of the southern hemisphere. The principal stars are so disposed, that if they were connected by intersecting lines, the appearance of a cross would be represented, with a large star at each extremity. SHADY GROVE. The daylight is gone to a distant land, To brighten the mountains of Samarcand ; And the moon rolls on her shadowy race, Veiling at intervals her face ; For clouds oft cross her features bright, With a silver texture of dusky white. The stars break from their airy shrouds, And look between the parted clouds. ? T is the midnight hour and all is still, Except the flow of the tinkling rill, And the voice of the lonely whip-poor-will And sometimes, from the distant rocks, The hooting owl, and howling fox. ii. Oft have I climed that pine clad hill, When day was bright, and all was still, And thought, how lonely it would be Did no one live in the world with me I For though it is pleasant this beautiful earth, With its birds and flowers of heavenly birth ; And though it is fair yon wide, deep sea, Which seems a thing that is living, like me ! And though tis sublime- yon dark, blue sky, With its numberless orbs, that roll so high, Which make us sigh to be clothed with wings To drink of their pure, untasted springs ; Yet, Oh, how desolate it would be, Did no one live in the world with me I 26 SHADY GROVE. III. When the Summer sun is set, And the stars in heaven are met, And the moon is in the sky, And the brook is murmuring by ; When the blackbird and the thruslr Are cowering in the hawthorn bush ; And the little birds, that sing In the merry time of spring, Quietly are slumbering, With their heads beneath their wing ; When the sounds of day are still, And the eve is on the hill, Then t is sweet to wander lonely, Or with one companion only, In a fair and pleasant grove, Hallowed by the voice of love, On the margin of a stream, Sparkling with a silver gleam, Flowing softly and serene, The green sloping banks between, Which the mellow waters kiss, Like the lips of love, I wis. IV. At this lone hour when midnight still Is sleeping on the leafy hill ; When sheeted phantoms leave their tomb, To wander through the lurid gloom, Some shuddering tale of woe to tell, Or visit scenes they loved too well, Or cross the midnight ruffian s way, And shame the deeds that shun the day When not a breeze is heard to sweep The trees that sigh round Lover s Leap, 1 But clouds hang o er the frowning steep, Whose shadows in the valley sleep, Where broods lone Silence, dark and deep SHADY GROVE. 27 At this lone hour, in Shady Grove, 2 A pensive maid is seen to rove ; Permitting thus the chilling air To wanton with her flowing hair. 3 To her sad mind no pleasing thought Its solitary solace brought, No joy its genial influence shed, But with sad heart, and drooping head, And tearful eye, Ermina strayed, To mourn the mischief love had made! v. How shall the Muse her charms declare ? Or tell how chaste her form, how fair Her graceful locks of auburn hue, And her bright eye, elate and blue. Not Southey s pen, nor Byron s fire, Nor Heman s harp, nor Landon s lyre, Nor Wordsworth s self could ever tell The beauties of this lovely belle. Though Scott has painted Rokeby s maid, In every native grace arrayed ; Though Byron tells how rich, how rare, The charms that made Zuleika fair ; Yet Rokeby s maid, did ne er possess Such gentle grace, such loveliness ; Nor could Zuleika s large dark eye With fair Ermina s ever vie ! But what avails the sprightly form ? Or what the breast that glowed so warm With all the raptures love could give, Or a fond maiden s heart receive ? The youthful form, that once was gay, Has put its sprightliness away ; The social heart, which beat so high, Is now familiar with the sigh, And mourns in secret for the youth, Who leaves with her his vows of truth, And hies him from his native pines, To where his country s banner shines ; 28 SHADY GROVE. While the sad maid of Shady Grove Thus trills her pensive lay of love. VI. SONG. Oh Love ! thou art a joyous thing, In this cold world of ours ! And yet how oft thy wayward wing Leaves thorns instead of flowers ! Thy rosy path is glowing bright, With gems of heaven bestrown ; Yet thou canst mingle in thy might, The dreaded thunder stone ! Earth were indeed a cheerless place, Without thy soul-like smile ; And thou hast that in thy bright face Which can all ills beguile. The cold in heart, may blame thy truth, The void of soul may frown The proud may seek to fetter youth, And crush its feelings down Yet still thou art the sweetest one Of all the cherub train, Whose task is given beneath the sun To soothe the heart of pain. VII. While thus she sung, the whip-poor-will, And the owl on the lofty elm, were still, To hear the fair her note prolong, And listen to her pensive song. Ah, who can tell the secret woes Which she, who loves unheeded, knows ! SHADY GROVE. 29 Alone she seeks the cheerless glade, And pines all day in silent shade ; Or haply urged in crowds to bear The latent grief which none may share, She fades away, like some sweet flower, The worm in secret doth devour ; While cheerless days without a sun, Complete the blight by moth begun. VIII. Ermina wanders by the rocks, And hears afar the howling fox. But vapors on her bosom press, And night dews give their cold caress ; Till Sickness drinks her vital breath, And life hangs o er the verge of death. Sleep flies before her weary eyes, And darkness drinks her midnight sighs. Her mind is in yon fairy realm, Where ships sail on without a helm. She sees a throne all dazzling bright, Glowing with pearl and crysolite ; And there she sits in queenly state, While maidens round her footstool wait. A knight comes in with crest of gold, And stars are in his mantle s fold ; He kneels in silence at her feet, His kisses on her hand are sweet. But hark ! a sound, like thunder loud, When breaking from the midnight cloud. The knight is gone the pageant fades The maid is in the forest shades ; Darkness is o er the desert bound, And hungry wolves are prowling round. She hears a voice its sound is sweet A form lies bleeding at hef feet. The starlight makes the features known It is the youth who sought her throne. She binds his wounds she lifts his head A scream the pageant all is fled, And maidens hold her in her bed. 30 SHADY GROVE. IX. Thus Love, and Sickness, and Romance, Lead youthful minds their fitful dance. Through early life s deceptive day, Till Reason brings her steady ray, And cold Experience throws her gloom O er wild Affection s early tomb ! The messenger afar is sent, To seek the youthful soldier s tent ; And while he speeds his tale of love, Come, let us roam through Shady Grove, And drink the freshness of the gale, And all its balmy sweets inhale, And view the charms that round us lie, The silver stream rejoicing by, The cattle grazing in their ease, The small birds, singing in the trees, The rose buds blooming after showers, The willows arching into bowers, The spreading elm, the plane tree tall, With grapevine climbing over otl The little flowers that spot the ground, The golden king cups scattered round, The columbine and marigold, The dandelion, bright and bold, And one fond flower, sweeter yet, The little modest violet ! Who that beholds such beauties smiling In scene so lovely, so beguiling, Can cease to smile with Nature too, Nor yield the song that is her due. XI. SONG. How is my soul with rapture fraught By every sound that pleases, When Nature calls her madrigals From birds, and brooks, and breezes ! SHADY GROVE. 31 When all the symphonies of air, In one melodious measure, Are breathing out, in softness rare, A long sweet tone of pleasure. The sun is shining in the vale, A thousand charms revealing ; The leaves are stirring in the gale It is the hour of feeling ! Who would not seek the Shady Grove, Avoiding care and sadness, When all the charms that poets love, Inspire the heart with gladness ! XII. Oh, had I such poetic fire As animated Byron s lyre, How would I sing the joys of love, And sketch the charms of Shady Grove ! Hail, noble Bard ! I know thee well ! I know thee by the potent spell That twines around thy burning verse, Imperious, rapid, bold, and terse. Dark Minstrel ! well I love thy lines, Where free, undaunted genius shines ! I loved them when thy youthful Muse First drank Castalia s classic dews ; And when through knighthood s realm she strayed, And sung the havoc War had made ; And when she roamed through Wisdom s clime, And saw Parnassus rise sublime ; And when she strayed through eastern dells, The clime where dark-eyed Beauty dwells ! Thy songs evince a lofty soul, Though warped by Passion s strong control ; Its thoughts abrupt as Calpe s steep, Its numbers wild, intense, and deep. What heart of feeling does not bleed, Who can without emotion read, 4 32 SHADY GROVfi. Of fond Zuleika s tenderness, Of faithful Kaled s deep distress, Of Conrad s wild, unchanging mood, And daring Gulnare s deed of blood F What bosom thrills not to the core. Thy tender lays to Thyrza o er ? What breast of pity does not swell, While pausing o er thy deep Farewell f Thy fancied themes are sometimes vain, But thou canst wake a holier strain. Witness the bright, seraphic band, Who listened to thy master hand, What time it swept the mouldering wire, Of Judah s long neglected lyre ! But howsoe er I love the lay, That burns like Teflis brightest day ; Still must my heart lament to see A name so dear to minstrelsy, A mind so noble, seek to share Its joys with Passion and Despair, And Virtue bids me turn away, From such a sweet, but tainted lay ! Yet, mighty Spirit ! did thy lyre To themes of nobler thought aspire ; Did Virtue s mandate sway thy heart, And Piety her aid impart, To guide thy verse s magic spell, And tune thy high harp s potent swell, How would my spirit rush to greet Thy Muse, with praises pure and sweet ! Then would I pause, with feelings high, And even throw my Shakspeare by, To welcome lays sublime and bland, That might not shame a master hand ! Then well might Virtue love the strains Where uncorrupted Genius reigns. XIII. Sublime the songs, and sweet they rung, The songs that England s bards have sung SHADY GROVE. 33 The mighty lays, that sooth have told Of deadly feuds, and chiefs of old, Who tilted on the battle plain, The favors of some fair to gain ; Of ancient Europe s mountain floods, Secluded lakes, and waving woods ; Her castled cliffs, monastic shades, Romantic dells, and flowery glades ; Sweet is the wild-wood note that tells Of Scotia s heath and heather bells, Of barefoot lasses, fair and true, With bonny lips, and eyes of blue ! But dear as are those lays to me, More pleasure would it give to see Some poet of my country rise, Fraught with her noblest energies, To sing the scenery that beguiled My heart, and pleased me from a child ; For though no lofty towers are here, No knights with battle-axe and spear, No mail-clad barons on our plain, Their haughty, war-worn coursers rein ; Yet have we treasures dear and bland, As ever blest a foreign land ; For ours is quite as blue a sky, And ours are mountains bold and high ; And on our hills and valleys brown, The moon-light falls as sweetly down. Nor are our maids to us less fair Than Scotland s barefoot lasses are ; Nor gives it less delight to rove With some dear angel, through the grove, Where peace find love their pleasures spread, Because no lofty castle s head Is seen above the waving trees, With banners floating on the breeze Nor is our sleep the less profound, Because no drum s discordant sound Breaks on the stillness of the night, The peaceful villager to fright, 34 SHADY GROVE. While Discord sends her tocsin far y To waken scenes of wo and war. Oh, may our plains be ever blest, And ever may the maiden rest, Nor waken at the wild war cry Of marshalled squadrons, fierce and high ? And ever may the bard be free To wander where his genius calls ; To muse and sing with extacy, Of shady groves and waterfalls. XIV. In the sweet grove s romantic shade, For dearest joys of nature made, With a clear streamlet running by, Whose mellowness relieves the eye, While from it pour upon the ear Such notes as poets love to hear, And all around, and overhead, Green leaves their soft refreshment shed, How sweet to sit, in summer day, Far from the sunbeam s scorching ray, While not a fear can intervene To blight the beauty of the scene ; And there, beside the whispering brook, To pause o er some delightful book, While Fancy forms as fair a maid As Gertrude in her peaceful shade ! And see, she comes ! our eyes we raise, And the sweet vision meets our gaze ! But Solitude has other charms ; It saves us from the world s alarms ! We hear remote the cannon s roar, Like billows on a distant shore ; Remote the sounds of passing strife, That ne er disturb our peaceful life ; And plagues from courts, and camps can come But seldom to our quiet home. SHADY GROVE. 35 There too, the gentle mind may stray, Unharmed by waves that sweep away, In their mad rush, the sweetest flowers That ever bloomed in Nature s bowers ! All are not fit to toil and strive Amid contending ills, that rive The fibres of the finest heart, And of the noblest sinews part ! In Solitude the lofty soul Becomes refreshed from Care s control. Great Washington, and Chatham bold, Whose hands the reins of state could hold, Retired from courts to silent groves, To taste the sweets that Genius loves. There too our own beloved St. Clair Beloved, but injured sought to share The solace of declining years, And there he shed his sweetest tears ; More happy in that humble shade, Than they who left his hopes to fade. In Solitude the rising day Pours on the heart its purest ray ; And there the fragrant flowers dispense Their sweets to the rejoicing sense ; While in tall pines the wild doves coo Their loves the budding forests through. In solitude the gentle mind Becomes enlightened and refined, And wordly cares, so high that roll Their waves, can scarce disturb the soul ; But pleasant thoughts in vision glide, Like bright birds o er the ocean tide. There the soft ray of memory falls Like moonlight on majestic halls, And Hope sends out its purest light, Like the first star that gilds the night ! 4* 36 SHADY GROVE. XV. The camp s rude sounds were hushed in sleep, And not a star-beam lit the deep ! All silent, save the frequent wave, That rippled round the sailor s grave ; All, save the watchful warder s tread, On the dark heights of Naugus head, And the dull water from the oar, As the slow barge approached the shore. In rest from duty of the day, The soldier on his pallet lay, No more with wo his bosom bled, His thoughts of war and death were fled. In the sweet spell that Fancy twined, Bright as her day-dream, he reclined In gentle arms, and heard the tale Of love, in his dear native vale ! Heard ye the sound that broke his dream ? Was it the night bird s boding scream ? The coming billow s sudden swell ? Or hour-call of the sentinel ? Loud through the valley pass it rings. Shrill o er the slumbering lake it sings, Breaking the soldier s dream of Beauty, And calling him from sleep to duty. The cannon s voice is loud and hoarse, And fast the musket volleys pour ; The morn shall see the foeman s corse Lie weltering on the sandy shore ! XVI. An Indian troop, at set of sun, Stood where the forest waters run, Deep in the silent hemloc wood, The forest s darkest solitude ; And there the secret plan they lay To sweep the white men from the day ! SHADY GROVE. 37 When Midnight drew his mantle s fold O er silent lake and mountain bold, Their boats were launched, their band was led Beneath the steep cliff s rocky head ; And there a dark eye watched to tell The moment when the warder fell. But his accustomed ear was quick, And caught the sound of crackling stick. A moment more a single one The forest echoes to the gun ; And, springing up, the warrior band Stood ready on the mountain strand. Flash followed flash, with echo deep, That broke the panther s distant sleep. The little band stood gathered there, And fought in darkness and despair ! JNTor could they see the foe to quell, Save when the rain clouds flashes fell. The thunder, through the rending cloud, Rolls like an earthquake long and loud, And from the gulf the blinding flash Goes shivering through the mountain ash ; The flame mounts up sublime and tall, And fast the crackling branches fall. It shines across the forest lake, Aiding the band their aim to take ; And the bright morning sun could tell How many an Indian hunter fell. Their youthful chief in silence found, In that dark night his fatal wound ; And bleeding on the forest shore, Was heard his death song thus to pour. XVII. Oh, tell my tale, ye winds of eve ! That youth of Moragon may grieve. No more the maidens shall rejoice At sound of Matinaldo s voice ! To night the sun of my fame is set, O er the gloomy waters of Sekolet J 38 SHADY GROVE. No more this hand shall bend the bow, And bring to earth the mountain roe ; No more my arrows fleet and true, Shall pierce the soaring eagle through ! The chiefs of Arigo will raise the song, And their war shout ring through the forest long ! The foe will exult on the battle plain, And pale men walk o er the bones of the slain ! My hatchet shall sleep in an unhonored grave, Nor ever be steeped in the blood of the brave ! I shall die in my youth, in the morn of my fame, And earth will forget Matinaldo s name ! Yet thy son, oh, my Father, exults in his doom, And dauntless descends to Antonawon s tomb ! XVIII. The morn shone o er the hemloc wood, And lighted up the solitude. The birch canoes lay on the strand, Besmeared by many a bloody hand ; And red men in the water lay, No more to tread the forest way. The hawk was soaring low in air, Half frightened by the dying glare ; And wolves, across the narrow glade, Were prowling in the cedar shade ! Young Henry sought the dizzy ledge, And stood above the water s edge. He heard a rustling in the brake, And turned him westward from the lake. A youth, arrived with faltering breath, Stood gazing on the work of death ; And on an oak, that o er his head, Its arms of centuries outspread, A panther stood, in act to spring ! A thought a flash the echoes ring And down upon the stripling s head The monster falls, supine and dead. The tale is told of hapless love, Repining in the Shady Grove ; SHADY GROVE. 39 And Henry leaves the hero s trade, To seek again the peaceful glade. Through groves of pine and aged oak, That oft have felt the thunder stroke, And borne the tempests strongest breath, When ships went down to realms of death, He speeds along the forest path, Nor heeds the desert monster s wrath ; And passing through the twilight wood, He sings to cheer the solitude. XIX. CANZONET. The sun is set, The stars are met, The grass is wet With dew ; The flowers are folded up to sleep, The birds are sleeping too. The gentle breeze, Among the trees, With harmonies Goes through ; And while the moon-beam lights the deep ; I ll fly, my love, to you ! xx. June rolled above the locust vale, What time the bard began the tale, And blooms were on the orchard bough, Divested of its burden now. The Autumn gale, with ceaseless sigh, Proclaims that Winter s reign is nigh ; The fallen leaves are scattered round, And whirl in eddies o er the ground ; The fields are brown, the trees are bare, From chill November s frosty air. 40 SHADY GROVE. Yet here and there a hardier leaf Mourns in its loneliness of grief, Upon some tall and barren bough, O er its fair sisters, fallen now. So falls the race of human kind, So crumbles all, save deathless Mind, That o er the wreck of time shall sway, Like yon high leaf on Autumn s spray ! Yet not like that to fall from high, While o er its fate the cold winds sigh ; But mid the crush of worlds elate, To triumph over Time and Fate. Thus may my soul with steadfast aim, Her Heaven designed dominion claim ; Nor shudder when the autumn gale Sends from the north its plaintive wail ; Nor fear the cold that winter brings Upon its white and frosted wings ; Nor yet the darker, drearier doom, That slumbers in the marble tomb ; Secure that nought of ill can come Within that cold, but peaceful home. XXI. The moon is rising o er the sea, Round as the fruit of orange tree ! Her beams with liquid gold o erlay The slender spires in Swampscot bay ; And gild the cliffs of old Nahant, That send their shadows far aslant, Tracing, along the shelly reach, Their awful shadows on the beach. Nahant, above the silver sea, Lifting its tall rocks silently, Seems like some jewel of the main, Bound to the land with sparkling chain ! The Night Queen shakes her watery locks, And glistens on the crystal rocks. The glowing shells are burnished bright, And sparkle with intense delight.. SHADY GROVE. 41 And joyous waves with rapture float O er crystal gems and epidote. The moonlight gilds, for many a league, The bosky fields of Naumkeag ; 4 And Saugus smiles beneath the beam That slumbers on her winding stream. How oft upon that golden moon, On some sweet eve of pleasant June, When all the scene with beauty shone, The Indian maid has gazed alone, While waiting for her chief sincere, Returning from the hunt of deer ! Dark Maiden ! thou art sleeping now, Beneath yon tall cliff s moonlit brow, And I could tell the thrilling tale, That made thy fair brow first look pale ! But tears would come to some fair eye, So I must not then silent lie. XXII. Fair moon ! that shinest sweetlv down On tall grey cliff and valley brown, How does yon sea, which spreads its arms, Embracing all the silent charms Of mainland, cape, and isle, How does it own thy potency, With heaving breast like things of clay That oft thy high behest obey, And like a lover, follow thee, Enamoured of thy smile ! XXIII. It is indeed a pleasant hour, When earth is still beneath the power Of starry influence on high, And sleeps beneath the tranquil sky ! Then he whose happy heart has won The confidence of Beauty s smile, May tell his thoughts to some dear one, And many a weary hour beguile ! 42 SHADY GROVE. While he whose solitary day Disowns the light of Beauty s sway, Must all his sympathies express To birds, and trees, and loneliness ! Oh, I would rather earn my bread, By toiling in some wretched shed, Or take the pittance and the scourge, When hard and thankless taskers urge, Than own the cold, unsocial heart, Which cannot feel the joy, The scenes of love and home impart, When social cares employ ! The man who tills the stubborn field, For the slight boon its harvests yield, May take at eve the welcome kiss, And smile at pain that heightens bliss ! And e en the slave who toils all day, In the strong sunbeam s burning ray, Finds pleasure in his nightly shed, And balm for wounds that freely bled ! But he who must the doom partake, To be from sweet affection hurled ; Who wakes to sleep, and sleeps to wake, Alone, within a homeless world ; Can never know the joys that spring, When Home and Love their treasures bring XXIV. The lights are in the banquet hall, And Mirth has heard the marriage call, And Youth and Beauty throng around, Delighted with the cheerful sound ! The holy man the word has spoken, That never must on earth be broken ! And manhood s pledge is given fond, Which blushing beauty doth respond ; And hearts that long have been but one, Are bound no more to be undone ! Beside them there a minstrel stands, Observant of those youthful bands. SHADY GROVE. 43 The fairest of that happy throng, Has asked of him the nuptial song, And offered him the cheerful wine, To add its vigor to his line. He took the cup that pensive man And drank the wine, and thus began. XXV. SONG Should Sorrow ever bring to thee The burden of its tears, And thou be doomed to weep the scenes Of unforgotten years ; How will thy memory smile to think That hope has been repaid, And that some joys are treasured up Where they will never fade ! I had a dream of hope in youth, A long, deep dream of love ! I will not say how well its truth Has been my lot to prove ; But far within my deepest heart, Some joys will aye remain, Bound up too strongly with my life, For Earth to rend in twain. No Time can never take away, Till Reason leave her seat, Nor even then the memory, So holy and so sweet ! For virtuous, true, and ardent love Is next to heaven akin ! And where such faith obtains the heart bure grace the soul may win. Oh, altar of Domestic Love ! Far, far too seldom sung ; And all too sacred e er to dwell Upon unhallowed tongue ! 44 SHADY GROVE. Ordained by Heaven to be to man The highest bliss of earth ! The portal mayst thou prove to scenes Of more exalted worth. XXVI. Then out a gentle maiden spoke, While pleasure in her features woke. " I love the Minstrel s magic lay, And pleased confess the Poet s sway ; Then if thy muse observant be, Oh, deign to waste one thought on me !" The youthful poet smiled to hear Such flattery in his artless ear ; And wakened by a praise so rare, Thus breathed his stanzas to the fair. xxvn. SONG. Thy breast is free from sorrow, Thy heart without alloy ; And each recurring morrow, Presents the cup of joy ! Thy morning sun is shining, Thy calm blue sky is bright ; And Hope for thee is twining A wreath of rich delight ! The smile of joy is hollow, And versed in deepest wiles ; And thou, like me, mayst follow The meteor that beguiles ! Thy daystar may be shrouded, Thy health s bright bloom decay, Thine eye with tears be clouded, And pleasure melt away. But though distress bereave thee Of all that once was dear ; And time refuse to leave thee, The solace of a tear ! SHADY GROVE. 45 There is a Star in Heaven, Which shines when tempests lower ; A smile of promise given To Virtue s darkest hour. XXVIII. The maidens thronged around to hear The minstrel pour a lay so dear ; And sought to banish all his care, And kindly bade him welcome there. Their sweet attention pleased him well, And made his grateful heart to swell. The Muse, he said, from earliest day, Has cheered with song my pensive way, And lightened many a secret ill, And bade my soul with homage thrill, To Him who caused this heart to beat, And planted Memory in her seat, And gave me feelings that can prove The joys of Friendship and of Love. Ev n now I saw a vision fair, Like yon Aurora in the air, That gleams along the northern sky, And hangs its arch of gold so high ! That vision o er my memory past, As thou hast seen, in sunlight cast, The flashing shade of some bright bird, That soars along with wing unheard ! Though darkest ills may oft entwine Their sorrows round this heart of mine, Till every finer feeling shake, And all its noblest chords may break, Yet still it feels the latent glow Which cannot yield to deepest wo. And when the light of joy doth bring Its lustre to the pensive mood Of cold neglect and solitude, Can like the harp of Memnon ring. 46 SHADY GROVE. XXIX. But now the night was waning fast, And louder sighed the rising blast ; And oft was heard the distant swell Of waters on the beach that fell, As breaking on the sandy shore, The deep wave sent its heavy roar. The solemn bell of midnight peals, Whose warning to the spirit steals, When friends depart from Shady Grove, And leave the scene to Peace and Love. XXX. Now, ere I pen the parting line, What thanks, kind Reader, should be thine, That thou hast listened to the bard, Thy praise the poet s best reward ! Let not the cold observer deem That I have lightly closed the theme ! For sure the stanza that can raise The buried joys of other days ; Or call again the friends of youth, With whom we spent the hours of truth j Or fond regard and friendship prove, Or give a joy to one we love, Or make a single sorrow less, Is not a song of nothingness. The hours of Time are flying fast, And youthful joys will soon be past ; And scenes which now so bright appear, Will change their hue some distant year ; And life will fade, and youth be gone, And pleasures vanish one by one ; And Hope, that now is like a star, May shine in dimness, faint and far ; And friends may die, and prospects frown, And dark clouds pour misfortune down ! But if thy heart is Virtue s shrine, And that which charms thee is divine ; SHADY GROVE. 47 If Earth has not a chord so strong To bind thee to its joys too long ; But all thy thoughts refined and pure, By Duty s bond are made secure ; And sweet Devotion, led by Taste, Shall be with constancy embraced ; Then shall a holier feeling come, To spread its sanction o er thy home ; And age be like an Autumn day, That glides in tranquil sleep away. NOTES. 1. The trees that sigh round Lover s Leap. p. 26. The extremity of St. Maura, the ancient Leucas, one of the Grecian Islands, presents to the sea a tall cliff, from which despairing lovers used to throw themselves ; whence it was denominated the Lover s Leap. It was there that Sappho, the Lesbian Poetess, and Artemisia, Queen of Caria, precipitated themselves into the sea, as a remedy for disap pointed love. The Lover s Leap mentioned in this poem, is a remarkable cliff, within a mile s walk from the Lynn Hotel, toward the north ; much frequented by owls, whip-poor-wills, and lovers. 2. Jit this lone hour in Shady Grove, p. 27. The term Shady Grove is not an invention of the poet s fancy, but the name of a place beautiful as the valley of Agra, beneath whose trees glides a rivulet delightful as Yarrow ; a scene which need only to have echoed the harp of Hafiz or of Burns, to have become associated with the dearest ideas of poetry and love. 3. Permitting thus the chilling air To wanton with her flowing hair. p. 27. Dederatque comam diffundere ventis. VIRGIL. 4. The bosky fields of Naumkeag. p. 41. Naumkeag is the ancient Indian name of Salem. 5. " I love the Minstrel s magic lay, And pleased confess the Poet s sway ; Then if thy muse observant be, Oh deign to waste one thought on me !" p. 44. These lines are the genuine extemporaneous address of a young lady, to the author of Shady Grove. NAHANT. My pleasant Harp ! that through my native wood, While sitting lone beneath the dark green pine, Hast poured thy numbers on the solitude, And made the echoes of the mountains mine ; Oh be again as sweet as once thou wert, And yield one grateful strain to gladden o er my heart. ii. Oft in the sunlight of departed years, When youthful sorrows their light shadows threw, Thy notes have been the solace of my tears, Mantling my cup with pleasures ever new. Thy thrilling chords have waked my soul s delight, Struck in the shady glen, or on the rocky height. Warm from the heart, in life s extatic glow, Ere dark misfortune has her power essayed, The lays of artless love and friendship flow, And sweet unsullied Virtue lends her aid, To gild the lay that youthful Genius sings, While Hope springs up elate on light exulting wings. IV. No sorrow then its dusky form uprears To mar the melody of life s sweet tune ! Or if a sadness rise, its hue appears Like a slight cloud upon the summer moon, Dimming her ray a momentary space, That then shines out anew, with deep redoubled grace. 50 NAHANT. V. But when the mirthful hours of youth are past, And in the twilight of life s changing day We pause awhile, as lulls the reckless blast, To trace the footsteps of our morning way, And taste the bliss which Memory can bring, Some bitter in the cup will Sorrow ever fling. VI. Yet not for him whose hope is in the sky, Has thought of vanished pleasure power to wake In his confiding bosom one sad sigh ; JVor can misfortune wound his heart, or shake His constant faith, or add one secret sting Of such as with remorse the secret bosom wring. No tis the power of true belief to bless The heart that treasures it with latent strength, Which lends its firm support in all distress, And bears the faithful soul its journey s length ; Yielding an aid no earthly wisdom can, Beyond romantic power of fabled talisman. VIII. Say ye who best can tell ye happy few, Favored indeed on life s wide sea of doubt, Mid changing faiths, and wrecks of hope untrue, Who keep the path has borne you safely out From all life s snares, how doth this kind belief Pour out its healing balm o er every human grief! IX. And most, my Friend, say thou, with whom my feet Have journeyed on through many a gloomy hour, And many a happy day, oh, say how sweet This holy hope ! with what sustaining power Its strength has borne our hearts congenial on, In those dark hours of wo when earthly hopes were gone ! NAIIANT. 51 X. Nor yet alone, when most devotion s aid Was needed, hath its power divine been proved ! Its warmth has glowed in sunlight and in shade, Making earth s scenes all beauteous and beloved ! And friendship s joy, and love s delicious glow, Arid life itself has passed more happy for the show. XI. Then shall this faith give solitude a tone, For most its holy aid is with me then ! Not only have its rays on hill tops shone, But their reflections reach the deepest glen In darkest hours it springs without alloy, For truth is truth alike in sorrow as in joy. XII. I ask no muse but her to bless my song ! Let others seek Liakura to climb, 1 And call her maids from fabled bowers to throng, And gild with heathen names their fancied rhyme ; Let Truth alone my warm ideas trace, I seek no other muse my humble lay to grace. XIII. Then should one line of this my artless song Find its pure way to one devoted heart, My toil, my sorrow it will twice repay, To him to me new energy impart ; Our life shall brighten as our path we gain, And Heaven itself look down with pleasure on the strain. XIV. To thee, my Friend, this votive lay belongs, To thee, who cheered my footsteps up the steep, And taught my heart from undeserved wrongs, To turn, like thee, to nature s fountain deep, And drink exalting draughts from that deep stream, Which flows forever pure in Heaven s inspiring beam, 52 NAHAXT. XV. The gloomy shades that through the silent night Have slept upon the mountain and the plain, Are vanishing before the rising light, That comes in splendor o er the mirrored main. The distant stars, that shone with trembling ray, Are disappearing fast before advancing day. XVI. The scene is beautiful ! the rising sun Shines o er the hills and gilds the village spire ; The birds their song of gladness have begun, And earth is vocal with the plumy choir. A dark green drapery clothes the forest wood, Mingled with mossy cliffs precipitous and rude. xvn. And see the tall and yellow sunflower turn Her opening bosom to the Lord of Day ! Whence faithless man a lesson well might learn Of love and homage to Heaven s brighter ray. From each devoted heart beneath the sky, The morning orison goes up to God on high. XVIII. And oh, if aught of gratitude there be In human hearts, it surely must arise On such delightful morn as this, when we Behold the blooming earth, and sea, and skies, All bright and fragrant, as on that blest day When waked to being first, by Heaven s creative ray. XIX. It is a bliss unspeakable and grand To dwell in such a world ! and were there nought But this fair earth, formed by such skilful hand, And azure sky, with sparkling gems inwrought, To bless the longing sight, with spirits free To meditate and gaze it were a bliss to be ! NAHANT. 53 XX. But when above, beyond those trembling fires That light the lofty palace of the sky, There lies a land surpassing man s desires, Where every tear is wiped from every eye, What feeling heart, with Heaven s warm ray endued, Would hush the sacred strain that breathes of grati tude ? XXI. This changing life is like a fitful day Of sunshine and of storm ! The morning dawns With misty haze, and thin clouds of light gray, And streaks of gleaming gold then o er the lawns The bright sun rises with a ruddy glow, O er many a goodly scene his graceful tints to throw. XXII. But soon thick clouds arise, and thunder roars, And sudden lightnings flash, with wind and hail ; And fast from darkened skies the tempest pours, And torrents sweep along the deluged vale ; Man seeks a shelter in some cottage warm, While the red sun goes down in darkness and in storm. XXIII. Childhood recks not of this its hopes are fair ; No venom bubbles in its cup of bliss ! No envy foams, no malice, and no care ; Or if a transient sorrow come, it is But a slight foil, like the thin cloud of gray, Through which the bright sun shines on his first up ward way. XXIV. Beside the spring, where life s fresh tide began, I sit and muse on many a happy dream ; Tracing the tiny rill, that lightly ran By smiling flowers, that bent to kiss the stream, 54 NAHANT. Ere its full tide rolled over the wide plain, Which tinges oft its wave with deep and sombre stain. XXV. Along the path of youth, from the sweet hour When first I plucked the columbine, till when My eye was on a larger, fairer flower, Whose pure surpassing beauty pleases men, I cast a retrospective glance, and there Life s streamlet bubbles joy, each scene is bright and fair. XXVI. There are who doom the infant to despair ! That little, lively, sparkling, cherub thing, All fresh from its Creator s hand so fair, So lovely so elate so blossoming Oh God, for words to paint it as it is So like the seraphs basking in their bliss ! XXVII. Am I too warm ? Oh say, what is the theme ! The new made gem of an immortal soul, Destined beside the throne of God to beam When suns have set, and systems ceased to roll ! A treasure lent to earth a living gem The fairest, holiest star in Nature s diadem ! XXVIII. The tide of life rolls on the tiny stream Has swelled into a brook, upon whose bank A little boy is playing, in the beam Of the bright sun, with many a childish prank ; And now his little boat upon the wave He launches fearless forth the rippling stream to brave. XXIX. Emblem of that poetic skiff, which soon His hand shall trust upon a deeper tide, Freighted with hope, to bring of praise the boon, Among the rocks and shoals of fame to glide ; NAHANT. 55 Perchance its fate upon the banks to find, Or sail into the sea of latest human kind. XXX. That hope is yet unborn, and in his breast No deeper thought of future ill has room, Than that some light gale floating from the west, May bring his little bark its transient doom. Oh happy state of youthful life ! to know No depth of present ill no dream of future woe. XXXI. And now I see him as the bright star burns, Standing with holy look beside the knee Of an indulgent parent, while he learns Some gentle hymn of pious infancy. And now he smiles, and kneels beside her chair, And clasps his little hands to say his evening prayer. XXXII. My mother ! such the task thy goodness taught ; And surely Heaven will recompense thy care, And mid the ills by age and sickness brought, Thy kind paternal love in memory bear. May God regard thee on his judgment day, And wipe with kindly hand thy many tears away. xxxm. Now all abroad the bright revolving sun Of Summer pours his warm and genial ray, Gilding the streams that down the mountain run, And making fertile hill and valley gay. The little bee, along the fragrant fields, Inhales the liquid sweets the honey-suckle yields. XXXIV. Tis sweet at morn to drink the balmy gale, To hear the music of the tinkling rills, To see displayed the beauties of the vale, The patient cattle, grazing on the hills, 6 56 NAHANT. The swallows darting through the lambent air, And many tinted flowers that make the landscape fair* XXXV. But soon the sun ascends a loftier sky, And throws to earth his brightly burning ray ; The feathered tribes to shady coverts fly, While in the vale the breezes die away. The little insects, in the sultry air, Throng round in thousand bands, and play their an tics rare. XXXVI. The heated laborers their toil suspend, And stretch themselves along the grassy bank ; The cattle from the burning hill descend, And seek the shadows of the willows dank ; Beneath the sun, a streak of dazzling light Divides the glassy main, and tires the gazing sight. XXXVII. We pass the polished beach of smooth hard sand, Which from the shore curves out into the sea, And, like a giant causeway, joins the land Of fair Nahant, that towers so gracefully, Standing unrivalled in the watery plain, By all the isles that grace the wide Atlantic main. XXXVIII, The waterfowl are wading in the wave That spreads its thin edge o er the shelving beach, And unconcernedly appear to brave Our near approach ; but as we almost reach Their careless haunt, they run along the shore, And from the shining sand on lazy pinions soar. XXXIX. Then on we pass through flocks of screaming gulls, That flap their flagging wings above our head ; While from the wave the noisy lapwing culls The tender shell-fish for her youngling s bread ; NAHANT. 57 And far beyond the farthest breaker s foam, The quiet sea birds keep their safe and peaceful home. XL. And see ! yon gull has found a bivalve shell, Replete with life, and flown into the air ; And now descends to find it where it fell. Upon the sand, and lies well opened there ! Who taught that sea-born wanderer to soar, And break her shelly prey upon the rocky shore ? XLI. Pleased with the joys of our romantic ride, We drive our horse into the deep salt wave ! Fearless he plunges in the refluent tide ! The wave returns the rising billows lave His foaming sides we turn him to the land, For female fears aloud portend a fatal strand ! XLII. Along the wave white breasted swallows skim, And in the lofty sand bank make their homes, Whose top is far above the water s brim, And at its foot the restless ocean foams ! But chief they love to dwell in yonder Cave, 2 Through which the rushing tide rolls with its roar ing wave. XLIII. At noon, along the grassy bank reclined, Which on the steep cliffs edge its carpet spreads, We drink the freshness of the balmy wind, And feel the joy its vital impulse sheds. The cool breeze wakes from Ocean s secret springs, And blooming health is borne upon its fragrant wings. XLIV. Let Grecian bards pour forth their classic verse, To sing the glories of Parnassus Mount ; Let all the maids of Helicon rehearse The sweets that flowed from Aganippe s fount ; 58 NAHANT. The pleasant shores of eastern Climes can vaunt No dearer joys than thine, sublime and fair Nahant ! XLV. What lovely gems are scattered at our feet, Of varied colours and of texture fine ! Here we the stainless chalcedony meet, And see the rocks of sparkling crystal shine ; And oft we pause, as the soft ripple swells, With a light silver sound, o er heaps of tinkling shells. XLVI. Beneath the surface of the lucid wave, That dashes in the fissures of the clifts, The little fishes sport around, and brave The patient angler, while the sea plant lifts Its long green arms, and waves its purple flowers, Above the sparkling gems that pave the ocean bowers. XLVII. There, in the clear deep water, where the storm Rages in vain above the shelving rocks, The sea anemone expands its form, And shakes the spangles of its dark green locks. There too the sea-star and the sun-ray shine, To light the silver halls that stretch beneath the brine. XLVIII. A little boat is resting on the shore, Half lifted up by the returning wave, With cheerful heart and with an easy oar We leave the beach, nor dread a watery grave, Our sail is set, and with a friendly breeze, We haste to gain Egg-rock, whose tall cliffs fright and please. XLIX. It stands alone, a white and rocky isle, Where wild fowl wont of old to build their nest ; NAHANT. 59 Now timid sheep upon the lofty pile, On green and flowery couch, securely rest. The Ocean waves may roll around their home; Yet safe they dwell above the storm-sent billow s foam. L. But now dark clouds are in the western sky, And faintly swells the distant thunder s sound ! To their wave girded home the sea-gulls fly ; We leave the rock, and run our boat aground ; Its curving side grates on the sandy shore ; We furl the fluttering sail, and drop the dripping oar. LI. The wind is rising in the thunder cloud, That fast approaches up the darkning sky ; And now the sun is hid and now aloud The thunder roars and the keen lightnings fly. The waves are tipt with foam, and far away The white sails darken fast along the stormy bay. LII. Now heavily descends the dashing rain, And heaven is darkened by the cloud, that soon Shuts down its eastern edge upon the main ; While far away is heard the curlew s croon, And fishing smacks, beneath the sudden gale, Are scudding for the shore, with drenched and close reefed sail. LIII. And see yon toiling Ship upon the wave, With top-sail and top-gallant all aback, Brailing her mizzen to the mast, to brave The huricane, and hold her destined track. Unharmed by dangers mid the tempest s force, Along the windward shore she keeps her straining course. 6* 60 NAHANT. LIV. Yet here the foreign bark hath oft been blown, By adverse winds, upon the rocky shore, In stormy night, and hapless seamen thrown Upon the beach, to sleep forever more ; While anxious friends have looked with longing eyes, To see the welcome morn of their return arise. LV. But now the sun breaks from the western sky, The shower is past, the cloud sinks in the sea ; A glorious rainbow, beautiful and high, Spans the dark wave, and fills the heart with glee, To think that Mercy yet extends her sway, And this fair earth no more shall fall to wrath a prey. LVI. Then come the social joys of Summer eve, The pleasant walk along the water side, What time their task the weary boatmen leave, And little fishes, from the silver tide, Elate with joy, leap in successive springs, And spread the wavelets round in fast diverging rings. LV1I. High over-head the stripe-winged nighthawk soars, With loud responses to his distant love ; And while the air for insects he explores, In frequent swoop descending from above, Startles with whirring sound the timid maid, Who haply wanders lone along the twilight glade. LVIII. Around the vale, the bat, on leathern wings, In airy circles wheels his sudden flight. The whip-poor-will, in distant forest, sings Her loud unvaried song ; and, fond of night, The boding owl, upon the evening gale, Sends forth along the hill her melancholy wail. NAHANT. 61 L1X. T is sweet at moonlight s tranquil hour to stray Along the margin of the sparkling deep, When on the shining beach the billows play, And shelly murmurs round the ledges creep ; When stars are gleaming on the seaman s home, And far among the rocks the ninth wave sends its foam. LX. But then t is not so sweet to stray alone ! Some gentle friend should hear our fond remark, And answer to us with confiding tone, Made dearer by the distance and the dark, Or rather dimness of the silent night, When souls are more awake than in the flaming light. LXI. Then we converse with God, and God with us, And starry realms are opened to our view ! In ancient days and eastern climes, t was thus That heavenly influence came down like dew, On those who went in solitudes to pray, In forests and by lakes, far from the noise of day. LXI I. The first sweet hour of gentle evening flies On downy pinions to eternal rest. Along the vale the balmy breezes rise, Fanning the languid boughs ; while in the west The last faint streak of amber twilight fades ; And Day lies down to sleep among the forest shades. NOTES. 1. Let others seek Liakura to climb, p. 51. The ancient Parnassus is now called Liakura. 2. But chief they love to dwell in yonder cave. p. 57. The Swallow s Cave, on the southern shore of Nahant, is a great curiosity. It is a deep fissure in the rock, through which the water rushes at high tide. Multitudes of swallows build their nests in it. This Cave, together with the Spouting Horn, and the numerous caverns and grottoes around the peninsula, added to the refreshing sea breezes, the extensive prospects, the beautiful beaches, and all the other enchantments of the place, renders Nahant the most delightful residence, in the pleasant months, on the coast of North America. THE SCHOOLMASTER. BESIDE yon brook, that trills its winding way Through shaded glens, with fern and roses gay, Freed from the task of Learning s stern control, The pensive Teacher takes his evening stroll. A graceful form comes forth to meet him there, With cheerful footstep, and a forehead fair. She seems a seraph from Instruction s train, Sent to reward him for his hours of pain. At her approach, his thoughful visage glows, A warmer current round his spirit flows, The flowers look brighter by the shaded stream, And day goes down with more refulgent beam. I sing the Teacher s care, his daily pains, The hope that lifts him, and the task that chains ; His anxious toil to raise the gentle mind, His skill to clear the path for youth designed, His faithful watch o er life s expanding ray, To guide young Genius up Improvement s way, His unprized worth in Freedom s happy state, And all the glories on his path that wait. Deep were the shadows on the mind that lay, Before Instruction poured her heavenly ray, Creation smiled in all its native light, But clouds were gathered o er the mental sight ; And incomplete was nature s holy plan, Till God himself came down to talk with man. In the deep stillness of the gloomy night, His Spirit shone with its unclouded light ; The Prophet Bard received the secret ray, And rose to pour it on the people s way. 64 THE SCHOOLMASTER. Along the Gihon s banks the Teacher walked, 1 While God familiar with his spirit talked. His mind, enlightened by the word divine, Sent forth its lustre o er the land to shine. Virtue from him derived an impulse new, And vice deep shuddered that his words were true. The young received instruction from his care, And age perceived superior wisdom there. Thus passed his days of intellectual worth, Pouring the light of heaven o er the dark earth, Till the glad hour when God in kindness came, And bore him upward in a car of flame. Then sacred Wisdom framed her genial rule, And shone resplendent in the Prophets School. 2 There the pure mind its strong conceptions brought, There the benignant laws of Heaven were taught. There the young Levite fanned the censer s fire, Or waked to sacred harmony his lyre. There the rapt minstrel, owning heaven s control, Waited in deep devotedness of soul, Till God should come, in his o ershading hour, And clothe his soul with inspiration s power. On Shinar s plains the light of Science rose, 3 The light which now o er kindred nations glows. There, when still Eve had closed the gates of day, The seer came forth along Euphrates way, To count the stare that o er Chaldea glowed, And trace sedate the comet s blazing road. He marshalled forth the hosts of shining flame, And gave each star its station and its name ; He marked the hour each orb should set and rise, And taught mankind the knowledge of the skies. But bright, O Learning ! shone thy morning star, When Memnon s hand removed obstruction s bar, 4 And poured through Egypt s halls the genial ray, That soon should brighten to meridian day. THE SCHOOLMASTER. 65 His glowing pen the mystic signs portrayed, Which all emotions of the mind obeyed ; And, like Prometheus, when the senseless rock Gave forth its lustre at the sudden shock, He struck a latent spark of mental fire, That ran like lightning o er electric wire. Divine Instruction ! from Barneses rill Thy lustre shone to brighten Grecia s hill. 5 There sage Philosophy unveiled her store, And spread her treasures of enchanting lore. Learning in all her majesty appeared, And Athens courts were by her presence cheered Her groves were sacred to Instruction s power And Song and Science ruled the genial hour. Immortal Greece ! well might the poets feign That Gods presided o er thy happy reign ! There sacred wisdom was to Thales given, 6 Who taught his scholars how to measure heaven ; There sage Pythagoras proclaimed his rule, 7 And spread his morals through Crotona s school ; While the bright muses souo-ht each hill and shore, And piled the volumes of their classic lore. But sad, O Athens ! was the fatal day, Mourned by the Muse in many a pensive lay, When o er thy weeping hill the parting sun Took his last farewell of thy wisest one ! 8 Say, was it nought that he espoused thy cause, When Sparta sought to give thy people laws ? Was it in vain, that when his arm sunk low, He saved thy leader from the reckless foe ? Snatched thy historian from the battle plain, And bore him safely o er the heaps of slain ? Maintained thy honor on the senate floor, And taught thee wisdom all unknown before ? Declared that Virtue s was a high reward, That vice should be by all the good abhorred, Informed thy youth the path to heaven designed, And taught the Immortality of Mind ? 66 THE SCHOOLMASTER. Such were his kindly deeds performed to all ; And thy reward the hemloc, and the pall ! Yet, Athens ! thy repentance came at last, When from his hand the fatal cup had passed ! Then thy Instructor s worth was fully known, And frowns were on his dark accusers thrown. The brazen statue rose, to spread its grace In silent grandeur o er the hallowed place, Where once the living Teacher taught the crowd, And aged heads before his precepts bowed. The worth and wisdom of that single breast, Has bid thy fame in endless glory rest ! The name of Socrates will live and glow, When brass has perished with his nameless foe. Celestial Plato ! 9 thine too be the fame To stand immortal with thy master s name ! To gentle spirits who thy worth revere, The mention of thy garden-school is dear ! There, in the secret grove s romantic shade, Devoted scholars were around thee laid. Far from the world s disturbing din, they sought The pure instruction which thy wisdom taught ; And as thy lips conveyed the sacred lore, And spoke with eloquence unknown before, How glowed each soul, in virtue s power arrayed, To hear its immortality displayed ; While indignation passed from side to side, When listening how thy murdered master died. Nor, Aristippus, be thy name forgot, 10 Whose cunning saved thee from thy master s lot ! When fortune frowned, he bent not to the tide, Or earth had lost the lesson when he died ; But thou more passive, caught the fashion s hue, And wore the face thy patrons loved to view ! Yet wast thou formed without deception s guile, To win the scholar s love, the people s smile ; And long thy wit and wisdom shall remain To raise the laugh, and point the moral strain. THE SCHOOLMASTER. 67 Nor, Island Prince, would we thy fate bemoan, 11 Who for the Teacher s chair exchanged thy throne ; Haply disburdened from thy dangerous care, The recompense of noblest minds to share. Unlike the lesson modern times evince, When the good Schoolmaster is made a Prince ! la Philip and Dionysius, sons of state ! How like your station how unlike your fate ! One for the diadem lays down the rule, One leaves the princely chamber for the school. These mutual changes may this moral bring, How near allied the Teacher and the King ! Oh ye ! whose feeling souls indignant burn, Your honest claims when evil natures spurn ; Whose injured spirits must for years sustain Toil s weary load, and Poverty s dark chain ; Condemned alone to wake each anxious morn, To meet Neglect, and to encounter Scorn ; To wear your strength, your very life away, In thought by night, in earnest care by day ; To spend the long and patient hour in vain, To rouse the slumber of some dunce s brain ; Arid see your best endeavors unconfest, E en when success attends your learning s test ; Ye who must toil, till life s best hope shall fade, And find your task with stinted hand repaid ; Compelled to take the boon which just will bear To save the fainting spirit from despair, Nor leave the means to feed the soaring mind With the rich treasures for its growth designed ; Who still must follow life s receding ray, Yet see your early visions pass away ! Think of the great and good, whose kindred soul Endured the pains which now your thoughts control. You tread the sacred path Confucius trod ; 13 You walk with Plato on the classic sod ; Yours is the holy sky where Newton gazed ; Yours the far orb where Herschell s genius blazed. 7 68 THE SCHOOLMASTER. With Kepler s rule you measure heaven s broad space, And all the laws of earth with Euclid trace. Yours is each science which the truth ensures ; Christian and heathen, all the arts are yours ! Yours all the wisdom Socrates has taught, Without the fatal cup which Envy brought ! Yours all the pride of hearts with worth endued, Yours the rich recompense of doing good ; Yours the reward of pointing lofty minds To paths which Honor, Learning, Genius finds ; And more than all, yours the extatic glow Of fellow worker with your God below ! Thus by thy stream, Kinross, with pensive mind, Thy Poet Teacher o er his lot repined ! 14 Doomed in life s early morn to see the shade Of secret sickness all his views pervade ; And while Misfortune s pains his feelings wrung, Thus o er his woes the sad enthusiast sung. " Now Spring returns, but not to me returns The vernal joy ! " So in the secret urns Of Memory is many a treasure hid, And many a high hope sleeps beneath the coffin lid ! A different fate, ethereal Milton ! thine ; 15 Whose lofty genius bade Instruction shine. T was thine alone through heaven s wide fields to roam, And bring elate its secret treasures home ; T was thine to bid the youthful genius soar To realms thy mind delighted to explore. Yet sorrow darkened o er thy earthly fate, Domestic troubles, and the ills of state ; And, ah ! more sad, that woe the muses mourn, T was thine to be through utter darkness borne ! To find day s vital lamp exist in vain ! While thus we hear thy lofty muse complain. " Seasons return, but not to me returns The sweet approach of morn !" So Genius bums THE SCHOOLMASTER. 69 Alike beside the lonely woodland rill, And the bright stream that flows from Sion s hill. Some shade of woe o er every lot is thrown ; Some secret pain each human heart must own. Yet, Sons of Learning ! it is yours to rise Above earth s ills, to seek your native skies. There with congenial stars your worth shall shine, And form a galaxy of-rays divine ! And though awhile outshone by some bright sun, Yet still ye glow when his clear course is run. As yonder splendid cone of torrid light 16 Gleams with rich lustre on the dome of night, And marks the path where day s bright orb has past, So, hallowed Genius ! shall thy memory cast Its pure effulgence o er the shade of mind, To light the path for future worth designed. Here the glad muse her tribute pays to thee, Taylor, thou Shakspeare of divinity ! 17 From humblest scenes thy genius bade thee soar, The brightest realms of virtue to explore. Raised from the Teacher s to the Bishop s chair, Life s purest honors waited on thee there ; And youth and age, by thy instructions blest, Enshrined with tears thy everlasting rest. Nor shall a Poet and a Teacher keep His tears unshed above the Minstrel s sleep. Immortal Beattie ! thee I see recline 18 On the tall cliff where foaming torrents shine. Woods, winds, and waters, gave thy bosom joy, And the muse owns thou wast " no vulgar boy !" Kincardine long shall boast thy honored name, The brightest star that lights her scroll of fame. The schoolboy oft the "breezy hill" shall trace, Where their kind Master chose his resting place ; And they who would life s highest blessings prize, Shall practice thy pure precept, and be wise. 70 THE SCHOOLMASTER. Nor have the friends of science failed to show The gratitude to Ruddiman they owe. 19 Long of his worth shall Scotland s annals tell, Who led her sons up learning s path so well. And long, Oh Knox ! thy memory shall stay, 20 Like the pure pleasures of an Autumn day, Thy useful Extracts, elegant and chaste, Fill the young mind with knowledge and with taste. But not alone on Europe s strand are found The honest hearts where worth and truth abound. Some honored names America can boast, And learning s flame shines bright along her coast. Of sterling worth her early records tell ; Her flowers are found in many a humble dell ! Here Corlett s worth has many a bosom felt, 21 And Learning spread her rays where Cheever dwelt ; 22 Here Dwight has reared an obelisk of fame, 23 And with his song repaid the Muse s flame. Thy praise, immortal Wilson ! too, hath shone In every clime where thy bright birds have flown ! 24 While wandering in many a secret glen, Thine eye found sweet employment for thy pen. No lay of heaven s sweet songsters passed unheard j Without thy gaze no summer leaflet stirred. Thy footstep light found out each hidden vale Where whooped the owl, or sung the nightingale. And when thou slepst, what broke thy woodland dream ? The morning lark, or the shrill eagle s scream ! Thou sought st each cliff, known but to some bright wing, Where sudden songs made the still forest ring. On lake or ocean shore, no warbling throat Without thine ear, poured forth its joyous note ; No varied tint of feathered race could shine, Without thine eye had made its color thine. Thus while thy happy school engaged thy care, Each woodland songster trilled its favorite air ; THE SCHOOLMASTER. 71 And oft some wild bird s shriek, at midnight hour, Has called thee forth, to note its novel power. Since first the Indian saw the white man s flame, And cried " Oh welcome !" as the stranger came, How blest the change this happy land has viewed, To glad her shores, and cheer her solitude ! O er half the world the shades of nature lay, Art lent no glow, and Science sent no ray. The whirlwind rushed through endless groves of oak, And savage voices on the silence broke. From early time, through days and years unscanned, That rolled their circles round this gloomy land, O er which the sun diffused his wasted light, And wild flowers bloomed, with useless beauty bright; Devoid of culture, unimproved by taste ; The Indian ruled o er nature s boundless waste, O er trackless forests and extended plains, Where mighty rivers roll through fair domains ; O er cloud-girt mountains, and by sandy shores, Whose rocks ne er echoed to a white man s oars ; Whose waves beheld no broad white sail expand, No civic dome along the barren strand ; Here, in his pride, the child of nature scowled, Wild as the wolves that round his dwelling howled. A bark came o er the bournless waters far, Impelled by Hope, and led by Freedom s star. Her wanderers land upon the desert shore, While waves dash high, and storms around them roar. With winter s rage, and sickness they contend ; But wilds, no shelter, and but Heaven, no friend. Through weary years, with unblenched hope they bear The wild man s torture, and the wild wood s care ; Till o er the waste a new creation smiles, And hamlets throng through nature s dark defiles Till in the desert spreading towns arise, And the tall spire mounts up to greet the skies 7* 72 THE SCHOOLMASTER. Along the waste her throne Oblivion kept, While Silence lingered, and while Darkness slept. The Muse beheld unbound her azure zone, And claimed the rayless region for her own ! The sea bird bowed to greet her as she came ; At her approach, the wild-deer s steps grew tame ; The eagle stooped from cold Monadnoc s peak, And dropt the oak branch from her curving beak. O er the dark woods a wreath of light she flung ; Her power inspired the wild bird as it sung ; The forest bowed obedient to her skill ; E en savage hearts were moulded to her will ! And through the realm, so late a desert wild, Religion bloomed, and sacred Virtue smiled. Now glance the eye along these peopled plains J What trace of savage empire here remains ? The ocean rolls, as it has ever rolled, And mountains rise majestically bold ; But far have fled the savage and the bear, And nature blooms beneath Instruction s care ! Its rich abundance the glad earth resigns, The sea its treasures, and the wild its pines. Now glows each scene with Virtue s hallowed fire ; Science comes forth, and bids her sons admire. Where once the wigwam gloomed among the trees, Some lofty vane is wavered by the breeze ! Where the wolf howled, angelic beauty kneels, And pours to heaven the piety she feels ! Where once the waters bore the birch canoe, Proud navies float, and ships their trade pursue ; And schools are taught by Learning s gentle care, Where once the bison made his midnight lair ! Suns rose, years rolled, and time its lustres brought, Adding fresh worth to swell each manly thought, Till these dark rocks saw Freedom s banner wave, And souls leaped up, a tyrant s power to brave. Then first America in glory rose, And stood triumphant o er her tyrant foes ! THE SCHOOLMASTER 73 A thousand heroes hailed with heart and voice,, The patriot chieftain of a nation s choice ; Fame shouted forth new deeds of valor done, And earth produced her peerless Washington ! Deep was the feeling of that gallant day, When mighty spirits met in proud array ! And, as they strode o er carnage covered fields, Felt the pure glow which love of country yields ; The flame that lends its spirit-stirring sway To patriot souls, and bards of martial lay ! A thousand years may speed their feathery flight, And elder nations sink to endless night ; But future heroes of immortal name, Shall rise to swell our country s scroll of fame ; Her glory s tide shall roll majestic on, And Bunker s Hill be named with Marathon ! Instruction s power bids other scenes unfold, And calls her sons to view the might of old ! The glorious rays, that with such lustre shone On the tall columns of the Parthenon, Now full with splendor not less pure and bright, On nearer scenes of glory and delight. Learning descends from Athens hill of fame, On England s cliffs she lights her deathless flame, Then flies through storms across Atlantic waves, To gild the plain stones of our fathers graves. Tis to the lustre of her genial light, We owe the splendor of our nation s might. Without her aid, man could but half possess The gifts of Heaven, this scene of happiness ; And when her lamp shall cease its light to pour, The land will sleep in darkness as before ! And who was she, of whom at first I sung, When twilight s hues were o .er the valley flung, That by the stream, along the flowery glade, In youthful loveliness delighted strayed ? 74 THE SCHOOLMASTER. That bright fair being, unadorned with care, And from her very negligence more fair ! No studied fineness in her dress appeared, But its propriety her form endeared ; No costly jewels flaunted round her neck ; She showed no art her symmetry to deck ; Her hair was wreathed with gracefulness and taste, And a slight girdle bound her slender waist ; A purple mantle flowed around her feet, And all she wore was negligently neat. But yet the most observant eye could find No fault that showed a carelessness of mind. All was appropriate, yet all was plain, No gaudy riband, and no tinsel vain, Yet if one trait might more attention suit, It was the striking neatness of her foot. Her eye was quick, and a slight pensive ray Spread o er her cheek, which told she was not gay ; While every word she spoke, or stifled, proved With every look that Mary Eaton loved. And she was loved in turn her gentle mind Failed not a noble recompense to find. Tis seldom one so purely good and fair, Gains equal love in this cold world of care ! Yet was it hers that happy lot to meet, Which blesses life, and renders home so sweet. She was a farmer s daughter. On the banks Of the bright Merrimac her artless pranks Of youth were played ; and there beside the stream, Her gentle mind indulged in many a dream Of coming happiness. Her early hours Flew like bright birds along the sunny flowers. For her the white birch budded, and the pine Shaded the moss where she would oft recline, At summer noon, beside the woodland pool, Soothed by sweet sounds, and fanned by breezes cool; And there in humble joyfulness she grew, Like some wild flow ret nursed^by sun and dew. THE SCHOOLMASTER. 75 As years passed on, they stored her growing mind With lofty views and sentiments refined. Along the vale no humbler maid than she Drove the blithe sheep, or hived the humming bee ; Nor sought she e er her parents care to shun, Whate er they ordered instantly was done ; But still the maid, along her joyous way, Saw all things fair, herself as pure as they. The purple morn, the flow rets, bright with dew, The stars were fair the clouds had beauty too ; And oft alone she silently would stand, And trace bright realms along their golden land ! T was joy to her to see the moonlit sky, Or hear the midnight storm careering by. All spoke of Him who fashioned all things well, And called their music forth, as from a shell. Books too were hers, the purest and the best, Where not in vain she roamed in wisdom s quest ; And taught in all the female heart should be, To fit for life and happiness, was she ; Possessing honest worth and pure good sense, Fair, but not proud, and learned without pretence. There is a beauty in the female mind, To which no heart of human mould is blind ; There Kindness dwells, as in its native dome, And chaste eyed Virtue finds its proper home. But when that mind is found in Truth s embrace. And Learning lifts it to its destined place ; When Honor bids it soar above the crowd, Nor stoop to Pride, nor be by Envy bowed, Nor sink to shame in Passion s wild control, But, in undaunted loftiness of soul, To rise above the realms to Frailty given, And while on earth to feel it dwells in heaven, We own this world is yet the home of grace, And find an angel in a mortal s place. Such was the form in Henry Ot way s view, That came, her gladness o er his path to strew, 76 THE SCHOOLMASTER. To cheer with smiles his pensiveness of soul, And train his feelings to her love s control. When first the Teacher to the village came, They saw, admired, and felt a mutual flame. JNTo words declared this feeling to each other, But still they loved like sister and like brother. The young Instructer, trained by Wisdom s hand, Was grave, but graceful lofty, and yet bland. His searching mind through Learning s realm had strayed, Climbed many a hill, and traversed many a glade. Rich in the stores of Greece and Rome, he sought To spread around the excellence they brought. His mind was like a classic temple, graced With all that make it elegant and chaste. The basement stones were virtues, pure and strong ; The arts, in lofty pillars ranged along, Graced the rich pile round which their shafts were raised, And fair above the dome of Genius blazed. His useful days in Learning s toil were spent, And all his mind to Youth s improvement lent. His scholars loved him for his gentle skill, And their soft minds were moulded to his will. Their pliant nature soon his virtues caught, While his expressions waked each nobler thought. Oft at his words their youthful eyes would glow, And down their cheeks spontaneous currents flow, As he the mines of classic lore revealed, Or some pure fountain of the mind unsealed. Each day his school some new instruction found, And his ideas spread improvement round. Science from him, stood more revealed to view, And purer manners in the village grew. He spread a silent grace where er he moved, By all around respected and beloved. 23 And oft, as daylight s tints began to fade, They sauntered there, the Teacher and the maid, THE SCHOOLMASTER. 77 In pleasant talk beside the peaceful brook, That down the vale its noiseless journey took. It was a sweet refreshment from the care Which all day long his mind was doomed to bear, To meet with one so gentle and so pure, Who knew his toil and helped him to endure. The hard of heart, the wordly, and the cold, Cheered by the tinkling harmony of gold, Or lured by noisy vanities of state, Know not the soulfelt pleasures that await The happy child of Genius, blest to find And share the treasures of a kindred mind ! Life has a thousand charms, and all are fair, Dear as the light, and grateful as the air ; But far above, beyond the highest scope That bosoms unrefined may dare to hope, Far from the worldly thought as pole from pole, Is the enjoyment of a lofty soul ! *T is as if one, redeemed from realms of ice, Fled to the blissful bowers of Paradise ! With this delight, the scenes of earth are gay, And pain and grief pass heedlessly away ; Without it, life itself seems vainly given, And the soul pines to find the bliss of heaven ! Ye, who the pages of romance have scanned, And think to find such at the poet s hand ; Know that refinement springs from lofty thought, That life s best pleasures are by Virtue brought ; That warmth of heart and excellence of mind Are in Devotion s sacred charm combined ; This is the joy that bows to Heaven s control, This the exalted pure Romance of Soul. Mary had beauty, virtue, neatness, taste, Each word and action proved her spirit chaste ; Nought was impertinent, and nothing rude, But with the purest prudence, was no prude. With an affection, delicate and true. She loved young Otway, and cared not who knew ! 78 THE SCHOOLMASTER. Full oft she met him when the day was done, Like emanation from the setting sun ! And when the pale moon darker shadows threw, And gave her lustre to night s dusky hue, A fairer form among the shadows shone, And lent the night a beauty not its own. In such an hour, with purest grace indued, Upon the margin of the stream they stood, The scene around was such as Poussin drew, With pencil dipt in nature s deathless hue. The tranquil water glowed like polished glass, And moonlight slept upon the dewy grass ; The green trees, tinctured by the yellow light, Looked softer in the mellowness of night. All seemed so holy in the fragrant bowers, They almost feared to crush the sleeping flowers, Lest their rash step should give some spirit pain, That since the twilight in their cells had lain. So full of silent gladness was the time, It seemed like Eden in creation s prime, As if some heavenly being filled the place, And spread throughout the grove a dewy grace, That all the scene might glow as warmly bright, As the pure thoughts which filled them with delight. There stood the maid, like an embodied charm, Gracefully leaning on her lover s arm, While glancing from the water to the sky, To his remark she made her fond reply. " On such an eve as this," exclaimed the youth, " The purest spirits well might pledge their truth !" She bent her head, and looked into his face, With half delighted, half confiding grace, And slightly smiled as if she could divine His secret thought " And wilt thou then be mine ?" With firm but gentle voice the lover said, When her face colored to a crimson red, And on his bosom sunk her drooping head ! THE SCHOOLMASTER. 79 A moment there to hide her blush she kept, Then raised her eyes which from pure gladness wept, And round his bended neck she threw her arm, And their lips met in rapture long and warm. It was a holy hour ! from her high throne The conscious moon with deeper lustre shone ; And, as in sympathy, a rising breeze Sighed forth its joy to the delighted trees, That waved their heavy foliage of green, And rustled to the night their pleasure at the scene! And they were married t is a heavenly word Fit in the holiest mansions to be heard. And then the Teacher s rooms were neatly kept, And white the downy pillow where he slept, And sweet the tears that fell when he was sad, And burning kisses given to make him glad. Each day some studied elegance appeared ; Some gentle flow ret, by her fondness reared, Stood in his study or his window seat, And threw around a fragrance doubly sweet. When health was his, all things could joy confer, And life was more than life when shared with her ; And when some slight or casual sickness fell, How dear her care to make her husband well. The proud may smile, but of all treasures given, This is the dearest boon bestowed by heaven ; And man has need of such, with him to share The lot, which he alone but ill could bear ; And most the Teacher he whose anxious heart All day in Learning s toil has borne its part, Until his mind is heavy with the strife, Whose daily weight is wearing on his life. By such the " evening stroll" is dearly prized, And doubly so, if he has realized The social charm, above all others dear, And unsurpassed but in some higher sphere. The Teacher s lot, is filled with pain and care, Which but devoted hearts are fit to bear. 80 THE SCHOOLMASTER. His rank and worth in Freedom s cause are great, Surpassed by few that bless the public state. His is the task to fit the youthful mind For all the stations by its God designed ! His too should be the blissful recompense To share the joys which Freedom can dispense. Benignant Heaven ! what hallowed gifts thy hand Has heaped in plenty on this happy land ! Here Liberty with such deep lustre glows, That her pure light to distant nations flows, And in her morn the sleeping millions wake, Her smiles to share, and of her gifts partake. Here too Religion wakes the sacred flame, That shone in Bethlehem when Messiah came ; And through the forests of the breezy pine, The hallowed spires of pure devotion shine. Nor, Land of Bards ! shall thine be all the praise, When holy Genius lights her deathless blaze, Here poets, bright as thine own clime hath known, For years of silent darkness shall atone, And pour such numbers from each forest vale, As half shall turn the shade of Shakspeare pale ! Wake, Learning, Science, Poesy, awake ! A voice is heard from ocean shore to lake ! Come forth and plume the Mdngs of Genius free, Soar o er the land, and be what ye should be ! Teach man how pure is Honor s virgin ore, And wake bright scenes like happy days of yore, When open hearted knighthood pledged the glove, And dared the lion for his lady s love. Bid our tall cliffs, that rise to meet the sky, Rejoice in song, and with Parnassus vie ; And let our senates greet a purer flame Than once of old from high Olympus came. Let other statesmen with our Webster stand, To raise the honor of our chosen land ; THB SCHOOLMASTER. 81 Let other poets with our Bryant soar, And visit realms which Spenser trod of yore ; Let other Hernans wake devotion s lyre, And with our Sigourney to heaven aspire. And here has Freedom fixed her chosen seat, On which may Time s rude tempests vainly beat. Here may the world with admiration see How great is Man when virtuous and free ; Here may Instruction her best powers essay, To guide young hearts up Learning s honored way ; Here may the earth in glory be renewed, By wisdom guided, and by worth endued ; No guilt to cloud, no foible to alloy Its stainless virtue, its unsullied joy ; Till hallowed fire shall to each heart be given, And Earth shall be no more, because t is Heaven ! NOTES. 1. Along the Gihon s banks the Teacher walked, p. 64. Enoch, as his name, signifying taught or disciplined, might seem to intimate, was evidently a Teacher, in the purest sense of the term. 2. And shone resplendent in the Prophets School, p. 64. The Jewish Rabbins say that there were schools among tLe Hebrews before the flood. They make Enoch and Noah teachers, and state that Melchisedec kept a school at Kirjath- sepher. We find in I. Samuel chap. xix. 20. that there was a School of the Prophets in Naioth. 3. On Shinar s plains the light of Science rose. p. 64. The Babylonians appear to have possessed a high degree of scientific cultivation, more than two thousand years before Christ, that is, before the time of Abraham. It was at Baby lon that Astronomical observations were first made. 4. When Memnon s hand removed obstruction 1 s bar. p. 64. Letters are said to have been invented by Memnon, an Egyptian, 1822 years before Christ. 5. Divine Instruction ! from Rameses" 1 rill, Thy lustre shone to brighten Grecians hill. p. 65. The torch of Learning appears to have passed from Egypt to Greece, into which Cadmus carried the Phoenician letters, 1493 years before Christ. 6. There sacred Wisdom was to Thales given, p. 65. Thales travelled from Greece into Egypt, about 600 years before Christ, for the acquisition of learning ; and on his re turn, instructed his scholars to calculate eclipses, and make other celestial observations. 7. There sage Pythagoras proclaimed his rule. p. 65. Pythagoras was born at Samos, one of the Grecian island?, 590 years before Christ, and established a school at Crotona. His doctrines were moral, and he is one of the most cele-* brated of the ancient philosophers. NOTES. 83 8. When o er thy weeping hill the parting sun Took its last farewell of thy wisest one! p. 65. Socrates, the greatest of the ancient instructors, was born at Alopece, near Athens, 467 years before Christ. His father s death left him at an early age without a guide, but by indus try and perseverance he became master of all the learning which the age afforded. He bore arms in the struggle be tween Athens and Sparta, in which he signalized himself by his valor, and saved the lives of Alcibiades, the Athenian gen eral, and of Xenophon, the historian. At the age of 60 he was chosen to represent his native district in the senate of 500, and was at first ridiculed for his ignorance of legislative forms, but soon proved his superiority in wisdom and integrity. He was in the strictest sense a practical instructor. He consid ered that knowledge as the most valuable, which was of the most utility. He regarded the city of Athens as his school, and its inhabitants as his scholars, and took every opportuni ty, in his walks and conversation, to inform and enlighten the people. But the wisdom and virtue of this truly great man, while they procured him many admirers, created many ene mies. Popular prejudice was excited against him. He was accused of corrupting youth, by teaching them not to acknow ledge the gods, and was sentenced to death, by drinking hem- loc, at the age of 67. The Athenians afterward regretted their haste, and erected to his memory a statue of brass. 9. Celestial Plato! p. 66: Plato was born at Egina, 429 years before Christ, and was a scholar of Socrates. He presented his master with money to redeem his life, which was refused ; and after his death, settled in Athens. He purchased a small garden, and opened a school, placing over it this inscription, " Let no one who is unacquainted with geometry enter here." He went to Sicily, and took a survey of that island. He died at the age of 80, unmarried, and was buried in his garden. He was an advo cate of love as a pure spiritual affection between the sexes, regarding only the mind and its beauties. 10. JVor, Aristippus, be thy name forgot, p. 66. Aristippus was born at Cyrene, in Africa, and flourished about 380 years before Christ. He was a scholar of Socrates, and the only one who took money for teaching. Socrates one day asked him how he came to have so much money ? to which he replied, by asking his master how he came to have so little ! He made a visit to the court of Dionysius, in Syracuse, and when that prince asked him why he came, he made this re- ply~ When I wanted wisdom, I went to Socrates ; but now I want money, I come to Dionysius." The prince rejoined, " I have heard that a philosopher wants nothing." Aristippus 84 NOTES. replied " Give me what I ask, and I will explain." Diony- sius gave him money, "Now," said he, "you see I do not want !" When the prince made the inquiry {C Why do phi losophers haunt the gates of rich men, when rich men do not seek after philosophers ?" he replied " Because philosophers know what they want, but rich men do not !" A person once asked him for what sum he would instruct his son for a certain time. He demanded five hundred drachmas. The father told him that he could buy a slave for that sum. " Do so," he re plied, " and then you will be master of a couple !" He was one day reproached for providing a sumptuous feast. "I suppose," said Aristippus, " you would not have given three farthings for such a dinner?" Being answered in the negative, he replied, " Then I am not so indulgent to my palate, as you are to your covetous disposition !" A person one day said to him, " What is the difference between a wise man and a fool ?" He replied " Send them destitute to those who are unacquainted with them, and you will soon know." When one condoled with him on the loss of a farm, he replied " I have three farms still, and you have but one ; so that I ought rather to be grieved for you !" Being asked, what he thought most proper for boys to learn, he answered " Those things which they ought to practice when they come to be men." There was in the character of Aristippus much that was amiable, and many of his sayings evince a great knowledge of human na ture, and an uncommon quickness of retort ; but his philosophy was that of the most refined voluptuousness. He was literally a man of the world. 11. JVbr, Island Prince ! would we thy fate bemoan, p. 67. Dionysius, called the tyrant of Sicily, after being deposed by Timoleon, sustained the office of schoolmaster at Corinth, for which his extensive learning and refined manners eminently qualified him. His remarks to those who insulted him on his change of condition, evince much good humor as well as good sense. When he was asked what he had gained by attending the lectures of Plato ? he replied " Do you think I have gained nothing by philosophy, when I can bear the changes of fortune with equanimity?" 12. When the good schoolmaster is made a king. p. 67. Lewis Philip, Duke of Orleans, now Philip I. King of France, for some time kept a school in Canada. 13. You tread the sacred path Confucius trod. p. 67. Confucius, the most renowned philosopher and teacher of China, was born 551 years before Christ, and died at the age of 72, universally esteemed for his knowledge and reverenced for his piety. NOTES. 85 14. Thus by thy stream, Kinross , with pensive mind, Thy poet teacher o er his lot repined, p. 68. Michael Bruce, a refined teacher and elegant poet, was born at Kinneswood, in Scotland, in 1746. His father was a weaver, but from his humble earnings afforded him an educa tion in the University of Edinburgh. He commenced the study of divinity, and was employed as a schoolmaster in the delight ful village of Kinross. While there he was taken with a deep consumption, during which he composed several poems, the longest of which, written in blank verse, is entitled Loch- leven. Finding his disease to be hopeless, he relinquished his school, and returned to his father s house to die. His Elegy, written in Spring, on the prospect of his own dissolution, evinces the most refined and poetical sensibility. He died in 1767, before he had attained his twenty-first year. It is scarcely possible to imagine a character more delicately beauti ful than his. It has every thing to delight the imagination , and afford exercise for the best sympathies of the heart. His life was indeed passed in poverty, obscurity, and sickness ; but it is in such scenes that some of the finest traits of the human mind are developed. Living in a beautiful village, in a neat cottage overgrown with honey suckle, and engaged in the pure and delightful employment of teaching children, his days glided innocently, if not happily away, in the enjoyment of his own elegant and cultivated mind, and the estimation of the good. He passed from the earth before being called to en dure its greater evils, exemplifying the beautiful expression of Ossian " Happy are they who die in their youth, while their renown is around them." 15. Jl different fate, ethereal Miltun ! thine, p. 68. This great poet, who was born in 1608, and died in 1674, spent a part of his life in the occupation of a schoolmaster. 16. Jls yonder splendid cone of torrid light, p. 69. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say, that this refers to the Zodiacal light, most frequently seen in. the Spring months, ex tending, like a lofty cone, from the place of sun-setting near ly to the zenith, and sometimes continuing visible for Several hours in the evening. 17. Taylor, thou Shakspeare of divinity ! p. 69. The learned and pious Jeremy Taylor, Bishop of Down and Conner, in Ireland, was born in 1613. In early life he was a barber, and from that humble station rose to be, first a school master, and afterward a bishop. He died in 1667, aged 54 years. 86 NOTES. 18. Immortal Seattle ! p. 69. James Beattie was born at Lawrencekirk, Kincardine coun ty, Scotland, in 1735. His father, who was a farmer, died when he was seven years of age, and he was placed by his mother in the parish school of his native village. He afterward be came a charity scholar in the Marischal College, Aberdeen. In 1753 he was chosen schoolmaster in the little hamlet of Fordoun, about six miles from his native village. In that retired and romantic spot, he wrote several poems, and made those nice observations of nature by which his effusions are so richly adorned. In 175S he was chosen usher in the gram mar school at Aberdeen. This served not only to bring him more into notice, but also furnished him with access to valu able libraries, and the opportunity of cultivating the friend ship of persons of taste and learning. In 1761 he was elected Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in Marischal Col lege. Thus he who sung, Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb ! perceived himself unexpectedly at the summit of his wishes. He died at Aberdeen in 1803, and was buried in that city. His most popular work is the Minstrel, a poem abounding with accurate descriptions of nature, and delicate touches of poet ical sentiment. In this poem he has given a picture of the church yard of Lawrencekirk, in which was placed the school house of his early years, not far from his native dwelling. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook, or fountain s murmuring wave, And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. The following line from the Minstrel presents us with a beautiful moral. For thou art but of dust, be humble and be wise. 19. The gratitude to Ruddiman they owe. p. 70. Thomas Ruddiman, one of the most eminent grammarians of Scotland, was born at Raggel, in 1764. He made rapid progress in his early studies, and wished to enter the univer sity, but his father, who was a farmer, opposed his desires, His sister however, privately gave him a guinea, and with this sum he set out on foot, at the age of 16, and was robbed of his coat, shoes, stockings, and money, by a company of gyp sies. He pursued his journey to Aberdeen, and there, half clothed, and without food, presented himself before the pro fessors, and gained admittance to King s College. In four years he obtained the degree of master of arts, and accepted the office of schoolmaster in the parish of Lawrencekirk, where, forty years afterward, Beattie was born. He after- NOTES. 87 ward became rich as a printer and editor of a newspaper ; and in 1737, piomoted the establishment of a society of School masters in Edinburgh, to provide a fund for the support of their wives and children. He died in 1757, aged 83 years. He was one of the greatest masters of the Latin tongue in mod ern times, and wrote several works in that language, the most useful and popular of which was his Rudiments of Latin Gram mar, which was adopted in all the grammar schools of Scot land. Contemporary with Ruddiman was John Love, schoolmas ter of Dalkeith ; of whom the following notice appeared in the Caledonian Mercury of September 24, 1750. " On Thurs day morning, died at Dalkeith, after a lingering illness, in the 55th year of his age, Mr. John Love, rector of the grammar school there ; who, for his uncommon knowledge in classical learning, and strictness of discipline without severity, was just ly esteemed one of the most sufficient schoolmasters in this country." But his merit, however great, did not secure him from censure, as he is the schoolmaster satirized by Smollett in his Rodeiic Random. 20. And long, Oh ICnox ! thy memory shall stay. p. 70. Vicessimus Knox, master of Ttmbridge school, will long be remembered for his labors in the cause of education. His Elegant Extracts form a beautiful manual for the relaxation as well as improvement of the student. 21. Here Curlett s worth has many a bosom felt. p. 70. Elijah Corlett was educated at Lincoln College, England, to which he was admitted in 1626. He came to America as early as 1644, and settled at Cambridge as a teacher. He died in 1688, aged 78. He was one of the most eminent schoolmasters in New England for more than forty years. 22. Jlnd Learning spread her rays where Chcever dwelt. p. 70, Ezekiel Cheever was born at London in 1615, and came to New England in 1637. He went first to New Haven, and in 1650 removed to Ipswich, in 1660 to Charlestown, and in 1670 to Boston, where he died in 1688, aged 78 years. He was one of the two eminent schoolmasters of whom an early poet says, T is Corlett s pains and Cheever s we must own, That thou, New England, are not Scythia grown. 23. Here Dwight has reared an obelisk of fame. p. 70. Timothy Dwight was born at Northampton, in Massachu setts, in 1754. He received a degree at Yale College in 1769, and afterward kept the grammar school in New Haven for 88 NOTES. two years, In 1771, at the age of 19, he became a tutor in Yale College. In 1777 he was appointed a chaplain in the American army, and by his prayers and songs greatly height ened the enthusiasm of the soldiers. In 1783 he was ordained minister of Greenfield, in Connecticut, and immediately opened an academy, which acquired a reputation at that time une qualled in the country. In the course of twelve years, he taught more than 1000 scholars, chiefly on the monitorial sys tem. In 1795, he was elected President of Yale College, and died in 1817, aged 63 years. As a teacher, he has seldom been surpassed, and his Poems, Travels, and other works, are highly creditable to American literature. 24. Thy fame* immortal Wilson, too hath shone In every dims where thy bright birds have flown. p. 70. Alexander Wilson, was born at Paisley, in Scotland, in 1766* and was apprenticed to a weaver till his eighteenth year. He then left the loom, and wandered over his native hills and glens, exercising the vocations of a pedlar and a poet. He became acquainted with Burns, and published a small volume of poems, chiefly humorous and satirical. In 1794 he came to America, landed at New Castle, and shouldering his fowl ing piece, set out on foot for Philadelphia. He used after- tervvard to dwell with delight upon the impressions with which he beheld the first bird that presented itself to his view as he entered the forests of Delaware. It was a red headed wood pecker, which he shot, and thought it the most beautiful ob ject of its kind he had ever seen, He afterward kept school in several places, and finally became settled as a schoolmaster at Gray s Ferry, near Philadelphia. His work entitled Amer ican Ornithology, or the Natural History of the Birds of the United States, is a work of extraordinary genius and surpass ing excellence. We are astonished at the magnitude of his labors, and regard this production as an evidence of what the human mind is capable of performing by the exertion of its own unaided energies. 25. By all around respected and beloved, p. 7G. I almost fear that by some it will be regarded as sacrilege against the muses, to attempt to delineate the character of a schoolmaster after the classic pen of Goldsmith. But the ped agogue of his day is not the mild and enlightened teacher of ours. A great amount of light has been reflected on the sci ence of schoolkeeping within a few years, and men are rising up among us whose names will one day stand conspicuous in the annals of education. The American Institute of Instruction recently formed, is an honor to our land, and must be produc tive of incalculable benefit. FAREWELL TO MY HARP. FAREWELL ! loved Harp ! whose chords in other days Thrilled my o erweening heart with fond delight ! The artless hand, that waked thy early lays, And, trembling, called them forth to life and light, Unhoping to attain fame s lofty height, No more essays thy gentle melody, But yields thee up to everlasting night ! There silent sleep, while mightier harps are free, Nor evermore be heard mid their loud euphony. ii. Hark ! loud above the wide Atlantic wave, A thousand mingling sounds are heard to swell ! Afar they come from regions of the brave, The lofty tones of harp, and lyre, and shell ; And one among the rest, I know it well, Though sometimes lost in strains of bolder trope ; Its notes have echoed from our deepest dell Oh, who without enchantment e er can ope The lays of him who sung of Gertrude and of Hope! in. Why need I name the thousand harps that thrill The classic realm where Pope and Dry den sung ? The varied tones from valley and from hill, That sounded once to lofty Milton s tongue ? Or call attention to the bards among The hardy sons of that inclement clime, From whose rude rocks the lyre of Beattie rung ? Who is there in this minstrel-bearing time, That has not read the Tales of Romance and of Rhyme ? 90 FAREWELL TO MY HARP, IV Sweet was the voice, from mountain and from brake, Rousing the echoes of immortal fame ! That poured the lays of Marmion and the Lake ; And rich the tales, though tinctured deep with shame, That Byron s muse has sung, with loud acclaim, On the bright shores of Europe s classic sea ; And other bards there are of cherished name ; But few, Oh Wordsworth ! who can sing like thee, And touch the glowing strings of soul-felt sympa thy. v. Some honored names our own loved land may boast, Worthy to stand among the bards of old, And shine like beacon-towers along our coast, With starry banners to the winds unrolled. Here Bryant with the foremost we behold, And Halleck s anthems on the breezes swell. Oh could the bard like them the Muse enfold ! But I must shroud in solitary dell, Far from the noisy world, to tune my humble shell. VI. Our youth is fleeting as the fleecy cloud That sails across the summer moon ! and, Oh ! How beautiful its prospects are ! how proud The young heart beats ! how warm the currents flow, Fre the strong veins have felt the power of woe ! But soon dark clouds our smiling skies deform, And we are sad. Such is man s life below ! A few dark days, a few long nights of storm, A few bright summer suns, all beautiful and warm. VII. How fast, alas ! does mournful Memory crowd Her sorrows on my heart ! there was a time When my young muse essayed her powers full proud, And struck the harp with daring hope sublime, FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 91 For Friendship s voice called forth the votive rhyme; No fond regret I knew, no thought of fear, And smiling hours rolled in joyful prime. Those days are past, and Memory claims a tear For early prospects lost, and friendships held most dear. VIII. And she, the pageant of my day dream bright, Who shared my joys and in my woes had part, Whose gentle voice made all my sorrows light, She too is silent ! silent be my heart ! Yet Oh, what raptures through fond memory dart ! The thrilling pressure of her conscious hand The perfect joy her converse could impart But every flower that swelled that silken band, Is vanished like a dream, or lay of fairy land. IX. Oh, gentle maid ! to me. thy smiles were sweet As desert fountain flowers, that on the way Of some lone weary traveller rise to greet His anxious gaze ! thus on my tranquil day Thine eyes have shone with their complacent ray As with slow step we wandered by the deep, And saw along the cliffs the billows play ; Or seated on the brow of Lover s Leap, Heard the sweet wood-dove s note along the dizzv steep. x. Delightful rock ! that towering fair and high, Like fancy s vision rises on the view ! How oft at eve, when gentle breezes sigh, And the sun sets from skies of cloudless blue The youthful lover turns his steps to you As anciently to famed Leucadia s shore ! While sweetest charms his joyful thoughts imbue As summer tints spread out their smiling store And winds through waving trees resound like oc ean s roar. 9 92 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. XI. It is indeed a sweet romantic scene, As ever poet viewed at close of day ! The spreading forest, clad in richest green, The joyful birds that tune their evening lay, And sing their sonnets on the slender spray, The lofty cliff, most beautiful to see, Rising above the plain in bold array, The cheerful squirrel, chattering in the tree, That eats his food in peace, and chirps right mer rily ! XII. These, and a thousand beauties more, display Their varied charms to greet the raptured sight ; While far along the streamlet winds its way Through fertile fields, that glisten with delight, And clover plats, with flowers enamelled bright, That not a bee or butterfly will shun ; And in our view throngs many a mansion white, And ploughman, journeying home when day is done, And the bright windows blaze beneath the setting sun. XIII. The busy bustling toil of day is past, The weary husbandman unyokes his steer ; And now the shades of night are spreading fast, And one by one the twinkling stars appear. Then comes the hour to gentle maidens dear, When youthful lovers seek the twilight bower, Or wander on the banks of waters clear ; While Love with potent lance essays his power On luckless mortal wight, in some unguarded hour ! XIV. Almighty Love ! what wonders hast thou wrought In this our little world ! thy sovereign sway To deepest woe hath mightiest empires brought, And dimmed the sheen of fame s immortal ray ! FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 93 Great Anthony ! woe to the luckless day When Egypt s beauteous dame by thee was seen ! Nor can the muse withhold the mournful lay From Sappho s fate, and Scotland s beauteous queen And Spain s unhappy king, with thousands more between. xv. Oh Woman ! lovely Woman ! though thy charms, From Eve to Eve s last daughter, have been famed As the great cause of mischief and alarms To the repose of earth, yet when was named This sweetest theme of song, so vainly blamed, But recollections of thy virtues fan Our admiration, till we are ashamed To blame what nature loves ; and he who can Behold thy charms unmoved is more, or less, than man XVI. By those who search the source of things to see, T is said that poets have been lovers all, But Cowper, of sweet memory and he His rabbits loved ! e en modest White could call So deep was he in this sweet passion s thrall His lovely Fanny from her bliss to be A sharer in his grief? and hence not small The proofs we draw from these examples free That Poetry is Love and Love is Poetry ! XVII. The bright round moon is rolling through the sky, Gilding the surface of the smiling main ; Clouds of light gray are slowly passing by, Whose mottling shades variegate the plain ; And while fond Memory, with her smiling train Of recollected joys, extends her power, I list with pleasure to the pensive strain Of night s lone bird complaining in her bower ; But one is wanting still to bless this lovely hour. 94 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. XVIII. Oh who that walks on such an eve as this, When the bright moon her mildest lustre flings, Would Avander forth alone, nor seek the bliss Which friendship adds to youth s imaginings ? Then social converse lends to time its wings, And it is sweet to roam in pleasant glades, What time her one sweet song the night-bird sings, And Beauty listens, in romantic shade.s, To love s endearing tales, and rapturous serenades. ! XIX. Behold yon vessel anchored in the cov-e, On fair Nahant s high-clifted, craggy shore ! No more the fishermen delight to rove For finny prey, and ocean s depths explore ; The sons of pleasure ply the glass no more ; The weary revellers retire to rest, And the hushed hall hath ceased its joyous roar. The moonbeam shines on ocean s tranquil breast, And Venus sweetly smiles from watch tower in the west. xx. Oft o er that beach delighted have I ran, With happy heart, when youthful joys were sweet, And laughed to learn the lapwing s wily plan, From her low nest to lure my vagrant feet. And then what joy fair gems and shells to meet, And in the sand the spotted eggs to see ! Yet never did I rob a nest, or cheat The little birds of nature s bounties free ; For I was from my youth a child of Liberty ! XXI. Sorrow oft leads to turn my pensive eye To the lone dwellings hallowed by the dead, Where deep in earth my friends, my kindred lie, To^sleep, till Christ shall raise them from their bed, FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 95 Here rests a father, there a brother fled, Kindred and friends in whom I took delight, Saints who have followed where the Saviour led, To dwell in realms of uncreated light, And rest forever more in mansions pure and bright. XXII. Oft as the Spring in blossoms shall be drest, Here the pale violet on the grave sKall bloom ; Its hues, faint emblem of the virtuous breast Of one who slumbers in the silent gloom ; Her virtues live while Memory shall relume The traits of modest worth to many dear, To thee resigned we yield her up, oh Tomb ! Yet nature must indulge Affection s tear, And Sorrow waves her wand o er many a coming year. XXIII. T is sweet at eve to stray in pensive gloorn, And seek by moonlight the sequestered urn ; To weep o er young Affection s early doom, And dwell on days that can no more return ! And while arise the treasured thoughts that burn, For Friendship twine the votive cypress wreath, A gift that Heaven itself would never spurn, And call around the conscious gales to breathe Their sighs o er the loved form that peaceful sleeps beneath. XXIV. Lo ! gentle Memory, from her silent cell, Calls forth the pleasures of our morning way, Whereon in thoughtful mood we love to dwell, When o er the scene no gloomy shadows stray, But all the forms are beautiful and gay ; Then there is pleasure in the lonely night, And Hope inspires us with her brightest ray, That each loved friend who filled us with delight, Shall rise again renewed to bless our longing sight 9* 96 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. XXV Away, ye sophists of this barren earth ! Who think the fates all brighter bliss deny ! Who deem enjoyment of terrestrial birth, And with vain pageant mock the joys on high ! There is a pleasure in the secret sigh And silent tear, which spurns the rude control Of noisy joy, that owes its pageantry To midnight revels, and the maddening bowl, Known only to the child of nature and of soul ! XXVI. Ye, who have felt your life blood mantling high, And every thrilling nerve with bliss replete, When purest raptures urge the long drawn sigh, As loved and loving lips together meet ; Say is there aught in this wide world so sweet ? Ye, who have felt the long and painful smart From one loved object in her winding sheet Ye, that have loved, and in that love must part, Bear witness to the pain that filling rends the heart! XXVII. Oh Lady fair ! and wherefore dost thou smile, And trip so gaily o er the enamelled floor? Canst thou the sorrows of a heart beguile, Which long has bled, and fain would bleed no more ? Oh, thinkest thou, fond maid ! that thou canst pour The lenient balm to heal a wounded mind ; And, kindly bidding all my griefs be o er, With hand as gentle as thy heart is kind, The wreath of peace around these aching temples bind ? XXVIII. " Oh, cease, sad youth !" she cries, " this plantive strain, And let bland Hope her genial influence show ; Indulge not saddening thoughts and fancies vain, Nor mantle nature in a robe of woe ! FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 97 Reject the gloomy spell we think not so See what I bring to cheer thy drooping frame, From some kind friends who all thy fortunes know !" I seized the message with a kindling flame, And read some gentle words, inscribed with friend ship s name, XXIX. When sickness takes the balm that brings relief, Or drinks the healing breeze that wanders by When Sorrow hears the words that banish grief, As Mercy wipes the tear drop from her eye When meeting lips inhale the raptured sigh, As friend greets friend, and tears convulsive start When captives see the flag of Freedom fly They know the joy that lightens in my heart, When Friendship s kindred voice allays its inward smart. XXX. I am not one who deems this earth a cell, A prison house of penitence and pain ; A world where nought but sin and sorrow dwell ; That all its joys are volatile and vain ; That Pity weeps o er Pleasure s boundless reign ; For I have known a soul of purer birth, Whose injured spirit stooped not to complain ; Friendship and Love yet live with honored worth, And Peace and Virtue still are habitants of earth. XXXI. Nor can I join the dull and pining crew, Who losing one delight have lost their all ! For I have found me friends where none I knew, Whose generous succour came at Mercy s call, When all my hopes were bound in Sorrow s thrall ; For heaven is mindful of its favors strewed On erring hearts their wanderings to recall ; And I will nurse, with silent tears bedewed That low and lovely plant, the flower of Gratitude. 98 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. XXXII. Oh Thou ! who hearest when the wretched cry, Whose ears are open to the simplest prayer, That breathes from wounded hearts to thee on high, Oh make my friends thy most peculiar care, And let their hearts in thy best blessings share! Oh grant them virtue in the evil day That they may seek the paths of Sion fair, And evermore direct their perfect way Through this so mazy world, when they to thee shall pray. XXXIII. Jesus of Nazareth ! Almighty Lord ! To whom all power is given in earth and skies Jesus of Nazareth ! be thy name adored Long as the sun shall set and stars shall rise ! What holy thoughts thine orison supplies What glorious visions crown thy vesper hymn Lo ! at thy name all earthly passion dies ! But as I gaze on Heaven mine eyes grow dim, My soul is at thy feet with saints and seraphim. xxxiv. These eyes, alas ! have oft been filled with tears Nor is their fountain dry yet in my heart One wish remains to bless my future years ; One heavenly hope, whose influence can impart A charm to foil the point of Sorrow s dart, And leave Adversity with powerless hand. This holy hope is that pure Truth may start To aid dark Reason, and with lustre bland Thy light, Oh God ! shine forth along this smiling land. XXXV. Oh War and Slavery ! prisons and all shames ! When shall the day arise that these shall be, Like the false Gods of old, but empty names Of things long passed away, and nations see FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 99 Truth s sole dominion o er the brave and free ? No more the sound of War s dull clarion swell, But Peace extend her reign from sea to sea ; And honest men, who deep in sorrow dwell, Immured without a crime, be freed from their dark cell. XXXVI. Was it for this the beauteous earth was made, And carpeted with flowers of every dye ? Do they but bloom to be with blood inlaid ! Were yonder orbs that gem the vaulted sky, Wrought from the shapeless mass and hung so high, That they might on the field of strife to come Look trembling down to see man fight and die ! My soul is sick of war s incessant hum, Oh, will it never cease, the din of deafening drum ? XXXVII. But to my theme my cherished harp, farewell ! Thou sweet companion of my early years ! Thy notes have made one gentle bosom swell, Rich recompense for all my heartfelt tears. That fond reflection more thy worth endears Than all the shouts of an applauding land. Her heart is resting far from earthly fears, But mine must watch the slow expiring sand, Till welcome death shall come to still this conscious hand. XXXVIII. Since she is gone, who formed my highest joy, And left me here in this cold world and wide, Few pleasures can this lonely heart employ, For there was nought so dear on earth beside. And though through well known scenes I often glide, Those scenes no longer animate my lay. Like Ossian when the lovely Oscar died, I hang my harp upon the willow spray, And wrap my cloak around and wend my lonely way. 100 FAREWELL TO MY HARP. XXXIX. Fain would I dedicate one parting lay To her who thought her heart too small a boon ; Whose converse winged the longest summer day. And blest our evening walk, when smiling June Brought rosy hours, that never fled so soon ; But she no more can hear my tuneful shell ; Be still, my heart, nor fondly importune ! The moon has sunk behind the western fell, A light is in the east my silent Harp, farewell ! NOTE. The Farewell to my Harp was written several years ago, in the warmth of feeling ; and being a favourite with some of my friends, I have been persuaded to let it remain in this edition. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, GOD. I see thy power, eternal God ! Engraved upon the dark blue sky ; The trees that on the mountains nod, Thy name in whispers sigh. The sun that rolls through burning space. Shines to illume thy temple s dome ; In all thy varied works I trace Marks of thy secret home. Thy dwelling is yon distant star, That burns with scarce perceptive ray ; The comet is thy flaming car, Careering on its way. I view thee in the splendid arch, That shines upon the summer cloud ; I hear the footsteps of thy march In the storm thunder loud. The lightning is thine eye s deep glance. That looks upon the world below ; And when the northern streamers dance, Thine is the lustrous glow. The flaming night arch shows thy skill ; Thy breath impels the tempest s roar ; And as I learn thy potent will, I tremble and adore. 102 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, God ! thou art every where ! I see Thy beauty in the deep hued flower ; Thy strength is shown mysteriously In the dread earthquake s power. I view thy varied hand in waves, That gently kiss the pebbled shore ; Or rolling o er their ocean graves, In wrathful anguish roar. The dark green pines that feel the breeze, Talk of thee to the forest rill ; And mighty torrents when they freeze, Display thy wisdom still. The birds that raise the morning hymn, Feel, as they chant, an impulse proud ; They catch the fire of seraphim ; And speak of thee aloud. All nature has a living voice, Thy wisdom and thy praise to show, And as I hear thy works rejoice, I feel my spirit glow. But most thy goodness I admire, When I behold the sacred plan, That formed the soul of vital fire, And bade it live in man. Teach me, Oh God ! thy truth to know, To see how vast thy wisdom flows ; Thy mercy to my spirit show, And bid my soul repose. Illume the spark thy hand has drawn From the deep realm where spirits stray, And let it greet the kindling dawn Of Heaven s immortal day. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 103 THE FROSTED TREES. JANUARY 10, 1829. What strange enchantment meets my view, So wondrous bright and fair ? Has heaven poured out its silver dew On the rejoicing air ? Or am I borne to regions new, To see the glories there ? Last eve, when sunset filled the sky With wreaths of golden light, The trees sent up their arms on high, All leafless to the sight, And sleepy mists came down to lie On the dark breast of night. But now the scene is changed, and all Is fancifully new ; The trees, last eve so straight and tall, Are bending on the view, And streams of living daylight fall The silvery arches through. The boughs are strung with glittering pearls, As dew-drops bright and bland ; And there they gleam in silvery curls, Like gems of Samarcand ; Seeming in bright and dazzling whirls, The work of seraph s hand. Each branch is bending with the weight, Which makes it nod and swerve, As if some viewless angel sate Upon its graceful curve, Causing its heart to glow elate, And strain each secret nerve. It seems as if some robe of God Had been spread out below ; 10 104 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. As if his hand had stretched abroad, Where midnight breezes go ; To make the mind of nature awed With his most glorious show. THE WANDERER OF AFRICA. He launched his boat where the dark waves flow, Through the desert that never was white with snow, When the wind was still, and the sun shone bright, And the stream glowed red with the morning light. He had sat in the cool of the palm s broad shade And drank of the fountain of Kafnah s glade, When the herb was scorched by the sun s hot ray, And the camel failed on his thirsty way. And the dark maids of Sego their mats had spread, And sung all night by the stranger s bed ; And his sleep was sweet on that desert sand, For his visions were far in his own loved land. He was weary and faint in a stranger clime, But his soul was at home as in youth s sweet time ; And he lay in the shade, by his cot s clear pool, And the breeze which came by was refreshing and cool. And the look of his mother was gentle and sweet, And he heard the loved steps of his sister s light feet, And their voices were soft and expressive and low, Like the distant rain, or the brook s calm flow And this was the song which the dark maids sung, In the beautiful strains of their own wild tongue ; " The stranger came far, and sat under our tree, We will bring him sweet food, for no sister has he." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 105 And the stranger went forth when the night breeze had died, And launched his light bark on the Joliba s tide ; And he waved his white kerchief to those dark maids, As he silently entered the palmy shades. And the maidens of Sego were sad and lone, And sung their rude song like the death spirit s moan ; " The stranger has gone where the simoom will burn, Alas ! for the white man will never return !" LAiND OF OUR BIRTH. Land of our birth ! when Freedom rose, Waked from her sleep of years, She bade thee triumph o er thy foes, And banish all thy fears. Then pointing to Religion s shrine, Her sons she bade repair, To make her service all divine, With their holy worship there. High was the call, from Heaven it came, Borne on the wings of Time, Announced with thunder and with flame, In accents all sublime. For Freedom s is a sacred voice, Which they who love shall hear ; She bids her children all rejoice, And the mandate they revere. She gave the word, her sons obeyed ; Swift did they rush around ; The Indian started from his shade, And listened to the sound. 106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Long years the battle cry prevailed, Yet firm they stood the tide, Till the bright star of Hope was hailed, And they triumphed, though they died. Land of our birth ! thy glory s fame Shines in its bright array ; Devotion shall increase the flame, And Virtue smile to-day. The light of freedom s star is pale ; Without Religion s beam Her boasted pleasures all must fail, Like the pageants of a dream. On ! be the word, till Honor shines ; On ! until all are free ! Till Afric s sons shall plant their vines In Christian liberty. The star of Hope has lit the morn, Its ray shall bless our eyes, Till Virtue s power the world adorn, With the freedom of the skies. God of the throned realm of Heaven ! Thou canst our way direct ; Oh ! come through shadows morn and even To lead us and protect. Be thou our nation s guardian power, Our strength in time of peace ; And, when the clouds of war shall lower, May thy mercy still increase. liNDIAN DEATH SONG. Great Sassacus fled from the eastern shores, Where the sun first shines, and the great sea roars ; For the white-men came from the world afar, And their fury burnt like the bison-star. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 107 His sannaps were slain by their thunder s power, And his children fell like the star-eyed flower ; His wigwams are burnt by the white man s flame, And the home of his youth has a stranger s name. His ancestor once was our countryman s foe, And the arrow was placed in the new-strung bow, The wild-deer ranged through the forest free, While we fought with his tribe by the distant sea. But the foe never came to the Mohawk s tent, With his hair untied, and his bow unbent, And found not the blood of the rein-deer shed, And the calumet lit, and the bear-skin bed. But sing ye the Death-song, and kindle the pine, And bid its broad light like his valor to shine ; Then raise high his pile by our warriors heaps, And tell to his tribe that his murderer sleeps. THE FARMER S FIRE-SIDE. Is there a brighter, purer scene on earth, Than that which Winter s evening hour displays, When by the fire-side of the man of worth, His children sit, and view the cheerful blaze ? When honest youth at wisdom s feet reclines, To hear some sweet, instructive tale of old ; And as the warm and genial fire-light shines, So the mind brightens, and the thoughts unfold. Perchance some lay of ancient time is read, Some history of long departed years ; Some rich production of the mighty dead, That fills the eye of innocence with tears. 10* 108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Then round the hearth the social circle crowd, To drain the bowl, and join the sweet repast ; The voice of youth is garrulous and loud, And age enjoys again its pleasures past. This done, a chapter in the Book is read, Which tells of better worlds and joys on high ; With reverent gesture then the prayer is said, And all appear prepared to sleep or die. Oh scene of tranquil bliss, of thoughts refined ; How warm your pleasures press upon my soul ! Such hours have I enjoyed ; and to my mind, Few joys on earth more sweet reflections roll. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. What star is that o er Bethlehem, So lovely and so lone, That shines like a celestial gem, Or blazing sapphire stone ? It is the star which God has sent To point the sacred place, Where sleeps an infant innocent, Born to redeem our race. And who are they, with shining wing, That gleam along the sky ? They are an heavenly host, who sing " Glory to God, Most High !" " This day is born, in Bethlehem, A Saviour, who shall be The wearer of the diadem, When Sion shall be free." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 109 The shepherds leave the pastures wild, Where with their flocks they strayed, And haste to see the holy child, Within the manger laid. And then was heard the song again Along the distant sky ; " Peace to the world ! Good will to men ! Glory to God, Most High !" THE CHRISTIAN S JOY. Oh God ! how glad the spirit glows By thee preserved from ill, When round it grace her vesture throws, And teaches it thy will ; Sustaining it o er earthly woes, Thy purpose to fulfil ! The pride of lore the hours of mirth The things the wealthy prize The sweetest scenes of sea and earth The glories of the skies In that pure hour, have their true worth, In faith s exalted eyes. To stretch the sight beyond the place Of the remotest star To see, across the realms of space, The gates of life unbar Must all the joys of time deface, And all earth s beauties mar. The pains the soul is doomed to feel, And oft must bear alone The shocks when earth s deep thunders peal, 110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And ocean lifts its moan Will be repaid, when we shall kneel Before thy burning throne. THE NEW ENGLANDER AT THE SOUTH. The sugar groves are sweet, The lotos leaves are fair, And the Edisto at my feet Rolls its soft waters as to greet My blest escape from care I d rather be beside the rills Of my own loved New England hills. The orange, mid green leaves, Shines with its rind of gold ; The bright oriole, that weaves Her nest beneath the mossy eaves, Sings love-songs sweet and bold I d rather hear the sparrow cry Beneath my own New England sky. Bermuda s isles are fair, Fair as the bard hath sung Fleet was the bark that bore me there, And one short hour was free from care, I felt that I was young ! I d rather be upon the shores, Where cold New England s water roars. How could they send me here, Far from my native hills ? ? T is true that life and health are dear, And bright the streams and plains appear To hearts unvexed by ills Oh, I would leave them all to strain My loved New England friends again. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ill TO A FLOCK OF WHITE SNOW BIRDS. Beautiful birds, with snow white wing ! Ye have come through the thin cold air, To gladden my dwelling this winter morn, With your visit lovely and rare. Ye have come from the realms of endless frost, Where desolate winter reigns, And the fir and the pine tree towering stand, On the carpeted snow white plains. Where the rocks are split by the frosted air, And peal like the war ship s gun, And the mountains that stand on their mid earth base, Are jarred by the thundering stun ! Ye have come o er the bright and the mirrored sea, That was glassed by a secret hand, And your forms shone fair in the polished deep, Long miles from your native land. Ye came like a cloud, through the bright cold air ; Like a banner of stainless white ; Like a radiant troop of angel guards, That traverse the plains of light. Ye flutter around with your message of love, Like journeyers from the sky, Who have come to woo me from earth s dark thoughts, To the delicate joys on high. I gaze, till my eyes are filling with tears, At the beauty your forms display ; And think, perhaps ye are spirits of those, Who should now be far away ! Yes, yes, ye have come from the orient sky, With your wings of radiant white, To tell me that spirits can never die, As ye break on my raptured sight. Ye are fair as the visions of poets dreams ! Ye are white as the noontide ray ; Ye are spotless as robes which angels wear, And methinks ye are pure as they. 112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The sorrows and sins ye have never known, That come to the ways of men ; And your songs are sweet as the seraphs notes, When they steal through the moonlight glen, And sound in the rapt enthusiast s ears, As he wanders at eve alone, And hears the soft harpings of other worlds, In the night air s solemn tone. Beautiful birds ! ye are fleeting away, Ye are gone, ye are lost to my sight ; And I gaze on a waste of dazzling snow, Scarce as spotless and as white. Ye are gone, like the joys of my early youth, Ye are fled forever away, Like the joyous forms I have loved and lost But Oh, ye are not as they ! Ye may come again some cold still morn, Your white wings may yet return, But when shall I see those delicate forms, Which sleep in the marble urn ? Go, go, bright birds, with your spotless souls ; Return to your wintry realm ; Where evil and slavery never approach, And sorrow cannot o erwhelm. No minions of tyranny there can come ! Ye are free from the chain and the rod ; And ye wander afar, with song and delight, In the joyous worship of God. MAY MORNING. Wake ! it is morning ! Beauty, wake ! Moonlight is fainting on the lake. Come from your chambers, gentle maids ! Ere the last pale ray of starlight fades. Wake with the dawning, Beauty, wake ! Morning is coming o er hill and lake. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 113 Hark to the cadence on the hill ! J T was the last dull note of the whip-poor-will ; She has sung all night from her dewy bower, To gladden the visions of slumber s hour. Wake with the dawning, Beauty, wake ! Morning is coming o er hill and lake. The lark is singing his early hymn, And far in the west the moon looks dim ; There s but one lone star in the night s pale zone, And the bright sun is coming to mount his throne. Wake with the dawning, Beauty, wake ! Morning is coming o er hill and lake. Flowers are springing, beautiful flowers ! Worthy to glisten in Beauty s bowers ! The robin is pouring his early note, And the spirit of health on the air is afloat. Wake with the dawning, Beauty, wake ! Morning is coming o er hill and lake. SONG. Nahant is lovely ; we go, we go, O er the polished beach, when the tide is low, And we mark the gleam of our horse s feet Deep mirrored as in a crystal street. We flit along o er the shining sand, Far out in the tide, away from land, And we seem in the middle air to go, With the sky above, and the sky below. The sand street shines like a path of glass, Where the visions seem doubled as they pass ; 114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And beautiful scenes to our eyes unfold, Like pageants that eastern bards have told. The white gull floats in the bright blue air, And her scream is loud as we pass her there ; And the small birds run with motion fleet, On the line where the sand and the billows meet. White sails are gleaming far on the tide, And the shy wild fowl o er the surges glide, And the seal comes forth from his home in the deep, On the kelpy ledge of the cliff to sleep. The thin wave is striped with the long sea sedge, And the star-fish comes to the water s edge, And the green sea plants, and the porphyry shells, Float up to our feet when the billow swells. Nahant forever ! the scene is fair, The Swallows Cave and the Grot are there, And the Spouting Horn when the full waves come Sends out its thunder in sparkling foam. We sit on the rocks, and we ride on the wave, We gather the shells which the surges lave, The pure breeze comes in its healthy flow, And we drink the delights which the spirits know. STANZAS. The pleasures of this mortal life are fleeting fast away, And none can call the morning back or bid the roses stay ; The noontide sun of summer shines with evanescent beams, And friends pass off like fallen leaves along autum nal streams. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 115 But though time bears our joys away, it carries evil too ; The cloud that veils the mountain-top hides snow drifts from the view ; The ice within the winter brooks dissolves and dis appears, And with it flies all trace of grief we knew in other years. Though far are gone the gentle friends we loved in youth so well, And broken many a tender tie, and severed many a spell, Yet still upon the path of life is many a lovely flower, And though joy s sun has fewer beams, they still retain their power. Nor are they lost, though far away, those friends so fondly loved, With whom, through many a happy day, the dearest joys we proved ; They live in deathless memory still, that never can forget, As oft a light is in the sky, though long the sun has set. They live in every calm delight, in every dreary scene, On every mountain s rocky height, in every valley green; And though their forms be cold in death, to us their souls are warm, In every gale their spirits breathe, and sigh in every storm. No shady grove where we have strayed, no lightly springing flower, No sparkling stream, no green arcade, no place, no thought, no hour, 11 116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Can lightly pass before our face, or come our hearts within, But in its form we find some trace to tell where joy hath been. Ah me ! what strange mysterious things these deathless hearts of ours ! Some fond regret, some sorrow springs, through all life s varied hours ; Oh, when shall pass these dreary days, and we pos sess again The friends we loved ? Oh God ! what praise what deathless pleasures then ! MTLTON. Immortal Bard ! who, by the flowery side Of hallowed Sion didst delight to rove, And by the sunny rill, and shady grove, To pour such lays as mightiest bards beseem ; Such thoughts as but with lofty souls abide ; Thee would the Muse salute with some sweet song Kindred to that which flowed the shores along, When Lycidas sunk in the whelming tide ! But, ah ! what bard, in this degenerate day, Can frame the stanza with indulgence due ? No hand like thine the minstrel harp can sway, Or breathe the symphony with cadence true. Yet in one song thy praise is glowing warm ; Thy own immortal lines thy noblest requiem form ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 117 WORDSWORTH. Is there a bard whom Nature s self approves, Whom Genius honors, and whom Virtue loves ; Whose gentle influence o er his page is thrown, Melting fond hearts to union with his own ; Whose pensive lays, with noblest impulse fraught, Enlarge the mind, and elevate the thought ? 7 Tis Wordsworth bard of meritorious praise, Unsullied minstrel of degenerate days ; Whose artless numbers uncorrupted shine, The sterling gold of nature s virgin mine. Thou, fit to stand where Shakspeare stood of old, And see the secrets of the Muse unfold ; To lie reclined upon the hallowed sod, And be the priest of Nature and of God ! ON THE SEA SHORE. Along thy sandy margin, level Sea ! I wander with a feeling more sublime Than ever yet hath blest my heart, since Time Unfolded Nature s glorious pageantry ! And in deep silence while I gaze on thee, Thou living picture of a mighty mind ! The joys of hope and memory combined Send their soft raptures through my thrilling heart The kindred scene recalls the memory Of friends with whom it was a pain to part, Of dear and early hours then, with a start, As the wave ripples on the moonlit shore, I think of that high world, where Pain shall dart Her arrows through my heart and veins no more ! 118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONNET. Sleep, lovely Waters ! on this silent shore, In your unbroken slumber, long and deep ; Unwaked, save sometimes by the dipping oar Of fishermen, who here their vigils keep, Or sea-bird s lonely cry along the steep, When roused from slumber by her stirring young. Oh, with what joy in moonlight have I hung Enamoured o er thee, silent sleeping Sea ! And heard, through the wide spreading woodlands borne, The distant tones of some sweet melody, Which brought to my lired feelings, overworn While combating with this world s misery, A sweet and balmy freshness, like the bland And holy harpings of some seraph land. SONNET. The earth is full of wisdom, and the sea ; The wide deep sea, can loftiest thoughts inspire ; Nor gaze we on it only to admire Its beauty and its vastness for to see The stars reflected in the glassy brine, The fair and far off stars that gem the sky, May waken thoughts which in the mind may shine As bright and starlike as the orbs on high. And when the winds the sleeping billows wake, And curl them into mountain waves, which shake The firm set rocks that bound them in their rage, And whelm the tall ship in the reckless surge How like are they to passions wild, that wage Inhuman wars, and deadliest actions urge ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 STORM AT NAHANT. Call up the Spirit of the ocean wave, And bid him rouse the storm ! The billows roar And dash their angry surges on the shore ! Around the craggy cliffs the waters rave, And foam and welter on the trembling beach ! The plovers cry, and the hoarse curlews screech, As, borne along by the relentless storm, With turned-up wings they strive against the wind The storm-tost ship can no sure haven find, But black browed Death, in his most horrid form, Strides o er the wave and bars her destined way. The wild winds in her shrouds their revels keep ! And while the sailors seek the sheltering bay. Their last cry mingles with the roaring deep. " KEEP IT." Yesfor I loved thee I will keep it well, This little lock of auburn hair ! and now Methinks I see it waving round thy brow, And curling o er thy forehead s gentle swell, As when I kissed that forehead in thy youth. And thou was pleased through blushes, that suffused Thy cheek, to such susceptions all unused. Years have rolled on, yet do I not in truth Forget that happy moment, and I feel Such joys as only Virtue can reveal, When Memory lifts the veil of by-gone years, And spreads her long loved pictures to our view. I gaze on her enchantments, and the tears That dim my sight prove my emotions true. 120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THANKSGIVING. Once more the year its fruitful course has run, And grave November brings the time of praise For all the gifts which crown our happy days ; For the warm lustre of the cheerful sun, For life, and health, and what are richer far Than all the glories of autumnal nights, Friendship s dear charms, and Love s more soft delights, And the pure lustre of Devotion s star. Nor be forgot this happy land of ours, Whose vales are vocal with the songs of Peace ; Where Learning renovates her ancient powers, And bids the pleasures of our lives increase. Dear God ! how pure the heart of man should be, To dwell in such a world, and to be worthy thee ! TO A POETESS. Bright thoughts come to my heart this happy morn, Lady ! in which thou bear st a noble share ; Throngs of sweet memories on their pinions bear The visions of past days, of Beauty born, And nursed by glowing Hope with one dear form That breathes the emanations of a mind, Replete with strength, and by pure thoughts refined, In young imaginations rich, and warm With such high thoughts as pour eternal fame, Around the best of our dear mother land, Giving to Woman there a brighter name Than e er was gathered by the battle brand. O breathe the thoughts within thy breast that stir, That thou mayst be to us, what Hemans is to her. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 THE LAST SONG OF THE GREEKS AT MISSOLONGHI. Before the destruction of the fortress of Missolonghi, by the Turks, in 1826, the Greeks celebrated their own obsequies, and the venerable Bishop Joseph administered to them the Sacrament, and performed the Service for the Dead. Morn came and the war drum at dawning was beat, And its notes found the heroes untired on their feet ! For through that dark midnight, the last they should keep, They had stood by their cannon unwelcomed by sleep. The first gleam of day showed the crescent afar, And in the broad sunrise it glowed like a star, Whose baleful effulgence should light to the grave The best of the sons of the loyal and brave. For weeks, and for months, they had famishing stood, By the bomb-shattered wall that was red with their blood ; And the lances of Christendom rusted afar, With inglorious ease, in that perilous war. And now it was come the last morn the last hour That the red-cross should float o er the Moslem s dread power ; And the last hold of freedom on Grecians wide strand, Must succumb to the rage of the infidel s hand. The staff of their freedom stands fast in the ground, And the heroes undaunted are gathered around ; And the Bishop of Jesus, that white-haired old man, Gives the last rite of faith to the patriot clan. The words of the Sacrament slowly are read, And the Bishop has offered the prayers for the dead ; And lo ! at the cross each armed warrior bends ; They rise and the sweet solemn anthem ascends. 1S22 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And now, ere the first peal of thunder has roared ; The last song of perishing Freedom is poured j It peals from the lips of the dauntless and free, And the long notes roll out o er the Levantine sea. <c We will die ! we will die ! See our flag t is on high ! And yet freely it floats in a glorious sky ! Tis unsoiled by the touch of a tyrant or slave, And if it must fall it shall sleep on our grave. They may tell us t were better to yield or to fly ; But we ve sworn for our homes and our freedom to die ; Our fathers at Leuctra and Salamis bled, And ne er shall they say that their children have fled. The armies of Christendom round us are brave, But they come not they fly not to shield and to save ; They may talk of their freedom in loud swelling words, But it sleeps with their valor it rusts with their swords. We must perish as ever have perished the brave, From Thermopylae s pass to Salonicha s wave ! Tis in vain, tis in vain, with the mighty to strive, For Fate and the Turk and Zatana must drive. But we ve lifted our banner, we ve planted our stone: We will triumph in glory, or perish alone ; Our flag yet floats free o er the Moslem s dark power, And we ve valor and strength to defend it an hour. That hour is gone by, and the best of the Greeks On the earth s crimson bosom have pillowed their cheeks ; And the baleful bright crescent, and broad Turkish sword, Are uplift o er the cross of their Master and Lord. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 SLANDER. Who can with Slander s wiles contend ? Hell cannot boast a darker fiend, ]STor man deplore so foul a foe ; She o er the land at noon-day stalks, And in the midst of darkness walks, Engendering Virtue s overthrow. She with the basilisk is bred, And snaky tresses deck her head, As was of famed Medusa sung j In vain may we her arts oppose, On every side at random flows The aspic poison from her tongue. The wretch oppressed with thousand ills, Who all my hoarded treasure steals, Does but purloin a sordid ore ; But he who dares with impious aim, To blast, my fair ! my spotless name, Takes what no labor can restore. The demon that delights to spread Her venom round fair Virtue s head, Should ne er with men with angels dwell ; Away then, Slander, impious fiend ! To kindred shades of night descend, And seek thy dark congenial cell I THE MOURNING OF RIZPAH. II. SAM17EL, XXI. 8. What maiden is that on the mountain brown ? Is it a spirit from heaven come down, To wander and weep for the woes of men, Till God shall receive her to bliss again ? 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And why does she kneel on the earth so bare ? And what does she do with that sackcloth hair, Which she folds over somewhat the earth cannot hold, As if she would cover a treasure of gold ? The season of gleaning is come in the land, And the harvest of barley is ripe for the hand, But the ears of the grain are all scattered and thin, And the reapers are downcast, and loth to begin. For the sky o er their heads is a cloudless one, And the fields^ they are parched by the heat of the sun ; . The grass is all burnt upon Gibeah s crown, For months have gone by since the rain came down. T is the daughter of Aiah, the handmaid of Saul, That mourns for her sons, in their sorrowful fall, Who were slain for their father s imfortunante feud, When the men of Chcphirah demanded their blood. And their bodies now lie on the brow of the hill, When the sun-beam is hot, and the night air chill ; And their mother spreads by them the sackcloth hair, And weeps for her children, late blooming so fair. Oh what with the love of a mother can vie ? The longest of loves upon earth that can die ; Even death in its saddest and shamefullest form, Cannot chill an affection that burneth so warm ! The vulture at noon-day soars over her head, And screams for her share of the unburied dead, And when night with its darkness has blackened the air, The eyes of the wolf and the jackal are there. But with love undismayed and unwearied still, She sits there alone on the brow of that hill, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 To watch and to weep o er the perishing dead, Till the shower-drops of heaven shall fall on their head. For she deems that the bones of her children will lie Unblest in their grave, if the peaceable sky Pour not down its rain drops in mercy before Their desolate forms are with earth covered o er. " My blooming Armoni, my beautiful boy ! How quenched is the flame of thy fond mother s jy ; The hyena has come from his lair in the wild, For my first born, my darling, my beautiful child ! And thou, whose fair hair clusters round thy cold brow, Like a golden edged cloud o er a mountain of snow, How vain are the hopes I had cherished for thee ; How perished the honors that never can be. No more can ye wander by Galilee s wave, Or join the delights of flie young and the brave ; The daughter of Aiah must mourn like the roe, Which the hunter has chased, and whose young are laid low. Oh, when will the sweet rain of Heaven descend, Inat my watch of the wolf and the vulture may end? -Less dreadful than man, in their hunger they spare lo the heart of a mother the child of her care !" 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. EPITHALAMIUM. Awake ! awake ! my Harp ! And bring thy choicest strain. Come from the shadow of yon willow dark, Where thou unstrung In peaceful semblancy so long hast lain, What time the winds of winter sharp, Through the dry branches of the doddered oak, At silent midnight rung ; While the lone traveller o er the dreary plain, Hath haply heard the creeping breeze, Low moaning mid thy chords upon the ground ; And as thy tones in sadness spoke, With fainting heart and trembling knees, Has started at the sound. Harp of the North ! awake ! With all thy bounding chords ! And let the rocks, And the deep-echoing caves As the red sun in splendor burns, When he returns From the translucent waves, Where he at moonlight hour, retired to slake His bright reflulgent locks Remurmur to thy words. Touch the deep chords, Apollo ! now, And wake bright music with thy powerful hand ; And let the graceful sister band, The Muses, with their sparkling eyes, And negligent attire, Twine, with their rosy fingers, round my brow, A wreath of myrtle, dipped in the warm fount, That flows from the green mount Of ancient Helicon, whose waters bland Inspired the bards of old to send, To the rapt world s surprise, Eternal strains from the deep sounding lyre. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 127 What youth, with golden locks, And glittering array, Roams in the shadow of yon high-browed rocks, That frown like barriers of gigantic mould, Above the extended plain, Where ancient Saugus holds his silent way, To the eternal sea, Which rolls its billows for the brave and free ? And by his side, Behold a fair and smiling bride, Decked with the treasures of the nuptial day ; Around whose path a gentle train, The sister Graces with their laughing eyes, In light transparent robes appear, Dancing in lovely guise, With a sweet sonnet to the new-born year. Welcome ! ye youthful pair ! 7 T is thus, in numbers sweet, they sing Welcome to these o erarching shades, These rocks, these ancient hills, these glades, Where the soft streamlets spring, Whose waves the wild-flowers love, And by whose side, in Spring s enchanting air, Are heard the sweet notes of the forest dove. Here, under arching rocks, That once their echoes gave To the resounding voices, made By the rude Indian, and the howling fox Or by the peaceful wave, Which rolls its mellow murmurs on the Beach, Or in light-tinkling ripples swells Among the pebbles and the glittering shells, That line the iron-barriered shores Of old Nahant, which send their thunders far, What time the dark wave roars, With the wild winds at war Here joyful may ye roam, and view the scene, Which mighty Nature has arrayed In such majestic mien. 12 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And when the charms of nature cease to please, If such an hour to gentle minds may come, And the green trees Shall shed their honors round your snowy home, Or creeping age, with its slow-withering chill, Shall pause, your cup to fill, May mental pleasures smile upon your way ; And ever-youthful Love, With soft Affection s heart-sent smile, Beam round your cheerful path, to prove How peaceful and how fond Are all the moments of that faithful bond ; And all the while, May Heaven s indulgent hand, as now, The silent wreath of happiness bestow. A SENTIMENTAL SKETCH. She was a blooming maiden, and she was passing fair ! I saw, when, sorrow laden, she sought a home from care ; For sickness had come o er her and disappointment too, And every path before her, was difficult and new. In days of youthful gladness, when bosoms are sin cere, A darkening shade of sadness spread o er her brow so clear ; And that pure smile, which lighted up her features smiling glow, Was dashed, as by some bitter cup of darkness and of woe. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 129 They say, that, in a luckless hour, a wandering stranger came, Who taught that sin s transmissive power could light the deathless flame ; And from that hour she turned aside to sad and lonely ways, And gave to sorrow s reckless tide the beauty of her days. The sun dispensed serenest light, but not for her it shone, The village grew each day more bright, but she was sad and lone ; And youths, who loved to wander with her in child hood s glow, Now see her pine and ponder amid the brightest show. She looks back on the rosy hours of childhood and of joy, When every scene was flushed with flowers, and bliss without alloy ; Those harmless pleasures, in her fear, are tinged with darkest sin, And every step appears more drear, than all the past hath been. Oh, can it be, that Nature delights to mar the bliss, And dash her fairest creature with misery like this ? Is there no path to heaven, but through a sea of tears ? No endless pleasures given, unbought by darkest fears ? 130 MISCELLAJS 7 EOUS POEMS. TO THE EVENING STAR. Friend of lovers, Evening star ! Shining in thy bright cymar ; Lighted by thy beams I rove Through the bowers of Shady Grove, By the brook that to the moon Murmureth a quiet tune, Musing on the days of youth, When the pledge of love was truth, When the load of life was light, And each maiden seemed as bright As thy radiance, Evening Star ! Shilling in thy bright cymar. Beauteous orb of tranquil light ! Smiling in the face of night, Had I power to flee away, Soon I d mingle with thy ray ; Flying from the fowler s snares, From the earth and all its cares ; Finding joys I valued once, With thy bright inhabitants, Where the virgins in thy groves Kindle purer, sweeter loves. Wandering through greener fields Than this dusky planet yields, On the banks of clearer streams, Visited by brighter beams, Scenes of more exalted birth Than the richest joys of earth, Such thy pleasures that invite, Beauteous orb of tranquil light ! Since the pleasures that are known To the youthful heart are flown ; Since mine eye is filled with tears For the friends of early years, In whose converse every thought Found the happiness it sought 3 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 t When my breast with hope was high, Heaving the impassioned sigh, Roaming through the flowery grove. Listening to the voice of love Breathing the enamoured tale, Sweeter than the scented gale, And imprinting on the heart Thoughts that never can depart ; Fain would I, Oh smiling Star ! Seek thy solitude afar, Where this heart might cease to weep And these weary eye-lids sleep. Then perchance my spirit might See a vision of delight, Such as in a distant year Came my lonely heart to cheer, When my youthful fancy wrought Visions of romantic thought ; Then the form that with its gleams Long has filled my waking dreams, Might, in wonted beauty clad, Make my wearied spirit glad. Such a joy would well repay All the sorrows of my way. Fare thee well, Oh lovely Star ! Smiling in thy white cymar ; Could this bosom e er repine At the blessings that are thine, Could I grieve that thou art free, How this heart would envy thee ! From thy station in the sky, Thou canst gaze with smiling eye On the form that fills my heart With the thoughts that may not part ; And while I must turn to weep, Thou canst look upon her sleep Undisturbed, nor once intrude With a glance might seem too rude. 132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Happy planet, gazing free, How this heart doth envy thee ! TO ELLEN. " She was a phantom of delight !" Wordsworth. Little Ellen ! lovely child ! In whose pure and artless heart All the graces that impart Life to life are reconciled ; Bud of being s brighter day, Pledge of hope s extended sway, Guiltless of idolatry, How this heart doth homage thee ! Thine is every latent worth, Like the rubies of the mine, Buried in their native earth, Till impulsion bid them shine ; And thine be every boon bestowed To cheer a long and rugged road, Through a world of toil and care, And guide thy steps to one more fair. May thy day be clear and bright, As the hope that round thee now Throws a halo of delight, Brightening each admiring brow ; And the sorrows that await Upon virtue s overthrow, And repentance, long and late, Mayst thou never, never know. Gem of virtue, happy child ! Miniature of future years, In whose bosom unbeguiled, Dwells each virtue that endears ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 Cherub of immortal birth, Fairest flower of nature s tree, Brightest excellence of earth, How this heart doth homage thee WHEN THOU SHALT SEE THE SUN ARISE, When thou shalt see the sun arise From out the level sea, To chase the darkness from the skies And bid thy slumbers flee, Then think of him whose pleasure lies In thinking well of thee ! When thou shalt wander in the grove Where first I called thee mine, While on thy cheek with beams of love The stars of evening shine, Then raise one gentle thought above For him whose heart is thine. OH LADY ! WHEN THINE EYE SHALL LOOK, Oh Lady ! when thine eye shall look On yonder yellow moon, And view the stars with trembling ray, Shine down upon thy pensive way, As thou beside the brook shatt stray, On pleasant night of June, Then think of him who sometimes took His walks beside that murmuring brook. 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And when in solitude thou art Within thine evening bower, And tears are in thy gentle eye, At thought of pleasure long gone by, While memory on thy heart shall lie With melancholy power, Remember him who could impart Such treasured joys to thy pure heart. Oh Lady ! I have loved thee long ! So long I cannot well declare What time I loved thee not ! And thou hast been in many a song, Redeemed from time, and wasting care, And sorrows unforgot. And now whene er my heart is sad, I think of thee, and deem thee near, And then I feel the joy, Which made my youthful bosom glad, When in a more propitious year, Our love had sweet employ ! BALLAD. It was a bright and balmy eve, the moon was in the a|7"V The silent stars had taken leave to light their lamps on high ; A thousand bright and beauteous maids m sleep re clined their heads, And thousand angel sentinels were watching round their beds. She stood upon a lofty cliff, that frowned above the sea, Whose dark rocks to the midnight moon reflected awfully ; MJCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 Her long fair hair hung floatingly around her breast of snow, Like mighty clouds, that heavily o er cold Monad- noc flow. What doth she there, that lovely maid, at this lone hour of night ? She watcheth for her lover s bark, with long and straining sight. The winter stars, the summer stars have shone upon her tears, But to her sight, each lingering night, no lover s bark appears. There is a dark speck floating far upon the sombre tide, That long ere it has reached the shore, her quick eyes have descried. " Oh heaven ! it is Alanson s corse ! the sea has been his grave ; I ll sleep within thy arms, my love, this night be neath the wave !" She sought the steep cliff s dizzy edge into the waves to spring, When, hark ! beneath the rocky ledge she heard a bugle ring ; She turned and then for joy she wept her lover stood beside, And in Alanson s arms she slept, but not beneath the tide. OH, THERE IS A BRIGHT SHINING BEAUTIFUL MOON. Oh, there is a bright shining beautiful moon, That blends her soft rays with the breezes of June? And ocean s blue waters all silently lie, And reflect the bright tints of a still-bluer sky I 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And who hath e er gazed on those bright worlds above, Nor wished for the wings of the soft-soaring dove, To bear him from earth and its sorrows away, To dwell in the light of a lovelier day ? I have mused on the past till its joys are awake, Like the waves on the face of a stone-ruffled lake, When circle in circle flits busily by, In the mild-beaming light of a sun-setting sky. Not a scene of my youth can such pleasure impart, As the rapture that wakes in the stillness of heart, When reason to hope doth its certitude lend, To prove to this bosom I still have a friend ! IN THIS DARK VALE OF SORROW. In this dark vale of sorrow, when hope has deceived, And we sigh o er the tale we too fondly believed, How often does memory her pleasures impart, And shed a bright halo to solace the heart. Even now to my view a sweet vision appears, I catch the illusion, and joy e en to tears ! The pleasures of memory float on my sight, And the scenes of my boyhood are lovely and bright. I review the hours when I delighted to rove With the beautiful daughters of friendship and love; I recall the days when in each joy of my heart, And in each transient sorrow, some friend bore a part. It breaks bright illusion ! oh, why hast thou fled ? To tell that the hopes of my boyhood are dead ! Yet oft it will shine through the vista of years, To warm this cold bosom and brighten my tears. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 MEHAMA. Mehama was young and fair , The balm of her lip was fresh ; Her eyes had seen the hues Of sixteen summer flowers. Her step in the valley was light, And her breath like the silent gale ; Her cheek was flushed with health, And fair as the evening moon. Her heart was the home of peace, And as pure as the desert spring ; She was fair as the evening star, When it shines in the west alone. No one beheld Mehama, But a blessing arose to his tongue. The aged beggar, on his noon-day walk, Ne er saw her father s lattice shut in rage. Even the bright flowers, that in her garden bloomed Shone brighter, as she smiled upon their blossoms. The little village, where Mehama dwelt, Seemed like a paradise within the wild. The traveller on the road Checked his high steed, and bent Unconsciously, his head, To gaze upon her face. Two long, long years rolled on, The traveller passed again O er that remembered way ; Mehama was not seen. A shade of disappointment veiled his face, For still her image dwelt within his soul ; And many miles before the village rose, He hoped to see her smiling form again. For she to him was dear As is the cocoa tree To Benin s thirsty son. He bent his anxious eye ; 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Her garden wore the hue Of desolate neglect. The clambering wall-flower Had loosened from its hold, And lay upon the ground. The soft geranium, That, from the window sent Its sweet purfume around, Was broken by rude hands, He could endure no more. His heart sunk down like lead within his breast, And hopeless sorrow seized upon his heart. The spoiler had been there, And wrought the work of death. He passed upon his way, In silence and deep grief. No tears rolled down his cheek, They were dried within their fount ; Mehama was laid in the grave, This lay adorns her tomb. These simple lines inscribe the humble urn, Of one whom high and low agree to mourn ; Her youth was lovely as the fairest flower, Like that t was blighted in a luckless hour. Ye, who would make the meed of worth your prize, And find the boon of virtue in the skies, Let innocence your youthful years adorn, And modest virtues gild your smiling morn. Then shall the storms of life sweep harmless by, And death s dread blast but waft you to the sky. STANZAS. I made me a little bark, And trusted my all on board ; And her sails were spread like the wings of the lark Though the storm was on, and the waves were dark, And the winds and the waters roared. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. J39 But soon the sun looked from on high, And stilled the stormy main ; And before his face the clouds did fly, Leaving behind a clear blue sky, And the ocean smiled again. And still my bark went o er the seas, With a soft and rippling tune, Like the gentle boughs of the forest trees, That meet and kiss when stirred by the breeze, In the leafy month of June. And on she went with a motion as free As the soaring, still-winged dove, And stooped her side to the wave as meek As the virgin bride, when she leans her cheek To the first warm kiss of love! But the sun went down, and the night was dark, And the stormy wind was high ; And the ocean waves went over the bark, That saw neither land nor beacon-mark, Nor star-beam in the sky. But soon a bright and cheering ray Shone over the tide afar, And I beheld while my heart was gay With the hope that rose on my erring way The beams of the morning star. THE TRIAL OF FRIENDSHIP. The heavy bell was tolling with a mournful sound and slow, And m the hall the weeping friends were passing to and fro, 13 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And from one beauteous maiden s eyes the tears were falling fast, When through the marble collonade a steed came hurrying past. A knight bestrode that foaming steed, all clad in . battle mail, And the warm blood was gushing through his bar red aventayle ; " Oh stay the lifted sword !" he cried, with hoarse and fainting cry, And scarce were heard the hurried words, " the victim shall not die !" " I ll die !" exclaimed the fettered one, " that war rior is my friend, And gladly I to favor him my worthless life would lend." " He shall not die !" returned the knight, " forbid it, king ! that he, Whose stainless life is free from crime, should suffer thus for me." " Why dost thou come," inquired the king, " hast thou no fear of death ? Or thinkest thou my firm decree is but a changing breath ? Did he not seek thy prison cell and free the fatal chain, And why hast thou from distant friends, so soon re turned again ?" "I come," replied the noble knight, "my forfeit word to free ; And thinkest thou that chains and death can frighten men like me ? Although my heart is truer to my Country s weal than thine, Yet rather would I suffer death than harm a friend of mine." MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 Fierce was the struggle of these knights which of the twain should die, And thousands, crowding round, admired their friend ship bold and high ; At length exclaimed the admiring king, " Bold knights ! Oh condescend To take your lives, with princely gifts, and own me for your friend." TO When far from thy home, mid the hills of the north, To the plains that are washed by the sea, Thou cam st in thy youth and thy loveliness forth, Like a bird bounding gladly and free ; How brightly thine eye with its deep lustre shone, Like a lime mid its leanness seen, While thy feelings leaped up at the light thrilling tone, Which thy step wakened out from each scene. Though now it is changed, and thy light lovely step Sounds heavy and sad to thy ear, And far are the hearts that would deeply have wept, That thou shouldst have cause for a tear ; Though they that should love thee are hardened and cold, And pass thee with pride and with scorn, There still is one arm that will gladly enfold, One heart that is fresh as the morn. Oh let not thy bosom be burdened with care, Nor timidly tremble for them ; Thy God will assist thee with firmness to bear, Though they should oppress and condemn. 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The hand that entwined every chord of thy heart, And with passion and feeling endowed, Will still to the humble a mercy impart, That never is shown to the proud. TO Oh thou, who left thy dear loved home, The beach, the rock, the hill, the vale, In lone and stranger paths to roam, Where blight and selfishness prevail Oh court no more the faithless gale, That wafts thee from the truth away, Where fountains in the deserts fail, And sands but sparkle to betray. Oh come, unite with her whose hand Will lead thee to a pleasant hill, Whose cedars in their beauty stand, Whose vallies know no blighting chill ; Whose views with joy thine eyes will fill, As thou shalt rest in peaceful mood, Beside the waters pure and still, And in green pastures of the good. Remember, youth has past away. And strength and life are waning fast, And thou wilt need, in evil day, A shelter from the chilling blast ; And she, whose lot with thine is cast, Will need thy aid her steps to stay, When sorrow s tide is rising fast, And time shall bring the evil day. She said Oh how I wish his choice Had made, like thine, the Church his friend ; Then might her altar hear his voice, Then might our weary wanderings end. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 Then would our grateful voices blend Together on the festal day, And all our joyful steps would tend In peace and love, the heavenly way. Then come by me the Spirit calls, By me the Church invites thee home, Come, dwell within her peaceful walls, Nor longer from her service roam. Oh leave yon surge s sparkling foam, And dwell within her tranquil shrine ; Come to her joyful service come ; Need she call twice to heart like thine ! THE EVENING BELL. How sweet and solemn is the sound, From yonder lonely tower, That sends its deep-toned music round, At twilight s holy hour ! When every sound of day is mute, And all its voices still, And silence walks with velvet foot, O er valley, town, and hill. When every passion is at rest, And every tumult fled, And through the warm and tranquil breast The charm of peace is spread. Oh then how sweet the solemn bell, That tolls to evening prayer ! While each vibration seems to tell That thou, Oh God. art there ! 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THEY HEARD HIS WORDS WITH SCORN. They heard his words with scorn, and cried " Is this not Joseph s son ? And whence hath he the wondrous power to be some mighty one ? Are not his brethren here with us, and who hath ever seen The day a noble deed was done by servile Naza- rene ?" The humble sufferer bowed his head, and passing through the crowd, With patience saw their scornful smiles, and heard their tauntings loud ; He saw the ox returning to his owner s nightly shed, But found no friendly dwelling there to rest his wea ry head. He passed along where Cedron s brook divides the humble vale, And heard their sounds of revelry come down the evening gale ; He entered then a garden lone, whose gate invited there, And kneeling spent the tedious night in solitude and prayer. Hark ! heard ye not the dreadful cry that rent the yielding air ? And saw ye not the gathering gloom on faces of de spair ? And mark ye not the astonished dead, slow-bursting from their graves, Beneath whose feet the kindling earth heaves high like rolling waves ! And who is he on yon white horse, whose eyes are eyes of flame ? And on his head are many crowns, and on his thigh a name ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 And he is clad in vesture red, dipped in his own best blood He was the trembling nations cry he is the SON or GOD ! SACRED MELODY. Thou who from thy throne above, Sendest round the smile of love ; Listening to the holy hymn Of enraptured seraphim ; Thou, who rulest all things well, All in Heaven, in Earth, in Hell ; Deign to make our wants thy care, Hear, oh hear thy children s prayer ! Thou who from thy throne above, Cam st to prove eternal love ; Leaving all the joys on high, For our souls to bleed and die ; Thou who rising from the grave, Show st to man thy power to save ; Thou who all our sins didst bear, Saviour ! hear our humble prayer ! Thou, who leadest those who stray, In the true and living way, Dwelling with the humble soul, Yielding to thy mild control ; Thou, whose pure and gentle part Is to heal the broken heart ; Thou who savest from the snare, Holy Spirit, hear our prayer ! God of Christians ! thee we pray, Lead us in the chosen way, Where the lion cannot harm, Where the serpent cannot charm ; 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Save us from the paths of sin, Keep us from the joys that win, Shield us from the hunter s snare God of mercies, hear our prayer ( FRIENDSHIP. When sorrow o er the spirit steals, And life has scarce a charm to show ; When sadness every joy conceals, Or age presents the cup of woe ; What then can soothe the feeling heart, That finds its early joys decay ? What power can then assuage its smart, And chase the mental gloom away ? There is a boon to mortals given, A solace as through life they wend, To sweeten care and point to heaven ; That boon the bosom of a friend ! MY COUNTRY. I love thee, my Country ! the land of the free ! Where the pleasures of life in their plenitude reign, Where Freedom looks over the dark-rolling sea, To greet the lone exile from tyranny s chain ; Where the blessings of peace with religion entwine, And the rights of the poor are acknowledged divine. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 Where truth and devotion have taken the place Of the gods that distracted the nations of yore ; While dark-thoughted bigotry shrinks in disgrace, And sorrow and slavery fly from the shore ; Where life in its honor aud value appears, And the fond smile of beauty its pleasures endears. Go, ask the sun, as he rolls through the sky, If ever he shone on a lovelier clime ? If the mountains of Italy tower more high, Or the rivers roll on more deep and sublime ? If the gardens of Persia are brighter in bloom, Or the roses send forth a sweeter perfume ? Oh surely there is not a clime upon earth, Whose scenes are so dear, or whose joys so divine, As the home of my sires, as the land of my birth, Where freedom, and peace, and contentment com bine To banish the spectres of sorrow and strife, And scatter their flowers through the journey of life. HOW HAPPY IS THE HUMBLE SOUL. How happy is the humble soul Whose hope is in the sky ! How sweet to own the blest control Of majesty most high ! When all the pleasures earth can yield Have vanished from the breast, The soul has then a spacious field, A heritage of rest. 148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A thousand sorrows o er the heart Their heavy wheels may roll, The keenest pangs they may impart, But cannot crush the soul. Sweet hope shall come in sorrow s hour And fan the vital spark, Destined to brave oblivion s power, And shine when suns are dark. THERE is A STAR. There is a star no gloom can shroud A hope no woe can sever A ray that through the darkest cloud Shines smilingly forever ! When nature spreads the shades of night, With scarce one hope of morrow, That star shall shed serenest light, To gild the tear of sorrow. When melancholy s silent gloom Enshrouds the heart with sadness, That ray will issue from the tomb, To fill the breast with gladness. Then humble Christian, fearless go, Though darkest woes assail thee ; Though dangers press and troubles flow, This hope shall never fail thee. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 MEMENTO MORI. Remember, fair maid, thou must die ! And, it may be, must die in thy blossom ; Then the clods of this cold earth will lie On thy bosom. And deep, in the damp and cold grave, With the unfeeling ground for thy pillow, Thou shalt sleep while above thee shall wave The sad willow. And who, in that silence, shall speak Of the cheek, that once brightened with gladness? And the eyes, whose soft gushes would break In their sadness ? Oh, none will remember thee then, Of all that have sought and admired thee, In the halls of enjoyment, where men Once desired thee. And the rose will bloom fresh in the vale, And the stream murmur on through the wild-wood By the banks, where thou woo dst the sweet gale, In thy childhood. But thy form will be lost to the vale, And the song of the bird will not move thee, And some hearts, for a few days, may wail, That could love thee. Yet long ere thy delicate form, To its primitive dust shall have mouldered, New links of affection, as warm, Will be soldered. Then seek, what was ne er sought in vain, The path of devotion and duty, Whose strength will revive thee again, In thy beauty. 150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE TOLLING BELL. What means yon solemn tolling bell, That peals upon mine ear ? Is it in some kindred spirit s knell ? I fear alas ! I fear ! Years have passed on since last we met My father is it thou ? Perhaps my mother s sun is set The cold dew on her brow. My sister ? Oh, it cannot be She is too good and fair ! Death could not lay his hand on thee* Too much of heaven is there ! Oh, what a sound is that to greet A journeyer from the sea, Whom kindred souls should rush to meet, With glad steps bounding free ! Who er it be, for whom that sound Peals on the saddened air, Some chords to sorrow s tones are wound, Which pain warm hearts to bear ; And those deep notes will leave a trace In some lone spirit s cell, Which lingering years may not efface. Nor burning stanzas tell ! Oh human life ! say what art thou ? A strange mysterious dream A single star on time s dark brow, With bright, but flickering beam. That star, to all, one hour must set, Whose rays so faithless shine ; And joys, though they may linger yet, Be quenched in death s dark brine. Yet shall a brighter light increase, And sweeter accents swell, When all our earthly hopes shall cease, Like yonder tolling bell. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 THE MINSTREL S LOVE. My love is a lady slender and fair, Whose mantle is light as the thin blue air, And falls from her neck as floatingly, As the vapor that rolls o er a moonlight sea. The clustering wreaths of her long thick hair Curl over her forehead, as dark and fair As the nightly clouds, which heavily flow Over star-loving Sunapee s mount of snow. Like the moon that looks out from a cloudy sky, Is the soul which beams from her large blue eye, Where utterless thoughts appear and flee, Like shadows of clouds o er a sunny sea. In the sleepless night, and the ceaseless stir Of the busy day, my thought is with her ; And memory and love are with sighing repaid, Because of the form of that slender maid. WHEN SHALL I SEE HER. When shall I see her once again, Who holds my heart in thrall ? The fairest form in virtue s train, The loveliest of them all ! Whose eyes are bright, whose lips are warm, Whose lovely shape, I deem, Is fairer than the fairest form Of youthful poet s dream. 14 152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Yet oh, I love her not because Her eyes are like the star Whose beam the smile of beauty draws In western skies afar Nor yet because her form is fair, And graceful as the roe, That wanders like a thing of air O er northern hills of snow But oh ! she has my heart, because Her mind is like a ray, Sent down by heaven s eternal laws, To smile on virtue s way. THERE ARE PLEASURES IN LIFE. There are pleasures in life, there are moments of jy Worth all the dull hours which pass by us in vain, Which earth cannot equal, nor time e er destroy, But are rooted like hope in the heart and the brain. There they kindle and burn, like the undying flame, That is lit at the fount Where the red morning springs ; We scan not their texture, we call not their name, But they haunt us through life like some magical things. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 153 STANZAS. Sweet maid, whose virtue is outshone By nothing but thy loveliness, Whom grace encircles with a zone, To guard, to dazzle, and to bless ; Which they who chance to gaze upon Must honor, but not love thee less. Even I, unworthy of the smile Which gladdens like the ruby s ray, Admit the charms that must beguile The thoughts, but haply not betray; Beaming upon my heart the while Like lights that upon ice blinks play STANZAS. When the tip of some bright swallow s wing Shall dip in the sunny lake, When the breeze of the west shall freshly spring And the leaves of the lotos shake, The water is ruffled, the dew-drops fall And the lake and the flower are sad, Though the swallow s wing and the breeze s call. Are things to make us glad. T is thus with the calm of a delicate soul, A word or a look too rude May waken sensations beyond control, In a bosom with taste endued. For words and looks are delicate things, Which the spirit may wound or heal ; And from them deep joy or sorrow springs, In a heart that is quick to feel. 154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A RECOLLECTION. It was a winter evening, the moon was shining fair, I rose and wrapped around me my plaided roque- laire, And wandered through the drifted snow with many a rising sigh, For in a warm and ardent breast my heart was beat ing high. I sought the cottage on the moor where love and friendship smiled, And welcome hands and cheerful hearts all thought of ill beguiled ; With one dear friend the long cold hours stole si lently away, And hope was there with promis d joy to bless our future day. We parted then, as friends should part, who love each other well, Without a thought within our hearts^ those hearts would blush to tell ; However venal bards may sing, the pleasures of the soul Are far above the boasted joys of beauty and the bowl. T was in the happy days of youth, and now the heavy sod Is on her cold and silent heart, and she is with her God; But many a winter moon may shine, and many a pleasant eve, Ere I forget that gentle friend, or memory cease to grieve. MISCELLAiNEOUS POEMS. 1-55 DEVOTION. What makes our pleasures brighter shine, Like roses bathed in sparkling wine ? What with its lustre can adorn The beauties of the balmy morn, And lend its pure and calm delight To the soft slumbers of the night ? It is the clear and placid glow Which mantles o er Devotion s brow. When sorrow throws its darkness o er The path we fondly trod before, And friends whom we so long have known We call, alas, no more our own ; What then can light the spirit on, When all earth s loveliness is gone ? It is that pure and ardent flame, Which burns to heaven from whence it came. MAY DAY. It is the first sweet morn of May, Refreshed by sunshine and soft showers ; And laughing girls, at break of day, Are hasting on their joyous way, To gather early flowers. Their mirth comes ringing down the vale, Like childhood s words, devoid of art ; And all their accents, as they sail Like music on the morning gale, Come thrilling to my heart. 156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oh happy days of girlish glee ! When life s enchanting scenes are pure, When every thought is warm and free, And hopes, like white waves of the sea, That fluctuate, but endure. And ye have roamed the pastures wide, And gathered flowers of many a hue, That gleam together, side by side, Like love, and hope, and virgin pride, Emblems serene and true. The celandine, with robe of red, In your white hands I see displayed ; The lily, with its blushing head ; The cowslip, that its tears has shed, Like some forsaken maid. The lady s love, with purple hue Deep on its golden leaf imprest ; The violet, with its tint of blue, That glitters in the morning dew, Like hope in virtue s breast. And there the white and downy flower, Emblem of endless life and love ; That yields its sweets in sorrow s hour, As in the light of fortune s power, Pointing to joys above. And ye have bound them with a band Of yellow and of scarlet thread, Twined by a fair and silky hand, As colors of the rainbow bland, Like kindred hearts that wed. Oh happy girls ! like you again I d roam the wild wood pastures green ; Like you, I d brave the morning rain, To weave once more hope s flowery chain, And be what I have been. MICELLANEOUS POEMS. 157 For nature still to me is fair, As in the earlier days of youth ; And I can smile, as free from care, As when I roamed with beauty there. In joyous hope and truth. WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Remember me, when thou shalt twine The wreathed rose in smiling June ; But let not thy remembrance pine, Like that sweet rose, before tis noon. Remember me, when on the plain The blushing fruit is glowing red ; But let not memory s hope be vain, As fading trees their foliage shed. At morning dawn, at eventide, When nature smiles in all her glee, And happy visions o er thee glide, Then, dearest girl, remember me ! SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. In the winter of the year 1777, two brothers, John Lewis, aged 25, and Benjamin Lewis, aged 15 years, of Lynn, were taken prisoners, and confined on board the Jersey prison-ship in the harbor of New York ; where they perished from cold, and unwholesome food administered in copper vessels. Shades of my friends ! beneath the wave Your bones are whitening cold and deep ; The wide sea moans above your grave, The winds bewail your timeless sleep. 158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The minstrel mourns the fatal day, When even youth could not avail To rend remorseless bonds away, And hush a mother s plaintive wail. When pining worth untended dwelt In floating dungeons, dark and dank ; There innocence unpitied knelt, And there the poisoned chalice drank. The God of Nature gave his light To shine on regions fair and free, But man a prison, dark as night, Chains, and a grave beneath the sea. Some friendly storm of future years Shall cast your bones upon the strand, To eulogize a nation s tears, And curse a tyrant s bloody hand. TO A LADY AT THE SOUTH. In yon bright clime, that views the ecliptic sun With nearer ken his lustrous journey run, I see thee wandering in the fragrant shades Of orange groves, and long unvarying glades Of tufted cotton fields, and the tall reeds For whose sweet juice the groaning Afric bleeds. Sweet vales, and fragrant shrubs, and balmy airs, Oh yield your charms to dissipate her cares ! Your strength to renovate her feeble frame, And let her ease your choicest influence claim ! Should northern gales to your sweet vallies come, May they waft nought but happy news from home ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 No chilling blasts come near her to molest, No painful thoughts to agitate her breast. Ye winds that o er the wide Atlantic play, Gather sweet health upon your liquid way ; Steal from Bermuda s Isles their fragrant store, And the sweet treasure in her bosom pour ! Ye streams that roll from Apalachia s side. Oh make sweet music with your murmuring tide ; Sing your soft lays in her enchanted ear, And bid the sound dispel each anxious fear ! Ye southern mountains wear your richest hues ! Ye sunny vales your sweetest smiles diffuse ! Ye healthful days your utmost strength renew ! Ye tranquil nights distil ambrosial dew ! Ye birds of heaven sing out your sweetest strains, And pour their notes o er Carolina s plains ! Ye beauteous things of air, and earth, and sky, Bring forth your treasures to her raptured eye ; And let all nature spread her choicest charms, To woo Hygeia to her sister s arms ! Then, when bright spring her freshest hues shall wake, And pour soft breezes o er each northern lake, May some fair bark from Charleston s happy shore, Waft thy dear form to our loved hills once more, To taste the sweets that home can well bestow, The joys that Love and holy Friendship know, To quaff the sweets which Virtue s cup supplies, And in loved scenes to ripen for the skies. MONODY, ON" THE DEATH OF SOLOMON MOULTOIV Who died May 26, 1827, aged 20 years. He sleeps beneath the willow tree, His last and dreamless sleep ; And yet no tears have come to me, I envy his tranquillity, Far, far too much to weep. 160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yet for whose loss, if not for thine, Should be the requiem sung ? Wake then, my Harp, one glowing line, Though like this injured heart of mine, Thy chords have all been wrung. When first, in youth s exulting pride, Thou struckst the sounding shell, I hailed the hand, that by my side, Across the trembling strings could glide, So gallantly and well. But who, that heard thy mournful tune, The lay so finely drawn, Which brought thy muse some greatful boon, Could think the cloud would rise so soon, To dim thy early dawn ! T was like the song that in the fire The bird of Sadi sings, When throned upon the funeral pyre, She feels the glowing flames aspire To scorch her silken wings. T was like the note, on some clear lake That glows with many a gem, The dying swan is heard to wake, When evening boughs their leaflets slake Her own sweet requiem. It is not mine to sing the praise That selfish merit owns ; Were I to frame the fawning lays, Thy soul, that shaped no servile ways, Would spurn the slavish tones. At random cast on that deep tide, Where endless waters roll, It was thy lot ofttimes to bide The taunts, the insults, and the pride Of things without a soul. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 161 Yet was thy heart of noble kind, In lofty model cast ; Thus are our thoughts to hope inclined, That He, who formed such gentle mind, Would leave thee not at last. NAHANT. Nahant ! fair dweller of the ocean flood ! Thou Queen of waves ! thou Mistress of the sea f Standing like Venus, when at first she rose From out the foaming brine, in all her smiles ! On whose green mounds thy sparkling palaces Rise like the castles of enchanted land, Gemmed with the spray of ocean as with pearls. Above thy frowning battlements, the bird Of ocean soars, like a white flag aloft Streaming in air. And when the ocean storms Come from the east afar, and dash their waves Like squadrons of an endless multitude Of armed and white plumed warriors, on thy rocks That rear their iron towers impregnable, And then fall back resurgent, the loud roar Sounds like the thunder of a nation s war. And when the storm retires, and the vexed waves Are murmuring their defeat, a mournful sound, Like the lone gun that every minute comes From the lost bark at sea, is heard to break, And send its subterranean thunder out, As the wave gurgles in the caverned rock. When winter winds, those tyrants of the north Have swept the foliage from thy emerald glades Thy white pavilioned mounds are then as drear As Desolation s dwellings. The cold blasts Howl through their columns like the shrieking yells Of frighted demons, flying from the wrath Of some o erpowering spirit. And sometimes When the cold winds and the high breaking waves Have spent the livelong night in their rude sport 162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The rising sun shines on a fairer scene Than e er of old romantic poets feigned To rise at touch of a magician s wand. Bright palaces appear, such as in sport The northern Empress reared upon the banks Of the cold flowing Neva. Colonnades Of brightest silver sparkle in the sun, And gleaming towers, and the burnished helms Of mailed warriors on the battlements, Send out their dazzling lustre on the sea, Which nods its sparkling plumes of icy foam, That triumph in their pride. But when the hosts Of Syrius have won thy citadels, And the loved West Wind sends its balmy breath From the pure founts of health, thy ancient rocks, On which of old the Indian lover sate And wooed his dusky bride, become the scene Of joys as dear as those which once were known To Grecia s sons upon the classic banks Of Aganippe, or the sacred rocks Sacred in song, which crown the Egean wave. Here maids as fair as those of Helicon, Without the aid of Fancy s gilding ray, Print their light footsteps on the sandy beach, Or glide along the summit of the crags, And lend their inspiration to the Bard, Who loves their virtues and their graceful forms. Here too, are other joys. The coral groves, Deep in the dark green waters spread their charms, Which almost tempt the gazer from the rocks, To leap and grasp their beauties. Purple flowers, Such as the earth has not, with long green stems And graceful sweep, are waving with the tide ; And sparkling coracles, and crystal gems, Rest on the sandy floor ; while thick around, The shining perch dart though the yielding waves. Oh happy he ! who, free from public care, And private grief, with some dear friend retires, To thy pure scenes, and thy dear joys, Nahant ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 ADDRESS. Spoken at a Visitation of the Second District School, in Lynn. Weeks have passed on, and months their roses shed, And some dear friends been numbered with the dead, Since last, in these loved walls, t was ours to trace The cheering smiles of each remembered face, Dear to our grateful hearts to Science dear, Whom Learning loves, and Virtue bids revere. The flowers of summer, that were late in bloom, Have shed their leaves, and sought their wintry tomb ; The leaves of autumn tremble on the gale, And sighs of sadness steal along the vale, The harbingers of that more chilling hour, When northern blasts shall renovate their power, And Charity s warm hand her gifts display, To chase the wants of misery away. Again you come your kindness to diffuse, To wake the genius of the slumbering muse, O er learning s path to shed your welcome ray, To cheer young genius, brightening into day, To warm our hearts to kindle proud desire, And bid our hopes to virtue s heights aspire. Your presence animates our youthful views, Your kindness aids us, and our love renews. What shall I say ? words linger on my tongue Our Teaoher s thanks the praises of the young, Are yours to day for benefits bestowed On learning s path, and virtue s sacred road. While our best thanks are to your kindness dae, Still be it ours improvement to pursue, To tread the paths of science and of truth, And add new virtue to advancing youth. 15 164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. While other nations mourn departing day, And weep in vain o er learning s vanished ray ; While Greece looks out, with half despairing eye, To hail the sun that warmed her elder sky While barren realms in desolation wait, For some kind favors from according fate Here Learning spreads her choicest treasures free, Of present worth, and honors yet to be. May we partake the banquet she bestows, And drink the stream of science as it flows. May each advancing year our minds behold Advance in knowledge and to worth unfold ; More gentle grow, from pleasing day to day, And thus your kindness and your care repay. Our task is done the lesson of to day ; May the next lead us on a brighter way ; Each mental step rise higher from earth s sod, And the last bring us to the throne of God, MORNA. "A Tale of the Times of Old" Ossian. Duchomar came to Tura s cave, As fast the evening shadows fell, When the white foam on Lego s wave Had bade the setting sun farewell ! Beside the youthful warrior hung His polished sword, for battle meet ; His graceful plaid was o er him flung, And trailed around his buskined feet. As on his way did foam and fret His lank grey dogs, that knew his call, He there the beauteous Morna met, The blue-eyed maid of Tura s hall. MISCELLANEOUS POE3IS. 165 u Daughter of Gormac !" cried the chief, " Thou fairer than the fairest maid ! Art thou consumed with pining grief, That thou dost seek this rocky shade ? " The wind is high in yon dark cloud, That gathers o er the evening sky ; The distant streams are murmuring loud, The troubled lake is foaming high. " Thy circling wreaths of dark-brown locks Are like the mist on Cromla s brow ; Thy breasts like two smooth polished rocks, Round which the waves of Branno flow." " Oh, why," exclaimed the fair-haired maid, " Dost thou again beset my way ? Thou know st I would not that thy shade Should darken Tura s walls of gray ! a Why, gloomy chief ! in blood arrayed, Oh, why, Duchomar ! art thou here ? Dark are thy brows to Tura s maid, And red thy rolling eyes appear." " To thee," the chief replied, " I flew From yonder dark-brown hill of hinds ; Three have I slain with bended yew, And arrows fleeter than the winds. " My bounding dogs, that love the chase, Have slain for thee a stately deer ; High were his horns with branching grace Ah ! happy chance to meet thee here !" " Duchomar !" calm the maid replied, " Thou gloomy man ! I love thee not ; Dark frowns are on thy brow of pride, Like clouds that over Cromla float. But Cathbat is a gentle one, And Morna loves his manly form ; 166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To her he is the beaming sun When breaking through a gloomy storm. " Now Morna waits for Cathbat here " " And long shall Morna wait," he said, " Ere to her sight will he appear ; For Cathbat wanders with the dead." " And is the son of Torman low ?" Exclaimed the maid, with bursting tear ; " Young Cathbat with the hand of snow, So lovely on the hill of deer !" " No longer now my suit oppose, Fair maid !" the youthful hunter said ; " He sleeps upon the hill of roes ; Behold ! my sword with blood is red !" " Oh give the sword to me," she said, " I love the blood of Cathbat brave." The hunter bowed before the rnaid, And the dim sword to Morna gave. She pierced the warrior s manly breast, And like a river s bank he fell ; Kis bosom was with rage opprest, And murmured like the waves that swell. " Daughter of Cormac, strong-armed chief! Thy hand has done a deed of might ! Oh, give my corse to Moina s grief, Duchomar was her dream by night. " Her hand will raise my tomb of rest, For thon hast slain me in my pride ; But draw the sword from out my breast, The steel is cold within my side." She came in all her tears and drew The weapon from the warrior s breast ! He pierced her fair white bosom through. And sent her gentle soul to rest. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. J 67 Her groans ring through the cavern wide, Her fair locks on the ground are spread, The bursting blood sounds from her side, And her white arm is stained with red. She fell in darkness like a star That shoots across .the evening sky ; The traveller views it from afar, And mourns its lost beam with a sigh. Fairest of all green Ullin s maids ! Thy father mourns the fatal shock That sent thee to the gloomy shades ; Calm is thy sleep beside the rock. Thy friends shall raise the tall gray stone To mark thy house upon the heath ; The maids of Lochlin will bemoan, And bards shall sing thy song of death. Thy voice was pleasant as the gale That sighs upon the hunter s ear, When music murmurs in the vale, And spirits of the hill are near. Once in thy hall did warriors bow, And minstrels raise the festal ode ; But narrow is thy dwelling now, And dark the place of thine abode. The gray stones mark the narrow grave, Where Cathbat sleeps upon the hill ; And by the side of Branno s wave Duchomar slumbers dark and still. The son of Torman in his pride, Was like a sunbeam on the plain ; And thou, Duchomar ! like the tide That rushes to the stormy main. 168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS . Peace to the chiefs of other days ! Peace to the spirits of the brave ! Tales of the times of old we raise, And deeds that sleep not in the grave.. THE FOUR DELIGHTS OF LIFE. Along this weary vale of tears, Where hopes and fears the spirit move, Of every flower that bright appears, The fairest brightest flower is LOVE. When sad and lonesome are our days, In solitude decreed to roll, The MUSE her gentle power essays, And sweetly soothes the pensive soul.. When Fate her dusky form uprears To whelm us in misfortune s wave, Then Music leaves her native spheres, And, like an angel, stoops to save. The dearest flowers of earth may fade, And wither in the mortal strife, But FRIENDSHIP blossoms undecayed. The amaranthine flower of life. THE SUN-FLOWER OF THE SOUL., Oh fairer than the beauteous flower, By minstrel never sung, That blooms alone at midnight hour, With trembling dew-drops hung j MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 169 Oh brighter than the beaming star, That sends its evening ray Upon the seaman s bark afar, To guide his doubtful way ; Oh sweeter than the sweetest leaf Of mountain celandine, That bends its modest head, like grief, When worth arid virtue pine ; Oh fairer, brighter, sweeter, than All joys in earth s control, That spread their soothing charms for man The Sun Flower of the Soul. THANKSGIVING HYMN. We thank thee, Oh Eternal King ! For all the joys thy seasons bring ; For Summer s warmth, for Winter s cheer, For Spring and Autumn s blessings dear. We praise thee, that to us is given The freest land beneath thy Heaven ; That all the treasures which are strown Through loved New-England are our own. We bless thee, that the woes of war From our wide shores are banished far ; That peace and plenty do not fail To shine o er every hill and vale. We thank thee, that the gift of health, Dearer than coffers filled with wealth, Is poured from thy benignant hand. In rich abundance o er our land. 170 MISCELLANEOUS FOE MS. We praise thee, that before thy shrine Our hearts may bow in joy divine, And proffer thanks, unmixed with fear, For all the blessings of thy year. We bless thee that thy hand doth guide The reckless wind, the rolling tide ; That whereso er our feet may roam O er land or sea, Thou art our home. HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. Oh blest Redeemer of mankind ! Whose deep, untiring love For souls immortal, lost and blind, Once brought thee from above : to A sad and painful life to lead, For us to weep and die, Till from thy last sad anguish freed, Thy soul went up on high. The gifts of earth we covet not, Nor seek to shun its care, Contented with thy humble lot, And but thy strength to bear. To thee our humble prayer ascends, Let not our hope be vain, That when this earthly conflict ends, Of sorrow and of pain ; When all the ills of life have ceased, It was our lot to see, From all our mortal cares released, Our souls may dwell with thee. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 171 THE DAY OF THE SACRAMENT. When He, who tore the palm of victory From Death s reluctant hands, felt the last hour Of his immortal strife with the strong hosts Of Sin s dark empire coming, he became As one who has a duty to fulfil, Before he makes his pillow in the dust, Which must not be neglected. O er his soul 1 A sadness came, as o er the tranquil sky A deep dark cloud is spread, while all beneath Is saddened with foreboding. Then he knelt And prayed to Him who holds the universe In his right hand, to nerve him for the hour. He knelt and by his side an angel stood, With long bright hair, and radiant countenance, And robe elate with life; and in his mien, He bore the strong indubitable sign Of one who came from God. He bowed his head To the sad form, who knelt beside him there, And spoke the words of strength and He arose In dignity sublime, and full of grace, Prepared to suffer all. Twas on that night That those who loved him gathered round, and heard His last command; "Do this Remember Me." Then took He bread, and brake, and gave the wine With his rich blessing to the chosen few, Ordained to speak the words of life to all. Thus to all time his faithful followers Hold his command as sacred. Round the board They come upon the festal day, and eat The hallowed food which yields the strength of life. Their piety, the incense of their prayers, Goes up, as from a censer, to proclaim They have obeyed the mandate. To their soula The blessing comes, and if they keep the word, The promise of immortal life is theirs, And a high seat beside their worshipped Lord, 172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. LAMENT FOR THE SLAVE. Behold the sun, which gilds yon heaven how beauteous it appears ! And must it shine to light a world of warfare and of tears ? Shall human passion ever sway this glorious world of God, And beauty wisdom happiness sleep with the trampled sod ? Shall Peace ne er lift her banner up ? Shall Truth and Reason cry, And men oppress them down with worse than an cient tyranny ? Shall all the lessons Time has taught, be so long taught in vain And earth be steeped in human tears, and groan with human pain ? See yon dark Afric lift his brow against the burning sun, And plead with God to take his life, ere yet the day be done ! Behold that female falling faint with ceaseless stripes and toil, And breathing out her burthened life on Freedom s blood-drenched soil ! See Slavery raise her iron hand to cause a sea of tears, To which her ills in ancient time a slender rill ap pears ! And see the red man flying far before his Christian foe ! Whose causeless vengeance overwhelms his father land with wo. They ve seized the realm, they ve drawn the sword, they ve shed the red man s blood They ve poured the tears of Afric s sons in one dark deadly flood 3IISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 173 They ve placed their foot on human hearts ! The cup of wrath is red, And darkly dashing down will come on every guilty head. Will He who sees the sparrow fall who hears the orphan cry Stand still, and look with pleasure on, while souls by thousands die ? Souls that are rending heaven with groans, and cries, and ceaseless tears, And bleeding fast beneath the stripes and gathered ills of years ! Is this a time for triumph s shout, or passion s rank ling spite, When woes are gathering o er the land, darker than Egypt s night ? Is this a time to call the shades of ancient party up, When a bright angel stands alone, with his hand upon the cup, Ready to reach its mantling brim to those who have caused the pain Of million hearts, and given the dregs for their parched lips to drain ? Should not knees be bent and hearts be joined and men unite to pray, That the gathering ills o er this lovely land may speedily pass away ? Let all, who duty and truth regard, unite, with an honest aim, That Virtue be nought but a meteor light, and Free dom an empty name. EPITAPH Fair as the star that sparkles in the west, Pure as the dew drop on the lily s breast , She came awhile to tremble and to shine, Then rose like incense to the Eternal Shrine. 174 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ODE. Raise the banner ! praise the banner ! See it waving high, Flaunting in its ancient manner, In the morning sky. Lo, the glorious stripes and stars, Sparkling gems and rainbow bars, Floating by the flood ; High the glittering trophy streams, Mingling with the orient beams, As it rose O er the foes, On the day of blood. Spirits, in the hour of slaughter, How your bosoms beat, When your foes across the water Carne with hasty feet ; Bidding you to throng around That proud standard on the ground, Where twas waving high ; There to battle for your lives, For your children and your wives, And to stand, Hand to hand, To rejoice or die. And ye did rejoice like warriors Of the ancient time, Breaking down the haughty barriers Of oppression s crime. Then the hearts of Freedom s sons Were their own and Washington s, In that glorious hour ; Now we raise the banner up, And for Freedom pour the cup, Full of wine, To the Nine, And our Country s power. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 175 TO Lady ! when in youthful life, First with joy we met, All thy steps with health were rife. Thy cheeks with roses set ; Pleasure sparkled on thy brow, And t was bliss to see All the charms to which we bow In thy motions free. But though thou wast beauty s own, Twas not half so fair, To behold the charms that shone, As the mind was there. What is every grace that shines, Matched with self control ? What are thousand diamond mines, To the gem of soul ! Mid the pleasures of my days, Few have been more dear Than to me was maiden s praise, Than was beauty s tear ; And from life s first sweet employ Till its woes shall end, Few delights can give more joy Than to call thee friend. Then let Friendship s honors glow In her rosy cup ; And while life s delights shall flow We will drink them up. Who would bear earth s weary woes Far from Friendship s spring, Who on life s last bound would pause If Love had nought to bring ! 16 176 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MENTAL IMPROVEMENT. A dialogue spoken at a Visitation of the Second District School, in Lynn. ALMIRA. Sure, my dear Mary, t is a pleasing scene, Where youthful virtue spreads its joys serene ; When childhood strives in learning to improve, And follows science from esteem and love. In all the regions of terrestrial bliss, Where is the pleasure half so pure as this ? MARY. Yes, and how many children are denied The high advantages to us supplied } How many, doomed in ignorance to pine, Want charms that make the soul still more divine! ALMIRA. Yet I am told that some are pleased to say, Our steps in learning s realm are led astray. There is no need, they say, that we should know How many oceans round this world may flow ; How many brilliant planets, hung on high, Trace their bright orbits through the vaulted sky ; Nor will it help to boil our tea, we re told, That we should know what causes heat and cold. MARY. Yet will it aid in many an untried scene, When doubts may press and troubles intervene, To know the philosophic cause of things, And whence each incident and error springs, If our young minds are with good learning stored, And all the aids that science can afford. ALMIRA. Then must our friends admire while they approve, That we make truth the object of our love, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 177 And take pure science and the gentle arts, Instead of vanity to our young hearts. MARY. But most they say, our speaking has no use, And only serves to make our morals loose. ALMIRA. JN" ay, if it makes us more intent to please, Gives our minds freedom, and our manners ease, For harder studies heightens our regard, With little harm it brings a good reward. MARY. Then since our friends have sought so much to find The highest arts to store our youthful mind, Oh let us seek, with grateful hearts, to show How much we love, if not how much we know. ALMIRA. Accept then, Guardians of our youthful minds, The thanks that real candor ever finds. T is by your provident and fostering care, That we the stores of worth and learning share. Then while we strive in science to excel, May we obtain the praise of doing well ; And though, in many things, we fail to please, May all our future joys be pure as these ; May peace and pleasure to this life be given, And to the next, the higher bliss of Heaven. HUMAN LIFE. Life is a wild and stormy tide, Where winds and waves prevail ; And they who trust the waters wide, Must feel the shivering gale ! 378 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Life is a bright and sunny shore, Where fruits and roses grow ; Where Pleasure builds her shady bower, And silver streamlets flow ! T is thus that wanderers of the earth In joy or sorrow deem ; To those it seems a day of mirth, To these a fearful dream. Oh, much I fear that all must taste The bitter cup of woe ; For life has many a dreary waste, Where fearful torrents flow. Yet is it not a hateful scene, So painful though it be, For Mercy s hand has placed between Full many a flowery lea. And Hope has built a rosy bower, Beneath her own pure sky, To which she flies in Sorrow s hour, Till threatening storms pass by. CHILDHOOD S HEART. I have a boy but three years old, With ruddy cheeks and auburn hair, A slender form of graceful mould, That to a father s sight is fair. His eyes are like the forest bird s, The shy wild dove of sunny June ; His voice is sweet, and all his words Sound like a rippling streamlet s tune MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 179 But what to me are far more dear Than all the mellow notes that roll, Are the deep thoughts that meet mine ear. The emanations of a soul. There are who say that childhood s heart Is like a desert s barren soil, Whose sterile sands no fruits impart, Till fostered by Improvement s toil. T is rather like a forest glade, A lovely spot that lonely lies, Whose marge the pine s green branches shade. Whose flowers look up to sunny skies. Improvement s hand may lop the boughs, And prune the luscious vines that stray, May pluck some straggling weed that grows, And aid some gleam of brighter day. But hand of art can ne er bestow A softer verdure for the feet, Or teach a single flower to glow With hue more fair, or scent more sweet. ANTHEM. Sung July 4, 1827. Our fathers came over the wide rolling sea, To build them a home where their souls might be free. They built them a home, and though tyranny came To trample in darkness the new risen star, Yet the spirit of Liberty kindled a flame, That will burn till it ransoms the nations afar, Then let Freedom rejoice from the hills to the sea, And the people repeat, We are free ! We are free 16* 180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Rejoice ! and let discord be banished away From the lustre and love of this festival day ! Let the good and the brave in their praises unite, And their orisons rise to the God of the soul, That all chains may be broken of darkness and might, And our spirits go forth as the waters that roll ; Till our children shall shout, from the hills to the sea, And glad millions repeat, We are free ! We are free ! THE FLAG OF FREEDOM. The Flag of Freedom floats in pride Above the hills our fathers saved ; It floats, as in the battle tide Above the brave and good it waved. It wakes the thought of other days, When they, who sleep beneath its shade, Stood foremost in the battle blaze, And bared for us the patriot blade. High o er its stars our spirits leap, To gratulate their deathless fame, With them the jubilee to keep, And hail our country s honored name. Above the plains, above the rocks, Above our fathers honored graves, Free from a thousand battle shocks, Our striped and starry banner waves. What was the price which bade it ride Above our loved and native plains ? And are there men would curb its pride, And bind our eagle fast in chains ? Spirit of Washington, awake ! And watch o er Freedom s chartered land ; The battle peal again may break, Again in arms thy children stand ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 181 RESPONSIVE CHORUS. The following stanzas were recited, July 4, 1827, by twenty- four girls, tastefully dressed, belonging to the Second District School. The first section of thirteen bore a white silk banner, with the words " Original States ;" the other section of eleven bore a banner with the inscription " New States." ORIGINAL STATES. We stood in the battle when Tyranny came To mantle our dwellings in slaughter and flame, And who shall reproach us with ill ? NEW STATES. We have sprung from the soil and the blood of the free, That was poured when you planted fair Liberty s tree, And our eagle first soared o er yon hill. ORIGINAL STATES. We went forth to the shore when the tide was at flood, And our footsteps were marked by our children s best blood On that dark and that perilous day. NEW STATES. We have marked with delight the bold course you pursued, And would gladly be found with true virtue endued, To follow your perilous way. ORIGINAL STATES. To speak our own praise may not haply be well, But Bunker, and Yorktown, and Monmouth can tell ; That our hands were not slack in the fight. NEW STATES, Our years may not equal the strength of our love, But Erie, and Plattsburgh, and Orleans can prove That we will not abandon the right. ALL. Then hail to the land which gave Liberty birth ! And hail to our Country, the proudest on earth ! 182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. May no tyranny trample its shore ; May its course be the march of the brave and the free, And our eagle soar high over mountain and sea, Till the earth and the waves roll no more. ANTHEM. Sung July 4, 1828. Hark ! from the plains where our warriors have bled A voice, as of millions, comes forth from the dead ! " Sons of the free, who in battle have perished For rights which the God of our being bestowed, Guard well the flame that so long ye have cherished, Nor bow your free necks beneath Slavery s load !" Gladly we listen to accents so dear, And cherish the lesson they leave to us here. Sons of the free we were born, we were bred, And free will we be till we dwell with the dead. Then o er the mounds where our ashes shall slumber, Should Tyranny trample our soil to deface, Forth from our graves would we rush without num ber, To rouse from their sleep our degenerate race ! Free e en in death will our spirits remain, Nor slumber in peace beneath Tyranny s chain. God of our Spirits ! to thee we appeal, To sanction the glow which our bosoms must feel ! Proudly our country has borne the endeavor, To gain her ascent with the nations of earth ; Never may Discord her union dissever, Or Anarchy triumph o er Virtue and Worth ! Firm be our hearts, as the rocks of our shore, In freedom to live, and in truth to adore. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 183 SABBATH MORNING. How calm and beautiful the sky appears ! Without a cloud to dim its bright expanse ; And ocean slumbers like a sunny lake, When not a zephyr stirs its glassy sleep. All nature is serene, as on the morn When He who turned the golden compasses To circumscribe this fair and fertile globe, Rested from all his works. No sound is heard But nature s genial breath, from waking birds, And lowing beasts, and the low, distant dash Of yonder moaning sea. T is a fit hour To worship the Invisible, who sits Enthroned amid the rolling; worlds, and guides . O O The high and holy destinies of man. Oh how sublime the thought ! how full of joy ! That he who dwelt, and dwells forever, through Interminable space, and time, and thought, And far beyond thought s farthest, utmost roach. Pervading all, and with a single glance Surveying all, and from remotest time, With unexerted power, upholding all, To whom sublimest worlds are but as drops Of atomy spray which glitter in the sun, Should condescend, for no reward but praise, For no return but gratitude, to be Our Father and our Friend ! Then let our praise And gratitude unceasingly ascend In humble and exprest devotion, morn, And eve, and sunny noon, and depth of night, When all the twinkling stars are glowing bright With unexhausted lustre, to shine forth Their silent portion of the praise of God. Oh what exalted rapture must hdve fill d The breast of kingly David, and the line Of holy prophets, who, by Jordan s wave Gave out the word of promise, when the morn, Of their most holy day arose, and sound 184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Of harp, and lute, and psaltery was heard, Calling the people to the house of God ; And priesthood s holy voice, and maiden s song, Went up in sweet accord from Sion s top " How lovely are thy tabernacles, God ! How blessed are the courts of the Most High !" T was thus they sung ; and then the soft response Came forth " How glad was I to hear The people, with consenting voices say, Come, let us worship in the house of God. Peace be within thy walls, Jerusalem ! Prosperity within thy palaces !" Oh those were happy days ! unlike the hours Which rolled their slow and heavy minutes by, When the seer s holy voice, by Chebar s flood, In lamentation deep was heard to cry " How doth the city solitary mourn, For no one cometh to her solemn feasts ! Her gates are desolate, her virgins sigh, Her prophets see no vision from the Lord, Her solemn feasts, her sabbaths are forgot." Oh ! there was wailing then by Babel s stream, And woman s gentle voice was heard aloud " We sat down by the river s side, and wept, When we remember d Sion s pleasant courts ; We hung our harps upon the willow trees, Yet they who wasted us required a song ! How could we sing the songs of our delight, In a strange land and in captivity ? If I forget thee, Oh Jerusalem ! May my right hand its talent all forget." How strong the love of home ! what deep regard They bore the temple of their childhood s joy. Oh, where are they, who, upon Sion s top, Poured forth that hymn of praise ? those beauteous maids, Who were as rainbows to the gladdened eyes Of Judah s valiant sons ? dazzling their path With emeralds, and living sapphire stones ! And where those black-eyed, valiant youths ? and where MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 185 Those grey-haired sires, who, in the days of youth, Had fought the Amalekite, and sent the awe Of valiant deeds into the quailing hearts Of Bashan s giant sons, making the gods Of Ekron tremble on their faithless base ! All to the earth gone down, with the dry grass Which rustled to their footsteps. On the hill Of Lebanon the giant cedars stand, And rear their tall green forms, and spread their arms, As in the days of old ; but Judah s maids, And Judah s valiant sons, have all lain down, And mouldered to their primal earth, as he Who writes this simple lay, and thou who read st, Must one day moulder, sink, and be forgot. But those days passed away ; and then came on That holy time, the Christian Sabbath Day, When on the sacred banks of Galilee The early Christians met to celebrate The resurrection of that Holy One, The immaculate Son of God in Bethlehem, Who was ordained by Heaven to be a light And beacon to the nations. On that morn The assembled people met upon the side Of hallowed Jordan, or along the flood Of Galilee, or by Gennesaret, Or more remote, upon the mountain s top, Or in some lonely grove, retired and sweet, And there the humble prayer and holy hymn Arose like incense from Solyma s shrine. Blest Morn ! with such regard we welcome thee, In this beloved land ! there is no land Like thee, New England ! no more happy shore I We wake in peace, from sweet repose, and hear The joyous sound of sabbath bells, which send Their welcome peal through every vale and wood, And up the mountain side, and far away Through the resounding vales, and rocky dells, Calling the dwellers of the distant cots 186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To meet within the sacred Church, and bow Before the holy font, or at the side Of hallowed altar to receive the signs Of our Most Holy Faith. Oh happy day ! Blest be the sun which lights thy hallowed morn ? Blest be the winds which bear thy summons o er Green plain, and woody vale and rocky shore ! Blest be the souls, who bow in holy prayer Before thy shrines, with true devotion s air ! Blest be the hearts that lift the holy hymn, In emulation of the seraphim ! Blest be the voice which lends its hallowed breath, To save immortals from the paths of death ! And Oh more blest than all, be He who came From Bethlehem s vale to light the holy flame, Which should illume the nations with its rays, In every clime that sees the day-star blaze. Blest Morn ! devoted to Religion s shrine, What joys on earth, what joys in heaven are thine ! SERENADE. Lady, behold ! the bright full moon Moves slowly o er the azure sky ; Through yon sweet grove the breath of June Stirs with a lulling melody. Remember, love ! the joys of youth Are bright but once to fancy s view ! Then let us seize the pleasing sooth, While life is warm, and hope is new. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 187 ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED CHILD. My heart is in the coffin there And I must pause till it come back to me. 0, a Cherubim thou wert ! Shakespeare. Yes, thou art laid, my cherub fair, Deep in the dark cold grave, And round that little lovely head, The winds of winter rave. How do I weep beside this fire, That burns so warm and bright To think that thou art sleeping there, This cold and stormy night ! To think those little tender limbs, That once were wrapt so warm, Have but a clod of frozen earth To shield them from the storm ! That I shall never hear again The little joyful hum, That met me at the open door, And cried " My father s come !" That when my head all day has ached With long instruction s toil, No little rosy cherub cheek Shall glad me with its smile. That when I turn and seek again The joys, which now I miss, Thy sweet half-open lips no more Shall greet me with a kiss. To think that I shall never see Thy tall and graceful form Move down the gay and sprightly dance, With virtue glowing warm. 17 188 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That I shall never see thee sit, When time shall me enfold, And read the soft enchanting tale By some sweet poet told. That I shall never hear thee breathe Some deep endearing tune And how much joy hast thou not lost By going down so soon ! With what delight wouldst thou have viewed This bright and beauteous earth ; And Oh, how deep wouldst thou have drank Its raptures and its mirth ! How would thy soul have swelled to gaze On yonder glorious sky ; And see the thousand brilliant orbs, Which God has hung so high ! And Oh, how gratefully thy heart Had loved me, when I taught The treasures of enchanting lore, From books and nature brought. And when the wings of time conveyed Some sorrow dark and deep, How kindly hadst thou looked and said, " My father ! do not weep !" But thou art gone, thou lovely one ; Thou soul of God s best mould, And I am left behind to meet The sorrows I have told. Yet thou art happier than he, Who lives thy loss to mourn ; For thou canst never know the ills By warring nature borne. MICELLANEOUS POEMS. 189 From dangers, that upon thy path Had prest as time came on, And sorrows, that had found thy heart, How safely hast thou gone. The slanders that around the head Of virtue ever press, And envy s guile, can never come To make thy pleasures less. But for the wiles of wicked men, That round the living rave, The pure unsullied snows of heaven Are falling on thy grave. Sleep then, my little darling one, Till the last trump is blown ; Then in thy infant innocence Fly to thy Father s throne. THE BEACON TREE. Thou art strong, lonely Tree ! that for ages hast stood, To guide the lone mariner over the flood ; Whose branches are bleached by the cold northern blast, And torn by the tempests of centuries past. How oft has the crow on thy top stayed her flight, And the eagle been rocked through the long winter night ! While, perchance, as the wind rent the branch from her feet, Has her scream made the heart of the traveller beat! 190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. How few are the days of desultory man, How brief are the moments that eke out his span, Compared with the years thou hast stood on yon height, And braved the rude tempests of winter and night ! And firm is thy root, yet unscathed by decay, Though Time from thy trunk lops the branches away ; Thus unmoved may I stand, and thus firm be my heart, When the wise, and the good, and the lovely depart. MONODY, On the death of Mr. Joseph Blaney, who went out in a boat, from Swampscot, July 12, 1830, and was destroyed by a shark. Death comes in thousand forms To the paths of mortal men ! He rides upon the ocean storms, And none can stay him then; The bones of seamen lie In the caverns of the deep ; They slumber darkly where they die, In unfrequented sleep. Above their secret graves The midnight surges roll ; And the loud requiem of the waves Laments their parted soul. T is always sad to die, Even in our native dome, When life breathes out the parting sigh, Amid the loved of home. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 191 Tis sadder far to fall By the battle or the breeze, When stranger hands spread out our pall Upon the distant seas. But dreadful tis to be The ocean monster s prey ! To have the tyrant of the sea Complete our mortal way. Yet tis decreed to man Once in the grave to lie ; And when he has fulfilled the plan, His soul ascends on high. The grave shall yield its dead, The sea restore its prey, And forms in ocean s darkest bed Shall greet the light of day. BALLAD. The loud wind roared, and fast the rain Descended from on high, The angry billows rushed amain, And darkness veiled the sky. Young Theodore, oppressed with grief, Aud sighing to be free, Was seated on a rocky cliff That overlooked the sea. And far g.bove the sandy beach, That stretched beneath his eye, The white sea gull was heard to screech, While soaring round on high. 17* 192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. His Delia once was fair and gay, Her lovely soul benign, But death had snatched the maid away, And left him to repine. a Ye torrents pour, ye billows dash, Ye loud winds roar !" he cried ; And faster still, ye lightnings, flash, And spread your horrors wide !" Such sinful words he spake Oh Christ ! That such a thing should be ! That youth should turn aside to vice, And lose its hope in thee ! The waves grew wild, the night more dark, And louder shrieked the bird ; While frequent from an unseen bark The minute gun was heard. Reclining on his rocky bed, He shuts his weary eyes ; Hoarse thunder rumbles o er his head, And sheeted lightning flies. The spirit of the night raved loud ; He waked with stifled breath ; A bolt shot from the impending cloud, And sealed his eyes in death. MORNING. FROM PRUDENTIUS. Darkness, and mists, and the clouds of night, Confusing and covering the earth, are sped, For the morning dawns, and the heavens are bright- So Christ appeared, and Delusion fled. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 193 EPITAPH. Ah, gentle Maid ! has thy loved spirit gone, Ere smiling Spring her early hues hath spread ? Before the rose perfumed the florid morn, Entered the silent mansions of the dead ? Could not stern death have spared thee yet awhile, That thou mightst cheer the drooping with thy smile r Cold is the heart that once inspired delight, Thy lovely voice shall greet our ears no more ! Encircled by the gloomy shades of night Lies thy fair form, thy absence we deplore. Beneath the grassy turf serenely sleep, While o er thy grave the village virgins weep. WEEP NOT FOR THE YOUTHFUL DEAD. Weep not for the youthful dead, Resting in their peaceful bed ! They are happier than we, Howsoever blest we be ! They have left a doubtful scene, While their hearts were young and green, Ere they foundered on the deep, Wherefore, wherefore do ye weep ? They have never known the stings Which dissevered friendship brings ; Envy, hatred, passion, pride, All lie buried at their side. Far across the shipwreck foam, They have found a peaceful home, Where the blessed spirits keep, Wherefore, wherefore should ye weep ? 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. T is, ye say, a heavy pain, Preying on the heart in vain, Thus to see the green bud froze, When just opening to a rose. Yet shall consolation come From her starry-spangled home, Bringing dew upon her wings, From the deep eternal springs. Happy they who die in youth, Ere the fountain springs of truth Have been sullied by the rains, Leaving dark and deadly stains. Their renown is with the brave, All their faults are in the grave, And the flowers, that round them bloom, Chase the darkness, hide the gloom. WHEN SHALL WE MEET. When shall we meet in our home of delight, Where the smiles are sweet as the stars at night ! When shall the griefs, that darken our way, Be lost in the light of a happier day ? Then shall we smile to think of the years Which have fallen a prey to sorrow and tears. But till Time shall bring, with look serene, A joy like that which the past hath seen, Oh, Lady fair ! look from thy bower, Where thou sittest alone in moonlight hour, And think that an eye, which views yon star, Is watching for thee in its home afar. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 195 Then, when thou shalt turn to thy couch of rest, To dream of the one who loves thee best, May the angels of God descend to keep Their watch around thy visioned sleep ; And thy slumber be light as the holy dew, Which falls on the heart that blesses you ! SONNET. To William Lloyd Garrison. Thy God has cast thee in a noble mould, And poured thy fabric full of living soul, That fills, informs and animates the whole, As if we saw a visioned form unroll ! And thou goest forward with Ithuriel s spear, To combat with the evils of the world ; And thy keen polished shafts on high are hurled, To fill Oppression with a deadly fear, And drive him from his hold in Freedom s land, Where he has marshalled forth a mail-clad band, Armed with the scourge of torture. Like a knight, Who battled for the Cross in days of old, With truth thy shield, go forward, and be bold, And may God aid thee in the glorious fight. TO MARY. On receiving the compliments of the New Year. Yes, Mary, t was a precious boon " I wish you, Sir, a happy year !" And when my heart is out of tune, Twill wake it to its wonted cheer. 196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. So sweet a wish, from one so pure, Must bring with it a kindred charm, And smiling heaven will deign most sure, To grant the wish of heart so warm. Long may the peace that virtue knows, With innocence and truth be thine The joy that friendship e er bestows From such a noble soul be mine ! THRENODY. Maria Augusta Fuller died January 19, 1831, Aged 24 years. The Flower of the Grove is fallen ! The beautiful star is set ! Its luminous ray shall shine no more On the pathways where we met ; But enough of its lingering light remains To brighten our darkness yet. We hailed its dawning bright, Like the Morn Star s purple ray ! Or rather the beautiful crimson lights, O er the northern hills that play, When the evening streamers flash on high, So soon to die away. Like a delicate bark at sea, When the redolent gale is sweet, That holds on its clear and sunny way, With a motion fair and fleet, But sinks ere the shores of the haven land Have welcomed the mariner s feet Thus from the path of life, Ere half her journey done, Went down to the silent caves of death, The pure and the gifted one ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 197 To her, earth s mortal coil is o er, And the endless joy begun. To the crimson halls of day, She has gone with spotless wing, Like a lark that takes its upward way, At the early call of spring, To dwell in the land of the spirit s home, In the bowers where seraph s sing. The immortal groves to tread, That stretch from the burning Throne, To talk with the high and holy dead, In this evil world that shone Oh who, through the shadowy gate of death Would tremble to pass alone ? ON THE DEATH OF BISHOP HOBART. He stood upon the holy wall, That guards the Christian land ; He fell, as good man e er should fall, With the cross in his right hand. His mortal race is now outworn, He sleeps beneath the sod ; And well, for he has bravely borne The banner of his God. Weep we for him ? we do not weep ! The good man cannot die ! Devoted hearts his virtues keep, His spirit seeks the sky. For years he dared the holy fight, Assailed by death and hell, And like a warder through the night, He kept the city well. 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The spirits of the martyred brave Received him as he rose ; And high their crimson banners wave, Rejoicing o er his foes. Delighted Memory has hung A wreath upon his name ; And warm from many a Christian s tongue Flow praises to his fame. SACRED MELODY. I have dwelt long enough on the past, Sweet Hope ! let me turn now to thee ! Though the pleasures of youth cannot last, Yet the favors of Heaven are free. Though the soul may be cheerless and dark, And the bosom be tainted with sin, Yet grace holds a branch from the ark, To welcome the wanderer in. There s a pleasure unspeakably pure, To the soul that is ardent and true, When the mercies of Heaven allure, And brighten the spirit anew. Though the friendships that lighten the heart In this wearisome life may be flown, The Redeemer will never depart, Now leave us to stuggle alone. THE FADED WATER-LILIES. These lilies left the crystal tide, To glow within thy bosom fair, But blushed to find themselves outvied By fairer lilies there. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 199 RACHEL S TOMB. And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephratli, which is Bethlehem. And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave ; that is the pillar of Rachel s grave unto this day. Genesis Chap. xxxv. o. 19. 20. Along the wild and lonely way That stretches from Ephratah far, The pilgrim stops at close of day, Ere glows the silent evening star, While summer flow rets round him bloom, To rest his steps at Rachel s Tomb. It soothes him in that desert place, And gives a pleasure to the scene, Some mark of human life to trace, And be where dwellers once have been. The loneliness has less of dread, Even with the presence of the dead ! The Saracen and Christian there At noontide hour securely rest ; Forgot their hatred and their care In mutual vision of the blest. They think but of the Hebrew bride, The gentle mother there that died. The beautiful devoted wife, Who made her husband s exile dear, In that lone place resigned her life, And shed her latest human tear. There as the Arab wanderer kneels, A softer feeling o er him steals. That simple tomb upon the plain Longer than cities shall abide ! The love of Rachel will remain, When memory of kings has died. 18 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. So holy is Affection s tear, That Nature keeps it ever dear. THE SACHEM S DEATH. The ocean rolled in its beauty and pride, And the moonbeam shone on the waters wide, When an Indian maid on the shadowy shore, Stood watching the gleam of her chieftain s oar. It rose and fell in the waters blue, At the glimmering side of the birch canoe ; But twas still, as if rowed by a spectre hand, Till the light keel struck on the shining sand. Then stepped on the shore a stately form, And he clasped the maid to a bosom warm ; And long on his neck that loved one hung, While their talk was low in the Indian tongue. " Tomorrow," she said, " thou shalt go to the fight, Tomorrow, at dawn ; but, Oh, not to night ! T is long, Onnahahton, since last we met Oh, stay but an hour, till the moon be set ! " Ere that moon shall set," the warrior replied, " Thou must fly with me over the favoring tide ; We will bear our children and parents afar, Where white men no more can our happiness mar ! " They have taken the realm which our ancestors They g hlve thrown their chains o er the land and tho wave, The forest is wasted with sword and with flame, And what have we left but our life, and our name i MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 201 " Our name ! the Great Spirit has cursed it, they say, Because that we build him not houses as they ! And our lives ! even now they have brightened the spear, And their band, ere the sleep of the Moon, will be here ! They turned for a scream, as of murder, arose ! And then came the shout and the thunder of foes ! And a flame, like the moon, but more broad and more bright, Went up, as she set, rnid the darkness of night ! They looked on the home of their happier days, Their parents, their children were food for the blaze ! They knew it was vain to their succor to fly, They must gaze on their last mortal anguish, or die. They fled to their boat, where it lay on the sand, But the ball had been aimed by too fatal a hand ; And the chief, where he fell by his birch canoe, Was pierced by their bayonets through and through. And long on the sand there that fond mother lay While the tide washed the blood of her husband away ; Then she rose, and looked round on that desolate place, And went far through the forest the last of her race. COMPARISON. Sprinkled with dew, the scented piony More beautiful appears ; So looks the amiable Ermina, More lovely in her tears. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE IDIOT MOTHER. A child of an Idiot young woman, near Wyoming, was taken from her to be given to a nurse. It was sent to the other *ide of the Susquehanna, but the mother swarn across the river to see it. How deep and how holy, Oh Nature, must be The hopes and the feelings awakened by thee ! No barrier can Earth, Time, or circumstance make, The omnipotent strength of thy love cannot break. They may send us away to the isles of the sea, But a path will be found for the mind that is free. No prison can keep, and no iron can chain, The hopes of the heart, and the thoughts of the brain. The mind in the pure love of nature is brave, It will pass through the mountain the river the grave ! Man may build up his wall from the earth to the sky, But the strength of affection will break it or die 1 And such was the love which the idiot felt, In the depth of the lone forest vale where she dwelt. No treasure of art or of science she knew, But a feeling of soul far more holy and true. O er no page of the bard had she pondered and wept, No gems of the muse in her bosom were kept, The deeds of the mighty of old were unknown, But hers was the heart of a mother alone. They had carried her child o er the river away, And she shed not a tear in the notice of day ; But she waited till evening its shadows had strown, And then she went forth through the forest alone. She passed the dark wood, and she stood by the S1QG Of the deep stream that rolled down its turbulent tide; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 203 The brave would have paused ere he ventured to stem The spring swollen waves, but she stayed not for them. She saw not she thought not of aueht but her child ; The wind shook the trees, and the stream murmured wild ; She plunged and the stars twinkled brighter to see How strong the pure love of a mother could be. She has passed the deep wave she has strained to her heart The child of her love, and she will not depart ! There are feelings of nature will not be controlled, That give strength to the weak, and the timid make bold. SONNET. THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. I saw an aged man, his locks were gray, And thinly o er his time worn forehead spread ; His children and his early friends were dead, Or journeying in some foreign land away. And he had none his failing steps to stay, Or cheer his passage to the friendly tomb ; A prison and a pittance were his doom, A cold damp floor, far from the light of day. And was his aged heart with. murder stained, Or black with treason, that he there was chained No he had fought his native land to free, And no dark crime upon his bosom lay. Why then in that inhuman place was he ? He owed a trifling debt he could not pav 18* 204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TO GONDOLINE. We 11 roam along the flowery side Of the soft flowing stream, And muse upon its gentle tide, In many a pleasant dream ; We ll think upon the joys above, Where virtue dwells serene, And thou shalt be own dear love, My darling Gondoline ! When Evening spreads her mantle pale And stars are in the sky, We 11 stray along the fragrant vale, Where softest breezes sigh ; We 11 wander in the pleasant grove, Where sweetest things are seen, And thou shalt be rny own dear love. My darling Gondoline. When far upon the ocean wave Thy friend is doomed to stray, He 11 prize the boon which fortune gave To cheer his lonely way ; The joys of constancy we 11 prove, Mid dangers dark and keen, And thou shalt be my own dear love, My darling Gondoline. TO Strangers to sight, yet not in soul are we, For taste can bind the generous and the free ; T is this betrays the intellectual sun, As green grass tells where hidden streamlets run MISCELLANEOUS PQEMS. FABLE. Young Love had a bower of roses, That were fresh with the morning dew., And full of such gentle odors As Ymala s vale discloses, When its fragrance rises new. The sun arose in his splendor, And the dew was dried away ; A storm came on in its fury, And all that bower so tender In desolate ruin lay. THE LAST OF THE SAUGUS TRIBE. It was the custon of an aged Indian Woman, the last of the Saugus tribe, who lived about thirty miles from Lynn, to visit the place of her nativity, near Nahant, in the Au tumn of every year; when having gathered fish and eaten, she would walk slowly and sadly away. A few aged people, still living, remember to have seen her in their youth. The fields in their Autumn tints were dyed, And the forest was clad in its robes of pride ; The oak in brown and purple was dight, And the walnut s mantle was yellow and bright ; And oh ! t was a beautiful sight to see The scarlet leaves of the maple tree ! The birch was spotted with paly blue, And of brownish red was the ash leaf s hue, And the crimson berries in clusters hung, That glowed when the branch in the sun was swung ; And the purple moss, with its mellow locks, Like a cushion, lay on the shaded rocks. 206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. But the beautiful cedar, and lofty pine, In whose shade the evergreen loves to twine, Changed not their robes with the fading scene, But kept on their mantle of summer green, Like Virtue and Friendship, that alter not, In the varied scenes of our earthly lot. An Indian woman, with looks of woe, Came out from the forest sedate and slow. The weight of years on her brow was spread, And she looked like a messenger come from the dead. She stood on a hill, whose beautiful brow Looked down on the ocean that rolled below. Beside her the fields in their rudeness glowed, Whence the farmer had borne the harvest load ; And she thought of the time when over the ground She had seen the red deer of the forest bound ; When every leaf of the wood was stirred By the unscared foot of the joyous bird. Before her Nahant in its beauty lay, And its shadow was stretched o er the sunny bay ; And the scene rose bright on her thoughtful mind, Of the years which Time had left behind, When one whom she loved, from the shadowy cliff, Each morning went forth with his birchen skiff. And then came the time when, her children had played Mid the beautiful flowers of the forest glade, Or over the beach in their joyfulness run, As glad as the birds in the showers and the sun ; But all whom she loved or remembered were gone, And she stood in her age and her sorrow alone. On the side of the hill a grave yard lay, The plough has been over it since that day, A greenness still was on every mound, But nothing she loved and had life was found ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 207 And she placed a small stone upon every grave, As she thought of the young, and the fair, and the brave. Then she went to the shore, and with faltering hand, She dug in the damp and the shining sand ; And she chanted a song of her youth, and she smiled When the beautiful shells beside her were piled, For she thought of the days when she gathered the food For her hunter who came with his bow from the wood. And along the bright beach, where the storm-title and blast The fragments of wrecks in their fury had cast, She sought the dry fuel, and kindled the blaze, And feasted and sung as in happier days. Then slowly and sadly she went from the shore, And her footsteps were seen in the forest no more. THE POET. He stands and gazes on the sky, That o er his head in silence bends ; The blue of Heaven is in his eye, As if its God and he were friends ! So like the beauty of the scene, There seems a sympathy between. The mighty ocean heaves and swells Less proudly than his feeling heart ; Within his breast a glory dwells, In which no earthly thought has part. The eternal hills and rocks partake The raptures that his feelings slake. 208 MISCELLANEOUS POEM*. The rich and purple evening sky, Glowing with sunset s lustre warm, The clouds that deep in silence lie, The reckless fury of the storm, All can their varied joy impart To some rich chord of his pure heart. He sleeps and on his waking mind A vision full of glory beams ; Such as of old had power to bind The wandering Hebrew s holy dreams ; And sounds, upon his mental ear, Come wafted from some purer sphere. The mighty dead, the good and wise Of ages past, converse with him ; And light is in his lofty skies, When all the lower world is dim. His eagle mind aloft may soar To realms where few have gone before. The unseen halls of paradise On his glad sight are opened wide ; And all in fancy s land that lies Is viewed as in some crystal tide. Tis worth an age of worldly power, To live the poet s thoughts an hour 13525 M255516 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY