LIBRARY UNlVurf^iy of CALIFORNIA SAN DltQO presented to the LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO by FRIENDS OF THE LIBRARY MR. JOHN C. ROSE donor X Lti THE AMERICAN COMMON-PLACE BOOK POETRY, WITH OCCASIONAL NOTES. BY GEORGE B. CHEEVER. PHILADELPHIA : PUBLISHED BY HERMAN HOOKER, N. W. CORNER OF CHESNUT AND FIFTH STREETS. 1838. DISTRICT OP MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT: District Clerk's Offict. BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the seventh day of January, A. I). 18:!1, in the tifly-Iil'th year of the Independence of the llnitcil States i America, CABTEH, HKNDEK AND KAIICOCK, of the said district, have deposited in this office the title of a hook, the right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to wit: "The American Common-Place Book of Poetry, with Occasional Notes. By (Jeorni 1 H. t'lieever." In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, " An Act tor the encouragement of learning, hy securing the CO|M maps, charts and books, to the authors and proprietors of during the times therein mentioned ;" and also to an act, entitled, " An Act supplementary to an act, entitled, 'An Act for the encourage- ment of learning, hy securing the copies of maps, charts and hooks, to Ihe authors and proprietors of siidi copies during the times therein mentioned ;' and extending the benefit.- thereof to the arts of design- l"S> enslaving, and etching historical and other prints." JNO. W. DAVIS, } Cle f rk .. f tAe ' ( nf .Vujsac I PREFACE. THE unexpected favor, with which the American Common -Place Book of Prose was received, encouraged its publishers to hope that a similar volume of extracts from American poetry might be attended with the same success. It is true, that there are more good prose writers in our country than there are poets ; but it would be strange, indeed, if enough of really excellent poetry could not be found to fill a volume like this. It is not pretended that every piece, hi the following selection, is a stately and perfect song, inspired by " the vision and the faculty divine," and containing, throughout, the true power and spirit of harmony ; but eveiy lover of poetry will find much to delight a cultivated imagination, and much to set him on thinking ; and every religious mind will be pleased that a volume of American poetry, so variously selected, presents so many pages imbued with the feelings of devotion. If all the extracts are not of sufficient excellence to excite vivid admiration, most of them are of the kind that meet us Like a pleasant thought, When piich are wanted 4 PREFACE. They are generally simple and unpretending in ornament, quiet and unambitious in their spirit. The poetry of devotion is the rarest of all poetry. It is sad to think how few, of all the poets in the English language, have possessed or exhibited the Christian character, or had the remembrance of their names associated with the thoughts of Christ and his cross, or the feelings to which the great theme of redemption gives rise in the bosom of the Christian. We may find plenty of the sentimentality of religion, expressed, too, in beautiful language but as cold as a winter night's transitory frost-work on our windows. A few beloved volumes, indeed, have their place in the heart ; but they are few ; and of these the praise belongs not exclusively to the genius of poetry, but to a far more precious and elevated spirit the spirit of the Bible. What bosom, that possesses this, does not contain the gerrn of deep poetry ? What poet has experienced its influence, whose song does not breathe an echo of the melodies of paradise ? In the true minstrelsy of devotion, there is a higher fxrcllence than that of mere genius. Poetry herself acknowledges a power which is not in her, and observes a deep and sublime emotion excited, which she cannot, unassisted, produce or maintain in the souls of her listeners. When she becomes the handmaid of piety, she finds herself adorned and enriched (in another PREFACE/ 6 sense than Virgil's) with a beauty and a wealth that are not her own : Miraturque novos fructus, et non sua poma. All the pieces in this volume are of the purest moral character ; and, considering its limits, and the comparative scantiness of American poetry, a good number of them contain, in an uncommon degree, the religious and poetical spirit united. The importance of having books of this nature sweet and chaste in their moral influence, as well as refined in their intellectual and poetic?! character, is not enough appreciated. None can tell hotr much good a volume like this may accomplish, if an editor keeps such a purpose La view. A thought upon death and eternity may be rendered acceptable, through the medium of poetry, to many a mind, that would otherwise have fled from its approach. A voice from the grave and the other world may possibly here find hearers who would listen to it no where else. A devout and solemn reflection may steal, with the poetry of this volume, into the most secret recess of some careless heart, and there, through the goodness of Him. who moves in a hidden and mysterious way, "his wonders to perform," and whose spirit can touch the soul with the hi'mblest instruments, prove the first rising of that blessed well of water, which spiingeth up to everlasting life. 1 * 8 PttEFACE, Many of the finest pieces in this volume have been drawn out from corners where they bad long lain forgotten and neglected. Some of the devotional melodies are almost as sweet as any in the language. There are several fugitive anonymous pieces, that deserve a place along with those of the truest poets. The extracts from acknowledged sources are as various as they are beautiful. None can describe nature with a simpler and more affecting beauty than Bryant. None could draw an American landscape in truer colors, and throw more endearingly around it the charm of moral and devout reflection, than Wilcox. In the bold delineation of external scenery, and in painting human passion, pliilosophy, religion, and the domestic affections, none have displayed a more powerful fancy, or a deeper pathos of feeling, than Dana. Few have written nobler odes than Pierpont. Burns himself could hardly have thrown off a sweeter extempore effusion than some of Brainard's. In the difficult field of sacred drama, Hillhouse has shown a rich and classic imagination. Few will contest the beauty of Willis's Scripture pieces. Others might be named, whose poetry at once individualizes their genius in the mind; but it is unnecessary. May the volume, thus selected, please and do good. t TABLE OF CONTENTS. A Sacred Melody. . Anonymous 17 Activ Christian Benevolence the Source of Happiness. Carlos Wilcot 17 Inscription for the Entrance into a Wood. Bryant 19 The D<;ath of Sin and the Life of Holiness R. II. Dana 20 A Demon's false Description of fallen Intelligences. . H'dllLoiise 22 Hadad's Description of the City of David irillhomt 25 The Song at Twilight Lucretia Maria DavUsnn 25 Hagar in the Wilderness JV. P. Willi* 27 , Return of the Buccaneer , R. H. Dana 30 Ap|>earance of the Spectre Horse and the Burning Ship. R. 11. Dana 3] The Death of the Flowers Bryani 35 TheSkias. . . Bryant 36 From " The Minstrel Girl." J. G. Wkittier 37 " Weep for yourselves, and for your Children." . . Mrs. Sigournei; 38 The sudden coming on of Spring after Ion; Rains. . Carlos tVilcox 39 Slavery Carlos WUcox 41 Hymn for the African Colonization Society. . ... Pierfont. 42 Dedication Hymn Pierpont. 43 Evening Music of the Angela. Ifdlhouse. 44 Vernal Melody in the Forest Carlos Wi/cax. 45 Close of the Vision of Judgment Hillhouse. 46 " As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be." .... Mrs. Slgourney. 48 The Pilgrims Mrs. Sigouraey. 48 The Coral Grove Percival. 50 Hebrew Melody Mrs. J. G. Brooks. 51 To a Child Anonymous. 51 The Western World Bryant. 52 To a Waterfowl Bryant. 54 The Constancy of Nature contrasted with the Changes in Life. Dana. 55 <; And fan; thee well, my own green, quiet Vale." .... Dana. 56 Sonnet. The Free Mind W. L. Garrison. 57 Marco Rozzaris F. G. Jfallec/c. 58 Wwhawkrn F. G. Hallcck. 60 On laying the Cornet Stone of the Bunker Uill Monument. Picrponi.. 61 8 TABLE OV CONTENTS. Pj'.;e. Holier-nil and Cowpcr Carlos Wilcoz. Cl To the Dead.. , . Brainard. 63 The Denp. 7 Brainard. 64 S-.ir after a Summer Shower. Andrews JVurton. 65 The Chill's Wish in Juno Mrs. Oilman. 66 From " The Minstrel Girl." J. O. Whittier. 66 Description of a sultry Summer's Noon Carlos Wllcoz. 68 The Dying Child Christian Examiner. 70 Looking unto Jesus Christian Examiner. 71 S--:i from Hadiid flillhouse. 72 .Roman Catholic Chaunt. From " Percy's Masque." . HUlhouse. 76 Song From the. Talisman. 77 September Carlo* Wilcoz. 77 On the Loss of Professor Fisher Brainard. 78 Mir Words Anonymous. 79 " He knowtith our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust." R. II. Dana. 80 Immnrtiility R. II. Dunn. 80 The mystemus Music of Ocean. . . . Walsh's National Gazette. 82 Summer Wind. ... Bryant. 83 Summer Evening Lightning Carlos IPilcoz. 84 Spring JV. P. Willis. 85 To Seneca Lake Percival. 85 Mount Washington , N. H O. Mellcn. 86 To the Dying Year J. O. WlutUer. 87 The Captain. A Fragment Brainard. 88 " They Unit seek me early, shall find me." . . . Columbian Star. 89 A Son's Farewell to his Mother, &c Connecticut Observer. 90 " [Iu>hud is the Voice of Judah's Mirth." . From the Port-Folio. 90 Extract from a Poem delivered at the Departure of the Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826 JV. P. Willis. 91 Retirement Anonymous. 94 To the River Arve Talisman. 93 The Burial Anonymous. 96 On the Loss of a pious Friend Brainard. 96 IIMTUJ From the Port-Fulio. 97 Sunset in September Carlos Witcox. 98 From " The Buccaneer." R. H. Dana. 100 Sonnet Bryant. 101 Piiwnr of the Soul in investing external Circumstance: with the line of its own Feelings R. 11. Dana. 103 Fprini; in Town Bryant. JOS Tin- Sabbath Carlos Wilcoz. 105 Industry and Prayer Carlos Wdcux. 108 TABLE OP CONTENTS. 9 Consolations of Religion to the Poor. . .... Pcrcival. 107 Extract from " The Airs of Palestine " Pierpont. 107 On the Death of Mr. Woodward, at Edinburgh Brainard. 1 From "The Minstrel Girl." J. O. Whittier. 110 The Torn Hat JV. P. Willis. Ill " The Memory of the Just is blessed." .... Mrs. Sigoumey. 112 The Wife JV. Y. Daily Advertiser. 113 Song of the Stars Bryant. 114 Summer Evening at a short Distance from the City. . Alonzo Lewis. 115 Introduction to the Poem of " Yamoyden." . . . Robert C. Sands. 116 Diiwn JV. P. mills. 119 The Restoration of Israel J. W. Eastburn. 120 The Buried Love '... Rufus Dawes. 121 The Missionary W. B. Tappan. 123 Missions Mrs. Sigou.rn.ey. 123 The Fear of Madness Lucretia Maria Davidson. 125 The Matin Hour of Prayer Anonymous. 125 Song From Yamoyden. 127 Solitude Mrs. Sigourney. 127 Bishop Ravenscroft 6. W. Doane. 128 The Life of God in the Soul of Man R. H. Dana. 130 To Pneuma J. W. Eastbvm. 133 To a Star Lucrctia. Maria Davidson. 134 Thanatopsis Bryant. 135 Sacred Melody JV. Y. American. 137 The Graves of the Patriots Percival. 138 Funeral Hymn Christian Examiner. 139 To Laura, two Years of Age JV. P. Willis. 141 " The dead Leaves strew the Forest-walk." .... Brainard. 142 Reasons of Prayer Henry Ware, Jr. 143 Effect of the Ocean and its Scenery on the Mind of th Buccaneer, when agitated with Remorse for his Crime R. H. Dana. 145 The third and last Appearance of the Spectre Horse, &e. R. H. Dana. 147 God's first Temples. A Hymn Bryant. 149 Scene from " Hudad." Hillhouse. 152 Extract from " The Airs of Palestine." Pierpont. 156 The Falls of Niagara Brainard. 157 At Musing Hour T. Wells. 157 Evergreens Pinkney. 153 The Flower Spirit Anonymous. 158 " Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is he?" Christian Examiner. 159 Woods in Winter Longfellow. 160 A Last Wish , Anonymous. 161 10 TABLE OF CONTENTS. The Winged Worshippers Charles Sprague. 162 Death of an Infant Mrs. Sigonrney. K'j.'J Burns F. G. Halleck. 163 , Mary Ma>;dalun. From the Spanish Bryant. Be Humble Jones. 167 Sabbath Evening Twilight . Anonymous. 168 The Burial of Arnold JV. P. Willis. Ki9 Lines to a Child on his Voyage to France, &c. . . Henry Ware, Jr. 170 New England Perciaal. 172 The Damsel of Peru Bryant. 173 Power of Maternul Piety Mrs. Sigourney. 175 Niagara. From the Spanish. U. States Review and IM.erary Gazette. 177 Absalom JV. P. Willis. 173 Hymn of Nature W. 0. B. Peabo'ly. 181 The Garden of Gethsemane Pierpont. 183 Trust in God Percival. 183 Heaven Christian Examiner. 184 Geehale. An Indian Lament Anonymous. 185 PCIMV from " Percy's Masque." Hill/louse. 186 To S****, weeping Jltanymous 1!U AiUumn Longfellow. 193 The Bucket Samuel Woodworth. 194 The Snow-Flake Hannah F. Gould. 195 " [ am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life." . . . Anonymous. 196 The Iceberg J. O. Rockwell. 197 Hymn Pierpont. 198 The Bride Anonymous. 199 On seeing an Eagle pass near me in Autumn Twilight. . G. Mr.llen. 200 To the Hon. Theodore Frelinghuysen, on rending his eloquent Speech in Defence of Indian Rights W. L. Garrison. 201 Genius Slumbering Percival. 202 Genius Waking Percival. 204 The Spirit of Poetry Longfellow. 206 Incomprehensibility of God Jt/iss Elizabeth Townsend. 207 Lament of a Swiss Minstrel ov^r the Ruins of Goldau. . . J. JVeal. 209 Lines on visiting the Burying-Ground at New Haven. Christian Disciple. 211 Tho Pilgrim Futhers Pierpont. 211 Song of the Pilgrims T. C. Vpham. 212 Dedication Hymn . JV. P. Willis. 213 Extract from a Poem written on reading an Account of the Opinions of a Deaf and Dumb Child, before she had received Instruction. She was afraid of the Sun, Moon, and Stars Hillhouse 214 The Land of the Bbst W. 0. B. Peab^dy. 215 TABLE OP CONTENTS. 11 Pase. To the Moon Massachusetts Spy. 216 gong. ... From Yamoyden. 217 The Light of Home Mrs. Hale. 218 The American Flag F. O. Hallcck. 218 To the Ursa Major Henry Ware, Jr. 250 " Look not upon the Wine whon it is red." .... JV. P. Willis. 224 To ***+, on the Death of a Friend Andrews Norton. 225 Dirge of Alaric the Visigoth Ediaard Everett. 225 Apostrophe to the San Percioal. 223 " I thought it slept." Henry Pickering. 230 The Snow-Storm Anonymous. 231 " I went and washed, and I received sight." New York Evening Post. 232 The Huma Louisa P. Smith. 233 The Paint King Washington Allston. 233 The murdered Traveller Bryant. 239 On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake F. O. Hallcck. 240 To H Christian Examiner. 240 The Dying Raven R. H. Dana. 241 After a Tempest Bryant. 244 ' A Winter Scene Idle Man. 246 Description of the Quiet Island R.H.Dana 247 The Religious Cottage D. /Tin tn o-ton. 248 The two Homes Anonymous. 249 To a Sister Edward Everett. 250 To the Moon Walsh's National Gazette. 251 My native Land My native Place Anonymous. 252 " Awake, Psaltery and Harp ; I myself will awake early. "Anonymous. 253 Isaiah xxxv Brainard. 254 On listening to a Cricket Andrews Norton. 255 March Bryant. 256 April Longfellow. 257 May Percioal. 258 Mounds on the Western Rivera. M. Flint. 259 Burial of the Minisink Longfellow. 260 To the Eagle Percival. 262 Salmon River Brainard. 264 To the Evening Wind Bryant. 265 The Grave of the Indian Chief. Percival. 267 Escape from Winter Percival. 267 Bury me with my Fathers Andrews Norton. 269 Redemption W. B. Tappan. 269 On the Close of the Year Christian Examiner. 270 Saturday Afternoon JV. P. Willis. 271 12 . TABLE OF CONTENTS. Fw. Fall of Tecumseh Jfeu York Statesman. 272 The Missionaries' FarewclL Anonymous. 274 Mozari s Roi|uiom Rufus Dawes. 275 " I will be glad in the Lord'." P*alm civ. 34. .... Anonymous. 276 To the Memory of a Brother Anonymous. 277 A Home everywhere S. Graham. 278 The Time to Weep Anonymous. 280 The Autumn Evening W.Q.B. Peabody. 281 Lines on revisiting the Country Bryant. The Spirit's Song of Consolation F. W. P. Greenwood. 283 Colonization of Africa Brainard. 284 Fable of the Wood Bone and the Laurel. . . Monthly Anthology. 284 A Castle in the Air Professor Friabic. 286 The Consumptive Rockingham GaieUe. 289 Lines to the Western Mummy W . E. Gallaudet. 289 Song Anonymous. ?jl The Life of the Blessed. From the Spanish Bryant. 291 V The Sunday School Mrs. Sigourney. 293 " They went out into the Mount of Olives." Pierpont. 293 The Lily Percival. 294 The Last Evening before Eternity . Hilthouse. 294 Wyoming. Halleck. 296 Bonnet to Bryant. 298 Daybreak R. H. Dana. 298 i Sonnet Bryant. 300 \ Hymn for the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association. Pierpont. 301 VThe little Beach Bird R. H. Dana. 302 i Address of the Sylph of Autumn to the Bard. . Washington Allston. 303 Omnipresence Anonymous. 305 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner. Longfellow. 306 N The Raising of Jairus's Daughter JV. A. Review. 307 Departure of the Pioneer Brainard. 308 The Alpine Flowers Mrs. Sigoumey. 309 ^ A Child's first Impression of a Star JV. P. H'iltU. JIO The Leper JV. p. Willis. 310 Versification of the Beginning of the Last Book of the Martyrs. Alexander H. Everett. JM Autumn Anonymous. 315 The Treasure that waxeth not old D. Huntingdon. 31t> Fragment of an Epistle written while recovering from severe Illness. P. //. Dana. 318 TABLE OP CONTENTS. 13 Page. Lines occasioned by hearing a little Boy mock the Old South Clock, as it rung the Hour of Twelve Mrs. Child. 321 Hymn to the North Star Bryant. 322 ' Connecticut. From an unpublished Poem F. O. HalUck. 303 The Rising Moon W. 0. B. Peabody. 325 America to Great Britain IV. Jlllston. 323 The Night-flowering Cereus Unitarian Miscellany. 327 God is Good Anonymous. 328 Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles Anonymous. 329 The Dying Child Carlos Wilcox. 330 To a Musquito New York Review. 331 Earth, with her thousand Voices, praises God Longfellow. 333 The Blind Man's Lament J. W. Eustburn. 334 The Dying Girl Mrs. Halt's Magazine. 335 Autumn W. 0. B. Peabody. 336 Spring W. O. B. Peabody. 336 Summer W. O. B. Peabody. 337 Rosalie Mrs. Halt's Magazine. 338 To a young Invalid, condemned, by accidental Lameness, to perpetual Confinement Henry Pickering. 339 The Sage of Caucasus! Hill/louse. 340 Tho Resolution of Ruth Christian Examiner. 341 Live for Eternity Carlos Wilcox. 342 Dedication Hymn Pierpont. 343 The Indian Summer Brainard. 344 To William. Written by a bereaved Father. . W. O. B. Peabody. 345 Part of the 19th Psalm J. W. Eastbum -347 " What is that, Mother ."' O. W. Doane. 347 Scene at the Death-Bed of Rev. Dr. Payson. . . . Mrs. Sigoumey. 34S The Indian's Tale J. O. Wliittier. 349 Setting Sail Percival. 351 A Thanksgiving Hymn Henry Ware, Jr. 353 The Temple of Theseus J. W. Eastburn. 355 On the Death of a beautiful young Girl. . . . Connecticut, Mirror . 356 Lines to a Lady of great musical Talent Mrs. Child. 356 Hymn for the two hundredth Anniversary of the Settlement of Charles- town Pierpont. 357 The Family Pible . Anonymous. 359 The Notes of the Birds /. McLellan, Jr. 359 Sentimental Music . F. G. Halleck. >>'J The Silk Worm. Mrs. Hale. 363 2 14 TABLE OP CONTENTS. ap The Reverie. Written from College on the Birth Day of the Author's Mother Frinbie. 364 Tho Soul's Defiance Anonymous. 365 Hymn lor the second Centennial Anniversary of the City of Boston. Pierpont. 366 Napoleon at Rest Pierpont. 308 The Death of Napoloon /. McLellan, Jr. 369 Jerusalem Brainnrd. 370 The Angler's Song /. McLellan, Jr. 37* Who is my Neighbor ? Anonymous. 373 Hymn. Matthew, xxvi. 613 Christian Mirror. 374 ' Broken-hearted, weep no more." .... Episcopal Watchman. 375 The Sweet Brier Brainard. 376 Mot her, What is Death ? Mrt. Oilman. 376 Last Prayers Mary Ann Browne,. 377 A Noon Scene Bryant. 379 New England's Dead /. McLellan, Jr. 381 Installation Hymn Pierpont. 382 The Wanderer of Africa . Alamo Lewis. 383 A Legend J. O. Whittier. 384 They heard a Voice from Heaven, saying, Come up hither." Rev. xi. 12 Mrs. Sigottmfy. 386 Occasional Hymn Pierpont. 387 The Sleeper Commercial Advertiser. 388 God's Omnipresent Agency Carlos Wilcox. 389 The Farewell. . Anonymous. 389 Sunrise on the Hills Anonymous. 390 Lines on passing the Grave of my Sister Micah P. Flint. 391 The Revellers Ohio Backwoodsman. 393 " I would not live always." jB.fi. Thatcher. 394 The Disimbodied Spirit W. 0. B. Peabody. 395 Lines on hearing of the Death of Garafilia Mohalbi. Mrs. Sigourney. 396 Crossing tlie Ford O. W. H. 396 Hymn of the Cherokee Indian J. McLellan, Jr. 397 Lake Superior S. O. Oaod,-ich. 398 Oriental Mysticism Leonard Woods. 400 To a Sister about to embark on a Missionary Enterprise. B B. Thatcher. 401 The Pilgrim Fathers Charles Spragut 403 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Allston.W. . . . 233,303,326 Anonymous. 17, 51, 79, 94, 96, 125, 158, 161, 168, 185, 191, 196, 199, 231, 249, 252, 253, 274, 276, 277, 280, 291, 305, 315, 328, 329, 359, 365, 373, 389, 390 Brainard, J. G. C. 63, 64, 78, 88, 96, 109, 142, 157, 254, 264, 284, 308, 344, 370, 376 Brooks, Mrs. J. G 51 Browne, Mary Ann 377 Bryant, W. C. 19, 35, 30, 52, 54, 83, 101, 103, 114, 135, 149, 166, 173, 239, 244, 256, 265, 282, 291, 298, 300, 322, 379 Child, Mrs 321,356 Christian Disciple. . . . 170,211 Christian Examiner. 70,71, 139, 159, 184, 240, 270, 341 Christian Mirror 374 Columbian Star 89 Commercial Advertiset . 388 Connecticut Mirror. . . . 356 Connecticut Observer. ... 90 Dana, R. H. 20, 30, 31, 55, 56, 80, 80, 100, 102, 130, 1-55, 147,241, 247, 298, 302, 318 Davidson, Lucretia M. 25, 125, 134 Dawes, R 121,275 Doane, G. W 123, 347 Riga. Eastburn. J. \V. 120, 133, 334, 347, 355 Episcopal Watchman. . . . 375 Everett, E 225,250 Everett, A. II 314 Flint, M 259 Flint, M. P 391 Frisbie, L 286,364 Gallaudet, W. E 280 Garrison, W. L. ... 57.12UI Gilman, Mrs 66, *7B Goodrich, S. G L'Vti Gould, Hannah F ll>S Graham, S. ';>3 Greenwood, W. P -^cJ Hale, Mr 2H, 363 Hallcck, F. G. 58, 60, 163, 2lb, I -M, 296, 323, 3G2 Hillhousc, J. A. 22, 25, 44, 46, 78, 76, 152, 186, 214, 294, 340 Huntington, D. . . . 248,316 Idle Man 246 Jones. ......... 167 Ladies' Magazine (Mrs. Male's). 335,338 Lewis, A 115, 383 Longfellow, G. W. 160, 193, 206, 257, 260, 306, 332 16 INDEX OP AUTHORS. Massachusetts Spy 216 McLellan, I. Jr. 359, 369, 372, 381, 397 Mellon, G 86,200 Monthly Anthology ... 284 National Gazette (Walsh's). 82,251 Noal, J 209 New York American. . . . 137. New York Daily Advertiser. . 113 New York Evening Post. . . 232 New York Review 331 New York Statesman. . . . 272 North American Review. . . 307 Norton, A. 65, 225, 255, 269 Ohio Backwoodsman, O. W. H. . 303 . 396 Peabody, W. O. B. 181, 215, 281, 325, 336, 336, 337, 345, 395 Percival, J. G. 50, 85, 107, 138, 172, 183, 232, 204, 228, 258, 262, 267, 267, 294, 351 Pickering, H 230, X?9 Pierpont, J. 42, 43, 61, 107, 156, 183, 198, 211, 293, 301, 343, 357, 366, 368, 332, 337 Pinkney, E. C 158 Port Folio 90,97 Rockingham Gazette, Rockwell, J. O. . . . 288 . 197 Sands, R. C 116 Sigourney, Mrs. 38, 48, 48, 112, 123, 127, 163, 175, 292, 309, 348. 386, 396 Smith, Louisa P .... 233 Spraguc, C 162, 403 Talisman. . . . Tappan, W. B. . . Thatcher, B. B. . . Townsend, Elizabeth. . 77,95 123,269 394, 401 . 207 Unitarian Miscellany. . . . 327 U,)ham, T. C 212 U. S. Rev. & Lit. Gazette. . . 177 Ware, H. Jr. . . .143,220.353 Wells, T 157 Whittier,J.G. 37,66,87, 110,349,384 Wilcox, C. 17, 39, 41, 45, 61, 68, 77, 84, 98, 105, 106, 330, 342, 389 Willis, N. P. 27, 85, 91, 111, 119, 141, 169, 178,213,224,271,310, 310 Woodworth 194 Woods, L 400 Yamoyden, 127,217 AMERICAN COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. A Sacred Melody. ANONYMOUS. BE thou, God ! by night, by day, My Guide, my Guard from sin, My Life, my Trust, my Light Divine, To keep me pure within ; Pure as the air, when day's first light A cloudless sky illumes, And active as the lark, that soars Till heaven shine round its plumes. So may my soul, upon the wings Of faith, unwearied rise, Till at the gate of heaven it sings, Midst light from paradise. Active Christian Benevolence the Source of sublime and lasting Happiness. CARLOS WILCOX. WOITLDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold i Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold. 'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled, Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air. 2* 18 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night When death is waiting for thy numbered hours To take their swift and everlasting flight; Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed ; Do something do it soon with all thy might; An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest. Some high or humble enterprise of good Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind, Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, And kindle in thy heart a flame refined. Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind To this thy purpose to begin, pursue, With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind; Strength to complete, and with delight review, And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit To li.^ht on man as from the passing air ; The lamp of genius, though by nature lit, If not protected, pruned, and fed with care, Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare ; And learning is a plant that spreads and towers Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare, That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns arid showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers. Has immortality of name been given To them that idly worship hills and groves, And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven ? Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves, To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves ? Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ? Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim Thy want of worth ; a charge thou couldst not hear From other lips, without a blush of shame, Or pride indignant ; then be thine the blame, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 19 And make thyself of worth ; and thus enlist The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame; "Tis infamy to die and not be missed, Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist. Rouse to some work of high and holy love. And thou an angel's happiness shall know, Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers. Inscription for the Entrance into a Wood,, BRYAWT STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth, which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze, That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart, Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men, \nd made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. And hence these shades are still the abodes Of undissembled gladness : the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while, below, The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the glade Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment : as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to cnjcy 20 COMMON-PLACE BOOK Of POETRY. Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, The old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, That lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them, twisting high, Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and, tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems with con.inuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dip? her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee, Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace. The DeatU of Sin and the Life of Holiness. DANA. BE warned! Thou canst not break or 'scape the power In kindness given in thy first breathing hour : Thou canst not slay its life : it must create ; And, good or ill, there ne'er will come a date To its tremendous energies. The trust, Thus given, guard, and to thyself be just. Nor dream with life to shuffle off this coil ; It takes fresh life, starts fresh for further toil, And on it goes, for ever, ever on, Changing, all down its course, each thing to one With its immortal nature. All must be, Like thy dread self, one dread eternity. Blinded by passion, man gives up his breath, Uncalled by God. We look, and name it death. Mad wretch! the soul hath no last sleep; the strife To end itself, but wakes intenser life In the self-torturing spirit. Fool, give o'er! Hast thou once been, yet think'st to be no more ? What! life destroy itself? O, idlest dream, Shaped in that emptiest thing a doubter's scheme. Think'st in a universal soul will murjce Thy soul, as rain-drops mingle with the surge ? COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 21 Or, no less skeptic, sin will have an end, And thy purred spirit with the holy blend In joys as holy ? Why a sinner now ? As falls the tree, so lies it. So shall thou. "God's Book, thou doubter, holds the plain record. Dar'st talk of hopes and doubts against that Word ? Dar'st palter with it ia a quibbling sense ? That Book shall judge thee when thou passest hence. Then, with thy spirit from the body freed, Thou'lt know, thou'lt see, thou'lt feel what's life, indeed. Bursting to life, thy dominant desire Will upward flame, like a fierce forest fire ; Then, like a sea of fire, heave, roar, and dash Roll up its lowest depths in waves, and flash A wild disaster round, like its own wo Each wave cry, " Wo for ever!" in its flow, And then pass on from far adown its path Send back commingling sounds of wo and wrath Th' indomitable Will then know no sway : God calls Man, hear Him ; quit that fearful way! Come, listen to His voice who died to save Lost man, and raise him from his moral grave ; From darkness showed a path of light to heaven ; Cried, " Rise and walk ; thy sins are all forgiven." Blest are the pure in heart. Would'st thou be blest ? He'll cleanse thy spotted souL Would'st thou find rest ? Around thy toils and cares he'll breathe a calm, And to thy wounded spirit lay a balm, From fear draw love, and teach thee where to seek Lost strength and grandeur, with the bowed and meek. Come lowly ; He will help thee. Lay aside That subtle, first of evils human pride. Know God, and, so, thyself; and be afraid To call aught poor or low that he has made. Fear naught but sin ; love all but sin ; and leara How that, in all things else, thou may'st discern His forming, his creating power how bind Earth, self and brother to th' Eternal Mind. Linked with th' Immortal, immortality Begins e'en here. For what is time to thee, 22 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETUY. To whose cleared sight the night is turned to day, And that but changing life, miscalled decay ? Is it not glorious, then, from thy own heart To pour a stream of life ? to make a part With thy eternal spirit things that rot, That, looked on for a moment, are forgot, But to thy opening vision pass to take New forms of life, and in new beauties wake? To thee the falling leaf but fades to bear Its hues and odors to some fresher air ; Some passing sound floats by to yonder sphere, That softly answers to thy listening ear. In one eternal round they go and come ; And where they travel, there hast thou a home For thy far-reaching thoughts. O, Power Divine, Has this poor worm a spirit so like thine ? Unwrap its folds, and clear its wings to go! Would I could quit earth, sin, and care, and wo! Nay, rather let uie use the world aright : Thus make me ready for my upward flight. A Demon's false Description of his Race of fallen Intelli- gences. A Scene from Hadad. HILLHOUSE. Tamar. I SHUDDER, Lest some dark Minister be near us now. Hadad. You wrong them. They are bright Intelligences, Robbed of some native splendor, and cast down, 'Tis true, from heaven ; but not deformed, and foul, Revengeful, malice- working fiends, as fools Suppose. They dwell, like princes, in the clouds; Sun their bright pinions in the middle sky ; Or arch their palaces beneath the hills, With stones inestimable studded so, That sun or stars were useless there. Tarn. Good heavens ! Had. He bade me look on rugged Caucasus, Crag piled on crag beyond the utmost ken, Naked, and wild, as if creation's ruins Were heaped in one immeasurable chain Of barren mountains, beaten by the storms COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 23 Of everlasting winter. But within Are glorious palaces, and domes of light, Irradiate halls, and crystal colonnades, Vaults set with gems, the purchase of a crown, Blazing with lustre past the noon-tide beam, Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth. Tarn. Unheard of splendor ! Had. There they dwell, and muse, And wander; Beings beautiful, immortal. Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky, Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come, And glow with light intense, imperishable. Thus, in the sparry chambers of the sea And air-pavilions, rainbow tabernacles, They study Nature's secrets, and enjoy No poor dominion. Tarn. Are they beautiful, And powerful far beyond the human race ? Had. Man's feeble heart cannot conceive it. When The sage described them, fiery eloquence Flowed from his Hp3, his bosom heaved, his eyes Grew bright and mystical ; moved by the theme, Like one who feels a deity within. Tain. Wondrous! What intercourse have they with men? Had. Sometimes they deign to intermix with man, But oft with woman. Tain. Hah ! with woman ? Had. She Attracts them with her gentler virtues, soft, And beautiful, and heavenly, like themselves. They have been known to love her with a passion Stronger than human. Tarn. That surpasses all You yet have told me. Had. This the sage affirms ; And Moses, darkly. Tarn. How do they appear ? How manifest their love ? Had. Sometimes 'tis spiritual, signified By beatific dreams, or more distinct And glorious apparition. They have stooped To animate a human form, and love Like mortals. Tarn, Frightful to be so beloved ! 24 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRT, Who could endure the horrid thought ! What makes Thy cold hand tremble ? or is't mine That feels so deathy ? Had. Dark imaginations haunt me When I recall the dreadful interview. Tarn. O, tell them not I would not hear them. Had. But why contemn a Spirit's love? so high, So glorious, if he haply deigned ? Tarn. Forswear My Maker ! love a Demon ! 'Had. No O, no My thoughts but wandered Oft, alas ? they wander. Tarn. Why dost thou speak so sadly now ? and loJ Thine eyes are fixed again upon Arcturus. Thus ever, when thy drooping spirits ebb, Thou gazest on that star. Hath it the power To cause or cure thy melancholy mood ? [He appears lost in thought.] Tell me, ascrib'st thou influence to the stars ? Had. (starting.) The stars ! What know'st thou of the stars ? Tarn. I know that they were made to rule the night. Had. Like palace lamps ! thou echoest well thy grandsire. Woman ! the stars are living, glorious, Amazing, infinite ! Tarn. Speak not so wildly. I know them numberless, resplendent, set As symbols of the countless, countless years That make eternity. Had. Eternity ! Oh ! mighty, glorious, miserable thought ! Had ye endured like those great sufferers, Like them, seen ages, myriad ages roll ; Could ye but look into the void abyss With eyes experienced, unobscured by torments, Then mightst thou name it, name it feelingly. Tarn. What ails thee, Hadad ? Draw me not so close. Had. Tamar ! I need thy love more than thy love Tain. Thy cheek is wet with tears Nay, let us part Tis late I cannot, must not linger. [Breaks from him, and exit."] Had. Loved and abhorred ! Still, still accursed ! [He paces, twice or thrice, up and down, with passionate gestures ; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence.] COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 25 Oh ! where, In the illimitable space, in what Profound of untned misery, when all His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill With life and beauty yonder infinite, Their radiant journey run, for ever set, Where, where, in what abyss shall 1 be groaning ? [Exit.-] HadacCs Description of the City of David. HILLHOUSB. 'Tis so; the hoary harper sings aright; How beautiful is Zion ! Like a queen, Armed with a helm in virgin loveliness, Her heaving bosom in a bossy cuirass, She sits aloft, begirt with battlements And bulwarks swelling from the rock, to guard The sacred courts, pavilions, palaces, Soft gleaming through the umbrage of the woods, Which tuft her summit, and, like raven tresses, Wave their dark beauty round the tower of David. Resplendent with a thousand golden bucklers, The embrazures of alabaster shine ; Hailed by the pilgrims of the desert, bound To Judah's mart with orient merchandise. But not, for thou art fair and turret-crowned, Wet with the choicest dew of heaven, and blessed With golden fruits, and gales of frankincense, Dwell I beneath thine ample curtains. Here, Where saints and prophets teacb, where the stern law Still ppeaks in thunder, where chief angels watch, And where the Glory hovers, here I war. The Song at Twilight. LUCHETIA MARIA DAVIDSOW. WIIEX evening spreads her shades around, And darkness fills the arch of heaven ; When nft a murmur, not a sound, To Fancy's sportive ear is given ; *The remains and a biographical sketch of this remarkable girl were published last year by Mr. Samuel F. B. Morse. An interesting review of the volume appeared soon after in the London Quarterly : we are not 3 26 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. When the broad orb of heaven is bright, And looks around with golden eye ; When Nature, softened by her light, Seems calmly, solemnly to lie ; Then, when our thoughts are raised above This world, and all this world can give, 0, sister, sing the song I love, And tears of gratitude receive. The song which thrills my bosom's core, And, hovering, trembles half afraid, 0, sister, sing the song once more Which ne'er for mortal ear was made. 'Twere almost sacrilege to sing Those notes amid the glare of day; Notes borne by angels' purest wing, And wafted by their breath away. When, sleeping in my grass-grown bed, Shouldst thou still linger here above, Wilt thou not kneel beside my head, And, sister, sing the song 1 love ? aware that it has been noticed in any periodical in this country. Southey has rendered himself distinguished for his attention to youthful genius. Except the cases of Chatterton and Henry Kirke White, he thinks there is no instance on record of " so early, so ardent, and so fatal a pursuit of Intellectual advancement," as is exhibited in the history of this young lady. "In these poems, there is enough of originality, enough of aspira- tion, enough of conscious energy, enough of growing power, to warrant any expectations, however sanguine, which the patron, and the frierrda and parents of the deceased, could have formed ; nor can any person rise from the perusal of such a volume without feeling the vanity of human hopes." " She was peculiarly sensitive to music. There was one song (it was Moore's Farewell to his Harp) to which she took a special fancy ; she wished to hear it only at twilight ; thus, with that same perilous love of excitement which made her place the windharp in the window when she was composing, seeking to increase the effect which the song produced upon a nervous system, already diseasedly susceptible ; for it is said, that, whenever she heard this song, she became cold, pale, and almost fainting ; yet it was her favorite of all songs, and gave occasion to these verses, addressed, in her fifteenth year, to her sister. " To young readers it might be useful to observe, that these verses, in one place, approach the verge of meaning, but are on the wrong side of the line : to none can it he necessary to say^ that they breathe the deep feel- ins of a mind essentially poetical." The piece here referred to, is thai extracted above. ED. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 27 Hagarin the Wilderness. N. P. WILLIS. THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dies ; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew. And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. All things are dark to sorrow ; and the light, And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odors from its spicy pores, And the young birds were caroling as life Were 9 new thing to them ; but, oh ! it came Upon her heart like discord, and she felt How cruelly it tries a broken heart, To see a mirth in any thing it loves. She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed Till the blood left them ; and the wandering veins Of her transparent forehead were swelled out, As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven, Which made its language legible, shot back From her long lashes, as it had been flame. Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet, Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor, Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up Into his mother's face until he caught The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath, As if his light proportions would have swelled, Had they but matched his spirit, to the man. Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now Upon his staff so wearily ? His beard Is low upon his breast, and his high brow, So written with the converse of his God, Beareth the swollen vein of agony. His lip is quivering, and his wonted step Of vigor is not there ; and, though the morn 28 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETHY. Is passing lair and beautiful, he breathes Its freshness as it were a pestilence. Oh! man may bear with suffering: his heart Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp Of pain that wrings mortality ; but tear One cord affection clings to, part one tie That binds him to a woman's delicate love, And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed. He gave to her the water and the bread, But spoke no word, and trusted not himself To look upon her face, but laid his hand, In silent blessing, on the fair-haired boy, And left her to her lot of loneliness. Should Hagar weep ? May slighted woman turn. And, as a vine the oak hath shaken off, Bend lightly to her tendencies again ? O no! by all her loveliness, by all That makes life poetry and beauty, no! Make her a slave ; steal from her rosy cheek By needless jealousies; let the last star Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain j Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all That makes her cup a bitterness yet give One evidence of love, and earth has not An emblem of devotedness like hers. But, oh ! estrange her once, it boots not how, By wrong or silence, any thing that tells A change has come upon your tenderness, And there is not a high thing out of heaven Her pride o'ermastereth not. She went her way with a strong step and slow ; Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed, As it had been a diamond, and her form Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through. Her child kept on in silencs, though she pressed His hand till it was pained ; for he had caught, As I have said, her spirit, and the seed Of a stern nation had been breathed upon. The morning past, and Asia's sun rode up In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat of the lulls were in the shade, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 29 And the bright plumage of the Orient lay On beating bosoms in her spicy trees. It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found No shelter in the wilderness, and on She kept her weary way, until the boy Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips For water ; but she could not give it him. She laid him down beneath the sultry sky, For it was better than the ciose, hot breath Of the thick pines, and tried to comfort him ; But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know Why God denied him water in the wild. She sat a little longer, and he grew Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. It was too much for her., She lifted him, And bore him farther on, and laid his head Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub ; And, shrouding up her face, she went away, And sat to watch, where he could see her not, Till he should die ; and, watching him, she mourned : ' God stay thee in thine agony, my boy ; I cannot see thee die ; I cannot brook Upon thy brow to look, And see death settle on my cradle joy. How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye! And could I see thee die ? 4 1 did not dream of this when thou wast straying, Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers ; Or wearing rosy hours, By the rich gush of water-sources playing, Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, So beautiful and deep. ' Oh no ! and when I watched by thee the while And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile, How prayed I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee ! 3* 30 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY, And now the grave for its cold breast hath won (hte, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press ; And oli ! my last caress Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there Upon his clustering hair !' She stood beside the well her God had given To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead of her child until he laughed In his reviving happiness, and lisped His infant thought of gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. Return of the Buccaneer. RICHARD H, DAITA. WITHIJT our bay, one stormy night, The isle's men saw boats make for shore, With here and there a dancing light That flashed on man and oar. When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark, " Ha ! lantern work ! We'll home ! They're playing shark!" Next day, at noon, towards the town, All stared and wondered much to see Matt and his men come strolling down. The boys shout, " Here conies Lee !" " Thy ship, good Lee ?" " Not many leagues from shore Our ship by chance took fire." They learnt no more. He and his crew were flush of gold. " You did not lose your cargo, then ?" ' Learn where all's fairly bought and sold." ijHeaven prospers those true men. Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook Our ways of sin, and honest courses took! " Wouldst see my log-book .' Fairly writ, With pen of steel, and ink like blood! How lightly doth the conscience sit! Learn, truth's the only good." COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 3J And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer, He fled repentance, it' he 'scaped not fear. Remorse and fear he drowns In drink. " Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew. It thicks the blood to mope and think. Here's merry days, though few !" And then he quaffs. So riot reigns within ; So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin. Matt lords it now throughout the isle. His hand falls heavier than before. All dread alike his frown or smile. None come within his door, Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him ; Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim. Appearance of the Spectre Horse and the Burning Ship tc the Buccaneer. IBID. " To-night's our anniversary ; And, mind me, lads, we'll have it kept With royal state and special glee! % Better with those who slept Their sleep that night, had he be now, who slinks! And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!" The words they spoke we may not speak. The tales they told we may not tell. Mere mortal man, forbear to seek The secrets of that hell ! Their shouts grow loud. 'Tis near mid-hour of night. What means upon the waters that red light ? Not bigger than a star it seems ; And, now, 'tis like the bloody moon; And, now, it shoots in hairy streams Its light! 'Twill reach us soon ! A ship ! and all on fire ! hull, yards and mast ! Her sheets are sheets of flame ! She's nearing fast ! And now she rides, upright and still, Shedding a wild and lurid light 32 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Around the cove on inland hill, Waking the gloom of night. All breaches of terror ! Men in dumb amaze Gaze on each other 'neath the horrid blaze. It scares the sea-birds from their nests. They dart and wheel with deaf'mng screams ; Now dark, and now their wings and breasts Flash back disastrous gleams. O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth ? The world, man, is wailing o'er thy birth. And what comes up above that wave, So ghastly white ? A spectral head ! A horse's head (May heaven save Those looking on the dead, The waking dead!) There on the sea he stands The spectre-horse ! he moves ; he gains the sands ! Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides Are streaming with a cold, blue light. Heaven keep the wits of him who rides The spectre-horse to-night ! His path is shining like a swift ship's wake ; He gleams before Lee's door like day's gray break. The revel now is high within : It breaks upon the midnight air. They little think, midst mirth and din, What spirit waits them there. As if the sky became a voice, there spread A sound to appal the living, stir the dead. The spirit-steed sent up the neigh. It seemed the living trump of hell, Sounding to call the damned away, To join the host that fell. It rang along the vaulted sky : the shore Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar. It rang in ears that knew the sound ; And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear, And why does Lee look wildly round.' Thinks he the drowned horse near ? COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. He drops his cup ; his lips are stiff with fright. Nay, sit thee down ! It is thy banquet ni^ht. " I cannot sit. I needs must go : The spell is on my spirit now. I go to dread ! I go to wo !" O, who so weak as thou, Strong man ? His hoofs upon the door-stone, see, The shadow stands ? His eyes are on thee, Lee ! Thy hair pricks up ! " O, I must bear His damp, cold breath ! It chills my frame ! His eyes their near and dreadful glare Speak that I must not name !" Thou'rt mad to mount that horse ! " A power within, I must obey, cries, ' Mount thee, man of sin!' " He's now astride the spectre's back, With rein of silk, and curb of gold. 'Tis fearful speed ! the rein is slack Within his senseless hold : Nor doth he touch the shade he strides, upborne By an unseen power. God help thee, man forlorn ! He goes with speed ; he goes with dread ! And now they're on the hanging steep ! And, now, the living and the dead, They'll make thi horrid leap! The horse stops short: his feet are on the verge. He stands, like marble, high above the surge. And, nigh, the tall ship yet burns on, With red, hot spars and crackling flume. From hull to gallant, nothing's gone. She burns, and yet's the same ! Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night, On man and horse, in their cold, phosphor light. Through that cold light the fearful man Sits looking on the burning ship. Thou ne'er again wilt curse and ban. How fast he moves the lip ! And yet he does not speak, or make a sound ! What see you, Lee, the bodies of the drowned ? 34 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY, " I look where mortal man may not Into the chambers of the deep. I see the dead, long, long forgot; I see them in their sleep. A dreadful power is mine, which none can know, Save he who leagues his soul with death and wo." Thou mild, sad mother, waning moon Thy last, low, melancholy ray Shines towards him. Quit him not so soon! Mother, in mercy, stay ! Despair and death are witli him ; and canst thou, With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now ? O, thou wast born for things of love ; Making more lovely in thy shine Whate'er thou look'st on. Hosts above, In that soft light of thine, Burn softer : earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven. Thou'rt going down ! Thou'st left him unforgiven ! The far, low west is bright no more How still it is ! No sound is heard At sea, or all along the shore, But cry of passing bird. Thou living thing, and dar'st thou come so near These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear ? Now long that thick, red light has shone On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay, On man'and horse that seem of stone, So motionless are they. But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns : The night is going faint, gray dawn returns. The spectre-steed now slowly pales ; Now changes like the moonlit cloud. That cold, thin light, now slowly fails, Which wrapt them like a shroud. Both ship and horse are fading into air. Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there! The morning air blows fresh on him ; The waves dance gladly in his sight ; COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 35 The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim 0, blessed morning light ! He doth not hear that joyous call ; he sees No beauty in the wave ; he feels no breeze. For he's accurst from all that's good ; He ne'er must know its healing power. The sinner on his sins must brood ; Must wait, alone, his hour. Thou stranger to earth's beauty human love There's here no rest for thee, no hope above ! The Death of the Flowers. BRYANT. THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the wither'd leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie ; but th cold November rain. Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, And the wild-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, 36 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRT. When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side : In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend of ours So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. The Skies. BRYANT. AY, gloriously thou standest there, Beautiful, boundless firmament! That, swelling wide o'er earth and air, And round the horizon bent, With that bright vault and sapphire wall, Dost overhang and circle all. Far, far below thee, tall gray trees Arise, and piles built up of old, And hills, whose ancient summits freeze In the fierce light and cold. The eagle soars his utmost height ; Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight. Thou hast thy frowns : with thee, on high, The storm has made his airy seat : Beyond thy soft blue curtain lie His stores of hail and sleet : Thence the consuming lightnings break; There the strong hurricanes awake. Yet art thou prodigal of smiles Smiles sweeter than thy frowns are stern : Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, A song at their return ; The glory that comes down from thee Bathes in deep joy the land and sea. I COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 37 The sun, the gorgeous sun, is thine, The pomp that brings and shuts the day, The clouds* that round him change and shine, The airs that fan his way. Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there The meek moon walks the silent air. The sunny Italy may boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovely, round the Grecian coast, May thy blue pillars rise : I only know how fair they stand About my own beloved land. And they are fair : a charm is theirs, That earth the proud, green eartt has not, With all the hues, and forms, and ain , That haunt her sweetest spot. We gaze upon thy calm, pure sphere, And read of heaven's eternal year. Oh ! when, amid the throng of men, The heart grows sick of hollow mirth, How willingly we turn us, then, Away from this cold earth, And look into thy azure breast, For seats of innocence and rest ! From " The Minstrel Girl." JAMES G. WHITTIEK. HER lover died. Away from her, The ocean-girls his requiem sang, And smoothed his dreamless sepulchre Where the tall coral branches sprang. And it was told her how he strove With death ; but not from selfish fear: It was the memory of her love Which made existence doubly dear. They told her how his fevered sleep Revealed the phantom of his brain He thought his love had com* to keep Her vigils at his couch of pain ; 4 38 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. And he would speak in his soft tone, And stretch hi* arms to cla^p the air, And then awaken with a moan, Ami weep that there was nothing there I And wluu he bowed him id/' at Ian Beneath the spoiler's cold eclipse, Even as the weary spirit passed, Her name was on hij marble lips. She heard the tale ; she did not weep ; It was too strangely sad for tears ; And so she kept it for the deep Rememberings of after years. She poured one lone and plaintive wail For the loved dead it was her last- Like harp-tones dying, on the gale Her minstrelsy of spirit passed: And she became an altered one, g Forgetful of her olden shrine, As if her darkened soul had done > With all beneath the fair sunshine. " Weep for Yourselves, and for your Children."- S. SlGOUHNEY. WE mourn for those who toil, The slave who ploughs the main, Or him who hopeless tills the soil Beneath the stripe and chain ; For those who in the world's hard race O'erwearied and unblest, A host of restless phantoms chase, Why mourn for those who rest > We mourn for those who sin, Bound in the tempter's snare, Whom syren pleasure beckons in To prisons of despair, Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn, Are wrecked on folly's shore, But why in sorrow should wo mourn For those who sin no more ? We mourn for those who weep, Whom stern afflictions bend COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 39 With anguish o'er the lowly sleep Of lover or of friend ; But they to whom the sway Of pain and grief is o'er, Whose tears our God hath wiped away, Oh, mourn for them no more ! The sudden Coming on of Spring after long Rains. CARLOS WILCOX. THE spring, made dreary by incessant r?.in, Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale, Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near Its cultivated base, fronting the south, Where, in the first warm rays of March, it sprung Amid dissolving snow : save these mere specks Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers, In other years bright blowing soon as earth Unveils her face, and a faint vermil tinge On clumps of maple of the softer kind, Was nothing visible to give to May, Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's Than like November's universal gloom. All day, beneath the sheltering hovel, stood The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask The food of winter. A few lonely birds, Of those that in this northern clime remain Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring, At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat, Come suddenly to view with lively notes, Or those that soonest to this clime return From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen, But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute, Or only skipping, with a single chirp, In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds, That half way down the mountain side oft hung, As if o'erloaded with their watery s*jre, Were parted, though with motion unobserved, Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed The melancholy scene, and much his fears On famine dwelt ; when, suddenly awaked At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound, Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near His window, round their dwelling chirping quick, With spirits by hope enlivened, up he sprung To look abroad, and to his joy beheld A sky without the remnant of a cloud. From gloom to gayety and beauty bright So rapid now the universal change, The rude survey it with delight refined, And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout. Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds, Start at the touch of vivifying beams. Moved by thuir secret force, the vital lymph Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field A flood ot verdure. Clothed, in one short week, Js naked nar.ire in her full attire. On the first morn, light as an open plain Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below, With strong reflection : on the last, 'tis dark With full-grown foliage, shading all within. In one short week, the orchard buds and blooms ; And now, when steeped in dew or gentle shower*, It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze, Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes. E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth, And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air, Filled with a watery glimmering, receives A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays. Each day are heard, and almost every hour, New notes to swell the music of the groves. And soon the latest of the feathered train At evening twil; ;ht come ; the lonely snipe, O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air, Invisible, but, with faint, tremulous tones, Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head ; And, in mid-air, tho sportive night-hawk, seen Flying awhile at random, uttering oft A cheerful cry, attended with a shake Of level pinions, dark, but, when upturned, Against the brightness of the western sky, One white plume showing in the midst of each, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 4J Then far down diving with loud hollow sound ; And, deep at first within the distant wood, The whip-poor-will, her name her only song. She, soon as children from the noisy sport Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones, To hear the echoes of the empty barn, Are by her voice diverted, and held mute, Comes to the margin of the nearest grove ; And when the twilight, deepened into night, Calls them within, close to the house she cornea, And on its dark side, haply on the step Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen, Breaks into strains articulate and clear, The closing sometimes quickened as in sport. Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve All harmony, activity, and joy, Is lovely Nature, as in her blest prime. The robin to the garden, or green yard, Close to the door repairs to build again Within her wonted tree ; and at her work Seems doubly busy, for her past delay. Along the surface of the winding stream, Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim ; Or round the borders of the spacious lawn Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine, Easy and light. One snatches from the ground A downy feather, and then upward springs, Followed by others, but oft drops it soon, In playful mood, or from too slight a hold, When all at once dart at the falling prize. The flippant blackbird, with light yellow crown, Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops On the next tree, and on its highest limb, Or some tall flag, and, gently rocking, sits, Her strain repeating. Slavery. CARLOS WILCOX. ALL are born free, and all with equal righta. So speaks the charter of a nation proud Of her unequalled liberties and laws, 4* 42 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. While, in that nation, shameful to relate, One man in five is born and dies a slave. Is this my country ? this that happy land, The wonder and the envy of the world ? for a mantle to conceal her shame ! But why, when Patriotism cannot hide The ruin which her guilt will surely bring If unrepented ? and unless the God Who poured his plagues on Egypt till she let The oppressed go free, and often pours his wrath, In earthquakes and tornadoes, on the isles Of western India, laying waste their fields, Dashing their mercenary ships ashore, Tossing the isles themselves like floating wrecks, And burying towns alive in one wide grave, No sooner ope'd but closed, let judgment pass For once untasted till the general doom, Can it go well with us while we retain This cursed thing ? Will not untimely frosts, Devouring insects, drought, and wind and hail, Destroy the fruits of ground long tilled in chains ? Will not some daring spirit, born to thoughts Above his beast-like state, find out the truth, Tnat Africans are men; and, catching fire Faim Freedom's altar raised before his eyes With incense fuming sweet, in others light A kindred flame in secret, till a train, Kindled at once, deal death on every side ? Cease then, Columbia, for thy safety cease, And for thine honor, to proclaim the praise Of thy fair shores of liberty and joy, While thrice five hundred thousand wretched slaves, In thine own bosom, start at every word As meant to mock their woes, and shake their chains, Thinking defiance which they dare not speak Hymn for the African Colonization Society. PIERPOKT. WITH thy pure dews and rains, Wash out* O God, the stains From Afric's shore i And, while her palm-trees bud, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 43 Let not her children's blood With her hroad Niger's flood Be mingled more ! Quench, righteous God, the thirst That Congo's sons hath cursed, The thirst for gold. Shall not thy thunders speak, Where Mammon's altars reek, Where maids and matrons shriek, Bound, bleeding, sold ? Hear'st thou, God, those chains, Clanking on Freedom's plains, By Christians wrought ! Them, who those chains have worn, Christians from home have torn, Christians have hither borne, Christians have bought ! Cast down, great God, the fanes That, to unhallowed gains, Round us have risen Temples, whose priesthood pore Moses and Jesus o'er, Then bolt the black man's door, The poor man's prison ! Wilt thou not, Lord, at last, From thine own image, cast Away all cords, But that of love, which brings Man, from his wanderings, Back to the King of kings, The Lord oflords ! Dedication Hymn. PIERPOJCT. O THOTJ, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung, Whom kings adored in songs sublime, And prophets praised with glowing tongue, 44 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Not now, on Zion's height alone, The favored worshipper may dwell, Nor where, at 3ultry noon, thy Son Sat, weary, by the patriarch's well. From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer- The incense of the heart may rise To neaven, and find acceptance there. In this thy house, whose doors we now For social worship first unfold, To thee the suppliant throng shall bow, While circling years on years are rolled. To thee shall age, with snowy hair, And strength and beauty, bend the knee, And childhood lisp, with reverend air, Its praises and its prayers to thee. thou, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of prophet bards was strung, To thee, at last, in every clime, Shall temples rise, and praise be sung. Evening Music of the Angela. HILLHOUSE. Low warblings, now, and solitary harps, Were heard among the angels, touched and tuned As to an evening hymn, preluding soft To cherub voices. Louder as they swelled, Deep strings struck in, and hoarser instruments, Mixed with clear silver sounds, till concord rose Full as the harmony of winds to heaven ; Yet sweet as nature's springtide melodies To some worn pilgrim, first, with glistening eyes, Greeting his native valley, whence the sounds Of rural gladness, herds, and bleating flocks, The chirp of birds, blithe voices, lowing kine, The dash of waters, reed, or rustic pipe, Blent with the dulcet distance-mellowed bell, Coine, like the echo of his early joys. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 45 In every pause, from spirits in mid air, Responsive still were golden viols heard, And heavenly symphonies stole faintly down. Vernal Melody in the Forest. CARLOS WILCOX." WITH sonorous notes Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet, Ul chanted in the fulness of delight, The forest rings. Where, far around enclosed With bushy sides, and covered high above With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks, Like pillars rising to support a roof, It seems a temple vast, the space within Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody. Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct, The merry mocking-bird together links In one continued song their different notes, * He was a true poet, and deeply interesting in his character, both as a man and a Christian. He resembled Cow per in many respects ;--in the gentleness and tenderness of his sensibilities in the modest and re tiring disposition of his mind in its tine culture, and its original poetical cast and not a little in the character of his poetry. It has been said with truth, that, if he had given himself to poetry as his chief occupation, he might have been the Cowper of New England. We pretend not to place his unfinished and broken compositions on a level with the works of the author of the Task ; but they possess much of his spirit, and, at the same time, are original. Like Cowper, "he left the ambitious and luxuriant subjects of fiction and passion, for those of real life and simple nature, and for the developement of his own earnest feelings, in behalf of moral and religious truth." Amidst the throngs of imitators, whose names have crowded tlie pages of the annuals and magazines, his is never to be seen ; and the merits of his poetry are almost unknown to those who regulate the criticisms of the public journals. But it is both a proof anda consequence of his original powers and his elevated feelings, that, instead of devoting his mind to the composition of short, artificial pieces for the public eye, he started at once upon a wide and noble subject, with the outline in his mind of a magnificent moral poem. The history, the sce- nery, and the public and domestic manners in this country, afforded scope for the composition of another Task, which, if the powers of the writer were equal to his subject, would be more for America, and the religious world, than even Cowper's was for England and his fellow men. Mr. Wilcox did not live to execute his design ; but the fragments he has left us are so rich, in a vein of unaffected poetry and piety, that they make us sorrowful for what we have lost, and indisnant that his merits are so little known and appreciated beyond a small circle of affectionate Christian Gientls. ED. 46 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Adding new life and sweetness to them all. Hid under shrubs, the squirrel, that in fields Frequents the stony wall and briery fence, Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries Sudden and sharp, he darts to his retreat, Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree ; But oft, a moment after, re-appears, First peeping out, then starting forth at once With a courageous air, yet in his pranks Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far Till left unheeded. Close of the Vision of Judgment. HILL.HOTTSB. As when, from some proud capital that crowns Imperial Ganges, the reviving breeze Sweeps the dank mist, or hoary river fog, Impervious, mantled o'er her highest towers, Bright on the eye rush Brahma's temples, capped With spiry tops, gay-trellised minarets, Pagods of gold, and mosques with burnished domer Gilded, and glistening in the morning sun, So from the hill the cloudy curtains rolled, And, in the lingering lustre of the eve, Again the Savior and his seraphs shone. Emitted sudden in his rising, flashed Intenser light, as toward the right hand host Mild turning, with a look ineffable, The invitation he proclaimed in accents Which on their ravished ears poured thrilling, like The silver sound of many trumpets heard Afar in sweetest jubilee ; then, swift Stretching his dreadful sceptre to the left, That shot forth horrid lightnings, in a voice Clothed but in half its terrors, yet to them Seemed like the crush of Heaven, pronounced the doom The sentence uttered, as with life instinct, The throne uprose majestically slow ; Each angel spread his wings ; in one dread swell Of triumph mingling as they mounted, trumpets, And harps, acd golden lyres, and timbrels sweet, And many a strange and deep-toned instrument COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 47 Of heavenly minstrelsy unknown on earth, And angels' voices, and the loud acclaim Of all the ransomed, like a thunder-shout. Far through the skies melodious echoes rolled, And faint hosannas distant climes returned. Down from the lessening multitude came faint And fainter still the trumpet's dying peal, All else in distance lost, when, to receive Their new inhabitants, the heavens unfolded. Up gazing, then, with streaming eyes, a glimpse The wicked caught of Paradise, where streaks Of splendor, golden gleamings, radiance shone, Like the deep glories of declining day, When, washed by evening showers, the huge-orbed sun Breaks instantaneous o'er the illumined world. Seen far within, fair forms moved graceful by, Slow turning to the light their snowy wings. A deep-drawn, agonizing groan escaped The hapless outcasts, when upon the Lord The glowing portals closed. Undone, they stow. Wistfully gazing on the cold gray heaven, As if to catch, alas ! a hope not there. But shades began to gather, night approached, Murky and lowering ; round with horror rolled On one another their despairing eyes, That glared with anguish ; starless, hopeless gloom Fell on their souls, never to know an end. Though in the far horizon lingered yet A lurid gleam ; black clouds were mustering there ; Red flashes, followed by low, muttering sounds, Announced the fiery tempest doomed to hurl The fragments of the earth again to chaos. Wild gusts swept by, upon whose hollow wing Unearthly voices, yells, and ghastly peals Of demon laughter came. Infernal shapes Flitted along the sulphurous wreaths, or plunged Their dark, impure abyss, as sea-foul dive Their watery element. O'erwhelmed with sights And sounds of horror, I awoke ; and found For gathering storms, and signs of coming wo, The midnight moon gleaming upon my bed Serene and peaceful. Gladly I surveyed her Walking in brightness through the stars of heaven, And blessed the respite ere the day of doom. 48 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. "As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be." MRS. SlGOURNEY. WHEN adverse winds and waves arise, And in my heart despondence sighs, When life her throng of care reveals, And weakness o'er my spirit steals, Grateful I hear the kind decree, That " as my day, my strength shall be." When, with sad footstep, memory roves Mid smitten joys, and buried loves, When sleep my tearful pillow flies, And dewy morning drinks my sighs, Still to thy promise, Lord, I nee, That " as my day, my strength shall be." One trial more must yet be past, One pang, the keenest, and the last ; And when, with brow convulsed and pale, My feeble, quivering heart-strings fail, Redeemer, grant my sou! to see That " as her day, her strength shall be." The Pilgrims. MRS. SIGOURNEY. How slow yon tiny vessel ploughs the main ! Amid the heavy billows now she seems A toiling atom, then from wave to wave Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed, or reels, Half wrecked, through gulfs profound. Moons wax and wane, But still that lonely traveller treads the deep. I see an ice-bound coast, toward which she steers With such a tardy movement, that it seems Stern Winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone, And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds. They land! They land! not like the Genoese, With glittering sword and gaudy train, and eye Kindling with golden fancies. Forth they come From their long prison, hardy forms, that brave The world's unkindness, men of hoary hair, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 49 And virgins of firm heart, and matrons grave, Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round, Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, And savage men, who through the thickets peer With vengeful arrow. What could lure their steps To this drear desert? Ask of him who le't His father's home to roam througli Haran's wilds, Distrusting not the Guide who called him forth, Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed Should be as Ocean's sands. But yon lone bark Hath spread her parting sail. They crowd the strand, Those few, lone pilgrims. Can ye scan the wo That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail link Binding to mail, and habitable earth, Is severed? Can ye tell what pangs were there, What keen regrets, what sickness of the heart, What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth, Their distant, dear ones ? Long, with straining eye, They watch the lessening speck. Heard ye no shriek Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness Sank down into their bosoms ? No! they turn Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray ! Pray, and the ills that haunt this transient life Fade into air. Up in each girded breast There sprang a rooted and mysterious strength, A loftiness, to face a world in arms, To strip the pomp from sceptres, and to lay Upon the sacred altar the warm blood Of slain affections, when they rise between The soul and God. And can ye deem it strange That from their planting such a branch should bloom As nations envy : Would a genii, embalmed With prayer's pure tear-drops, strike no deeper root Than that which mad ambition's hand doth strew Upon the winds, to reap the winds again? Hid by its veil of waters from the hand Of greedy Europe, theit bold vine spread forth In giant strength. Its early clusters, crushed In England's wine-press, gave the tyrant host 5 60 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. A draught of deadly wine. 0, ye who boast In your free veins the blood of sires like these, Lose not their" lineaments. Should Mammon cling Too close around your heart, or wealth beget That bloated luxury which eats the core From manly virtue, or the tempting world Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul, Turn ye to Plymouth's beach, and on that rock Kneel in their foot-prints, and renew the vow They breathed to God. The Coral Grove. PERCIVAL. DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral rocks the sea plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air : There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea : And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms, Has made the top of the waves his own : And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 51 Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending twigs of the coral grove* Hebrew Melody. MRS. J. G. BROOKS. Jeremiah x. 17. FROM the hall of our fathers in anguish we fled, Nor again will its marble re-echo our tread, For the breath of the Siroc has blasted our name, And the frown of Jehovah has crushed us in shame. His robe was the whirlwind, his voice was the thunder, And earth, at his footstep, was riven asunder; The mantle of midnight had shrouded the sky, But we knew where He stood by the flash of His eye. Judah ! how long must thy weary ones weep, Far, far from the land where their forefathers sleep ? How long ere the glory that brightened the mountain Will welcome the exile to Siloa's fountain ? To a Child. ANONYMOTTS. " The memory of thy name, dear one, Lives in my inmost heart, Linked with a thousand hopes and feari, That will not thence depart." THINGS of high import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power. But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. Seek TRUTH that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined, In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth ; Bui her majestic port the willing mind, 53 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll Be FREE not chiefly from the iron chain, But from the one which passion forges ; be The master of thyself ! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek VIRTUE. Wear her armor to the fight ; Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek Virtue ; she alone is all divine ; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. THUTH FREEDOM VIRTUE these, dear child, liav* power, If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour : Neglect them thy celestial gifts are vain In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. The Western World. BRYANT. LATE, from this western shore, that morning chased The deep and ancient night, that threw its shroud O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste, Nurse of full streams, and lifter up of proud Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud. Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear, Trees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near. And where hii willing waves yon bright blue bay Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim, And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay Young group of grassy islands born of him, And, crowding nigh, or in the distance dim, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 53 Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or hring The commerce of the world with tawny limb, And belt and beads in sunlight glistening, The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. Then, all his youthful paradise around, And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned O'er mound and vale, where never summer ray Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild, Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled. There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake Spread its blue sheet, that flashed with many an oar, Where the brown otter plunged him from tne brake, And the deer drank as the light gale flew o'er, The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore ; And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, A look of glad and innocent beauty wore, And peace was on the earth and in the air, The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there : Not unavenged the foeman, from the wood, Beheld the deed, and, when the midnight shade Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe wkh blood ; All died the wailing babe the shrieking maid And in the flood cf fire that scathed the glade, The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew When on the dewy woods the day-beam played ; No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, And ever by their lake lay moored the light canoe. Look now abroad another race has filled These populous borders wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms t^re tilled ; The land is full of harvests and green meads ; Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds, Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze Their virgin waters ; the full region leads New colonies forth, that toward the western seas Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees. 5* i 64 COMMONPLACE BOOK OP POETHY. Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last tetters off; and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race. Far, like the comet's way through infinite space, Stretches the long untravelled path of light Into the depths of ages: we may trace, Afar, the brightening glory of its flight, Till the receding rays are lost to human sight To a Waterfowl. BRTAKT. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way . Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side .' There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, The desert and illimitable air, Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shall thou find a summer home, and rest Aod scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. COMMON-PLAdfi BOOK OF fOETRIf. 55 Thou'rt gone ; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight* In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. The Constancy of Nature contrasted with the Changes in Human Z,j/e. How like eternity doth nature seem To life of man that short and fitful dream! 1 look around me ; no where can I trace Lines of decay that mark our human race. These are the murmuring waters, these the flowers I mused o'er in my earlier, better hours. Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. Long years have past since this Was last my home ! And I am weak, and toil-worn is my frame ; But all this vale shuts in is still the same : 'Tis I alone am changed ; they know me not : I feel a stranger or as one forgot. The breeze that cooled my warm and youthful brow, Breathes the same freshness on its wrinkles now. The leaves that flung around me sun and shade, While gazing idly on them, as they played, Are holding yet their frolic in the air; The motion, joy, and beauty still are there But not for me ! 1 look upon the ground : Myriads of happy faces throng me round, Familiar to my eye ; yet heart and mind In vain would now the old communion find. Ye were as living, conscious beings, then, With whom I talked but I have talked with men! With uncheered sorrow, with cold hearts I've met; Seen honest minds by hardened craft beset; Seen hope cast down, turn deathly pale its glow; Seen virtue rare, but more of virtue's show. 50 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. Jlndfare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale. DANA. THE sun was nigh its set, when we were come Once more where stood the good man's lowly home. We sat beside the door ; a gorgeous sight Above our heads the elm in golden light. Thoughtful and silent for awhile he then Talked of my coming." Thou'lt not go again From thine own vale ; and we will make thy home Pleasant ; and it shall glad thee to have come." Then of my garden and my house he spoke, And well ranged orchard on the sunny slope ; And grew more bright and happy in his talk Of social winter eve, and summer walk. And, while 1 listened, to my sadder soul A sunnier, gentler sense in silence stole ; Nor had I heart to spoil the little plan Which cheered the spirit of the kind old man. At length I spake " No ! here I must not stay I'll rest to-night to-morrow go my way." He did not urge me. Looking in my face, As he each feeling of the heart could trace, He prest my hand, and prayed I might be blest, Where'er I went, that Heaven would give me rest. The silent night has past into the prime Of day to thoughtful souls a solemn time. For man has wakened from his nightly death, And shut up sense to morning's life and breath. He sees go out in heaven the stars that kept Their glorious watch while he, unconscious, slept, Feels God was round him while he knew it not Is awed then meets the world and God's forgot So may I not forget thee, holy Power! Be to me ever as at this caiui hour. The tree tops now are glittering in the sun : Away! 'Tis time my journey was begun. Why should I stay, when all I loved are fled, Strange to the living, knowing but the dead; COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 57 A homeless wanderer through my early home ; Gone childhood's joy, and not a joy to come? To pass each cottage, and to have it tell, Here did thy mother, here a playmate dwell ; To think upon that lost one's girlish bloom, And see thHad touched her lip and heart with Same, And on the altar of her soul The fire of inspiration came. And early she had learned to love Each holy charm to Nature given, The changing earth, the skies above, Were prompters to her dreams of Heaven ! She loved the earth the streams that wind Like music from its hills of green The stirring boughs above them twined The shifting light and shade between ; The fall of waves the fountain gush The sigh of winds the music heard At even-tide, from air and bush The minstrelsy of leaf and bird. But chief she loved the sunset sky Its golden clouds, like curtains drawn To form the gorgeous canopy Of monarchs to their slumbers gone ! The sun went down, and, broad and red One moment, on the burning wave, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. Rested his front of fire, to shed A glory round his ocean-grave : And sunset far and gorgeous hung A banner from the wall of heaven A wave of living glory, flung Along the shadowy verge of even. Description of a sultry Summer's JVoort.* CARLOS WILCOX. A SULTRY NOON, not in the summer's prime, When all is fresh with life, and youth, and bloom, But near its close, when vegetation stops, And fruits mature stand ripening in the sun, Soothes and enervates with its thousand charms, Its images of silence and of rest, The melancholy mind. The fields are still ; The husbandman has gone to his repast, And, that partaken, on the coolest side Of his abode, reclines, in sweet repose. Deep in the shaded stream the cattle stana, The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone, And panting quick. The fields, for harvest ripe, No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves, While with their motion, dim and bright by turns, The sunshine seems to move ; nor e'en a breath Brushes along the surface with a shade Fleeting and thin, like that of flying smoke. The slender stalks their heavy bended heads Support as motionless as oaks their tops. O'er all the woods the topmost leaves are still ; E'en the wild poplar leaves, that, pendent hung By stems elastic, quiver at a breath, Rest in the general calm. The thistle down, Seen high and thick, by gazing up beside * How perfect is this description of the hot noon of a summer's day in the country ! anil yet how simple and unstudied ! Several of its most expressive images are entirely new, and the whole graphic combination is original a quality very difficult to attain afV'r Thomson and Cowpcr. The thistle alighting sleepily on the grass, the yellow-hirmmer mutely picking the seeds, the grasshopper snapping his win;;*, and the lo\<- sinking of tho locust all the images, indeed, make uo a j>icturo inimitably beautiful ami true to na- luro. ED. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Some shading object, in a silver shower Plumb down, and slower than the slowest snow, Through all the sleepy atmosphere descends ; And where it lights, though on the steepest roof, Or smallest spire of grass, remains unmoved. White as a fleece, as dense and as distinct From the resplendent sky, a single cloud On the soft bosom of the air becalmed, Drops a lone shadow as distinct and still, On the bare plain, or sunny mountain's side; Or in the polished mirror of the lake, In which the deep reflected sky appears A calm, sublime immensity below. No sound nor motion of a living thing The stillness breaks, but such as serve to soothe, Or cause the soul to feel the stillness more. The yellow-hammer by the way-side picks, Mutely, the thistle's seed ; but in her flight, So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread To rise a little, closed to fall as far, Moving Kke sea-fowl o'er the heaving waves, With each new impulse chimes a feeble uoie. The russet grasshopper at times is heard, Snapping his many wings, as half he flies, Half hovers in the air. Where strikes the sun, With sultriest beams, upon the sandy plain, Or stony mount, or in the close, deep vale, The harmless locust of this western clime, At intervals, amid the leaves unseen, Is heard to sing with one unbroken sound, As with a long-drawn breath, beginning low, And rising to the midst with shriller swell, Then in low cadence dying all away. Beside the stream, collected in a flock, The noiseless butterflies, though on the ground, Continue still to wave their open fans Powdered with gold ; while on the jutting twigs The spindling insects that frequent the banks Rest, with their thin transparent wings outspread As when they fly. Ol'ttimes, though seldom seen, The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves, Is heard to moan, as if at every breath Panting aloud. The hawk, in mid-air high, 70 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. On his broad pinions sailing round and round, With not a flutter, or but now and then, As if his trembling balance to regain, Utters a single scream, but faintly heard, And all again is still. The Dying Child. CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. 'Tis dying ! life is yielding place To that mysterious charm, Which spreads upon the troubled face A fixed, unchanging calm, That deepens as the parting breath Is gently sinking into death. A thoughtful beauty rests the while Upon its snowy brow ; But those pale lips could never smile More radiantly than now ; And sure some heavenly dreams begin To dawn upon the soul within ! that those mildly conscious lips Were parted to reply To tell how death's severe eclipse Is passing from thine eye ; For living eye can never see The change that death hath wrought in thee. Perhaps thy sight is wandering far Throughout the kindled sky, In tracing every infant star Amid the flames on high ; Souls of the just, whose path is bent Around the glorious firmament. Perhaps thine eye is gazing down Upon the earth below, Rejoicing to have gained thy crown, And hurried from its wo To dwell beneath the throne of Him, Before whose glory heaven is dim. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 71 Thy life ! how cold it might have been, If days had grown to years! How dark, how deeply stained with sin, With weariness and tears ! How happy thus to sink to rest, So early numbered with the blest! 'Tis well, then, that the smile should lie Upon thy marble cheek : It tells to our inquiring eye What words could never speak A revelation sweetly given Of all that man can learn of heaven. Looking unto Jesus. CHRISTIAN EXAMINEK. THOTJ, who didst stoop below, To drain the cup of wo, Wearing the form of frail mortality, Thy blessed labors done, Thy crown of victory won, Hast passed from earth passed to thy home on high, Man may no longer trace, In thy celestial face, The image of the bright, the viewless One ; !Nor may thy servants hear, Save with faith's raptured ear, Thy voice of tenderness, God's holy Son ! Our eyes behold thee not, Yet hast thou not forgot Those who have placed their hope, their trust in thee ; Before thy Father's face Thou hast prepared a place, That where thou art, there they may also be. It was no path of flowers, Through this dark world of ours, Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread ; And shall we, in dismay, Shrink from the narrow way, When clouds and darkness are around it spread ? COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Aou, who art our life, Be with us through the strife ! Was not thy head by earth's fierce tempests bowed? Raise thou our eyes above, To see a Father's love Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud. Even through the awful gloom, Which hovers o'er the tomb, That light of love our guiding star shall be ; Our spirits shall not dread The shadowy way to tread, Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to thee. Scene from Hadad. HILLHOUSE. The garden of ABSALOM'S house on Mount Zion, near the palace, over looking the city. TAMAR sitting by a fountain. Tamar. How aromatic evening grows! The flowers And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha; Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets. Blest hour! which He, who fashioned it so fair, So softly glowing, so contemplative, Hath set, and sanctified to look on man. And, lo ! the smoke of evening sacrifice Ascends from out the tabernacle. Heaven Accept the expiation, and forgive This day's offences ! Ha ! the wonted strain, Precursor of his coming! Whence can this It seems to flow from some unearthly hand Enter HADAD. Hadad. Does beauteous Tamar view, in this clear fount, Herself, or heaven ? Tarn. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence Those sad, mysterious sounds. Had. What sounds, dear princess ? Tarn. Surely, thou know'st ; and now I almost think Some spiritual creature waits on thee. Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends Up from the city to these quiet shades ; A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, And voices from the hills. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 73 Tarn. The sounds I mean Floated like mournful music round my head, From unseen fingers. Had. When? Tarn. Now, as thou earnest. Had. 'Tis but thy fancy, wrought To ecstasy ; or else thy grandsire's harp Resounding from his tower at eventide. I've lingered to enjoy its solemn tones, Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet, Stood listening in the zenith ; yea, have deemed Viols and heavenly voices answered him. Tarn. But these Had. Were we in Syria, I might say The naiad of the fount, or some sweet nymph, The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee, And gave thee salutations ; but 1 fear Judah would call me infidel to Moses. Tarn. How like my fancy ! When these strains precede Thy steps, as oft they do, I love to think Some gentle being, who delights in us, Is hovering near, and warns me of thy coming; But they are dirge-like. Had. Youthful fantasy, Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady. So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever, As signs of rest and peace ; tht watchman's call, The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump Announcing the returning moon, the pipe Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell, Send melancholy to a drooping soul. Tarn. But how delicious are the pensive dreams That steal upon the fancy at their call ! Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest. Meek Labor wipes his brow, and intermits The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot; Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks and, hark ' What merry strains they send from Olivet ! The jar of life is still ; the city speaks In gentle murmurs; voices chime with lutes Waked in the streets and gardens ; loving pairs Eye the red west in one another's arms ; And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields A glimpse of happiness, which Ha, who formed Earth and the stars, had power to make eternal. 7 74 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. Tarn. Ah, Hadad, meanest thou to reproach the Friend Who gave so much, because he gave not all ? Had. Perfect benevolence, methinks, had willed Unceasing happiness, and peace, and joy; Filled the whole universe of human hearts With pleasure, like a flowing spring of life. Tarn. Our Prophet teaches so, till man rebelled. Had. Mighty rebellion ! Had he 'leagured heaven With beings powerful, numberless, and dreadful, Strong as the enginery that rocks the world When all its pillars tremble ; mixed the fires Of onset with annihilating bolts Defensive volleyed from the throne ; this, this Had been rebellion worthy of the name, Worthy of punishment. But what did man ? Tasted an apple ! and the fragile scene, Eden, and innocence, and human bliss, The nectar-flowing streams, life-giving fruits, Celestial shades, and amaranthine flowers, Vanish ; and sorrow, toil, and pain, and death, Cleave to him by an everlasting curse. Tarn. Ah ! talk not thus. Had. Is this benevolence ? Nay, loveliest, these things sometimes trouble me ; For I was tutored in a brighter faith. Our Syrians deem each lucid fount, and stream, Forest, and mountain, glade, and bosky dell, Peopled with kind divinities, the friends Of man, a spiritual race, allied To him by many sympathies, who seek His happiness, inspire him with gay thoughts, Cool with their waves, and fan him with their airs. O'er them, the Spirit of the Universe, Or Soul of Nature, circumfuses all With mild, benevolent, and sun-like radiance ; Pervading, warming, vivifying earth, As spirit does the body, till green herbs, And beauteous flowers, and branchy cedars, rise ; And shooting stellar influence through her caves, Whence minerals and gems imbibe their lustre. Tarn. Dreams, Hadad, empty dreams- Had. These deities They invocate with cheerful, gentle rites, Hang garlands on their altars, heap their shrinei COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 75 With Nature's bounties, fruits, and fragrant flowers. Not like yon gory mount that ever reeks Tarn. Cast not reproach upon the holy altar. Had. Nay, sweet. Having: enjoyed all pleasures here That Nature prompts, but chiefly blissful love, At death, the happy Syrian maiden deems Her immaterial nies into the fields, Or circumambient clouds, or crystal brooks, And dwells, a Deity, with those she worshipped, Till time, or fate, return her in its course To quaff, once more, the cup of human joy. Tain. But thou believ'st not this. Had. 1 almost wish Thou didst ; for I have feared, my gentle Tamar, Thy spirit is too tender for a law Announced in terrors, coirpled with the threats Of an inflexible and dreadful Being, Whose word annihilates, whose awful voice Thunders the doom of nations, who can check The sun in heaven, and shake the loosened stars, Like wind-tossed fruit, to earth, whose fiery step The earthquake follows, whose tempestuous breath Divides the sea, whose anger never dies, Never remits, but everlasting burns, Burns unextiriguished in the deeps of hell. Jealous, implacable Tarn. Peace ! impious ! peace ! Had. Ha ! says not Moses so ? The Lord is jealous. Tarn. Jealous of our faith, Our love, our true obedience, justly his; And a poor recompense for all his favors. Implacable he is not ; contrite man Ne'er found him so. Had. But others have, If oracles be true. Tarn. Little we know Of them ; and nothing of their dire offence Had. I meant not to displease, love ; but my soul Sometimes revolts, because I think thy nature Shudders at him and yonder bloody rites. How dreadful ! when the world awakes to light, And life, and gladness, and the jocund tide Bounds in the veins of every happy creature, Morning is ushered by a murdered victim, . 76 COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Whose wasting members reek upon the air, Polluting the pure firmament ; the shades Of evening scent of death ; almost, the shrine O'ershadowed by the holy cherubim; And where the clotted current from the altar Mixes with Kedron, all its waves are gore. IN ay, nay, I grieve thee 'tis not for myself, B it that 1 fear these gloomy things oppress Thy soul, and cloud its native sunshine. Tarn, (in tear 3, clasping her hands.) Witness, ye heavens! Eternal Father, witness! B ist God of Jacob! Maker! Friend! Preserver! 7 1: at, with my heart, my undivided soul, I Ove, adore, and praise thy glorious name C< nfess thee Lord of all, believe thy laws V ise, just, and merciful, as they are true. Had;id, Hadad ! you misconstrue much 1 ic sadness that usurps me : 'tis for thee I grieve for hopes that fade for your lost soul, And my lost happiness. Had. say not so, Eeloved princess. Why distrust my faith ? Tarn. Thou know'st, alas ! my weakness ; but remember, I never, never will be thine, although 1 he feast, the blessing, and the song were past, 1 hough Absalom and David called me bride, 1 ill sure thou own'st, with truth and love sincere, 1 he Lord Jehovah. oman Catholic Chaunt. From " Percy's Masque.' HlLLHOUSE. 0, HOLT VIRGIN, call thy child ; Her spirit longs to be with thee ; For, threatening, lower those skies so mild, Whose faithless day-star dawned for me. From tears released to speedy rest, From youthful dreams which all beguiled, To quiet slumber on thy breast, 0, holy Virgin, call thy child. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETEY. 77 Joy from my darkling soul is fled, And haggard phantoms haunt me wild; Despair assails, and Hope is dead : O, holy Virgin, call thy child. Song. FROM THE TALISMAN. firmament quivers with daylight's young beam, And the woodlands, awaking, burst into a hymn, And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream, How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow dim! Oh, tis sad, in that moment of glory and song, To see, while the hill-tops are waiting the sun, The glittering host, that kept watch all night long O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one ; Till the circle of ether, deep, rosy and vast, Srarce glimmers with one of the train that were there ; And their leader, the day-star, the brightest and last, Twinkles faintly, and fades in that desert of air. Thus Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came, Steals o'er us again when life's moment is gone; And the crowd of bright names in the heaven of fame Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on. Let them fade but we'll pray that the age, in whose flight Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance shall die, May rise o'er the world, with the gladness and light Of the dawn that effaces the stars from the sky. September. CARLOS WILCOX. THE sultry summer past, September comes, Soft twilight of the slow-declining year ; All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace ;_ The fading season ere the falling come, More sober than the buxom blooming May, And therefore less the favorite of the world, But dearest month of all to pensive mind3. 7* COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Tis now far spent ; and the meridian sun, Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams, Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth Beneath its yellow lustre, groves and woods, Checkered by one night's frost with various hues, While yet no wind has swept a leaf away, Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues, The yellow, red, or purple of the trees, That, singly, or in tufts, or forests thick, Adorn the shores ; to see, perhaps, the side Of some high mount reflected far below With its bright colors, intermixed with spots Of darker green. Yes, it were sweetly sad To wander in the open fields, and hear, E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past, The lulling insects of the summer's night; To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard, A lonely bee long^ roving here and there To rind a single flower, but all in vain ; Then, rising quick, and with a louder hum, In widening circles round and round his head, Straight by the listener flying clear away, As if to bid the fields a last adieu ; To hear, within the woodland's sunny side, Late full of music, nothing, save, perhaps, The sound of nut-shells, by the squirrel dropped From some tall beech, fast falling through the leaves. On the Loss of Professor Fisher. BRAIN ARD. THE breath of air, that stirs the harp's soft string, Floats on to join the whirlwind and the s'orm; The drops of dew, exhaled from flowers of spring, Rise, and assume the tempest's threatening form; The first mild beam of morning's glorious sun, Ere night, is sporting in the lightning's flash ; And the smooth stream, that flows in quiet on, Moves but to aid the overwhelming dash That wave and wind can muster, when the might Of earth, and air, and sea, and sky unite. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 79 So science whispered in thy charmed ear, And radiant learning beckoned thee away. The breeze was music to thee, and the clear Beam of thy morning promised a bright day. And they have wrecked thee ! But there is a shore Where storm* are hushed, where tempests never rage; Where angry skies and blackening seas no more With gusty strength their roaiing warfare wage. By thee its peaceful margent shall be tiod Thy home is heaven, and thy Friend is God. Idle Words. ANONYMOUS. T have a high sense of the virtue and dignity of the female character; and woulil not, by any means, l>e thought to attribute to the ladies emphatically, the fault here -spoken of. But I have remarked it in some of my friends, who, in .-ill hut this, were among the loveliest of 1 their sex. In'such, the blemish is more district and striking, because so strongly contrasted with the superior delicacy and loveliness of their natures. " MY GOD !" the beauty oft exclaimed, With deep impassioned tone But not in humble prayer she named The High and Holy One ! 'Twas not upon the bended knee, With soul upraised to heaven, Pleading, with heartfelt agony, That she might be forgiven. 'Twas not in heavenly strains to raise To the great Source of good Her daily offering of praise, Her song of gratitude. But in the gay and thoughtless crowd, And in the festive hall, 'Mid scenes of mirth and mockery proud, She named the Lord of All. She called upon that awful name, When laughter loudest rang Or when the flush of triumph came Or disappointment's pang ! COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. The idlest thing that flattery knew, The most unmeaning jest, From those sweet lips profanely drew Names of the Holiest ! I thought How sweet that voice would be, Breathing this prayer to heaven " My God, I worship only thee ; O, be my sins forgiven !" He knoweth our Frame, He remembereth we are Dust.- DANA. THOU, who didst form us with mysterious powers, Didst give a conscious soul, and call it ours, "fis thou alone who know'st the strife within; Thou'lt kindly judge, nor name each weakness sin. Thou art not man, who only sees in part, Yet deals unsparing with a brother's heart; For thou look'st in upon the struggling throng That war the goad with ill the weak with strong. And those thy hand hath wrought of finer frame, When grief o'erthrows the mind, thou wilt not blame. " It is enough !" thou'lt say, and pity show ; " Thy pain shall turn to joy, thou child of wo ! Thy heart find rest thy dark mind clear away, And thou sit in the peace of heaven's calm day !" Immortality. DANA.* Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love ? And doth death cancel the great bond that holds Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts that know no bounds, But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out The Eternal Mind the Father of all thought Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms * We scarcely know where, in the English language, we could point out a finer extract than this, of the same character. It has a softened grandeur worthy of tl.o subject ; especially in the noble paragraph commencing " O, listen, man !" ED. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 81 Of uncreated light have visited and lived ? Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne, Which One, with gentle hand the vail of flesh Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed In glory ? throne, before which, even now, Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down, Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? Souls that Thee know by a mysterious sense, Thou awful, unseen Presence are they quenched, Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes By that bright day which ends not; as the sun His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? And with our frames do perish all our loves ? Do those that took their root and put forth ouds, And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers? Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give speech, And make it send forth winning harmonies, That to the cheek do give its living glow, And vision in the eye the soul intense With that for which there is no utterance Are these the body's accidents ? no more? To live in it, and when that dies, go out Like the burnt taper's flame ? 0, listen, man ! A voice within us speaks that startling word, " Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, By angel lingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality : Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, Join in this solemn, universal song. O, listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 'Tis floating 'midst day's setting glories; Night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears : Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast mystic instrument, are touched COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony. The mysterious Music of Ocean. WALSH'S NATIOICAI. GAZETTE. " And the people of this place say, that, at certain seasons, beautiful sound* ire heard from the ocean." JMavar's Voyages. LONELY and wild it rose, That strain of solemn music from the sea, As though the bright air trembled to disclose An ocean mystery. Again a low, sweet tone, Fainting in murmurs on the listening day, Just bade the excited thought its presence own, Then died away. Once more the gush of sound, Struggling and swelling from the heaving plain, Thrilled a rich peal triumphantly around, And fled again. boundless deep ! we know Thou hast strange wonders in thy gloom concealed, Gems, flashing gems, from whose unearthly glow Sunlight is sealed. And an eternal spring Showers her rich colors with unsparing hand, Where coral trees their graceful branches fling O'er golden sand. But tell, O restless main ! Who are the dwellers in thy world heneath, That thus the watery realm cannot contain The joy they breathe ? COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. S3 Emblem of glorious might! Are thy wild children like thyself arrayed, Strong in immortal and unchecked delight, Which cannot fade ? Or to mankind allied, Toiling with wo, and passion's fiery sting, .Like their own home, where storms or peace preside, As the winds bring ? Alas for human thought ! How does it flee existence, worn and old, To win companionship with beings wrought Of finer mould ! 'Tis vain the reckless waves Join with loud revel the dim ages flown, But keep each secret of their hidden caves Dark and unknown. Summer Wind. BRYANT. IT is a sultry day ; the sun has drank The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The plants around Feel the too potent fervors; the tall maize Rolls up its long green leaves ; the clover droops Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms. But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills, With all their growth of woods, silent and stern, As if the scorching heat and dazzling light Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds, Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven, Their bases on the mountains their white tops Shining in the far ether, fire the aft With a reflected radiance, and make turn The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun, Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind That still delays its coming. Why so slow, Gentle and voluble spirit of the air ? O come, and breathe upon the fainting earth Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves He hears me ? See, on yonder woody ridge, The pine is bending his pioud top, and now, Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes! Lo where the grassy meadow runs in waves! The deep distressful silence of the scene Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds And universal motion. He is come, Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs, And bearing on their fragrance ; and he brings Music of birds and rustling of young boughs, And sound of swaying branches, and the voice Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs Are stirring in his breath ; a thousand flowers, By the road-side and the borders of the brook, Nod gayly to each other; glossy leaves Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew Were on them yet ; and silver waters break Into small waves, and sparkle as he comes. Summer Evening Lightning. CARLOS WILCOX. FAR off and low In the horizon, from a sultry cloud, Where sleep* in embryo the midnight storm, The silent lightning gleams in fitful sheets, Illumes the solid mass, revealing thus Its darker fragments, and its ragged verge ; Or if the bolder fancy so conceive Of its fantastic forms, revealing thus Its gloomy caverns, rugged sides and tops With beetling cliffs grotesque. But not so bright The distant flashes gleam as to efface The window's image on the floor impressed, By the dim crescent ; or outshines the light Cast from the room upon the trees hard by, If haply, to illume a moonless night, COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 85 The lighted taper shine ; though lit in vain To waste away unused, and fiom abroad Distinctly through the open window seen, Lone, pale, and still as a sepulchral lamp. Spring. N. P. WILLIS.* THE Spring is here the delicate-footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers; And with it comes a thirst to be away, Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours A feeling that is like a sense of wings, Restless to soar above these perishiuj things. We pass out from the city's feverish hum, To find refreshment in the silent woods ; And nature, that is beautiful and dumb, Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods. Yet, even there, a restless thought will steal, To teach the indolent heart it still must feel. Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, The waters tripping with their silver feet, The turning to the light of leaves in June, And the light whisper as their edges meet Strange that they fill not, with their tranquil tone, The spirit, walking in their midst alone. There's no contentment, in a world like this, Save in forgetting the immortal dream ; We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss, That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream; Bird-like, the prisoned soul will lift its eye And sing till it is hooded from the sky. To Seneca Lake. PERCIVAL. ON thy fair bosom, silver lake, The wild swan spreads his snowy sail, *This is a beautiful piece of poptry more exquisitely finished than any of Mr. Willis's poetry which we have seen. Even n prejudiced mind (SSld there seem to be mauy such} cannot but admire it. ED. COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. And round his breast the ripples break, As down he bears before the gale. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, The dipping paddle echoes far, And flashes in the moonlight gleam, And bright reflects the polar star. The waves along thy pebbly shore, As blows the north wind, heave their foam, And curl around the dashing oar, As late the boatman hies him home. How sweet, at set of sun, to view Thy golden mirror spreading wide, And see the mist of mantling blue Float round the distant mountain's side ! At midnight hour, as shines the moon, A sheet of silver spreads below, And swift she cuts, at highest noon, Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. On thy fair bosom, silver lake, ! I could ever sweep the oar, When early birds at morning wake, And evening tells us toil is o'er. Mount Washington ; the loftiest Peak of the White Mountains, JV. H. G. MELLEN. MOUNT of the clouds, on whose Olympian height The tall rocks brighten in the ether air, And spirits from the skies come down at night, To chant immortal songs to Freedom there ! Thine is the rock of other regions ; where The world of life which blooms so far below Sweeps a wide waste : no gladdening scenes appear, Save where, with silvery flash, the waters flow Beneath the far off mountain, distant, calm, and slow. Thine is the summit where the clouds repose, Or, eddying wildly, round thy cliffs are borne ; COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. 87 When Tempest mounts his rushing car, and throws His billowy mist amid the thunder's home ! Far down the deep ravines the whirlwinds come, And bow the forests as they sweep along; While, roaring deeply from their rocky womb, The storms come forth and, hurrying darkly on, Amid the echoing peaks, the revelry prolong ! And, when the tumult of the air is fled, And quenched in silence all the tempest flame, There come the dim forms of the mighty dead, Around the steep which bears the hero's name. The stars look down upon tham and the same Pale orb that glistens o'er his distant grave, Gleams on the summit that enshrines his fame, And lights the cold tear of the glorious brave The richest, purest tear, that memory ever gave ! Mount of the clouds, when winter round thee throws The hoary mantle of the dying year, Sublime, amid thy canopy of snows, Thy towers in bright magnificence appear ! 'Tis then we view thee with a chilling fear Till summer robes thee in her tints of blue; When, lo ! in softened grandeur, far, yet clear, Thy battlements stand clothed in heaven's own hue, To swell as Freedom's home on man's unbounded view ! To the dying Year. J. G. WHITTIER. AND thou, gray voyager to the breezeless sea Of infinite Oblivion, speed thou on ! Another gift of Time succeedeth thee, Fresh from the hand of GOD ! for thou hast done The errand of thy destiny, and none May dream of thy returning. Go ! and bear Mortality's frail records to thy cold, Eternal prison-house ; the midnight prayer Of suffering bosoms, and the fevered care Of worldly hearts; the miser's dream of gold ; Ambition's grasp at greatness ; the quenched light Of broken spirits; the forgiven wrong, And the abiding curse. Ay, bear along COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. These wrecks of thine own making. Lo! thy knell Gathers upon the windy breath of night, Its lasj and faintest echo ! Fare thee well ! The Captain. Jl Fragment* BRAIJTARD. SOLEMN he paced upon that schooner's deck, And muttered of hb hardships : ' 1 have been Where the wild will of Mississippi's tide * Has dashed me on the sawyer ; JL have sailed In the thick night, along the wave-washed edge Of ice, in acres, by the pitiless coast Of Labrador; and I have scraped my keel O'er coral rocks in Madagascar seas; And often, in my cold and midnight watch, Have heard the warning voice of the lee shore Speaking in breakers! Ay, and I have seen The whale and sword-fish fijjit beneath my bows; And, when they made the deep boil like a pot, Have swung into its vortex ; and 1 knew To cord my vessel with a sailor's skill, Arid brave such dangers with a sailor's heart ; But never yet, upon the stormy wave, Or where (he river' mixes wiih the main, Or in the chafing anchorage of the bay, 'n all my rough experience of harm, Het I a Methodist meeting-house ! * * * * Hat-head, or beam, or davit has it none, Starboard nor larboard, gunwale, stem nor stern ! it comes in such a " questionable shape," i cannot even speak it ! Up jib, Josey, \nd make for Bridgeport ! There, where Stratford Point,. Long Beach, Fairweather Isluud, and the buoy, Are safe from such encounters, we'll protest! And Yankee legends long shall tell the tale, That once a Charleston schooner was beset, Riding at anchor, by a meeting-house ! *The Bridgeport paper of March, 1823, said : " Arrived, schooner Fam, from Charleston, viti New London. While 8t anchor in that harbor, dur- ing the rain storm on Thursday evening lust, the Fume WHS run foul of by the wreck of the Met hod in meeting-house from Norwich, \i hich w as carried way in the late freshet." COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 89 " They that seek me early shall find me." COLTTMBIAW STAR. COME, while the blossoms of thy years are brightest, Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery maze ; Come, while the restless heart is bounding lightest, And joy's pure sunbeams tremble in thy ways; Come, while sweet thoughts, like summer buds unfolding, Waken rich feelings in the careless breast While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is holding, Come, and secure interminable rest. Soon will the freshness of thy days be over, And thy free buoyancy of soul be flown-; Pleasure will fold her wing, and friend and lover Will to the embraces of the worm have gone ; Those who now bless thee will have passed for ever; Their looks of kindness will be lost to thee ; Thou wilt need balm to heal thy spirit's fever, As thy sick heart broods over years to be ! Come, while the morning of thy life is glowing, Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing die Ere the gay spell, which earth is round thee throwing, Fades like the crimson from a sunset sky. Life is but shadows, save a promise given, Which lights up sorrow with a fadeless ray: 0, touch the sceptre ! with a hope in heaven Come, turn thy spirit from the world away. Then will the crosses of this brief existence Seem airy nothings to thine ardent soul, And, shining brightly in the forward distance, Will of thy patient race appear the goal ; Home of the weary! where, in peace reposing, The spirit lingers in unclouded bliss : Though o'er its dust the curtained grave is closing, Who would not early choose a lot like this ? 8* COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRtT. f Son's Farewell to his Mother, and Departure from Home CONNECTICUT OBSERVEII. MOTHER I leave thy dwelling, Thy counsel and thy care ; With grief my heart is swelling No more in them to share ; Nor hear that sweet voice speaking When hours of joy run high, Nor meet that mild eye seeking When sorrow's touch comes nigh. Mother I leave thy dwelling, AnJ the sweet hour of prayer j With grief my heart is swelling No more to meet thee there. Thy faith and fervor, pleading In unspent tones of love, Perchance my sou! are leading To better hopes above. Mother I leave thy dwelling; Oh ! shall it be for ever ? With grief my heart is swelling, From thee from thee to sever. These anni, that now enfold me So closely to thy heart, These eyes, that now behold me, From all from all 1 part. Huahed is the Voice of Judah's Mirth. , A Sacred Melody. FHOM THE PORT-FOLIO.* " Tn Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping and groat Diuiirnin" , Km- hi ! weeping fur her children, und would nut bu cumluricd, tcuuse they lire nut." St. Mitt. ii. 18. HUSHED is the voice of Judah's mirth ; And Judah's minstrels, too, are gone ; * We are not si-nsihle that thii piece is inferior, in nny respect whatever, U> Mare's oelehniicd and henutifnl SacreH Mi-ltxlii's We l.i'e'.y saw it Q, and wruugly ascribed to the English poet, it wui written iu COMMON-PLACE BOOK OP POETRY. 91 And harps that told Messiah's birth Are hung on heaven's eternal throne. Fled is the bright and shining throng That swelled otl earth the welcome strain, And lost in air the choral song That floated wild on David's plain:- For dark and sad is Bethlehem's fate ; Her valleys gush with human blood; Despair sits mourning at her gate, And Murder stalks in frantic mood. At morn, the mother's heart was light, Her infant bloomed upon her breast ; At eve, 'twas pale and withered quite, And gone to its eternal rest. Weep on, ye childless mothers, weep; Your babes are hushed in one cold grave; In Jordan's streams their spirits sleep, Their blood is mingled with the wave. Extract from a Poem delivered at the Departure of the Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826. N. P. WILLIS. WE shall go forth together. There will come Alike the day of trial unto all, And the rude world will buffet us alike. Temptation hath a music for all ears ; And mad ambition trumpeteth to all ; And the ungovernable thought within Will be in every bo'om eloquent ; But, when the silence and the calm come on, And the high seal of character b set,* We shall not all be similar. The scale Of being is a graduated thing; And deeper than the vani'.ies of power, . Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ Gradation, in its hidden characters. Charleston, South Carolina, and published in the Port-Folio of 1813. While under Mr. fVnnie's care, the p;i