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AMARAXTH BLOOMS 
 
 :. ::.:. 7 . : N 
 
 ifi Cortical <ljouQ|its. 
 
 MRS. S. S . SMITH. 
 
 U T I C A : 
 J. \V. FULLER 
 
 PRESS OF D. BENNETT. 
 
TO 
 
 MY AFFECTIONATE FRIENDS, 
 
 THESE POEMS ARE 
 VERY RESPECTFULLY, GRATEFULLY, 
 
 AND MOST SINCERELY, 
 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PASE. 
 
 The Minstrel Bride, 1 
 
 The Healing of Naaman the Syrian, 8 
 
 Isadore, a tale of truth, 13 
 
 Return of Spring to the Invalid, 16 
 
 I m Sitting all Alone, Mother, 18 
 
 The Wounded Bird, 20 
 
 The Broken Hearted, 23 
 
 Charity, 28 
 
 The Invocation, 31 
 
 Isabel, 33 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. R., 35 
 
 New- Year Greetings, 37 
 
 In Memory of Mr. J. P., 39 
 
 The Wintery Night, 42 
 
 To Mi s M. L., 43 
 
 Summer Musings, 46 
 
 The Angels Call, 48 
 
 In Memory of Countess Ossoli, 50 
 
 The Egyptian Vulture, 53 
 
 My Valley Home, , ; , 55 
 
 The Star of Destiny, 58 
 
 A Reply, 61 
 
PAGE. 
 
 A Romish Legend of St. Peter, 64 
 
 The Three Portraits, 66 
 
 A Dirge, 69 
 
 Autumn, 72 
 
 The Evening Hearth, 74 
 
 Norwich Valley, 76 
 
 Songs of Death, (Recollections of the Dying,) 78 
 
 " (To Jeana in Heaven.)... 80 
 
 The Country Clergyman, 82 
 
 An Impromptu, 84 
 
 Guido s Dream, 85 
 
 The first Grave of the Settlers, 88 
 
 Lines Written in an Album, 89 
 
 Lights and Shadows, 91 
 
 Little Mary, , 93 
 
 May-Day Greetings, 94 
 
 Orphan Willie, 9G 
 
 On the Death of the Poetess L. E. L., 99 
 
 To Mrs. , 101 
 
 The Dying Poet s Soliloquy, 103 
 
 Inez and Imelda, 105 
 
 The Welcome, 108 
 
 The Exile, Ill 
 
 Spring, 114 
 
 The Parisian Flower Girl, , 116 
 
 Little Henry, 118 
 
 To Mrs. G. L., 121 
 
 To an only Brother, : 124 
 
 Autumnal Dirge, t 127 
 
 The Artist s Last Work,.. ...129 
 
PAGE. 
 
 New- Year Greeting in 1846, 133 
 
 To Little Viola C., 136 
 
 Communing with Christ, 138 
 
 Ode to Spring, 141 
 
 In Memory of Mrs. J. H. L., 143 
 
 " I See A light I m almost home," 146 
 
 King David s Choice, 148 
 
 Spiritual Communings, 151 
 
 The Tulip, 154 
 
 Elegiac Stanzas, 156 
 
 Zayda, 158 
 
 Midnight Murder of the Duke D Enghein, 160 
 
 To Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, 164 
 
 Robin Grey, 167 
 
 The Step-Child, 169 
 
 The Father s Lament, 172 
 
 To Jenny Lind, 174 
 
 A Sunset Scene, 175 
 
 New- Year s Eve, 1851, 177 
 
 Lines Addressed to an Infant, 180 
 
 The Gift of Song, 182 
 
 The Guardian Spirit, 183 
 
 The Wandering Mariner, 184 
 
 Contrast between the Righteous and Wicked, 188 
 
 " A strong Man will carry me over the Mountains," 190 
 
 The Sunset Burial, 193 
 
 To my Sister in Heaven, 195 
 
 Lines Written by the Grave of a beloved Mother, 197 
 
THE silver lamps shed a festal light 
 
 O er the young and fair that met that night, 
 
 To list to a minstrel s thrilling strains, 
 
 Where the sweet Wair flowed o er the verdant plains. 
 
 The soft prelude with its rounding swell, 
 
 Trembled a moment, then rose and fell ! 
 
 Then changed to a clear and pealing strain. 
 
 That shook each antique Oriel pane, 
 
 While the silent throng held their breath to hear. 
 
 As those silvery notes died on the ear ! 
 
 W r hence came that strain, with its wildering spell ? 
 
 Not from the organ s deep-toned swell ! 
 
 Nor flute, nor clarion, breathed the lay, 
 
 Twas a youth that sang ; the kindling ray 
 
 Of his dark eye shone like a diamond bright, 
 
 More clear and soft than the Opal s light. 
 
 His pale high brow, like a maiden s fair, 
 
 Crown d with clustering curls of raven hair, 
 
 Wore a calm, serene, and holy light, 
 
 Like the jewel d brow of a starry night ! 
 
 All hearts were stir d by that glorious strain. 
 Till tears fell fast like the summer rain ! 
 But there was one mid the charmed throng, 
 
 B 
 
"1 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 A high-born maiden, fair and young ; 
 Who with parted lips, and kindling eye, 
 With long-drawn breath, and heaving sigh, 
 Listen d that warbled strain so clear, 
 With a strange delight, half blent with fear ; 
 And thoughts awoke in her breast that hour, 
 Which ting d her life with their hue and power ! 
 
 Was it the tones of that melting lay 
 
 That woke in her breast love s dawning ray 1 
 
 Or the thrilling glance of that soul-lit eye, 
 
 Ting d her maiden cheek with the crimson dye I 
 
 Love s mystery none perchance may tell : 
 
 Or how to avoid love s blinding spell. 
 
 At her Sire s command her vows were given, 
 
 Vows pledg d on earth, yet unbless d in heaven,- 
 
 To an heir of wealth, and a titled name, 
 
 But her heart returned no answering flame ! 
 
 They stood within a myrtle bower, 
 The gifted one, whose only dower, 
 Was the tones of a voice, whose varied play 
 Held countless hearts neath their magic sway. 
 And she, the heir of a princely line, 
 The bright, the fair-hair d GERALDINE, 
 With a form as bright as the rainbow s smile, 
 And a heart unstain d by earthly guile, 
 With her sunny brow and glance of mirth. 
 The joy of her father s home and hearth. 
 
THE MINSTREL S BRIDE. \ 
 
 But tears had dim d her beaming eyes. 
 Their hyacinth hue, of summer skies. 
 Wore a sorrowing look : a tearful shower 
 Fell fast as she sought her garden bower : 
 But a tall form darken d the casement there. 
 Twas LEANDRO, bowed in mute despair ! 
 He had waited long for the light foot-fall. 
 Of the lady who held his heart in thrall ; 
 To look once more on her peerless brow. 
 Ere she breathed to another, her marriage vow, 
 
 The minstrel rais d his drooping head, 
 
 As he heard the sound of her gentle tread. 
 
 Like a fairy vision of splendor bright, 
 
 She stood before bis wildered sight, 
 
 In her bridal robes. The brilliant zone 
 
 Round her slender waist with diamonds shone. r: 
 
 The shining braids of her golden hair. 
 
 Gleam d with Eastern pearls, and diamonds rare. 
 
 Her soft eyes dinvd with a tearful haze, 
 
 Droop d neath the light of his mournful gaze. 
 
 With a voice that seern d in its altered tone. 
 Brimfull of tears, like a sobbing moan, 
 He bade adieu, while her hand he press d. 
 But the lady clung to his throbbing breast. 
 Her trembling lips essayed to speak, 
 While the crimson fled from her lip and 
 Oh. leave me not, she murmur d low. 
 
. > V > 
 
 " 
 
 , t> C w 
 
 i%w&sL.i&-,f 
 
 4 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 While the burning tears began to flow ; 
 Rank, friends, and fortune, I resign, 
 Far leave henceforth, to call thee mine ! 
 
 Like a torrent s force by the spring vinchain d, 
 
 Flow d the words of love, ere while restrained, 
 
 While he held her close to his yearning breast, 
 
 And the tale of his hopeless love confess d ! 
 
 Still, he bade her think of his lowly state, 
 
 Of her father s halls, left desolate ; 
 
 Of the grief that might dim his silver hair, 
 
 And deepen the lines of age and care. 
 
 Oh, leave me not, she murmur d clear, 
 
 Or my bridal couch shall be my bier ! 
 
 ******** 
 There were sounds of footsteps hurrying nigh, 
 As the stars gleam d out in the evening sky, 
 While they sought in vain, thro each lonely tower. 
 Through the Castle halls, and the lady s bower. 
 For the missing bride, from the lake s dim shore 
 They were speeding swift, to return no more ! 
 The alarm bell rang, from each mountain height. 
 As a stately brig cheer d their yearning sight. 
 They gain d her deck, as she waiting lay, 
 Ere the morning dawn d, they were far away. 
 
 One year had pass d, like a blissful dream. 
 In their cottage home, by a sylvan stream. 
 No clouds had darken d their smiling sky, 
 
THE MINSTREL S BRIDE. 5 
 
 No tears had dim d the young bride s eye, 
 Save those that blister d each pleading line. 
 Return d unread, without word or sign, 
 That she e er might hope to be forgiven. 
 If there be a sin. that angers heaven. 
 ? Tis accursed pride. the rich man s scorn 
 Of the virtuous poor, and lowly born ! 
 
 Their little wealth, though spent with care, 
 
 Had pass d, like the breath of the mountain air. 
 
 Again the minstrel s notes were heard, 
 
 All hearts once more, by his strains were stir d. 
 
 Proud nobles joined in the meed of praise ; 
 
 His pale brow shone neath a wreath of bays ! 
 
 His fair bride sat, as in days of yore, 
 
 With her soft eyes veil d neath the blond she wore. 
 
 But her haughty kinsmen glanc d with scorn 
 
 On her who had wed with the lowly born ! 
 
 Leandro gazed with a flashing eye, 
 
 His pale cheek flush d to a crimson dye, 
 
 As he marked each witli ring glance of pride, 
 
 ( ast on liis young, and lovely bride. 
 
 Like a bright star fallen from its high estate 
 
 "Mid the jewel d throng, so desolate, 
 
 Yet fair she look cl, in her simple guise, 
 
 Like a Peri lost from her native skies. 
 
 While yearning thoughts stir d her hearts deep cell, 
 
 As the large tears slowly ebb d and fell I 
 
$ AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Mis soul, unnerved by the chilling thought 
 
 That his selfish love, had her ruin wrought^ 
 
 Fell a prey to self-accusing blame, 
 
 While the hectic weaken d his slender frame ! 
 
 The kindling glow of his eye, once fraught 
 
 With the light ning gleam of electric thought^ 
 
 Wore a settled, dark, and laournful tinge : 
 
 Drooping beneath the long-silken fringe, 
 
 Of his large dark melancholy eye,. 
 
 While the fount of song in his heart wax d dry. 
 
 Peace came at last. Neath his own blue heaven. 
 
 His soul once more, to his art was given ! 
 
 S^ill more etheriel wax d his frame, 
 
 His pale cheek glow d with the hectic flame : 
 
 And the kindling ray of his glorious eyes, 
 
 Gleam d with a light from beyond the skies. 
 
 One eve in Spring, in that lovely clime, 
 
 When the Citron s bloom, and the flow ring Lime. 
 
 And the breath of blossoms rich and rare, 
 
 Cast their sweet perfume on the scented air, 
 
 Came a grand display of the minstrel s power. 
 
 Leandro, robed for the festal hour, 
 
 Like Israfel stood mid the silent throng, 
 
 His lips were parted in gushing song : 
 
 A touching prelude, a holy strain, 
 
 He warbled soft, with a light refrain, 
 
 Then a requium chant, descending- low, 
 
 Breathed forth the deepest notes of woe \ 
 
Again it rose, to the highest key, 
 Pealed the lofty notes of victory ! 
 
 But the clear voice falter d, his cheek grew pale, 
 His eye had pierced thro the shadowy vale ; 
 Between our earth, and the spirit-dime, 
 His pale cheek changed to a hue divine. 
 Amazement seized on the breathless crowd, 
 And stately heads were with sorrow bowM 
 As they bore him lifeless from the throng, 
 A guiltless victim of pride and wrong. 
 The imprison d soul its chain had riven, 
 With that song of triumph he soar d to heaven ! 
 
 In a pleasant vale, where the Darro gleams. 
 
 Fed by a thousand rills and streams, 
 
 Where the Orange glows mid the leafy bowers. 
 
 And the White Rose casts its wealth in showers 
 
 Where the Pink Accasia -wreathes its bloom, 
 
 Round the marble base of a sculptur d tomb, 
 
 Stands a lovely cot. Fair Geraldine 
 
 In snowy robe, pale and serene 
 
 As a vestal nun, mid the dewy flowers, 
 
 Oft whiles away the morning hours. 
 
 A Chapel gleams thro the laurels dim, 
 Where the organ peals the vesper hymn. 
 Each Sabbath morn for miles around, 
 As the church-bells chime their silvery sound. 
 The peasants throng to that marble tomb. 
 
8 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Where the loveliest flowers of the season bloom : 
 To drop a tear o er the minstrel s dust, 
 Embalm d in calm and holy trust. 
 Tis said at eve, on the ambient air, 
 Strange viewless harps are sounding there f 
 
 of 
 
 TWAS a bright Summer s morn ! 
 A gentle shower had cool d the sultry air, 
 Which all night long had lain so hush d and still, 
 That not a leaf was lifted by the breath 
 Of the light zephyr, resting on its wing, 
 When with the dawn, a soft and pleasant breeze 
 Sprang up, and on its gentle bosom bore, 
 The mingled fragrance of each flow ring tree, 
 And spicy shrub, and creeping vine, that trailed 
 O er many a low-roofed home, and moss-grown wall 
 Sprinkled with dewy flowers. The merry song 
 Of the blithe reaper, wending to his toil : 
 The lowing kine, the bleating of the flocks, 
 Drove forth to pasture ; the glad ringing shout 
 Of happy children, on the soft green sward, 
 And song of birds caroling on the wing, 
 Harmonious music made ! Peace smiled around ! 
 The haughty noble for a while gave o er 
 His thirst for power, and the poor bond-slave toil d. 
 And for a time his many wrongs forgot. 
 
HEALING OF NAAMAN. 9 
 
 The lonely captive felt, for a brief hour, 
 Hope kindling in his breast; and nearer seem d 
 Jerusalem, in that glad morning light. 
 With her fair towers, her palaces and domes. 
 Gleaming beneath the sun, than when at eve 
 He laid him down upon his bed of straw, 
 And felt the heavy chain of bondage press 
 Upon his weary limbs. 
 
 Save one alone, 
 
 All felt the influence of that genial morn 
 Fall soft and soothingly upon their hearts. 
 All save the leader of the Syrian host 
 Who late return d with his victorious bands, 
 Laden with spoil from the Judean coast ; 
 Highest in power, and favor with the king, 
 Thrice had his valiant arm deliv rance wrought, 
 For Syria s legions, henr d by Israel round, 
 When like the ocean s overwhelming tide. 
 He clove their seried ranks, and stood at bay. 
 While wave on wave his haughty followers pressed 
 With thund rin g clash, armed with the deadly spear, 
 Dealing destruction swift and wild dismay ! 
 While fiercely roll d the billowy tide of war, 
 With fearful strides o er the ensanguined plain, 
 Till vanquished Israel fell before their foes ! 
 Some few escaped, and some were captive led, 
 As trophies of the fight. * . * * 
 
 With noiseless step 
 The Syrian leader wander d sad and lone, 
 
 
10 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Neath the thick boughs of the dim Olive s shade. 
 To muse in silence, on that lovely morn. 
 He was a leper ! And what marvel then 
 He drew himself apart, at times from men, 
 In moody wretchedness ! Even in the hour 
 Of his great triumph, when applauding crowds 
 Lauded his name, and fame with silver trump 
 Proclaimed his valorous deeds, despair awoke 
 Within his breast, and the dark future loom d 
 Before his sight a frowning spectre drear ! 
 A cup of bitterness, filled unto the brim, 
 Which might not pass away ! 
 
 * * * * Before him gleam d 
 A marble fountain, murmuring neath the shade. 
 Displaying temptingly, its waters cool : 
 And as he stooped to lave his burning brow, 
 He saw reflected in the limpid wave, 
 The hideous taint that mar d his every joy, 
 Mid way extended o er his lofty brow, 
 Repulsive sight ! And there was no relief, 
 No subtle drug to check its baleful course, 
 No balm in Gilead for that fell disease, 
 No way of rescue save by one alone, 
 And that was death ! 
 
 Concealed amid the vines, 
 A captive maid of Israel, knelt in prayer ; 
 With her fair forehead bowed toward the East, 
 As was her wont, in her own native land, 
 Where with her kindred, she each morning knelt 
 
HEALING OF N A AM AN. 11 
 
 Before Jehovah s shrine. "With ruthless force 
 From friends and kindred she was captive led, 
 And sold a bondmaid to her Syrian lord. 
 And thus unwittingly did she become 
 A witness to his grief, and deep despair. 
 
 ****** 
 Would God ! my mistress, that my noble lord. 
 Would seek the Prophet on Samaria s hill. 
 He can the leper heal ! Straight one bore 
 The tidings to the king. Well pleased he heard ; 
 At his command the Syrian Captain sought 
 The prophet s lowly home ! Traveling in state. 
 Laden with gifts, of silver and of gold, 
 Appareled as a Prince, with numerous train, 
 He sought Samaria s hill ! 
 
 Calm and serene. 
 
 The man of God, within his humble shed f 
 Waited the coming of the princely train : 
 And ere the chariot paused beside the door. 
 A simple message from the prophet came 
 Unto the leper, bidding him " Go- wasb 
 Seven times in Jordan, and he would be healed ," 
 The haughty noble turned away in scorn, 
 Expecting hi his inmost heart, perchance, 
 E en from the prophet, honor and respect, 
 Unto his lordly state ! He had not learned 
 That Israel s God regardeth not the proud, 
 Nor hath respect to kingly pomp and power ! 
 His proud heart scorned to yield the simple test 
 
12 AMAEANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Of his humility. Yet his wretched state 
 Compelled him to obedience ! A burning throb 
 Of piercing anguish, shot across his brow, 
 Reminding him of the ibul leprous stain. 
 He saw in prospect, his high station filled, 
 By one, his rival, and himself henceforth 
 Unfit to mingle with his fellow men, 
 A lonely dweller of the savage wild ! 
 The thought itself was madness. 
 ***** 
 
 With humbled heart, again the leper sought 
 The man of God ! His dark and curly locks 
 Moist from the bath in Jordan s swelling waves, 
 Lay parted on his brow. The fatal mark, 
 The gloomy lines, the dark despairing look, 
 All, all, were gone ! No trace of that foul scourge 
 Remained to mar the broad and ample brow, 
 Majestic in its height ; like woman s fair, 
 Yet reverent and meek ! One pearly tear 
 Trembled beneath the long and silken lash 
 Of his dark lustrous eye. He could have wept ! 
 A mountain s weight seem d lifted from his breast. 
 And every bounding pulse throb d wild with joy ! 
 
 With head uncover d, reverently he bow d, 
 And in the presence of his numerous train, 
 Proclaim d that Israel s God, is God alone ! 
 And Lord of all the earth ! Then bending low 
 Before Elisha, prayed him to accept 
 
 
HEALING OF N A AM AX. 13 
 
 A present from his hand. Silver and gold, 
 And costly raiment, laid he at his feet ; 
 In vain he urged. In vain the glittering store 
 Was temptingly arrayed. Privation, toil, 
 The prophet chose, nay even death itself, 
 Rather than disobey the Lord his God ! 
 
 Not so Gehazi ! He with subtle fraud, 
 A portion of the goodly gift obtained ; 
 Thereby the leprosy of Xaaman clave 
 To him and his forever. 
 
 A TALE OF TRUTH. 
 
 There were wreathed smiles and many bright eves 
 
 beaming, 
 
 And glowing cheeks within a gorgeous room. 
 And sparkling gems from many a fair brow gleam 
 ing* 
 
 And costly pearls enwreath d with snowy plume ; 
 Hut there was one. long years will ne er efface 
 The memory of that fair, and sweet young face. 
 Amid the throng her dark eye shone the brightest. 
 That morn had witnessed her a happy bride. 
 In the gay dance her joyous step was lightest. 
 As down its airy maze she seemed to glide : 
 Oh had the veil from future years been riven 
 
14 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 That festal -hour to mourning had been given. 
 There were sad hearts within a stately dwelling, 
 That fair young bride hath left her childhood s home, 
 And tears like rain from her sad heart are welling. 
 As the tall spires of hallowed fane and dome. 
 Fade from, her sight ! and days bright days of yore. 
 Throng o er her soul ; she hears the ocean s roar, 
 Her lullaby from childhood ! Its sparkling foam 
 Again she views from her ancestral home, 
 And the tall ship with its gay pennons streaming 
 Oe r the blue waves, in the pale moonlight gleaming : 
 The pleasant walks beneath bright starry skies 
 On that lone shore, and fond and loving eyes. 
 That welcome her return, each gentle tone, 
 Of kindred voices in her own lov d home. 
 All these and more, throng through her busy mind. 
 Ah where can she such true affection find, 
 As she hath left for aye ? The dream is o er ! 
 Her home is gained, on a far western shore, 
 Where broad Savannahs teem with flow Vets wild, 
 And bounteous nature in profusion smiled. 
 Where the Magnolia waves its snowy blossom. 
 And strange birds singing midst the leafy bosom 
 Of the dark maple forest. Oft she would gaze 
 In musings wrapt on the last lingering rays, 
 Of the bright glorious sunsets. Italia s skies 
 Famed for the beauty of their glorious dyes, 
 Are not more bright than the long lingering glow 
 O er the vast prairie, when the sun is low, 
 
ISADORK. 15 
 
 And gently sinking in the golden west, 
 As thus he sinks upon the ocean s breast ! 
 The summer months with all their gorgeous bloom 
 Had passed away, and chill autumnal gloom, 
 Keigned in their stead. A thin and languid frame. 
 Consumption s victim, with a cheek of flame, 
 And sunken eye, and short and stifled breath. 
 Reclined upon a couch ! The hue of death 
 Lay on her marbled brow 1 Oh could it be 
 The fair young bride from the far distant sea 1 
 It was the same ! yet Oh, how deeply changed. 
 Her large dark mournful eyes seemed bright but 
 
 strange. 
 
 Their tearful lustre, there were few could brook : 
 Though she complained not, yet her very look. 
 Might tell of suffering, and a heart sore broken 
 By cruel wrongs, such as might not be spoken ! 
 Yet she lived on, till the sweet spring time came, 
 When budding flowers, and soft and balmy rain 
 Made bright the joyous earth. One quiet eve 
 She seemed to take a silent farewell leave, 
 Of the green earth, and the bright smiling sky. 
 Tinged with the radiance of the sunset dye. 
 She made a sign, and tfeey beside her placed. 
 The sparkling gems, her fair temples graced. 
 On her gay bridal mom. The brilliant zone 
 Which bound her slender waist, still brightly shone : 
 The white rose wreath which her light fingers braided, 
 The veil of blond, that her dark ringlets shaded. 
 
16 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 All were unchanged not so, the form that wore 
 Those bridal gems : a film now gathered o er 
 Her dim and weary sight. That night the moon 
 Shone clear and bright through her dark silent room ; 
 But its bright beams, the dead could not awaken ! 
 All unperceived, her soul its flight had taken, 
 To yon bright world, beyond our changeful sky 
 Her lonely grave, oft meets the traveler s eye ; 
 A lowly mound, with wild flowers covered o er, 
 Marks the lone spot, where lies fair Isadore. 
 
 Jt)e ^efiM of Spirit) to rtje 
 
 WRITTEN IN SICKNESS IN 1838. 
 
 Is it not all a dream, or do I breathe again 
 The soft and fragrant breezes of the opening spring ] 
 Oh ! I had thought ere this, to bid farewell to pain. 
 And this dark world, and plume my spirits wing 
 For that blest region, where all sorrows cease, 
 And neath the greensward sleep the noiseless sleep 
 of peace. 
 
 Yes spring has come again, but not to me her breath 
 Whispers sweet words of promise, as in days of yore. 
 Her sweet sounds mingle with the voice of death ; 
 They call my spirit hence to a far distant shore ; 
 E en the low brooklets moan and the soft zephyrs sigh, 
 Mysterious warnings give, they tell me I must die. 
 
THE EN VALID. 11 
 
 Raise high the casement, let the mild air bathe 
 Once more with genial warmth, my faded cheek ; 
 Oh, Spring ! not thus I hail d thee, when thy soft 
 
 dews laved 
 
 My bounding steps, thine early flowers to seek. 
 Ah, little did I deem that years of slow decay 
 Would chain my spirit thus, and wear my youth 
 
 away ! 
 
 The breath of Spring is sweet ! yet twas sweeter for, 
 When I with volant foot, o er hill and valley roam d 
 Charm d with sweet sounds, till yon lone eve g star, 
 Shed its soft pensive light, o er my ancestral home ; 
 Ah, never more shall I, in those lov d pastimes share, 
 Strange voices call me, through the whisp ring air ! 
 
 I hear their thrilling call ! Ah, wherefore then delay ? 
 Why should I linger here, thus bow d in heart and 
 
 mind? 
 
 Mine earthly lot is woe ! they call me hence away, 
 To brighter worlds, where the worn and weary find 
 Unfading fields and flowers, where the stillness of 
 
 repose, 
 O er the care-worn spirit breathes, a balm for all it= 
 
 woes ! 
 
 Adieu, my native vale ! and ye dark forest shades, 
 Your haunts are all familiar to my mind. 
 
 Full many an hour, in childhood I have played 
 c 
 
18 
 
 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Xeath young tall elm, whose boughs towards earth 
 
 inclined. 
 Farewell ye flowery vales ! sweet heights, and 
 
 rocky dell, 
 1 seek a home far hence, farewell, again farewell ! 
 
 NOTE. The above lines were first published in the spring 
 of the year 1838, when the author was supposed to be in the 
 last stages of consumption. They were prefaced by some 
 beautiful and appropriate remarks from the pen of the Editor^ 
 J. Marble, who two years since paid the debt of nature, be 
 ing himself the victim of " lingering consumption." He died 
 universally beloved and respected, being possessed of an amia- 
 blo character, and a kind and feeling heart. His death was 
 regretted by all who knew him. 
 
 J tn Sitting fill alone, 
 
 I M sitting all alone, Mother, 
 
 Where I sat one year ago : 
 And I listen to the same sweet sounds, 
 
 The river s quiet flow. 
 T list the river s quiet flow, 
 
 And the robin s cheerful lay, 
 And feel once more the balmy breeze 
 
 O er my wan temples play. 
 
 It cools the fever throb, Mother, 
 
 Upon my burning cheek ; 
 And cheers me with the rich perfume, 
 
SITTING ALL ALOXE. 19 
 
 Of the apple blossom sweet. 
 They re falling like a cloud of light 
 
 Upon the verdant sod, 
 Ere the)- bloom again, I shall find rest, 
 
 Beneath the valley s clod ! 
 
 I m very chang d now, Mother, - 
 
 My life is waning fast ; 
 And gently as the twilight shades, 
 
 Their mournful shadows cast, 
 Around this green and dewy vale, 
 
 Deep ning in sombre gloom, 
 Thus gently are my weary feet, 
 
 Still wending to the tomb, 
 
 1 es, I am very changM, Mother. 
 
 Since here I paused to rest : 
 
 I weep not now that thou art gone, 
 
 To dwell among the blest ! 
 To dwell forever with the blest, 
 
 Beyond the starry sky : 
 For soon I ll share thy home, Mother, 
 
 Thy blissful home on high J 
 
 A light illumes thy way, Mother. 
 
 Across the pathless sky, 
 Since thou hast taught me how to live. 
 
 I do not fear to die. 
 A peaceful calm pervades my breast : 
 
 While each successive night 
 
20 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 I lay me down to dream of heaven, 
 And wake to bless the light. 
 
 And wake to bless the light, Mother, 
 
 The early morning light ; 
 In thy bright glorious home above, 
 
 There is no darksome night. 
 Why should I fear to lay me down 
 
 Upon a dying bed ; 
 Whence my freed spirit shall ascend, 
 
 To Christ my living head 1 
 
 NOTE. These lines were the spontaneous effusion of grief 
 for the loss of the dearest and best of mothers. They were 
 written a month preceding the anniversary of her death, when 
 the author was apparently wasting away by that insidious dis 
 ease, which often yields to the mind an unnatural clearness and 
 brilliancy, at the expense of the vital powers, which seemed at 
 that time almost wholly exhausted, and swiftly tending toward 
 dissolution and the grave ! 
 
 I SAT by the window, one warm summer day, 
 In a state betwixt waking and sleep, 
 Inhaling the breath of the newly made hay, 
 While the warm sunny breeze fan d my cheek : 
 When tabby cat, sprang with a bound to my feet, 
 To show me the prize she had caught. 
 Twas a poor little bird, whose scarce utter d peep, 
 For pity, and mercy besought. 
 
THE WOUNDED BUtD. 21 
 
 I instantly loosed the poor bird from her grasp. 
 
 In a moment Mrs. Tabby divined, 
 
 By the threshing she took, what would be her fete, 
 
 If another sweet bird she purloined. 
 
 The poor birdie lay in a long deadly swoon ! 
 
 So long, that I feared it was dead. 
 
 When it ope d its dark eye and gazed round the room. 
 
 Then stretched back its poor little head. 
 
 I placed by its side a spoonful of milk, 
 
 And a few tiny crumbs of soft bread : 
 
 And closed fast the door, lest grimalkin should come 
 
 And snap off its innocent head. 
 
 But a heavier grief, than the loss of a bird, 
 
 Made my heart in its sorrow forget 
 
 The poor little thing, till at twilight I heard 
 
 A sound which awoke my regret. 
 
 Twas the sweet warbled notes of the lone wounded 
 
 bird, 
 
 On the window sill making its moan. 
 It had moisteivd its bill, in the milk of the spoon, 
 And picked up the crumbs I had strewn. 
 All dabbled in blood, was the down on its wing. 
 And feint was the carol it sung ; 
 Was it gratitude prompted so tiny a thing 
 To warble that sweet little song ] 
 
 I opened the casement, and bade it to fly, 
 To & branch #f the sheltering oak, 
 
AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 When it gave me a look with its searching dark eye. 
 
 Which a pang of deep sorrow awoke ! 
 
 A strange sudden thrill shook my grief-laden breast, 
 
 And burning tears fell from my eyes. 
 
 Twas a fanciful thought, I deem d that rny guest 
 
 Was a messener bird from the skies ! 
 
 
 Long hours I had watch d, in the still summer night. 
 
 While the stars, their pale radiance shed : 
 
 For a glimpse of a form from the regions of light. 
 
 That had pillow d my infantile head ! 
 
 Dost come, stranger bird, with rebuke in thy eve 
 
 To teach me these vigils are vain ? 
 
 Must I yield to the thought, that my agonized cry. 
 
 Ne er can win back the loved ones again 1 
 
 If this be thy mission, then well hast thou sped, 
 
 For never again will I pray, 
 
 For a glimpse of the loved, from this weary world 
 
 fled, 
 
 To the regions of glory away ! 
 Then it plum d its light wing, for the far distant wood 
 When a strain of sweet music I heard, 
 Hinging sweetly and clear, as I pensively stood. 
 Twas the song of the messenger bird I 
 BUFFALO, July, 1847. 
 
Jtje Sroliei 
 
 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 
 
 I met her in the lighted halls, where the gay and 
 mirthful meet ; 
 
 Fair forms were gliding to the sound of music rare 
 and sweet. 
 
 Yet one, the fairest of them all, in silence sat apart. 
 
 One pale thin hand upheld her brow, the other pressVI 
 her heart, 
 
 As if to still the bursting throb, that shook her fra 
 gile form, 
 
 Like a pale lily on its stem, rocked by the windy 
 storm. 
 
 The music ceased. A fair young girl, stole softly 
 to her side, 
 
 And whisperd low, some gentle words, that roused 
 her slumbering pride : 
 
 One whose true heart was link d to hers by sweet 
 remember d years ; 
 
 Long had they shared each others joys, each others 
 griefs and fears. 
 
 She brushed the gathering tears away, and meekly 
 strove to prove, 
 
 Though dead her heart to all beside, she felt a sis 
 ter s love, 
 
24 AMAEANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Again the merry chords rang out, they led her to 
 
 the dance, 
 A transient smile lit up her cheek, yet mournful was 
 
 her glance ; 
 Soft golden curls hung floating round her neck of 
 
 snowy white ; 
 Her step was lightest in the dance, yet twas a 
 
 mournful sight, 
 To see a being formed so fair, yet like the glorious 
 
 ray 
 Of golden sunset o er the hills, fading thus swift 
 
 away ! 
 
 I could not bear to gaze upon that mockery of woe, 
 I marked the palor of her cheek, its crimson hectic 
 
 glow, 
 And inly vowed each art to try, if haply I might 
 
 save, 
 That lovely radiant angel form, from the cold silent 
 
 grave. 
 Days passed on, and I became, the brother of her 
 
 her heart, 
 Yet Oh, each day, I saw with grief, some cherished 
 
 hope depart! 
 
 One evening in the depth of June, she linger d by 
 
 my side, 
 A tear hung trembling in her eye, she strove in vain 
 
 to hide. 
 
THE BROKEN HEARTED. 25 
 
 lk Tia meet" she said, "that thou should st know, ere 
 
 I from hence depart, 
 
 The hapless story of my grief, and of a broken heart. 
 That thou dost love me, gentle friend, I may not 
 
 disbelieve, 
 And Oh, for all thy tender care, poor ELLA S thanks 
 
 receive. 
 
 14 Twas here beneath this leafy grove, I met my 
 buried love ; 
 
 The smiling stars looked gently down, from yon 
 blue arch above ; 
 
 They witnessed to our plighted vows, of constancy 
 and truth. 
 
 Scarce had yon planet waxed and waned, ere that 
 beloved youth 
 
 Was summon d to the viewless bourne, no earthly 
 skill could save, 
 
 And now he lies, rny only love, where the whisper 
 ing willows wave. 
 
 ** A blight then stole around my heart, the deep o er 
 
 mastering power 
 Of grief, like canker gnaws within, since that dread 
 
 fated hour. 
 
 I feel that I am passing hence, yet not without a tear 
 Can I depart from these bright scenes, aad all that 
 
 love me here. 
 I cannot bear their yearning looks, soon will the 
 
 struggle close, 
 
26 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 When this o er wearied frame shall rest, in calm and 
 sweet repose. 
 
 " Seest thou that large lone pensive star, that lights 
 
 the western sky 1 
 How oft within this leafy grove, my youthful love 
 
 and I, 
 Have watch d its early rising beam, and wished 
 
 when life should cease, 
 To find within its viewless bourne, our home of rest 
 
 and peace. 
 Methinks e en now, from yon sweet star, he beckons 
 
 me to come, 
 To share with him in purity, his own bright glorious 
 
 home ! 
 
 " In twilight s calm and stilly hour, oft have I seem d 
 
 to hear, 
 His own lov d voice borne on the breeze, like music 
 
 soft and clear, 
 Until the silent air seem d filled with mournful 
 
 melody. 
 Then fainter, fainter, waned the sound, till all had 
 
 passed away ! 
 In dreams like these, my spirit holds communion 
 
 with the dead : 
 Soon shall I reach the starry shore, where their light 
 
 footsteps tread." 
 
 Again the golden summer sun coursed slowly down 
 the sky, 
 
THE BROKEN HEARTED. 27 
 
 The pale moon hung her silver horn mid shining orbs 
 
 on high, 
 When lo! mid the deep ether blue, poor Ella s 
 
 trysting star, 
 Shone out in brightness o er the hills and western 
 
 vales afar. 
 I turned and sought her leafy bower, Oh God! what 
 
 saw I there ! 
 It was poor Ella s clay cold corse, kneeling as if in 
 
 prayer ! 
 
 I gazed on that clear marble brow, twas mournfully 
 
 serene ; 
 All trace of life had passed away, from that sweet 
 
 angel s mien. 
 A clear, cold, calm, and settled look, the impress of 
 
 repose, 
 Seem d resting on those dewy lids, whose mournful 
 
 light had closed. 
 A rose hung with ring on her breast, which I that 
 
 morn had gave ; 
 It nestles now witliiu her shroud, in her low and 
 
 early grave ! 
 JUNE. 1838. 
 
AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 A young Rose bowed her weary head, 
 
 And a gentle kiss received, 
 From the dark eyed Night who her couch had spread 
 
 Amid the rustling leaves. 
 
 Morn came at length mid the dusky trees, 
 And the young Rose smiling woke : 
 
 And gaily danced to the gentle breeze, 
 While the sun s bright glances broke 
 
 Through the fading mists of the dawning day, 
 
 And shone on her spotless brow j 
 And a lovelier type of purity 
 
 Ne er was seen on earth I trow. 
 
 But the burning glance of the day -god fell 
 
 On the young Rose in her pride, 
 Till her faint heart beat with a throbbing swell, 
 
 And her cheek w ith blushes dyed. 
 
 No friendly hand was raised to save 
 
 The mourner from despair ; 
 Her drooping head no longer braved 
 
 The day-god s searching glare ! 
 
 With lightsome tread came the gentle breeze, 
 Who had flown since early dawn, 
 
CHARITY. 29 
 
 With a coursers speed across the seas. 
 And a fainting barque sped on. 
 
 Then it danced away in its winsome mirth. 
 
 To a valley green and fair : 
 Where er its light wing brushed the earth. 
 
 A lovelier hue was there ! 
 
 Then it flew to the peasants lowly cot 
 
 And smooth d the brow of care. 
 When its task was done it linger d not. 
 
 But flew with the speed of air, 
 
 To breathe on the lips of a dying saint, 
 
 And a moment s breath was given, 
 In blessings pcur d with accents faint, 
 
 Ere he breathed the air of heaven ! 
 
 Then it fan d the brow of a sleeping child. 
 
 O er wearied with its play : 
 And the boy awoke with a pleasant smile. 
 
 And went his homeward way. 
 
 Then it came where the young Rose fainting lay 
 
 Neglected and alone, 
 And it brush d the soiling dust away. 
 
 With its arms around her thrown ! 
 
 Then it bathed her brow with the dimpled rain. 
 And kissed away her tears ; 
 
SO AMAEANTII BLOOMS, 
 
 And the fair young Rose revived again, 
 And lovelier still appears ! 
 
 For now her regal beauties wore 
 
 A mild and chasten d mien, 
 And she stretch d her arms to embrace once more, 
 
 Her generous friend unseen. 
 
 But the gentle breeze had onward sailed, 
 
 When her kindly task was o er ; 
 But her lightsome wing perfume exhaled, 
 
 In its wanderings evermore. 
 
 Then she knew twas the grateful Rose who pour d 
 
 Its fragrance on her wing ; 
 Then merrily she onward soar d, 
 
 Her gentle aid to bring, 
 
 To each weary heart, who needs her care ; 
 
 Thus like the gentle breeze, 
 Sweet Charity doth blessings share, 
 
 For the kindly aid she gives ! 
 
 As the gentle breeze in her flight inhales 
 
 Perfumes both rich and rare, 
 From the lovely flowers that deck the vales 
 
 Or scents the mountain air : 
 
 Thus the generous soul, whose timely aid 
 Kindly and freely given. 
 
 
THE INVOCATION. 3X 
 
 To the needy wretch, is thrice repaid, 
 
 By an all-seeing Heaven ! 
 NORTH NORWICH, June, 1848. 
 
 Jbe 
 
 I have watch d for thee my friend, 
 In doubt, and fear, and hope : thro dark winter^ 
 
 dreary reign ; 
 Now the smiling Spring has come, her flow rets deck 
 
 the plain, 
 Yet I watch for thee in vain ! 
 
 Wilt thou not hear my call ? 
 My spirit yearns for thee, as it nears the boundless 
 
 shore, 
 Whence from my viewless home, I can return no 
 
 more. 
 Oh, come, ere life s last pang is o er ! 
 
 Come to my couch my friend, 
 
 Bless, bless my longing sight ere I do pass away, 
 My life is swiftly gliding day by day, 
 
 Like a dark stream away ! 
 
 I would hear thy voice once more ; 
 Methinks twould sweetly sound in this dull and fail 
 ing ear,* 
 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 w 
 
 Its hope inspiring tones e en my saddest hour could 
 
 cheer, 
 Dispelling every fear ! 
 
 And wilt thou come no more 1 
 And must my last hour pass unblest by thee ? 
 Oh, come, ere the dim curtain of eternity 
 
 Is drawn twixt thee and me ! 
 
 Farewell ! sweet friend, farewell ! 
 My mournful heart is breaking at thy long delay, 
 Strange voices seem to chide my lingering stay, 
 
 And I must hence, away ! 
 
 Yet from that world above, 
 
 Shall I not wait thy coming 1 where countless stars 
 Look out in radiant splendor, where no blight can 
 mar 
 
 The fadeless beauty of yon world afar ! 
 
 Yet Oh, forget me not ! 
 Deep in thy heart one little space I crave, 
 For memory s urn, when the tall grass shall wave 
 
 O er my low and silent grave ! 
 
 NOTE. The Invocation was addressed to a dear friend in 
 the Spring of 1840, when the author seemed to linger for ma 
 ny months upon the borders of the unseen world, in that medi 
 um state betwixt this life and the life to come, when gales from 
 both worlds seemed to blow upon the cheek : when the soul 
 becomes conversant with the spiritual realities of a more eleva 
 ted plane of existence, to that degree, of which persons endow 
 ed with health and engaged in the bus} affairs of life, can form 
 no adequate idea. 
 
OH ! sing that song to me once more, 
 
 My own sweet ISABEL ! 
 Whose witching cadence charm d mv ear. 
 
 As if some fairy spell 
 Had lurk d within its glowing chords : 
 
 Oh, sing that song to me, 
 Twill charm a while the dismal roar. 
 
 Of the deep sounding sea. 
 
 Fear not. my love, thou rt safe from harm. 
 
 Tho loud the billows roar. 
 And rudely dash their surging waves 
 
 Against this rocky shore : 
 With thy head upon my faithful breast. 
 
 Thou wilt as sweetly sleep, 
 As when the downy pillow press d 
 
 Thy fair and blooming cheek. 
 
 Then sing that song to me once more, 
 
 My own sweet lady fair, 
 Whose witching cadence charm d mine ear, 
 
 In the proud halls of thy Sire : 
 Whose dark grey turrets cast their shade. 
 
 Across the rolling Rhine ; 
 How could st thou love, for me resign 
 
 That lordly home of thine ? 
 
 
AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Yet still thy step is light and free, 
 
 Thine eye as brightly beams, 
 As when we first our love confess d 
 
 Beside thine own blue streams ; 
 But cheer thee now, my bonny brido, 
 
 And sing that song to me, 
 The proud Earl welcomes home his child r 
 
 He now is seeking thee ! 
 
 He miss d thy gay and bird-like tone, 
 
 Within his dwelling lone ; 
 He bids thee now resume thy place, 
 
 Within his hearth and home. 
 Nay, why that look of timid fear, 
 
 I too will go with thee, 
 And whereso er thou may st abide, 
 Thy William there will be. 
 
 Thy haughty Sire will not refuse 
 
 To own me for a son, 
 When he shall learn his child hath wed 
 
 The Earl of Clarendon ! 
 And thou my bride, wilt thou forgive, 
 
 The ruse I ve played with thee, 
 Since twas to win the loving heart 
 
 That thou hast given me ? 
 
Jo l&tatt) of 
 
 OF BINGHAMTON. 
 
 " Earth guard what here we lay in holy trust, 
 That which hath left our homes a darkened place." 
 
 AT sunset hour yon hallowed fane 
 
 Re-echoed to the voice of prayer ; 
 The deep-toned organ s thrilling strain, 
 
 Rang out upon the Summer air, 
 
 And slowly thro the church-yard gate, 
 
 They bore unto her final rest, 
 That lovely radiant form, so late 
 
 Within our homes an angel guest ! 
 
 They laid her in the silent grave, 
 
 Within yon church-yard s lone retreat ; 
 Where whispering willows gently wave. 
 
 And flow rets blossom wild and sweet ! 
 Alternate gleams of light and shade, 
 
 Are resting on that lowly mound ; 
 Where Summer birds their homes have made, 
 
 Mid the tall poplar s breezy sound ! 
 
 There morn and eve, with 1 pinions spread, 
 
 They trill their joyous melody : 
 Link d with the memory of the dead, 
 
 Is their sweet gushing minstrelsy ! 
 Sing on ye gay and merry birds, 
 
 
36 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Your sweet and joyous notes prolong ; 
 Since she whose every pulse was stir d 
 By the rich cadence of your song, 
 
 Now slumbers where yon daisies bend 
 
 In silent worship o er her grave. 
 Tis meet your sweetest notes should blend 
 
 With winds that chant her funeral stave ! 
 For well she loved all pleasant things, 
 
 All harmonies of sight and sound : 
 Her lowly bed a place should be, 
 
 For all things bright to cluster round. 
 
 A wreath of Jessamine and Rose, 
 
 Lies withering on her tranquil breast : 
 Twas loves own gift, its sweetness throws 
 
 A perfume round her place of rest. 
 But ah, we miss her smiling face, 
 
 Her gentle tones, her snowy brow ; 
 With lines of pure deep feeling traced. 
 
 Her home is with the angels now. 
 
 Who late, with sweet accustom d grace, 
 
 Moved, life s household cares among ; 
 Ah, who can fill her vacant place ? 
 
 One widow d heart with sorrow wrung 
 Throbs wildly, when some gentle tread 
 
 Across the threshold of his door, 
 Recalls the mem ry of the dead, 
 
 A living presence evermore ! 
 
 

 fteto 
 
 I WISH you a happy New Year, friends 
 
 As ye meet round the festive board 
 Remember the absent and the loved, 
 
 When the bright red wine is poured. 
 They are scatter d far and wide, friends, 
 
 O er the Prairies of the West : 
 And some there are who gaily ride 
 O er the Ocean s billowy breast ! 
 
 They ve caused you many a sigh, friends, 
 
 And many a burning tear, 
 These wandering ones o er land and wave. 
 
 And many an anxious fear. 
 Breathe a health upon the gale, friends, 
 
 And your prayers to God be given,- 
 That the blessed Christ may safely guide, 
 
 These wandering ones to heaven ! 
 
 Here are tears, to mingle with yours, friends, 
 
 For the loved in their narrow bed ; 
 Oh, many a haunting tone and word, 
 
 Will recall the silent dead ! 
 Here s a welcome to each young angel guest, 
 
 In its downy cradle-bed ! 
 And a blessing for each young rosy face, 
 
 And each young bright curly head. 
 
38 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Here are pansies* for all sad thoughts, friend*, 
 
 A patient trusting mind ; 
 An humble and an honest heart, 
 
 Will sweet contentment find ! 
 I wish you health and peace, friends, 
 
 And wealth a plenteous store ! 
 But Oh, remember the starving poor, 
 
 And the beggar at your door. 
 
 1 wish you a happy New Year, friends, 
 
 And for one and all I pray, 
 A luscious roast, and courses three, 
 
 Upon this festal day. 
 Then will ye pledge to me friends r 
 
 But not in the rosy wine, 
 But in a cup of fragrant tea, 
 
 Lov d beverage of mine 1 
 
 Or in a glass from the crystal fount, 
 
 Which, as Hydropathists say, 
 Will cool the blood and clear the brain, 
 
 And drive each ill away ! 
 And I will pledge to you, friends, 
 
 For my heart with joy is light, 
 That my lot is cast in a pleasant land, 
 
 And a brighter is yet in sight. 
 
 A brighter is yet in sight, friends, 
 To the eye of faith it gleams, 
 Heartsease. 
 
IN MEMORY OF J. P. 39 
 
 Far, far away on the heavenly shore, 
 With its silvery founts and streams. 
 
 And when my songs shall cease, friends. 
 And these kindly greetings are o er, 
 
 Rejoice, that a captive soul hath fled, 
 To the bright, the better shore ! 
 
 In McirtoiU of Mr. U.. *****, 
 
 LATE OF NORTH NORWICH, N. T., 
 
 Who died at Grand Rapids. Mick., Feb. 2. aged 23. 
 
 WELL may we weep, for the pride of the valley 
 In the glory of manhood has gone to the grave ! 
 With the true sons of freedom no more will he rallv. 
 From the grasp of oppression his country to save : 
 Far away from his home, they have laid him to rest. 
 Where the wild Prairie flowers will bloom on his 
 breast. 
 
 The Spring tide has come with its sweet scented 
 
 blossoms, 
 
 Reclothing with bloom the pale brow of decay : 
 But alas, for the weary, the grief-laden bosom. 
 That mourns for a lov d one from earth pass d away ! 
 The Spring birds return to their home in the glen. 
 Put our brother hath gone to return not again ! 
 
4:0 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Pale is that brow, with the bright ringlets shaded, 
 The cold dew of death on the shining hair lies. 
 The bright smile hath gone, and the blooming cheek 
 
 faded ; 
 
 Quenched is the, light of the clear azure eyes, 
 And the tones of that voice, which had gladened 
 
 our hearth, 
 is like melody pass d forever from earth. 
 
 How often at dawn, lightly bounding from slumber, 
 Might he vie with the lark, in her matinal song ; 
 His voice like a minstrels, harmonious in number, 
 Pour d the full tide of music, our valley along : 
 Never more shall we hear those sweet echoes 
 
 resound 
 From the steep wooded heights, which our valley 
 
 surround. 
 
 As he paused from the chase, over mountain and 
 moorland, 
 
 Ye have heard that rich strain, o er the hills far 
 away ; 
 
 Waking dreams of the past, in each chivalrous 
 bosom, 
 
 Of the romance of Eld, that has long pass d away. 
 
 Alas, that so bright an existence should close, 
 
 While life wore the charm, and the Couleur cPRose. 
 
 One clear frosty morn, when the sun hi its splendor, 
 

 IN MEMORY OF J. P. 4:1 
 
 Gave a bright glowing hue, to each Autumn tint 
 
 brown, 
 
 I heard for the last time, now joyous, now tender. 
 That clear manly voice, in sweet melody sound. 
 E ; en the birds joined in chorus, so sweet was the lay. 
 Tuning each little throat, from the green leafy spray. 
 
 Reclined neatli an oak, by the soft gliding river, 
 A farewell he sang to each rock, hill, and plain ; 
 No boding voice whispered, his footsteps would 
 
 never 
 
 Retrace the loved haunts of his boyhood again. 
 But destiny calls, and he must away : 
 Far away from his home, where the bright waters 
 
 play. 
 
 Away in the west, where the light breeze is swelling. 
 O er broad green Savannahs, and forests grown grey 
 With the hoar frost of age ; where the wolf has his 
 
 dwelling, 
 
 Where the timid deer bounds in wild freedom away : 
 In the sports of the chase our loved brother stray d, 
 Or roamed in the depths of the cool cedar shade. 
 
 But death came to chill, that young heart in its glad 
 ness: 
 
 That strong active frame, which the wintery winds 
 braved, 
 
 Was laid in the tomb ! while a deep wall of sadness 
 
 Was borne o ? er the land like a funeral stave ! 
 
i2 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 His young sisters weep, till each bright eye is dim. 
 The Spring hath returned but it bringeth not him. 
 
 The Summer will come, with its soft breezes wooing 
 Their buoyant young footsteps abroad with the dawn: 
 As they tread the green paths, where flow rets are 
 
 strewing, 
 
 The soft velvet turf of the upland and lawn. 
 They will miss from their side the light bounding 
 
 tread, 
 Of one who lies low in his green-narrow bed ! 
 
 They will miss from their side, their brave gentle 
 
 brother, 
 In the long Winter s eve, and the bright Summer s 
 
 morn ; 
 
 His place never more will be fill d by another 
 So loyal and true, as the one that is gone ! 
 His memory will live, enshrined in our hearts, 
 Till we go where the beautiful never departs ! 
 
 DECEMBER, 1844. 
 
 a cold night, the chilly moon 
 Is drifting thro a darkling cloud, 
 While fitfully the wintry wind 
 Is weaving many a snowy shroud. 
 
THE WINTERY NIGHT. 43 
 
 Tis a cold night, and yet within 
 
 My little room, tis warm and bright: 
 
 While Tabby Cat, so neat and prim, 
 Enjoys her share of warmth and light. 
 
 My faithful Dog. with honest face, 
 
 Sits watching with a curious eye, 
 Each look, as if he fain would trace 
 
 My busy thoughts, while passing by. 
 
 Poor tray, I know thy faithful heart, 
 Would throb with pity, sad and sore, 
 
 Could st thou but read one little part, 
 Of grief, whose fountain welleth o er, 
 
 Within my sad and yearning breast, 
 While here upon this couch of pain, 
 
 Long weary years I ve sought for rest, 
 And found each effort all in vain ! 
 
 JO W^ I; 
 
 OF EARLVILLE. 
 
 I SOUGHT in the past, with lone weary yearnings, 
 To find a lov d spirit attuned to my own. 
 
 When I saw in the distance, a radiant star burning 
 With a clear steady light. serenely it shone. 
 

 44 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 That star was thy spirit, its radiant light burning 
 In each kindling glance of thy dark loving eyes : 
 
 Drew my spirit to thine, half shrinking, yet turning 
 To thee, as if drawn by invisible ties. 
 
 Tlien followed some moments of spirit revealing, 
 
 Soul answering soul, in so blissful a tone, 
 That my full heart pour d forth all its wildering 
 
 dreaming, 
 
 Its faith mid the darkness when beaming light 
 shone, 
 
 Around my lone pathway, so darksome and dreary, 
 When close by rny side stood the angel of doom ! 
 
 And like a lone traveler, way-worn and weary, 
 I sighed for the still quiet rest of the tomb. 
 
 I had turned from the crowd, with a blight on my 
 
 spirit, 
 What cared they to fathom the themes that I 
 
 prized ? 
 
 In the blue sky above, or the earth we inhabit, 
 What marvels held they, to excite their surprise ? 
 
 But with thee, the pages of science unfolding, 
 Which each in the past ponder d darkly and lone. 
 
 By the pale midnight lamp shining dim thro the 
 
 gloaming, 
 How swiftly the light-wing d moments have flown. 
 
TO MISS M. L. 45 
 
 Then spake we of life ! of its aims and its ending, 
 Each trusting in Him who of old trod the wave, 
 
 To aid us to live like true Christians, defending 
 The regis of truth, with the conqueror s glavc ! 
 
 Then spake we of truth ! not by party strife driv n 
 
 To plant each a standard, and followers crave ; 
 But we reared a bright beacon, that tower d unto 
 
 heaven, 
 
 The same that the bless d Sun of Righteousness 
 gave ! 
 
 Then spake we of love ! of its heavenly mission. 
 
 In a land where long-suffering enfeebles the strong; 
 An union of spirit, its highest fruition, 
 
 The sole bond that gives strength and endurance 
 neath wrong. 
 
 Then spake we of death ! when a faint tone of 
 sadness 
 
 Betrayed the one dread, to leave darkly and lone, 
 Our life-long companion, in sorrow and gladness : 
 
 To the cold narrow house, our last earthly home ! 
 
 Then spake we of heaven ! with fond rapture 
 
 deeming 
 That when these frail forms shall commingle with 
 
 dust, 
 
 Our spirits shall rnoiuit, on angel wing gleaming, 
 To receive each a crown, the award of the just ! 
 
THESE calm bright days of Summer, 
 Who hath not felt their sway ? 
 
 When the earth is robed in splendor bright, 
 As for a festal day ; 
 
 And the very air lies hush d and still. 
 From morn till twilight grey. 
 
 IVe watched the sunlight sleeping, 
 O er the hill-side, and the plain : 
 
 And the creeping shadows silent tread, 
 O er the waving grass and grain ; 
 
 Till strange, deep yearning thoughts awake. 
 Within my heart and brain ! 
 
 They waken dreams of heaven, 
 And move the heart to prayer : 
 
 I hear the clasp of angel wings 
 Upon the silent air, 
 
 And my spirit lyre attunes its chords, 
 With the viewless harpers there. 
 
 There are watchful eyes upon me, 
 
 Among the shadowy band ; 
 There is one, who pledged in dying t 
 
 A pale cold pulseless hand : 
 She promised to be near me, 
 
 When I tread the spirit-land ! 
 
SUMMER MUSINGS. 47 
 
 Grew she in our quiet garden, 
 
 Like a lilly in its pride ! 
 When pass d her twentieth summer, 
 
 She with the roses died. 
 Long weary years since then have flown, 
 
 Still she lingers by my side. 
 
 One night, I might not slumber, 
 
 For I knew the dead was near ! 
 While on my dreamless couch I lay, 
 
 Without one thought of fear, 
 
 Till thro the closed and drooping lids, 
 
 I saw intensely clear ! 
 
 A gleam transcending sunlight, 
 
 Or the bright glow of noon ; 
 I heard her light and gentle tread, 
 
 Within my silent room : 
 And the rustle of her snowy dress, 
 
 As in her days of bloom ! 
 
 Then died my heart within me, 
 
 As I heard anear her tread, 
 The light of her calm loving eyes, 
 
 Their spirit glances shed, 
 A heavenly dew upon my heart, 
 
 And o er my fainting head. 
 
 This was but the fulfillment 
 
 Of the pledge and promise given, 
 

 48 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 A sign that spirit bonds, like ours, 
 By death may not be riven ! 
 
 Still firmer grow the bright ning links. 
 Between our hearts and heaven ! 
 
 Hie 
 
 WE have come from the starry shore, 
 
 Far beyond the sea : 
 To bear thee hence, where grief no more. 
 
 Will thy portion be. 
 Haste, haste, why delay 1 
 
 Thou poor trembling child of clay ; 
 Plume thy wing and soar away, 
 
 Far beyond the sky. 
 
 There is sadness on thy pallid brow, 
 
 And tears are on thy cheek ! 
 They fall for those who slumber now, 
 
 In death s oblivious sleep. 
 Haste, then, no longer stay, 
 
 They have pass d from earth away ; 
 Mid the shining realms of day, 
 
 They will welcome thee ! 
 
 We have seen their foreheads beam, 
 
 With a light divine : 
 As they wander d by a flow ry stream. 
 

 THE ANGELS CALL. 
 
 Of that happy clime ! 
 They were with a shining band, 
 
 Pilgrims from earth barren land. 
 Harps of gold were in their hand. 
 
 And crowns upon their brow. 
 
 And they smiling, to us said, 
 
 Call the weary home ! 
 Gently lay each aching head, 
 
 Neath the marble stone. 
 Haste, then. linger not, 
 
 Thine hath been a weary lot ; 
 Earthly care is soon forgot, 
 
 In our happy home. 
 
 We have seen earth s fairest flowers, 
 
 Wither in their prime ! 
 hi our home the vernal bowers 
 
 Know no blight of time ! 
 Haste, haste. with us soar, 
 
 To the bright, the starry shore : 
 Nought can grieve thy spirit more. 
 
 When thy rest is won ! 
 
 There thou wilt thirst no more 
 
 For the living streams ! 
 Whose crystal fountain welleth o er. 
 
 And murmurs in thy dreams. 
 There, no more earth s care and pain. 
 
 Will thy weary heart enchain ; 
 
50 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 There the heart s deep burning rain. 
 Will dim thine eyes no more ! 
 
 Thus the angels sang their lay 
 
 To a dying saint ! 
 While they sang, life s fleeting ray 
 
 Grew more weak and faint ! 
 Close, close, the rayless eye : 
 
 Gently with that fainting sigh, 
 Thou hast pass d to rest on high, 
 
 Far beyond the tomb ! 
 
 Jo 3Y|eft)olrlj of 
 
 LATE MARGARET FULLER, 
 
 Who with her husband and child perished by ship 
 
 wreck, on her return passage to her native 
 
 land, of Fire Island, July, 1850. 
 
 THE brightest star in our constellation 
 
 Hath pass d beyond our longing sight. 
 We miss its radiant emanation ; 
 
 Amid our orbs, of lesser light 
 Thou Margaret ! in etherial splendor 
 
 Hast soared far up, and above us all 
 Yet we thy sisters, our homage render, 
 
 While kneeling round thy funeral pall ! . 
 
COUNTESS OSSOLI. 51 
 
 Thou hast bequeath d unto us, thy spirit. 
 
 In many a page of golden light ; 
 And we the precious boon inherit, 
 
 Who prized the dawning of thy might : 
 Thou st traced for us the pure ideal 
 
 Of woman, noble, virtuous, good, * 
 Thy life s a page, of the true and real. 
 
 Sign d and sealed, with thy martyr blood !f 
 
 We to a nobler life are waking 
 
 Thy lowlier sisters, yet one in heart ! 
 The chains of bondage around are breaking, 
 
 We will arise and act well our part. 
 But ah, we miss thy god-like spirit, 
 
 To marshal our rauks, against the strong 
 We of the younger race inherit 
 
 But thy love of truth, and thy hate of wrong. 
 
 It seems a dream, the fearful story, 
 
 That thou, in sight of thy native land, 
 With thy soul s high gifts, in their summer glory. 
 
 Did st perish, helpless on the strand ! 
 I think of thee, on my nightly pillow, 
 
 Far down in thy liquid grave so low ; 
 I hear the sound of the ocean billow, 
 
 And the foaming wave, o er thy bosom flow I 
 
 Calm and serene, mid the awful riot, 
 Of the surging waves, as they rose and fell : 
 
52 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Thy pale high brow wore a solemn quiet, 
 While they toll d for thee the funeral knell ! 
 
 As they rear d their crests athirst for slaughter, 
 No sound was heard, but their deaf ning roar; 
 
 With a silent plunge mid the foaming water, 
 Thou Margaret sank, to rise no more ! 
 
 A moan is heard o er the distant water, 
 A wail of grief, from Italians shore 
 A dirge for America s gifted daughter, 
 
 Who toiled to sunder their bonds of yore. 
 Rome s ancient greatness hath long departed, 
 
 Yet hearts of the true metallic mold, 
 Will mourn for the strong, the noble hearted, 
 
 O er many a moonlit glen and wold! 
 
 Rest faithful one ! on thy ocean pillow ! 
 
 The cause of freedom will still prevail ! 
 Tho we hang our harps on the weeping willow, 
 
 God s truth and justice will never fail. 
 Tho darkness broods o er the fate of nations, 
 
 And the earth is green o er her martyr d dead ! 
 The stars that sang, at the dawn s creation,^ 
 
 Again will sing, when the night hath fled ! 
 
 * See Women of the Nineteenth Century an able and ex 
 cellent work by Margaret S. Fuller. 
 
 t When requested by the sailors and her friends to leave the 
 vessel, she steadily refused, alledging that she was willing to 
 suffer death with her husband and child, but not to live with 
 out them, t Bible. 
 

 Hi 
 
 " It was in Egypt, near Thebes, as I rambled out one morn 
 ing into the surrounding desert, I saw a Vulture not far from 
 me, sitting upon the ruins of a fallen monument. This bird is 
 known for its strong powers of life, and is dangerous to ap 
 proach when wounded. I raised my fowling piece, and woun 
 ded him, as I believed, mortally, in the breast. He remained, 
 however, sitting quietly in his place : and as I advanced to aim 
 the second shot, he lifted his broad wings and mounted upward. 
 Blood streamed like a torrent from his breast, while he contin 
 ued to ascend still higher and higher, in wider and broader cir 
 cles. It was beautiful in that vast silent wilderness, to see this 
 bird, mortally wounded, and dying the sands with his blood, 
 silently circling upon his monstrous wings, the last circle that 
 he made was more than a quarter of a mile in extent. Then 
 I lost gight of him in the blue space of heaven." Travels in 
 Egypt. 
 
 UPON a moss-grown ruin, a kingly Vulture sat, 
 With his eagle glance upraised to heaven, as if to 
 
 scan the track 
 For winged flight among the clouds, that veil tin- 
 
 sun s bright face, 
 Where he joyed to spread his soaring whig, "mid 
 
 the lofty realms of space, 
 
 Alas, for thee poor Vulture, the fowler draweth nigh, 
 A ball hath pierc d thy noble breast, that beat with 
 rapture high 
 
54 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 At thought of thy triumphant flight mid the blue 
 
 skies far away, 
 Where the thunder lifts its mighty voice, and the 
 
 gleaming lightnings play. 
 
 Still sat he, calmly and unmoved, right kingly as 
 
 before, 
 While from his torn and bleeding breast, full swiftly 
 
 ebVd the gore ; 
 The fowler from his covert springs, to deal the 
 
 murderous blow, 
 While the Vulture gazed with scornful eye, upon his 
 
 cruel foe ! 
 
 There was something strangely human, in the glance 
 
 of that proud eye, 
 A searching glance, so clear and bold, and fill d with 
 
 courage high : 
 Meanwhile upon the desert sands, his life-blood 
 
 flowed like rain ; 
 But the beatings of that kingly heart, scarce death 
 
 itself could chain. 
 
 Then slowly he unfolded, his large and mighty 
 
 wings, 
 
 And w r ith a shrill exultant shout, aloft toward heav 
 en he springs. 
 Then higher, and still higher yet, in circling flight 
 
 doth wend 
 The dying bird, whose soaring wings in loftiest flight 
 
 ascend. 
 
THE EGYPTIAN VULTURE. H 
 
 But that mighty wing ere long will fail, thine hour 
 
 of triumph past, 
 Thou on the deserts arid sands, wilt lay thee down 
 
 at last ! 
 The victory was thine poor bird, thou distanced well 
 
 the foe ; 
 There is triumph in thy glazing eye, tho thy heart 
 
 beats faint and slow. 
 
 There are those like thee poor Vulture, whom envy s 
 
 treacherous dart 
 Hath chill d the life-blood s crimson flow, in the 
 
 leal and trusting heart ! 
 For them, bright wings are fashioned, wherewith 
 
 they heavenward soar, 
 Triumphantly ascending, till they reach its blissful. 
 
 shore. 
 
 DECEMBER, 1848. 
 
 MY home lay in a sheltered spot. 
 
 Where warring winds but seldom meet. 
 The ring-dove nestled o er its top. 
 
 And paced the roof with pattering feet ! 
 Long years agone, I sought to hide 
 
 My ebbing life within its shade : 
 Where the bright rivers glancing tide, 
 
 Hymn d music o er the flowery glade, 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 The stock-dove plain d, her daily round 
 
 Thrice pass d the Summer s bloom away, 
 Ere o er the smooth enameled ground, 
 
 My trembling footsteps learned to stray ! 
 I ve watched full many a weary night, 
 
 The silvery wavelets onward bound ; 
 Bathed in the moonbeams shimmering light, 
 
 Mid starry islands floating down. 
 
 Beneath the trailing Ivy s shade, 
 
 Gleamed the sweet valley, sprinkled o er 
 With rural homes, where joyous played, 
 
 Young children, by the cottage door ! 
 The wood lark built within the shade, 
 
 And tuned the while her merry lay,- 
 Her home of love the robin made, 
 
 Beneath the green o er-arching spray. 
 
 Oh ! there were times mine inmost soul 
 
 Responded to the tuneful choir : 
 Deep thoughts, that would not brook control, 
 
 Rilled music from my spirit-lyre. 
 Soft, like the sea-shells inborn strain, 
 
 A low-voiced murmur thrill d my breast : 
 Till thought had swept the electric chain, 
 
 Responsive to the spirits quest. 
 
 Then visions of that world afar, 
 
 Gleam d o er my soul intensely bright,- 
 
MY VALLEY HOME. 57 
 
 Ascending upward star by star, 
 
 Bathed in a sea of crystal light; 
 She journey M on with heavenward brow, 
 
 Mid the star islands of the blest, 
 Till near the throne she paused to bow, 
 
 While kindling rapture thrill d my breast. 
 
 My soul would dream those blissful dreams 
 
 And glorious visions o er again ! 
 I scarce can catch one starry beam, 
 
 Or listen to one heaven-born strain, 
 Ere the rude surging sea of care, 
 
 Engulfs my life-pearls neath the wave. 
 Oh ! vale of beauty, green as fair, 
 
 Thy holy Sabbath quiet gave, 
 
 A nearer glimpse of heaven, than now, 
 
 Its pathway gleamed with crystal light ! 
 Nearer his throne I seem d to bow, 
 
 Whose love inspired my songs by night. 
 Another spring perfumes thine air, 
 
 And bathes thy hills in tender light ! 
 Thy minstrel hymns for thee a prayer. 
 
 And wafts to thee her last " Good Night !" 
 
Jt)e Styl- of 
 
 In India they are very superstitious about the stars. It is 
 thought that if a person is going to die, that the star of his des 
 tiny is visible to every eye but his own. 
 
 BENEATH the waving branches of the Chestnut and 
 
 the Lime, 
 Two brothers walked, at close of day, in the depth 
 
 of summer time : 
 
 One was of noble bearing of tall and stately mien 
 The other was a fair haired boy, pale, quiet and se 
 rene : 
 
 His eye of kindling azure, outshone the stars of even 
 And the cadence of his gentle voice, seem d an echo 
 caught from Heaven. 
 
 He was a guileless creature, and that strange uncer 
 tain light, 
 That sometimes marks the early called, gleamed o er 
 
 his brow of wiiite 
 It nestled in his wavy hair, and beam d within his 
 
 eye 
 And like the last faint lingering glow of summer 
 
 sunset dye, 
 It lighted up his pale sweet face, with an unearthly 
 
 ray- 
 Thus blooms the summers rarest flowers, doom d 
 earliest to decay. 
 
THE STAB OF DESTINY. 59 
 
 Few were the words then spoken the parting hour 
 drew nigh, 
 
 Nights brilliant coronet of gems, gleam d in the 
 azure sky ; 
 
 Said William : There s my chosen star, wilt thou 
 at vesper chime, 
 
 Dear brother greet its early beam ? 1 too, from In 
 dia s clime, 
 
 Will gaze upon it in that hour, our glances thus shall 
 meet 
 
 Across the wide and distant sea, in spirit union sweet! 
 
 They parted ! On another eve. across the ocean s 
 
 tide, 
 A noble vessel sped her way ; ranged gleaming at 
 
 her side, 
 A seried line of bristling spears, and the long and 
 
 deadly gun, 
 The martial bearing of her crew, proclaimed high 
 
 deeds were done, 
 By England s flower of chivalry, on land as on the 
 
 main ; 
 Where shouts of death or victory, drown the death 
 
 cry of the slain. 
 
 Among those valiant warriors, stood a youth, whose 
 
 flashing eye 
 Had caught the glow of chivalry ; his pulse was 
 
 beating high. 
 
<i -- ,- 
 
 00 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 At thoughts of noble trophies won, in many a 
 
 bloody fray, 
 When lo ! a star hath caught his view, his thoughts 
 
 are far away : 
 Ah, well he knows that loving eyes are gazing from 
 
 afar, 
 Perchance thro dim and blinding tears, upon that 
 
 evening star! 
 
 Again they met ! four years had passed, and that 
 
 young brother came 
 To win beside the eldest born promotion and a 
 
 name ! 
 Again they walked beneath the light of a summer 
 
 moonlit sky, 
 The younger brother smiling said, as he turn d his 
 
 gaze on high : 
 Lo William, there s your chosen star, I ne er have 
 
 failed to greet 
 Tt-s friendly light at vesper time, thine earnest 
 
 glance to meet. 
 
 With kindly pressure of the hand, the elder born 
 
 replied, 
 Hast thou not marked yon lovely star in the glow 
 
 of eventide? 
 I ve named it thine ! In its clear light thy loving 
 
 gaze I see, 
 Like eyes of seraphs, glancing down, from that 
 
 bright star to me. 
 
THE STAB OF DESTINY. 61 
 
 Lo now it shines just o er our heads, clear and in 
 tensely bright. 
 
 But to the younger of the twain, that star was hid 
 from sight ! 
 
 A boding sense of coming ill, a, sudden thought of 
 
 fear, 
 Thrill d thro that brother s yearning heart, and 
 
 wrung a starting tear ; 
 A mournful legend of the stars, heard in an evil 
 
 hour, 
 Forgotten as an idle tale, recurred with thrilling 
 
 power. 
 In vain he pointed to the star, still Clarence gazed 
 
 in vain, 
 Next eve his pale and beauteous corse was found 
 
 amid the slain ! 
 
 a 
 
 " I suppo?e you will become a very poetic angel, when tiie- 
 embodied, and wreathe the world of mind into melody ! I 
 should like to live after this state of things exists, so that it 
 may be breathed into my soul at twilight, and entrance me 
 with spiritual melody, while I yet esist in the present life, pre 
 paratory to that higher, holier, sublimer life, we now live to 
 ennoble for." Letter from a friend. 
 
 An, yes, gentle friend, thou hast rightly divined 
 That when I shall sink to my rest, 
 
62 AMAKANTII BLOOMS. 
 
 And my wild harp hath breath d its last sigh to the 
 wind, 
 
 And the green turf is laid on my breast, 
 That swiftly I ll soar like an angel of light, 
 
 To retime my hush d lyre in the skies, 
 And sw r eetly I ll sing in the clear starry night, 
 
 While the light wing of sleep veils thine eyes ! 
 
 Perchance, lovely dreamer, I yet shall descend 
 
 From some radiant orb of the bless d, 
 And as a fond mother doth soothingly bend 
 
 To lull her tired infant to rest, 
 E en thus would I soothe thee, when weary and worn, 
 
 And sing thee most gently to sleep : 
 And waft thee in dreams to my far distant home, 
 
 Where the mourner forgets e en to weep ! 
 
 I would sing to thee, love, of the heaven thou lt win, 
 
 By thy life of devotion and truth. 
 Thou hast waged a stern warfare with falsehood and 
 sin, 
 
 And ennobled thy beautiful youth ! 
 My soul hath a mission thou hast not divined, 
 
 Enshrined in this frail sinking form : 
 Is a spirit, tho gentle, aye patient, and kind, 
 
 That recks not the wind or the storm ! 
 
 Should the fierce chilling blast of adversity blow, 
 And thy soul seem bereft of its power : 
 
A REPLY. 63 
 
 While the fast falling tears down thy pallid cheek 
 flow. 
 
 I will whisper to thee. in that hour ! 
 And infuse in thy soul the high courage that takes 
 
 Deepest root, ueath adversity s storm. 
 The spirit that bends to the blast, yet ne er break*. 
 
 Can a host of misfortunes disarm. 
 
 Thro the feir fields of science, thy footsteps now 
 
 roam, 
 
 Culling sweets, like the wild honey bee, 
 While thy soul plumes its wings for the heavenly 
 
 home, 
 
 Thro the voices that whisper to thee. 
 Like the soft breathing zephyr, that bears on its 
 
 wings 
 
 The perfume of sweet-scented flowers, 
 Thou hast the sweet art, to extract from each thing. 
 The bloom of life s sunniest hours ! 
 
 I know that thy pathway lies distant and lone, 
 
 Far away near the deep-sounding sea ! 
 Could spirits like thine, daily gladden my home, 
 
 That home would be heaven to me ! 
 Tho the far-distant hills, and the dark rolling mam, 
 
 Divide thy loved spirit from mine, 
 I know we shall meet, to part not again, 
 
 By many a token and sign. 
 
64 AMAEANTII BLOOMS. 
 
 We shall meet in that land, where the kindred in 
 
 mind, 
 
 Are no longer led captive by fate ; 
 Where the sweet chords of love, and affinity hind. 
 
 Each soul to its wandering mate ! 
 I shall know thee, beloved, by thy soft flowing hair. 
 
 Thy white cheek and radiant brow ! 
 Yet I know not, sweet friend, if the smile thou wilt 
 
 wear, 
 
 Will seem more angelic than now ! 
 EARLVILLE, September, 1849. 
 
 of St. eie!-. 
 
 WHOEVER journey eth thro imperial Rome, 
 By many a slender spire and massive dome, 
 Will find outside of St. Sebastian s gate, 
 A little church, time-worn and desolate ; 
 Of antique form and mold, yet still entire. 
 Still sounds the organ, and the tuneful choir 
 Meet to commemorate in solemn strains, 
 A legend of the past. Times dusty stains 
 Hath somewhat marr d the picture of the scene. 
 The legend doth unfold. It once had been 
 A splendid painting, by Bernini* wrought : 
 That glorious artist whose creative thought 
 Glows on the canvas, o er the marble gleams, 
 A breathing image, so like life it seems. 
 
LEGEND OF ST. PETER. 
 
 The scene describes a winding path and lawn. 
 O er which St. Peter hies, at early dawn, 
 Near the great highway, leading from the gate. 
 Of the proud seven-hill d city. A cruel fate 
 Awaits him neath her walls ! ? Twas at the time 
 When Rome was fill d with murder, blood and crime. 
 When thirst for human gore had reached its height. 
 Peter alarmed, had plan d a hasty flight, 
 So saith the legend, as anear he drew 
 Unto the highway, straight before his view, 
 A shining figure pass d him as he fled, 
 With rays of glory circling round its head! 
 
 And Peter knew his Lord, and straightway cried. 
 Master, where goest thou 1 And the Lord replied. 
 Mine ear hath heard my people s dying plaints. 
 I go to Rome, to perish with the saints ! 
 The keen rebuke these simple words imply, 
 Admonish d Peter ! who dared not deny 
 Again his blessed Lord. Swift he retraced 
 His way to Rome, and in the market place 
 He boldly spake of Jesus ! They drew near, 
 And Peter bound, went with them without fear ! 
 With his head downward, nailed unto the tree, 
 Peter expired affirming it to be, 
 To die like Christ, too great a dignity ! 
 
 * Bernini died at Rome, at the age of 82 years, having won 
 for himself great honor and wealth. Like Michael Angcio, he 
 
IN his studio sat the artist, 
 
 Bowed in deep and earnest thought. 
 O er a sweet unfinished picture, 
 
 Which his skillful hand had wrought. 
 Long and wistfully he ponder d 
 
 Ere the inspired moment came, 
 Like a sudden gleam of sunlight, 
 
 Kindling his rapt soul in flame. 
 
 Clear before his mental vision, 
 
 Wreathed in soft effulgent light, 
 Dawn d three sweet ideal pictures, 
 
 Of the Sunrise, Noon and Night. 
 Soon a model for the sunrise, 
 
 Lovely as the morning rays, 
 Mid a group of village children, 
 
 Met the artists yearning gaze. 
 
 was at once, sculptor, painter, and architect, and his cotempo- 
 raries placed him upon the same elevation of that great man. 
 He was patronized by Popes Urban VIII., Alex. VII., Inno 
 cent X., and was invited to France by Louis XIV. Rome still 
 exhibits many of his works, both in sculpture and architecture ! 
 
 * The tenor of this poem will indicate that the main inci 
 dents in its composition were drawn from Miss Chesebro s 
 beautiful story of the three portraits. 
 
THE THBEE POETEAITS. 67 
 
 Clouds of golden ringlets clustered 
 
 Round her neck and snowy brow : 
 Beam d her eyes deep porphyry lustre, 
 
 Neath their blue vein d lids of snow. 
 Soon from out the glowing canvas, 
 
 Waking as from slumber mild, 
 Beam d the image of the sunrise, 
 
 A beauteous earth-born angel child. 
 
 It was in truth a lovely picture, 
 
 Critics long admiring gazed 
 O er the sweet and fair proportions, 
 
 Fleck d with showers of golden rays. 
 Still the artist, at his Easel, 
 
 Labored many a weary hour, 
 Painting copies of the sunrise, 
 
 Winning each a golden dower ! 
 
 Then in foreign climes he wander d, 
 
 Mid Grecian sculpture long he sought, 
 Fitting model for the noonday, 
 
 Answering to his burning thought. 
 Passing neath a lofty portal, 
 
 Floods of wildering music stole 
 O er the artist s senses, filling 
 
 With rapt dreams of heaven, his soul ! 
 
 While he gazed, a rapt expression 
 
 Bathed the minstrels brow with light ; 
 
68 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Crown d with amber braids, whose texture 
 Gleam d like snow flakes in the night. 
 
 It was the same, the sweet ehild angel. 
 Matured to lovely woman now : 
 
 The same soft trace of spiritual beauty, 
 Still lingered o er her snowy brow ! 
 
 Now the artist at his Easel, 
 
 Labor d on from dawn till night ; 
 Soon beside the lovely sunrise, 
 
 Flash d the noonday s golden light. 
 But the fearful thought came o er him, 
 
 That the source whence he had gain d 
 The two models for his pictures, 
 
 Thence the last might be obtain d ! 
 
 Mournfully the sad ideal 
 
 Arose before him of the night ; 
 Alas, that time should make it real, 
 
 The crowning effort of his might ! 
 In after years, three striking portraits 
 
 Fulfilled the artists dream of fame. 
 The night, (a portrait dark and fearful,) 
 
 Sunrise and noonday were the same ! 
 
 The brow had lost its spiritual beauty, 
 The eyes their radiant heavenward look ; 
 
 A very fiend was she in scorning, 
 
 Their baleful lustre few could brook ! 
 
A DEE<JE. 69 
 
 But Oh, the awful moral lesson, 
 
 Graved on that brow, in words of flame ! 
 
 Its bold defiant look and bearing, 
 
 Proclaimed her downward path of shame ! 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT TAYLOR. 
 
 " The lightnings may flash, and the loud thunder rattle, 
 He heeds not, he hears not, he s free from all pain ; 
 
 He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle, 
 No sound can awake him to glory again !" 
 
 ROOM for the glorious dead, 
 Ye statesmen, heroes, tenants of the tomb ! 
 Room for the loved ! our country s honor d head. 
 Whose loss hath fill d a nation s heart with gloom. 
 
 Wreath d in perennial bloom, 
 Within our hearts his memory we enshrine, 
 While ; dust to dust" we mournfully resign. 
 
 A bright career hath closed ! 
 A patriot chief, with age and honors crown d 
 Goes down in silence to his long repose ; 
 While sounds of grief swell mournfully around, 
 
 Deep, solemn, and profound. 
 A nation s love could not enchain thee here, 
 Thy soul hath parted, for a brighter sphere. 
 
70 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Green are thy laurels won, 
 On Palo Alto, and La Palma s field,* 
 On Buena Vista s heights the setting sun 
 Exultant kiss d thy bright triumphant shield, 
 
 The foe was forced to yield. 
 A noble victory was thine, the day 
 Our country s colors waved o er Monterey ! 
 
 The silver trump of fame, 
 
 With clarion voice proclaims thy deeds of might ! 
 No sad reverses could thy courage tame, 
 Nor faction s frowns thy steadfast soul affright, 
 
 Tho clothed with fearful might. 
 In the calm wisdom of thine honor d years 
 We look d for strength, and sooth d our anxious 
 fears ! 
 
 But yesterday, and thou, 
 
 With thy kind smile, thy frank and noble mien, 
 Moved mid the throng of stately guests, and now 
 In halls of pleasaunce, thou no more art seen, 
 
 Calm, peaceful and serene. 
 Low lies thine honor d head upon the bier, 
 With summer blossoms crown d, and many a tear. 
 
 How many a stately form, 
 The sword of battle by thy side clove down ; 
 
 * Resaca de la Palma, a field of Palms. Resaea has no 
 just equivalent in our language. It signifies a pool or swamp v 
 where the tide ebbs and flows, 
 
A DIRGE. ll 
 
 Thy snow-white charger plunged amid the storm 
 Of clashing spears, dealing destruction round, 
 With fearless stride and bound ! 
 An unseen hand the swift lance turned aside. 
 The winged shaft glanced harmless by thy side ! 
 
 And yet death found thee. where 
 He seem d a startling and forbidden guest ! 
 : Mid stately halls, where gilded trappings are 
 But idle mockery to the weary breast, 
 
 By care and grief oppressed !f 
 And the hearts fainting thirst, that all may know. 
 Who prove like thee, life s false unreal show. 
 ****** 
 
 Thick darkness broodeth o er 
 The bright pavilion of Jehovah s throne ! 
 In vain we strive his mysteries to explore, 
 His ways are not to puny mortals known ; 
 
 No sounding line hath thrown 
 Light on the past, its shadowy haze to clear, 
 While we in sorrow bend around thy bier. 
 
 Tis well thus to depart. 
 In the full zenith of thy power and fame, 
 Bearing the love of many a grateful heart. 
 
 t It is a well known fact that the last days of the President 
 were embittered by party strife and violent dissensions ! For 
 several days preceding his dissolution, his mental suffering 
 nearly equaled his physical. 
 
72 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Beyond the sullying breath of envious blame, 
 
 That wreck d thy sinking frame. 
 By the still waters, near the tree of life, 
 Thou wilt forget earth s turmoil and its strife. 
 
 With grief and many tears, 
 We mourn for thee, our father and our friend ! 
 Ah, who will guide us thro the evil years, 
 From dangers shoals the helm of State defend ? 
 
 Do thou in mercy send 
 
 Wisdom and strength, our Father, from on high,- 
 Grant us thine aid, when danger hovereth nigh. 
 
 THE yellow Autumn days have come, 
 
 And vanished from the sky, 
 
 Are the blushing hues of the summer morn, 
 
 And the summer sunset die. 
 
 An icy chill is on the gale, 
 
 As the twilight shades draw nigh, 
 
 And the silvery moon looks cold and pale, 
 
 As on her distant path she sails, 
 
 In the cloudless azure sky. 
 
 The reaper stands by the gather d sheaves, 
 Of the ripe and golden corn ; 
 And the wild bee toils mid the wither d leaves, 
 As he winds his tiny horn, 
 
AUTUMN. 73 
 
 The air is filled with the floating haze, 
 Of the light-winged thistle-down : 
 Which many a graceful curve displays, 
 In aerial flight, and winding ways, 
 In its circuit to the ground. 
 
 The rainbow hues of the gorgeous woods, 
 
 And the ripe and golden grain, 
 
 And the desert fields where it waving stood, 
 
 Fill my heart with a sense of pain. 
 
 They speak to me of other days, 
 
 When with volant steps I trod 
 
 With loved ones through the leafy maze, 
 
 Of the woodland s dim and winding ways, 
 
 Who slumber neath the sod ! 
 
 I know not why, but Autumn brings 
 
 Their memory to mind ; 
 
 Consoeiate with all faded things, 
 
 That the frost has left behind ! 
 
 I think of them in the narrow bed, 
 
 W r hile the storm swells loud and high, 
 
 Till my heart is filled with a nameless dread, 
 
 And I long to lay my weary head, 
 
 In slumber where they lie ! 
 
 Not so, when the genial Spring appears, 
 Her countless joys to bring : 
 Their gentle tones my spirit cheers, 
 Borne on the zephyr s wing ! 
 
74: AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 When the busy household cares are o er, 
 
 They linger by my side ! 
 
 And I often list as in days of yore, 
 
 For their lightsome tread, on the sounding floor, 
 
 In the hush of eventide. 
 
 When Summer comes, I wreathe for them 
 
 The flowers they loved to wear : 
 
 And I oftimes dream of twining flowers, 
 
 Mid their shining braids of hair ! 
 
 I know ere long I too shall rest, 
 
 In my low and narrow bed, 
 
 In the leafy month that I love the best, 
 
 When earth in her bridal robe seems drest, 
 
 I would lay me with the dead ! 
 
 Hie 
 
 OH ! many an hour I ve whiled away, 
 Beside the evening hearth : 
 Watching the wood-fires cheerful ray, 
 While fancy soar d on pinions gay, 
 Roaming abroad the earth. 
 
 Then many a long forgotten scene, 
 Fond mem ry doth restore ! 
 And friends whose very form and mien, 
 Long vanish d from our hearts hath been, 
 Return to us once more ! 
 
THE EVENING HEAKTH. 75 
 
 While yesternight the wood-fires blaze 
 Gleam d brightly o er the hearth, 
 A halcyon dream of other days, 
 Recalled before my spirit s gaze, 
 One, lately fled from earth ! 
 
 I knew her when a little child, 
 And side by side we grew, 
 Like a twin flow ret of the wild, 
 Her sweet face wore a sunny smile, 
 Nor care, nor grief, she knew ! 
 
 E en now her large dark lustrous eyes, 
 Seem gazing in mine own ; 
 The mirror d depths of sunny skies, 
 (When moved with joy or sweet surprise,) 
 In their bright glances shone. 
 
 And yet there lay a light more deep, 
 Neath their bright sunny tone, 
 W T hich made the gazer long to weep, 
 When full upon him, clear and deep, 
 Their mournful lustre shone. 
 
 It seem d as if a shadowy gleam, 
 Of some bright happier state, 
 E er mingled with her waking dream : 
 Making the present only seem, 
 More rude and desolate ! 
 
76 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And when with rapt uplifted eye, 
 She touched the sounding keys, 
 A seraph scarce might choose to vie, 
 In strains of wildering melody, 
 That floated on the breeze. 
 
 We parted in our girlhood s prime, 
 And went our separate ways, 
 My sweet friend to a distant clime, 
 Where summer suns more brightly shine, 
 And stars more brightly blaze ! 
 
 Neath the waving branches of the Lime, 
 They made her lowly bed ; 
 In the early blush of summer time, 
 When earth seem d robed in hues divine, 
 They laid her with the dead ! 
 
 ftolrtoiclj 
 
 I KNOW not of a lovelier vale, 
 
 Than thine, embower d amid the hills, 
 Where summer flowers, their sweets exhale, 
 
 By sylvan founts, and winding rills. 
 
 Betwixt the willow and the thorn, 
 Chenango s silvery waters gleam, 
 
 Where the merry birds ring forth at morn 
 Their music, o er its quiet stream. 
 
NORWICH VALLEY. 
 
 Here many a shady cool retreat, 
 
 Is woven by the trailing vine : 
 Its pale pink blossoms, wild and sweet. 
 
 Are scattered by the passing wind ! 
 
 The Primrose waves its flowery crest, 
 Midway adown the winding stream : 
 
 And pendant o er its glassy breast, 
 The trembling water lillies gleam. 
 
 And here, methinks, the clover yields 
 A sweeter scent in the dewy morn ; 
 
 More brightly gleam the harvest fields. 
 And greener grows the standing corn ! 
 
 A richer verdure clothes the mead, 
 And broader lies the elm tree shade. 
 
 And whiter seem the flocks that feed 
 Along the green and flow ry glade. 
 
 And here our aged father s sleep, 
 
 Lords of the soil, long time agone, 
 
 Where waving poplars silent keep 
 
 Their watch, o er many a moss-grown stone. 
 
 And here my last faint song may swell. 
 
 Ere tuned to loftier notes above, 
 Breathing a kind, and last farewell, 
 
 To the valley and the friends I love ! 
 
 NOTE. The ode to the Chenango and Norwich Valley 
 
 were written for H and E , daughters of Mr. A 
 
 P , and presented to them severally on the instance of their 
 
of 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE DYING. 
 
 AND is there no hope ! 
 And must the beautiful in youth depart 1 
 Ere time hath chill d the fondly trusting heart, 
 Or laid one shadow on that sunny brow, 
 So delicately fair ! I see thee now, 
 E en as thou wast, but one short year ago ! 
 When o er thy cheek beam d the soft healthful glow. 
 I hear thy gentle voice, thy lightsome tread, 
 Oh, God ! and must thou lay thy young bright head 
 In the dark gloomy grave 1 Tis even so ! 
 And meekly thou dost wait, the last decisive blow. 
 
 I ve watch d the coming Spring, 
 With many an anxious fear and secret hope. 
 What time the budding flowers their petals ope, 
 I deem d thou would st revive ! But thou, alas ! 
 To the lone silent tomb, wast journeying fast ; 
 Thy wasted fingers clasp the blooming flowers, 
 Sent by some friend, to cheer thy weary hours. 
 The fragrant odors wafted from their leaves, 
 Around thy couch, life s farewell sweetness breathes. 
 
 marriage and removal to Ohio, as a memorial of their birth 
 place, and of the author s friendship and esteem. 
 
SONGS OF DEATH. 
 
 79 
 
 To thee, they whisper, of a brighter shore, 
 Where pain and death can never reach thee more. 
 
 I would not linger here, 
 To pine in weariness, when thou art gone ! 
 Too deeply have I loved thee ; and too strong 
 Hath been the tie that bound us, thus to be 
 Sever d by death ! I would depart with thee : 
 And where thou liest, I too, would lay me down. 
 And with thee slumber, neath one verdant mound ! 
 Have we not said, that love like ours would last. 
 When the dark threshold of the tomb is past ? 
 Hath not our faith, our hopes, our fears, been one "? 
 And have we not through all, thus fondly clung 
 To this one hope ? Nor shall that hope be riven 
 From this worn breast, till we do meet in heaven ! 
 
 Why mourn for thee ? 
 
 Thus early called from earth s dark cumbering care, 
 Our path is one ! Soon shall I meet thee, where 
 The quenchless yearnings, and the weary thirst 
 For fadeless rills, where living fountains burst, 
 Can never more be mine ! A weary dower 
 Hath the lone heart, that feels the kindling power 
 Of aspirations, all too high for earth ! 
 Yet these shall be fulfilFd, whence they have birth : 
 And sever d hearts shall meet in yonder clime, 
 Nor feel no pang of fate, no blight from time. 
 
80 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 TO JEANA, IN HEAVEN. 
 Died Jan. 24, 1846. 
 
 CEASE, cease, poor heart, thy wild tumultuous 
 
 beating, 
 
 Fain would I hush the frenzy of my "brain, 
 And think now only of the joy of meeting 
 My lost JEANA, where no grief nor pain 
 Can e er disturb thy fond and faithful breast, 
 So soon within the narrow grave to rest, 
 In death s oblivious sleep ! 
 
 Oh, best beloved ! The pale moonbeams are sleep 
 ing 
 
 Upon thy shroud ! while I who wept and prayed, 
 To die with thee, the lone night watch am keeping : 
 With streaming tears, invoking heaven for aid. 
 To bow in meekness to God s holy will, 
 And tho he slay me, love and trust him still. 
 In the dark stormy hour. 
 
 Oh, loved Jeana, whither has thy spirit 
 Found refuge from this weary world of care ? 
 I often fancy that thou dost inhabit 
 Yon large, lone, brightly beaming evening star ! 
 How oft together in the stilly night, 
 We ve sat and watch d its pure and holy light. 
 Arid held communion high ! 
 
SONGS OF DEATH. 81 
 
 With hearts congenial, fill d with quenchless yearn 
 ings 
 
 For purer life, (leaning on thy loved breast.) 
 Yon radiant planet, so serenely burning, 
 Seem d to our raptur d gaze a place of rest ! 
 And now, when e er its tranquil light I see, 
 Methinks thy loving eyes look down on me. 
 With earnest, watchful gaze. 
 
 If love is deathless, if with the departed 
 The tie exists that bound us here on earth. 
 Why call upon thee, reft and broken-hearted, 
 And wait thy coming, when the stars have birth . 
 Thou can st not come ! else would my love bear 
 
 sway, 
 
 And win thee back, tho distant far the way. 
 From thy serene abode ! 
 
 Perchance unseen, thou oft wilt hover near me. 
 A guardian angel in mine hour of need ! 
 So will I deem, until called hence to meet thee. 
 From this clay prison, then forever freed, 
 I shall no more, with pitying anguish trace. 
 One line of suffering on thy lovely face, 
 
 Radiant with joy and peace. 
 
 Oh, dearest sister, thou art freed from sorrow. 
 And wasting pain. thy weary lot for years ! 
 From this sweet thought I fain would comfort bor 
 row. 
 
 G 
 

 82 AMAIiAJS TH BLOOMS. 
 
 Why weep for thec, 4: since thou hast done with 
 
 tears !" 
 
 But there are times, when griefs o erwhelming pow r 
 Will burst its barrier, and the stormy shower 
 Of tears fall thick and fast ! 
 
 Now in the East the light of morn is breaking ! 
 Come, gentle slce,p, my weary eyelids close. 
 And yield in dreams, that loved face ever beaming. 
 With its sweet smile, my life s last summer rose ! 
 But ah,, those blessed dreams will soon depart, 
 Leaving no trace save in my yearning heart. 
 Like music fled and gone ! 
 
 Thus days pass on, with frail hand broidering flow 
 ers, 
 
 My truant thoughts mid bygone scenes doth stray. 
 Till night returns, restoring vanish d hours, 
 With gleams of faces, pass d from earth away. 
 So come ye ever, in my dreams, sweet friends. 
 Till my freed spirit, in communion blends, 
 With yours foreveraiore ! 
 
 FAITHFUL he stood alone : 
 W idle from his side, the champions of the cross 
 Lured from their post, by the seductive dross 
 That wordlings prize, or by the voice of fame, 
 
COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. 83 
 
 That echoes for an hour, some lauded name, 
 Then dies away in silence. He the while, 
 With steadfast heart, the same dull round of toil 
 Meekly pursued ! Learned, yet not vain, 
 In mariners gentle, in exterior plain, 
 In kindness unsurpassed. His Master s name 
 "Twas his delight each Sabbath to proclaim ; 
 And through the week, his pure example taught 
 Still more effectively the truths inwrought 
 With our most holy faith. The humble poor 
 Too oft neglected, as he crossed their door 
 Blessed him with grateful hearts ! The faded eye 
 Of the poor invalid, grew bright with joy 
 At his approach. E en the dull ear of death 
 Caught words of hope, as the last flitting breath 
 Passed upward unto heaven ! 
 
 One fragile form, 
 
 Pale as a lilly, bow d beneath the storm, 
 Whene er was heard anesr his gentle tread, 
 Invoked heaven s hallow d blessings on his head ! 
 Still oft he mourn d, (when bow d by anxious fears.) 
 The slender harvest of his prayers and tears, 
 And turned aside to weep. Thus Jesus wept 
 Over Jerusalem, and oftimes kept 
 Lone weary vigils, on Olivet s brow, 
 On the cold ground his sacred head did bow. 
 Pleading for guilty man ! 
 
84: AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Then murmur not ! 
 
 Though thankless toil be added to thy lot, 
 Of sorrow and privation. He hath said, 
 That we his servants, should be like our Head ! 
 Through suffering and reproach to bear the cross. 
 And count all earthly things but worthless dross : 
 So we but win in heaven a glorious crown, 
 Compared with which a fleeting world s renown, 
 Is but an empty dream. When heaven and eart 
 
 shall flee, 
 
 A joyful band will rise to welcome thee, 
 Of souls redeemed ! for whom thou oft hast wept. 
 And agonized in prayer ! O, then what joy, 
 What bliss seraphic, and without alloy, 
 Shall fill thy raptured soul ! Meanwhile below. 
 Foretastes of bliss award thee, like the glow 
 Of God s eternal smile ! Celestial gleams 
 Of heavenly glory ! bright and cheering dreams 
 Of never ending joy, shall cheer thy breast, 
 Until admitted to thy heavenly rest ! 
 
 Written at my Sister s Wedding, and presented to 
 her Husband. 
 
 THERE were two flowers, two young and lovely 
 
 flowers, 
 That grew in gentle beauty, side by side ; 
 
AN IMPROMPTU. 85 
 
 New charms unfolded thro their youthful hours, 
 
 I watoh d them ever with a sister s pride. 
 At length one droop d, I mourned its early doom. 
 The flowers of Summer deck its peaceful tomb. 
 
 My yearning heart then pour d its all of love, 
 Upon that living flower, till it became, 
 
 An idol worship ! wearying heaven above, 
 
 With ceaseless prayers, to shield from grief and 
 pain, 
 
 Its young and tender breast 1 When fully blown, 
 
 Another pluck d the flower I deem d my own. 
 
 And thoti, dear M., hast won that gentle flower, 
 Oh, guard it ever from each windy storm, 
 
 Regard it ever as a priceless dower ! 
 
 Let no rude blasts assail its fragile form, 
 
 Until transplanted to its heavenly home, 
 
 Where chilling wind, nor storm, can ever cornel 
 
 THE stars shone down from their homes of light 
 
 With soft and twinkling ray. 
 Thro the deep mid- watch of the Summer night. 
 
 A 3 GUIDO in slumber lay. 
 When he dream d of his home, neath the clea? 
 glad light 
 
 Of a soft Italian sky, 
 
) AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Where a winding stream with wavelets blight, 
 Rolled gently murmuring by. 
 
 His home was but a peasant s cot, 
 
 Where his mother dwelt alone : 
 The Myrtle and Forget-me-not, 
 
 Bloom d round the threshold stone. 
 Two graceful Olives cast their shade, 
 
 Around the vine-wreath d door, 
 Where the sun-beams mid their branches play T d. 
 
 And shone o er the sanded floor. 
 
 The clustering grape with tendrils green, 
 
 Festoon d and intertwined, 
 To the open latice form d a screen, 
 
 To exclude the sun and wind. 
 There his mother sat in the old arm chair, 
 
 With her Bible on her knee, 
 The fragrant breath of the summer air 
 
 Sway d soft and tremulously. 
 
 The glistening leaves, while the sunbeams bright, 
 
 Gleam d soft o er the sacred page, 
 And illum d with calm and holy light, 
 
 The tranquil brow of age. 
 
 There was strength in the glance of that heaver* 
 lit eye, 
 
 Deep trust and earnest truth ! 
 The broad calm brow, so pure and high, 
 
 Wore the bland sweet light of youth* 
 
8T 
 
 Long years had pass d since Guido dweh 
 
 In the cottage o er the lea, 
 And lisp d his prayers as at eve he knelt, 
 
 At his angel mother s knee. 
 He had left his home to toil for bread. 
 
 And to win an honest fame : 
 With his mother s blessing on his head, 
 
 As a shield from guilt and shame. 
 
 The dream inspired a noble thought, 
 
 In his artist soul of flame, 
 And the fires of genius awoke and wrought 
 
 Throughout his thrilling frame ! 
 And soon in soft resplendant light. 
 
 His mother s noble mien, 
 Beam d from the canvas, warm and bright. 
 
 Mild, truthful and serene, 
 
 Was the kindling glance of the love-lit eye : 
 
 The gleam o er the silvery hair, 
 Was illum d with the glow of the sunset sky. 
 
 Calm, passionless, and fair. 
 Shone the pure high brow in its radiant sheen, 
 
 Unmark d by guilt or care : 
 For the angelic mind that dwelt within, 
 
 Mirror d its semblance there. 
 
 In many a stately marble hall, 
 
 Near his own blue winding stream, 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 That sweet face beams from the silent wall, 
 
 As it shone in Guido s dream. 
 And still tis shown mid the gems of art, 
 
 Mong the proud archives of fame, 
 Where the filial love of a noble heart, 
 
 Enshrin d a MOTHER S name ! 
 
 It)e fitef Shjbe of tye Settled, 
 
 ON INDIAN CREEK, ILLINOIS. 
 
 THEY made his lonely grave, 
 
 By the dark woodland s side, 
 
 Where the leafy trees of the forest wave, 
 
 Where the towering oak the tempest braves, 
 
 In majesty and pride I 
 
 Few were the lonely band, 
 
 That stood beside his bier ! 
 
 Not a farewell word, the silence broke : 
 
 And the last sad look of the grave they took, 
 
 In sorrow and in tears. 
 
 But there was one, whose grief 
 
 Tho silent, still was deep. 
 
 Her fragile form was oft seen to glide 
 
 Near that lonely grave, by the woodland s side, 
 
 And there in silence weep, 
 
GRAVE OF THE SETTLERS. 89 
 
 He sleeps not now alone, 
 By the dark woodland s side. 
 Scarce a twelve-month past, ere another stone 
 Was placed at the head of the lovely one, 
 Who slumbers by his side. 
 NORTH NORWICH, 1839. 
 
 NOTE. An only brother of the writer, who was the leader 
 of the little band of immigrants from Boston, selected the lo 
 cation for the burial ground on Indian Creek, where they inter 
 red in a few months after their arrival one of their number, a 
 young gentleman from Boston, who died of Consumption, indu 
 ced by exposure and hereditary bias. 
 
 dilirliier) ii] 
 
 THOU bid st me gentle lady. 
 
 To weave for thee a lay : 
 Alas, the sweet romances, 
 
 Of my life s early day, 
 Have flown like leaves in Autumn 
 
 Before the wintery bla>t. 
 Those bright and youthful fancies. 
 
 Were all too sweet to last. 
 
 But the Promethean fire 
 Still glows within my veins, 
 
 Lighting the funeral pyre 
 Of the dross that still remains. 
 
90 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And still on airy pinion, 
 
 My muse at times doth stray ; 
 
 Beyond the distant mountain, 
 Beyond the hills away. 
 
 : Till dawns the glorious vision, 
 
 Of the bright, the better clime, 
 With the famed fields Elysium, 
 
 And streams whose murmuring chime. 
 In my rapt ear are ringing, 
 
 As they swiftly glide along; 
 And I hear the distant hymning, 
 
 Of the bright angelic throng. 
 
 Thus glows the sweet ideal, 
 
 Clear and intensely bright, 
 "Till the present seems less real, 
 
 Than that world of living light ! 
 Oh, wherefore, gentle lady, 
 
 Dost thou pine in sorrow here, 
 That thine earthly lot is lerie,* 
 
 And thy pathway dark and drear. 
 
 Since each passing day but hastens 
 
 The hour of sweet release, 
 When thy soul in secret yearning, 
 
 For a home of rest and peace, 
 (Hath fulfill d its weary mission,) 
 
 Mid the mansions of the blest, 
 * This word is taken from the Scottish dialect. 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 91 
 
 Will find a sweet fruition, 
 Leaning on Jesus breast. 
 
 THE fierce winds met in battle, 
 And the thunder loud did rattle, 
 And the wheel groaned on its axle, 
 
 Toiling o er the rugged way. 
 Ah, me ! the earth is erie, 
 Of life I am aweary, 
 Thus sighed I, drooping, dreary, 
 
 At the closing of the day. 
 
 Soon I felt my senses reeling, 
 Felt the hand of Somnus stealing, 
 All consciousness and feeling ; 
 
 While the plashing of the rain, 
 Caused me heavily to slumber, 
 And I heard no more the thunder, 
 While weird visions without number, 
 
 Came thronging thro my brain I 
 
 Methought that I was chang d, 
 
 And my friends were all estranged. 
 
 While with feeble steps 1 ranged, 
 
 O er a broad and dusty way ! 
 Then with thirst I seem d a dying, 
 When I heard a brooklet sighing, 
 
92 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Saw a silvery brooklet hieing, 
 Like a gleam of light away. 
 
 With feeble steps advancing, 
 Near its limpid waters dancing, 
 When in its bosom glancing, 
 
 I turned with fright away ! 
 In the place of smiles and dimples, 
 There were furrows deep, and wrinkles, 
 And the golden hair was sprinkled, 
 
 With faded white and grey. 
 
 O er the pale dim brow beclouded, 
 With the four-score years that bowed it, 
 Sat reason dull and shrouded, 
 
 Where the Holly lately bloomed. 
 Then in truth the earth seem d erie, 
 And of life I was aweary, 
 And I pined so lone and dreary, 
 
 For the quiet of the tomb ! 
 
 I awoke ! the sun was beaming 
 Thro my lattice brightly streaming, 
 O er my books and flowers gleaming, 
 
 As I knelt me down to pray. 
 A meek and chasten d feeling, 
 Came o er me with its healing, 
 God s perfect love revealing, 
 
 As I went my household way. 
 NORWICH, 1849. 
 
little 
 
 CAN this be death 1 Wilt thou no more awaken ? 
 
 On thy closed lids the seal of slumber lies. 
 Loved one, awake ! the lark her flight hath taken. 
 
 Sweetly she sings, aloft in yonder skies. 
 
 Thou wilt not wake ! Thy spirit hath ascended 
 Where the light wing of the sky lark cannot soar ! 
 
 Unlike the lark, when her ferial flight is ended, 
 Thou wilt return to thine earthly home no more ! 
 
 Ah, this is death ! By many a mournful token, 
 Nerveless and chill, lies thy little hand in mine : 
 
 Thy loving kiss, and thy good night fondly spoken. 
 How will they haunt me, in the coming time ! 
 
 Never again o er thy pillow nightly bending, 
 Will my fond gaze thy lovelit glances meet : 
 
 Listening the hymn, from thy ruby lips ascending, 
 Ere thine eyes closed, in childhood s slumber 
 sweet ! 
 
 If with the birds, in melody departing, 
 
 From our chill clime, on light and tireless wing. 
 Thou would st return, when flowers and buds are 
 
 starting, 
 
 Then with what joy might we hail the coming 
 spring ! 
 
94 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Why live to see thy spiritual beauty fading. 
 From the worn brow, like sunlight from a cloud 1 
 
 Lov d one, each trace of thine early home in Aiden. 
 Shines still more clearly in thy little shroud.* 
 
 Leave us not lone, but on starry pinions gleaming. 
 Visit our couch, when sleep our eyelids close ! 
 
 Yield us in dreams, thy sweer face ever beaming. 
 With thy loved smile, our life s last summer rose. 
 
 * It is supposed by some persons that the soul or living prin 
 ciple exists anterior to its birth, and hence they assert that the 
 soft spiritual halo which marks the brows of infants in sleep, 
 is a sign of their affinity with pure and sinless spirits, 
 and that this light is never wholly obliterated except by the 
 domination of evil passions. 
 
 fj^j Greetings. 
 
 TO A FRIEND OF THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 COME forth unto the meadows, 
 
 From life s dim and dusty way, 
 From the streets and crowded places, 
 
 On this smiling first of May ! 
 Come awake the old romances, 
 
 In thy bosom, once again. 
 Those bright and youthful fancies, 
 
 Sad truants long have been. 
 

 MAY-DAY GREETINGS. 
 
 I have seen thy dark eye beaming. 
 
 With serene and holy thought. 
 And I loved thee for that dreaming. 
 
 For the gentle mood it wrought. 
 1 have loved thee for thine honor. 
 
 Bright and stainless from thy youth. 
 For thy sparkling wit and humor, 
 
 For thy pure unsullied truth. 
 
 For each noble trait I loved thee. 
 
 In the palmy days of yore ; 
 But a change has gathered o er thee. 
 
 Since that we meet no more ! 
 Pure and spiritual thought effacing. 
 
 From thy noble brow the while. 
 On thy heart stern lessons tracing. 
 
 Of earth s treachery and guile ! 
 
 I would rather thou wert sleeping. 
 
 In thy low and narrow bed, 
 Though my wrung heart broke with weeping, 
 
 Scalding tears above thy head ! 
 Then the words by thee once spoken. 
 
 Should prove false, and nothing worth ! 
 Then the last link would be broken. 
 
 That binds my soul to earth ! 
 
 But no ! I cannot doubt thee. 
 
 And thy memory rem;-. - 
 With its clear light shining round me. 
 
 Undim d by earthly stains ! 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Then away unto the mountains, 
 Thro the glens and uplands stray : 
 
 By the gleaming rills and fountains, 
 Where the sweet May breezes play. 
 
 Would st thou heed each clear voice ringing. 
 
 From the grove and forest tree, 
 Mark the blades of grass upspringing, 
 
 And the flowers upon the lea, 
 Would st thou list sweet nature s teaching. 
 
 In her bright and changeful mood, 
 Thou would st much sweet wisdom gather. 
 
 From her groves and solitudes ! 
 MAY 1, 1849. 
 
 I SAW a village burial train, 
 
 Slow moving from an ancient fane : 
 
 A little boy with flaxen hair, 
 
 And dimpled cheek, and forehead fair. 
 
 Led onward by the pastor s care, 
 
 Sole mourner there was seen. 
 
 They paused beside a new-made grave. 
 And dust to dust was given. 
 Poor little WILLIE S piercing cry, 
 Drew pitying tears from every eye. 
 
ORPHAN WILLIE. 97 
 
 They strove in vain his tears to dry, 
 His heart with grief was riven. 
 
 The pastor said, with accents mild, 
 " Thou seest this wither d herbage child : 
 Sure as the Spring shall come again, 
 And clothe with tender grass the plain, 
 Thy mother will arise again. 
 To dwell I trust in heaven." 
 
 Chance led once more my wandering teet, 
 Within that churchyard s lone retreat. 
 The wintery skies had pass d away, 
 I heard the cheerful robin s lay, 
 Caroling from the leafy spray, 
 A welcome to the Spring. 
 
 Musing with slow and silent tread, 
 Among the mansions of the dead, 
 I paused o er many a lowly mound ; 
 At length the widow s grave I found, 
 Scarce raised above the common ground, 
 Unmarked by cross or ^tone. 
 
 I found beside the grave a child, 
 "Twas Willie, who looked up and smiled. 
 The flower shoots have sprung up," said ho. 
 " Soon my dear mamma I shall see, 
 
 H 
 
98 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And then how happy we shall be, 
 She will not leave me more !" 
 
 " Thy mother is in heaven, I trust, 
 Her mortal part is nought but dust ! 
 Within the grave it will remain ; 
 Thou lt watch for her, my child, in vain : 
 The pastor said she would rise again, 
 At the rising of the just !" 
 
 His little heart seem d broken quite ! 
 He wander d weeping from my sight. 
 From that time forth he smiled no more 
 His dream of earthly bliss was o er. 
 In four short weeks his corse they bore. 
 Within the churchyard gate. 
 
 His tiny feet with constant tread, 
 A pathway round that narrow bed, 
 Had worn quite through the verdant sod, 
 Where now he lies beneath the clod. 
 His spirit hath return d to God ! 
 The orphan s grief is o er. 
 NORTH NORWICH, 1839. 
 
0,1 the SeiM of the ^oeiegg J. . ., 
 
 jrjfco married the newly appointed Governor to 
 Africa, and died soon after her arrival. 
 
 AND art thou gone thou lovely one ! 
 
 Thou of the sweet-toned lyre I 
 And is thy harp so soon unstrung, 
 
 And quench d the radiant fire, 
 That lurked within its glowing chords, 
 
 And sent forth many a tone 
 Of music, and of melody, 
 
 A music all thine own. 
 
 The spirit that its slumbers broke, 
 
 Hath pass d away from earth! 
 And the fair hand, its chords that woke, 
 
 With chasten d tone of mirth, 
 Is cold and powerless as the lyre, 
 
 Which its light fingers strung ; 
 Alas ! those sweet soul thrilling wires, 
 
 Were all too tightly wrung. 
 
 Too sensitive thy bosom s thrill, 
 
 Of pleasure, or of pain ! 
 Too quickly came the sense of ill, 
 
 Across thy burning brain ! 
 
100 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And though thy song, at times was light. 
 
 As the lark s matin hymn, 
 Yet oft thy cheek was deadly white, 
 
 And thy bright eye was dim ! 
 
 And often hast thou charm d the throng. 
 
 With sparkling wit and mirth, 
 Yet when the crowd was gone, hast wept 
 
 Thro weariness of earth ! 
 The quenchless yearnings of thy soul, 
 
 For bliss that never cloys, 
 Would oft thy gayer moods control, 
 
 And banish all thy joys. 
 
 Tis ever thus, with gifts like thine : 
 
 The light that others cheers, 
 Is fed with life-drops from the mine, 
 
 And water d with its tears. 
 Too dearly purchased is the gift, 
 
 To grant the bliss we crave, 
 A fitful and a weary doom, 
 
 A low and early grave, 
 
 Is oft, alas, the poet s meed : 
 
 Tho much I joy to think, 
 That thou hast shared a lofty fame, 
 
 With many a bright wreath link VI. 
 And many hearts, arid many lands. 
 
 Will mourn thine earlv doom, 
 
DEATH OF L. E. L. 101 
 
 And many an offering will be twined, 
 To consecrate thy tomb. 
 
 Afric reverberates the swell, 
 
 Of heartfelt deep lament : 
 For thy last sigh famed L. E. L., 
 
 With its dull air was blent ! 
 And dearly will they rue the day, 
 
 That saw thy light form borne 
 From Albion s towering cliffs away, 
 
 And never to return ! 
 NORTH NORWICH, 1839. 
 
 Jo 
 
 ON HER LATE BEREAVEMENT 
 
 I HEAR thy gentle voice my friend, 
 But ah, there s sadness in its tone ; 
 Thy drooping head with sorrow bends, 
 Alas ! why is it thus mine own. 
 Yet wherefore ask ! yon closed room 
 Wears the lone stillness of the tomb, 
 And maketh mute reply ! 
 
 And was there then no warning sent, 
 To thee sweet friend, of coming doom ? 
 No bird-like note with wailing blent, 
 From the dim chamber of the tomb ? 
 
102 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Ah, none ! till mortal paleness spread 
 O er the lov d face, and the high head 
 Was borne unto the grave ! 
 
 And few there were, who knew the worth, 
 Of the leal spirit, kind yet strong : 
 Till from the weary "bonds of earth, 
 He pass d to join the heavenly throng ! 
 J Tis thus with all our pleasures here, 
 They brighten as they disappear, 
 Forever from our sight ! 
 
 But thou, of all who mourn for him, 
 Hast sun-light by thy presence cast, 
 Diffusing light where all was dim, 
 Bright ning the memory of the past ! 
 Thou hast thy meed ! No weary strife, 
 Of vain regrets in future life, 
 Can haunt thy peaceful breast f 
 
 But ah, each gentle look and 
 The all of love, so freely pou-r d ! 
 How will thy heart by memory stir d, 
 Brood o er its own bright secret hoard*, 
 Of hours in sweet communion pass d ; 
 Their dreamy spell is o er thee cast, 
 Where er thy footsteps roam t 
 
 The weary world hath power to bind, 
 The struggling heart in many a fold ! 
 
TO MRS. . I 1 -" 
 
 Still thro the silent lapse of time. 
 The forms that lie beneath the mold. 
 A single thought can bid them rise, 
 Before us, with their calm bright eyes. 
 Piercing the inmost soul ! 
 
 But thou, my friend, thou need st not shrink 
 From the calm glance of that mild eye : 
 Henceforth twill be thy joy to think, 
 While training for their native sky, 
 Those orphan d ones, so fondly loved, 
 Their Sire from some bright star above, 
 Smiles sweet approval down ! 
 
 WHENCE is this change ? I feel an icy shiver 
 Creep thro my veins, as the light breezes swept by 
 I hear the rushing of a mighty river, 
 Whose rolling waves seem speeding still more nigh 
 In yonder church-yard, like a spectral band. 
 The aged firs, and nodding laurels stand, 
 Beckoning my soul away ! 
 
 Ah. now they toss their arms, and wildly beckon. 
 With nodding heads they daily call to me : 
 I will not heed them, tho they call and beckon, 
 I will shake off this thraldom, and be free ! 
 
104 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 It was not thus, when o er yon mountain s height. 
 With volant step I roam d from morn till night, 
 Earth s secrets to explore ! 
 
 There I have heard unnumber d voices preaching, 
 Of living harmonies, that round us roll : 
 And felt within sweet nature s gentle teaching, 
 In silent whispers, to the list ning soul ; 
 While brooks, and birds, and flowers, and whisp ring 
 
 trees, 
 
 In choral symphonies upon the breeze, 
 Harmonious music made. 
 
 Talk not of death ! The future lies before me, 
 
 1 cannot die ! My work is scarce begun ! 
 
 And yet at times strange numbness creepeth o er me. 
 
 Oh, grant me life, thou high and holy One ! 
 
 Strength to unfold the glorious thoughts that glow 
 
 Within my breast, in one euphonious flow, 
 
 Of sweetly melting strains. 
 
 To die in youth, while thro mine inmost being 
 I feel immortal powers within me throng, 
 When spirit- voices in my ear are ringing, 
 Melodious strains, and snatches of sweet song : 
 And life itself so clear before me lies, 
 With its stern duties, and its vast emprise, 
 Of noble deeds undone ! 
 
 Yet peace at last is nigh ! Each tie is riven, 
 A brighter home is mine, beyond the stars ! 
 
INEZ AND IMELDA. 105 
 
 This claey cell no longer will imprison 
 My struggling soul, within its bolts and bars ! 
 Farewell, lov d earth, on angel- wing I soar, 
 To distant worlds, new mysteries to explore, 
 While endless cycles run. 
 
 OR THE MISSION OF SORROW. 
 
 HOLY hath been thy mission gentle friend : 
 Thou wanderest to and fro throughout the earth, 
 Causing sad hearts in union sweet to blend, 
 And chasteneth those o er fond of pomp and mirth. 
 By thy blest influence heaven oftimes doth send 
 Angels, to minister at our board and hearth : 
 In many a humble cot their homes are found, 
 Where soft Spring airs, and dews of peace abound! 
 
 When bow d with grief, their generous hearts exhale 
 Incense more rare than costly odor sweet. 
 Thus the meek violet breathes upon the gale. 
 Its perfumed breath, when crush d beneath the feet. 
 We wound the fertile earth, which ne er doth fail 
 Te yield its fruits, the laborers eye to greet. 
 E en so, heaven furrows the meek human breast, 
 And flowers spring forth obedient to his quest. 
 
 We know them by their calm, sad, earnest eyes, 
 W hose earnest glance is fixed on heaven alone. 
 
106 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 By noble deeds, that brighten for the skies, 
 Deeds but for them the world had never known ! 
 Where er they tread, lost hues of paradise 
 Gleam round their paths, we deem d forever flown. 
 Earth s angels are they, walking undismayed, 
 Amid the furnace ! faint, but not afraid. 
 
 Meek hearted ones, unknown amid the glare. 
 
 The pomp and pageantry of worldly pride, 
 
 One I remember now, with soft brown hair, 
 
 From her pale marble temples put aside, 
 
 A child of penury, yet passing fair, 
 
 Whose homely garb her beauty could not hide. 
 
 Her broad calm brow, so reverent, meek and 
 
 pure, 
 Told of deep strength to suffer and endure ! 
 
 O er her veil d eyes the silken lashes lay, 
 
 Oftimes in weariness, and oft to hide, 
 
 The gathering tears, that sometimes would have 
 
 sway, 
 
 When gazing at the sufferer by her side: 
 An orphan sister, who from childhood s play, 
 Adown the cliff was borne at eventide, 
 A helpless burden, on her loving breast, 
 Her tiny feet no more the greensward press d. 
 
 Years pass d away, with calm and even flow, 
 Jn their rude cottage on the sandy moor. 
 
INEZ AND DIELDA. 107 
 
 The yellow sunbeams shone with mellow glow, 
 On INEZ S couch, from the low vine-wreath d door ; 
 Where oft she watch d the slant rays fading slow, 
 Along the walls, and o er the sanded floor. 
 Shut from the world, its beauty and its bloom, 
 She sigh d for rest, and found it yond the tomb ! 
 
 One sorrow more the young IMELDA knew, 
 
 And her crush d heart, like a frail reed was broken : 
 
 One, she believed, was loving, kind and true. 
 
 Deem d their long plighted vows were rashly spok n, 
 
 No earthly love could light its fires anew, 
 
 In her sad breast J Heaven sent to her a token 
 
 Of perfect peace, and the clear loving light 
 
 Of her sweet eyes, closed in death s dreamless night I 
 
 The humble cotters, as they smooth d her bed, 
 With rev rence spake of her who lay beneath ! 
 How tenderly she rais d the young bright head. 
 Of her whose suppliant glance invoked relief. 
 How cheerfully she toil d to earn their bread. 
 How lovingly she sooth d her every grief: 
 And still the tale is told among the poor, 
 Of the lone dwellers of the sandy moor ! 
 
TO MRS. EMILY C. JUDSON. 
 
 BLOW ye favoring gales, and bear along 
 
 To her native shore our bird of song ! 
 
 We have miss d the flow of thy gentle strains, 
 
 Mid thine own green hills and flowery plains ; 
 
 Like the silvery chime of the sounding rills, 
 
 That murmur unseen mid the quiet hills, 
 
 Bearing freshness and bloom to the flowers along 
 
 Thus thy tuneful lyre charm d the list ning throng. 
 
 With joy we reclasp the sever d chain, 
 
 And welcome the wanderer home again ! 
 
 Thy home laughs out, mid its summer bloom, 
 Yet something of silence, a shade of gloom, 
 Seems to rest on the spot where thy footsteps 
 
 stray d, 
 
 Neath the trailing vines of the Ivy s shade. 
 Perchance tis the thought of the grief that lies 
 In the quiet depth of thy gentle eyes : 
 And the mournful change that has o er thee pass d, 
 Since beneath its shade thou did st wander last. 
 Then, visions of joy before thee waved! 
 Now, thy heart yearns oft for the silent grave. 
 
 When fame s soothing whispers rang in thine ear, 
 And the path of the future lay smiling and clear, 
 
THE WELCOME. 109 
 
 Thou did st turn from the wildering charm of song, 
 From those airy dreams that its pathway throng : 
 In that Orient clime far beyond the seas, 
 Where the Cocoa wafts its tall arms in the breeze, 
 To aid him who toil d weary years to illume, 
 The nations enshrouded in darkness and gloom. 
 Thou did st brighten his pathway so lonely and drear, 
 When the bloom of life s verdure lay with d and sere. 
 
 Though the freshness and bloom of thy life depart, 
 Yet the glow of his smile will illumine thine heart : 
 He called thee his angel in moments of joy ;* 
 
 * The present Mrs. Judson remarked to a friend on the pe 
 culiar gentle and winning manner that characterized her hus 
 band s mode of addressing her, adding, that he often calls her 
 pet names, such as " Angel," "Bird," &,c Her predecessor? 
 also gratefully acknowledge this beautiful home trait of his 
 character. It appears that selfishness and exaction, which 
 transforms many a wise and gifted man into the domestic ty 
 rant, found no place in his heart and life. " His life spans the 
 history of Foreign Missions from America ! With an iron 
 constitution, with indomitable strength of purpose, with apos 
 tolic energy, of faith and love, with devotedness as entire as 
 ever marked a servant of Christ, he has given youth, man 
 hood, and a vigorous old age to the ministry among the hea 
 then. His labors have been as abundant, hardships as severe, 
 sufferings as intense, as have fallen to the lot of a Christian sol 
 dier, since the martyrdom of St. Paul. And now he has died 
 with his harness on, and left a name which must be a watch 
 word among the successive ranks of the sacramental host/ 
 till they have won their last victory, and the kingdoms of this 
 world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and his Christ." 
 
110 AMAKANTII BLOOMS. 
 
 And thine was the bliss without alloy. 
 
 When pillow d soft in its " Indian nest." 
 
 Thy young " bird" smiled on its mother s breast. 
 
 Then life sped on with a quiet flow, 
 
 Till Muriel s spear laid thine idol low ! 
 
 The lance was enwreath d with Amaranth flowers, 
 
 And Paradise dawn d on his parting hours ! 
 
 The glory of Summer to thee is dim ! 
 While he tunes his glad lyre to the cherubim s hymn. 
 Thou wilt bear in our festive scenes no part, 
 While memory broods in thy yearning heart, 
 O er his " sea-girt home," mid the coral caves ; 
 And oft where the Lotus blossom waves, 
 Where thine " angel Charlie" asleep doth lie, 
 Neath the summer haze of an Indian sky : 
 Where the shadowy Peepul bendeth its head, 
 Like a mourner that weeps o er the early dead. 
 
 Thy name is cherish d in many a home, 
 
 In the peasants cot, and the lordly dome : 
 
 Link d with mem rys that throng round the sainted 
 
 dead, 
 Who have hallow d the path where thy footsteps 
 
 tread ! 
 
 One slumbereth lone on the rock of the sea ! 
 And one lieth low, neath the Ilopia tree ! 
 The deep rolling ocean holds one in trust, 
 Whose name is enrolled on the scroll of the just ! 
 
THE EXILE. Ill 
 
 Tho distant and lone their graves lie apart. 
 Yet death cannot sever the kindred in heart ! 
 
 "Mid the Burrnan jungle, so dark of yore, 
 They have scatter d the seeds of the heavenly lore. 
 Its sweet buds of promise will yet unclose. 
 Till the wilderness blossom like Sharon s rose ! 
 And thy poet heart will with rapture thrill. 
 When thou hearest afar from the heavenly hill. 
 The jubilant strains of a rarisoni d throng, 
 Redeem d from the bondage of sin and wrong : 
 Where the gospel its pearly radiance shed. 
 Around JUDSON who lies in his ocean bed. 
 AUGUST. 1851. 
 
 THE sun had sank behind the hill, 
 
 The ky with clouds was overcast: 
 The wintery wind blew cold and chill ; 
 
 A stranger shivering in the blast, 
 I welcomed to my cheerful hearth, 
 
 And spread the plenteous board with care 
 His sparkling wit and genial mirth, 
 
 His noble, frank, and courtly air. 
 
 Entranced us. while the hours flew by. 
 Like moments in life s circling chain. 
 
112 AMAKANTII BLOOMS. 
 
 Yet oft I marked the deep drawn sigh, 
 Like one who strives with grief or pain ! 
 
 I knew by his soft dulcet speech, 
 His jetty curls of purple hue, 
 
 The clear pale olive of his check, 
 
 Which the bright crimson blood shone thr 
 
 That he was from that flowery clime, 
 
 Ruled by oppressions iron sway ; 
 Whose sons in hopeless bondage pine, 
 
 While some in weary exile stray ! 
 Moved by my pitying glance, he told 
 
 The hapless story of his woe : 
 How with Mazzini s band enroll d, 
 
 He fled at Rome s sad overthrow. 
 
 .(; .* # " * 
 
 The winding streamlet quenched his thirst. 
 
 The strawberry globes of golden red, 
 The craving pangs of hunger nurst, 
 
 The mountain heather was his bed. 
 He wander d thro the forest dark, 
 
 That skirts the Atlantic billows hoar ; 
 With joy he hailed a homeward bark, 
 
 Which bore him to our peaceful shore. 
 
 The wintry sky that o er him beams, 
 The chilling winds, the drifting snow, 
 
 Recall to mind his own blue streams, 
 And skies that wear a vernal glow. 
 
THE EXILE. 113 
 
 The vintage song is in his ear : 
 
 Down by the Arno s silvery tide 
 His mother s voice he seems to hear. 
 
 In prayer for him at eventide ! 
 
 And ere the twilight shadows flee, 
 
 AY here oft they met in life s young morn, 
 Fair lovely Florence o er the lea, 
 
 Awaits him at the trysting thorn. 
 And when the stars of evening pale, 
 
 She winds her homeward way alone, 
 While oft the lovelorn Nightingale, 
 
 Responds unto her plaintive moan. 
 
 In vain for her that lovely clime, 
 
 Its soft and vermeil blooms unclose. 
 Heedless she treads the flowery thyme, 
 
 Xor stoops to pull the wilding rose! 
 Since grief her every thought enthralls 
 
 The flowers that deck the winding stream. 
 The memory of past joy recalls, 
 
 Which vanish d like a fleeting dream. 
 
 O, lovely land ! O, fruitful vales, 
 
 Where the Myrtle and the Citron bloom ! 
 
 How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 
 Yet hangs o er all a shade of gloom, 
 
 Since anarchy, distrust and crime, 
 Stalk boldly o er thy fair domain ! 
 
114 AM AK ANTE BLOOMS. 
 
 Old age and manhood s youthful prime, 
 In hopeless servitude remain t 
 
 O, Italy ! thou Inn of grief ! 
 
 Without a shelter, wreck d, forlorn ! 
 Where can st thou turn to find relief? 
 
 Reft of a pilot in rude storm ! 
 Yet from the ashes of the past, 
 
 The germ of liberty will spring : 
 And dove-eyed peace will reign at last, 
 
 And o er thee brood with silvery wing. 
 
 How bright is the first glad smile of Spring I 
 Like a gleam of light from a seraphs wing ; 
 It sheds o er the earth its genial ray, 
 And the snow-wreath melts from the hills away I 
 Her sunny smile sends the warm breeze forth ! 
 And the frost king hies to the distant north. 
 The green grass springs o er the arid plain, 
 At the cheering sound of the dimpled rain, 
 
 Her balmy breath is upon the gale, 
 
 And flowers are springing in wood and vale ; 
 
 The fir tree hath don d a brighter green, 
 
 Where the swelling buds in the groves are seen. 
 
 Again the streamlet wanders free, 
 
 In its winding path to the distant -sea! 
 
SPRING. 115 
 
 A summer glow illumes the sky, 
 
 As days bright oriflamme wanes on high. 
 
 I know that the pale blue Violet, 
 By the pearly dews of April wet, 
 Hath ope d ere this its starry eyes, 
 Along the banks where the streamlet hies ! 
 And the water cress and mosses green, 
 Mid the dashing spray are dimly seen. 
 In shelter d nooks blooms the purple bell, 
 Where the yellow buds of the cowslip swell. 
 
 The Robin sings on the household tree, 
 Where her downy nest was wont to be. 
 She reard it there in the last Spring-time, 
 And in Autumn fled to a southern clime. 
 But the nest, like many a cherish d thing. 
 Is missing at the return of Spring. 
 Alas for the heart whose only trust, 
 Is center d on things that turn to dust ! 
 
 But the Robin will build on the same old tree. 
 
 And sing, while the mists of the morning flee! 
 
 No mournful memory of the heart, 
 
 No vanish d joys into life will start, 
 
 To quench that rich and gushing strain. 
 
 That sweetly echoes o er the plain. 
 
 *Tis ours, alas, to number o er, 
 
 Life s vanish d joys, that return no more t 
 
116 AMAEANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 I ve listen d thy joyous lay thou bird, 
 
 Till the inmost depths of my heart were stir d: ? 
 
 Though we may not like thee, cast away 
 
 The haunting griefs that cloud our way : 
 
 There s ne er a heart so filled with care, 
 
 But flowers and fruit may blossom there ; 
 
 If we cherish the joys that are ours to-day, 
 
 And mourn not o er griefs that fiave pass d away I 
 
 flotoei 11 filri. 
 
 THE Whippor-Will sang in the green leafy valley, 
 The Nightingale trill d her sweet song in the 
 grove, 
 
 While weary and worn, thro the dim crowded alley. 
 I wander d afar from the friends that I love ! 
 
 Mid the vain laughing crowd I strove to forget, 
 
 The " fairest of maidens," the young Migonett ! 
 
 One evening in June, in the Champs d Elysees, 
 I reclin d by a fountain, beneath the cool shade : 
 
 Carv d in fine bas-relief, knelt the fabled Ulysses, 
 At the feet of Calypso, fair Circean maid, 
 
 With her neat little cap so jauntily set, 
 
 I espied at my elbow a lovely Grisette. 
 
 With a basket of flowers, on her arm lightly swing- 
 
 in g, 
 A Rose in my button-hole softly she bound. 
 
PARISIAN FLOWER GIRL. 117 
 
 Her " Aferci bien Monsieur"* in my ear sweetly 
 
 ringing, 
 Well repaid the small coin which her courtesy 
 
 crown d. 
 
 I have roam d many lands, yet I never have met. 
 So charaiing a maiden as fair MIGOXETT ! 
 
 While the bells chimed in concert the soft vesper 
 
 hour, 
 By the clear sparkling fount, where the tall lilacs 
 
 grew, 
 
 I wander d each eve, and received as mv dower, 
 A sweet Florence rose gem d with drops of bright 
 
 dew ! 
 
 But few words were spoken, yet I ne er shall forget, 
 The sweet silvery tones of the lovely Grisette ! 
 
 How winsome she looked with her dark ringlets 
 
 flowing ; 
 
 Her heart was a stranger to falsehood and guile. 
 O er her fair dimpled cheek, the rose of health 
 
 glowing, 
 Grew bright with the charm of her wildering 
 
 smile ! 
 
 Some called her an angel, some vowed to forget 
 A maiden so coy as the sweet Migonett. 
 
 Tho numerous her clients for dew-blooming flow rs. 
 Yet never a trace could they find of her home. 
 
 *J thank 7011, SSr, 
 
118 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Tho the bright silver francs fell around her in 
 
 showers, 
 Her " Merci bien Monsieur s" she smiled, and was 
 
 gone. 
 
 Yet so lustrous the orbs of the dark-eyed brunette, 
 That they ne er could forget the lovely Grisette. 
 
 One evening she came not ! Perchance on the 
 
 morrow, 
 
 So whisper d sweet hope, thou wilt meet her again ! 
 Some listen d with joy, and some heard with sorrow, 
 That Hymen had bound her, in love s rosy chain I 
 Mid the dark shining braids gleam d a bright 
 
 coronet, 
 That bound the fair brows of the sweet Migonett.* 
 
 NOTE. Tliis little incident is said to have taken place in 
 Paris a few months ago. A very beautiful young flower girl* 
 or Grisette, as those females are called who belong to the low 
 er class, was privately married to a young Nobleman of gjeat 
 wealth, who loved her not only for her rare beauty, but her 
 intelligence and virtue. 
 
 Pile 
 
 Inscribed to his father, Bp H. Dox, of LocJcport. 
 
 Is* the lone grave, beneath the green sward sleeping, 
 We left thee lone, our darling little son ! 
 
 Thy mother s heart was faint and sore with weeping, 
 Thou wast our dearest, and our loveliest one ! 
 
LITTLE HENRY. - 110 
 
 There, the blue hare bells, and the violet blossom. 
 
 Opened their meek eyes, to the dawn of day : 
 And the green myrtle, clustered o er thy bosom. 
 
 Thou wast as lovely, and as pure as they. 
 
 Where the pale primrose blossom d by the fountain. 
 
 Thy little foot has pressed the dewy sod, 
 While the soft sunlight lingered o er the mountain, 
 
 Lifting with reverent thought thy heart to God ! 
 In the green meadow, where the vernal showers. 
 
 Sprinkled the tender grass beneath thy feet, 
 Thy tiny hand hath pluck d the budding flowers, 
 
 And hastened with delight, my steps to greet, 
 
 On the soft gr^een sward, where the daisy springcth. 
 
 And the pale mullen lifts its spiral rod ; 
 Chasing the butterfly, that sportive wingeth 
 
 Its serial flight, thy volant foot hath trod. 
 To our fond eyes, there seem d such winning sweet 
 ness, 
 
 In all thy little ways, we never tired ; 
 Watching thy fawnlike tread, and airy fleetness. 
 
 Quenched are the hopes our love for thee inspired : 
 
 Like a young eaglet, was thy spirit daring, 
 
 Yet swayed by kindly tones, and words of love. 
 
 A gentle child, of five short summers, wearing 
 Upon thy brow, the meekness of the dove ! 
 
 Thy clear deep eyes, whose heavenly azure mingl d. 
 The porphory s lustre, in their liquid light ; 
 
120 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Where childhoods sportive glances intermingled, 
 With starry gleams, from worlds beyond the 
 sight ; 
 
 Scem d filled at times, with pensive holy dreaming. 
 
 As if some dweller from the spirit shore, 
 Infused into thine ear, words of deep meaning ; 
 
 And tender was the light, thy forehead wore ! 
 In dreams I see thee, with thy white wings shining, 
 
 Soft, like the plumage of God s holy dove ; 
 I feel the invisible links, around me twining, 
 
 Drawing my spirit hence to thee above ! 
 
 The Amaranth s snowy blossoms, stormwoven, 
 
 Shed their soft lustre, o er thy forehead fair ! 
 By seraph hands the fadeless wreath was woven, 
 
 And twined amid thy sunny locks of hair. 
 Clasped in their snowy arms, the angels bore thee, 
 
 From our embrace, who loved thee next to God ; 
 Their tender care, is shed forever o er thee, 
 
 Transcending ours, frail dwellers of the clod. 
 
 Yet from thy spirit home, in yonder Aiden, 
 
 A starry pathway, limns the upper air ! 
 And when oppressed with grief, as sorrow-laden, 
 
 I gaze above, thy look is imaged there ! 
 Thy little Sisters, speak at times of Henry, 
 
 In pensive tones, and accents sad and low : 
 Their little playmate lingers in their mem ry ; 
 
 With his soft ringlets, clustering o er his brow ! 
 
TO MRS. G. L. 121 
 
 But thy pale mother, in her quiet sadness, 
 
 Checks the vain tears that oft in secret flow 
 Never again the beaming smile of gladness 
 
 O er her wan cheek will shed its summer glow ! 
 Time may erase the impress of thy beauty, 
 
 From younger hearts, but we can ne er forget ; 
 While strug ling onward mid life s toilsome duty, 
 
 Our life s young morning star whose light hath 
 set! 
 
 Jo W9. 6- J. 
 
 PRINCIPAL OF THE LADIES SEMINARY AT ALBANY. 
 
 I THINK of thee oft, on my pillow reclining, 
 
 My thoughts like the light winged Zephyr doth 
 
 roam, 
 O er mountain and vale, where the moonbeams are 
 
 shining, 
 
 That bathes in soft light, thine own happy home. 
 I have glanced o er the page, where the love light- 
 still lingers, 
 Warm and pure, from the fountain, that wells in 
 
 thy breast, 
 
 Each line fondly traced by thy delicate fingers ; . 
 My own trembling hand, with loves ardor hath 
 press d. 
 
122 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 I think of thee oft, when at vesper-time kneeling, 
 My thoughts on the wings of devotion ascends, 
 And I feel in my heart, the blissful revealing : 
 That my low voiceless prayer with thine orison 
 
 blends 
 
 And my soul gathers strength from the blessed as 
 surance, 
 
 That thou in that hour, for the absent dost pray. 
 Thus nerved with fresh powers, of patient endur 
 ance, 
 I tread the rough paths of life s perilous way. 
 
 Like mountain streams destined but rarely to mingle. 
 Though widely diverging, our paths yet shall be 
 United at last, like those streams that commingle 
 
 Their waters in one, as they enter the sea ! 
 The stream of my life with swift current is speeding, 
 Toward that vast boundless ocean, that lies just 
 
 before 
 There are way-marks and signs, I may not pass 
 
 unheeding, 
 "hat tells me, life s pilgrimage soon will be o er ! 
 
 But thou, like yon planet, serenely ascending, 
 
 The clear cloudless vault of the limitless sky ; 
 In true elevation of spirit art tending, 
 
 To the home of the blest, mid the mansions on 
 
 high ! 
 Like yon evening star that in radiant splendor, 
 
 Outvie s its compeers, that illumine the night, 
 
TO MRS. G. L. 123 
 
 May thy bright scintilations of virtues thus render. 
 Thy pathway resplendant, with beauty and light. 
 
 I cannot misdoubt, thy lasting affection, 
 
 But I marvel that thou, in the 1 e ght of thy fame. 
 
 Should still treasure the hour, with fond recollection 
 
 That inscribed on the tablet of memory, my name. 
 
 How many sad hearts have been cheered by thy 
 
 presence, 
 By thy kind gentle words, and thy soil winning 
 
 smile 
 The rude cot of the poor, and the bright halls of 
 
 pleasaunce, 
 
 Seemed illumined by a glow of soft sunshine the 
 while. 
 
 No wearisome thrall hath thy spirit o er clouded : 
 
 To sadden the strains, of thy soul thrilling lyre 
 Like the slow wearing pain, that my life lamp hath 
 shrouded, 
 
 And quenched in my breast, the promethean fire ! 
 From my lone quiet home, in the heart of the valley, 
 
 I shall list with delight, to thy sweet flowing 
 
 song 
 Tho never again, my lute chords may rally, 
 
 Till I pass to rejoin the invisible throng. 
 AUGUST, 1850. 
 
Jo qr) 0nl(j 
 
 WHILE the silent shades of evening, 
 
 Folds her curtain round the sky, 
 And the pale moon softly beaming, 
 
 Hangs her silver lamp on high : 
 Tis the hour I love to wander, 
 
 Neath pale Lunas pensive ray ; 
 And on bygone moments ponder, 
 
 Musing whiles on those away 
 Those whose love hath ne er grown weary, 
 
 Those whose kindness knows no change 
 While some have made life s paths more dreary ; 
 
 With chilling looks, and hearts estranged. 
 
 There was one who parting gave me 
 
 This little braid of golden hair : 
 Whose pale high forehead gleams before me, 
 
 Traced with many a line of care. 
 Long, weary years, I scarce can number, 
 
 Have pass d away, since last we met 
 Some have gone down to their last slumber, 
 
 Whose cheeks that morn, with tears were wet ! 
 Life s dearest joys, with thee, departed. 
 
 A shadow o er my pathway came, 
 I miss d the strong and noble hearted, 
 
 Whose lips ne er uttered words of blame : 
 
TO AN ONLY BROTHER. 125 
 
 Reared "mid the solitudes of nature. 
 
 Our lives were peaceful as our dreams. 
 We learned to worship the creator, 
 
 Beside her sylvan founts and streams. 
 Amid her silent glens we wander d, 
 
 In curious contemplative mood; 
 And questions of grave import pondered 
 
 While seeking berries in the wood. 
 The Orient s sheen, the summer blossom. 
 
 The sleep, that lay among the hills ; 
 The golden sunset clouds whose bosom 
 
 Heaven s loveliest Iris hues distills. 
 
 And the blithe song of gay birds singing. 
 
 Amid the orchard and the grove ; 
 In sweet harmonious concert ringing, 
 
 Attuned our hearts, to praise and love ! 
 We watch d the stars peep from their places, 
 
 And questioned of their mystic source 
 These early dreams have left their traces, 
 
 As streams oft shape the rivers course : 
 So they have shaped our future being, 
 
 Lone dwellers we have been apart 
 Feeling the glance of the all-seeing, 
 
 Ever upon the inmost heart! 
 
 Time, that ever will be stealing 
 
 The fairest blooms of earth away ; 
 
 Hath changed us both, yet more in feeling : 
 Since last we met, in life s youncr Jay ! 
 
126 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Yet brother, still thy memory lingers, 
 
 On my hearts tablets lone and bright ! 
 Time, with its cold effacing fingers, 
 
 Hath spared that page of golden light. 
 Thee I adjure, by many a token, 
 
 Of love, that crown d our childhood years ; 
 By all the treasured words then spoken, 
 
 Embalm d in memory s urn of tears. 
 
 Come to thy Home ! Tho sad and lonely, 
 
 May seem the old forsaken nest ! 
 Yet brother, might I clasp thee, only 
 
 One moment to my yearning breast ; 
 And with thee, shed the tear of sorrow. 
 
 Upon the household graves, that lie, 
 Half hidden, by the spreading Yarrow ; 
 
 And funeral flowers, that fade and die. 
 Then would I fold my robe about me, 
 
 And with meek sufferance, lay my head ; 
 Where the tall grass, and spreading Yarrow, 
 
 Will blossom o er my lowly bed ! 
 EAKLVILLB, December, 1850. 
 
THE tall trees are waving in the cold blast, 
 
 A farewell to the Autumn, her glories are past f 
 
 Twas but yesterday that the grass was green. 
 
 Where the silvery drops of the rain were seen. 
 
 But the hoar frost came, in the starry night, 
 
 And the grass grew sere, neath its with ring blight. 
 
 The dead leaves are flying abroad in the gale, 
 The cold winds are sighing their funeral wail, 
 Twas but lately I marked their crimson glow, 
 As they gently waved on the maple bough ; 
 But they wither d away, neath the autumn s frown. 
 Till the trees were shorn of their leafy crown. 
 
 The flowers of the garden are scentless and dead, 
 Along their gay margin grow rank weeds instead. 
 Warmed by the sun and wet by the rain, 
 They battened and grew, an unseemly train, 
 Mildew d and spotted, and sere and brown, 
 Meet for a beldame s wither d crown. 
 
 Where the pale pied pink blossoms in loveliness grew 
 Their pearl tinted bosoms begemm d with bright 
 
 dew, 
 
 They have perished all neath the Autumn s strife. 
 Lake those dreams that visit our morn of life ! 
 
128 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Like the hopes that we cherish which drew their 
 
 birth 
 From the false and fleeting things of earth ! 
 
 Where the tall primrose flourished, beneath the low 
 
 eaves, 
 And the moss roses nourished their wealth of bright 
 
 leaves, 
 
 A pattering rain fell, three nights and a day ; 
 And their leaves lie embedded beneath the moist 
 
 clay. 
 
 There was one far more lovely than roses in bloom, 
 Who lies lower than they, in her early tomb ! 
 
 The moonbeams are sleeping, o er hillside and plain. 
 And the bright stars are keeping their watch in her 
 
 train, 
 
 The wood-fire beams bright in the open grate, 
 And Tabitha prim, with looks elate ; 
 Sits watching the leaves, as I duly turn, 
 And her monitone blends with the hissing urn. 
 
 I will muse on the summer, that is to be, 
 
 As I list the low murmur of winds o er the lea ; 
 
 My heart is athirst for the sounding rills, 
 
 And the soft balmy air that the zephyr distills ; 
 
 I pant for the music that is divine, 
 
 Whose sweet notes swell with a murmuring chime. 
 
THE ARTIST S LAST WORK. 129 
 
 In that world of~splendor whose soft light gleams, 
 Pure, solemn and tender, amid our dreams ; 
 Fain would I quench my soul s inward thirst, 
 In the limpid wave, where its fountains burst ! 
 No withering blight can befall the flowers. 
 That bloom in those green perennial bowers. 
 
 IT was a clear, calm, moonlight, summer night, 
 
 O er canopied with stars, whose glittering light. 
 
 From heaven s serenest depths, shown calmly down 
 
 Upon a world in tranquil slumber drown d ; 
 
 As if no anguish, misery, or despair, 
 
 E er gnaw d upon its vitals ! The very air, 
 
 Seem d hushed and still. The lamps had all burn d 
 
 dim, 
 
 Save one that shone, with a large spectral rim. 
 From a lone Artist s studio ! The solemn chime. 
 Of church bell, toll d unto the ear of time, 
 One pealing stroke and the pale Artist rose, 
 And with frail fingers, silently unclosed 
 The lattice, and look d forth upon the night ! 
 The innumerous stars, with their soft tranquil light. 
 Glanced down into his soul. The holy calm. 
 Of that still hour, diffused a genial balm 
 Over his languid frame ! Unutterable thought. 
 Kindled within his breast ! His ear had caught, 
 
130 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 The melody of worlds, whose glories seem d, 
 Transfused at times, into his waking dreams, 
 Linking his soul with heaven ! One little spot, 
 Chained him to earth. A low and white wall d cot. 
 Of rural loveliness, before him rose, 
 Embowered mid trees ; the sweet lip d Tube rose. 
 And pink Accacia, and those fragrant flowers, 
 Whose odorous breath, exhales in summer hours, 
 Bloom d round the porch. Within that calm retreat. 
 Enlock d in childhood s slumber, calm and sweet, 
 Lay two twin babes a sister and a brother 
 Fair type were they, of their sweet angel mother. 
 Who dwelt above ! Pale, worn and weak, 
 The death rose deepen d on her lovely cheek. 
 And ere a twelve month from her infant s birth. 
 
 She closed her eyes in weariness of earth ! 
 ******** 
 
 Oh, it is sad when some surpassing spirit, 
 Hath like a meteor vanished from our way I 
 When all in life we cling to, and inherit, 
 Seems cold and valueless ! The kindling ray 
 Of sweet intelligence which round him shone, 
 Was quench d and gone ! Its magic light had flown, 
 He linger d sorrowing many a weary day, 
 Around the foot prints of her memory : 
 Wasted with grief but for the sake of those, 
 Twin buds of being, whose soft light unclosed. 
 Beneath his watchful eye, he bent in toil 
 While in the socket waned the midnight oil ; 
 
THE ARTIST S LAST WORK. 131 
 
 The sweet pale phantom shrined within his heart. 
 Limned on the canvas with surpassing art, 
 Whose sweet transcendant loveliness was caught. 
 From those intense and subtle jems of thought. 
 Evolved in moments, when the spirit s wings. 
 Soaring above Earth s vain imaginings, 
 Returns, relumed with glories that impart. 
 New life and strength to the o er burdened heart. 
 
 It was a lovely Tableau ! Mid the skies. 
 
 On a white cloud of soft effulgent dyes, 
 
 Reclined his spirit bride, aloft ascending ; 
 
 Her snowy wings, with trembling lustre blending. 
 
 Threw a long line of soften d radience down, 
 
 Blent with the effluence of her golden crown ! 
 
 The illumined forehead and the starry eye, 
 
 Whose porphyry lustre, rivaled even the sky, 
 
 And her white raiment, seemed irradiated, 
 
 W r ith a soft beamy light ; eliminated 
 
 From other worlds, beyond earth s changeful sphere. 
 
 Reflected from the glorious atmosphere 
 
 That gilds the brow of Heaven ! 
 
 Days, months elapsed, throughout the earth and sky. 
 Changes had passed unnoted by his eye, 
 While o er the canvas, neath the lamps pale light. 
 He traced those dreams, that throng d his mental 
 
 sight 
 Dreams too etherial and refined to be 
 
132 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 UnJblded save in the deep solemnity, 
 < >i 7 the mute voiceless night ! Within his breast, 
 I nutterable peace, that crowns the blest, 
 WelFd like a fountain, whose perennial springs, 
 In cooling spray wreaths, round the margin fling 
 A soft refreshing dew. Twas at the close 
 ( )f that sweet month which ushers in the rose, 
 Whose odorous scents upon the Zephyr straying ; 
 While summer fountains neath the moon-light 
 
 playing, 
 
 Seemed bathed in silvery light! It was an hour. 
 Engirt with silence, whose deep mystic power, 
 Seem d to the Artist, as he breathless traced, 
 The last faint tints of that Angelic face, 
 Replete with holy joy ! Well might he deem, 
 While gazing on that sweet embodied dream, 
 That the pure soul shone through those starry eyes, 
 Whose mirror d depths reveal d a rapt surprise, 
 And the moist glow, upon the coral lip ; 
 So life like secm d, that honey bees might sip, 
 And deem they drank its dew. ^ # # 
 
 Was it the fitful glimmer of the moon, 
 
 Or the uncertain light within the room, 
 
 Which caused the picttire, both to smile, and start, 
 
 Which so o erpower d with joy his throbbing heart, 
 
 As to suspend its motion? None could tell ! 
 
 They found him lying, where he fainting fell, 
 
 As if in sleep but life returned no more 
 
NEW-YEAR GREETING. 133 
 
 And yet so bright a look his forehead wore, 
 Whence the pure soul of grace and genius shed 
 Its parting Uyht ; one scarce could deem it fled ! 
 
 NOTE. The Author has conceived the foreground of this 
 picture, to represent a beautiful little Ornee Cottage, covered 
 with honeysuckle and woodbine in flower, with a smoothly 
 shaven grass plat in front, garnished with flower beds, where 
 t\vo little twin children are at play amid the flowers. Far above 
 in the blue sky on rosy Cloud reclining, the Angel moihr looks 
 smilingly down on the scene of her late earthly happiness, while 
 the golden portals of her heavenly home, gleam in the dim blue 
 ether. On either hand may be seen peering amid the clouds* 
 the bright angelic faces of her celestial guides who are also 
 gazing down upon the earth scene below them with mingled 
 looks of love and compassion in their eyes. 
 
 Written for the Telegraph. 
 
 leto^i- Sheeting ii) 1846, 
 
 I WISH you a happy New- Year friends, 
 
 Though your faces I may not see. 
 With the kindly greeting, I bind to send, 
 The fervent love of my spirit blends, 
 Which ne er will fail till life shall end, 
 Wherever I may be. 
 
 The lark sang high in the cloudless sky, 
 
 In the valley where ye dwell ! 
 And the river murmur d gently by, 
 Frjnged with the emeralds brightest dye, 
 
134: AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And the violet odors wander d by, 
 As I breathed my last farewell ! 
 
 Now, cold winter s reign has come again 
 
 With chilling winds and snow ; 
 And the frost lies on the window panes, 
 The river is bound in icy chains ! 
 And slowly the blood flows through my vains 
 
 And my pulse beats faint and slow. 
 
 But my heart is leal and true friends, 
 
 With kind thoughts running o er. 
 Oft tis wrung with a sense of pain, 
 Till the warm tears fall like summer ratn % 
 When I think we ne er may meet again, 
 
 As we met in the days of yore. 
 
 1 wish you a happy new year friends, 
 
 Exempt from care and sorrow, 
 When ye meet around your cheerful hearth, 
 Its vacant places will check your mirth : 
 There are some who will never return on earth, 
 
 And some on a distant morrow ! 
 
 Would I might weave one strain friends, 
 
 From my broken lute one tone. 
 That would mind ye, of those by-gone days, 
 When among your groves I sang my lays, 
 Nor dream d of the poet s wreath of bays, 
 
 Kound my youthful temples thrown., 
 
NEW-YEAR GREETING. 135 
 
 Then ye would think of me friends, 
 
 When the sun s last fading ray, 
 Doth crimson the halls of the glowing west. 
 That is t&e hour that I love the best. 
 Then I long to soar to my heavenly rest, 
 
 From this weary world away. 
 
 Ye have been kind and true friends ; 
 
 Ye have loved me long and well ; 
 But I ve dreamed oft in the darksome night. 
 Of a lan$ where falls no withering blight. 
 The loved are there in their robes of light 
 
 How sweet their Anthems swell. 
 
 Chide not that I long to go, friends 
 
 The tones that greet mine ear, 
 A spring time in my heart hath made - 
 Tis the loving tones of one wljo played 
 With me beneath the willow shade, * 
 
 In the days to memory dear. 
 
 When ye shall hear, sweet voices hymning 
 
 From the distant spirit shore ; 
 Strange yearnings then, will fill your breast ; 
 Your Souls will pant for the perfect rest 
 Amid the mansions of the blest 
 
 Where sorrow comes no more ! 
 
 * The above lines contains an allusion to the loss of a b 
 ioved Sister, which caused the writer to seek in change of 
 scene, an amelioration from that intense grief which prayed 
 uppn her health and spirits. 
 
Jo Pile ajlols 6. 
 
 COME sit by me, thou timid child, 
 "While the winds are piping- wild 
 Lift to mine thine eyes of blue, 
 Glistening like the spher d dew, 
 Which thy gentle soul beams through, 
 Like sun-light thro a cloud. 
 
 Like the wind-harp near tke sea,. 
 Breathing its low melody, 
 Or like the young and tender vine, 
 Thy hearts tendrils doth entwine, 
 Around this lonely heart of mine ; 
 Filling it with joy. 
 
 I marvel ft, sweet eMd!, that thou, 
 The Angels should have- spaaed till now,- 
 Ever in thy pensive gaze, 
 When thy thoughts seem d in a maze, 
 I ve seen the gleam of starry rays, 
 Beam from thine eyes and brow ! 
 
 I knew the Angels were anear, 
 Circling in their own atmosphere, 
 Thy brow in sleep. Thy white lids lay, 
 In a soft holy calm alway 
 
TO LITTLE VIOLA C. 137 
 
 While o er thy lips bright smiles did play, 
 Like rose leaves steep d in dew. 
 
 Thy mingled smiles of love and glee, 
 Whene er I watch d thee silently, 
 Thy little footstep on the stair, 
 The gleam of thy soft yellow hair, 
 Floating around thy forehead fair, 
 Still haunt my memory ! 
 
 Thy rosy cheeks swift changing hue, 
 The heaven of thy soft eyes of blue, 
 In whose calm depth there lies asleep, 
 The germ of thought intense and deep, 
 Which will thy spirit chords o er sweep, 
 And time thy lips to song. 
 
 Well I know when I shall be, 
 Sleeping soft and peacefully ; 
 Lifting thine anointed head, 
 Thou wilt be singing in my stead, 
 Lays of the living and the dead, 
 Yet more harmoniously. 
 
 For the coming time will bring 
 Brighter themes whereof to sin"-. 
 
 D 
 
 God-like teachers will arise, 
 Majestical, and calm, and wise ; 
 Whose noble deeds of vast emprise, 
 Will be the theme of song ! 
 
138 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 He who with a soft caress, 
 
 Little children stooped to bless, 
 
 Aid thee, little dove-ey d maiden, 
 
 With thy happy fancies laden, 
 
 To keep undimm d the light of Aiden 
 
 On thy sunny brow. 
 
 " And it came to pass, while they communed together, and 
 reasoned, Christ himself drew near and went with them. But 
 their eyes were holden that they should not know him, and ho 
 aaid unto them, What manner of communications are these, 
 that ye have one to another as ye walk and^ are &ad." 
 LUKE 24. 
 
 SOL S parting rays on Olivet s brow lay sleeping, 
 
 At sunset hour where Jesus oft times strayed, 
 *o muse apart, the lonely night watch keeping 
 
 In silent prayer, beneath the Olive s shade. 
 The golden light of the calm Orient heaven, 
 
 Shone as in mockery of the mute despair, 
 Of his lone scattered band, whose hopes were riven 
 
 On whom the sunlight fell with sickly glare ! 
 
 At early dawn, they to his grave repairing, 
 Saw that the tomb had yielded up its dead ! 
 
 Altho forewarned, grief stricken and despairing, 
 They linger d near the Saviour s rock-hewn bed ; 
 
COMMT;:NTNG WITH CHEIST. 139 
 
 The bands of death his soul could not imprison. 
 Two of the band, to Emmaus journeying lone. 
 
 Mused in their hearts if he indeed were risen : 
 Discoursing whiles, in sad and anxious tone, 
 
 Jesus drew nigh, while thus at eve they wander, 
 
 They knew him not their eye of faith was dim ! 
 Why are ye sad ? What themes are these ye 
 ponder 1 
 
 The Sayiour ask d, as they communed with him. 
 Something diyine in those clear tones awaken, 
 
 Strange yearning thoughts, within each throbbing 
 
 breast. 
 They feel, they know not why, their spirits shaken, 
 
 In the calm presence of their wayside guest ! 
 
 Deep toned and clear, like heayenly music stealing, 
 
 O er the hushed air, His words fell on the ear ; 
 While from their sacred Oracles revealing. 
 
 Truths that dispelled, each wildering doubt an^ 
 
 fear, 
 Proying, that Jesus was the true Messiah. 
 
 Who hung upon the cross, on Calvary s hill. 
 That thus twas needful for their Lord to expire, 
 
 God s sovereign plan of mercy to, fulfill ! 
 
 They reach the Village Inn the wayside stranger 
 
 Paused, as reluctant, to deny their quest 
 They knew not then, it was indeed the Saviour, 
 they entreated, to become their guest ! 
 
14:0 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 How thrill d their hearts with awe, and reverent 
 
 feeling, 
 As with bowed forehead, bathed with heavenly 
 
 light, 
 
 lie bless d, and brake the bread, himself revealing; 
 Then straitway vanished from their longing sight ! 
 
 Tho worn with care, with grief and fasting wasted ; 
 
 Yearning to view once more, that blessed face ; 
 Back to the city with fleet steps they hasted : 
 
 His parting footsteps left behind no trace f 
 At midnight hour, they reach a humble dwelling ; 
 
 They to the twelve, the joyful news unfold 
 While hope and joy within each breast is welling ; 
 
 Lo ! in their midst, the Saviour they behold I 
 
 Soft as the dew upon the folded blossom, 
 
 His " Peace be with you," fell upon the ear ! 
 In after time, how thrill d each faithful bosom, 
 
 As they re-called, those blessed words of cheer. 
 How like a Bethel scem d that lowly chamber, 
 
 Whence they went forth, nerved for the coming 
 
 strife, 
 To serve their risen Lord, mid toil and danger, 
 
 To win the fadeless crown of endless life ! 
 
e fo 
 
 THE chilling breath of winter. 
 
 With its skies of leaden grey, 
 And the snow wreaths on the mountains. 
 
 At length are passed away. 
 And all things feel the genial glow, 
 
 Of Spring s bright cheering ray. 
 
 Our own bright glancing river, 
 Hath resumed the olden sway : 
 
 Its blue waves gleam and quiver. 
 Twixt the Elms and Poplars grey. 
 
 While the Robin and the Oriole, 
 Are singing on the spray. 
 
 Bright raindrops are descending. 
 
 With their light and dimpled feet : 
 Tripping o er the tender grasses, 
 
 Waking violet odors sweet 
 Stooping to kiss the silver dew, 
 
 They mingle as they meet. 
 
 The forest buds are swelling. 
 
 Where their gentle tread hath been : 
 O er the pine and hemlock branches, 
 
 A brighter fringe is seen, 
 Beneath their thickly shaded boughs, 
 
 Springs the moss, and lichens green. 
 
142 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 I hear a gentle murmur, 
 
 Scarce heard by mortal ear, 
 A pean of thanksgiving, 
 
 Rising distinctly clear, 
 To him who wakes all slumbering things, 
 
 From the bands of winter drear ! 
 
 With this under tone of music, 
 From forest, dell, and plain^ 
 
 Are songs of gladness ringing, 
 Mid the sunshine and the rain : 
 
 And cheerily this heart of mine, 
 Responds unto the strain ! 
 
 Along the winding river, 
 
 Where Spring blossoms thickly meet, 
 In search of tender cowslips, 
 
 Sounds the tread of youthful feet, 
 Whose glad tones gaily echo back 
 
 Those wood notes wild and sweet, 
 
 I remember in my childhood, 
 
 How oft with tireless feet, 
 I have wandered through the wild wood. 
 
 Spring s early flowers to greet, 
 There s few who love not to recall 
 
 Youth s pastimes wild and sweet. 
 EARLVILLE, 1851. 
 
In WelDoH of Wn. I if. I. 
 
 WRITTEN BY REQUEST. 
 
 YE distant stars that shine in softened glory, 
 
 Far down upon the still and solemn night ! 
 Ye waken dreams and aspirations holy, 
 
 While gazing on your soft and trembling light. 
 While ye in silent watch seem mutely bending, 
 
 Millions of seraphs poised on glittering wing, 
 Tune their glad lyres, with choral hymnings blending 
 
 Anthems of praise, to heaven s eternal King ! 
 
 Amid their shining ranks, the late departed, 
 
 Entranced with wonder veils her raptured sight ! 
 We mourn the clear light which from earth has 
 parted, 
 
 Whose radiance gilds your starry halls to-night ! 
 Hers was a mind, whose lofty aspirations, 
 
 Tower d far above minds of a common mold. 
 No fancy dreams, imbued its high creations, 
 
 But nobler thoughts and deeds its strength unfold. 
 
 True to one lofty thought, one firm endeavor, 
 Inspired by hope?, that girt her soul with power. 
 
 She drank deep draughts of the sweet springs which 
 Reveal God s wisdom, in each shrub or flower ; 
 
 Though pleasure robed in Vildering forms of beauty. 
 Spread her gay lure, to tempt her feet astray ; 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Still walk d she humbly in her path of duty. 
 Though many a charmer, charmed along the w 
 
 Far from the sunny land, of birds and flowers, 
 
 She came among us a loved happy bride, 
 And made her home in this green vale of ours, 
 
 Where the Chenango rolls its silvery tide. 
 Death noiseless came in an unguarded hour, 
 
 And touched her brow, that turned to icy clay ! 
 Ere we had missed her from her earthly bower, 
 
 Her Soul had flown on Angel wing away ! 
 
 Not unprepared : Some spirit note or warning, 
 
 Breathed in her ear, presage of early doom ; 
 Her Soul long clad in its serene adorning, 
 
 Feared not the darkness, that enshrouds the tomb. 
 Her cottage home, so sweetly deck d and shaded. 
 
 Each rare device her busy pencil traced ; 
 All that her own fair hand, had wrought or braided. 
 
 Still hath its own familiar nook and place. 
 
 But her we loved, in snowy robe enshrouded, 
 Serenely slumbers, in the silent tomb ! 
 
 Alas, for him, whose life star is o er clouded, 
 
 With -darkling mist, and more than winter gloom. 
 
 Thou lt list in vain, in the soft blush of morning ; 
 Her low breathed whisper d words, of fervent 
 prayer 1 
 
 No more at eve, the Father s grace imploring, 
 Will she commend thce, to his watchful care ! 
 
IN MEMOEY OF MRS. J. H. L. 
 
 O er her fair Angel brow, a light is gleaming. 
 
 A fadeless light* Heaven s Amaranthine wreath. 
 Her large dark eye, is filled with holy dreaming ; 
 
 No tear of sorrow, lurks its veil beneath ! 
 A smile is on her lip its last faint quiver, 
 
 Changed -to a bright, a happy peaceful smile ! 
 While songs of joy, beyond death s frowning river. 
 
 Was borne unto her dying ear the while. 
 
 Alas, no more, in soft and gentle numbers, 
 
 Will her loved tones float on the evening ah* 
 Soothing her sweet babe, to its nightly slumbers. 
 
 Filling thine inmost heart with peace and prayer. 
 Where many a silvery fount, spray wreathes are 
 flinging, 
 
 "Mid the green pastures of the better land ; 
 I hear her golden lyre, in concert ringing, 
 
 With the blest harpers of the heavenly band ! 
 
 Ah, now methinks I see her dark eye beaming. 
 
 Through yon white cloud-rift gazing gently down. 
 A heavenly lustre falls around me, gleaming 
 
 With the effulgence of her starry crown ! 
 The dream is o er. The cold grey light of morr.lng. 
 
 Recalls my Soul, to earth and earthly care. 
 Fain would I cloathe me in her meek adorning, 
 
 And mount to Heaven, her blissful rest to share, 
 
 OCTOBER. 1850, 
 
I. See-S JLigM-J tn 
 
 The following is related of a young girl, whose journey of 
 life was near the end. 
 
 THE balmy odors of a morn in Spring, 
 Stole through the lattice of a curtained room. 
 Where sat the Angel death, with folded wing 
 Beside a dying child ! The sweet perfume, 
 Circling in playful eddies thro the gloom ; 
 Fan d her pale, and her soft wavy hair, 
 Clustering in golden curls around her forehead fair, 
 
 She was a bright and glorious child from birth, 
 Her large dark eyes (filled with a dreamy light, 
 Whene er she laughed or smil d in winsome mirth,) 
 With kindling radiance beamed intensely bright, 
 Like stars, that gild the jeweled brow of night. 
 The clear soft light her ample forehead wore, 
 Marked her a visitant of some brighter shore ! 
 
 Her parents watched her with unceasing care, 
 To them she seemM a being glorified ! 
 Standing alone upon heaven s top-most stair ; 
 Whence Heavenly Angels with light footsteps 
 
 glide, 
 Along that narrow line, which doth divide, 
 
I SEE A LIGHT. 147 
 
 The spirit-land from ours. Whence their sweet 
 
 Dove, 
 Plumed her bright silver}* wing for the blest clime 
 
 above. 
 
 They were not doomed to see her slowly fade : 
 Death s lovely Angel, found her gathering flowers 
 While in the pauses of her work, she made 
 Sweet music echo thro the woodland bowers, 
 Glittering with pearls, which April wept in 
 
 showers. 
 
 The Angel touched her brow and whisper d mild. 
 Wear thou the seal of Heaven s signet ring, fair 
 
 child. 
 
 That night, the fever burned within her veins. 
 Baffling in its swift course, all human skill. 
 A sweet delirium charmed away her pains ; 
 Softly she murmur d of her flowers, until 
 The Angel s clasp upon her breast grew chill ! 
 Then like a child o er-wearied with its play, 
 She closed her faded eyes, and slowly sank away ! 
 
 Nearer, and nearer, roll d the billowy sea, 
 Of Jordan s waves, which she so soon must tread. 
 Now her dark glazing eye, continuously, 
 Watch d the beloved forms around her bed ; 
 The Saviour laid his arm beneath her head ! 
 And then she softly murmur d, " They are come 
 Mother. I see a light I m almost home." 
 
Gfyolce. 
 
 " And Satan stood up against Israel, and provoked David to 
 number Israel. And God was displeased with this thing ; 
 therefore He smote Israel." 1st CHRONICLES 21 : 1, 7. 
 
 THE orb of day, 
 
 Kobed in phantasmal hues of crimson vapor, 
 Had sank to rest, -while slowly from the east 
 Twilight descended with her viewless feet ; 
 And spread her veil, woven of purple haze 
 Over Jerusalem. It was the hour, 
 When Israel s King,held commune with deep thought ? 
 Or tuned his seraph lyre, whose hallow d strains, 
 Still sound on Zion s hill. Those hallow d themes, 
 Which fan d the fires of poesy in his breast, 
 And formed the burden of his songs by night, 
 No longer cheer d his soul. The tempter s wile, 
 Had lured the Royal victim to the toils, 
 And interfused in his aspiring breast, 
 That fatal element of strife, which wrought 
 Discord in Heaven !* In vain he strove to lift, 
 His soul above the sphere of earthliness, 
 Which hid him from his Maker ! Ev n natures self. 
 The many voiced, the tuneful, the serene, 
 Responsive ever to his sweet regards, 
 
 * An allusion to 2d Peter 2 : 4. 
 
G DAVIDS CHOICE. 
 
 Now wreathed in splendor, or embayed in gloom. 
 Seemed to his conscious breast, engirt with frowns. 
 The silent stars, from out the jewel d sky. 
 Whose nightly advent wakened hymns of praise, 
 Glanced down upon him, with their calm bright eyes, 
 In sad reproachful gaze. While the zephyr, 
 Lifted the damp locks of his golden hair, 
 Drenched with the evening dew. A summer odor, 
 Of Violet, or Rose, that wandered by, 
 Awoke the slumbering pulse of memory. 
 Within his breast. While visions of the past, 
 Roll d back upon his soul ! Once more he roamed 
 Mid the Judean hills ; and led the flocks 
 To pasture, by the side of a clear stream, 
 Whose many voic d waves sang in his ear, 
 While on its banks he tuned his Shepherd reed 
 To notes of melody, whose tones ga**e back 
 In shreds of rhyme, and flowing pastorals, 
 The peaceful tenor of his boy hood s dream. 
 Then manhood s hours, with sterner imagery, 
 Fed the stream of thought. The tumult and the strife 
 Of waring hosts, ^-the perilous escapes. 
 From Saul iiis enemy Aye. and deeds of crime ! 
 But hist i a step is heard within the chamber, 
 And David s brow, paled with a sudden fear, 
 As he beheld the seer of Israel. 
 Then like an Oak, bowed by the tempests scourge, 
 He leaned his head upon his trembling hands, 
 Waiting to hear his doom. ^ % % ^ 
 
150 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And David said, 
 
 " Let me not fall into the hand of man f 
 I yield myself to the Allmerciful 
 I, and my people. And though he slay me, 
 Still will I trust in him I Perchance in mercy 
 He will absolve my doom." 
 
 That night the pestilence, 
 Went forth amid the darkness, and the cry 
 Of desolation stirr d the slumberous air. 
 Men rose at midnight, and with lighted torches, 
 Gazed wildly on each other mute with fear ! 
 Nearer, and nearer came the fearful cry 
 Of mortal anguish, blent with shrieks of terror ; 
 Death was at war with Hie ! 
 
 ******** 
 
 Twas now high noon, 
 
 King David, with the elders girt in sackcloth, 
 Went forth and stood upon the plain where Oman 
 Had gathered in the harvest. His stately Sons 
 Bore in their arms the sheaves of gold en grain, 
 And laid them on the threshing floor. When lo! 
 A fearful cry rose from the husbandmen, 
 Who fell to earth, hidden beneath the sheaves ? 
 ******** 
 
 The Angel of the pestilence, 
 
 Stood near the threshing floor, with his drawn sword 
 Raised o er Jerusalem ! And David cried aloud, 
 " Tis only I am guilty, oh, my God ! 
 Let thy just wrath and indignation fall 
 
SPIRITrAL COMMUXINGS. 151 
 
 On me alone ! Smite thou the Shepherd, 
 But spare the guiltless flock." God heard his cry. 
 The flaming sword returned unto his sheath, 
 And while all Israel robed in weeds of mourning, 
 Bewailed with tears the seventy thousand slain, 
 David arose and built to God an Altar 
 Upon the threshing floor, and fire came down 
 From Heaven upon the Altar, and consumed 
 The sacrifice. \ 
 
 t The Biblical Student, is doubtless aware that the Temple 
 of Jerusalem covered the precise spot once occupied by the 
 threshing floor of Oman the Jebusite ; where the Israelites 
 sacrificed upon the Altar, until the building of the Temple, 
 having removed the Tabernacle from the high place at Gibeon. 
 
 " Some say that gleams of a remoter world, 
 Visit the Soul in sleep. That death is slumber, 
 And that its shapes, the busy thoughts outnumber, 
 Of those who wake and live." 
 
 I KNOW not why I often dream of thee, 
 
 While now w r e meet no more, except in dreams. 
 
 Is it that thou far o er the eternal sea, 
 
 And o er the sounding depths of heavenly streams 
 
 Doth visit me in sleep, with starry gleams 
 
 Of thy divine abode ? Yon star, whose breast 
 
 Intensely luminous, with kindling beams. 
 
152 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Gleaming mid starry islands of the blest, 
 Perchance may be thy home of calm and peaceful 
 rest ! 
 
 We two were parted in life s morning hours, 
 While yet their dew upon our young hearts lay ; 
 
 Thou wert call d home to the Elysian bowers, 
 While I have wander d on life s weary way, 
 
 Striving with books and flowers to charm away 
 Mine early grief. Dost thou remember still, 
 
 When seated on a ruin old and grey, 
 
 We watched the sunlight fading from the hill, 
 While vague foreshadowing fears, our youthful 
 breasts did thrill ! 
 
 Startled by our own thoughts, we looked around, 
 A strange bird hover d near us, whose bright 
 
 wings, 
 
 Circl d one moment o er the dusty ground, 
 Then soaring upward, in expansive rings, 
 Scorning the bondage of earth s meaner things, 
 He passed beyond the view. And thus did st 
 
 thou, 
 
 Burst the dull chains, which life forever flings 
 Round the aspiring spirit. Thou could st not bow 
 Save unto Heaven alone, thy bright and glorious 
 brow! 
 
 Know st thou, how I was tempted in my lot, 
 How one like thee, with eyes of Heaven s own 
 blue,. 
 
SPIRITUAL COMMUXIXGS. 153 
 
 Bewailed in accents ne er to be forgot 
 
 Our common doom. Our years were sad and few, 
 Yet we were old in thought. The morning dew 
 
 Glitter d on that lone shore, where last we parted. 
 My friend went forth, life s conflict to renew ; 
 
 While I, alas, grief- worn and weary hearted, 
 
 Wept on that lonely shore till day s last beam 
 departed. 
 
 Peace came at length to my o er burden d breast 
 
 And though tis strange, I can no longer weep ! 
 While in the pauses of my deep unrest. 
 
 I envied e en the dead their dreamless sleep : 
 Yet now I feel a solemn calmness creep 
 
 O er my being. I know tis not despair, 
 Whose tranquil shadow lies so still and deep, 
 
 On my crushed heart. Hope fans the slumberous 
 air, 
 
 Of my souls " dead sea calm" with wings divinely 
 fair! 
 
 Is it sweet love, that calm and peaceful rest, 
 That visits oft the dying ] They who feel, 
 
 Life s stormy waves, no more oppress the breast ; 
 Have neared the post of Heaven ! Can st not 
 reveal, 
 
 What time Ithuriel s kiss mine eyes will seal, 
 In that sweet sleep which " medicines all pain !" 
 
 Whose gentle dews the wounded spirit heal 
 
154: AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 From which we wake, to find life s weary chain, 
 Which bound the franchised spirit, rent like flax 
 in twain. 
 
 Chill disappointment lurks for those who seek 
 All human sympathies in one alone : 
 
 And this has been my fate. Yet wherefore speak 
 Of that dark starless night. When my heart s 
 moan, 
 
 Breath d unavailing sighs. I moved alone, 
 Over the waves of my life s billowy sea ; 
 
 While o er my brow, a mystic veil was thrown ; 
 Beneath its folds, a radiant light I see, 
 Shining from out the cloud, that hides thy home 
 
 from me ! 
 JANUARY, 1851. 
 
 THOU gay and gaudy flow ret, 
 Robed in orange, blue and red, 
 Lifting unto the Sun s broad gaze 
 Thy bright and peerless head. 
 How often from my window, 
 Cloathed in regal pomp i ve seen 
 Thee, share the homage of the crow d, 
 With a proud and stately mien. 
 
THE TULIP. 155 
 
 Foremost among thy Sisters, 
 
 Within the bright parterre, 
 
 Thy flaunting robe attracts the gaze 
 
 Of passing traveler. 
 
 They call thee, Queen of Tulips ; 
 
 In very truth thou art ! 
 
 But I love thee not no fragrant scent, 
 
 Thy brilliant hues impart. 
 
 Thou art like a purse-proud maiden, 
 Who vaunteth of her gold ! 
 With rings and jewels laden, 
 Whose heart is stern and cold ! 
 No gentle deed of mercy, 
 Of kindness, or of love ! 
 Around her memory lingers, 
 Or pleads for her above ! 
 
 Thou votary of pleasure, 
 Swayed by fashion s fickle tide ; 
 From the scentless Tulip gather, 
 A lesson for thy pride ! 
 How soon its beauties perish ; 
 And no fragrance leaves behind ! 
 Ah, who its form would cherish, 
 When faded, scentless blind ! 
 
 A sweet and holy lesson, 
 
 I ve learned bright flower from thee ! 
 
 To bear without repining, 
 
 What e er my lot may be. 
 
156 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 When discontent ariseth, 
 And weary thoughts oppress, 
 I ll think of thee, poor Tulip, 
 Of thy gay and brilliant dress. 
 
 It is thy only portion, 
 And many such there be ! 
 Who heedless sport upon the tide 
 Of a smiling summer sea ; 
 But when the storm ariseth, 
 And threat ning winds assail, 
 They have no power to stem the tide, 
 And perish in the gale ! 
 BINGIIAMPTON, June, 1847. 
 
 On the death of Doct. J. $., aged 84 years, late 
 of Sherburne, N. Y. 
 
 THOU art gone to the grave, in the fullness of years, 
 With thy head meekly bowed neath the blossoms of 
 
 time ; 
 
 Thus the well ripen d sheaf, in the harvest appears, 
 Richly laden with ears, of the mid-summer s prime ! 
 As the husbandman gathers the ripe golden grain, 
 That once gracefully waved o er the hill-side and 
 
 plain, 
 
ELEGIAC STANZAS. 157 
 
 Thus thou in God r s harvest was borne from the field ; 
 Thy calm placid brow, wore the impress and seal, 
 Of one who the path of the righteous had trod, 
 And held sweet communion in walking with God. 
 
 Four-score long years thou did st journey below, 
 "Till thine eye waxed dim, and thy pulse faint and 
 
 low 
 
 Still with tremulous step, and aspect serene, 
 In the temple of God, thou wast want to be seen ; 
 And like a firm pillar which long had upborne, 
 Its weight mid st the wreck of time s pitiless storm. 
 Thou did st yield by degrees to the spoiler s rude 
 
 sway ; 
 And we saw with deep grief thou wast passing 
 
 away ! 
 Yet we mourn d less for thee, with thy haven in 
 
 sight, 
 Than ourselves left enshrouded in sorrow s dark 
 
 night. 
 
 And well have we loved thee, our father and guide ; 
 How oft in the past, as we knelt by thy side, 
 Hath our souls thrill d with awe, at thy low fervent 
 
 words, 
 
 Till the innermost depths of our spirits were stir d. 
 And we felt that the presence of Jesus was there, 
 In our hearts and our mid st in answer to prayer. 
 Thy wise prudent counsels so faithfully given, 
 Were stor d in our hearts like a message from 
 
 Heaven. 
 
158 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Yet we knew not till dust was laid o er the loved 
 
 head, 
 How we prized and rever d the sanctified dead. 
 
 How peaceful and calm was thy life s closing ray, 
 Though the soul struggl d long, with the cumbering 
 
 clay : 
 
 We saw by thy glance, that the darkness and gloom, 
 That sometimes o er shadows the night of the tomb, 
 Obscured not thy view. A halo instead, 
 Illumed the dark halls of the shadowless dead. 
 And beyond, oh, how bright was eternity s blaze f 
 As thine eye pierced the mists of death s gathering 
 
 haze, 
 
 And the soul of the patriarch, cheer d by its ray, 
 From our fond yearning sight pass d serenely away. 
 
 HER home lay in a flowery dell, 
 Fair as the plains of Asphodel, 
 Where a winding river sweet music made, 
 And the summer winds, in their joyance play d, 
 Soft as the eye of the bright Gazelle, 
 Her dark eye shone with a dreamy spell, 
 While musing apart by the fountains brim ; 
 Or wandering lone thro the wood paths dim. 
 
ZAYDA. 159 
 
 She moved with a stately and queenlike grace, 
 
 As if her thoughts with her feet kept pace. 
 
 Like the waves soft undulatory motion, 
 
 When the winds are asleep on the breast of Ocean, 
 
 Her hair in hyacinthine flow, 
 
 In the sunlight shone with a purple glow. 
 
 Restless and free, and imconfined, 
 
 As the sicay ing flowers math the summer wind I 
 
 She was the lilly of that sweet vale ! 
 A Naiad-like lilly. whose cheek grew pale. 
 With inward strivings with thoughts that lie, 
 Neath the silken fringe of her drooping eye. 
 While many admir d her minds rich dower ; 
 Twas said that a strange repellant power, 
 Of which we read in the myths of old ; 
 Bound the lady s heart in many a fold ! 
 
 And shone in her large dark starry eyes, 
 Like the kindling beams of the polar skies ; 
 With a cold and phosphoresant glow, 
 Like moon beams shining on drifts of snow. 
 Some said the lady was proud and cold ! 
 Her heart was formed in a gentle mold, 
 Which ne er had found an answering tone, 
 To blend in music with her own. 
 
 Therefore mid crowds she moves apart. 
 Weaving sweet dreams in her silent heart ! 
 
160 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 When the light touch of a magic key, 
 Shall unlock its sweet toned symphony. 
 Then will its fears and its sad unrest, 
 Be safely lodged in a kindred breast, 
 And the place within that heart denied, 
 To holier memories be allied. 
 
 rteir of fte M* S 
 
 AH, noble D Enghein, how sad was thy fate ! 
 
 Yet who would exchange with the base born ingrate, 
 
 Who plan d thy foul murder, intrigued for thy 
 
 crown, 
 
 And peril d his soul for a warrior s renown ! 
 The sky was o er cast with a dull leaden haze, 
 The pale moon withdrew her soft shining rays, 
 While each little star that illumines the night, 
 Grew pale with deep sorrow, or blank with affright ; 
 Frown d darkly and drear, o er the grey looming 
 
 towers, 
 Of thy Castle Vincecnes, while the rain fell in 
 
 showers, 
 The moldering banners were loosed from their 
 
 staves, 
 
 And mingled their din with the roar of the waves : 
 The low whisper d murmurs, that rose from the hall. 
 Woke the slumbering echoes along the dim wall ; 
 
MURDER OF D 1 ENGHEI3T. 161 
 
 The dull ringing sound of the grave digger s spade, 
 To the heart of the victim strange terror convey d ! 
 While enlocked in repose he peacefully lay, 
 In slumber he dreamed of the loved far away ; 
 Where the fair rose of Ettenheim veils her sweet 
 
 bloom, 
 In her dim cloister d chamber she mourns his sad 
 
 doom ! 
 Oh, sweet were the hours when they wandered 
 
 together, 
 O er the green dewy lawn, and the soft blooming 
 
 heather ; 
 
 When the heart of the Exile forgot half its woe, 
 In those joys which from love and sympathy flow. 
 They dreamed of an Isle o er the far distant main, 
 Where the reckless Usurper might seek them in 
 
 vain ; 
 
 Where faction s fierce frowns might no longer alarm ; 
 Where the ire of a despot could work them no 
 
 harm : 
 
 Or a home mid the lone Euganean hills ; 
 Where naught but the echo of deep sounding rills, 
 Stirs the slumberous silence that broods on the air ; 
 Where peace reigns supreme mid the solitudes there. 
 Too long these sweet dreams doth the Exile enthrall, 
 The treacherous spy lurks in Ettenheim s hall. 
 Again he must fly to some distant retreat ; 
 
162 AMAWxS Til BLOOMS. 
 
 His brave noble charger with limbs lithe and fleet ; 
 (Whose small silken ears eyes, large, gleaming and 
 
 bright, 
 Mark the true Arab blood,) stands caparison d for 
 
 flight. 
 
 Like a Tyrolese hunter, equip d for the chase, 
 In the long chamois gaiters, his limbs are encased : 
 Neath the shaggy capote gleams the bright scarlet 
 
 vest, 
 
 The broad Spanish girdle encinctured his breast, 
 But his high noble lineage no art could disguise ; 
 It shone in the light of his large brilliant eyes, 
 And o er his broad forehead, where thoughts sat 
 
 enthron d, 
 
 In his pure Gaelic accent, and clear gentle tone ; 
 The first kindling beams of the morning appear, 
 Still he lingers to whisper some sweet words of 
 
 cheer, 
 
 To dispel the vague fears which his Princess alarms ; 
 While weeping she clung to his sheltering arms. 
 Mid the fierce din and strife of a French ambuscade, 
 The brave noble Conde, was a prisoner convey d, 
 To the heart of a Fortress, in manhood s first bloom ? 
 Consign* d to a dungeon, destined for his tomb ! 
 
 The scenes of that night it is sad to recall, 
 The midnight tribunal that met in the hall : 
 The shameful mock-trial prejudged and predooin d 
 The victim is led from that chamber of gloom, 
 
163 
 
 But the brave manly heart is a stranger to tear, 
 Since that heart from all guilt and from falsehood is 
 
 clear ; 
 Thro the long winding corridors, damp with the 
 
 mold, 
 They emerge where the sky beams down chilly and 
 
 cold: 
 
 Like a victim of slaughter, he turn* d back his head, 
 But his guides dare not falter, still onward they led, 
 To the moat of the Castle, where placed in the rear, 
 Stood a platoon*of soldiers, with carbine and spear ; 
 And the rude yawning grave with the spade lying by. 
 One glance of the victim, one faintly drawn sigh, 
 And quickly he summon d the pride of his race, 
 And with true martial courage he step d to his place : 
 A ring from his finger, a lock of his hair, 
 He inclosed for the princess, and seal d it with care : 
 Who among you my comrades, he mournfully spake, 
 This pledge of affection will bear for my sake ? 
 The promise was given with hands joined in prayer, 
 He commended his soul to his Maker s just care ! 
 
 A deep groan of anguish escaped from each breast, 
 As the death bullet sped through the brave martial 
 
 chest ! 
 
 His brave faithful dog fell convulsed at the sight, 
 O er the grave of his master, he moan d through the 
 
 night ! 
 One morning at dawn, like the bearer of fate, 
 
AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Weak and wan stood poor Victor, at Ettenheim s 
 
 gate. 
 
 At the feet of his mistress he laid himself down, 
 One glance of deep anguish, one sad moaning sound, 
 Reveals the sad tidings one last mute caress, 
 And the death torpor chills the poor victim s distress. 
 A blood stain d kerchief round his collar was bound, 
 In its folds were the relics of love safely found ; 
 A note for the Princess, reveal d his sad fate, 
 Whose bearer lay dead, at Ettenheim s gate ! 
 
 Jo !J>$. Bnn 
 
 WHILE MAKING THE TOUR OF EUROPE. 
 
 LADY, the soft south wind is gently blowing, 
 
 Cold winter s reign has passed from earth and sky ! 
 Thine own blue streams, once more are freely flowing. 
 
 The westering clouds are tinged with softer dye ! 
 Will not the spring that wakes to life the flowers, 
 
 And cloathes with swelling buds the beechen tree, 
 That fills with singing birds the woodland bowers, 
 
 Recall thee homeward, from beyond the sea ? 
 Thou hast left records of sweet thoughts inwoven, 
 
 With music strains, whose sweet bells softly 
 
 chime ! 
 Transfused with tender light, and interwoven, 
 
 With starry gems wrought in the hearts deep 
 mine. 
 
MRS. ANX S. STEPHENS. 165 
 
 Rare gifts are thine which from thy genial nature. 
 
 Receive sweet nutriment, like flowers that bloom 
 Beneath the watchful eye of the Creator, 
 
 Whose balmy odor cheered my lonely room ; 
 Where in dim twilight passed the summer hours. 
 
 Of many a year with slow and leaden feet. 
 Until I seem d to feel, the budding flowers 
 
 Grow o er my breast, wafting their odors sweet, 
 On soft May breezes, that with gentle murmur, 
 
 Came lightly tapping at my window pane ; 
 Weaving bright garlands for the joyous summer. 
 
 Dancing with lightsome tread, across the plain. 
 
 There sat by my bedside, a gentle maiden, 
 
 Who with soft accents, read from out a book 
 Whose winsome strains re-called my soul from Aiden , 
 
 And my whole frame, with kindling rapture shook . 
 Once more I heard the limpid fountain gushing, 
 
 Beneath the hill, where oft in days long flown. 
 The sighing nightbreeze, thro the pine trees rushing. 
 
 Breathed in my ear its low and plaintive moan, 
 And the loud murmur of the streamlet dashing 
 
 Adown the rocks, while bounding on its way 
 Blent with the drowsy hum of insects flashing, 
 
 Their tiny wings amid its rainbow spray. 
 
 Thine was the strain, dear lady that enthrall d me 
 With its sweet picture of life s sunny hours ! 
 
 And thine the radiant vision, that re-called me 
 TO this dull earth, from the Elysian bowers ! 
 
166 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 But ah, those haunting thoughts that ever mingle 
 
 Their flitting shadows in the gifted breast 
 Where many voiced waves doth intermingle, 
 
 In a low melody, whose deep unrest, 
 Oft^fills thy dreamy eye with pensive sadness, 
 
 Like theirs whose sight has pierced the inner veil ; 
 A low deep undertone of grief and madness. 
 
 Wrung from crushed hearts, haunts thee with 
 spirit wail ! 
 
 Still the gay world feeds on thy vernal fancies, 
 
 Like honey bees, that sip the flowering thyme ! 
 So thou but weave those bright and gay romances, 
 
 Cull d from the storied page of many a clime ; 
 They reck not of the wealth thus freely given ! 
 
 Scattered like wayside flowers throughout the 
 
 land : 
 
 Thy sweet thoughts, " breathing less of earth than 
 heaven," 
 
 Leave on the heart, their influence pure and bland ! 
 While now amid Illyria s classic bowers, 
 
 O er many a marble fount, and ruined shrine, 
 Thou lingerest, or amid the Alhambras Towers, 
 
 Or wandering neath the palms of Palestine. 
 
 Twixt whose broad leaves the stars gleam down in 
 splendor, 
 
 Like jewels set upon the brow of night ! 
 Where the soft Pleiades, and Hyades tender, 
 
 With Orion, and Procydon, blend their light. 
 
ROBIN GREY. 167 
 
 Or on the Ocean s breast, where bright waves 
 leaping, 
 
 Rejoice in might, the boundless, and the free ! 
 Heaven have thee lady, in its holy keeping, 
 
 And guard thee safe, on land, or on the sea. 
 Soon thy green woods, filled with triumphant singing. 
 
 Shall beckon thee, across the rolling main : 
 While thy glad heart, with hope and joy is springing 
 
 To greet thy friends, and native land again. 
 EARLVILLE. May, 1851. 
 
 OR THE STONE MASON AND HIS ANGEL. 
 
 1 REMEMBER the cot by the wirnpling burn, 
 
 It has long since passed away : 
 Where the sweet brier grew and the feathery fern. 
 
 Round the home of poor Robin Grey. 
 With mickle labor, he strove to keep, 
 
 Grim want from his humble door. 
 He dreamed a dream one night in his sleep, 
 
 Which left him never more ! 
 
 He dreamed that the Angel Gabriel came, 
 
 And stood by his Cottage door ! 
 And the golden light from his raiment fell. 
 
 And shone on the anded floor ! 
 
168 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 His silvery plumage was fleck d with gold, 
 
 And dazzling as light could be f 
 But the radiant face he could scarce behold 
 
 For its glorious majesty ! 
 
 Meantime as he gazed, his thoughts grew calm, 
 
 As he felt that soft radiant glow 
 Of crystal light interfuse its balm, 
 
 And through all his pulses flow, 
 Like a wing d and permeating thought, 
 
 From the region of light and love. 
 It was plain that his dormant soul had caught 
 
 A glimpse of the life above ! 
 
 Lest the vision shouM fade from his yearning breast. 
 
 He toiled when his task was done, 
 To carve the form of his Angel guest, 
 
 In the unhewn marble stone. 
 His hopes are plumed like the Angels wings, 
 
 Annaled on his heart and brain ;- 
 As he caught a glimpse of the unsealed springs 
 
 That water the Heavenly plain. 
 
 Life s winged moments sped on apace, 
 
 His beard grew thin and grey ! 
 But the spiritual radiance lent his face, 
 
 Grew brighter each passing day ! 
 This marked not his bustling dame, 
 
 Who called him up at morn. ; 
 
GKET. 169 
 
 She knew not the strength of his vital flame, 
 Was sinkin with toil o er worn. 
 
 
 But few were the visits he now could pay, 
 
 To his Angel by stealth at night. 
 But the Angel within his breast each day, 
 
 Waxed more luminous and bright ! 
 One morn he was found in his little cell, 
 
 Asleep on the cold hard floor. 
 His soul had ascended, in Heaven to dwell, 
 
 With the Angel forever more ! 
 
 And the stone, which had witnessed life s parting 
 strife, 
 
 Enclasped in his fainting fall; 
 Where a human heart had carved out its life, 
 
 Was broken to mend the wall ! 
 Though he failed to accomplish the one Idea, 
 
 Ensta raped on his heart and brain 
 In the clearer light of eternity, 
 
 Who will sav that he toiled in vain ? 
 
 Hie Sfe 
 
 I REMEMBER not my Father, I was but a little child. 
 When my pale browed, dark eyed Mother, wept 
 
 with grief and sorrow wild, 
 
 As they told her he was sleeping, on a distant shore. 
 She clasped me to her bosOm, then fell fainting on 
 
 the floor. 
 
170 AMAEANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Years passed, my gentle mother, for her tender 
 
 Orphan s sake, 
 Was wedded to another, while with grief our hearts 
 
 did ache : 
 For we oft times found her weeping, o er a little 
 
 Auburn tress, 
 And the fragment of a letter ever worn upon her 
 
 breast ! 
 
 The look of mournful sadness never left her pallid 
 
 brow, 
 Why she hushed our childish gladness, we knew not 
 
 then as now ! 
 When we heard a well known footstep, we were 
 
 silent mid our play, 
 
 And like two young and startled fawns, fled noise 
 lessly away ! 
 Him we learned to call our Father, was not cruel 
 
 or unkind, 
 Since he gave us food and raiment, but the love for 
 
 which we pined, 
 Not even its blessed semblance, caused our breasts 
 
 with joy to swell ; 
 And on our young and timid hearts, a mournful 
 
 shadow fell. 
 
 I remember not my Father, but my Mother oft 
 
 times told, 
 How he was a child of genius, with locks of paly 
 
 gold: 
 
THE STEP-CHILD. iTl 
 
 Wrcath d in soft and clustering ringlets, o er his 
 
 forehead pale and high, 
 And darkly shone the liquid blue of his Heaven 
 
 up-lifted eye! 
 Oft I dreamed of my lost parent, ever in sleep he 
 
 came, 
 When my heart seem d well nigh broken, with a 
 
 sense of wrong and blame ; 
 (Each unkind word then spoken, pierced my wrung 
 
 heart to its core ;) 
 He laid his hand upon my head and then I wept 
 
 on more ! 
 
 Long ago, my sweet pale Mother, was laid within 
 
 the grave, 
 And my brave and only brother, sailed across the 
 
 Ocean wave. 
 I know not if the shadow, which darkened our young 
 
 life, 
 Still hovers o er his altered lot, mid life s turmoil 
 
 and its strife ! 
 I never meet the Orphan but mine eye is dim d 
 
 with tears, 
 And I think o er all the sorrow, that darkens their 
 
 young years ! 
 How many a young and gentle heart, is chill d with 
 
 fear and gloom, 
 The shadow of whose mournful lot. sets only in the 
 
 tomb ! 
 
The subject of the following poem, was one of those rare 
 and lovely beings, whose existence is a perpetual hymn of 
 divinest harmony ; blessed with every external advantage, and 
 in the enjoyment of almost every earthly blessing, she was 
 not unmindful of the giver of all good, and her young life was 
 consecrated to His service. She was the first to discover the 
 presence of the Angel Messenger, and calmly exclaimed, " I 
 am dying, but I am not afraid !" These were her last words, 
 and soon a smile of ineffable sweetness lingered upon her fair 
 young brow. Her spirit had ascended to the bosom of her 
 Creator. 
 
 A BIRD S sweet song within my ear is ringing, 
 
 And cloudless smiles Heaven s glorious arch of 
 
 blue, 
 The sunset skies, soft golden gleams are flinging 
 
 O er the green grass, begem d with silvery dew. 
 Once more the earth is robed in hues of Aiden, 
 
 Fresh woodland scents are borne upon the gale ; 
 But to mine ear the breeze seems sorrow laden, 
 
 And on its bosom floats the voice of wail ! 
 
 Alas ! my youngest, dearest one has perished, 
 The nurseling of my widow d heart, who grew 
 
 Like a sweet flower, so dearly loved and cherished, 
 Whose snowy petals faded ere they blew 
 
 Into full bloom ! Within my lonely dwelling, 
 An Angel form hath vanished from my sight ; 
 
THE FATHER S LAMENT. 173 
 
 No more when vermeil buds with bloom are swelling, 
 Will my sweet ADA, watch their tender light ! 
 
 The fragrant scent of the frail apple blossoms, 
 
 Borne on the south winds soft and odorous breath, 
 And the pale violets with their starry bosoms, 
 
 Sprinkled along the dewy vale and heath, 
 Wake hi my heart, a faint and weary yearning, 
 
 Since she who loved their soft and fragrant bloom, 
 No more will hail the genial spring s returning ! 
 
 Its fragile blossoms wither on her tomb ! 
 
 She walked upon this earth a form of brightness ; 
 
 Cheering the agel with her gladsome smile. 
 Her truthful heart ne er sway d from its uprightness, 
 
 To indulge deceit, or falsehood s treacherous guile, 
 Pure as a clew drop in life s early morning, 
 
 She pass d away in her young virgin bloom ! 
 Her spirit cloath d in its serene adorning, 
 
 Feared not the darkness that enshrouds the tomb ! 
 
 Along the banks of life s broad shining river, 
 
 Walks a new Angel, robed in spotless white ! 
 The Amaranth s snowy blossoms gleam and quiver. 
 
 Amid its foaming spray- wreaths silvery light 
 Amid those Eden bowers, no earthly sorrow 
 
 Will reach her more. By those immortal rills, 
 She waits to welcome on a distant morrow, 
 
 Our weary footsteps, o er the Heavenly hills. 
 
Jo 
 
 WRITTEN IMPROMPTU. 
 
 WHITHER comest thou Minstrel Maiden, 
 
 With thy dulcet tones so sweet, 
 Hast thou left thy home in Aiden, 
 
 Our ungenial clime to greet 1 
 Thronging crowds around thee listen 
 
 Nightly to thy thrilling strains ; 
 While they list, bright tear drops glisten. 
 
 Falling like the silver rain ! 
 
 Hail to thee, surpassing spirit ! 
 
 None can rival thy sweet art ; 
 Thou from Heaven dost inherit 
 
 Inborn melody of heart ! 
 Gushing forth in notes of gladness 
 
 From thy lips in music flow ; 
 Or in tones of deepest sadness 
 
 Breathing forth the notes of woe ! 
 
 Priestess of the inner temple 
 
 Song hath touched thy lips with tire. 
 
 Sure thy music must resemble, 
 
 Theirs who swell the Heavenly choir. 
 
 Like the lark, who thee resembles, 
 Thy clear notes in joyance rise, 
 
JEXXY LIXD. 175 
 
 Till the flood of music trembles, 
 And dissolves along the skies. 
 
 Like a lone star brightly burning, 
 
 Thou mid crouds art still alone ! 
 While thy spirit inly yearning 
 
 Lists each well remember d tone, 
 Of the distant and the lonely. 
 
 Sitting by their silent hearth, 
 Thinking nightly of thee, only, 
 
 A weary wanderer o er the earth. 
 
 Soon our singing birds will leave us, 
 
 Sailing o er the distant main ! 
 Another spring, their songs will greet us. 
 
 But thou wilt not return again ! 
 When thy voice so sweetly ringing 
 
 Dies within thy silent breast ! 
 Thou sweet Jenny, wilt be singing 
 
 Mid the mansions of the blest. 
 
 THE Sea Gull has flown to her windy nest, 
 And the Nightingale to her bower ; 
 
 The Halcyon broods on the Ocean s breast. 
 And the Owl in her Ivy tower. 
 
 The Stars shine down like jewels set 
 Mid the dusky braids of even. 
 
176 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 In a soft and glittering coronet, 
 That gilds the brow of Heaven ! 
 
 Dost thou gaze like me on our trysting star, 
 
 That glows in the deep blue west 1 
 Its kindling beams light thy home, afar 
 
 O er the Ocean s billowy breast. 
 Its soft and glittering light recalls 
 
 Scenes long since passed away ; 
 When music and joy were within our walls, 
 
 And our hearts were young and gay. 
 
 One eve in June, when the fragrant wind, 
 
 Blew soft from the breezy west 
 To a drowsy sweetness our thoughts inclined, 
 
 As we sailed o er the lakes calm breast, 
 We paused to rest on an Island fair, 
 
 In the mid st of the glassy bay ; 
 Fringed with feathery brake and maiden hair, 
 
 And the star Anemone. 
 
 The whispering winds were hushed asleep, 
 
 On the shore of the lovely bay ; 
 O er its tranquil waves so calm and deep, 
 
 The smile of Heaven lay. 
 Down the sloping bank, mid the mossy sedge, 
 
 Where the blue flag blossoms waved 
 The Water Lilly crown d its edge, 
 
 And the winds and waters braved ! 
 
177 
 
 The mellow light of the sunset sky, 
 
 Gleamed soft o er the sylvan scene, 
 And illumed the waves with its golden dye, 
 
 And the ripples that played between ; 
 While the music of the breezy pines. 
 
 Fell soft on our hearts that hour : 
 And the rustle of the creeping vines, 
 
 Around our sea-girt bower ! 
 
 I saw thee gaze, o er the mountains peak, 
 
 That leaned against the sky, 
 And I marked the flush that was on thy cheek, 
 
 And the glance of thy fearless eye ! 
 Which the Ocean tempest had failed to tame, 
 
 Mid its deaf ning strife and roar ; 
 Thy name is enroll d on the scroll of fame, 
 
 And we meet, ah ! never more ! 
 EABLVILLE, 1852, 
 
 be, 1851. 
 
 THE wood fire casts a ruddy gleam 
 Around my lone, yet cheerful room ; 
 
 The curtain d lamp, with softened beam 
 Dispels the dim and shadowy gloom, 
 
ITS 
 
 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 I ll spend in silent watch the hours, 
 
 That to the dying year belong. 
 Ere morn shall gild her eastern bowers, 
 
 Thou, too, wilt join the shadowy throng. 
 
 The dawning of thy reign was bright, 
 
 Fill d with high hopes and deeds sublime, 
 Soon closed o er all the fearful night, 
 
 Of anarchy, despair, and crime. 
 Great souls have strug led toil d in vain 
 
 Long cherish d hopes are quench d in gloom. 
 The dungeon damp, and felons chain, 
 
 Are many a high soul d patriots doom. 
 
 No home hath freedom s Eagle crest 
 
 O er all Europia, blood bought soil, 
 Save where she built her mountain nest, 
 
 Among the freeborn sons of toil. 
 And hovering o er thine onward path, 
 
 The dark wing d pestilence hath spread, 
 Its withering blight and fearful scath, 
 
 Numbering its millions with the dead. 
 
 Then marvel not old year, that I 
 
 Thus calmly watch thy funeral pyre, 
 
 Yet thou hast kindly dealt with me, 
 And granted many a fond desire. 
 
 No buds have perished in the dust, 
 
 Round which my fond affections cling ; 
 
179 
 
 \ dwell with calm and holy trust, 
 Beneath Jehovah s sheltering wing. 
 
 Time In its flight perchance hath traced, 
 
 Some sad memorials of its reign, 
 We grieve to view in a dear face, 
 
 The deepen d lines of care and pain, 
 Yet dearer is the chasten d light 
 
 Of loving eyes bedim d by tears, 
 And dearer to our yearning sight, 
 
 The care worn faded brow appears. 
 
 The clock strikes twelve. Thou dawning year. 
 
 What message dost thou bring to me? 
 I gaze with trembling awe, and fear, 
 
 Upon the scroll that s writ for me. 
 "Tis for the loved ones that I fear, 
 
 Whose Angel footsteps linger still 
 Perchance ere dawns another year, 
 
 They ll beckon from the Heavenly hill, 
 
 Our church yard is a pleasant spot, 
 
 It stands beside the village green. 
 The Myrtle and Forget-me-not, 
 
 Its bladed grasses gleam between. 
 There lie the friends beyond compare, 
 
 The kindest, loveliest, dearest, best. 
 One young bright head with golden hair. 
 
 Hath the cold dreamless pillow press d. 
 
AMABANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And one with shining bands of brown, 
 
 My Mother s was of purple jet, 
 Her pale, high, noble forehead crowned, 
 
 Like a dark lustrous coronet. 
 When softly slumbering by their side ; 
 
 Robed in a pure and snowy dress, 
 There s one will keep, with loving pride, 
 
 Of mine, one little golden tress. 
 
 fo 
 
 THOU art but a wee thing dearest, 
 
 And yet I often trace, 
 Revealings of deep earnest thought, 
 
 Upon thine Infant face. 
 
 Thou art too frail a blossom 
 For this cold world of ours, 
 
 Where burning tears more frequent fall, 
 Than April s sunny showers. 
 
 Thou hast a fair young Mother, 
 As guileless e en as thou ; 
 
 The same pure, holy look is hers, 
 That cloathes thy Cherub brow, 
 
 She often murmurs in her sleep, 
 And folds thee to her breast, 
 
LINES TO AX INFANT. 181 
 
 She dreams that bright eyed seraphs. 
 Bend o er thy couch of rest ! 
 
 For she knows that very dearly, 
 
 Such as thou, the Angels love, 
 And she often deems they re waiting. 
 
 To bear thee home above. 
 
 So fragile and so slender, 
 
 Are the links of thy life s chain, 
 
 That thy gleeful play oft sendeth, 
 The fever thro thy veins. 
 
 Then her place is by thy pillow, 
 Keeping watch till dawn of light : 
 
 And a headstone neath the willow, 
 Haunts her thoughts tjie dreary night. 
 
 Then she hears light garments rustle, 
 
 And the clasp of Angel wings, 
 And a mournful sweetness blendeth, 
 
 With the lullaby she sings ! 
 
 Thus more holy and more tender, 
 
 Grows her love, thro fears for thee : 
 
 Like the sweet Madonna Mother, 
 With her infant on her knee! 
 
Gift of 
 
 " And fancies from afar are brought, 
 
 By magic lights and wandering wind." L. E. L. 
 
 OH, envy not the gift of song, 
 
 The poets dower, oh, envy not 
 Thou knowest not the ills that throng, 
 
 Around its votaries hapless lot. 
 How many a child of genius lives, 
 
 Immured in some lone attics gloom \ 
 Toiling for fame, which scarce out lives. 
 
 The wither d laurel on his tomb, 
 
 Why seek for fame ? tis but a gleam 
 
 Of light across our pathway shed : 
 We wake from hopes delusive dream, 
 
 To find but darkness in its stead. 
 Tis oft the price of burning tears, 
 
 Of sleepless nights, and anxious days. 
 Full many a rankling thorn appears, 
 
 Enwoven mid its wreath of bays ! 
 
 Oh, there are moods we can not quell, 
 Thoughts that we may not cast aside, 
 
 Upon our hearts we feel their spell, 
 Despite our reason and our pride j 
 
GUT OF SOXG. 183 
 
 And there are strange and lofty themes, 
 With deep and solemn mystery fraught, 
 
 That mingle with the poets dreams, 
 Awaking pure and holy thought. 
 
 These are the flowers and foliage rare, 
 
 And golden fruit of poesy 
 Where the weary heart finds rest from care. 
 
 In sweet and wilderiug phantasie ; 
 Our souls ere long will find full scope, 
 
 Amid these marrels of the mind ; 
 When Heaven s bright portals on us ope, 
 
 And our cumbering clay is left behind. 
 
 iQJ) Spirit 
 
 IN* the lonely church yard sleeping. 
 
 In thy low and narrow bed, 
 Thou, thy dreamless rest art keeping. 
 
 Where the summer dews are steeping. 
 The green sod above thy head, 
 
 While thine Orphan child is weeping, 
 O er earth s dearest treasure fled 
 
 Hark ! I hear a whisper telling, 
 Angel Mother, thou art near ! 
 
 Swift life s purple rill is welling, 
 
 Through my heart, its pulses swelling, 
 
184 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 With a sense of love and fear. 
 
 Till I share thy blissful dwelling, 
 Guard me Angel Mother dear ! 
 
 The song of birds the sunlight stealing 
 Through my room a breath of air, 
 
 Ever bring a swift revealing, 
 (With a chasten d holy feeling,) 
 
 Of thy presence every where ; 
 All my grief and sorrow healing, 
 
 While I trust thy watchful care. 
 
 Jfye 
 
 A poor, feeble and weather-beaten tar, clothed in the tattered 
 habiliments of a sailor, paused at the door of a neat and elegant 
 dwelling, soliciting charity. The mistress of the mansion, a 
 still beautiful woman, in the meridian of life, invited him to 
 enter, and after administering to his immediate necessities,, 
 wished to know the cause of his apparent misery. 
 
 DEAR Lady, mine ! a tale of woe, 
 
 Unmeet perchance to greet thine ear f 
 Yet, since thou bid st, then be it so : 
 
 Attend me Lady, thou shalt hear, 
 Brief sketch of my eventful fate 
 
 Which, thanks to Heaven, will soon be past. 
 Though wronged, oppressed, and desolate ; 
 
 I ve done my duty, to the last. 
 
VAXDERIXG MARIXER. 185 
 
 I was not born to beg my bread, 
 
 No Lady, I too, once had wealth, 
 Though now by public bounty fed, 
 
 Or, driyen to seek my food by stealth. 
 These thin grey locks, were once as dark, 
 
 Dear Lady, as thine own of jet ! 
 And love, and hope were once mine ark, 
 
 Round which affection lingers yet. 
 
 Once I had friends ! Yet one alone, 
 
 Shared every secret of my breast. 
 I loved, and found my love returned : 
 
 My EMMA vowed to make me blest. 
 My friend was false. Yes, Lady, he 
 
 Each base and subtle art employed ; 
 Well skiM d in deep wrought treachery, 
 
 He sought and soon my peace destroyed ! 
 
 I would have wreaked my deadliest hate, 
 
 On him who had my ruin wrought ; 
 I sought him Lady, twas too late, 
 
 My Emma shared his guilty lot ! 
 I fled, and mingled with the roar, 
 
 Of battles loud, and wildest strife ; 
 Yet whether upon sea or shore, 
 
 One thought within my breast was rife : 
 
 Whether upon the bloody strand, 
 
 Mid dying shrieks, or camion s roar ; 
 
186 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Or coasting near the glittering sands, 
 Of Afric s wild, and burning shore ; 
 
 Or clinging to the slippery shroud, 
 
 When roared the tempest in its wrath; 
 
 What time the voice of thunder loud, 
 Was mingled in the howling blast ; 
 
 Or borne on Ocean s tranquil breast, 
 
 By the hushed billows gently tossed, 
 One thought alone my heart oppressed, 
 
 It was the treasure I had lost ! 
 Or foremost mid the field of strife, 
 
 When victory s banner o er me waved, 
 Reckless and weary of my life, 
 
 The friendly ball, in vain I craved. 
 ******* 
 The first pale streaks of dawning day, 
 
 Gleam d faintly o er that field of slain ! 
 I, with my comrades groped our way, 
 
 To see if aught alive remained ! 
 When lo ! upon the oozing sod, 
 
 I spied a female bending o er 
 A mangled corse twas she, Oh, God ! 
 
 It was the woman I adored. 
 
 Her long black hair hung floating round, 
 Her neck like snowy marble white. 
 
 Her arms around the dead were wound, 
 There had she spent the dreary night ! 
 
WANDERING MARINER. 187 
 
 I gently loosed her feeble grasp, 
 
 Round him who once had been my friend ; 
 And with my senseless burden pass d 
 
 Mid heaps of dead, and dying men. 
 
 I bore her to a place of rest 
 
 And life, with consciousness returned, 
 Oh Lady, when my hand she pressed, 
 
 How did my heart with rapture burn! 
 Then duty called me far away, 
 
 To quell the hostile bands of Spain 
 When next in port, our vessel lay, 
 
 I sought brief leave, but sought in vain ! 
 
 I waited but the gloom of night, 
 
 Then plunged indignant mid the waves ! 
 They deem d my course, the recreants flight, 
 
 And close pursued the band of slaves, 
 I reached her dwelling God forgive 
 
 The phrenzy that the scene inspired ! 
 I prayed her for my sake to live, 
 
 She swoon d, and in my arms expired ! 
 
 Then years unnumbered o er me sped, 
 Thick darkness seized my wildered mind ! 
 
 At length the misty chaos fled, 
 And left me patient and resigned. 
 
 The Lady heard that mournful tale, 
 While many a tear suffused her face ; 
 
188 
 
 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 (He paused, her cheek grew deadly pale,) 
 Then wildly sprang to his embrace, 
 
 Crying, tis he my EDWIN dear ! 
 
 Thrice welcome to my peaceful home. 
 From his bronzed cheek, she kissed the tear, 
 
 And bade him hence no longer roam. 
 And neath that gentle Sister s care, 
 
 The sad and grief worn look he wore, 
 Assumed a calm and cheerful air, 
 
 And never did he wander more. 
 
 grjj dJDi 
 
 AS INDICATED BY THE COUNTENANCE IN DEATH. 
 
 AH, tis a sad and solemn sight to view, 
 
 Nature s last conflict in the hour of death. 
 To mark on the pale brow the icy dew, 
 
 And watch the faint and oft suspended breath 
 Of one, fast sinking in the arms of death. 
 
 But ah, the contrast in life s closing hours, 
 Twixt those whose treasures are laid up in Heaven, 
 
 And those who sink beneath death s chilling 
 
 powers, 
 Whose sins are unannealed and unforgiven. 
 
 Death hath no terrors for the pure in heart, 
 Who calmly yield to God the breath he gave. 
 
BIGHTEOFS AOT) WICKED. 189 
 
 And while they feel his cold and icy dart, 
 
 They trust in Him, whose arm is strong to save ; 
 
 Who won from death the victory o er the grave ! 
 I ve seen the smile on many a pallid lace, 
 
 Intensely luminous with holy joy, 
 
 Whose mortal paleness wore a hallowed grace, 
 
 So bright, that death itself might not destroy. 
 
 And I have seen the dying eye illum d 
 
 With radiance, such as youth nor health bestows, 
 While the dull ear to Heavenly chords attun d, 
 
 Listened the melody, that ceaseless flows 
 From seraph lyres above. And there are those, 
 
 Who tremblingly approach death s dark ravine, 
 With mournful shuddering, ere they lave their feet, 
 
 Who, while they ford death s cold and icy stream, 
 Burst forth in songs, and hallelujah s sweet. 
 
 And there was seen upon each clay cold brow, 
 
 When friendly hands had closed the glazing eye, 
 A glory, such as earth can ne er endow 
 
 Her Kings and Princes whose effulgent dye, 
 Beamed from yon starry world beyond the sky ! 
 
 Suspended on the line betwixt two worlds, 
 Whence gales from each, might blow upon the cheek. 
 
 Were those, who Satan s banner had unfurl d, 
 Resolved, heroicly, death s strife to meet. 
 
 And their pale brows when the last pang was o er, 
 Still bore the impress of death s fearful strife. 
 
190 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 And some there were, whose pallid features wore, 
 A sickly weariness and scorn of life, 
 
 Those peverish pangs with which the earth is rife. 
 But Heavenly minds leave wheresoe er they pass d 
 
 A parting radiance, that is not of earth. 
 
 Their earthly forms when they aside have cast, 
 
 Still bear the impress of the soul s high birth. 
 
 li*or)0 
 
 toil! Di-H hie Obei* 
 
 These were the words of a sweet little dying boy, who 
 departed this life a few weeks ago. 
 
 IT was a summer night, 
 The silvery dew lay on the folded flowers, 
 Which tremulous swayed unto the passing breeze, 
 Shedding rare odors from their fragrant urns, 
 Upon the midnight air. The solemn stillness, 
 Fell heavily upon the hearts of those, 
 Who watched the fading of life s dying taper, 
 Beside the bed of death. With pensive gaze, 
 The pale moon glanced beneath the silken folds 
 Of crimson drapery, lifted from the couch, 
 Where panting lay, engirt with mortal pangs, 
 A child of glorious promise. The blue vein d lids. 
 Fringed with the silken lash, drooped heavily 
 Over the beaming eyes, whose heavenly azure 
 
OVER THE MOUNTAINS. 191 
 
 Enchain d his parents sight, and held their thoughts. 
 
 Suspended twixt a sense of hope and fear, 
 
 Until they marked a fearful change pass o er 
 
 The little sufferers brow and then they knew 
 
 Their fair and beauteous boy would soon depart 
 
 Unto his home in Aiden. Was it the moon 
 
 Glancing unseen amid his snowy pillows, 
 
 Or that soft spiritual halo, that enshrouds 
 
 The brows of dying saints, which illum d 
 
 His pale rapt forehead, white as driven snow ? 
 
 Where piles of silken curls of Amber hue, 
 
 In sweet profusion cluster d o er his brow ; 
 
 Imparting to his radiant mien, the look 
 
 Of an ascending seraph. Gently he murmur d 
 
 Amid the pauses of the dying strife, 
 
 In tones melifluous of his birds and flowers ; 
 
 While with crush d hearts his parents bow d in 
 
 prayer. 
 
 When lo, they heard borne on the midnight air, 
 Angelic harpings : nearer, and more near, 
 Yet soft and low, like the ^Eolian strains, 
 Borne on the breeze. 
 
 Unseen by human eye, 
 A winged watcher bending o er his couch. 
 Removed the film that dim d his mortal sight, 
 And straight before his spiritual vision rose 
 The Eternal City, with its gates of pearl, 
 Its glittering palaces and golden domes, 
 Its shady walks, where grows the tree of life, 
 
192 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Beside the living waters ! Far, far away, 
 Beyond the hills, beyond the deep blue sea, 
 Beyond the towering mountains, which uprear 
 Their crests against the sky ! Amid the groves, 
 Where crystal fountains chime upon the ear, 
 Whose silvery spray -wreath s sparkle in the light, 
 Myriads of infant Cherubs robed in white, 
 Bearing within their hands bright harps of gold, 
 Beckon d the dying one, with songs of joy. 
 Lifting his little arms he softly murrnur d, 
 Good night, dear Mother, I am going home ! 
 Then quick as thought, a shade of sadness cross d 
 His beaming forehead, and with failing voice, 
 Stifled with inward fear, he whisper d, " Mother, 
 How can I climb the mountains ?" * Straight MB 
 
 guide 
 
 Revealed his presence, with his snowy wings, 
 Glittering like sunbeams, plumed for distant flight. 
 His fears were gone. With a sweet smile he said, 
 " A strong man, Mother, stands beside iny bed ; 
 Safe in his arms, he ll bear me o er the mountains," 
 And then with joy, the little pilgrim started 
 Upon his Heavenward journey. His fleeting breath 
 Exhaled like dew drops, borne aloft by sunbeams ; 
 Ascending upward to the throne of God, 
 The smiling Cherub pass d beyond the view, 
 To dwell among the Angels ! 
 
 * About the night on which he died, he saw something 
 beautiful, which ho could not well understand. He w&a 
 
Hie Sunset 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE BEREAVED. 
 
 OUR dearest hopes have perished on thy bier, 
 Like flowers that wither in their early bloom ; 
 
 Mid the bright festal seasons of the year, 
 
 When summer flowers exhale their rich perfume. 
 
 Thou hast passed dear EBBY, far beyond the tomb. 
 To that bright world, oft imaged in thy dreams. 
 
 Which lies beyond death s shadowy vale of gloom. 
 Thine ear had caught the music of its streams, 
 Which dawn d upon thy sight, in bright and starry 
 gleams. 
 
 The whispering breeze seem d redolent of perfume ! 
 
 The fading glories of the dying day, 
 Beamed softly down upon thy new made tomb. 
 
 The green earth smiled in all its bright array 
 Of vermeil bloom. But thou hast pass d away 
 
 In thy young beauty, like a vision fair, 
 Too beautiful to last. A soft light lay 
 
 O er thy young sinless brow, and golden hair, 
 
 Shed by the winged ones, who tread the upper air* 
 
 delighted with the vision, and his parents assured him that God 
 had given him a glimpse of Heaven, but they soon perceived 
 that he was troubled by the appe< ranee of mountains almost 
 in a moment however after they were discovered, he exclaimed 
 with a radiant countenance, " Mother, a strong man will carry 
 xae oyer the mouutains." y 
 
194 AMAKANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 A Robin sang upon the linden spray, 
 
 A song so sweet, methought that thou would st 
 
 hear! 
 It seemM the very same, who day by day 
 
 Fed from thy hand, whose notes" so soft and clear 
 At early dawn, entranced thy listening ear. 
 
 O er the hush d air floated those wood notes wild, 
 Kindling the thought, thy spirit was anear. 
 
 In dreams I meet thee oft, my beauteous child, 
 
 Wreathed in soft effluent light, beaming with 
 splendor mild. 
 
 My gentle boy, never, oh, never more, 
 
 Will thy sweet lips, salute my brow and cheek ! 
 
 ] shall behold thy starry eyes no more, 
 
 Beaming with tender light. Erring .and weak 
 
 Though I may be, I would not vainly seek 
 To win thee back ! Yet oh, I pine to hear 
 
 Thy sweet voic d melody to hear thee speak 
 In thy low gentle tones, prat ling without fear, 
 Words, whose deep wisdom, thrill d ofttimes my 
 list ning ear. 
 
 How soft and light, I felt thy dimpled fingers, 
 Enclasp d in mine, when walking by my side. 
 
 O er scenes of joy, how fondly memory lingers ! 
 My beauteous boy, our dearest hope and pride, 
 
 Art now our teacher, and our spirit guide ! 
 
 The chords of love that round our hearts entwine, 
 
 Bought can dissever death can ne er divide. 
 
THE SUNSET BURIAL. 195 
 
 Still, still, I feel thy soft hand clasped in mine. 
 Leading me upward to the fount of love divine, 
 
 I can not now behold thy vacant chair ; 
 
 The books and toys oft used in mimic play. 
 Thy braided dress my darling used to wear, 
 
 Whose quaint device, employed full many a day 
 Thy Mother s happy hours. Noting ahvay 
 
 Thy sweet intelligence ; its kindling beam 
 Shone in thy dark eyes soft and spiritual ray. 
 
 Thy memory love, will shed a radiant gleam. 
 
 Over the changful hues of life s eventful dream. 
 
 Jo h)[f Sfefei* ii) ifeqberj, 
 
 " The beautiful evanish and return not." COLERIDGE. 
 
 AND thou art gone, but still thy memory dwells, 
 Enshrin d within my heart s deep hidden cells. 
 Lonely and bright. Seasons may come and go, 
 And years sweep onward with their silent flow ; 
 But thou wilt not return, and I must bear 
 Henceforth within my heart the yearning thirst. 
 To meet thee dearest, by the rills that burst 
 From the pure fount of life s exhaustless tide, 
 Where pain and death our hearts can never more 
 divide. 
 
 Thy race is run ! Thy sun is quenched in night, 
 But its last beams were bright, intensely bright. 
 
196 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Thy dark eye shone through death s dim gathering 
 
 haze 
 
 In mournful splendor, like the expiring rays 
 Of a dim taper, brightening to the last ! 
 Thy dying words, still, still, methinks I hear, 
 Deep toned and soft, yet how distinctly clear ; 
 They breathed of Heavenly hope, and fervent trust r 
 How can I wish thee back, a dweller here with dust, 
 
 I know that thou art blest ! Yet grief has power, 
 At times to wring the heart, till tears like showers 
 Fall thick and fast ! And oh, to think in vain, 
 Are poured for those we love, the hearts deep rain, 
 The searching glance sent upward to the sky, 
 The wild implorings, the heart bursting sigh, 
 Are vain, all vain ! No kind responsive tone, 
 From the departed my lone spirit cheers ; 
 Oh, Earth ! thy heritage is nought but grief and 
 tears ! 
 
 Yet we shall meet ere long, a few more years. 
 And I shall leave for aye, this vale of tears, 
 To dwell with thee above. Yet thou the while, 
 Wilt still seem near me and thy patient smile 
 So sweetly mournful, through long months of pain, 
 Ah, who can e er forget ? Sweet Sister, no ! 
 Though the tall Daisies o er thy grave may grow, 
 Yet not forgotten shall thy dust repose, 
 Till death s long dreamless sleep, my tearful eyes 
 shall close. 
 
WRITTEN BY THE REMAINS OF A BELOVED MOTHER. 
 
 THE blow has come at last. 
 And like a crushed, a withered, broken flower 
 Swept down beneath its desolating power. 
 I bow me to the dust ! Thro weary years 
 My heart has clung to thee through doubt and fears 
 Praying the cup might pass. Tis over now ! 
 Oh, let me kiss once more thy pallid brow, 
 Oh, God ! tis icy cold ! Awake, awake ! 
 My Angel Mother, ere my heart do break. 
 With agony and grief! Thou dost not hear, 
 Thou knowest not that thine absent one is near. 
 
 Kneeling beside thy bed ! 
 I had not thought to live 
 And look my last upon thy pale sweet face, 
 Which e en to brightness shone with Heavenly grace, 
 I had not thought to lay my aching head 
 Upon thy breast, when thou wert cold and dead ! 
 Nor clasp thy hand, and feel no kind return, 
 No cordial pressure, while my heart doth yearn . 
 For one sweet word and look. Oh, never more 
 Thy gentle voice will greet me at thy door. 
 From absence long, returned ! My weary breast 
 Yearns for to share thy sweet and dreamless rest. 
 
 So peaceful and so deep ! 
 
198 AMARANTH BLOOMS. 
 
 Thine was a mournful lot ! 
 
 Through many years of pain and slow decay,. 
 
 We saw thee worn and wasting, day by day. 
 
 Still though disease had cast its withering blight 
 
 Around thy fragile form, thine eye was bright ; 
 
 Serenely bright until life s final close 
 
 With faith and Heavenly hope ! O er others woes r 
 
 Thy tender breast with pity oft did melt ! 
 
 No tale of sorrow reached thine ear unfelt ; 
 
 Nor suffering unrelieved. Thy patient smile, 
 
 Thy Heavenly look, so calm, serene and mild, 
 
 Still lingers o er thy face. 
 This early morning light 
 Within the room, and song of merry birds, 
 And breath of flowers, recall thy dying words. 
 " Fold back the curtain let me see the light 
 The morning light. How beautiful, how bright f 
 Unclose the casement let me hear again, 
 The merry birds ring forth their joyous strain. 
 How sweet their music sounds !" Thine ear hath 
 
 heard 
 
 Far sweeter music than the song of bird, 
 Since thy last morn on earth. Thine eye hath seen 
 The land of Canaan, with its rilling streams, 
 And Zion s golden walls ! 
 
 Why wish to win thee back 
 Mine Angel Mother ? thou dost rest in peace! 
 For thou has gained at last, thy longed release \ 
 Celestial glory clothes thy spotless brow, 
 
LINES. 199 
 
 Among the Angels, thou art singing now, 
 The song of endless praise ! A little while, 
 And thou wilt welcome thy poor sorrowing child, 
 To thy divine abode ! In humble trust 
 I now resign thy dear, thy precious dust, 
 To its last rest within earth s lowly bed ! 
 Trusting ere long to lay my weary head, 
 Sweet Mother, by thy side. 
 
 Et Ju Entendes une voix yar me dit du hant du leil Eerune 
 Heuraux sout les marts yur meurant daus le signeur desmain- 
 taenent dit le Esprit els u reposant se leurs travaux car leur 
 ouvrea lea survent. REVELATIONS, 
 
01893 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY