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 I L L I A M 
 
 C U L L E N 
 
 WITH 
 
 BRYANT. 
 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. 
 
 L E U T Z E, 
 
 
 ENGRAVED BV AMERICAN ARTISTS. 
 
 
 
 SEVENTH EDITION. 
 
 
 
 PHIL ADl'.IJMI lA: 
 
 
 
 A. TTAiri 
 
 , LATK CAllKV .»^ 
 
 M L»C(J<; 1, 1 I 1. 
 
 RART. 
 
'Entered according to Act of Cottgress, in the year 1847, by 
 
 AV. C. BRYANT, 
 
 In the Cleric's cjfiJ-'' of the. District Court of the .Southern District of New York 
 
 GIFT 
 
 Printed by T. K. & P. G. Collins. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 Perhaps it would have been well if the aullior had 
 followed his original intention, which was to leave out 
 of this volume, as unwortliy of republication, several of 
 the poems which made a part of his previous collections. 
 He asks leave to plead the judgment of a literary friend, 
 whose opinion in such matters he highly values, as his 
 apology for having retained them. Widi the exception 
 of the first and longest poem in the collection, "The 
 Ages," they are all arranged according to the order of 
 time in which they were written, as far as it can be 
 ascertained. 
 
 New York, 1846. 
 
 302 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Poems. p^^,^ 
 
 The Ages 17 
 
 Thanatopsis l)'Z 
 
 The Yellow Violet 3() 
 
 Inscription for the Entrance to a Wood 88 
 
 Song. — " Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow" . . 40 
 
 To a Waterfowl 41 
 
 Green River 4-) 
 
 A Winter Piece id 
 
 The West Wind 51 
 
 The Burial-place. A Fragment b.i 
 
 Blessed are they that Mourn .50 
 
 No Man knoweth his Sepulchre 58 
 
 A Walk at Sunset 50 
 
 Hymn to Death (i--^ 
 
 The [Massacre at Scio <J0 
 
 The Indian Girl's Lament 70 
 
 Ode for an Agricultural Celebration 7;? 
 
 Rizpah . . 75 
 
 The Old Man's Funeral 70 
 
 The Rivulet SI 
 
 March 85 
 
 Sonnet. — 'W) 87 
 
 An Indian Story 88 
 
 Summer Wind 0'^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Poems. _ 
 
 Page 
 
 An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers .... 94 
 
 Song. — "Dost thou idly ask to hear" 9S 
 
 Hymn of the Waldenses 100 
 
 Monument Mountain 102 
 
 After a Tempest 108 
 
 Autumn Woods Ill 
 
 Sonnet. — Mutation 114 
 
 Sonnet. — November 115 
 
 Song of the Greek Amazon 116 
 
 To a Cloud lis 
 
 The Murdered Traveller 120 
 
 Hymn to the Nort'i Star 122 
 
 The Lapse of Time 124 
 
 Song of the Stars 127 
 
 A Forest Hymn 130 
 
 " Oh fairest of the rural maids" 135 
 
 " I broke the spell that ht- Id me long" 136 
 
 June 137 
 
 A Song of Pitcairn's Island 140 
 
 The Skies 142 
 
 " I cannot forget with what fervid devotion" .... 145 
 
 To a Musquito 147 
 
 Lines on Revisiting the Country 151 
 
 The Death of the Flowers 153 
 
 Romero 155 
 
 A Meditation on Rhode Island Coal 1,58 
 
 The New Moon 16:> 
 
 Sonnet. — October 105 
 
 The Damsel of Peru 166 
 
 The African Chief 168 
 
 Spring in Town 171 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Poems. Pacre 
 
 The Gladness of Nature 17-4 
 
 The Disinterred Warrior IT.'i 
 
 Sonnet. — Midsummer 177 
 
 The Greek Partisan 17^ 
 
 The Two Graves IM) 
 
 The Conjunction of Jupiter and Venus 184 
 
 A Summer Ramble 188 
 
 Scene on the Banks of the Hudson 191 
 
 The Hurricane 1!>:J 
 
 Sonnet.— Wilh'am Tell IDO 
 
 The Hunter's Serenade 11)7 
 
 The Greek Boy 200 
 
 The Past 202 
 
 "Upon the mountain's distant head" 205 
 
 The Evening Wind 20<j 
 
 "When the firmament ijuivers with dayhcfht's yountr 
 
 beam" 208 
 
 " Innocent child and snow-white flower" 210 
 
 To the River A rve 211 
 
 Sonnet. — To Cole, the Painter, departing- for Eurn|)e 213 
 
 To the fringed Gentian 214 
 
 The Twenty-second of December 215 
 
 Hymn of the City 210 
 
 The Prairies 218 
 
 Song of Marion's Men 22:) 
 
 The Arctic Lover 220 
 
 The Journey of Life 22S 
 
 Translations. 
 
 VtTsion of a Fragment of Simoniiles 2:U 
 
 From the Spanish of Villegas 2'-V.\ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Translations. Pa„3 
 Mary Magdalen. (From the Spanish of Bartolome 
 
 Leonardo de Argensola) 234 
 
 The Life of the Blessed. (From the Spanish of Luis 
 
 Ponce de Leon) 23f5 
 
 Fatitna and Raduan. (From the Spanish) .... 238 
 
 Love and Folly. (From La Fontaine) 240 
 
 The Siesta. (From the Spanish) 242 
 
 The Alcayde of Molina. (From the Spanish) . . . 244 
 
 The Death of Aliatar. (From the Spanish) . . . . 246 
 Love in. the Age of Chivalry. (From Peyre Vidal, the 
 
 Troubadour) 250 
 
 The Love of God. (From the Provencal of Bernard 
 
 Rascas) 252 
 
 From the Spanish of Pedro de Castro y Aiiaya . . . 253 
 
 Sonnet. (From the Portuouese of Semedo .... 255 
 
 Song. (From the Spanish of Iglesias) 256 
 
 The Count of Greiers. (From the German of Uhland) 258 
 
 The Serenade. (From the Spanish) 201 
 
 A Northern Legend. (From the German of Uhland) . 264 
 
 Later Poems. 
 
 To the Apennines . . 26*9 
 
 Earth 272 
 
 The Knight's Epitaph 277 
 
 The Hunter of the Prairies 280 
 
 Seventy-Six 283 
 
 The Living Lost 285 
 
 Catterskill Falls 287 
 
 The Strange Lady 292 
 
 Life 295 
 
 " Earth's children cleave to earth" 298 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Later Pokms. Page 
 
 The Hunter's Vision 291) 
 
 The Green Mountain Boys 302 
 
 A Presentiment 304 
 
 The Child's Funeral 30(5 
 
 The Battlefield 309 
 
 The Future Life 312 
 
 The Death of Schiller 314 
 
 The Fountain 310 
 
 The Winds 322 
 
 The Old Man's Counsel 32() 
 
 Lines in Memory of William Leggett ... . . 330 
 
 An Evening Revery 331 
 
 The Painted Cup 334 
 
 A Dream 33G 
 
 The Antiquity of Freedom ... 339 
 
 The Maiden's Sorrow 342 
 
 The Return of Youth . 314 
 
 A Hymn of the Sea . 346 
 
 Noon. (From an unfinished Poem) 349 
 
 The Crowded Street 352 
 
 The White-footed Deer 355 
 
 The Waning Moon 359 
 
 The Stream of Life 301 
 
 Notes ... 303 
 
LIST OF THE ILLUSTEATIONS, 
 
 DESIGNED BY LEUTZE 
 
 THE GREEK AMAZON. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. IIUMPHRYS. (To face Titk.) 
 
 " I buckle to my slender side 
 The pistol and the scimitar." 
 
 SoH'^ of the Greek Jlmazon, p. 116. 
 
 FATIMA. 
 
 ENORAVF.D BY J. CHENEY. (Titk-rnge.) 
 
 Oil ! I could chide ihee sharply — but every maiden knows 
 That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes." 
 
 Falinia and lladuun, p. 238. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY J. CHENEY mOM A DRAWING BY S. \V. CHENEY 
 
 11 
 
12 LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE AGES. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. H. DOUGAL. 
 
 « Till holder spirits seized the rule, and nailed 
 '/n men the yoke that man should never bear, 
 And drove them forth to battle." 
 
 The Ages, stanza xii. p. 21. 
 
 THE AGES. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. IIUMPHRYS. 
 
 " The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept, 
 And sinned, and liked their easy penance well." 
 
 The Ages, stanza xx. p. 25. 
 
 RIZPAH. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY AV. liUMPHRYS. 
 
 "Hear what the desolate Rizpah said, 
 As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead." 
 
 Rizpah, p. 75, 
 
 AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF HIS 
 FATHERS. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. H. DOUGAL. 
 
 "It is the spot I came to seek, — 
 My fathers' ancient burial-place." 
 
 An Indian at the Burial-place of his Fathers, p. 94. 
 
LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 13 
 
 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY G. 11. CUSIIMAN. 
 
 " The captive yields him to the dream 
 Of freedom, when that virgin beam 
 Comes out upon the air." 
 
 The New Moon, p. 164. 
 
 THE GREEK PARTISAN. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. E. TUCKER. 
 
 "They go to the shaughter, 
 To strike the sudden blow, 
 And pour on earth, like water, 
 The best blood of the foe." 
 
 The Greek Pardsan, p. 178. 
 
 THE HURRICANE. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. HUWPIIRVS. 
 
 " He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold 
 His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 
 Giant of air! we bid thee hail !" 
 
 lite Hurricane, p. 194. 
 
 WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 ENGKAVJ.D BY \A'. liLMlMlRVS. 
 
 CrrAiNs may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, 
 Tkll, of the iron heart! they could not tame!" 
 
 ]ri7//</w 2V//, p. 19t; 
 
14 LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE GREEK BOY. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. HUMPHRVS. 
 
 " Boy ! thy first looks were taught to seek 
 Their heaven in Hellas' skies." 
 
 The Greek Boy, p. 200. 
 
 THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. HUMPHRYS. 
 
 ' He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear 
 A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near." 
 
 The Count of Greicrs, p. 258. 
 
 A NORTHERN LEGEND. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. HUMPHRYS. 
 
 " A ring, with a red jewel, 
 Is sparkling on her hand; 
 Upon the hook she binds it, 
 And flings it from the land." 
 
 j1 Northern Legend, p. 264. 
 
LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 15 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. IIUMPIIRYS. 
 
 " Underneath my feet 
 There lies the lid of a sepulchral vault. 
 The image of an armed knight is graven 
 Upon it." 
 
 The Knight's Epitnph, p. 277. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 ENGRAVED BY W. HUMPHRYS. 
 
 "I behold 
 The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen 
 Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods, 
 Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet." 
 
 The Fountain, p. 3U 
 

 "'^J! 
 
 //UA-UZ^n^ ^---t-UXe.', 
 
r E M s. 
 
 THE AGES. 
 
 I. 
 
 When to the common rest that crowns our days, 
 Called in the noon of life, the good man goes. 
 Or full of years, and rijie in wisdom, lays 
 His silver temples in their last repose ; 
 WTien, o'er the buds of youtli, the death-wind blows, 
 And blights the fairest ; when our bitter tears 
 Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, 
 We think on what they were, with many fears 
 Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years 
 
 II. 
 And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by, — 
 When lived the iionoured sage whose death we we])t, 
 And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, 
 And beat in many a heart that long has slept, — 
 
18 POEMS. 
 
 Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped — 
 Are holy ; and high-dreaming bards have told 
 Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept, 
 Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold — 
 Those pure and happy times — the golden days of old. 
 
 III. 
 Peace to the just man's memory, — let it grow 
 Greener with years, and blossom through the flight 
 Of ages ; let the mimic canvas show 
 His calm benevolent features ; let the light 
 Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the si'dit 
 Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, 
 The glorious record of his virtues write, 
 And hold it up to men, and bid them claim 
 A pahn like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But oh, despair not of their fate who rise 
 To dwell upon the earth when we withdraw ! 
 Lo ! the same shaft by which the righteous dies, 
 Strikes through the wretch that scoffed at mercy's law, 
 And trode his brethren down, and feU no awe 
 Of Him who will avenge them. Stainless worth, 
 Such as the sternest age of virtue saw, 
 Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth 
 From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. 
 
T II K A f; !•: S. 19 
 
 V. 
 
 Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march 
 Faltered with age at last ? does the bright sun 
 Grow dim in heaven ? or, in their far blue arch, 
 Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, 
 Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on, 
 Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky 
 With (lowers less lair than when her reign begun ? 
 Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny 
 The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth 
 In her fair page ; see, every season brings 
 New change, to her, of everlasting youth; 
 Still the green soil, with joyous living things, 
 Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings, 
 And myriads, still, are happy in the sleep 
 Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings 
 The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep 
 In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race 
 With his own image, and who gave them sway 
 O'er earlb, and the glad dwellers on her face, 
 Now that our swarming nations I'ar away 
 
yO P O E M S. 
 
 Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, 
 Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed 
 His latest offspring ? will he quench the ray 
 Infused by his own forming smile at first, 
 And leave a work so fair all blighted and accursed ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh, no ! a thousand cheerful omens give 
 Hope of yet.hap})ier clays, whose dawn is nigh. 
 He wlio has tamed the eleifte-n4:s, shall not live 
 The slave of his own passions ; he whose eye 
 Unwinds the eternal dances of the sky, 
 And in the abyss of brightness dares to span 
 The sun's broad circle, rising yet more high, 
 In God's magnificent works his will shall scan — 
 And love and peace shall make their paradise with man. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sit at the feet of history — tlirough the night 
 Of years the steps of virtue she shall trace, 
 And show the earlier ages, where her sight 
 Can pierce the eternal shadows o'er their face ; — 
 WTien, from the genial cradle of our race. 
 Went forth the tribes of men, their pleasant lot 
 To choose, where palm-groves cooled their dwelling-place, 
 Or freshening rivers ran ; and there forgot 
 The truth of heaven, and kneeled to gods that heard them not. 
 
■l' iKi £ A 'B £ r 
 
T II E A G ES. 21 
 
 X. 
 
 Then waited not the murderer for the uight, 
 But smote his brother down in the briglit day, 
 And he who fek the wrong, and had the might, 
 His own avenger, girt himself to shiy ; 
 Beside the path the unburied carcass hiy ; 
 The shepherd, by the fountains of the glen, 
 Fled, while the robber swept his Hock away, 
 And slew his babes. The sick, untended then. 
 Languished in the damp shade, and died afar from men. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But misery brought in love — in passion's strife 
 Man gave his heart to mercy, pleading long. 
 And sought out gentle deeds to gladden life ; 
 The weak, against the sons of spoil and wrong. 
 Banded, and watched their hamlets, and grew strong. 
 States rose, and, in the shadow of their might, 
 The timid rested. To the reverent throng, 
 Grave and time-wrinkled men, with locks all white. 
 Gave laws, and judged their strifes, and taught the way of right ; 
 
 XII. 
 
 Till bolder spirits seized the rule, and nailed 
 On mt n the yoke that man should never bear. 
 And drove them forth to battle. Lo ! unveiled 
 The scene of those stern ages ! Wliat is there ! 
 
22 POEM S. 
 
 A boundless sea of blood, and the wild air 
 Moans with the crimson surges that entomb 
 Cities and bannered armies ; forms that wear 
 The kingly circlet rise, amid the gloom, 
 O'er the dark wave, and straight are swallowed in its womb 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Those ages have no memory — but they left 
 A record in the desert — columns strown 
 On the waste sands, and statues fallen and cleft. 
 Heaped like a host in battle overthrown ; 
 Vast ruins, where the mountain's ribs of stone 
 Were hewn into a city ; streets that spread 
 In the dark earth, where never breath has blown 
 Of heaven's sweet air, nor foot of man dares tread 
 The long and perilous ways — the Cities of the Dead : 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And tombs of monarchs to the clouds up-piled — 
 They perished — but the eternal tombs remain — 
 And the black precipice, abrupt and wild. 
 Pierced by long toil and hollowed to a fane ; — 
 Huge piers and frowning forms of gods sustain 
 The everlasting arches, dark and wide. 
 Like the night-heaven, when clouds are black with rain. 
 But idly skill was tasked, and strength was plied, 
 All was the work of slaves to swell a despot's pride. 
 
T H E A G E S. 2;i 
 
 XV. 
 
 And Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign 
 O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke ; 
 She left the down-trod nations in disdain. 
 And flew to Greece, when Lil)erty awoke, 
 New-born, amid those glorious vales, and broke 
 Sceptre and chain with her fair youthful hands: 
 As rocks are shivered in the ihunder-stroke. 
 And lo! in full-grown strength, an empire stands 
 Of leagued and rival states, the wonder of the lands 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh, Greece ! thy flourishing cities were a spoil 
 Unto each other ; thy hard hand ojipressed 
 And crushed the heljiless ; thou didst make tliy soil 
 Drunk with the blood of tliose that loved thee best ; 
 And thou didst drive, from thy unnatural breast, 
 Thy just and brave to die in distant climes; 
 . Earth shuddered at thy deeds, and sighed for rest 
 
 From thine abominations ; after times. 
 That yet shall read thy tale, will tremble at thy crimes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Yet there was that within thee which has saved 
 Thy glory, and redeemed thy blotted name ; 
 The story of thy better deeds, engraved 
 On fame's unmouldering pillar, puts to sJKirae 
 
24 P O E M S. 
 
 Our chiller virtue ; the high art to tame 
 The whirlwind of the passions was thine own ; 
 And the pure ray, that from thy bosom came, 
 Far over many a laud and age has shone, 
 And mingles with the light that beams from God's own throne 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And Rome — thy sterner, younger sister, she 
 Who awed the world with her imperial frown — 
 Rome drew the spirit of her race from thee, — 
 The rival of thy shame and thy renown. 
 Yet her degenerate children sold the crown 
 Of earth's wide kingdoms to a line of slaves ; 
 Guilt reigned, and wo with guilt, and plagues came down, 
 Till the north broke its floodgates, and the waves 
 Whelmed the degraded race, and weltered o'er their graves. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Vainly that ray of brightness from above, 
 That shone around the Galilean lake. 
 The light of hope, the leading star of love, 
 Struggled, the darkness of that day to break ; 
 Even its own faithless guardians strove to slake, 
 In fogs of earth, the pure immortal flame ; 
 And priestly hands, for Jesus' blessed sake, 
 Were red with blood, and charity became, 
 In that stern war of forms, a mockery and a name. 
 
Th'iV liked fheir eaflv penance well.' 
 
T H K A G E S. 35 
 
 XX. 
 
 They triumphed, and less bloody rites were kept 
 Within the quiet of the convent cell ; 
 The well-fed inmates pattered prayer, and slept, 
 And sinned, and liked their easy penance well. 
 Where pleasant was the spot for men to dwell, 
 Amid its fair broad lands the abbey lay, 
 Sheltering dark orgies that were shame to tell, 
 And cowled and barefoot beggars swarmed the way, 
 All in their convent weeds, of black, and white, and gray, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Oh, sweetly the returning muses' strain 
 Swelled over that famed stream, whose gentle tide 
 In their bright lap the Etrurian vales detain. 
 Sweet, as when winter storms have ceased to chide. 
 And all the new-leaved woods, resounding wide, 
 Send out wild hymns upon the scented air. 
 Lo ! to the smiling Arno's classic side 
 The emulous nations of the west repair, 
 And kindle their quenched urns, and drink fresh sjiirit there 
 
 xxir. 
 
 Still, Heaven deferred the hour ordained to rend 
 From saintly rottenness the sacred stole ; 
 And cowl and worshipped shrine could still defend 
 The wretch with felon stains upon his soul ; 
 
2G P O E M S. 
 
 And crimes were set to sale, and hard his dole 
 Who could not bribe a passage to the skies ; 
 And vice, beneath the mitre's kind control, 
 Sinned gaily on, and grew to giant size, 
 Shielded by priestly power, and watched by priestly eyes 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 At last the earthquake came — the shock, that hurled 
 To dust, in many fragments dashed and strown. 
 The throne, whose roots were in another world, 
 And whose far-stretching shadow awed our own. 
 From many a proud monastic pile, o'erthrown, 
 Fear-struck, the hooded inmates rushed and fled ; 
 The web, that for a thousand years had grown 
 O'er prostrate Europe, in that day of dread 
 Crumbled and fell, as fire dissolves the flaxen thread. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The spirit of that day is still awake, 
 And spreads himself, and shall not sleep again ; 
 But through the idle mesh of power shall break 
 Like billows o'er the Asian monarch's chain ; 
 Till men are filled with him, and feel how vain, 
 Instead of the pure heart and innocent hands, 
 Are all the proud and pompous modes to gain 
 The smile of heaven ; — till a new age expands 
 Its white and holy wings above the peaceful lands. 
 
T II E A G E S. 27 
 
 XXV. 
 
 For look again on the past years ; — behold, 
 How like the nigiitraare's dreams have flown away 
 Horrible forms of worship, that, of old. 
 Held, o'er the shuddering realms, unquestioned sway 
 See crimes, that feared not once the eye of day, 
 Rooted from men, without a name or place : 
 See nations blotted out from earth, to pay 
 Tlie forfeit of deep guilt ; — willi glad embrace 
 Tlie fair disburdened lands welcome a nobler race. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Thuri error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven ; 
 They fade, they fly — but truth survives their flight ; 
 Earth has no shades to quench that beam of heaven ; 
 Each ray that shone, in early time, to light 
 The faltering footsteps in the path of right. 
 Each gleam of clearer brightness shed to aid 
 In man's maturer day his bolder sight. 
 All blended, like the rainbow's radiant braid. 
 Pour yet, and still shall pour, the blaze that cannot fade. 
 
 xxvir. 
 
 Late, from this western shore, that morning chased 
 The deep and ancient night, that threw its shroud 
 O'er the green laud of groves, the beautiful waste, 
 Nurse of full streams, and lifter-uj) of proud 
 
S8 POEMS. 
 
 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 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And where his 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, 
 Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring 
 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. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then all this youthful paradise around, 
 And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay 
 Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned 
 O'er mount and vale, where never summer ray 
 Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his w'ay 
 Through the gray giants of the sylvan wild ; 
 Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, 
 Beneath the showery sky and sunshine inild. 
 Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled. 
 
'J^ II ]■] A O E S. 29 
 
 XXX. 
 
 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 the 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 guiltless beauty wore, 
 And peace was on the earth and in the air, 
 The warrior lii die pile, and bound his captive there : 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Not unavenged — the foeman, from the wood, 
 Bt'lield the deed, and when the midnight shade 
 Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood ; 
 All died — the wailing babe — the shrieking ma'd — 
 And in the flood of fire that scathed die glade. 
 The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew, 
 VVlien on the dewy woods '.he day-beam played ; 
 No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, 
 And ever, by their lake, lay moored the light canoe. 
 
 xxxii. 
 Look now abroad — another race has filled 
 Tht^se populous borders — wide the wood recedes. 
 And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled : 
 Tlie hind is full of harvests and green meads ; 
 
30 P E M S. 
 
 S; reams 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. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, 
 Throws its last fetters 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. 
 Distant, the brightening glory of its flight. 
 Till the receding rays are lost to human sight. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Europe is given a prey to sterner fates, 
 And writhes in shackles ; strong the arms that chain 
 To earth her struggling multitude of states ; 
 She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain 
 Against them, but might cast to earth the train 
 That trample her, and break their iron net. 
 Yes, she shall look on brighter days and gain 
 The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set 
 To rescue and raise up, drawb near — but is not yet. 
 
THE A G E S. 
 
 31 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall, 
 Save with thy children — thy maternal care, 
 Thy lavish love, thy blessings showered on all — 
 These are tliy fetters — seas and stormy air 
 Are the wide barrier of thy borders, where, 
 Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well. 
 Thou lauffh'st at enemies : who shall then declare 
 The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell 
 How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell * 
 
32 POEMS. 
 
 THANATOPSIS. 
 
 To him who in the love of Nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blioht 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
 Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, — 
 Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 
 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tear.«!, 
 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, sliall exist 
 
 Thy image. Earth, tliat nourished tliee, shall claim 
 
 Tliy growth, to be resolved to earth again, 
 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 
 To mix for ever with the elements. 
 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould 
 
 Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — wuh kings, 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. — The hills 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; . 
 The venerable woods — rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
 Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — ■ 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
 Of morning — and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound, 
 Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there : 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
 So shalt thou rest — and what if thou withdraw 
 Unheeded by the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breatlie 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
 His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men. 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 
 And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, — 
 Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, 
 By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 
 
T II A N A T O P S 1 S. 35 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, that moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Tliou go not like the quarry-slave at night. 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
30 POEMS. 
 
 THE YELLOW VIOLET. 
 
 When beechen buds begin to swell, 
 And woods the blue-bird's warble know, 
 
 The yellow violet's modest bell 
 
 Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 
 
 Ere russet fields their green resume, 
 Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 
 
 To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 
 Alone is in the virgin air. 
 
 Of all her train, the hands of Spring 
 First plant thee in the watery mould. 
 
 And I have seen thee blossoming 
 Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 
 
 Thy parent sun, who bade thee view 
 Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip. 
 
 Has bathed thee in his own bright hue. 
 And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 
 
T II E ^' E L L O W V I O L E T. 87 
 
 Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 
 And earthward beat thy gentle eye, 
 
 Unapt the passing view to meet, 
 
 When loftier flowers are flauntino; nidi. 
 
 Oft, in the sunless April day. 
 
 Thy early smile has stayed my walk ; 
 But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
 
 I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 
 
 So they, who climb to wealth, forget 
 The friends in darker Ibrtunes tried. 
 
 I copied them — but I regret 
 
 That I should ape the ways of pride. 
 
 And when aorain the genial hour 
 Awakes the painted tribes of light, 
 
 I'll not o'erlook the modest flow^er 
 That made the woods of April bright. 
 
38 POEMS. 
 
 INSCIilPTION FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD 
 
 Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs 
 
 No school of long experience, that the world 
 
 Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen 
 
 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 Avaft a balm 
 
 To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here 
 
 Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men 
 
 And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse 
 
 Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth. 
 
 But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt 
 
 Her pale tormentor, misery. Hence, these shades 
 
 Are still the abodes of 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 shade 
 
I N S C R I I' Tl O .\. :lij 
 
 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 bkie sky 
 
 Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene. 
 
 Scarce less the clefl-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 
 
 Existence, than the winged plunderer 
 
 That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves. 
 
 And 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 continuous laughter, to rejoice 
 
 In its own being. Softly tread the marge. 
 
 Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren 
 
 That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, 
 
 Tiuit 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. 
 
4C POEMS. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow 
 Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear, 
 
 The hunter of the west must go 
 
 In depth of woods to seek the deer. 
 
 His rifle on his shoulder placed, 
 
 His stores of death arranged with skill, 
 
 His moccasins and snow-shoes laced, — 
 Why lingers he beside the hill ? 
 
 Far, in the dim and doubtful light, 
 WTiere woody slopes a valley leave, 
 
 He sees what none but lover might. 
 The dwelling of his Genevieve. 
 
 And oft he turns his truant eye, 
 And pauses oft, and lingers near; 
 
 Rut when he marks the reddening sky, 
 He bounds away to hunt the deer. 
 
TO A WATERFOWL. 
 
 WiiiTHEU, 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 tiiat patldess coast, — 
 The desert and illimitable air, — ■ 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
42 POEMS. 
 
 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 shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
 And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 
 
 Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 
 
 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. 
 
GREEN RIVER. 4^ 
 
 GREEN RIVER. 
 
 \Vhv:n breezes are soft and skies are fair, 
 I steal an hour from study and care, 
 And hie rae away to the woodland scene, 
 Wliere wanders the stream with waters of green, 
 As if the bright fringe of herbs on its brink 
 Had given their stain to the wave they drink; 
 And they, whose meadows it murmurs through, 
 Have named the stream from its own fair hue. 
 
 Yet pure its waters — its shallows are bright 
 With coloured pebbles and sparkles of light, ' 
 
 And clear the depths where its eddies play. 
 And dimples deepen and wliirl away. 
 And the plane-tree's speckled arms o'ershoot 
 The swifier current lluit mines its root. 
 Through whose shifting leaves, as you walk the hill, 
 The quivering glimmt-r of sun and rill 
 
41 r E M s. 
 
 With a sudden flash on the eye is thrown, 
 
 Like the ray that streams from the diamond stone. 
 
 Oh, loveliest there the spring days come, 
 
 With blossoms, and birds, and wild bees' hum ; 
 
 The flowers of summer are fairest there, 
 
 And freshest the breath of the summer air ; 
 
 And sweetest the golden autumn day 
 
 In silence and sunshine glides away. 
 
 Yet fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, 
 Beautiful stream ! by the village side ; 
 But windest away from haunts of men, 
 To quiet valley and shaded glen ; 
 And forest, and meadow, and slope of hill, 
 Around thee, are lonely, lovely, and still. 
 Lonely — save when, by thy rippling tides, 
 From thicket to thicket the angler glides ; 
 Or the simpler comes with basket and book, 
 For herbs of power on thy banks to look ; 
 Or haply, some idle dreamer, like me. 
 To wander, and muse, and gaze on thee. 
 Still — save the chirp of birds that feed 
 On the river cherry and seedy reed, 
 And thy own wild music gushing out 
 With mellow murmur and fairy shout, 
 From dawn to the blush of another day. 
 Like traveller singing along his way. 
 
n R E E N R 1 V K R. 45 
 
 That fairy music I never hear, 
 Nor gaze on those waters so green and clear, 
 And mark them winding away from sight. 
 Darkened with shade or flashing with light, 
 While o'er them the vine to its thicket clings. 
 And the zej)iiyr stoops to freshen his wings. 
 But I wisli that fate had left me free 
 To wander these quiet haunts wi;h thee, 
 Till the eating cares of earth should depart. 
 And the peace of the scene pass into my heart ; 
 And I envy thy stream, as it glides along, 
 Throuofh its beautiful banks in a trance of sonjr. 
 
 Though forced to drudge for the dregs of men, 
 And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, 
 And minffle amone: the jostlinfj crowd, 
 Where the sons of strife are subtle and loud — 
 I often come to this quiet place, 
 To breathe the airs that ruffle thy face, 
 And gaze upon thee in silent dream. 
 For in thy lonely and lovely stream 
 An image of that calm life appears 
 That won my heart in my greener years. 
 
A WINTER PIECE. 
 
 The time has been that these wild solitudes, 
 Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me 
 Oftener than now ; and when the ills of life 
 Had chafed my S])irit — when the unsteady pulse 
 Beat with strange flutterings — I would wander forth 
 And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path 
 Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills, 
 The quiet dells retiring far between, 
 With gentle invitation to explore 
 Their windings, were a calm society 
 That talked with me and soothed me. Then the chant 
 Of hirds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress 
 Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget 
 The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began 
 To gather simples by the fountain's brink. 
 And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood 
 In nature's loneliness, I was with one 
 With whom I early grew familiar, one 
 Who never had a frown for me, whose voice 
 Never rebuked me for die hours I stole 
 
A \v I \ T i: R PI !•; (; k. 47 
 
 From cares I loved not, but of which the world 
 
 Deems highest, to converse with her. When shrieked 
 
 The bleak November winds, and smote the woods. 
 
 And the brown fields were herbless, and the shades, 
 
 That met above the merry rivulet. 
 
 Were spoiled,! souglit, I loved them slill, — they seemed 
 
 Like old companions in adversity. 
 
 S'dll there was beauty in my walks ; the brook. 
 
 Bordered with sparkling frost-work, was as gay 
 
 As with its fringe of summer flowers. Afar, 
 
 The village with its spires, the path of streams, 
 
 And dim receding valleys, hid before 
 
 By interposing trees, lay visible 
 
 Through the bare grove, and my familiar haunts 
 
 Seemed new to me. Nor was I slow to come 
 
 Among them, when the clouds, from their still skirts, 
 
 Had shaken down on earth the feathery snow, 
 
 And all was white. The pure keen air abroad. 
 
 Albeit it breathed no scent of herb, nor heard 
 
 Love-call of bird nor merry hum of bee. 
 
 Was not the air of death. Bright mosses crept 
 
 Over the spotted trunks, and the close buds. 
 
 That lay along the boughs, instinct with life, 
 
 Patient, and waiting the soft breath of Spring, 
 
 Feared not the piercing spirit of the North. 
 
 The snow-bird twittered on the beechen bough. 
 
 And 'neath the hemlock, whose thick branches beit 
 
4S P E M S. 
 
 Beneath its bright cold burden, and kept dry 
 A circle, on the earth, of withered leaves, 
 The partridge found a shelter. Through the snow 
 The rabbit sprang away. The lighter track 
 Of fox, and the racoon's broad path, were there, 
 Crossing each other. From his hollow tree, 
 The squirrel was abroad, gathering the nuts 
 Just fallen, that asked the winter cold and sway 
 Of winter blast, to shake them from their hold. 
 
 But Winter has yet brighter scenes, — he boasts 
 Splendours beyond what gorgeous Summer knows; 
 Or Auiumn with his many fruits, and woods 
 All flushed with many hues. Come when the rains 
 Have glazed the snow, and clothed the trees with ice ; 
 While the slant sun of February pours 
 Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach ! 
 The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps. 
 And the broad arching portals of the grove 
 Welcome thy entering. Look ! the massy trunks 
 Are cased in the pure crystal ; each light spray, 
 Nodding and tinkling in the breath of heaven. 
 Is studded with its trembling water-drops. 
 That stream with rainbow radiance as they move. 
 But round the parent stem the long low boughs 
 Bend, in a glittering ring, and arbours hide 
 The glassy floor. Oh ! you might deem the spot 
 
The spacious cavern of some virgin mine, 
 
 Deep in the womb of earth — where the gems grow. 
 
 And diamonds put forth radiant rods and bud 
 
 With amethyst and topaz — and the place 
 
 Lit up, most royally, with the pure beam 
 
 That dwells in them. Or haply the vast hall 
 
 Of fairy palace, that outlasts the night. 
 
 And fades not in the glory of the sun ; — 
 
 Where crystal columns send forth slender shafts 
 
 And crossing arches; and flmtastic aisles 
 
 Wind from the sight in brightness, and are lost 
 
 Among the crowded pillars. Raise thine eye, — 
 
 Thou seest no cavern roof, no palace vault ; 
 
 There the blue sky and the white drifting cloud 
 
 Look in. Again ilie wildered fancy dreams 
 
 Of spouting fountains, frozen as they rose. 
 
 And fixed, with all their branching jets, in air, 
 
 And all their sluices sealed. All, all is light ; 
 
 Li^'ht without shade. But all shall iiass away 
 
 With the next sun. From numberless vast trunks, 
 
 Loosened, the crashing ice shall make a sound 
 
 Like the far roar of rivers, and the eve 
 
 Shall close o'er the brown woods us it was wont. 
 
 And it is jileasant, when tlie noisy streams 
 Are just set free, and milder suns melt olf 
 The [)lasliy snow, save only the fu'm drift 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 In the deep glen or the close shade of pines, — 
 'Tis pleasant to behold the wreaths of smoke 
 Roll up among the maples of the hill, 
 Wliere ttie shrill sound of youthful voices wakes 
 The shriller echo, as the clear pure lymph, 
 That from the wounded trees, in twinkling drops, 
 Falls, mid the golden brightness of the morn, 
 Is gathered in with brimming pails, and oft, 
 Wielded by sturdy hands, the stroke of axe 
 Makes the woods ring. Along the quiet air. 
 Come and float calmly off the soft light clouds, 
 Such as you see in summer, and the winds 
 Scarce stir the branches. Lodged in sunny cleft, 
 Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone 
 The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye 
 Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at — 
 Startling the loiterer in the naked groves 
 "With unexpected beauty, for the time 
 Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. 
 And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall oft 
 Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds 
 Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth 
 Shall fall their volleyed stores rounded like hail, 
 And white like snow, and the loud North again 
 Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage. 
 
T H E W EST W I N 1>. 51 
 
 THE WEST WIND. 
 
 Bknkath the forest's skirts I rest, 
 
 Whose branching pines rise dark and high, 
 And liear the breezes of the West 
 
 Among the threaded foliage sigh. 
 
 Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe ? 
 
 Is not thy home among the flowers : 
 Do not the bright June roses blow, 
 
 To meet thy kiss at morning hours? 
 
 And lo ! thy glorious realm outspread — • 
 Yon stretching valleys, green and gay, 
 
 And yon free hill-tops, o'er whose head 
 The loose white clouds are borne away. 
 
 And there the full broad river runs, 
 
 And many a fcnint wells fresh and sweet, 
 
 To cool thee when the mid-day suns 
 
 Have ma(h' ihce laiiit bnicath tlirir heat. 
 
Thou wind of joy, and youth, and love; 
 
 Spirit of the new-wakened year! 
 The sun in his blue reahn above 
 
 Smooths a bright path when thou art here. 
 
 In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, 
 The wooing ring-dove in the shade ; 
 
 On thy soft breath, the new-fledged bird 
 Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. 
 
 Ah ! thou art like our wayward race ; — 
 When not a shade of pain or ill 
 
 Dims the bright smile of Nature's face. 
 Thou lovest to sio:h and murmur still. 
 
T H E B U R I A L - P L A C E. 53 
 
 THE BURIAL-PLACE. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Erewhile, on England's pleasant shores, our sires 
 Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades 
 Or blossoms ; and indulgent to the strong 
 And natural dread of man's last home, the grave, 
 Its frost and silence — they disposed around, 
 To soothe the melancholy spirit that dwelt 
 Too sadly on life's close, the forms and hues 
 Of vegetable beauty. — There the yew. 
 Green even amid the snows of winter, told 
 Of immortality, and gracefully 
 The willow, a perpetual mourner, drooped ; 
 And there the gadding woodbine crept about, 
 And there the ancient ivy. From the spot 
 Where the sweet maiden, in her blossoming years 
 Cut otf, was laid with streaming eyes, and liantls 
 That trrmbled as they placed her there, the rose 
 Sprung modest, on bowed stalk, and better s])oke 
 Her graces, than the proudest monument. 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 There cliildren set about their playmate's grave 
 The pansy. On the infant's little bed. 
 Wet at its planting with maternal tears, 
 Emblem of early sweetness, early death. 
 Nestled the lowly primrose. Childless dames, 
 And maids that would not raise the reddened eye- 
 Orphans, from whose young lids the light of joy 
 Fled early, — silent lovers, who had given 
 All that they lived for to the arms of earth. 
 Came ofien, o'er the recent graves to strew 
 Their offerings, rue, and rosemary, and flowers. 
 
 The pilgrim bands who passed the sea to keep 
 Their Sabbaths in the eye of God alone, 
 In his wide temple of the wilderness. 
 Brought not these simple customs of the heart 
 With them. It might be, while they laid their dead 
 By the vast solemn skirts of the old groves, 
 And the fresh virgin soil poured forth strange flowers 
 About their graves ; and the familiar shades 
 Of their own native isle, and wonted blooms. 
 And herbs were w^anting, which the pious hand 
 Might plant or scatter there, these gentle rites 
 Passed out of use. Now they are scarcely known, 
 And rarely in our borders may you meet 
 The tall larch, sighing in the burying-place, 
 Or willow, trailing low its boughs to hide 
 
T II V: U C R I A L-l' L A C K. 
 
 The gleaming marble. Naked rows of graves 
 
 And melancholy ranks of monuments 
 
 Are seen instead, where the coarse grass, between, 
 
 Shoots uu its dull green spikes, and in the wind 
 
 Hisses, and the neglected bramble nigh, 
 
 Offers its berries to the schoolboy's haiid, 
 
 In vain — they grow too near the dead. Yet here, 
 
 Nature, rebuking the neglect of man, 
 
 Plants of; en, by the ancient mossy stone, 
 
 The brier rose, and upon the broken turf 
 
 That clothes the fresher grave, the strawberry vi/ie 
 
 Sjjrinkles its swell with blossoms, and lays forth 
 
 Her ruddy, pouting fruit. ***** 
 
56 P E M S. 
 
 "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." 
 
 Oh, deem not they are blest alone 
 WTiose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 
 
 The Power who pities man, has shown 
 A blessing for the eyes that weep. 
 
 The light of smiles shall fill again 
 The lids that overflow wath tears ; 
 
 And weary hours of woe and pain 
 Are promises of happier years. 
 
 There is a day of sunny rest 
 
 For every dark and troubled night ; 
 
 And grief may bide an evening guest, 
 But joy shall come with early light. 
 
 And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, 
 Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 
 
 Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
 Will give him to thy arms again. 
 
" B L F: S S E D ARE THEY Til AT M U II N." 
 
 Nor let the good man's trust depart, 
 Though life its common gifts deny, — 
 
 Though wiih a pierced and broken heart, 
 And spurned of men, he goes to die. 
 
 For God has marked each sorrowing day 
 And numbered every secret tear, 
 
 And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
 For ah his children suffer here. 
 
58 P O E M S. 
 
 "NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE." 
 
 When he, who, from the scourge of wrorg, 
 
 Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly, 
 Saw the fair region, promised long. 
 
 And bowed him on the hills to die ; 
 
 God made his grave, to men unknown, 
 Where Moab's rocks a vale infold. 
 
 And laid the aged seer alone 
 
 To slumber while the world grows old. 
 
 Thus still, whene'er the good and just 
 Close the dim eye on life and pain, 
 
 Heaven w^atches o'er their sleeping dust 
 Till the pure spirit comes again. 
 
 Though nameless, trampled, and forgot, 
 
 His servant's humble ashes lie, 
 Yet God has marked and sealed the spot, 
 
 To call its inmate to the sky. 
 
A W A L K A T S U N S E T. 5y 
 
 A WALK AT SUNSET. 
 
 When insect wings are glistening in the beam 
 
 Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright, 
 Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream. 
 Wander amid the mild and mellow litrht : 
 And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay, 
 Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day. 
 
 Oh, sun ! that o'er the western mountains now 
 
 Goest down in glory ! ever beautiful 
 And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou 
 
 Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool, 
 Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high 
 Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky, 
 
 Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair, 
 
 Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues 
 That live among the clouds, and Hush the air. 
 Lingering and deepening at the hour of di-ws. 
 Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard 
 The plaining voice of streams, and jiensive note of bird. 
 
60 POEMS. 
 
 They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide. 
 
 Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won ; 
 They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died, 
 Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun ; 
 Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair. 
 And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air. 
 
 So, with the glories of the dying day, 
 
 Its thousand trembling lights and changing hues, 
 The memory of the brave who passed away 
 Tenderly mingled ; — fitting hour to muse 
 On such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed 
 Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead. 
 
 For ages, on the silent forests here, 
 
 Thy beams did fall before the red man came 
 To dwell beneath them ; in their shade the deer 
 Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim. 
 Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods, 
 Save by the beaver's tooth, or winds, or rush of floods. 
 
 Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look, 
 
 For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase. 
 And well-fought wars ; green sod and silver brook 
 Took the first stain of blood ; before thy face 
 The warrior generations came and passed, 
 And glory was laid up for many an age to last. 
 
Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze 
 
 Goes down the west, while night is pressing on, 
 And with them the old tale of better days, 
 And trophies of remembered power, are gone. 
 Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough 
 Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now 
 
 I stand upon their ashes in tliy beam. 
 
 The offspring of another race, I stand. 
 Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream ; 
 And where the night-fire of the quivered band 
 Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung, 
 I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue. 
 
 Farewell ! but thou shalt come again — thy light 
 
 Must shine on other changes, and behold 
 The place of the thronged city still as night — 
 States fallen — new empires built upon the old — 
 But never shalt thou see these realms again 
 Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men 
 
63 P E M S- 
 
 HYMN TO DEATH. 
 
 Oh ! could I hope the wise and pure in heart 
 
 Might hear my song without a frown, nor deem 
 
 My voice unworthy of the theme it tries, — 
 
 I would take up the hymn to Death, and say 
 
 To the grim power. The world hath slandered +hee 
 
 And mocked thee. On thy dim and shadowy brow 
 
 They place an iron crown, and call thee king 
 
 Of terrors, and the spoiler of the world. 
 
 Deadly assassin, that strik'st dowm the fair, 
 
 The loved, the good — that breathest on the lights 
 
 Of virtue set along the vale of life, 
 
 And they go out in darkness. I am come, 
 
 Not witn reproaches, not with cries and prayers, 
 
 Such as have stormed thy stern, insensible ear 
 
 From the beginning. I am come to speak 
 
 Thy praises. True it is, that I have wept 
 
 Thy conquests, and may weep them yet again : 
 
 And thou from some I love wilt take a life 
 
 Dear to me as my own. Yet while the spell 
 
 Is on my spirit, and I talk with thee 
 
In sight of all thy trophies, face to face, 
 Meet is it that my voice should utter forth 
 Thy nobler triumphs ; I will teach the world 
 To thank thee. — Who are thine accusers? — \Mio? 
 The living! — they who never felt thy power. 
 And know thee not. The curses of the wretch 
 Whose crimes are ripe, his sufferings when thy hand 
 Is on him, and the hour he dreads is come, 
 Are writ among thy praises. But the good — 
 Does he whom thy kind hand dismissed to peace, 
 Upbraid the gentle violence that took off 
 His fetters, and unbarred his prison cell .'' 
 
 Raise then the hymn to Death. Deliverer! 
 God hath anointed thee to free the oppressed 
 And crush the oppressor. When the armed cliief. 
 The conqueror of nations, walks the world, 
 And it is changed beneath his feet, and all 
 Its kingdoms melt into one mighty reahn — 
 Thou, while his head is loftiest and his heart 
 Blasphemes, imagining his own right hand 
 Almighty, thou dost set thy sudden grasp 
 Upon him, and the links of that strong chain 
 That bound mankind are crumbled ; tlmu dost break 
 Sceptre and crown, and beat his throne to dust. 
 Then the earth shouts with gladness, and lur tribes 
 Gather within their ancient bounds atrain. 
 
G4 P E I\I S. 
 
 Else had the mighty of the olden time, 
 Nimrod, Sesostris, or the youth who feigned 
 His birth from Libyan Ammon, smitten yet 
 The nations with a rod of iron, and driven 
 Their chariot o'er our necks. Thou dost avenge, 
 In thy good time, the wrongs of those who know 
 No other friend. Nor dost thou interpose 
 Only to lay the sufferer asleep, 
 WTiere he who made him wTetched troubles not 
 His rest — thou dost strike down his tyrant too. 
 Oh, there is joy when hands that held the scourge 
 Drop lifeless, and the pitiless heart is cold. 
 Thou too dost purge from earth its horrible 
 And old idolatries ; — from the proud fanes 
 Each to his grave their priests go out, till none 
 Is left to teach their worship ; then the fires 
 Of sacrifice are chilled, and the green moss 
 O'ercreeps their altars; the fallen images 
 Cumber the weedy courts, and for loud hymns, 
 Chanted by kneeling multitudes, the wind 
 Shrieks in the solitary aisles. When he 
 Who gives his life to guilt, and laughs at all 
 The laws that God or man has made, and round 
 Hedges his seat with power, and shines in wealth,- 
 Lifis up his atheist front to scoff at Heaven, 
 And celebrates his shame in open day. 
 Thou, in the pride of all his crimes, cutt'st off 
 
H Y M X TO D E A T II. 65 
 
 The horrible example. Touched by thine, 
 
 The extortioner's hard hand foregoes the gold 
 
 Wrung from the o'er-worn poor. The perjurer, 
 
 Whose tongue was lithe, e'en now, and voluble 
 
 Against his neighbour's life, and he who laughed 
 
 And leaped for joy to see a spotless fame 
 
 Blasted before his own foul calumnies, 
 
 Are srnit with deadly silence. lie, who sold 
 
 His conscience to preserve a worthless life, 
 
 Even while he hugs himself on his escape. 
 
 Trembles, as, doubly terrible, at length, 
 
 Thy steps o'ertake him, and there is no time 
 
 For parley — nor will bribes unclencii thy grasp. 
 
 Oft, too, dost thou reform thy victim, long 
 
 Ere his last hour. And when the reveller. 
 
 Mad in the chase of pleasure, stretches on, 
 
 And strains each nerve, and clears the path of life 
 
 Like wind, thou point'st him to the dreadful goal, 
 
 And shak'st thy hour-glass in his reeling eye, 
 
 And check'st him in mid course. Thy skeleton hand 
 
 Shows to the faint of spirit the right path. 
 
 And he is w^arned, and fears to step aside. 
 
 Thou sett'st between the ruflian and his crime 
 
 Thy ghastly countenance, and his slack hand 
 
 Drops the drawn knife. But, oh, most fearfully 
 
 Dost thou show forth Heaven's juslice, when thy sIimTis 
 
 Drink up the ebbing spirit — then the hard 
 
06 POEMS. 
 
 Of heart and violent of hand restores 
 
 The treasure to the friendless wretch he wronged. 
 
 Then from the writhing bosom thou dost pluck 
 
 The guilty secret ; lips, for ages sealed, 
 
 Are faithless to the dreadful trust at length. 
 
 And give it up ; the felon's latest breath 
 
 Absolves the innocent man who bears his crime ; 
 
 The slanderer, horror-smitten, and in tears, 
 
 Recalls the deadly obloquy he forged 
 
 To work his brother's ruin. Thou dost make 
 
 Thy penitent victim utter to the air 
 
 The dark conspiracy that strikes at life. 
 
 And aims to whelm the laws ; ere yet the hour 
 
 Is come, and the dread sign of murder given. 
 
 Thus, from the first of time, hast thou been found 
 On virtue's side ; the wicked, but for thee. 
 Had been too strong for the good ; the great of earth 
 Had crushed the weak for ever. Schooled in guile 
 For ages, while each passing year had brought 
 Its baneful lesson, they had filled the world 
 With their abominations ; while its tribes, 
 Trodden to earth, imbruted, and despoiled, 
 Had knelt to them in worship; sacrifice 
 Had smoked on many an altar, temple roofs 
 Had echoed with the blasphemous prayer and hymn : 
 But thou, the great reformer of the world, 
 
IIY.MN TO DEATH. 67 
 
 Tak'st off the sons of violence and fraud 
 
 In their green pupilage, their lore half learned — • 
 
 Ere guilt had quite o'errun the simple heart 
 
 God gave them at their birth, and blotted out 
 
 His image. Thou dost mark them (lushed with hope, 
 
 As on the threshold of their vast designs 
 
 Doubtful and loose they stand, and strik'st them do^vn. 
 
 Alas ! I little thought that the stern power 
 "Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus 
 Before the strain was ended. It must cease — 
 For he is in his grave who taught my youth 
 The art of verse, and in the bud of life 
 Offeretl me to the muses. Oh, cut off 
 Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength. 
 Ripened by years of toil and studious search, 
 And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught 
 Thy hand to practise best the lenient art 
 To which thou gavest thy laborious days, 
 And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth 
 Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes 
 And on hard cheeks, and they who deemed thy skill 
 Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale 
 Wlien thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which thoi 
 Shalt not, as wont, o'eriook, is all I have 
 To offer at thy grave — this — and tlie hope 
 
C8 POEMS. 
 
 To copy thy example, and to leave 
 
 A name of which the wretched shall not think 
 
 As of an enemy's, whom they forgive 
 
 As all forgive the dead. Rest, therefore, thou 
 
 Whose early guidance trained my infant steps — 
 
 Rest, in the bosom of God, till the brief sleep 
 
 Of death is over, and a happier life 
 
 Shall dawn to waken thine insensible dust. 
 
 Now thou art not — and yet the men whose guilt 
 Has wearied Heaven for vengeance — he who bears 
 False witness — he who takes the orphan's bread, 
 And robs the widow — he who spreads abroad 
 Polluted hands of mockery of prayer. 
 Are left to cumber earth. Shuddering I look 
 On what is written, yet I blot not out 
 The desultory numbers — let them stand, 
 The record of an idle reveiy. 
 
T H E :\I A S S A C R E A T S C I 0. Gl> 
 
 THE MASSACRE AT SCIO. 
 
 Weep not for Scio's children slain ; 
 
 Their blood, by Turkish falchions shed, 
 Sends not its cry to Heaven in vain 
 
 For vengeance on the murderer's head. 
 
 Thoujrh hijrh the ^varm red torrent ran 
 Between the flames that lit the sky, 
 
 Yet, for each drop, an armed man 
 Shall rise, to free the land, or die. 
 
 And for each corpse, that in the sea 
 Was thrown, to feast the scaly herds, 
 
 A hundred of (he foe shall be 
 
 A banquet for the mountain birtls. 
 
 Stern rites and sad, shall Greece ordain 
 To keep that d.y, along her shore, 
 
 Tin the last link of slavery's chain 
 Is shivered, to be worn no more. 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT. 
 
 An Indian girl was sitting where 
 Her lover, slain in battle, slept; 
 
 Her maiden veil, her own black hair, 
 Came down o'er eyes that wept ; 
 
 And wildly, in her woodland tongue, 
 
 This sad and simple lay she sung : 
 
 " I've pulled away the shrubs that grew 
 Too close above thy sleeping head. 
 And broke the forest boughs that threw 
 
 Their shadows o'er thy bed. 
 That, shining from the sweet south-west, 
 The sunbeams might rejoice thy rest. 
 
 " It was a weary, weary road 
 
 That led thee to the pleasant coast, 
 Where thou, in his serene abode. 
 
 Hast met thy father's ghost ; 
 Where everlasting autumn lies 
 On yellow woods and sunny skies. 
 
THE INDIAN G I R L' S LAMENT. 71 
 
 " 'Twas I the broidered mocsen made, 
 That shod thee for that distant land ; 
 
 'Twas I thy bow and arrows laid 
 Beside thy still cold hand ; 
 
 Thy bow in many a battle bent, 
 
 Thy arrows never vainly sent. 
 
 "With wampum belts I crossed thy breast, 
 And wrapped thee in the bison's hide, 
 
 And laid the food that pleased thee besi, 
 In plenty, by thy side, 
 
 And decked thee bravely, as became 
 
 A warrior of illustrious name. 
 
 « Thou'rt happy now, for thou hast passed 
 The long darK journey of the grave, 
 
 And in the land of light, at last. 
 Hast joined the good and brave ; 
 
 Amid the flushed and balmy air, 
 
 The bravest and the loveliest there. 
 
 " Yet, oft to thine own Indian maid 
 
 Even there thy thoughts will earthward stray ,- 
 To her who sits wiiere thou wcrt laid, 
 
 And weeps the hours away. 
 Yet almost can her grief forget. 
 To think that thou dost love her yet. 
 
72 POEMS. 
 
 " And thou, by one of those still lakes 
 That in a shining cluster lie, 
 On which the south wind scarcely breaks 
 
 The image of the sky, 
 A bower for thee and me hast made 
 Beneath the many-coloured shade. 
 
 " And thou dost wait and watch to meet 
 My spirit sent to join the blessed, 
 And, wondering what detains my feet 
 
 From the bright land of rest. 
 Dost seem, in every sound, to hear 
 The rustling of my footsteps near." 
 
ODE. 73 
 
 ODE 1011 AN AGRICULTURAL CELEBRATION. 
 
 Far back in the ages, 
 
 The plough with wreaths was crowned j 
 The hands of kings and sages 
 
 Entwined the chaplet round ; 
 Till men of spoil disdained the toil 
 
 By which the world was nourished, 
 And dews of blood enriched the soil 
 
 Where creen their laurels flourished : 
 — Now the world her fault repairs — 
 
 The guilt that stains her story ; 
 And weeps her crimes amid the cares 
 
 That formed her earliest glory. 
 
 The proud throne shall crumble, 
 
 The diadem shall wane, 
 The tribes of earth shall humble 
 
 The pride of those who reign ; 
 And War shall lay his ])ornp nway ; — 
 
 The fame that heroes cherish, 
 
74 pot: M s. 
 
 The glory earned in deadly fray 
 Shall fade, decay, and perish. 
 
 Honour waits, o'er all the Earth, 
 Through endless generations, 
 
 The art that calls her harvests forth, 
 And feeds the expectant nations. 
 
ill z p A H. rs 
 
 mZPAIL 
 
 And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they 
 hanged them in the hill before the Lord ; and they fell all seven to- 
 gether, and were put to death in the days of the harvest, in the first 
 days, in the beginning' of barley-harvest. 
 
 And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for 
 her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the w;iter dropped 
 upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest 
 upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night. 
 
 2 Samuel, xxi. 10. 
 
 Hear ^vhat the desolate Rizpah said, 
 As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead. 
 The sons of Michal before her lay, 
 And her own fair children, dearer than they : 
 By a death of shame they all had died. 
 And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side. 
 And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all 
 That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, 
 All wasted with watching- and famine now, 
 And scorched by tlie sun her haggard brow, 
 Sat mouriilully guarding their corpses there, 
 And niuiinured a strange and solemn air; 
 
76 POEM S. 
 
 The low, heart-broken, and wailing strain 
 Of a mother that mourns her children slain: 
 
 «<I have made the crags my home, and spread 
 On their desert backs my sackcloth bed ; 
 I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks. 
 And drunk the midnight dew in my locks ; 
 I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain 
 Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. 
 Seven blackened corpses before me lie, 
 In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. 
 I have watched them through the burning day, 
 And driven the vulture and raven away; 
 And the cormorant wheeled in circles round. 
 Yet feared to alight on the guarded ground. 
 And when the shadows of twilight came, 
 I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, 
 And heard at my side his stealthy tread. 
 But aye at my shout the savage fled: 
 And I threw the lighted brand to fright 
 The jackal and w^olf that yelled in the night. 
 
 <«Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons, 
 By the hands of wicked and cruel ones ; 
 Ye fell, in your fresh and blooming prime, 
 All innocent, for your father's crime. 
 
R I Z P A n. 
 
 He sinned — but he paid tlie price of his guilt 
 When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt ; 
 VVlien he strove with the heathen host in vain, 
 And fell with the (lower of his people slain, 
 And the sceptre his children's hands should sway 
 From his injured lineage passed away. 
 
 " But I hoped that the cottage roof would be 
 A safe retreat for my sons and me; 
 And that while they ripened to manhood fast, 
 They should wean my thoughts from the woes of the past. 
 And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride, 
 As they stood in iheir beauty and strength by my side, 
 Tall like their sire, with the princely grace 
 Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face. 
 
 <' Oh, what an hour for a mother's heart, 
 When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart ! 
 Wlien I clasped their knees and wept and prayed, 
 And struggled and shrieked to Heaven for aid. 
 And clung to my sons with desperate strength. 
 Till the murderers loosed my hold at length. 
 And bore me breathless and iaint aside. 
 In their iron arms, while my children died. 
 They died — and the mother that gave them birth 
 Is forbid to cover tiicir bones witJi eartii. 
 
 a2 
 
75 P E M S. 
 
 << The barley-harvest was nodding white, 
 "VMien my children died on the rocky height, 
 And the reapers were singing on hill and plain, 
 When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. 
 But now the season of rain is nigh, 
 The sun is dim in the thickening sky, 
 And the clouds in sullen darkness rest 
 Where he hides his light at the doors of the west. 
 I hear the howl of the wind that brings 
 The long drear storm on its heavy wings ; 
 But the howling wind and the driving rain 
 Will beat on my houseless head in vain : 
 I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scar( 
 The beasts of the desert, and fowls of air." 
 
THE OLD MAN'S F U N K R A L. 79 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 I SAW an aged man upon his bier, 
 
 His hair was thin and white, and on his brow 
 
 A record of the cares of many a year ; — 
 Cares that were ended and forgotten now. 
 
 And there was sadness round, and faces bowed, 
 
 And woman's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud. 
 
 Then rose another hoary man and said, 
 In faltering accents, to that weeping train, 
 " Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead ? 
 Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain. 
 Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast. 
 Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast. 
 
 " Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfdled, 
 Ilis glorious course, rejoicing earth and sW, 
 In the soft evening, when tlie winds are stilled. 
 
 Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie. 
 And leaves the smile of his departure, spread 
 O'er the warm-coloured heaven and ruddy mounlain head. 
 
80 POEMS. 
 
 <' Why weep ye then for him, who, having won 
 The bound of man's appointed years, at last, 
 Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labours done, 
 
 Serenely to his final rest has passed ; 
 While the soft memory of his virtues, yet, 
 Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set ? 
 
 << His youth was innocent ; his riper age 
 
 Marked with some act of goodness every day ; 
 And watched by eyes that loved him, calm, and sage, 
 
 Faded his late declining years away. 
 Cheerful he gave his being up, and went 
 To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent. 
 
 " That life was happy ; every day he gave 
 Thanks for the fair existence that was his ; 
 For a sick fancy made him not her slave. 
 
 To mock him with her phantom miseries. 
 No chronic tortures racked his aged limb. 
 For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him. 
 
 " And I am glad that he has lived thus long. 
 And glad that he has gone to his reward ; 
 Nor can I deem that nature did him wrong. 
 
 Softly to disengage the vital cord. 
 For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye 
 Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die." 
 
T n E R I V U L E T. 81 
 
 THE RIVULET. 
 
 This little rill, that from the springs 
 Of yonder grove its current brings, 
 Plays on the slope a while, and then 
 Goes prattling into groves again, 
 Oft to its warbling waters drew 
 My little feet, when life was new. 
 When woods in early green were dressed, 
 And from the chambers of the west 
 The warmer breezes, travelling out, 
 Breathed the new scent of flowers about, 
 My truant steps from home would stray. 
 Upon its grassy side to play, 
 List the brown thrasher's vernal hymn. 
 And crop the violet on its brim. 
 With blooming cheek and open brow, 
 As young and gay, sweet rill, as thou. 
 
 And when the days of boyhood came, 
 And I had grown in love wilh fame. 
 
S2 POEMS. 
 
 Duly I sought thy banks, and tried 
 My first rude numbers by thy side. 
 Words cannot tell how bright and gay 
 The scenes of life before me lay. 
 Then glorious hopes, that now to speak 
 Would bring the blood into my cheek, 
 Passed o'er me ; and I wrote, un high, 
 A name I deemed should never die. 
 
 Years change thee not. Upon yon hill 
 The tall old maples, verdant still, 
 Yet tell, in grandeur of decay, 
 How swift the years have passed away. 
 Since first, a child, and half afraid, 
 I wandered in the forest shade. 
 Thou ever joyous rivulet, 
 Dost dimple, leap, and prattle yet ; 
 And sporting with the sands that pave 
 The windings of thy silver wave, 
 And dancing to thy own wild chime, 
 Thou laughest at the lapse of time. 
 The same sweet sounds are in my ea_ 
 My early childhood loved to hear ; 
 As pure thy limpid waters run, 
 As bright they sparkle to the sun ; 
 As fresh and thick the bending ranks 
 Of herbs that line thy oozy banks; 
 
T II E R I V U L E T. 83 
 
 The violet there, in soft May dew, 
 Comes up, as modest and as bhie , 
 As green amid thy current's stress, 
 Floats the scarce-rooted watercress : 
 And the brown ground-bird, in thy glen, 
 Still chirps as merrily as then. 
 
 Thou changest not — but I am changed, 
 Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged ; 
 And the grave stranger, come to see 
 The play-place of his infancy, 
 Has scarce a single trace of him 
 WTio sported once upon thy brim. 
 The visions of my youth are past — 
 Too bright, too beautiful to last. 
 Fve tried the world — it wears no more 
 The colouring of romance it wore. 
 Yet well has Nature kept the truth 
 She promised to my earliest youth. 
 The radiant beauty shed abroad 
 On all the glorious works of God, 
 Shows freshly, to my sobered eye, 
 Each charm it wore in days gone by 
 
 A few brief years shall pass away, 
 And I, all trembling, weak, and gray, 
 
84 POEMS. 
 
 Bowed to the earth, which waits to fold 
 My ashes in the embracing mould, 
 (If haply the dark will of fate 
 Indulge my life so long a date,) 
 May come for the last time to look 
 Upon my childhood's favourite brook. 
 Then dimly on my eye shall gleam 
 The sparkle of thy dancing stream ; 
 And faintly on my ear shall fall 
 Thy prattling current's merry call ; 
 Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright 
 As when thou met'st my infant sight. 
 
 And I shall sleep — and on thy side, 
 As ages after ages glide, 
 Children their early sports shall try, 
 And pass to hoary age and die. 
 But thou, unchanged from year to year, 
 Gayly shalt play and glitter here ; 
 Amid young flowers and tender grass 
 Thy endless infancy shalt pass ; 
 And, singing down thy narrow glen, 
 Shalt mock the fading race of men. 
 
MARC 11. 85 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 The stonny March is come at last, 
 
 With wind, and cloud, and changing skies 
 
 I hear the rushing of the blast. 
 
 That through the snowy valley flies 
 
 Ah, passing few are they who speak, 
 Wild stormy month! in praise of thee ; 
 
 Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleaK', 
 Thou art a welcome montli to me. 
 
 For thou, to northern lands, again 
 
 The glad and glorious sun dost bring. 
 
 And thou hast joined the gentle train 
 And wear'st the gentle name of S])ring. 
 
 And, in thy reign of blast and storm, 
 Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 
 
 Wlien the changed winds are soft and warm. 
 And heaven puts on the blue of May. 
 
80 P O E IM S. 
 
 Then sing aloud the gushing rills 
 
 And the full springs, from frost set free, 
 
 That, brightly leaping down the hills, 
 Are just set out to meet the sea. 
 
 The year's departing beauty hides 
 Of wintry storms the sullen threat ; 
 
 But in thy sternest frown abides 
 A look of kindly promise yet. 
 
 Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies. 
 
 And that soft time of sunny showers, 
 Wlien thf wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
 
 Seems of a briofhter world than ours. 
 
SONNET TO S7 
 
 SONNET TO 
 
 Ay, thou art for the grave ; thy glances shine 
 
 Too brightly to shine long ; another Spring 
 Shall deck her for men's eyes, — but not for thine — 
 
 Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. 
 The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf, 
 
 And the vexed ore no mineral of power ; 
 And they who love thee wait in anxious grief 
 
 Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour. 
 Glide softly to thy rest then ; Death should come 
 
 Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, 
 As light winds wandering through groves of bloom 
 
 Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. 
 Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain ; 
 And we will trust in God to see thee yet again. 
 
88 P O E M b. 
 
 AN INDIAN STORY. 
 
 " I KNOW where the timid fawn abides 
 
 In the depths of the shaded dell, 
 Where the leaves are broad and the thicket hides, 
 With its many stems and its tangled sides, 
 
 From the eye of the hunter well. 
 
 <« 1 know where the young May violet grows, 
 
 In its lone and lowly nook, 
 On the mossy bank, where the larch-tree throws 
 Its broad dark boughs, in solemn repose, 
 
 Far over the silent brook. 
 
 " And that timid fawn starts not with fear 
 
 When I steal to her secret bower ; 
 And that young May violet to me is dear, 
 And I visit the silent streamlet near, 
 
 To look on the lovely flower." 
 
 Thus Maquon sings as he lightly walks 
 To the hunting-ground on the hills ; 
 'Tis a song of his maid of the woods and rocks. 
 With her bright black eyes and long black locks, 
 And voice like the music of rills. 
 
A N I N n I A N S T O R Y. 69 
 
 He goes to the chase — hut evil eyes 
 
 Are at watch in the thicker shades; 
 For she was lovely that smiled on his sighs, 
 And he bore, from a hundred lovers, his prize, 
 
 The flower of the forest maids. 
 
 The boughs in the morning wind are stirred. 
 
 And the woods their song renew. 
 With the early carol of many a bird, 
 And the quickened tune of the streamlet heard 
 
 Where the hazels trickle with dew. 
 
 And Maquon has promised his dark-haired maid, 
 
 Ere eve shall redden the sky, 
 A good red deer from the forest shade, 
 That bounds with the herd throu''h o-rove and shule. 
 
 At her cabin-door shall lie. 
 
 The hollow woods, in the setting sun, 
 
 Ring shrill with the fire-bird's lay ; 
 And Maquon's sylvan labours are done, 
 And his shafts are spent, but the spoil they won 
 
 He bears on his homeward way. 
 
 He stops near his bower — his eye perceives 
 
 Slrange traces along the ground — 
 At once to the earth his burden he heaves. 
 He breaks through the veil of bougiis and leaves, 
 
 And gains its door with a bound. 
 
 B 2 
 
90 POEM S. 
 
 But the vines are torn on its walls that leant, 
 
 And all from the young shrubs there 
 By struggling hands have the leaves been rent, 
 And there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent. 
 One tress of the well-known hair. 
 
 But where is she who, at this calm hour, 
 
 Ever watched his coming to see ? 
 She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower; 
 He calls — but he only hears on the flower 
 
 The hum of the laden bee. 
 
 It is not a time for idle grief. 
 
 Nor a time for tears to flow ; 
 The horror that freezes his limbs is brief — 
 He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf 
 
 Of darts made sharp for the foe. 
 
 And he looks for the print of the ruffian's feet, 
 
 Where he bore the maiden away ; 
 And he darts on the fatal path more fleet 
 Than the blast that hurries the vapour and sleet 
 
 O'er the wild November day. 
 
 'Twas early summer when Maquon's bride 
 
 Was stolen away from his door ; 
 But at length the maples in crimson are dyed, 
 And the grape is black on the cabin side, — 
 
 And she smiles at his hearth once more. 
 
A N I N D I A N S T R Y. 91 
 
 But far in the pine-grove, dark and cold, 
 
 Where the yellow leaf falls not. 
 Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold, 
 There lies a hillock of fresh dark mould, 
 
 In the deepest gloom of the spot. 
 
 And the Indian girls, that pass that way. 
 
 Point out the ravisher's grave ; 
 a And how soon to the bower she loved," they say, 
 ^i Returned the maid that was borne away 
 
 From Maquon, the fond and the brave." 
 
92 POEMS. 
 
 SUMMER WIND. 
 
 It is a sultry day ; the sun has drunk 
 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 fervours : 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 air 
 With a reflected radiance, and make turn 
 The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie 
 
SUMMER WIND. 93 
 
 Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf, 
 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 ? 
 Oh, 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 proud top, and now 
 Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak 
 Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes! 
 L6, where the grassy meadow runs in waves! 
 The deep distressful silence of the scene 
 Breaks up wdth 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. 
 
94 P E iM S. 
 
 AN INDIAN AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF HIS 
 EATHEES. 
 
 It is the spot I came to seek, — 
 
 My fathers' ancient burial-place 
 Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak, 
 
 Withdrew our wasted race. 
 It is the spot — I know it well — 
 Of which our old traditions tell. 
 
 For here the upland bank sends out 
 
 A ridge toward the river-side ; 
 I know the shaggy hills about. 
 
 The meadows smooth and wide, — 
 The plains, that, toward the southern sky, 
 Fenced east and west by mountains lie, 
 
 A white man, gazing on the scene, 
 Would say a lovely spot was here, 
 
 And praise the lawns, so fresh and green, 
 Between the hills so sheer. 
 
 I like it not — I would the plain 
 
 Lay in its tall old otovcs aaain. 
 
y...y^ 
 
 ,iCir ID IF 'Wil.V. TS.V'KEW', 
 
AN INDIAN AT TITK B U III A L-P L A C E. 95 
 
 The sheep are on the slopes around, 
 
 The cattle in the meadows feed, 
 And labourers turn the crumbling ground, 
 
 Or drop the yellow seed, 
 And prancing steeds, in trappings gay, 
 Whirl the bright chariot o'er the way. 
 
 Methinks it were a nobler sight 
 
 To see these vales in woods arrayed, 
 
 Their summits in the golden light. 
 Their trunks in grateful shade, 
 
 And herds of deer, that bounding go 
 
 O'er hills and prostrate trees below. 
 
 And then to mark the lord of all, 
 
 The forest hero, trained to wars, 
 Quivered and plumed, and lilhe and tall, 
 
 And seamed with glorious scars, 
 Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare 
 The wolf, and gra})ple with the bear. 
 
 Tliis bank, in which the dead were laid. 
 Was sacred when ils soil was ours ; 
 
 IIi;iier the arlless Indian maid 
 
 Brouirht wreaths of beads and flowers, 
 
 And the gray cjiief and gifed seer 
 
 Worshipped the god of thunders here. 
 
But now the wheat is green and high 
 On clods that hid the warrior's breast, 
 
 And scattered in the furrows lie 
 The weapons of his rest ; 
 
 And there, in the loose sand, is thrown 
 
 Of his large arm the mouldering bone. 
 
 Ah, little thought the strong and brave 
 Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth — • 
 
 Or the young w^ife, that weeping gave 
 Her first-born to the earth. 
 
 That the pale race, who waste us now, 
 
 Among their bones should guide the plough. 
 
 They waste us — ay — like April snow 
 In the warm noon, we shrink away ; 
 
 And fast they follow, as we go 
 Towards the setting day,— 
 
 Till they shall fill the land, and we 
 
 Are driven into the western sea. 
 
 But I behold a fearful sign, 
 
 To which the white men's eyes are blind ; 
 Their race may vanish hence, like mine, 
 
 And leave no trace behind, 
 Save ruins o'er the region spread. 
 And the white stones above the dead. 
 
AN I N D I A N A T T II E JUT R I A L-P L A C K. «)7 
 
 Before these fields were shorn and tlHed, 
 Full to the brim our rivers flowed ; 
 
 The melody of waters filled 
 
 The fresh and boundless wood ; 
 
 And torrents dashed and rivulets played, 
 
 And fountains spouted in the shade. 
 
 Those grateful sounds are heard no more, 
 The sprmgs are silent in the sun ; 
 
 The rivers, by the blackened shore, 
 With lessening current run ; 
 
 The realm our tribes are crushed to get 
 
 May be a Darren desert yet. 
 
9S P O E M S. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Dost thou idly ask to hear 
 
 At what gentle seasons 
 Nymphs relent, when lovers near 
 
 Press the tenderest reasons? 
 Ah, they give their faith too oft 
 
 To the careless wooer ; 
 Maidens' hearts are always soft : 
 
 Would that men's were truer I 
 
 Woo the fair one, when around 
 
 Early birds are singing ; 
 WTien, o'er all the fragrant ground, 
 
 Early herbs are sj/ringing : 
 When the brookside, bank, and grove, 
 
 All with blossoms laden. 
 Shine with beauty, breathe of love, — 
 
 Woo the timid maiden. 
 
 Woo her when, with rosy blush, 
 Summer eve is sinking ; 
 
SONG. on 
 
 When, on rills that softly gush, 
 
 Stars are softly \viuking; 
 When, through boughs that knit the bower, 
 
 Moonlight gleams are stealing ; 
 
 Woo her, till the gentle hour 
 
 Wake a gentler feelin":. 
 o o 
 
 Woo her, when autumnal dyes 
 
 Tinge the woody mountain ; 
 When the dropping foliage lies 
 
 In the weedy fountain ; 
 Let the scene, that tells how fast 
 
 Youth is passing over. 
 Warn her, ere her bloom is past, 
 
 To secure her lover. 
 
 Woo her, when the north winds call 
 
 At the lattice nightly ; 
 When, within the cheerful hall, 
 
 Blaze the fagots brightly ; 
 While the wintry tempest round 
 
 Sweeps the landscape hoary. 
 Sweeter in her ear shall sound 
 
 Love's delightful story. 
 
100 POEMS. 
 
 HYMN OF THE WALDENSES. 
 
 Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock 
 Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock ; 
 While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold 
 Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ; 
 And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs 
 That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs. 
 
 Yet better were this mountain wilderness, 
 And this wild life of danger and distress — 
 Watchings by night and perilous flight by day, 
 And meetings in the depths of earth to pray, 
 Better, far better, than to kneel with them. 
 And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. 
 
 Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder ; the firm land 
 Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand ; 
 Thou dashest nation against nation, then 
 Stillest the angry world to peace again. 
 Oh, touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons — 
 The murderers of our wives and little ones. 
 
H Y :\I \ OF Til !•: W A L I) E N S E S. 101 
 
 Yet, mighty God, yet sliall thy frown look forth 
 Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. 
 Then the foul power of priestly sin and all 
 Its long-upheld idolatries shall fall. 
 Thou snalt raise up the trampled and oppressed, 
 And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest. 
 
102 P O E M S. 
 
 MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ... Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild 
 
 Mingled in harmony on Nature's face, 
 
 Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot 
 
 Fail not with weariness, for on their tops 
 
 The beauty and the majesty of earth. 
 
 Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget 
 
 The steep and toilsome w-ay. There, as thou stand'st, 
 
 The haunts of men below thee, and around 
 
 The mountain summits, thy expanding heart 
 
 Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world 
 
 To which thou art translated, and partake 
 
 The enlargement of thy vision.7 Thou shalt look 
 
 Upon the green and rolling forest tops, 
 
 And down into the secrets of the glens. 
 
 And streams, that with their bordering thickets strive 
 
 To hide their windings. Thou shalt gaze, at once, 
 
 Here on white villages, and tilth, and herds. 
 
 And swarming roads, and there on solitudes 
 
 That only hear the torrent, and the wind. 
 
 And eagle's shriek. There is a precipice 
 
 That seems a fragment of some mighty wall, 
 
M O N U M i: X T MOUNTAIN. 1 0:i 
 
 Built by the hand tliat fasliionccl llie old world, 
 
 To separate its nations, and thrown down 
 
 When the flood drowned them. To the north, a path 
 
 Conducts you up the narrow battlement. 
 
 Steep IS the western side, shaggy and wild 
 
 With mossy trees, and ])innacles of flint, 
 
 And many a lianging crag. But, to the east, 
 
 Slicer to the vale go down the bare old clills, — 
 
 Huge pillars, that in middle lieaven ii})bear 
 
 Their weather-beaten capitals, here dark 
 
 With the thick moss of centuries, and there 
 
 Of chalky whiteness where the thunderbolt 
 
 Has splintered them. It is a fearful thing 
 
 To stand upon the beetling verge, and see 
 
 Where storm and lightning, from tliat huge gray wall, 
 
 Have tumbled down vast blocks, and at the base 
 
 Dashed them in fragments, and to lay thine ear 
 
 Over the dizzy depth, and hear the sound 
 
 Of winds, that struggle with the woods below. 
 
 Come up like ocean murmurs. But the scene 
 
 Is lovely round ; a beautiful river there 
 
 Wanders amid the fresh and fertile meads. 
 
 The paradise he made unto himself, 
 
 Mining the soil for ages. On each side 
 
 Tiie fields swell upward to tlie hills; beyond, 
 
 Above the hills, in the blue distance, rise 
 
 The mighty columns with which ear:h props heaven. 
 
104 P O E M S. 
 
 There is a tale about these reverend rocks, 
 A sad tradition of unhappy love, 
 And sorrows borne and ended, long ago, 
 When over these fair vales the savage sought 
 His game in the thick woods. There was a maid, 
 The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed, 
 With wealth of raven tresses, a light form. 
 And a gay heart. About her cabin-door 
 The wide old woods resounded with her song 
 And fairy laughter all the summer day. 
 She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, 
 By the morality of those stern tribes. 
 Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long 
 Against her love, and reasoned with her heart. 
 As simple Indian maiden might. In vain. 
 Then her eye lost its lustre, and her step 
 Its lightness, and the gray-haired men that passed 
 Hrv dwelling, wondered that they heard no more 
 The accustomed song and laugh of her, whose looks 
 Were like the cheerful smile of Spring, they said. 
 Upon the Winter of their age. She went 
 To weep where no eye saw, and was not found 
 When all the merry girls were met to dance, 
 And all the hunters of the tribe were out ; 
 Nor when they gathered from the rustling husk 
 The shining ear ; nor wdien, by the river's side, 
 They pulled the grape and startled the wild shades 
 
M X u M i: \ T yiov s t a i x. lOo 
 
 With sounds of mlrih. The keen-eyed Indian diunes 
 Would whisper to each other, as they saw 
 Her wasting form, and say t he girl will die. 
 
 One day into the bosom of a friend, 
 A playmate of her young and innocent years, 
 She poured her griefs. " Thou know'st, and thou alone," 
 S;ie said, " for I have told thee, all my love, 
 And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life. 
 All night I weep in darkness, and the morn 
 Glares on me, as u})on a thing accursed, 
 That has no business on the earth. I hate 
 The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once 
 I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends 
 Have an unnatural horror in mine ear. 
 In dreams my mother, from the land of souls. 
 Calls me and chides me. All that look on me 
 Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear 
 Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root out 
 The love that wrings it so, and I must die." 
 
 It was a summer morning, and they went 
 To this old precipice. About the cliffs 
 Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins 
 Of wolf and bear, tlie offerings of the tribe 
 Here made to the Great Sjiirit, for ihcy deemed, 
 Like worshippers of the elder time, that God 
 
100 P O E M S. 
 
 Doth walk on the high places and affect 
 
 The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on 
 
 The ornaments with which her father loved 
 
 To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl, 
 
 And bade her wear when stranger warriors came 
 
 To be his guests. Here the friends sat them down, 
 
 And sang, all day, old songs of love and death, 
 
 And decked the poor wan victim's hair with flowers, 
 
 And prayed that safe and swift might be her way 
 
 To the calm world of sunshine, where no grief 
 
 Makes the heart heavy and the eyelids red. 
 
 Beautiful lay the region of her tribe 
 
 Below her — waters resting in the embrace 
 
 Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades 
 
 Opening amid the leafy wilderness. 
 
 She gazed upon it long, and at the sight 
 
 Of her own village peeping through the trees, 
 
 And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof 
 
 Of him she loved with an unlawful love. 
 
 And came to die for, a warm gush of tears 
 
 Ran from her eyes. But when the sun grew low 
 
 And the hill shadows long, she threw herself 
 
 From the steep rock and perished. There was scooped 
 
 Upon the mountain's southern slope, a grave ; 
 
 And there they laid her, in the very garb 
 
 With which the maiden decked herself for death. 
 
 With the same withering: wild flowers in her hair. 
 
MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 107 
 
 And o'er the mould that covered her, the tribe 
 
 Buik up a simple monument, a cone 
 
 Of small loose stones. Thenceforward all who passed. 
 
 Hunter, and dame, and virgin, laid a stone 
 
 In silence on the pile. It stands there yet. 
 
 And Indians frcm the distant West, who come 
 
 To visit where their fathers' bones are laid, 
 
 Yet tell the sorrowful tale, and to this day 
 
 The mountain where the hapless maiden died 
 
 Is called the Mountain of the Monument. 
 
AFTER A TEMPEST. 
 
 The day had been a day of wind and storm ;— 
 The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, — ■ 
 And stooping from the zenith bright and warm 
 Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last. 
 I stood upon the upland slope, and cast 
 My eye upon a broad and beauteous scene, 
 \Vhere the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast. 
 And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green. 
 With pleasant vales scooped out and villages between. 
 
 The rain-drops glistened on the trees around, 
 "VMiose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred. 
 Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, 
 Was shaken by the flight of startled bird ; 
 For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard 
 About the flowers ; the cheerful rivulet sung 
 And gossiped, as he hastened ocean- ward ; 
 To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung, 
 4.nd chirping from the ground the grasshopper upsprung. 
 
Al'TKR A TK M PKST. IQU 
 
 And from beneath the leaves that kept thein dry 
 Hew many a gliitering insect here and there, 
 And darled up and down the butterfly, 
 That seemed a living blossom of the air. 
 The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where 
 The violent rain had pent them ; in the way 
 Strolled groups of damsels frolicksome and fair; 
 The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, 
 And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play. 
 
 It was a scene of peace — and, like a s])ell, 
 Did that serene and golden sunlight fall 
 Upon the motionless wood that clothed the fell, 
 And precipice upspringing like a wall. 
 And glassy river and white waterfall, 
 And happy living things that trod the bright 
 And beauteous scene ; while far beyond them all, 
 On many a lovely valley, out of sight, 
 Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft golden light 
 
 I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene 
 An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, 
 When o'er earth's continents, and isles between, 
 The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea. 
 And married nations dwell in harmony; 
 When millions, crouching in the dust to one, 
 No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, 
 
 K 
 
110 POEMS. 
 
 Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun 
 The o'erlaboured captive toil, and wish his life were done. 
 
 Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers 
 And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, 
 The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers 
 And ruddy fruits ; but not for aye can last 
 The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past. 
 Lo, the clouds roll away — they break — they fly, 
 And, like the glorious light of summer, cast 
 O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky, 
 On dll the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall lie. 
 
A U T U M N WOODS. | I I 
 
 - AUTUMN WOODS 
 
 Err, in the northern gale, 
 The summer tresses of the trees are gone, 
 The woods of Autumn, all around our vale, 
 
 Have put their glory on. 
 
 The mountains that infold, 
 In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, 
 Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold. 
 
 That guard the enchanted ground. 
 
 I roam the woods that crown 
 Tiie upland, where the mingled splcmlours glow, 
 Where the gay company of trees look down 
 
 On the green fields beloAV. 
 
 My steps are not alone 
 III these Ijfight walks ; the sweet south-west, at I'lay, 
 Flies, rustling, where tlie j)ain(ed leaves are strown 
 
 Ah)ng tlie winding way. 
 
And far in heaven, the while, 
 The sun, that sends that gale to wander here, 
 Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile, — 
 
 The sweetest of the year. 
 
 Where now the solemn shade. 
 Verdure and gloom where many branches meet ; 
 So grateful, when the noon of summer made 
 
 The valleys sick with heat ? 
 
 Let in through all the trees 
 Come the strange rays ; the forest depths are b'''<yht? 
 Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze. 
 
 Twinkles, like beams of light. 
 
 The rivulet, late unseen, 
 Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, 
 Shines with the image of its golden screen, 
 
 And glimmerings of the sun. 
 
 But 'neath yon crimson tree. 
 Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, 
 Nor mark, within its roseate canopy. 
 
 Her blush of maiden shame. 
 
 Oh, Autumn ! why so soon 
 Depart the hues that make thy forests glad ; 
 Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon, 
 
 And leave thee wild and sad ! 
 
All ! 'iwcre a lot too blessed 
 For ever in thy coloured shades to slray ; 
 Amid the kisses of the soft south-west 
 
 To rove and dream for aye ; 
 
 And leave the vain low strife 
 That makes men mad — the tug for wenllh and power, 
 The passions and the cares that wither life, 
 
 And waste its little hour. 
 
114 POEMS. 
 
 MUTATION. 
 
 They talk of short-lived pleasure — be it so — 
 
 Pain dies as quickly : stern, hard-featured pain 
 Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. 
 
 The fiercest agonies have shortest reign ; 
 
 A.nd after dreams of horror, comes again 
 The welcome morning with its rays of peace 
 
 Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain, 
 Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease : 
 Remorse is virtue's root ; its fair increase 
 
 Are fruits of innocence and blessedness : 
 Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release 
 
 His young limbs from the chains that round him press. 
 Weep not that the world changes — did it keep 
 A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep. 
 
NOVEMBER. II 5 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 A. SONNET. 
 
 Ykt one smile more, departing, distant sun ! 
 
 One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air, 
 Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run. 
 
 Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. 
 One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, 
 
 And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, 
 And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze. 
 
 Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. 
 Yet a few sunny days, in wliich the bee 
 
 Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, 
 The cricket chirp u})on the russet lea, 
 
 And man delight to linger in thy ray. 
 Yet one rich smile, and w^e will try to bear 
 The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 
 
1 1(3 P E M S. 
 
 SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON. 
 
 I BUCKLE to my slender side 
 
 The pistol and die scimitar, 
 And in my maiden flower and pride 
 
 Am come to share the tasks of war. 
 And yonder stands my fiery steed, 
 
 That paws the ground and neighs to go. 
 My charger of the Arab breed, — • 
 
 I took him from the routed foe. 
 
 My mirror is the mountain spring, 
 
 At which I dress my ruffled hair ; 
 My dimmed and dusty arms I bring, 
 
 And wash away the blood-stain there. 
 Why should I guard from wind and sun 
 
 This cheek, whose virgin rose is fled } 
 It was for one — oh, only one — 
 
 I kept its bloom, and he is dead. 
 
 But they who slew him — unaware 
 Of coward murderers lurkine: nisfh — 
 
SONG OF TIIK fJKKKK AMAZON. 117 
 
 Aiitl left liiin to the fowls of air, 
 
 Are yet alive — and they must die. 
 They slew him — and my virgin years 
 
 Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now, 
 And many an Othman dame, in tears, 
 
 Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow. 
 
 I touched the lute in better days, 
 
 I led in dance the joyous band ; 
 Ah ! they may move to mirtliful lays 
 
 Whose hands can touch a lover's hand. 
 The march of hosts that haste to meet 
 
 Seems gayer than the dance to me ; 
 The lute's sweet tones are not so swee' 
 
 As the fierce shout of victory 
 
lis POEMS, 
 
 TO A CLOUD. 
 
 Beautiful cloud! with folds so soft and fair, 
 
 Swimming in the pure quiet air ! 
 Thy fleeces bathed in sunlight, while below 
 
 Thy shadow o'er the vale moves slow ; 
 Where, midst their labour, pause the reaper train 
 
 As cool it comes along the grain. 
 Beautiful cloud ! I would I were with thee 
 
 In thy calm way o'er land and sea : 
 To rest on thy unrolling skirts, and look 
 
 On Earth as on an open book ; 
 On streams that tie her realms with silver bands, 
 
 And the long ways that seem her lands ; 
 And hear her humming cities, and the sound 
 
 Of the great ocean breaking round. 
 Ay — I would sail upon thy air-borne car 
 
 To blooming regions distant far, 
 To where the sun of Andalusia shines 
 
 On his own olive-groves and vines, 
 Or the soft lights of Italy's bright sky 
 
 In smiles upon her ruins lie. 
 
TO A C L O r 1). 1 10 
 
 But I would \voo the winds to let us rest 
 
 O'er Greece long fettered and oppressed, 
 Whose sons at length have heard the call that comes 
 
 From the old battle-fields and tombs, 
 A:ul risen, and drawn the sword, and on the foe 
 
 Have deidl the swift and desj)erate blow. 
 And the Odimaii j)0wer is cloven, and the strike 
 
 Has touched its chains, and they are broke. 
 Ay, we would linger till the sunset there 
 
 Should come, to purple all tlie air. 
 And thou reflect upon the sacred ground 
 
 The ruddy radiance streaming round. 
 
 Bright meteor! for the summer noontide made ! 
 
 Th}- peerless beauty yet shall fade. 
 The sun, that fills with liu'ht each L!,-listeninfj fold, 
 
 Shall set, and leave thee dark and coUl : 
 Tiie blast shall rend thy skirls, or thou inayst frown 
 
 In the dark heaven when storms come down; 
 And weep in rain, till man's inquiring eye 
 
 Miss thee, for ever, from the sky. 
 
120 P O E M «. 
 
 THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. 
 
 When spring, to woods and wastes around, 
 
 Brought bloom and joy again, 
 The murdered traveller's bones were found, 
 
 Far down a narrow glen. 
 
 The fragrant birch, above him, hung 
 
 Her tassels in the sky ; 
 And many a vernal blossom sprung, 
 
 And nodded careless by. 
 
 The red-bird warbled, as he wrought 
 
 His hanging nest o'erhead, 
 And fearless, near the fatal spot, 
 
 Her young the partridge led. 
 
 But there was weeping far away, 
 
 Ar.d gentle eyes, for him, 
 W'lh watching many an anxious day, 
 
 Were sorrowful and dim. 
 
They little knew, who loved him so, 
 The fearful death he met. 
 
 When shouting o'er the desert snow. 
 Unarmed, and hard beset ; — 
 
 Nor how, when round the frosty pole 
 
 The northern dawn was red, 
 The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole 
 
 To banquet on the dead ; — 
 
 Nor how, when strangers found his bones, 
 
 They dressed the hasty bier. 
 And marked his grave with nameless stones, 
 
 Unmoistened by a tear. 
 
 But long they looked, and feared, and we])t, 
 
 Within his distant home ; 
 And dreamed, and started as they slept, 
 
 For joy that he was come. 
 
 Long, long they looked — but never spied 
 
 His welcome step again, 
 Nor knew tiie fearful death he died 
 
 Far down that narrow glen. 
 
HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. 
 
 The sad and solemn night 
 Hath yet her muhitude of cheerful fires ; 
 
 The glorious host of light 
 Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires ; 
 All through her silent watches, gliding slow, 
 Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go. 
 
 Day, too, hath many a star 
 To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they; 
 
 Through the blue fields afar. 
 Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: 
 Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim. 
 Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him. 
 
 And thou dost see them rise. 
 Star of the Pole ! and tliou dost see them set. 
 
 Alone, in thy cold skies. 
 Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet. 
 Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train. 
 Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main. 
 
HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. |t>1) 
 
 There, at morn's rosy birth, 
 Thou L)okt'st meekly through the kindling air, 
 
 And eve, that round the earth 
 Chases the day, beholds thee watching there ; 
 There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls 
 The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls. 
 
 Alike, beneath thine eye, 
 The deeds of darkness and of light are done ; 
 
 High towards the s1ar-lit sky 
 Towns blaze — the smoke of battle blots the sun — 
 The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud — 
 And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud. 
 
 On thy unaltering blaze 
 The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost. 
 
 Fixes his steady gaze. 
 And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ; 
 And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night, 
 Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right. 
 
 And, therefore, bards of old. 
 Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood, 
 
 Did in thy beams behold 
 A beauteous type of that unchanging good, 
 That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray 
 The voyager of time should shaj)e his heedful way. 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 THE LAPSE OF TIME. 
 
 Lament who will, in fruitless tears, 
 
 The speed with which our moments fly ; 
 
 I sigh not over vanished years, 
 
 But watch the years that hasten by. 
 
 Look, how they come,^ — a mingled crowd 
 Of bright and dark, but rapid days ; 
 
 Beneath them, like a summer cloud, 
 The wide world changes as I gaze. 
 
 Wiat ! grieve that time has brought so soon 
 The sober age of manhood on ! 
 
 As idly might I weep, at noon, 
 To see the blush of morning gone. 
 
 Could I give up the hopes that glow 
 
 In prospect like Elysian isles ; 
 And let the cheerful future go, 
 
 Whh all her promises and smiles ? 
 
THE LAPSE OF TIME. 125 
 
 Tho future ! — cruel were the power 
 
 Whose doom would tear thee from my heart. 
 ' Thou sweetener of the present hour ! 
 We cannot — no — we will not part. 
 
 Oh, leave me, still, the rapid flight 
 Tliat makes the changing seasons gay, 
 
 The grateful speed that brings the night, 
 The swift and glad return of day ; 
 
 The months that touch, with added jrrace. 
 
 This little prattler at my knee, 
 In whose arch eye and speaking face 
 
 New meaning every hour I see ; 
 
 The years, that o'er each sister land 
 Shall lift the country of my birth, 
 
 And nurse her strength, till she shall stand 
 Tlie pride and pattern of the earth : 
 
 Till younger commonwealths, for aid, 
 Shall cling about her ample robe, 
 
 And from her frown shall shrink afraid 
 The crowned oppressors of the globe. 
 
 True — time will seam and blanch my brow — 
 Well — I sli;ill sit witli aged men. 
 
 And my good glass will tell me how 
 A grizzly beard beconu'S me then. 
 
And then should no dishonour lie 
 Upon my head, when I am gray, 
 
 Love yet shall watch my fading eye, 
 And smooth the path of my decay. 
 
 Then haste thee. Time — 'tis kindness all 
 That speeds thy wnnged feet so fast : 
 
 Thy pleasures stay not till they pall. 
 And all thy pains are quickly past. 
 
 Thou fliest and bear'st away our woes. 
 And as thy shadowy train depart, 
 
 The memory of sorrow grows 
 A lighter burden on the heart. 
 
SONG OF THE STARS. 12^ 
 
 SONG OF THE STARS. 
 
 WuRN the radiant morn of creation broke, 
 
 And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
 
 And the empty realms of darkness and death 
 
 Wt-re moved through their depths by his mighty breath 
 
 And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame 
 
 From the void abyss by myriads came, — 
 
 In the joy of youth as they darted away, 
 
 Through the widening wastes of space to play, 
 
 Their silver voices in chorus rang, 
 
 And this was the sons the britrht ones sansr: 
 
 "Away, away, through the wide, wide sky. 
 The fair blue fields that before us lie, — 
 Fach sun with the worlds that round him roll, 
 Facli planet, poised on her turning pole; 
 WiJi her isles of green, and her clouds of white. 
 Anil iier waters that lie like fluid light. 
 
I2y POEMS, 
 
 "For the source of glory uncovers his face, 
 And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; 
 And we drink as we go the luminous tides 
 In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
 Lo, yonder the living splendours play ; 
 Away, on our joyous path, away ! 
 
 "Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, 
 In the infinite azure, star after star. 
 How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass ! 
 How the verdure runs o'er each rollin": mass ! 
 And the path of the gentle winds is seen. 
 Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean 
 
 "And see where the brighter day-beams pour, 
 How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ; 
 And the morn and eve, with their ]:)omp of hues. 
 Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ; 
 And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
 With her shadowy cone the night goes round ! 
 
 "Away, away! in our blossoming bowers, 
 In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours. 
 In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 
 See, Love is brooding, and Life is born. 
 And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 
 To rejoice, like us, in motion and light. 
 
SONGOFTTTESTARS. ]29 
 
 "Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 
 To weave the dance that measures the years ; 
 Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent, 
 To the farthest wall of the firmament, — 
 The boundless visible smile of Him, 
 To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim." 
 
i:iO POEM s. 
 
 A FOREST HYMN. 
 
 The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned 
 To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
 And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed 
 The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
 The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 
 Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
 And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
 And supplication. For his simple heart 
 Might not resist the sacred influences 
 Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
 And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 
 Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
 Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
 All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
 His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
 And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
 Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
 God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
 Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
 
A FOREST IT Y M N. I'M 
 
 That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, 
 Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
 Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
 Acceptance in His ear. 
 
 Father, thy hand 
 Hath reared these venerable columns, thou 
 l^idst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
 Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
 All these tair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. 
 Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze. 
 And shot towards heaven. The cen+ury-livin''- crow. 
 Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
 Among their branches, till, at last, tliey stood, 
 As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark. 
 Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
 Communion witli his Maker. These dim vaults. 
 These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
 Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
 TliL' boast of our vain race to change the form 
 Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fiU'st 
 The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
 That run along the summit of tliese trees 
 In music ; — thou art in the cooler breath 
 That fi'om the inmost darkness of the place 
 Comes, scarcely f 'It ; lh<' barky trunks, the LiTound, 
 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct willi lliee. 
 
1?2 POEMS 
 
 Here is continual worship ; — nature, here, 
 
 In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 
 
 Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, 
 
 Fiona perch to perch, the solitary bird 
 
 Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 
 
 Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots 
 
 Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
 
 Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 
 
 Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 
 
 Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 
 
 Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak — 
 
 By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 
 
 Almost annihilated — not a prince, 
 
 In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 
 
 Ere wore his crown as loftily as he 
 
 Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 
 
 Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
 
 Is beaury, such as blooms not in the glare 
 
 Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower 
 
 With scented breath, and look so like a smile, 
 
 Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 
 
 An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
 
 A visible token of the upholding Love, 
 
 That are the soul of this wide universe. 
 
 My heart is awed within me when I think 
 Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
 
A F I{ K ST HYMN. V.V.I 
 
 In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
 
 Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
 
 For ever. Written on thy works I read 
 
 The lesson of thy own eternity. 
 
 Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 
 
 How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
 
 Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
 
 In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
 
 Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
 
 Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
 
 One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet. 
 
 After the flight of untold centuries. 
 
 The freshness of her far beginning lies 
 
 And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
 
 Of his arch enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
 
 Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre, 
 
 And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
 
 Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
 
 From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 
 
 There have been holy men who hid themselves 
 Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
 Tlieir lives to thougiit and prayer, till they outlived 
 The generation born with them, nor seemed 
 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
 Around tiiem ; — and there have been holy men 
 Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
 
But let me often to these solitudes 
 Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
 My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
 The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
 And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou 
 Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
 The heavens whh falling thunderbolts, or fill, 
 With all the waters of the firmament, 
 The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
 And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
 Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
 Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
 Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 
 Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
 His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by.'' 
 Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
 Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
 Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
 Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate 
 In these calm shades thy milder majesty, 
 And to the beautiful order of thy works 
 Learn to conform the order of our lives. 
 
"OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS." ]:Vo 
 
 "OH FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS." 
 
 Oh fairest of the rural maids! 
 Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
 Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
 Were all that met thy infant eye. 
 
 Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, < 
 
 Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 
 And all the beauty of the place 
 Is i-n thy heart and on thy face. 
 
 The twilight of the trees and rocks 
 Is in the light shade of thy locks ; 
 Thy step is as the wind, that w^eaves 
 Its playful way among the leaves. 
 
 Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
 And silent waters heaven is seen ; 
 Their lashes are the herbs that look 
 On their young figures in the brook. 
 
 The forest depths, by foot unpressed, 
 Are not more sinless than thy breast ; 
 The holy peace, that fills the air 
 Of those calm solitudes, is there. 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 "I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG." 
 
 I BROKE the spell that held me long, 
 
 The dear, dear witchery of song. 
 
 I saiJ, the poet's idle lore 
 
 Shall waste my prime of years no more, 
 
 For Poetry, though heavenly born, 
 
 Consorts with poverty and scorn. 
 
 I broke the spell — nor deemed its power 
 
 Could fetter me another hour. 
 
 Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget 
 
 Its causes were around me yet ? 
 
 For wheresoe'er I looked, the while, 
 
 Was nature's everlasting smile. 
 
 Still came and lingered on my sight 
 
 Of flowers and streams the bloom and light, 
 
 And glory of the stars and sun ; — 
 
 And these and poetry are one. 
 
 They, ere the world had held me long. 
 
 Recalled me to the love of sonof. 
 
J U N E. l:n 
 
 JUNE. . 
 
 I GAZED upon the glorious sky 
 
 And the green mountains round , 
 And thought that when I came to lie 
 
 Within the silent ground, 
 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, 
 When brooks send up a cheerful tune. 
 
 And groves a joyous sound, 
 The sexton's hand, my grave to make. 
 The rich, green mountain turf should break. 
 
 A cell within the frozen mould, 
 A coffin borne through sleet, 
 
 And icy clods above it rolled. 
 
 While fierce the tempests beat — 
 
 Away! — I will not think of these — 
 
 Blue be the sky and soft the breeze. 
 Earth green beneath the feet, 
 
 And be the damp mould gentl) pressed 
 
 Into my narrow place of rest. 
 
13S P O E M S. 
 
 There through the long, long summer hours, 
 
 The golden light should lie. 
 And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 
 
 Stand in their beauty by. 
 The oriole should build and tell 
 His love-tale close beside my cell ; 
 
 The idle butterfly 
 Should rest him there, and there be heard 
 The housewife bee and humming-bird. 
 
 And what if cheerful shouts at noon 
 Come, from the village sent, 
 
 Or songs of maids, beneath the moon 
 With fairy laughter blent ? 
 
 And what if, in the evening light, 
 
 Betrothed lovers walk in siofht 
 Of my low monument ? 
 
 I would the lovely scene around 
 
 Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 
 
 I know, I know I should not see 
 The season's glorious show, 
 
 Nor would its brightness shine for me, 
 Nor its wild music flow ; 
 
 But if, around my place of sleep, 
 
 The friends I love should come to weep, 
 They might not haste to go. 
 
. JUNE. 139 
 
 Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom, 
 Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 
 
 These to their softened hearts should bear 
 
 The thought of what has been, 
 And speak of one who cannot share 
 
 The gladness of the scene ; • ' 
 Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 
 The circuit of the summer hills, 
 
 Is — that his grave is green; 
 And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
 To hear again his living voice. 
 
140 P O E M S. 
 
 A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND. 
 
 Come take our boy, and we will go 
 
 Before our cabin door ; 
 The winds shall bring us, as they blow, 
 
 The murmurs of the shore ; 
 And we will kiss his young blue eyes, 
 And I will sing him, as he lies, 
 
 Songs that were made of yore : 
 I'll sing, in his delighted ear, 
 The island lays thou lov'st to hear. 
 
 And thou, while stammering I repeat. 
 Thy country's tongue shalt teach ; 
 'Tis not so soft, but far more sweet 
 
 Than my own native speech: 
 For thou no other tongue didst know, 
 When, scarcely twenty moons ago. 
 
 Upon Tahete's beach. 
 Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine. 
 With many a speaking look and sign. 
 
 I knew thy meaning — thou didst praise 
 My eyes, my locks of jet ; 
 
A S0\(; OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND 141 
 
 Ah ! \vell for me they won thy gaze, — 
 But thine were fairer yet ! 
 
 I'm glad to see my infant wear 
 
 Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair, 
 xA.nd when my sight is met 
 
 By his white brow and blooming cheek, 
 
 I feel a joy I cannot speak. 
 
 Come talk of Europe's maids with me, 
 Whose necks and cheeks, they tell, 
 Outshine the beauty of the sea. 
 
 White foam and crimson shell. 
 I'll shape like theirs my simple dress. 
 And bind like them each jetty tress, 
 
 A sight to please thee well : 
 And for my dusky brow will braid 
 A bonnet like an English maid. ■ 
 
 Come, for the low sunlight calls, 
 We lose the pleasant hours ; 
 'Tis lovelier than these cottage walls, — 
 
 That seat among the flowers. 
 And I will learn of thee a prayer, 
 To Him who gave a home so fair, 
 
 A lot so blest as ours — 
 The God who made, for tliee and me, 
 This sweet lone ish; amid the sea. 
 
142 POEMS. 
 
 THE SKIES. 
 
 Ay! gloriously thou standest there, 
 Beautiful, boundless firmament ! 
 
 That, swelling wide o'er earth and air. 
 And round the horizon bent, 
 
 With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall, 
 
 Dost overhang and circle all. 
 
 Far, far below thee, tall old 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 that soft blue curtain lie 
 His stores of hail and sleet. 
 
 Thence the consuming lightnings break, 
 
 There the strongf hurricanes awake. 
 
Yet art thou prodigal of smiles — 
 
 Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern: 
 Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, 
 
 A shout at thy return. 
 The glory that comes down from thee, 
 Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea. 
 
 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 
 Around my ow^n beloved land. 
 
 And they are fair — a charm is theirs, 
 
 That earth, the proud green earth, has not— 
 
 With all the forms, and hues, and airs, 
 That haunt her sweetest spot. 
 
 We gaze upon thy calm jiure sphere, 
 
 And read of Heaven's eternal year. 
 
144 POEMS. 
 
 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 ! 
 
"I CANNOT FORGE T." 145 
 
 "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID 
 DEVOTION." 
 
 I CAXNOT forget with what fervid devotion 
 
 I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame . 
 
 Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean. 
 To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. 
 
 And deep were my musings in life's early blossom, 
 Mid the twilitrht of mountain jrroves wanderin<x lonof ; 
 
 fD o tot)' 
 
 JIow thrilled myyoung veins, and how throbbed my lull bosom. 
 When o'er me descended the spirit of song. 
 
 'Along the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened 
 To the rush of the pebble-paved river between, 
 
 Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened. 
 All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene ; 
 
 Till I fell (he dark power o'er my reveries stealing, 
 From his throne in the depth of tiiat stern solitutle. 
 
 And he hrralhed through my li[)S, in that tem[)est of feeling. 
 S; rains lofty or tender, though artless and rude. 
 
 N 
 
146 P E M S. 
 
 Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded ; 
 
 No longer your pure rural worshipper now ; 
 In the haunts your continual presence pervaded, 
 
 Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow. 
 
 In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain, 
 In deep lonely glens where the waters complain, 
 
 By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the fountain, 
 I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain. 
 
 Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken. 
 Your pupil and victim to life and its tears ! 
 
 But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken 
 The glories ye showed to his earlier years. 
 
TO A M U S Q U I T O. 147 
 
 TO A MUSQUITO. 
 
 Fair insect! that, -with threadlike legs spread out, 
 And bk)od-extractin<^ bill and filmy wint^, 
 
 Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about. 
 In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, 
 
 And tell how little our large veins should bleed. 
 
 Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. 
 
 Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse. 
 Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint ; 
 
 Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse. 
 
 For saying tliou art gaunt, and starved, and faint : 
 
 Even the old beggar, while he asks for food. 
 
 Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could. 
 
 1 call thee stranger, for the town, I ween. 
 Has not the honour of so jjroud a birth, — 
 
 Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green. 
 The ofTsprIng of the gods, though l)orn on earth ; 
 
 For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she. 
 
 The ocean nymj)h that nursed lliy infancy. 
 
148 P E M S. 
 
 Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung, 
 
 And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, 
 
 Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung, 
 Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along ; 
 
 The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way, 
 
 And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay. 
 
 Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence 
 Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, 
 
 And as its grateful odours met thy sense. 
 They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen. 
 
 Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight 
 
 Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. 
 
 At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway — 
 
 Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed 
 
 By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray 
 
 Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist; 
 
 And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin. 
 
 Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. 
 
 Sure these were sights to touch an anchorite ! 
 
 What ! do I hear thy slender voice complain ? 
 Thou wailest, when I talk of beauty's light, 
 
 As if it brought the memory of pain : 
 Thou art a w^ay^vard being — well — come near, 
 And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear. 
 
TO A M U S Q Ul TO. 119 
 
 What sayst thou — slanderer ! — rouge makes thee sick ? 
 
 And China bloom at best is sorry food ? 
 And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, 
 
 Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood ? 
 Go ! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime — 
 But ^hun the sacrilege another time. 
 
 That bloom was made to look at, not to touch ; 
 
 To worship, not approach, that radiant white ; 
 And well might sudden vengeance light on such 
 
 As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. 
 Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired, 
 Murmured thy adoration and retired. 
 
 Thou'rt welcome to the town — but why come here 
 To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee ? 
 
 Alas ! the little blood I have is dear. 
 
 And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. 
 
 Look round — the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, 
 
 Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. 
 
 Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood 
 Enriched by generous wine and costly meat • 
 
 On wt'll-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud, 
 Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet : 
 
 Go to the men for whom, in ocean's hall, 
 
 The oyster breeds, and tlie green turtle s])rawls. 
 
150 POEM S. 
 
 There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows 
 To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now 
 
 Thf ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose 
 
 Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; 
 
 And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, 
 
 No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. 
 
ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY. 151 
 
 LINES ON REVISITING THE COUNTRY. 
 
 I STAND upon my native hills again, 
 
 Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky 
 With garniture of waving grass and grain, 
 
 Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie. 
 While deep the sunless glens are scooped between, 
 Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen. 
 
 A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near, 
 And ever restless feet of one, who, now. 
 
 Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year; 
 There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow, 
 
 As breaks the varied scene upon her sight. 
 
 Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light. 
 
 For I have taught her, with deliglite 1 eye. 
 To gaze upon the mountains, — to behold. 
 
 With deep affection, the pure ample sky. 
 And clouds along its blue abysses rolled, — 
 
 To love the song of waters, and to hear 
 
 Tlie melody of winds witli cliarnicd car. 
 
152 POEMS. 
 
 Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat, 
 Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air; 
 
 And, where the season's milder fervours beat, 
 And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear 
 
 The song of bird, and sound of running stream, 
 
 Am come awhile to wander and to dream. 
 
 Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun ! thou canst not wake, 
 In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen. 
 
 The maize leaf and the maple bough but take, 
 From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green. 
 
 The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray, 
 
 Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away. 
 
 The mountain wand ! most spiritual thing of all 
 The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time. 
 
 He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall, 
 He seems the breath of a celestial clime! 
 
 As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow 
 
 Health and refreshment on the world below. 
 
THE DEATH OF T H E FLO W E R S. 153 
 
 THE DEAfH OF THE FLOWERS. 
 
 The melanclioly days are come, the saddest of the year, 
 
 Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown 
 
 and sear. 
 Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn 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 shrubs the jay, 
 And from the wood-top calls the crow tlirough all the gloomy 
 
 day. 
 
 Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately^ 
 
 sprang 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 ihey lie, but the cold Novembt'r rain 
 Calls not from out the gloomy earth tlie lovely ones again. 
 
 The wind-flower and ihe violet, they perished long ago. 
 And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; 
 
154 P O E M S. 
 
 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 ; 
 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. 
 
ROMERO. 1.-50 
 
 ROMERO. 
 
 When freedom, from the land of Spain, 
 
 By Spain's degenerate sons was driven, 
 Who 2;n.ve their willinir limbs atrain 
 
 To wear the chain so lately riven ; 
 Romero broke the sword he wore — 
 <<Go, faithful brand," the warrior said, 
 "Go, un dishonoured, never more 
 
 The blood of man shall make thee red: 
 
 T grieve for that already shed ; 
 And I am sick at heart to know. 
 That faithful friend and noble foe 
 Have only bled to make more strong 
 The yoke that Spain has worn so long. 
 Wear it who will, in abject fear — ■ 
 
 I wear it not who have been free ; 
 The perjured Ferdinand shall hear 
 
 No oatli of loyalty from me." 
 Then, hunted l)y the hounds of power, 
 
 Romero chose a safe retreat. 
 Where bleak Nevada's siimmils tower 
 
 Above the beauty at their feet. 
 
156 POEMS. 
 
 There once, when on his cabin lay 
 The crimson light of setting day, 
 When even on the mountain's breast 
 The chainless winds were all at rest, 
 And he could hear the river's flow 
 From the calm paradise below ; 
 Warmed with his former fires again, 
 He framed this rude but solemn strain: 
 
 T. 
 
 «• Here will I make my home — for here at least I see, 
 Upon this wild Sierra's side, the steps of Liberty ; 
 Where the locust chirps unscared beneath the unpruned lime. 
 And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the 
 
 mountain thyme ; 
 Where the pure winds come and go, and the wild vine gads 
 
 at will, 
 An outcast from the haunts of men, she dwells with Nature still. 
 
 "I see the valleys, Spain ! where thy mighty rivers run, 
 And the hills that lift thy harvests and vineyards to the sun, 
 And the floclcs that drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green, 
 Where lie thy plains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive- 
 shades between : 
 I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate near, 
 Andthe fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here. 
 
I? O :\I E R O. 157 
 
 in. 
 '<Fair — fair — but fallen Spain ! 'tis with a swelling heart, 
 That I think on all thou miglitst have been, and look at Avhat 
 
 thou art ; 
 But the strife is over now, and all the good and brave, 
 That would have raised thee up, are gone, to exile or the grave. 
 Thy fleeces are for monks, thy grapes for the convent feast, 
 And the wealth of all ihy harvest-fields for the pampered lord 
 and priest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "But I shall see the day — it will come before I die — 
 I shall see it in my silver hairs, and with an age-dimmed eye ; — 
 When the spirit of the land to liberty shall bound, 
 As yonder fountain leaps away from the darknessof the ground: 
 And to my mountain cell, the voices of the free 
 Shall rise, as from the beaten shore the thunders of the sea." 
 
158 P O E M S. 
 
 A MEDlTATlO^i ON RHODE-ISLAND COAL. 
 
 Decolor, obscuris, vilis, non ille repexam 
 Cesariem regum, non Candida virginis ornat 
 Colla, nee insigni splendet per cingula rnorsu. 
 Sed nova si nigri videas miracula saxi, 
 Tunc superat pulchros cultus et quicquid Eois 
 Indus litoribus rubra scrutatur in alga. 
 
 Claudian. 
 
 I SAT beside the glowing grate, fresh heaped 
 
 With Newport coal, and as the flame grew bright 
 
 — The many-coloured flame — and played and leaped, 
 I thought of rainbows and the northern light, 
 
 Moore's Lalla Rookh, the Treasury Report, 
 
 And other brilliant matters of the sort. 
 
 And last I thought of that fair isle which sent 
 
 The mineral fuel ; on a summer day 
 I saw it once, whh heat and travel spent, 
 
 And scratched by dwarf-oaks in the hollow way; 
 Now dragged through sand, now jolted over stone — 
 A rugged road through rugged Tiverton. 
 
And hotter grew the air, and hollower grew 
 
 The deep-worn path, and horror-struck, I thought, 
 
 Where will this dreary passage lead me to ? 
 This long dull road, so narrow, deep, and hot? 
 
 I looked to see it dive in earth outright ; 
 
 I looked — but saw a far more welcome sight. 
 
 Like a soft mist upon the evening shore. 
 
 At once a lovely isle before me lay. 
 Smooth and with tender verdure covered o'er, 
 
 As if just risen from its calm inland bay ; 
 Sloped each way gently to the grassy edge, 
 And the small waves that dallied with the sedge. 
 
 The barley was just reaped — its heavy sheaves 
 Lay on the stubble field — tlie tall maize stood 
 
 Dark in i'.s summer growth, and shook its leaves — 
 And bright the sunlight played on the young wood — 
 
 For fifty years ago, the old men say. 
 
 The Briton hewed their ancient groves away. 
 
 I saw where fountains freshened the green land. 
 And where the pleasant road, from door to door, 
 
 With rows of cherry-trees on either hand, 
 
 Went wandering all that fertile region o'er — 
 
 Rogue's Island once — but wlicn the rogues were drad, 
 
 Rhode Lsland was the name it took instead. 
 
1 60 POEM S. 
 
 Beautiful island ! then it only seemed 
 A lovely stranger — it has grown a friend. 
 
 I gazed on its smooth slopes, but never dreamed 
 How soon that bright magnificent isle would send 
 
 The treasures of its womb across the sea, 
 
 To warm a poet's room and boil his tea. 
 
 Dark anthracite ! that reddenest on my hearth, 
 Thou in those island mines didst slumber long ; 
 
 But now thou art come forth to move the earth, 
 And put to shame the men that mean thee wrong. 
 
 Thou shalt be coals of fire to those that hate thee, 
 
 And warm the shins of all that underrate thee. 
 
 Yea, they did wrong thee foully — they who mocked 
 Thy honest face, and said thou wouldst not burn ; 
 
 Of hewing thee to chimney-pieces talked. 
 
 And grew profane — and swore, in bitter scorn, 
 
 That men might to thy inner caves retire, 
 
 And there, unsinged, abide the day of fire. 
 
 Yet is thy greatness nigh. I pause to state, 
 That I too have seen greatness — even I — 
 
 Shook hands with Adams — stared at La Fayette, 
 When, barehead, in the hot noon of July, 
 
 He would not let the umbrella be held o'er him. 
 
 For which three cheers burst from the mob before him. 
 
A MEDITATION ON COAL. 161 
 
 And I have seen — not many months ago — 
 
 An eastern Governor in chapeau bras 
 And military coat, a glorious show! 
 
 Ride forth to visit the reviews, and ali ! 
 How oft he smiled and bowed to Jonatiian ! 
 How many hands were shook and votes were won ! 
 
 'Twas a great Governor — thou too shalt be 
 
 Great in thy turn — and wide shall spread thy fame, 
 
 And swiftly; farthest Maine shall hear of thee, 
 And cold New Brunswick gladden at thy name. 
 
 And, faintly through its sleets, the weeping isle 
 
 That sends the Boston folks their cod shall smile. 
 
 For ihou shalt forge vast railways, and shalt heat 
 
 The hissing rivers into steam, and drive 
 Huge masses from ihy mines, on iron feet, 
 
 Walking their steady way, as if alive. 
 Northward, till everlasting ice besets thee, 
 And south as far as the grim Spaniard lets thee. 
 
 Thou shalt make mighty engines swim the sea, 
 Like its own monsters — boats that for a guinea 
 
 AVill take a man to Havre — and shalt be 
 
 The moving soid of many a spinning-jenny. 
 
 And ply thy shuttles, till a bard can wear 
 
 As good a suit of brcnidcloth as the mnyor. 
 
 o u 
 
162 P E M S. 
 
 Then we will laugh at winter when we hear 
 The grim old churl about our dwellings rave : 
 
 Thou, from that " ruler of the inverted year," 
 Shalt pluck the knotty sceptre Cowper gave, 
 
 And pull him from his sledge, and drag him in, 
 
 And melt the icicles from off his chin. 
 
Til i: \ i; W MOON. 103 
 
 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 When, as the garish clay is done, 
 Heaven burns with the descended sun, 
 
 'Tis passing sweet to mark, 
 Amid that flush of crimson light, 
 The new moon's modest bow grow bright, 
 
 As earth and sky grow dark. 
 
 Few are the hearts too cold to feel 
 A thrill of gladness o'er them steal, 
 
 When first the wandering eye 
 Sees faintly, in the evening blaze. 
 That glimmering curve of tender rays 
 
 Just planted in the sky. 
 
 The sight of that young crescent bring** 
 Thoughts of all fair and youthful things 
 
 The hopes of early years ; 
 And cliildhood's purity and grace, 
 And joys that like a niinhow chase 
 
 The [)assing shower of tears. 
 
164 P E M S. 
 
 The captive yields him to the dream 
 Of freedom, when that virgin beam 
 
 Comes out upon the air : 
 And painfully the sick man tries 
 To fix his dim and burning eyes 
 
 On the soft promise there. 
 
 Most welcome to the lover's sight, 
 Glitters that pure^ emerging light ; 
 
 For prattling poets say, 
 That sweetest is the lovers' walk, 
 And tenderest is their murmured talk. 
 
 Beneath its gentle ray. 
 
 And there do graver men behold 
 A type of errors, loved of old. 
 
 Forsaken and forgiven ; 
 And thoughts and wishes not of earth, 
 Just opening in their early birth, 
 
 Like that new light in heaven- 
 
""^SiTW^h 
 
 '.! in li^ V. ^ m If) ("•■ n „ 
 
O C T O li K R. 105 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 Ay, lliou art welcome, lieaven's delicious breath, 
 When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf. 
 And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief. 
 
 And the year smiles as it draws near its death. 
 
 Wind of the sunny south ! oh still delay 
 In the gay woods and in the golden air, 
 Like to a good old age released from care, 
 
 Journeying, in long serenity, away. 
 
 In such a bright, late quiet, would that 1 
 
 Miidit wear out life like thee, mid bowers and brooks, 
 Alul, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks, 
 
 And music of kind voices ever nigh; 
 
 And when my last sand twinkled in the glass, 
 
 Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass. 
 
166 P E M S. 
 
 THE DAMSEL OF PERU. 
 
 Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew, 
 There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru. 
 Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air. 
 Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her glossy hair ; 
 And sweetly rang her silver voice, within that shady nook;, 
 As from the shrubby glen is heard the sound of hidden brook. 
 
 'Tis a song of love and valour, in the noble Spanish tongue, 
 That once upon the sunny plains of old Castile was sung ; 
 When, from their mountain holds, on the Moorish rout below. 
 Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and swept away the foe. 
 Awhile that melody is still, and then breaks forth anew 
 A wilder rhyme, a livelier note, of freedom and Peru. 
 
 For she has bound the sword to a youthful lover's side. 
 And sent him to the war the day she should have been his bride, 
 And bade him bear a faithful heart to battle for the right. 
 And held the fountains of her eyes till he was out of sight. 
 Since the parting kiss was given, six weary months are fled, 
 And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must yet be shed. 
 
THE DAMSEL OF PERU. lOT 
 
 A white hand parts the hranches, a lovely face looks forth, 
 And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and sadly toward the north. 
 Thoulook'st in vain, sweet maiden, the sharpest sightwould fail 
 To spy a sign of human life abroad in all the vale ; 
 For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely brat. 
 And the silent hills and forest-toj)s seem reeling in the heat. 
 
 That white hand is witlidrawn, that fair sad face is gone, 
 But the music of that silver voice is ilowiiig swee'.ly on. 
 Not as of late, in cheerful ton.'s, but mournfully and low, — 
 A ballad of a tender maid heart-broktn long ago. 
 Of hira who died in battle, the youthful and \\w brave, 
 And her who died of sorrow, upon his early grave. 
 
 But see, along that mountain's slope, a fu-ry horseman ride ; 
 Mark his torn plume, his tarnished belt, the sabre at his side. 
 His spurs are buried rowel-deep, he rides with loosened rein. 
 There's blood upon his charger's flank and foam upon the uuiiu'; 
 He speeds him toward the olive-grove, along that shaded hill : 
 God shield the helpless maiden there, if he should mean her ill ! 
 
 And suddenly that song has ceased, and suchleuly I hear 
 A shriek sent up amid the sliade, a shriek — but not of t"ear. 
 For tender accents follow, and tendeier })auscs speak 
 The ovcrllow of gladness, when wortls are all too weak: 
 " I lay mv good sword at thy feet, for now Peru is fri-e, 
 And I am come to dwell beside the olive-"rove wilh thee." 
 
163 1" E M S 
 
 THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 
 
 Chained in the market-place he stood, 
 
 A man of giant frame, 
 Amid the gathering muhitude 
 
 That shrunk to hear his name — 
 All stern of look and strong of limb, 
 
 His dark eye on the ground : — 
 And silently they gazed on him, 
 
 As on a lion bound. 
 
 Vainly, but well, that chief had fought, 
 
 He was a captive now. 
 Yet pride, that fortune humbles not, 
 
 Was written on his brow. 
 The scars his dark broad bosom wore. 
 
 Showed warrior true and brave ; 
 A prince among his tribe before, 
 
 He could not be a slave. 
 
 Then to his conqueror he spake — 
 " My brother is a king ; 
 
THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 1^9 
 
 Undo this necklace from my neck, 
 
 And take this bracelet ring, 
 And send me where my brother reigns, 
 
 And I will fill thy hands 
 With store of ivory from the plains, 
 
 And gold-dust from the sands." 
 
 "Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 
 
 Will I unbind thy chain ; 
 That bloody hand shall never hold 
 
 The battle-spear again. 
 A price thy nation never gave 
 
 Shall yet be paid for thee ; 
 For thou shalt be the Christian's slave. 
 
 In lands beyond the sea." 
 
 Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 
 
 To shred his locks away ; 
 And one by one, each heavy braid 
 
 Before the victor lay. 
 Thick were the platted locks, and long, 
 
 And closely liidden there 
 Shone many a wedge of gold among 
 
 The dark and crisped hair. 
 
 <'Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 
 Long kept for sorest need : 
 
170 POEM S. 
 
 Take it — thou askest sums untold, 
 
 And say that I am freed. 
 Take it — my wife, the long, long day, 
 
 Weeps by the cocoa-tree, 
 And my young children leave their play, 
 
 And ask in vain for me." 
 
 "I take thy gold — but I have made 
 
 Thy fetters fast and strong, 
 And ween that by the cocoa shade 
 
 Thy wife will wait thee long." 
 Strong was the agony that shook 
 
 The captive's frame to hear, 
 And the proud meaning of his look 
 
 Was changed to mortal fear. 
 
 His heart was broken — crazed his brain : 
 
 At once his eye grew wild ; 
 He struggled fiercely with his chain, 
 
 Whispered, and wept, and smiled ; 
 Yet wore not long those fatal bands, 
 
 And once, at shut of day. 
 They drew him forth upon the sands. 
 
 The foul hyena's prey. 
 
SPRING IN TOWN. 171 
 
 SPRING IN TOWN. 
 
 The country ever has a lagging Spring, 
 Waiting for May to call its violets forth, 
 
 And June its roses — showers and sunshine bring. 
 Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth ; 
 
 To put their foliage out, the woods are slack. 
 
 And one by one the singing-birds come back. 
 
 Within the city's bounds the time of flowers 
 Comes earlier. Let a mild and sunny day. 
 
 Such as full often, for a few bright hours. 
 
 Breathes through the sky of March the airs of May, 
 
 Shine on our roofs and chase the wintry gloom — 
 
 And lo ! our borders glow with sudden bloom. 
 
 For the wide sidewalks of Broadway are then 
 Gorgeous as are a rivulet's banks in June, 
 
 That overhung with blossoms, through its glen, 
 Slides soft away beneath the sunny noon, 
 
 And they. who search the untrodden Avood for flowers 
 
 Meet in its depths no lovelier ones than ours. 
 
172 P E M S. 
 
 For here are eyes that shame the violet, 
 
 Or the dark drop that on the pansy lies, 
 And foreheads, white, as when in clusters set, 
 
 The anemones by forest fountains rise ; 
 And the spring-beauty boasts no tenderer streak 
 Than the soft red on many a youthful cheek. 
 
 And thick about those lovely temples lie 
 
 Locks that the lucky Vignardonne has curled, 
 
 Thrice happy man ! whose trade it is to buy. 
 
 And bake, and braid those love-knots of the world ; 
 
 Who curls of every glossy colour keepest, 
 
 And sellest, it is said, the blackest cheapest. 
 
 And well thou mayst — for Italy's brown maids 
 
 Send the dark locks with which their brows are dressed. 
 
 And Gascon lasses, from their jetty braids, 
 Crop half, to buy a riband for the rest ; 
 
 But the fresh Norman girls their tresses spare, 
 
 And the Dutch damsel keeps her flaxen hair. 
 
 Then, henceforth, let no maid nor matron grieve, 
 
 To see her locks of an unlovely hue, 
 Frouzy or thin, for liberal art shall give 
 
 Such piles of curls as nature never knew. 
 Eve, with her veil of tresses, at the sight 
 Had blushed, outdone, and owned herself a fright 
 
SPRING IN TOWN. 173 
 
 Soft voices and light laughter wake the street, 
 Like notes of woodbirds, and where'er the eye 
 
 Threads the long way, i)lumes wave, and twinkling feet 
 Fall light, as hastes that crowd of beauty by. 
 
 The ostrich, hurrying o'er the desert space. 
 
 Scarce bore those tossing plumes with fleeter pace. 
 
 No swimming Juno gait, of languor born. 
 Is theirs, but a light step of freest grace. 
 
 Light as Camilla's o'er the unbent corn, — 
 A step that speaks the spirit of the place. 
 
 Since Quiet, meek old dame, was driven away 
 
 To Sing Sing and the shores of Tappan bay. 
 
 Ye that dash by in chariots! who will care 
 For steeds or footmen now ? ye cannot show 
 
 Fair face, and da/zling dress, and graceful air, 
 And last edition of the shape ! Ah no, 
 
 These sights are for the earth and open sky, 
 
 And your loud wheels unheeded rattle by. 
 
 va 
 
174 POEMS. 
 
 THE GLADNESS OF NATURE. 
 
 Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
 
 When our mother Nature laughs around ; 
 
 When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 
 
 And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 
 
 There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 
 And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ; 
 
 The ground-squirrel gayly cliirps by his den, 
 And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 
 
 The clouds are at play in the azure space, 
 
 And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 
 
 4.nd here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
 And there they roll on the easy gale. 
 
 There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
 There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 
 
 There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 
 And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 
 
 And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 
 On the de\\^ earth that smiles in his ray. 
 
 On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 
 Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 
 
THE D I S I N T E R R E D ^VA R lU R. ITn 
 
 THE DISINTEIUIED WARRIOR. 
 
 Gather liim to his grave again, 
 
 And solemnly and softly lay, 
 Beneath the verdure of the plain, 
 
 The warrior's scattered bones away. 
 Pay the deep reverence, taught of old. 
 
 The homage of man's heart to death ; 
 Nor dare to trifle with the mould 
 
 Once hallowed by the Almighty's breath. 
 
 The soul hath quickened every part — 
 
 That remnant of a martial l)row, 
 Those ribs that held the mighty heart, 
 
 That strong arm — strong no longer noAV. 
 Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, 
 
 Of God's own image ; let them rest, 
 Till not a trace shall speak of where 
 
 The awful likeness was impressed. 
 
 For he was fresher from the hand 
 
 That formed of earth the human face, 
 
176 P E M S. 
 
 And to the elements did stand 
 In nearer kindred, than our race. 
 
 In many a flood to madness tossed, 
 In many a storm has been his path ; 
 
 He hid him not from heat or frost, 
 But met them, and defied their wrath. 
 
 Then they were kind — the forests here, 
 
 Rivers, and stiller waters, paid 
 A tribute to the net and spear 
 
 Of the red ruler of the shade. 
 Fruits on the woodland branches lay, 
 
 Roots in the shaded soil below, 
 The stars looked forth to teach his way. 
 
 The still earth warned him of the foe. 
 
 A noble race ! but they are gone, 
 
 With their old forests wide and deep. 
 And we have built our homes upon 
 
 Fields where their generations sleep. 
 Their fountains slake our thirst at noon, 
 
 Upon their fields our harvest w^aves, 
 Our lovers woo beneath their moon — 
 
 Then let us spare, at least, their graves ! 
 
M I D S U M M E R. 177 
 
 MIDSUMMER. 
 
 A powF.R is on the earth and in the air, 
 From which the vital spirit shrinks afraid, 
 And shehers him, in nooks of deepest shade, 
 
 From the hot steam and from the fiery glare. 
 
 Look forth upon the earth — her thousand plants 
 Are smitten ; even the dark sun-loving maize 
 Faints in the field beneath the torrid blaze ; 
 
 The herd beside the shaded fountain pants ; 
 
 For life is driven from all the landscape brown ; 
 The bird has sought his tree, the snake his den, 
 The trout floats dead in the hot stream, and me) 
 
 Drop by the sun-stroke in the populous town : 
 As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent 
 Its deadly breath into the firmament. 
 
178 P E M S. 
 
 THE GREEK PARTISAN. 
 
 Our free flag is dancing 
 
 In the free mountain air. 
 And burnished arms are glancmg, 
 
 And warriors gathering there ; 
 And fearless is the little train 
 
 Whose gallant bosoms shield it ; 
 The blood that warms their hearts shall stain 
 
 That banner, ere they yield it. 
 — Each dark eye is fixed on earth, 
 
 And brief each solemn greeting ; 
 There is no look nor sound of mirdi, 
 
 Where those stern men are meeting. 
 
 They go to the slaughter. 
 
 To strike the sudden blow. 
 And pour on earth, like water, 
 
 The best blood of the foe ; 
 To rush on them from rock and height, 
 
 And clear the narrow valley, 
 
il!; IP A Iffi If (1 » Ai\ W 
 
THE G 1? E K K PARTISAN. 179 
 
 Or fire their camp at dead of night, 
 
 And fly before they rally. 
 — Chains are round our country pressed. 
 
 And cowards have betrayed her, 
 And we must make her bleeding breast 
 
 The grave of the invader. 
 
 Not till from her fetters 
 
 We raise up Greece again, 
 And write, in bloody letters, 
 
 That tyranny is slain, — 
 Oh, not till then the smile shall steal 
 
 Across those darkened faces, 
 Nor one of all those warriors feel 
 
 His children's dear embraces. 
 — Reap we not the ripened wheat, 
 
 Till yonder hosts are flying. 
 And all their bravest, at our feet, 
 
 Like autumn sheaves are lying 
 
]80 P O E M S. 
 
 THE TWO GRAVES. 
 
 'Tis a bleak wild hill, — but green and bright 
 In the summer warmth and the mid-day light ; 
 There's the hum of the bee and the chirp of the wren, 
 And the dash of the brook from the alder glen ; 
 There's the sound of a bell from the scattered flock, 
 And the shade of the beech lies cool on the rock, 
 And fresh from the west is the free wind's breath, — 
 There is nothing here that speaks of death. 
 
 Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie, 
 And dwellings cluster, 'tis there men die. 
 They are born, they die, and are buried near. 
 Where the populous grave-yard lightens the bier; 
 For strict and close are the ties that bind 
 In death the children of human-kind ; 
 Yea, stricter and closer than those of life, — 
 'Tis a neighbourhood that knows no strife. 
 They are noiselessly gathered — friend and foe-^- 
 To the still and dark assemblies below : 
 
THE TWO GRAVES. 
 
 ISl 
 
 Without a frown or a smile tliey meet, 
 Each pale and calm in his winding-sheet ; 
 In that sullen home of peace and gloom, 
 Crowded, like guests in a banquet-room. 
 
 Yet there are graves in (his lonely spot, 
 Two humble graves, — but I meet them not. 
 I have seen them, — eighteen years are past, 
 Since I found their place in the- brambles last, — 
 The place where, fifty winters ago. 
 An aged man in his locks of snow, 
 And an aged matron, withered with years, 
 Were solemnly laid ! — but not with tears. 
 For none, who sat by the light of their hearth. 
 Beheld their coffins covered with earth ; 
 Their kindred were far, and their children dead, 
 Wben the funeral prayer was coldly said. 
 
 Two low green hillocks, two small gray stones, 
 Ptose over the place that held their bones ; 
 But the gfassy hillocks are levelled again, 
 And the keenest eye might search in vain, 
 'Mong briers, and ferns, and paths of sheep. 
 For the spot where the aged couple sleep. 
 
 Yet well might they lay, beneath the soil 
 
 or this lonely spot, that iii;in of toil, 
 
182 POEM S. 
 
 And trench the strong hard mould with the spade, 
 Where never before a grave was made ; 
 For he hewed the dark old woods away, 
 And gave the virgin fields to the day ; 
 And the gourd and the bean, beside his door, 
 Bloomed where their flowers ne'er opened before ; 
 And the maize stood up, and the bearded rye 
 Bent low in the breath of an unknown sky. 
 
 'Tis said that when life is ended here. 
 The spirit is borne to a distant sphere ; 
 That it visits its earthly home no more. 
 Nor looks on the haunts it loved before. 
 But why should the bodiless soul be sent 
 Far off, to a long, long banishment ? 
 Talk not of the light and the living green! 
 It will pine for the dear familiar scene ; 
 It will yearn, in that strange bright world, to behold 
 The rock and the stream it knew of old. 
 
 'Tis a cruel creed, believe it not ! 
 Death to the good is a milder lot. 
 They are here, — they are here, — that harmless pair, 
 In the yellow sunshine and flowing air, 
 In the light cloud-shadows that slowly pass, 
 In the sounds that rise from the murmuring grass. 
 
THE TWO GRAVES. 183 
 
 They sit where their humble cottage stood, 
 
 They walk by the waving edge of the wood, 
 
 And list to the long-accustomed flow 
 
 Of the brook that wets the rocks below. 
 
 Patient, and peaceful, and passionless, 
 
 As seasons on seasons swiftly press. 
 
 They watch, and wait, and linger around, 
 
 Till tlie day when their bodies shall leave the ground. 
 
184 POEMS. 
 
 THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. 
 
 I WOULD not always reason. The straight path 
 Wearies us with its never-varying lines, 
 And we grow melancholy. I M'ould make 
 Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit 
 Patiently by the way-side, while I traced 
 The mazes of the pleasant wilderness 
 Around me. She should be my counsellor, 
 But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs 
 Impulses from a deeper source than hers, 
 And there are motions, in the mind of man, 
 That she must look upon with awe. I bow 
 Reverently to her dictates, but not less 
 Hold to the fair illusions of old time — 
 Illusions that shed brightness over life, 
 And glory over nature. Look, even now, 
 Where two bright planets in the twilight meet, 
 Upon the saffron heaven, — the imperial star 
 Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn 
 Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, 
 Awhile, that they are met for ends of good, 
 
COxNJUNCTlON OF JUPITEK AND VEXUS. 1S5 
 
 Amid the evening glory, to confer 
 
 Of men and their affairs, and to shed down 
 
 Kind influence. Lo ! they brighten as we gaze, 
 
 And shake out softer fires! The great earth feels 
 
 The gladness and the quiet of the time. 
 
 Meekly the mighty river, that infolds 
 
 This mighty city, smooths his front, and far 
 
 Glitters and burns even to the rocky base 
 
 Of the dark heights that bound him to the west ; 
 
 And a deep murmur, from the many streets, 
 
 Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence 
 
 Dark and sad thoughts awhile — there's time for ihem 
 
 Hereafter — on the morrow we will meet, 
 
 With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, 
 
 And make each oth^n- wretched ; this calm hour, 
 
 This balmy, blessed evening, we will give 
 
 To cliet'rful hopes and dreams of happy days, 
 
 Born of the meeting of those glorious stars. 
 
 Enough of drotight has parched the year, and .scared 
 The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, 
 Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. 
 The dog-star shall shine harmless : genial days 
 Shall softly glide away into the keen 
 And wholesome cold of winter ; he that fears 
 The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams. 
 And breathe, whh confidence, the quiet air. 
 
 «2 
 
186 P O E M S. 
 
 Emblems of power and beauty! well may they 
 Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw 
 Towards the great Pacific, marking out 
 The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, 
 Ere long, the better Genius of our race, 
 Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, 
 Shall sit him down beneath the farthest w^est, 
 By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back 
 On realms made happy. 
 
 Light the nuptial torch, 
 And say the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits 
 The youth and maiden. Happy days to them 
 That wed this evening! — a long life of love, 
 And blooming sons and daughters ! Happy they 
 Born at this hour, — for they shall see an age 
 Whiter and holier than the past, and go 
 Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts, 
 And shudder at the butcheries of war, 
 As now at other murders. 
 
 Hapless Greece! 
 Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained 
 Thy rivers ; deep enough thy chains have w^orn 
 Their links into thy flesh ; the sacrifice 
 Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, 
 And reverend priests, has expiated all 
 
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. Ibl 
 
 Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights 
 There is an oinen of good days for thee. 
 Thou shalt arise from midst the dust and sit 
 Again among the nations. Thine own arm 
 Shall yet redeem thee. Not in wars like thine 
 The world takes part. Be it a strife of kings, — 
 Despot wdth despot battling for a throne, — 
 And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms, 
 Nations shall put on harness, and shall fall 
 Upon each other, and in all their bounds 
 The wailing of the childless shall not cease. 
 Thine is a war for liberty, and thou 
 Must fight it single-handed. The old world 
 Looks coldly on the murderers of thy race, 
 And leaves thee to the struggle; and the new, — 
 I fear me thou couldst tell a shameful tale 
 Of fraud and lust of gain ; — thy treasury drained, 
 And Missolonghi fallen. Yet thy wrongs 
 Shall put new strength into thy heart and hand. 
 And God and thy good sword shall yet work out, 
 For thee, a terrible deliverance. 
 
188 POEMS. 
 
 A SUMMER RAMBLE. 
 
 The quiet August noon has come, 
 A slumberous silence fills the sky, 
 
 The fields are still, the woods are dumb, 
 In glassy sleep the waters lie. 
 
 And mark yon soft white clouds that rest 
 Above our vale, a moveless throng; 
 
 The cattle on the mountain's breast 
 Enjoy the grateful shadow long. 
 
 Oh, how unlike those merry hours 
 In early June when Earth laughs out, 
 
 When the fresh winds make love to flowers, 
 And woodlands sing and w^aters shout. 
 
 When in the grass sw^eet voices talk, 
 And strains of tiny music sw^ell 
 
 From every moss-cup of the rock, 
 From every nameless blossom's bell. 
 
A SUMMER RAMBLE. 1S9 
 
 But now a joy too deep for sound, 
 
 A peace no other season knows, 
 Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground, 
 
 The blessing of supreme repose. 
 
 Away! I will not be, to-day. 
 
 The only slave of toil and care. 
 Away from desk and dust! away! 
 
 ril be as idle as the air. 
 
 Beneath the open sky abroad. 
 
 Among die plants and breathing things, 
 
 The sinless, peaceful works of God, 
 ril share die calm the season brings. 
 
 Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see 
 
 The gentle meanings of thy heart, 
 One day amid the woods with me. 
 
 From men and all their cares apart. 
 
 And where, upon the meadow's breast, 
 
 The shadow of the thicket lies, 
 The blue wild (lowers thou gatherest 
 
 Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes. 
 
 Come, and when mid the calm profound 
 I turn, those gentle eyes to seek. 
 
 They, like the lovely landscape round. 
 Of innocence and peace shall speak. 
 
190 POEM S. 
 
 Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade, 
 And on the silent valleys gaze, 
 
 Winding and widening, till they fade 
 In yon soft ring of summer haze. 
 
 The village trees their summits rear 
 Still as its spire, and yonder flock 
 
 At rest in those calm fields appear 
 As chiselled from the lifeless rock. 
 
 One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks — 
 There the hushed winds their sabbath keep 
 
 While a near hum from bees and brooks 
 Comes faintly like the breath of sleep. 
 
 Well may the gazer deem that when. 
 Worn with the struggle and the strife. 
 
 And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, 
 The good forsakes the scene of life ; 
 
 Like this deep quiet that, awhile, 
 Lingers the lovely landscape o'er. 
 
 Shall be the peace whose holy smile 
 Welcomes him to a happier shore. 
 
A SCENE ON THE HUDSON. 191 
 
 A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON. 
 
 Cool shades and dews are round my way, 
 
 And silence of the early day ; 
 
 Mid the dark rocks that watch his hed, 
 
 Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, 
 
 Unrippled, save by drops that fall 
 
 From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall ; 
 
 And o'er the clear still water swells 
 
 The music of the Sabbath bells. 
 
 All, save th'«: little nook of land 
 
 Circled with trees, on which I stand ; 
 
 All, save that line of hills which lie 
 
 Suspended in the mimic sky — 
 
 Seems a blue void, above, below. 
 
 Through which the white clouds come and so , 
 
 And from the green world's farthest steep 
 
 I gaze into the airy deep. 
 
 Loveliest of lovely things are they, 
 On earth, that soonest pass away. 
 
The rose that lives its little hour 
 Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. 
 Even love, long tried and cherished long, 
 Becomes more tender and more strong. 
 At thought of that insatiate grave 
 From which its yearnings cannot save. 
 
 River ! in this still hour thou hast 
 Too much of heaven on earth to last *, 
 Nor long may thy still waters lie, 
 An image of the glorious sky. 
 Thy fate and mine are not repose, 
 And ere another evening close, 
 Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, 
 \n(\ I to seek the crowd of mejj. 
 
THE IIUKRICANE. 193 
 
 THE HURRICANE. 
 
 Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, 
 I know thy breath in the burning sky ! 
 And I wait, with a thrill in every vein. 
 For the coming of the hurricane! 
 
 And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, 
 Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ; 
 Silent and slow, and terribly strong. 
 The mighty shadow is borne along, 
 Like the dark eternity to come ; 
 While the world below, dismayed and dumb. 
 Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere 
 Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. 
 
 They darken fast ; and the golden blaze 
 
 Of the sun is quenched in the lurid liaze. 
 
 And he sends through the shade a funeral ray — 
 
 A glare that is neither night nor day, 
 
 A beam that touches, with hues of death, 
 
 The clouds above and the earth beneath. 
 a 
 
194 POEMS. 
 
 To its covert glides the silent bird, 
 While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, 
 Uplifted among the mountains round, 
 And the forests hear and answer the sound. 
 
 He is come ! he is come! do ye not behold 
 His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 
 Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! — ■ 
 How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale ; 
 How his huge and writhing arms are bent, 
 To clasp the zone of the firmament, 
 And fold at length, in their dark embrace. 
 From mountain to mountain the visible space. 
 
 Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
 The dust of the plains to the middle air : 
 And hark to the crashing, long and loud. 
 Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 
 Vou may trace its path by the flashes that start 
 From the rapid wheels where'er they dart, 
 As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 
 And flood the skies with a lurid glow. 
 
 Wliat roar is that ? — 'tis the rain that breaks 
 In torrents aw^ay from the airy lakes, 
 Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, 
 And sheddinof a nameless horror round. 
 
irw iL 
 
T H K H U R R I A N K. 19o 
 
 Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies, 
 
 With the very clouds! — ye are lost to my eyes. 
 
 I seek ye vainly, and see in your place 
 
 The shado\\7 tempest that sweeps through space, 
 
 A whirling ocean that fills the wall 
 
 Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. 
 
 And I, cut off from the world, remain 
 
 Alone with the terrible hurricane. 
 
198 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 Chains may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, 
 Tell, of the iron heart! they could not tame ! 
 For thou wert of the mountains ; they proclaim 
 
 The everlasting creed of liberty. 
 
 That creed is written on the untrampled snow. 
 Thundered by torrents which no power can hold, 
 Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, 
 
 And breathed by winds that through the free heave^ blow. 
 
 Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around, 
 Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught. 
 And to thy brief captivity was brought 
 
 A vision of thy Switzerland unbound. 
 
 The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee 
 For the great work to set thy country free. 
 
T III-: UU N T E R'S S E R E N A U I]. 1 ii? 
 
 THE HUNTER'S SERENADE. 
 
 Thy bower is finished, fairest! 
 
 Fit bower for hunter's bride — 
 Where old woods overshadow 
 
 The gTeen savanna's side. 
 I've wandered long, and wandered far, 
 
 And never have I met. 
 In all tliis lovely western land. 
 
 A spot so lovely yet. 
 But I shall think it fairer. 
 
 When thou art come to bless, 
 With thy sweet smile and silver voice, 
 
 Its silent loveliness. 
 
 For thee the wild grape glistens, 
 
 On sunny knoll and tree, 
 The slim papaya ripens 
 
 Its yellow fruit for thee. 
 For tiiee the duck, on glassy stream, 
 
 The prairiL'-luwl shall die. 
 
 L. 
 
198 P O E M S. 
 
 My rifle for thy feast shall bring 
 The wild swan from the sky. 
 
 The forest's leaping panther, 
 Fierce, beautiful, and fleet, 
 
 Shall yield his spotted hide to be 
 A carpet for thy feet. 
 
 I know, for thou hast told me, 
 
 Thy maiden love of flowers ; 
 Ah, those that deck thy gardens 
 
 Are pale compared with ours. 
 When our wide woods and mighty lawns 
 
 Bloom to the April skies, 
 The earth has no more gorgeous sight 
 
 To show to human eyes. 
 In meadows red with blossoms, 
 
 All summer long, the bee 
 Murmurs, and loads his yellow thighs, 
 
 For thee, my love, and me. 
 
 Or wouldst thou gaze at tokens 
 
 Of aGfes lontT agfo — 
 Our old oaks stream with mosses, 
 
 And sprout with mistletoe ; 
 And mighty vines, like serpents, climb 
 
 The giant sycamore ; 
 
Till-: TI U N T E R'S SERE \ A D E. 199 
 
 And trunks, o'erthrown for centuries. 
 
 Cumber the forest floor : 
 And in the great savanna, 
 
 The solitary mound, 
 Built by the elder world, o'erlooks 
 
 The loneliness around. 
 
 Come, thou hast not forgotten 
 
 Thy pledge and promise quite, 
 With many blushes murmured, 
 
 Beneath the evening light. 
 Come, the young violets crowd my door, 
 
 Thy earliest look to win, 
 And at my silent window-sill 
 
 The jessamine peeps in. 
 All day the red-bird warbles, 
 
 Upon the mulberry near. 
 And the night-sparrow trills her song, 
 
 All night, with none to hear. 
 
200 POEMS. 
 
 THE GREEK BOY. 
 
 Gone are the glorious Greeks of old, 
 
 Glorious in mien and mind ; 
 Their bones are mingled with the mould, 
 
 Their dust is on the wind ; 
 The forms they hewed from living stone 
 Survive the w^aste of years, alone. 
 And, scattered with their ashes, show 
 What greatness perished long ago. 
 
 Yet fresh the myrtles there — the springs 
 
 Gush brightly as of yore ; 
 Flowers blossom from the dust of kings, 
 
 As many an age before. 
 There nature moulds as nobly now, 
 As e'er of old, the human brow ; 
 And copies still the martial form 
 That braved Platsea's battle storm. 
 
 Boy ! thy first looks were taught to seek 
 Their heaven in Hellas' skies ; 
 
'rS! 1^: 
 
THE GREEK BOY. oqi 
 
 Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek, 
 
 Her sunshine lit thine eyes ; 
 Thine ears have drunk tlie woodhind strains 
 Heard by ohl poets, and thy veins 
 Swell with the blood of demigods, 
 That slumber in thy country's sods. 
 
 Now is thy nation free — though late — 
 
 Thy elder brethren broke — 
 Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight. 
 
 The intolerable yoke. 
 And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see 
 Her youth renew^ed in such as thee : 
 A shoot of that old vine that made 
 The nations silent in its shade 
 
202 POEMS. 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 Thou unrelenting Past ! 
 Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 
 
 And fetters, sure and fast, 
 Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 
 
 Far in thy realm withdrawn 
 Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom. 
 
 And glorious ages gone 
 Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 
 
 Childhood, with all its mirth. 
 Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground, 
 
 And last, Man's Life on earth, 
 Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 
 
 Thou hast my better years, 
 Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind, 
 
 Yielded to thee with tears — 
 The venerable form — the exalted mind. 
 
T II E PAST. 20:3 
 
 JNIy sj)irit yearns to bring 
 The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, 
 
 And struggles hard to wring 
 Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 
 
 In vain — thy gates deny 
 All passage save to those who hence depart ; 
 
 Nor to the streaming eye 
 Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart. 
 
 In thy abysses hide 
 Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee 
 
 Earth's wonder and her pride . • 
 
 Are gathered, as the waters to the sea; 
 
 Labours of good to man, 
 Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 
 
 Love, that midst grief began, 
 And grew with years, and Adtered not in death. 
 
 Full many a mighty name 
 Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ; 
 
 With thee are silent fame, 
 Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 
 
 Thine for a space are they— 
 Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ; 
 
 Thy gates sliall yet give way, 
 Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! 
 
204 POEMS. 
 
 All that of good and fair 
 Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 
 
 Shall then come forth to wear 
 The glory and the beauty of its prime. 
 
 They have not perished — no ! 
 Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet, 
 
 Smiles, radiant long ago. 
 And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 
 
 All shall come back, each tie 
 Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 
 
 Alone shall Evil die. 
 And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 
 
 And then shall I behold 
 Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 
 
 And her, who, still and cold. 
 Fills the next grave— the beautiful and young. 
 
"UPON THE MOUNTAIN'S DISTANT HEAD." 
 
 Upon the mountain's distant head, 
 Whh trackless snows for ever white, 
 
 Where all is still, and cold, and dead, 
 Late shines the day's departing light. 
 
 But far below those icy rocks. 
 
 The vales, in summer bloom arrayed. 
 
 Woods full of birds, and fields of Hocks, 
 Are dim wilh mist and dark with shade. 
 
 'Tis thus, from warm and kindly hearts. 
 And eyes where generous meanings burn, 
 
 Earliest the light of life departs, 
 But lingers with the cold and stern. 
 
"ZOO POEMS. 
 
 THE EVENING WIND. 
 
 Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou 
 That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, 
 
 Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : 
 Thou hast been out upon the deep at play. 
 
 Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 
 
 Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray 
 
 And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
 
 To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! 
 
 Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round 
 
 Inhale thee in the fulness of delight ; 
 And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
 
 Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 
 And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, 
 
 Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight. 
 Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, 
 God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! 
 
 Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest. 
 
 Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 
 
THE R V E N I N G W I \ D. 207 
 
 The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 
 Summoning from the innumerable boughs 
 
 The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast: 
 Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 
 
 The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
 
 And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. 
 
 The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
 To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 
 
 And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
 
 His temples, while his breathing grow, -nore deep : 
 
 And they who stand about the sick man's beu, 
 Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 
 
 And softly part his curtains to allow 
 
 Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 
 
 Go — but the circle of eternal change. 
 
 Which is Ihe life of nature, shall restore, 
 With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range 
 
 Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more ; 
 Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange, 
 
 Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; 
 And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
 He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 
 
208 POEMS. 
 
 WHEN THE FIRMAMENT QUIVERS WITH DAY- 
 LIGHT'S YOUNG BEAM." 
 
 When the 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 band that kept watch all night long 
 O'er Love and o'er Slumber, go out one by one : 
 
 Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast, 
 
 Scarce 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 twilight 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 t'lule — 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 morning that withers the stars from the sky. 
 
210 POEMS. 
 
 '* INNOCENT CHILD AND SNOW-WHITE 
 FLOWER." 
 
 Innocent child and snow-white flower! 
 Well are ye paired in your opening hour. 
 Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, 
 Stainless w^ith stainless, and sweet with sweet. 
 
 White as those leaves, just blown apart, 
 Are the folds of thy own young heart ; 
 Guilty passion and cankering care 
 Never have left their traces there. 
 
 Artless one ! though thou gazest now 
 O'er the white blossom with earnest brow, 
 Soon will it tire thy chiiaish eye ; 
 Fair as it is, thou wilt tnrow it by. 
 
 Throw it aside in thy weary hour. 
 Throw to the ground the fair w^hite flower ; 
 Yet, as thy tender years depart, 
 Keep that white and innocent heart. 
 
TO THK RIVKit ARVE. v>ll 
 
 TO THE IlIVER ARVE. 
 
 FDPrOSSD TO BE ■WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR THE FOOT OK MONT BLAKC 
 
 Not from the sands or cloven rocks, 
 
 Thou rapid Arvc ! thy waters flow ; 
 Nor earth, within her bosom, locks 
 
 Thy dark unfathomed wells below. 
 Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream 
 
 Begins to move and murmur first 
 WTiere ice-peaks feel the noonday beam, 
 
 Or rain-storms on the glacier burst. 
 
 Born where the thunder and the blast, 
 
 And morning's earliest light are born, 
 Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast. 
 
 By these low homes, as if in scorn : 
 Yet humbler springs yield purer waves ; 
 
 And brighter, glassier streams than tliine, 
 Sent up from eartli's uulighted caves, 
 
 With heaven's own beam and image shine 
 
212 POEM S. 
 
 Yet stay ; for here are flowers and trees ; 
 
 Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, 
 And laugh of girls, and hum of bees — 
 
 Here linger till thy waves are clear. 
 Thou heedest not — thou hastest on ; 
 
 From steep to steep thy torrent falls, 
 Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone, 
 
 It rests beneath Geneva's walls. 
 
 Rush on — but were there one with me 
 
 That loved me, I would light my hearth 
 Here, where with God's own majesty 
 
 Are touched the features of the earth. 
 By these old peaks, white, high, and vast. 
 
 Still rising as the tempests beat, 
 Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last. 
 
 Among the blossoms at their feet. 
 
T O COL E, T 1 1 K P A T N T K R. '^13 
 
 TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR 
 EUROPE. 
 
 &. SONNET. 
 
 1 
 
 Thixe eyes shall see the light of distant skies : 
 
 Yet, Cole ! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand 
 A living image of thy native land, 
 
 Such as on thine own glorious canvas lies; 
 
 Lone lakes — savannas where the bison roves — ■ 
 
 Rocks rich with summer garlands — solemn streams— 
 Slvies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams — 
 
 Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves. 
 
 Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest — fair, 
 But different — everywhere the trace of nun, 
 Palhs, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen 
 
 To where lii'e shrinks from the fierce Alpine air, 
 " Ga/e on them, till the tears shall dim ihy sight. 
 But keep that earlier, wilder image bright. 
 
214 POEMS. 
 
 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 
 
 Thou blossom bright with autumn clew, 
 And coloured with the heaven's own blue, 
 That openest when the quiet light 
 Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 
 
 Thou comest not when violets lean 
 
 O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, 
 
 Or columbines, in purple dressed, 
 
 Nod o'er the groun 1-bird's hidden nest. 
 
 Thou wait, -St late and cora'st alone, 
 WTien woods are bare and birds are flown, 
 And frosts and shortening days portend 
 The aged year is near his end. 
 
 Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
 Look through its fringes to the sky, 
 Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
 A flower from its cerulean wall. 
 
 I would that thus, when I shall see 
 The hour of death draw near to me, 
 Hope, blossoming within my heart. 
 May look to heaven as I depart. 
 
THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMHKK. 2ir) 
 
 THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. 
 
 Wild was the day ; the wintry sea 
 
 Moaned sadly on New-EngUmd's strand, 
 
 When first the thoughtful and the free, 
 Our fathers, trod the desert land. 
 
 They little thought how pure a light, 
 
 With years, should gather round that day ; 
 
 How love should keep their memories bright, 
 How wide a realm their sons should sway. 
 
 Green are their bays ; but greener still 
 
 Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, 
 
 And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 
 
 With reverence when their names are breathed. 
 
 Till where the sun, with softer fires. 
 
 Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, 
 The children of the pilgrim sires 
 
 This hallowed day like us shall keep. 
 
HYMN OF THE CITY. 
 
 Not in the solitude 
 Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see 
 
 Only in savage wood 
 And sunny vale, the present Deity ; 
 
 Or only hear his voice 
 Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. 
 
 Even here do I behold 
 Thy steps. Almighty! — here, amidst the crowd, 
 
 Through the great city rolled, 
 With everlasting murmur deep and loud — 
 
 Choking the ways that wind 
 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. 
 
 Thy golden sunshine comes 
 From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, 
 
 And lights their inner homes ; 
 For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skit^, 
 
 And givest them the stores 
 Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 
 
HYMiN OF THE CITY. 217 
 
 Thy Spirit is around, 
 Quickening the restless mass that sweeps alono; ; 
 
 And this eternal sound — 
 Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng — 
 
 Like the resounding sea, 
 Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. 
 
 And when the hours of rest 
 Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brint. 
 
 Hushing its billowy breast — 
 The quiet of that moment too is thine , 
 
 It breathes of Him who keeps 
 The vast and helpless city while it sleeps 
 
THE PRAIRIES. 
 
 These are the gardens of the Desert, these 
 The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful, 
 For which the speech of England has no name — 
 The Prairies. I behold them for the first. 
 And my heart swells, while the dilated sight 
 Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo ! they stretch 
 la airy undulations, far away, 
 As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell, 
 S>ood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, 
 And motionless for ever. — Motionless ? — 
 No — they are all unchained again. The clouds 
 Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath. 
 The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye ; 
 Dark hollows seem to glide along and chase 
 The sunny ridges. Breezes of the South ! 
 Who toss the golden and the flame-like flow^ers, 
 And pass the prairie-hawk that, poised on high. 
 Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not — ye have played 
 Among the palms of Mexico and vines 
 Of Texas, and have crisped the limpid brooks 
 
Tin-: PRAIHIKS. • 210 
 
 That from the fountains of Sonora glide 
 
 Into the cahn Pacific — have ye fanned 
 
 A nobler or a lovelier scene than this ? 
 
 Man hath no part in all this glorious work : 
 
 The hand that built the firmament hath heaved 
 
 And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes 
 
 Wi;h herbage, planted ihem with island groves, 
 
 And hedged them round with forests. Fittinir floor 
 
 For this magnificent temple of the sky — 
 
 With flowers whose glory and whose multitude 
 
 Rival the constellations ! The great heavens 
 
 Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love, — 
 
 A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue, 
 
 Than that which bends above the eastern hills. 
 
 As o'er the verdant waste I guide my steed, 
 Among the high rank grass that sweeps his sides 
 The hollow beating of his footstep seems 
 A sacrilegious sound. I think of those 
 Upon whose rest he tramples. Are they here — 
 The dead of other days.' — and did the dust 
 Of these fair solitudes once stir with life 
 And burn with passion } Let the mighty mounds 
 That overlook the rivers, or that rise 
 In the dim forest crowded with old oaks, 
 .\nswer. A race, that long has passed away, 
 I'liilt them ; — a di.sciplined and populous race 
 
220 POEMS. 
 
 Heaped, with long toil, the earth, while yet the Greek 
 
 Was hewing the Pentelicus to forms 
 
 Of symmetry, and rearing on its rock 
 
 The glittering Parthenon. These ample fields 
 
 Nourished their harvests, here their herds were fed, 
 
 When haply by their stalls the bison lowed. 
 
 And bowed his maned shoulder to the yoke. 
 
 All day this desert murmured with their toils, 
 
 Till twilight blushed, and lovers walked, and wooed 
 
 In a forgotten language, and old tunes. 
 
 From instruments of unremembered form, 
 
 Gave the soft winds a voice. The red man came— 
 
 The roaming hunter tribes, warlike and fierce, 
 
 And the mound-builders vanished from the earth. 
 
 The solitude of centuries untold 
 
 Has settled where they dwelt. The prairie-wolf 
 
 Hunts in their meadows, and his fresh-dug den 
 
 Yawns by my path. The gopher mines the ground 
 
 Where stood their swarming cities. All is gone — 
 
 All — save the piles of earth that hold their bones — 
 
 The platforms where they worshipped unknown gods — 
 
 The barriers which they builded from the soil 
 
 To keep the foe at bay — till o'er the walls 
 
 The wild beleaguerers broke, and, one by one. 
 
 The strongholds of the plain were forced, and heaped 
 
 With corpses. The brown vultures of the wood 
 
 Flocked to those vast uncovered sepulchres, 
 
T 1 1 i: I» R A I n I K S. 
 
 221 
 
 4nd sat, unscared and silent, at their feast. 
 Haply some solitary fugitive, 
 Lurking in marsh and forest, till the sense 
 Of desolation and of fear became 
 Bitterer than death, yielded himself to die. 
 INIan's better nature triuinjilied then. Kind words 
 Welcomed and soothed him ; the rude conqui-rors 
 Seated the captive with their chiefs ; he chose 
 A bride among their maidens, and at length 
 Seemed to forget, — yet ne'er forgot, — the wife 
 Of his first love, and her sweet little ones, 
 Butchered, amid their shrieks, with all his race. 
 
 Thus chanfre the forms of beins". Thus arise 
 Races of living things, glorious in strength, 
 And perish, as the quickening breath of God 
 Fills them, or is withdrawn. The red man, too, 
 Has left the blooming wilds he ranged so long, 
 And, nearer to the Rocky Mountains, sought 
 A wilder hunting-ground. The beaver builds 
 No longer by these streams, but far away. 
 On waters whose blue surface ne'er gave back 
 The white man's face — among Missouri's s])rings, 
 And j)ooIs whose issues swell the Oregan, 
 lie rears his little Venice. In these jilains 
 'J'iie bison feeds no more. Twice twenty leagues 
 Beyond remotest smoke of hunter's camp. 
 
222 POEMS. 
 
 Roams the majestic brute, in herds that shake 
 The earth with thundering steps — yet here I meet 
 His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool. 
 
 Still this great solitude is quick with life. 
 Myriads of insects, gaudy as the flowers 
 They flutter over, gentle quadrupeds, 
 And birds, that scarce have learned the fear of man, 
 Are here, and sliding reptiles of the ground, 
 Startlingly beautiful. The graceful deer 
 Bounds to the wood at my approach. The bee, 
 A more adventurous colonist than man, 
 With whom he came across the eastern deep, 
 Fills the savannas with his murmurings. 
 And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, 
 Within the hollow oak. I listen Ions: 
 To his domestic hum, and think I hear 
 The sound of that advancing multitude 
 Which soon shall fill these deserts. From the ground 
 Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice 
 Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn 
 Of Sabbath worshippers. The low of herds 
 Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain 
 Over the dark-brown furrows. All at once 
 A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream. 
 And I am in the wilderness alone. 
 
SONG OF xM A lU O N ' S ME N. 22:3 
 
 SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 
 
 Our band is few, but true and tried, 
 
 Our leader frank and bold ; 
 The British soldier trembles 
 
 When Marion's name is told. 
 Our fortress is the good greenwood, 
 
 Our tent the cypress-tree ; 
 We know the forest round us, 
 
 As seamen know the sea. 
 We know its walls of thorny vines, 
 
 Its glades of reedy grass, 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 
 Within the dark morass. 
 
 Wo to the English soldiery 
 
 That little dread us near ! 
 On them shall light at midnight 
 
 A strange and sudden fear: 
 When waking to their tents on lire 
 
 They grasp their arms in vain, 
 And they who stand to face us 
 
 Are beat to earth again ; 
 
224 POEMS. 
 
 And they who fly in terror deem 
 
 A mighty host behind, 
 And hear the tramp of thousands 
 
 Upon the hoUow wind. 
 
 Then sweet the hour that brings release 
 
 From danger and from toil : 
 We talk the battle over, 
 
 And share the battle's spoil. 
 The woodland rings with laugh and sliout, 
 
 As if a hunt were up, 
 And woodland flowers are gathered 
 
 To crown the soldier's cup. 
 With merry songs we mock the wind 
 
 That in the pine-top grieves, 
 And slumber long and sweetly 
 
 On beds of oaken leaves. 
 
 Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
 
 The band that Marion leads — 
 The glitter of their rifles, 
 
 The scampering of their steeds. 
 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 
 
 Across the moonlight plain ; 
 'Tis life to feel the night-wind 
 
 That lifts his tossing: mane. 
 
SONG OF MARION'S MEN. 
 
 A moment in the British camp — 
 
 A moment — and away 
 Back to the pathless forest, 
 
 Before the peep of day. 
 
 Grave men there are by broad Santee, 
 
 Grave men with hoary hairs, 
 Their hearts are all with Marion, 
 
 For Marion are their prayers. 
 And lovely ladies greet our band 
 
 With kindliest welcoming. 
 With smiles like those of summer, 
 
 And tears like those of spring. 
 For them we wear these trusty arms, 
 
 And lay them down no more 
 Till we have driven the Briton, 
 
 For ever, from our shore. 
 
THE ARCTIC LOVER. 
 
 Gone is the long, long winter night ; 
 
 Look, my beloved one ! 
 How glorious, through his depths of light, 
 
 Rolls the majestic sun ! 
 The willows, waked from winter's death, 
 Give out a fragrance like thy breath — 
 
 The summer is begun ! 
 
 Ay, 'tis the long bright summer day : 
 
 Hark, to that miglity crash ! 
 The loosened ice-ridge breaks away — 
 
 The smitten waters flash. 
 Seaward the glittering mountain rides, 
 While, down its green translucent sides, 
 
 The foamy torrents dash. 
 
 See, love, my boat is moored for thee, 
 
 By ocean's weedy floor — 
 The petrel does not skim the sea 
 
 More swiftly than my oar. 
 
THE ARCTIC LOVER. 2^7 
 
 We'll go, where, on the rocky isles. 
 Her eggs the screaming sea-fowl piles 
 Beside the pebbly shore. 
 
 Or, bide thou where the pop})y blows, 
 With wind-flowers frail and fair. 
 
 While I, upon his isle of snows, 
 Seek and defy the bear. 
 
 Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, 
 
 This arm his savage strength shall tame, 
 And drag him from his lair. 
 
 When crimson sky and flamy cloud 
 
 Bespeak the summer o'er. 
 And the dead valleys wear a shroud 
 
 Of snows that melt no more, 
 I'll build of ice thy winter home. 
 With glistening walls and glassy dome, 
 
 And spread with skins the floor. 
 
 The white fox by thy couch shall play ; 
 
 And, from the frozen skies. 
 The meteors of a mimic day 
 
 Shall flash upon thine eyes. 
 And I — for such thy vow — meanwhile 
 Shall hear thy voice and see thy smile, 
 
 I'ill that loniT miduitrht flies. 
 
THE JOURNEY OF LIFE 
 
 Beneath the waning moon I walk at night, 
 And muse on human life — for all around 
 
 Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight, 
 And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground, 
 
 And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, 
 
 Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air. 
 
 The trampled earth returns a sound of fear — 
 A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ; 
 
 And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear 
 Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms. 
 
 A mournful wind across the landscape flies, 
 
 And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs. 
 
 And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on, 
 Watching the stars that roll the hours away, 
 
 Till the faint light that guides me now is gone, 
 And, like another life, the glorious day 
 
 Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height, 
 
 With warmth, and certainty, and boundless liglit. 
 
T Pt A N S L A T I O N S. 
 
TllANSLATIONS. 
 
 VERSION OF A FRAGMENT OF SIMONIDES. 
 
 The night winds howled — the billows dashed 
 
 Against the tossing chest ; 
 And Danae to her broken heart 
 
 Her slumbering infant pressed. 
 
 "My little child" — in tears she said — 
 "To wake and weep is mine, 
 But thou canst sleep — thou dost not know 
 Thy mother's lot, and thine, 
 
 "The moon is up, the moonbeams smile — 
 They tremble on the main ; 
 But dark, within my floating cell, 
 To me they smile in vain. 
 
 S3I 
 
23-2 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 "Thy folded mantle wraps thee warm. 
 Thy clustering locks are dry, 
 Thou dost not hear the shrieking gust, 
 Nor breakers booming high. 
 
 "As o'er thy sweet unconscious face 
 A mournful watch I keep, 
 I think, didst thou but know thy fate, 
 How thou wouldst also weep. 
 
 "Yet, dear one, sleep, and sleep, ye winds 
 That vex the restless brine — 
 When shall these eyes, my babe, be sealed 
 As peacefully as thine !" 
 
FROM THE SPANISH OF V 1 L L E G A S. Z)):) 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OF VILLEGAS. 
 
 'Tis sweet, in the green Spring, 
 To gaze upon the wakening fields around ; 
 
 Birds in the thicket sing. 
 Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground : 
 
 A thousand odours rise, 
 Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes. 
 
 Shadowy, and close, and cool, 
 The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook; 
 
 For ever fresh and full, 
 Shines, at their feet, the thirst-inviting brook ; 
 
 And the soft herbage seems 
 •Sj read for a place of banquets and of dreams. 
 
 Thou, 
 
 who alone art fair, 
 
 
 - 
 
 And whom alone I love, art far 
 
 away. 
 
 
 Unless 
 
 thy smile be there, 
 
 
 
 It makes me sad to see the earth 
 
 so gay 
 
 > 
 
 I care 
 
 not if the train 
 
 
 
 Of leaves, 
 
 and (lowers, and zepl 
 
 U 2 
 
 lyrs go 
 
 again. 
 
234 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 MARY MAGDALEN. 
 
 FROM THE 8PASISH OF BARTOLOME lEOXARDO DE ARGENSOLA, 
 
 Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-hearted ! 
 The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn. 
 In wonder and in scorn ! 
 Thou weepest days of innocence departed ; 
 
 Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move 
 The Lord to pity and love. 
 
 The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, 
 
 Even for the least of all the tears that shine 
 On that pale cheek of thine. 
 Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven. 
 Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise 
 Holy, and pure, and wise. 
 
 It is not much that to the fragrant blossom 
 
 The ragged brier should change ; the bitter fir 
 Distil Arabian myrrh ! 
 Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom. 
 
 The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain 
 Bear home the abundant grain. 
 
M A R Y M A G 1) A L K N . 2;J5 
 
 But come and see the bleak and barren mountains 
 Thick to their tops with roses : come and see 
 Leaves on the dry dead tree : 
 The perished plant, set out by living fountains, 
 Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise, 
 For ever, towards the skies. 
 
233 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE BLESSED. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH OP LUIS PONCE DE LEON. 
 
 Region of life and light ! 
 Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er! 
 
 Nor frost nor heat may blight 
 
 Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore, 
 Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore ! 
 
 There, without crook or sling, 
 Walks the good shepherd ; blossoms white and red 
 
 Round his meek temples cling; 
 
 And to sweet pastures led, 
 His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed. 
 
 He guides, and near him they 
 Follow delighted, for he makes them go 
 
 WTiere dw^ells eternal May, 
 
 And heavenly roses blow, 
 Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. 
 
 He leads them to the height 
 Named of the infinite and long-sought Good, 
 And fountains of delight ; 
 
'1' H E H F E O F T H E B L E Ji S E I). 2.37 
 
 And where his feet have stood 
 Springs up, along the way, their tender food. 
 
 And when, in the mid skies, 
 The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, 
 
 Reposing as he lies, 
 
 With all his flock around, 
 He witches the still air with numerous sound. 
 
 From his sweet lute flow forth 
 Immortal harmonies, of power to still 
 
 All passions born of earth. 
 
 And draw the ardent wnll 
 Its destiny of goodness to fulfil. 
 
 Might but a little part, 
 A wandering breath of that high melody, 
 
 Descend into my heart. 
 
 And change it till it be 
 Transformed and swallowed up, oh love ! in thee. 
 
 Ah ! then my soul should know, 
 Beloved ! where thou best at noon of day, 
 
 And from this place of woe 
 
 Released, should fake its way 
 To mingle willi thy flock and never stray. 
 
23S TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 FATIMA AND RADUAN. 
 
 FROM T}1E SPANISH. 
 
 Diamante falso y fingido, 
 Engastado en pedernal, &c. 
 
 << False diamond set in flint ! the caverns of the mine 
 Arewarmerthan thebreastthat holds that faithless heart of thine; 
 Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind, 
 And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind. 
 If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few w^ould be 
 To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me. 
 Oh ! I could chide thee sharply — but every maiden knows 
 That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes. 
 
 "Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids, 
 Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades ; 
 And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to everyone 
 That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was done. 
 Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know. 
 They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go ; 
 But thou giv'st me little heed — for I speak to one who knows 
 That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes. 
 
F A T IMA AND R A D U A N. 2:Vj 
 
 I' It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear 
 What fills thy heart with triumph, and fdls my own wi(h ear*'. 
 Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! ihou 
 
 know'st I feel 
 That cruel words as surely kill as sharpest blades of steel. 
 'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart 
 
 with pain ; 
 But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again. 
 I would proclaim thee as thou art — but every maiden knows 
 That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes." 
 
 Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan, 
 
 Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran : 
 
 The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was. 
 
 He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause . 
 
 '< Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes — their dimness does me 
 
 wrong ; 
 If my h^art be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long ; 
 Thou hast uttered cruel words — but I grieve the less for those. 
 Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes " 
 
LOVE AND FOLLY. 
 
 FROM LA FONTAINE. 
 
 Love's worshippers alone can know 
 
 The thousand mysteries that are his : 
 His blazing torch, his twanging bow, 
 
 His blooming age are mysteries. 
 A charming science — but the day 
 
 Were all too short to con it o'er ; 
 So take of me this little lay, 
 
 A sample of its boundless lore. 
 
 As once, beneath the fragrant shade 
 
 Of myrtles breathing heaven's own air, 
 The children. Love and Folly, played — 
 
 A quarrel rose betwixt the pair. 
 Love said the gods should do him right — 
 
 But Folly vowed to do it then. 
 And struck him, o'er the orbs of sight, 
 
 So hard he never saw again. 
 
 His lovely mother's grief was deep, 
 She called for vengeance on the deed ; 
 
LOVE AND FOLLY. 24' 
 
 A beauty does not vainly \veep, 
 
 Nor coldly does a mother plead. 
 A shade came o'er the eternal bliss 
 
 That fills the dwellers of the skies; 
 Even stony-hearted Nemesis, 
 
 And Rhadamanthus, wiped their eyes. 
 
 t' Behold," she said, " this lovely boy," 
 
 While streamed afresh her frraceful tears, 
 "Immortal, yet shut out from joy 
 
 And sunshine, all his future years. 
 The child can never take, you see, 
 
 A single step without a staff — 
 The harshest punishment would be 
 Too lenient for the crime by half." 
 
 All said that Love had suflfered wrong-, 
 
 And well that wrong should be repaid ; 
 Then weighed the public interest long. 
 
 And long the party's interest weighed. 
 And thus decreed the court above — 
 
 "Since Love is blind from Folly's blow, 
 Let Folly be the guide of Love, 
 
 Where'er the boy may choose to go." 
 
242 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE SIESTA. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH* 
 
 Vientecico murmurador, 
 Que lo gozas y andas todo, &c. 
 
 Airs, that wander and murmur round, 
 Bearing delight where'er ye blow ! 
 
 Make in the elms a lulling sound. 
 
 While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 
 
 Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest, 
 
 Till the heat of the noonday sun is o'er. 
 Sweet be her slumbers ! though in my breast 
 
 The pain she has waked may slumber no more. 
 Breathing soft from the blue profound, 
 
 Bearing delight where'er ye blow, 
 Make in the elms a lulling sound, 
 
 While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 
 
 Airs ! that over the bendinj? bouf^hs, 
 And under the shade of pendent leaves, 
 
Murmur soft, like my timid vows 
 
 Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves, — 
 
 Gently sweeping the grassy ground, 
 Bearing delight where'er ye blow, 
 
 Make in the elms a lulling sound, 
 
 W'liile my lady sleeps in the shade below. 
 
244 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA. 
 
 FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
 To the town of Atienza, Molina's brave Alcayde, 
 The courteous and the valorous, led forth his bold brigade. 
 The Moor came back in triumph, he came without a wound, 
 With many a Christian standard, and Christian captive bound. 
 He passed the city portals, with swelling heart and vain, 
 And towards his lady's dwelling he rode with slackened rein ; 
 Two circuits on his charger he took, and at the third, 
 From the door of her balcony Zelinda's voice was heard. 
 <« Now if thou wert not shameless," said the lady to the Moor, 
 t'Thou wouldst neither pass my dwelling, nor stop before my 
 
 door. 
 Alas for poor Zelinda, and for her wayward mood, 
 That one in love with peace should have loved a man of blood ' 
 Since not that thou wert noble I chose thee for my knight, 
 But that thy sword was dreaded in tournay and in fight. 
 Ah, thoughtless and unhappy! that I should fail to see 
 How ill the stubborn flint and the yielding wax agree. 
 Boast not thy love for me, while the shrieking of the fife 
 Can change thy mood of mildness to fury and to strife. 
 
THE ALCAYDE OF MOLINA. 245 
 
 Say not my voice is magic — thy pleasure is to hear 
 Tlie bursting of the carbine, and shivering of the spear. 
 Well, follow thou thy choice — to the battle-field away, 
 To thy triumphs and thy trophies, since I am less than they. 
 Thrust thy arm into thy buckler, gird on thy crooked brand, 
 And call upon thy trusty squire to bring thy spears in hand. 
 Lead forth thy band to skirmish, by mountain and by mead, 
 On thy dappled Moorish barb, or thy fleeter border steed. 
 Go, waste the Christian hamlets, and sweep away their flocks, 
 From Almazan's broad meadows to Sigucnza's rocks. 
 Leave Zelinda altogether, whom thou leavest oft and long. 
 And in the life thou lovest forget whom thou dost wrong. 
 These eyes shall not recall thee, though they meet no more thine 
 
 own, 
 Thou gh they w^eep that thou art absent, and that I am all alone.'" 
 She ceased, and turning from him her flushed and angry cheek, 
 Shut the door of her balcony before the Moor cont'd speak. 
 
246 TRANS1.ATI0NS. 
 
 THE DEATH OF ALIATAB. 
 
 FROM THE SPAKISH. 
 
 *Tis not with gilded sabres 
 
 Tliat gleam in baldricks blue, 
 Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez, 
 
 Of gay and gaudy hue — 
 But, habited in mourning weeds, 
 
 Come marching from afar. 
 By four and fou'-, the valiant men 
 
 Who fought with Aliatar. 
 All mournfully and slowly 
 
 The afflicted warriors come, 
 To the deep wail of the trumpet, 
 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
 The banner of the Phenix, 
 
 The flag that loved the sky, 
 That scarce the wind dared wanton with, 
 
 It flew so proud and high — 
 Now leaves its place in battle-field, 
 
 And sweeps the ground in grief, 
 
THE DKATII OF ALIATAR. 2-17 
 
 The bearer drags its glorious folds 
 
 Behind the fallen chief, 
 As mournfully and slowly 
 
 The afflicted warriors come, 
 To the deep wail of the trumpet, 
 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
 Brave Aliatar led forward 
 
 A hundred Moors to go 
 To where his brother held Motril 
 
 Afjainst the leaguerinof foe. 
 On horseback went the gallant Moor. 
 
 That gallant band to lead ; 
 And now his bier is at the gate, 
 
 From whence he jiricked his steed. 
 "While mournfully and slowly 
 
 The afflicted warriors come. 
 To tiie deep wail of the trumpet, 
 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
 The knights of the Grand Master 
 
 In crowded ambush lay ; 
 They rushed upon him where tlie reeds 
 
 Were thick beside the way ; 
 They smote the valiant Aliatar, 
 
 They smote the warrior dead, 
 
248 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 And broken, but not beaten, were 
 The gallant ranks he led. 
 
 Now mournfully and slowly 
 The afflicted warriors come, 
 
 To the deep wail of the trumpec, 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
 Oh ! what was Zayda's sorrow, 
 
 How passionate her cries ! 
 Her lover's wounds streamed not more free 
 
 Than that poor maiden's eyes. 
 Say, Love — for didst thou see her tears : 
 
 Oh, no ! he drew more tight 
 The blinding fillet o'er his lids 
 
 To spare his eyes the sight. 
 WTiile mournfully and slowly 
 
 The afflicted warriors come, 
 To the deep wail of the trumpet, 
 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
 Nor Zayda weeps him only, 
 
 But all that dwell between 
 The great Alhambra's palace walls 
 
 And springs of Albaicin. 
 The ladies weep the flower of knights, 
 
 The brave the bravest here ; 
 
THE DEATH OF ALIATAR. 249 
 
 The people weep a champion, 
 
 The Alcaydes a noble peer. 
 While mournfully and slowly 
 
 The afflicted warriors come, 
 To the deep wail of the trumpet, 
 
 And beat of muffled drum. 
 
250 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 PROM PEYRE VIDAL, THE TROUEADOUR. 
 
 The earth was sown with early flowers, 
 
 The heavens were blue and brigiht — 
 I met a youthful cavalier 
 
 As lovely as the light. 
 1 knew him not — but in my heart 
 
 His graceful image lies, 
 And well I marked his open brow, 
 
 His sweet and tender eyes. 
 His ruddy lips that ever smiled, 
 
 His glittering teeth betwixt, 
 And flowing robe embroidered o'er^ 
 
 With leaves and blossoms mixed. 
 He wore a chaplet of the rose ; 
 
 His palfrey, white and sleek, 
 Was marked with many an ebon spot, 
 
 And many a purple streak ; 
 Of jasper was his saddle-bow, 
 
 His housings sapphire stone, 
 And brightly in his stirrup glanced 
 
 The purple calcedon. 
 
LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY. iiol 
 
 Fast rode the gallant cavalier, 
 As youthful horsemen ride ; 
 "Peyre Vidal! know that I am Love," 
 
 The blooming stranger cried ; 
 "And this is Mercy by my side, 
 A dame of high degree ; 
 Thi:b maid is Chastity," he said, 
 *«This squire is Loyally." 
 
253 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE LOVE OF GOD. 
 
 FROM THE PROVENCAL OP EERNARI RASCAb 
 
 A LL things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, 
 Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. 
 The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; 
 The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green ; 
 The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, 
 And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long. 
 The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, 
 And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. 
 The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox, 
 The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks, 
 And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie. 
 And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. 
 And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more, 
 And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore ; 
 And the great globe itself, (so the holy writings tell,) 
 With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell, 
 Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass away, 
 Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. 
 
FROM THE SPANISH. 253 
 
 FKOM THE SPANISH OF PEDRO DE CxVSTRO Y 
 
 ANAYA. 
 
 Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave 
 
 The lovely vale that lies around thee. 
 
 Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve, 
 
 When but a fount the morning found thee ? 
 
 Born when the skies began to glow, 
 
 Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters, 
 
 No blossom bowed its stalk to show 
 Where stole thy still and scanty waters. 
 
 Now on thy stream the noonbeams look, 
 Usurping, as thou downward driftest, 
 
 Its crystal from the clearest brook, 
 Its rushing current from the swiftest. 
 
 Ah ! what wihl haste ! — and all to be 
 
 A river and exj)ire in ocean. 
 Each fountain's tribute Imrries tliee 
 
 To that vast grave with (]uicker njotion. 
 
254 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Far better 'twere to linger still 
 
 In this green vale, these flowers to cherij;h, 
 And die in peace, an aged rill. 
 
 Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish. 
 
SONNET. 255 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 PBOM THE PORTUGUESE OF SEMEDO. 
 
 It is a fearful night ; a feeble glare 
 
 Streams from the sick moon in the o'ercloude J sky ; 
 
 The ridgy billows, with a mighty cry, 
 Rush on the foamy beaches wild and bare ; 
 No bark the madness of the waves will dare ; 
 
 The sailors sleep ; the winds are loud and high ; 
 
 Ah, peerless Laura! for whose love I die, 
 Who gazes on thy smiles while 1 despair? 
 
 As thus, in bitterness of heart, I cried, 
 I turned, and saw my Laura, kind and bright, 
 
 A messenger of gladness, at my side : 
 To my poor bark she sprang with footstep light, 
 
 And as we furrowed Tago's heaving tide, 
 I never saw so beautiful a ni":ht. 
 
SONG. 
 
 PKOJI THE SPANISH OF IGLESIAS. 
 
 Alexis calls me cruel ; 
 
 The rifted crags that hold 
 The gathered ice of winter, 
 
 He says, are not more cold. 
 
 When even the very blossoms 
 Around the fountain's brim, 
 
 And forest walks, can witness 
 The love I bear to him. 
 
 I would that I could utter 
 My feelings without shame ; 
 
 And tell him how I love him, 
 Nor wrong my virgin fame. 
 
 Alas ! to seize the moment 
 When heart inclines to heart, 
 
 And press a suit with passion, 
 Is not a woman's part. 
 
S O N G. 2r,7 
 
 If man comes not to gather 
 The roses where they stand, 
 
 They fade among their foliage ; 
 They cannot seek his hand. 
 
258 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE COUNT OF GREIERS. 
 
 PROM THE GERMAN OF DHLAND. 
 
 At morn the Count of Greiers before his castle stands ; 
 He sees afar the glory that lights the mountain lands ; 
 The horned crags are shining, and in the shade between 
 A pleasant Alpine valley lies beautifully green. 
 
 <<0h, greenest of the valleys, how shall I come to thee! 
 Thy herdsmen and thy maidens, how happy must they be! 
 I have gazed upon thee coldly, all lovely as thou art. 
 But the wish to walk thy pastures now" stirs ray inmost heart." 
 
 He hears a sound of timbrels, and suddenly appear 
 A troop of ruddy damsels and herdsmen drawing near ; 
 They reach the castle greensward, and gayly dance across ; 
 The white sleeves flit and glimmer, the wreaths and ribands toss> 
 
 The youngest of the maidens, slim as a spray of spring, 
 She takes the young count's fingers, and draws him to the ring. 
 They fling upon his forehead a crown of mountain flowers, 
 "And ho, young Count of Greiers! this morning thou artours!" 
 
'^%1(* 
 
 "1/' © ir ffi IR E U E IIS s 
 
THE O U N T OF G R K I R R S. 25!) 
 
 Then liand in hand departing, with dance and roundehiy, 
 Through hamlet after hamlet, they lead the Count away. 
 They dance through wood and meadow, they dance across 
 
 the linn, 
 Till the mighty Alpine summits have shut the music in. 
 
 The second morn is risen, and now the third is come ; 
 Where stays the Count of Greiers? has he forgot his home? 
 Again the evening closes, in thick and sultry air; 
 There's thunder on the mountains, the storm is gathering 
 there. 
 
 The cloud has shed its waters, the brook comes swollen down ; 
 You see it by the lightning — a river wide and brown. 
 Around a struggling swimmer the eddies dash and roar. 
 Till, seizing on a willow, he leaps u])on the shore. 
 
 «< Here am I cast by tempests far from your mountain dell. 
 Amid our evening dances the bursting deluge fell. 
 Ye all, in cots and caverns, have 'scaped the water-spout, 
 While me alone the tempest o'erwhelmed and hurried out. 
 
 <« Farewell, with thy glad dwellers, green vale among the rocks! 
 Farewell the swift sweet moments, in which 1 watched thy 
 
 flocks ' 
 Why rocked they not my cradle in that delicious sjiot. 
 That garden of the happy, where Heaven endures me not? 
 
260 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 <<Rose of the Alpine valley! I feel, in every vein, 
 Thy soft touch on my fingers ; oh, press them not again ! 
 Bewitch me not, ye garlands, to tread that upward track, 
 And thou, my cheerless mansion, receive thy master back.' 
 
THE SERENADE. 261 
 
 THE SERENADE. 
 
 FROM THE SPAKISH. 
 
 If slumber, sweet Lisena ! 
 
 Have stolen o'er thine eyes, 
 As night steals o'er the glory 
 
 Of spring's transparent skies ; 
 
 Wake, in thy scorn and beauty. 
 And listen to the strain 
 
 That murmurs my devotion, 
 That mourns for thy di^idain. 
 
 Here by thy door at midnight, 
 I pass the dreary hour, 
 
 With plaintive sounds profaning 
 The silence of thy bower; 
 
 A tale of sorrow cherished 
 
 Too fontlly to depart. 
 Of wrong from love the flatterer, 
 
 And my own wayward heart. 
 
2G3 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Twice, o'er this vale, the seasons 
 Have brought and borne away 
 
 The January tempest, 
 
 The genial wind of May; 
 
 Yet still my plaint is uttered. 
 My tears and sighs are given 
 
 To earth's unconscious waters, 
 And wandering winds of heaven. 
 
 I saw from this fair region, 
 The smile of summer pass, 
 
 And myriad frost-stars glitter 
 Among the russet grass. 
 
 While winter seized the streamlets 
 That fled along the ground. 
 
 And fast in chains of crystal 
 The truant murmurers bound. 
 
 I saw that to the forest 
 
 The nightingales had flown. 
 
 And every sweet-voiced fountain 
 Had hushed its silver tone. 
 
 The maniac winds, divorcing 
 The turtle from his mate, 
 
THE S E K E N A D E. 263 
 
 Raved througli the leafy beeches, 
 And left them desolate. 
 
 Now May, with life and music, 
 
 The blooming valley fills, 
 And rears her flowery arches 
 
 For all the little rills. 
 
 The minstrel bird of evening 
 
 Comes back on joyous wings, 
 And, like the harp's soft murmur, 
 
 Is heard the gush of springs. 
 
 And deep within the forest 
 
 Are wedded turtles seen, 
 Their nuptial chambers seeking, 
 
 Their chambers close and green. 
 
 The rugged trees are minfrlinor 
 
 Do D '3 
 
 Their flowery sprays in love , 
 The ivy climbs the laurel. 
 To clasp the boughs above. 
 
 They change — but thou, Lisena, 
 
 Art cohl while I complain : 
 Why to thy lover only 
 
 Should s[)ri)ig rcliini in vain? 
 
264 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 
 A NORTHERN LEGEND. 
 
 
 VBOM THE OERMAN OP UHLAND. 
 
 
 There sits a lovely maiden, 
 
 
 The ocean murmuring nigh ; 
 
 
 She throws the hook, and watches ; 
 
 
 The fishes pass it by. 
 
 
 A ring, with a red jewel, 
 
 
 Is sparkling on her hand ; 
 
 
 Upon the hook she binds it. 
 
 ; 
 
 And flings it from the land. 
 
 
 Uprises from the water 
 
 
 A hand like ivory fair. 
 
 
 What gleams upon its finger ? 
 
 
 The golden ring is there. 
 
 
 Uprises from the bottom 
 
 
 A young and handsome knight ; 
 
 
 In golden scales he rises, 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 That glitter in the light. 
 
n If ir, '■■■ TO 
 
A NORTHERN LEGEND. 265 
 
 The maid is pale with terror — 
 <<Nay, Knight of Ocean, nay, 
 
 It was not thee I wanted ; 
 Let go the ring, I pray." 
 
 . Ah, maiden, not to fishes 
 
 The bait of gold is thrown ; 
 The ring shall never leave me. 
 And thou must be my own.'' 
 
LATEE POEMS. 
 
LATER POEMS. 
 
 TO THE APENNINES. 
 
 Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! 
 
 In the soft light of these serenest skies ; 
 From the broad highland region, black with pines, 
 
 Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, 
 Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold 
 In rosy flushes on the virgin gold. 
 
 There, rooted to the aiirial shelves tliat wear 
 The glory of a brighter world, might sjiring 
 
 Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the uiil)reathed air, 
 And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the wing, 
 
 To view the fair earih in its summer sleep, 
 
 Silent, and cradled by the gbinmcriiig deep. 
 
270 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old 
 Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday ; 
 
 The herd's white bones lie mixed with human mould — 
 Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey 
 
 Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with pain, 
 
 Was yielded to the elements again. 
 
 Ages of war have filled these plains with fear ; 
 
 How oft the hind has started at the clash 
 Of spears, and yell of meeting armies here, 
 
 Or seen the lightning of the battle flash 
 From clouds, that rising with the thunder's sound. 
 Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground ! 
 
 Ah me ! what armed nations — Asian horde, 
 And Libyan host — the Scythian and the Gaul, 
 
 Have swept your base and through your passes poured, 
 Like ocean-tides uprising at the call 
 
 Of tyrant winds — against your rocky side 
 
 The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died. 
 
 How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes, 
 
 Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain; 
 
 And commonwealths against their rivals rose, 
 
 Trode out their lives and earned the curse of Cain! 
 
 While in the noiseless air and light that flowed 
 
 Round your far brows, eternal Peace abode. 
 
TO THE A P E \ N I N E S. 271 
 
 Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar flames 
 Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng, 
 
 Jovo, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names; 
 While, as the unheeding ages passed along, 
 
 Ye, from yoar station in the middle skies, 
 
 Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise. 
 
 In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks 
 Ht-r image ; there the winds no barrier know. 
 
 Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks ; 
 While even the immaterial Mind, below. 
 
 And Thought, her winged offspring, chained by power, 
 
 Pine silently for *iie J»^'^*:eming hour. 
 
272 LATER POEMS. 
 
 EARTH. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT black with clouds is in the sky ; 
 I seem to feel, upon my limbs, the weight 
 Of its vast brooding shadow. All in vain 
 Turns the tired eye in search of form ; no star 
 Pierces the pitchy veil ; no ruddy blaze, 
 From dwellings lighted by the cheerful hearth, 
 Tinges the flowering summits of the grass. 
 No sound of life is heard, no village hum. 
 Nor measured tramp of footstep in the path, 
 Nor rush of wing, while, on the breast of Earth, 
 I lie and listen to her mighty voice : 
 A voice of many tones — sent up from streams 
 That wander through the gloom, from woods unseen, 
 Swayed by the sweeping of the tides of air, 
 From rocky chasms where darkness dwells all day, 
 And hollows of the great invisible hills. 
 And sands that edge the ocean, stretching far 
 Into the night — a melancholy sound ! 
 
 Earth ! dost thou too sorrow for the past 
 Like man thy offspring ? Do I hear thee mourn 
 
E A R T 11. 273 
 
 Thy childhood's unreturning hours, thy sj>rings 
 
 Gone with their genial airs and melodies, 
 
 The gentle generations of thy flowers, 
 
 And thy majestic groves of olden time, 
 
 Perished with all their dwellers ? Dost thou wail 
 
 For that fair age of which the poets tell, 
 
 Ere the rude winds grew keen with frost, or fire 
 
 Fell wilh the rains, or spouted from the hills, 
 
 To blast thy greenness, while the virgin night 
 
 Was guiltless and salubrious as the day ? 
 
 Or haply dost thou grieve for those that die — 
 
 For living things that trod thy paths awhile. 
 
 The love of thee and heaven — and now they sleep 
 
 Mixed widi the shapeless dust on which thy herds 
 
 Trample and graze ? I too must grieve wilh thee, 
 
 O'er loved ones lost. Their graves are far away 
 
 Upon thy mountains ; yet, while I recline 
 
 Alone, in darkness, on thy naked soil, , 
 
 The mighty nourisher and burial-place 
 
 Of man, I feel that I embrace their dust. 
 
 Ha ! how the murmur deepens ! I perceive 
 And tremble at its dreadful import. Earth 
 Uplifts a general cry for guilt and wrong. 
 And heaven is listening. The forgotten graves 
 Of the heart-broken utter forth their plaint. 
 The dust of her wlio oved and was belrayed, 
 
274 LATER POEiMS. 
 
 And him who died neglected in his age ; 
 
 The sepulchres of those who for mankind 
 
 Laboured, and earned the recompense of scorn ; 
 
 Ashes of martyrs for the truth, and bones 
 
 Of those who, in the strife for liberty, 
 
 Were beaten down, their corses given to dogs, 
 
 Their names to infamy, all find a voice. 
 
 The nook in which the captive, overtoiled, 
 
 Lay down to rest at last, and that which holds 
 
 Childhood's sweet blossoms, crushed by cruel hands, 
 
 Send up a plaintive sound. From battle-fields, 
 
 Where heroes madly drave and dashed their hosts 
 
 Against each other, rises up a noise, 
 
 As if the armed multitudes of dead 
 
 Stirred in their heavy slumber. Mournful tones 
 
 Come from the green abysses of the sea — 
 
 A story of the crimes the guilty sought 
 
 To hide beneath its waves. The glens, the gioves, 
 
 Paths in the thicket, pools of running brook. 
 
 And banks and depths of lake, and streets and lanes 
 
 Of cities, now that living sounds are hushed. 
 
 Murmur of guilty force and treachery. 
 
 Here, where I rest, the vales of Italy 
 Are round me, populous from early time, 
 And field of the tremendous warfare waged 
 'Twixt good and evil. Who, alas, shall dare 
 
E ART H. 
 
 Inter]:;ret to man's ear the mingled voice 
 
 That comes from her old dungeons yawning now 
 
 To the black air, her amphitheatres, 
 
 Where the dew gathers on the mouldering stones, 
 
 And fanes of banished gods, and open tombs, 
 
 And roofless palaces, and streets and hearths 
 
 Of cities dug from their volcanic graves ? 
 
 I heai a sound of many languages, 
 
 Tlie utterance of nations now no more, 
 
 Driven out by mightier, as the da}s of lieaven 
 
 Chase one another from the sky. The blood 
 
 Of freemen shed by freemen, till strange loixls 
 
 Came in the hour of weakness, and made last 
 
 The yoke that yet is worn, cries out to ^ea^•en, 
 
 "\Miat then sliall cleanse thy bosom, gentle p]arth. 
 From all its painful memories of guilt? 
 The whelming Hood, or the renewing fire, 
 Or the slow change of time ? that so, at last, 
 The horrid tale of perjury and strife. 
 Murder and spoil, which men call history, 
 May seem a fable, like the inventions told 
 By poets of the gods of Greece. thou, 
 Who sittest far beyond the Atlantic deep. 
 Among the sources of thy glorious j-treams, 
 My native Land of Groves' a newer J'age 
 
In the great record of the world is thine ; 
 
 Shall it be fairer : Fear, and friendly hope, 
 
 And envy, watch the issue, while the lines, 
 
 By which thou shalt be judged, are written dow^n. 
 
TCflE KWDGMTS (r. rp n tt ^, .p or. _ 
 
THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. 277 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. 
 
 Tins is the church which Pisa, great and free, 
 Reared to St. Catharine. IIow the time-stained walls, 
 That earthquakes shook not from their ])oise, appear 
 To shiver in the deep and vohible tones 
 Rolled from the organ ! Underneath my feet 
 There lies the lid of a sepulchral vault. 
 The image of an armed knight is graven 
 Upon il, clad in perfect panoply — 
 Cuishes, and greaves, and cuirass, with barred helm, 
 Gaunlleted hand, and sword, and blazoned shield. 
 Around, in Gothic characters, worn dim 
 By feet of worshippers, are traced his name, 
 And birth, and death, and words of eulogy. 
 Why should I pore upon them ? This old tomb, 
 This effigy, the strange disused form 
 Of this inscription, eloquently show 
 His hist'^ry. Let me clothe in fitting words 
 The thoughts they breathe, and frame his epitaph. 
 
 "He whose forgotten dust for centuries 
 Has laiu benealli tliis stone, was one in whom 
 
2T8 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Adventure, and endurance, and emprise 
 
 Exalted the mind's faculties and strung 
 
 The body's sinews. Brave he was in fight, 
 
 Courteous in banquet, scornful of repose, 
 
 And bountiful, and cruel, and devout. 
 
 And quick to draw the sword in private feud. 
 
 He pushed his quarrels to the death, yet prayed 
 
 The saints as fervently on bended knees 
 
 As ever shaven cenobite. He loved 
 
 As fiercely as he fought. He would have borne 
 
 The maid that pleased him from her bower by night, 
 
 To his hill-castle, as the eagle bears 
 
 His victim from the fold, and rolled the rocks 
 
 On his pursuers. He aspired to see 
 
 His native Pisa queen and arbitress 
 
 Of cities : earnestly for her he raised 
 
 His voice in council, and affronted death 
 
 In battle-field, and climbed the galley's deck, 
 
 And brought the captured flag of Genoa back, 
 
 Or piled upon the Arno's crowded quay 
 
 The glittering spoils of the tamed Saracen. 
 
 He was not born to brook the stranger's yoke. 
 
 But would have joined the exiles that withdrew 
 
 For ever, when the Florentine broke in 
 
 The gates of Pisa, and bore off the bolts 
 
 For trophies — but he died before that day. 
 
THE KNIGHT'S EPITAPH. 279 
 
 "He lived, the impersonation of an age 
 That never shall return. His soul of fire 
 Was kindled by the breath of the rude time 
 He lived in. Now a gentler race succeeds, 
 Shuddering at blood ; the effeminate cavalier, 
 Turning his eyes from the reproachful past, 
 And from the hopeless future, gives to ease, 
 And love, and music, his inglorious life." 
 
280 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE HUNTER OF THE TRAIRIES. 
 
 Ay, this is freedom ! — these pure skies 
 
 Were never stained with village smoke : 
 The fragrant wind, that through them flies, 
 
 Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke. 
 Here, with my rifle and my steed. 
 
 And her who left the world for me, 
 I plant me, where the red deer feed 
 
 In the green desert — and am free. 
 
 For here the fair savannas know 
 
 No barriers in the bloomy grass ; 
 Wherever breeze of heaven may blow. 
 
 Or beam of heaven may glance, I pass. 
 In pastures, measureless as air, 
 
 The bison is my noble game ; 
 The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 
 
 The branches^ falls before my aim. 
 
 Mine are the river-fowl that scream 
 From the long stripe of waving sedge ; 
 
THE HUNTKR OF THE PRAIRIES. 281 
 
 The bear that marks my weapon's gleam, 
 Hides vainly in the forest's edge ; 
 
 In vain the she- wolf stands at bay; 
 The brinded catamount, that lies 
 
 High in the boughs to watch his prey, 
 Even in the act of springing, dies. 
 
 "With what free growth the elm and plane 
 
 Fling their huge arms across my way, 
 Gray, old, and cumbered with a train 
 
 Of vines, as huge, and old, and gray! 
 Free stray the lucid streams, and find 
 
 No taint in these fresh lawns and shades; 
 Free spring the flowers that scent the wind 
 
 Where never scythe has swept the glades. 
 
 Alone the Fire, when frost-winds sere 
 
 The heavy herbage of the ground, 
 Gathers his annual harvest here, 
 
 With roaring like the battle's sound, 
 And hurrying flames that sweep the plain, 
 
 And smoke-streams gushing up the sky : 
 I meet the flames with flames again, 
 
 And at my door they cower and die. 
 
 Here, from dim woods, the aged past 
 Speaks solemnly; and I behold 
 
282 LATER POEMS. 
 
 The boundless future in the vast 
 And lonely river, seaward rolled. 
 
 Who feeds its founts with rain and dew; 
 Who moves, I ask, its gliding mass, 
 
 And trains the bordering vines, whose blue 
 Bright clusters tempt me as I pass ? 
 
 Broad are these streams — my steed obeys, 
 
 Plunges, and bears me through the tide. 
 Wide are these woods — I thread the maze 
 
 Of giant stems, nor ask a guide. 
 I hunt till day's last glimmer dies 
 
 O'er woody vale and grassy height ; 
 And kind the voice and glad the eyes 
 
 That welcome my return at night. 
 
SEVENTY-SIX. 283 
 
 SEVENTY-SIX. 
 
 What heroes from the woodland sprung', 
 Wlien, tlirough the fresh awakened land, 
 
 The thrilling cry of freedom rung. 
 
 And to the work of warfare strung 
 The yeoman's iron hand ! 
 
 Hills flung the cry to hills around, 
 
 And ocean-mart replied to mart, 
 And streams, whose springs were yet unfound, 
 Pealed far away the startling sound 
 
 Into the forest's heart. 
 
 Then marched the brave from rocky steep, 
 
 From mountain river swift and cold ; 
 The borders of the stormy deej>. 
 The vales where gathered waters sleep, 
 Sent up the strong and bold, — 
 
 As if the very earth again 
 
 Grew quick with God's creating breath, 
 
284 LATER POEMS. 
 
 And, from the sods of grove and glen. 
 Rose ranks of lion-hearted men 
 To battle to the death. 
 
 The wife, whose babe first smiled that day. 
 
 The fair fond bride of yestereve, 
 And aged sire and matron gray, 
 Saw the loved warriors haste away, 
 And deemed it sin to grieve. 
 
 Already had the strife begun ; 
 
 Already blood on Concord's plain 
 Along the springing grass had run. 
 And blood had flowed at Lexington, 
 
 Like brooks of April rain. 
 
 That death-stain on the vernal sward 
 Hallowed to freedom all the shore ; 
 
 In fragments fell the yoke abhorred — 
 
 The footstep of a foreign lord 
 Profaned the soil no more. 
 
THE LI VI iNG LOST. 285 
 
 THE LIVING LOST. 
 
 Matron ! the cliildren of -whose love, 
 
 Each to his grave, in youlh hath passed, 
 And now the mould is heaped above 
 
 The dearest and the last! 
 Bride ! who dost wear the widow's veil 
 Before the wedding flowers are pale! 
 Ye deem the human heart endures 
 No deeper, oitterer grief than yours. 
 
 Yet there are pangs of keener wo, 
 
 Of which the sufferers never speak, 
 Nor to the world's cold pity show 
 The tears that scald the cheek. 
 Wrung from their eyelids by the shame 
 And guilt of those they shrink to name, 
 Whom once they loved with cheerful will, 
 And love, though fallen and branded, still. 
 
 Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead. 
 
 Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve ; 
 
286 LATER POEMS. 
 
 And reverenced are the tears ye shed. 
 
 And honoured ye who grieve. 
 The praise of those who sleep in earth, 
 The pleasant memory of their worth, 
 The hope to meet when life is past. 
 Shall heal the tortured mind at last. 
 
 But ye, who for the living lost 
 
 That agony in secret bear, 
 Who shall with soothing words accost 
 
 The strength of your despair ? 
 Grief for your sake is scorn for them 
 Whom ye lament and all condemn ; 
 And o'er the world of spirits lies 
 A gloom from which ye turn your eyes. 
 
CATTER SKILL FALLS. 287 
 
 CATTEllSKILL FALLS. 
 
 Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps, 
 From clifTs where the wood-flower clings ; 
 
 All summer he moistens his verdant steeps 
 
 With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs ; 
 
 And he shakes the woods on the mountain side, 
 
 When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide. 
 
 But when, in the forest bare and old. 
 
 The blast of December calls, 
 He builds, in the starlight clear and cold, 
 
 A palace of ice where his torrent falls, 
 With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair, 
 And pillars blue as the summer air. 
 
 For whom are those glorious chandlers wrought, 
 
 In the cold and cloudless night.-' 
 Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought 
 
 In forms so lovely, and hues so bright ? 
 Hear what tlie gray-haired woodmen tell 
 Of tliis wild stream and its rocky dell. 
 
388 LATER POEMS. • 
 
 'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood, 
 
 A hundred winters ago. 
 Had wandered over the mighty wood, 
 
 When the panther's track w^as fresh on the snow, 
 And keen were the winds that came to stir 
 The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir. 
 
 Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair, 
 For a child of those rugged steeps ; 
 
 His home lay low in the valley where 
 The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps ; 
 
 But he wore the hunter's frock that day, 
 
 And a slender gun on his shoulder lay. 
 
 And here he paused, and against the trunk 
 
 Of a tall gray linden leant. 
 When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk 
 
 From his path in the frosty firmament, 
 And over the round dark edge of the hill 
 A cold green light was quivering still. 
 
 And the crescent moon, high over tiie green, 
 
 From a sky of crimson shone, 
 On that icy palace, whose towers were seen 
 
 To sparkle as if with stars of their own ; 
 While the water fell w4th a hollow sound, 
 'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around. 
 
C A T T E R S K I L L F A L L S. 289 
 
 [s tha"; a being of life, that moves 
 
 Where the crystal battlements rise ? 
 A maiden watching the moon she loves, 
 
 At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes ? 
 Was that a garment which seemed to gleam 
 Betwixt the eye and the falling stream ? 
 
 'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er, 
 
 In the midst of those glassy walls. 
 Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor 
 
 Of the rocky basin in which it falls. 
 'Tis only the torrent — but why that start ? 
 Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart ? 
 
 He thinks no more of his home afar. 
 
 Where his sire and sister wait. 
 He heeds no longer how star after star 
 
 Looks forth on the night as the liour grows late. 
 He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast 
 From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast. 
 
 His thoughts are alone of those who dwell 
 
 In the halls of frost and snow, 
 Who j)ass where the crystal domes upswell 
 
 From the alabaster floors below, 
 Where the frost-trees shoot wilh leaf and spray, 
 And frost-gems scatter a silvery day. 
 
290 LATER P O E M ^5. 
 
 «<And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!" 
 
 He speaks, and throughout the glen 
 Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine, 
 
 And take a ghastly likeness of men, 
 As if the slain by the wintry storms 
 Came forth to the air in their earthly forms. 
 
 There pass the chasers of seal and whale, 
 
 With tl^eir weapons quaint and grim, 
 And bands of warriors in glittering mail, 
 
 And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb. 
 There are naked arms, with bow and spear, 
 And furry gauntlets the carbine rear. 
 
 There are mothers — and oh how sadly their eyes 
 
 On their children's white brows rest ! 
 There are youthful lovers — the maiden lies, 
 
 In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast ; 
 There are fair wan women with moonstruck air, 
 The snow stars flecking their long loose hair. 
 
 They eye him not as they pass along, 
 
 But his hair stands up with dread. 
 When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng, 
 
 Till those icy turrets are over his head. 
 And the torrent's roar as they enter seems 
 Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams. 
 
C ATTE R S K I L L FALL S. 291 
 
 The glittering threshold is scarcely passed, 
 Wlien there gathers and wraps him rouna 
 
 A thick white twilight, sullen and vast, 
 In which there is neither form nor sound ; 
 
 The phantoms, the glory, vanish all, 
 
 With the dying voice of the waterfall. 
 
 Slow passes the darkness of that trance, 
 
 And the youth now faintly sees 
 Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance 
 
 On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees, 
 And walls where the skins of beasts are hung, 
 And rifles glitter on antlers strung. 
 
 On a couch of shaggy skins he lies ; 
 
 As he strives to raise his head, 
 ITard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes, 
 
 Come round iiiin and smooth his furry bed, 
 And bid him rest, for the evening star 
 Is scarcely set and the day is far. 
 
 They had found at eve the dreaming one ^ 
 
 By the base of that icy steep, 
 Wlien o\er his stiffening limbs begun 
 
 The deadly slumber of frost to creep, 
 And they ciicrishcd llie pale and l)rcathless Jorni, 
 Till lhe staiinant blood ran free and warm. 
 
THE STRANGE LADY. 
 
 The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by, 
 As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky ; 
 Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound, 
 An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the ground. 
 
 A dark-haired woman from the wood comes suddenly in sight; 
 Her merry eye is full and black, her cheek is brown and bright ; 
 Her gown is of the mid-sea blue, her belt with beads is strung, 
 And yet she speaks in gentle tones, and in the English tongue. 
 
 "It was an idle bolt I sent, against the villain crow ; 
 
 Fair sir, I fear it harmed thy hand ; beshrew my erring bow!" 
 
 "Ah! would that bolt had not been spent! then, lady, miglil 
 
 I wear 
 A lasting token on my hand of one so passing fair!"" 
 
 "Thou art aflatterer like the rest, but wouldst thou take with me 
 A day of hunting in the wilds, beneath the greenwood tree, 
 I know where most the pheasants feed, and where the red-deer 
 
 herd, 
 And thou shouldst chase the nobler game, and I bring down 
 
 the bird." 
 
T 1 1 E S T R A N G E E A I) V. 293 
 
 Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its })lace, 
 And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of her face : 
 "Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, 'twere not meet 
 That night, amid the wilderness, should overtake thy feet." 
 
 "Heed not the night; a summer lodge amid the wild is mine, — 
 'Tis shadowed by the tuli})-tree, 'tis mantled by the vine ; 
 The wild })lum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrantthickets nigh. 
 And llowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky. 
 
 " There in the boughs that hide the roof the mock-bird sits and 
 
 sings. 
 And there the hang-bird's brood within its little hammock swings; 
 Apebblybrook, where rustlingwinds amongthe hopples sweep. 
 Shall lull thee till the morning sun looks in upon thy sleep." 
 
 Away, into the forest depths by pleasant paths they go, 
 
 He with his rifle on his arm, the lady with her bow, 
 
 Where cornels arch tJieir cool dark boughs o'er beds of 
 
 winter-green. 
 And never at his father's door again was Albert seen. 
 
 That night upon the woods came down a furious hurricane, 
 Willi howlof winds and roarof streams, and beatingof tlic laiii ; 
 The mighty thunder broke and drowned the noises in its crash ; 
 The old trees seemed to fight like fiends l)eneath the Hghtniiig- 
 flash. 
 
294 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Next day, within a mossy glen, 'mid mouldering trunks were 
 
 found 
 The fragments of a human form upon the bloody ground ; 
 White bones from which the flesh w^as torn, and locks of 
 
 glossy hair; 
 They laid them in the place of graves, yet wist not whose 
 
 they were. 
 
 And whether famished evening w^olves had mangled Albert so, 
 Or that strange dame so gay and fair were some mysterious foe, 
 Or whether to that forest lodge, beyond the mountains blue. 
 He went to dwell with her, the friends who mourned him 
 never knew. 
 
LIFE. 295 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 Oh Life ! I breathe thee in the breeze, 
 I feel ihee bounding in my veins, 
 
 I see thee in these stretching trees, 
 
 Thes" flowers, this still rock's mossy stains. 
 
 This stream of odours flowing by 
 
 From clover-field and clumps of pine, 
 
 This music, thrilling all the sky, 
 
 From all the morning birds, are thine. 
 
 Thou fill'st with joy this little one, 
 
 That leaps and shouts beside me here. 
 
 Where Isar's clay-white rivulets run 
 
 Through the dark woods like frighted deer. 
 
 Ah ! must tliy mighty breath, that wakes 
 Insect and bird, and llower and tree. 
 
 From the low trodden dust, and makes 
 Their daily gladness, pass from mc — 
 
296 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Pass, pulse by pulse, till o'er the ground 
 
 These limbs, now strong, shall creep with pain, 
 
 And this fair world of sight and sound 
 Seem fading: into nig-ht a2:ain ? 
 
 The tilings, oh Life ! thou quickenest, all 
 Strive upwards toward the broad bright sky, 
 
 Upward and outward, and they fall 
 Back to earth's bosom when they die. 
 
 A.11 that have borne the touch of death, 
 A.11 that shall live, lie mingled there, 
 
 Beneath that veil of bloom and breath. 
 That livinsf zone 'twixt earth and air. 
 
 There lies my chamber dark and still, 
 
 The atoms trampled by my feet, 
 There wait, to take the place I fill 
 
 In the sweet air and sunshine sweet. 
 
 Well, I have had my turn, have been 
 Raised from the darkness of the clod, 
 
 And for a glorious moment seen 
 
 The brightness of the skirts of God ; 
 
 Ind knew the light within my breast. 
 Though wavering oftentimes and dim, 
 
LIFE. 297 
 
 The power, the will, that never rest, 
 And cannot die, were all from him. 
 
 Dear child! I know that thou wilt grieve 
 To see me taken from thy love, 
 
 Wilt seek my grave at Sabbath eve. 
 And weep, and scatter flowers above. 
 
 Thy little heart will soon be healed. 
 And being shall be bliss, till thou 
 
 To younger forms of life must yield 
 The place thou fill'st with beauty now. 
 
 When we descend to dust again, 
 W^here will the final dwelling be 
 
 Of Thought and all its memories then, 
 My love for thee, and thine for me ? 
 
29S LATER POEMS. 
 
 "EARTH'S CHILDREN CLEAVE TO EARTH." 
 
 Earth's children cleave to Earth — her frail 
 
 Decaying children dread decay. 
 Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale. 
 
 And lessens in the morning ray : 
 Look, how, by mountain rivulet, 
 
 It lingers as it upward creeps, 
 i\nd clings to fern and copsewood set 
 
 Along the green and dewy steeps: 
 Clings to the fragrant kalmia, clings 
 
 To precipices fringed with grass, 
 Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings, 
 
 And bowers of fragrant sassafras. 
 iTet all in vain — it passes still 
 
 From hold to hold, it cannot stay, 
 And in the very beams that fill 
 
 The world with glory, wastes away, 
 Till, parting from the mountain's brow, 
 
 It vanishes from human eye, 
 And that which sprung of earth is now 
 
 A portion of the glorious sky. 
 
THE HUNTER'S A I SI ON. 299 
 
 THE HUNTER'S VISION. 
 
 Upon a rock that, liigh and sheer, 
 Rose from the mountain's breast, 
 
 A weary hunter of the deer 
 Had sat him down to rest, 
 
 And bared to the soft summer air 
 
 His hot red brow and sweaty hair. 
 
 All dim in haze the mountains lay, 
 With dimmer vales between ; 
 
 And rivers glimmered on their way, 
 By forests faintly seen ; 
 
 Wliile ever rose a murmuring sound, 
 
 From brooks below and bees around. 
 
 He listened, till he seemed to hear 
 
 A strain, so soft and low. 
 That whellier in the mind or ear 
 
 The listener scarce might know. 
 With such a tone, so sweet and mihl, 
 The watching mother lulls her child. 
 
300 LATER POEMS. 
 
 "Thou weary huntsman," thus it said, 
 
 "Thou faint with toil and heat, 
 
 The pleasant land of rest is spread 
 
 Before thy very feet, 
 And those whom thou wouldst gladly see 
 Are waiting there to welcome thee." 
 
 He looked, and 'twixt the earth and sky 
 
 Amid the noontide haze, 
 A shadowy region met his eye. 
 
 And grew beneath his gaze, 
 As if the vapours of the air 
 Had gathered into shapes so fair. 
 
 Groves freshened as he looked, and flowers 
 Showed bright on rocky bank. 
 
 And fountains welled beneath the bowers. 
 Where deer and pheasant drank. 
 
 He saw the glittering streams, he heard 
 
 The rustling bough and twittering bird. 
 
 And friends — the dead — in boyhood dear. 
 There lived and walked again. 
 
 And there was one who many a year 
 Within her grave had lain, 
 
 A fair young girl, the hamlet's pride — 
 
 His heart was breakins: when she died : 
 
TIIK HUNTER'S VISION. 301 
 
 Bounding, as was her wont, she came 
 
 Right towards his resting-phice, 
 And stretched her hand and called his name 
 
 With that sweet smiling face. 
 Forward with fixed and eager eyes, 
 The hunter leaned in act to rise : 
 
 Forward he leaned, and headlong down 
 
 Plunged from that craggy wall ; 
 He saw the rocks, steep, stern, and brown, 
 
 An instant, in his fall; 
 A frightful instant — and no more, 
 The dream and life at once were o'er. 
 
302 L A T E R P E M S. 
 
 THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hkre we halt our march, and pitch our tent 
 
 On the rugged forest ground, 
 And light our fire with the branches rent 
 
 By winds from the beeches round. 
 Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, 
 
 But a wilder is at hand, 
 With hail of iron and rain of blood, 
 
 To sweep and waste the land 
 
 II, 
 How the dark wood rings with voices shrill, 
 
 That startle the sleeping bird ; 
 To-morrow eve must the voice be still, 
 
 And the step must fall unheard. 
 The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, 
 
 In Ticonderoga's towers, 
 And ere the sun rise twice again, 
 
 The towers and the lake are ours. 
 
THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 30:? 
 
 III. 
 
 Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides 
 
 Where the fireflies liglit the brake ; 
 A. ruddier juice the Briton hides 
 
 In his fortress by the lake. 
 Build high the fire, till the panther leap 
 
 From his lofty perch in flight, 
 And we'll strengthen our weary arms with sleep 
 
 For the deeds of to-morrow niffht. 
 
304 LATER POEMS. 
 
 A PRESENTIMENT. 
 
 "Oh father, let us hence — for hark, 
 A fearful murmur shakes the air . 
 
 The clouds are coming swift and dark ; — 
 What horrid shapes they wear ! 
 
 A winged giant sails the sky ; 
 
 Oh father, father, let us fly !" 
 
 " Hush, child ; it is a grateful sound, 
 That beating of the summer shower ; 
 Here, where the boughs hang close around, 
 
 We'll pass a pleasant hour. 
 Till the fresh wind, that brings the rain. 
 Has swept the broad heaven clear again." 
 
 "Nay, father, let us haste — for see. 
 
 That horrid thing with horned brow, — 
 
 His wings o'erhang this very tree, 
 He scowls upon us now ; 
 
 His huge black arm is lifted high ; 
 
 Oh father, father, let us fly !" 
 
A PRESENTIMENT. :J05 
 
 «'Hush, child ;" but, as the father spoke, 
 Downward the livid firebolt came, 
 Close to his ear the thunder broke, 
 
 And, blasted by the flame. 
 The child lay dead ; while dark and still. 
 Swept tne grim cloud along the hill. 
 
THE CHILD'S FUNEKAL. 
 
 Fair is thy site, Sorrento, green thy shore, 
 
 Black crags behind thee pierce the clear blue skies: 
 
 The sea, whose borderers ruled the world of yore. 
 As clear and bluer still before thee lies. 
 
 Vesuvius smokes in sight, whose fount of fire, 
 Outgushing, drowned the cities on his steeps ; 
 
 And murmuring Naples, spire o'ertopping spire, 
 Sits on the slope beyond where Virgil sleeps. 
 
 Here doth the earth, with flowers of every hue. 
 Heap her green breast when April suns are bright. 
 
 Flowers of the morning-red, or ocean-blue, 
 Or like the mountain frost of silvery white. 
 
 Currents of fragrance, from the orange tree, 
 And sward of violets, breathing to and fro, 
 
 Mingle, and wandering out upon the sea. 
 Refresh the idle boatsman where they blow. 
 
THE CHILD'S FUNERAL. 307 
 
 Yet even here, as under harsher cUmes, 
 
 Tears for the loved and early lost are shed ; 
 
 That soft air saddens with the funeral chimes, 
 Those shining flowers are gathered for the dead. 
 
 Here once a child, a smiling playful one, 
 All the day long caressing and caressed, 
 
 Died when its little tongue had just begun 
 To lisp the names of those it loved the best. 
 
 The father strove his struggling grief to quell, 
 The mother wept as mothers use to weep, 
 
 Two little sisters wearied them to tell 
 
 When their dear Carlo would awake from sleep. 
 
 Within an inner room his couch they spread, 
 His funeral couch ; with mingled grief and love. 
 
 They laid a crow'n of roses on his head. 
 
 And murmured, "Brighter is his crown above.' 
 
 They scattered round him, on the snowy sheet, 
 Laburnum's strings of sunny-coloured gems, 
 
 Sad hyacinths, and violets dim and sweet. 
 
 And orange blossoms on their dark green stems 
 
 And now the hour is come, the priest is there ; 
 Torches are lit and bells are tolled j they go, 
 
308 LATER POEMS. 
 
 With solemn rites of blessing and of prayer, 
 To lay the little corpse in earth below. 
 
 The door is opened ; hark ! that quick glad cry ; 
 
 Carlo has waked, has waked, and is at play ; 
 The little sisters laugh and leap, and try 
 
 To climb the bed on which the infant lay. 
 
 And there he sits alone, and gayly shakes 
 
 In his full hands, the blossoms red and white, 
 
 And smiles with winking eyes, like one who wakes 
 From long deep slumbers at the morning light. 
 
THE BATTLE-FIELD. 309 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD. 
 
 Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
 Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 
 
 And fiery hearts and armed hands 
 Encountered in the battle cloud. 
 
 Ah ! never shall the land forget 
 
 How gushed the life-blood of her brave — 
 Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, 
 
 Upon the soil they fought to save. 
 
 Now all is calm, and fresh, and still, 
 
 Alone the chirp of flitting bird. 
 And talk of children on the hill, 
 
 And bell of wandering kine are heard. 
 
 No solemn host goes trailing by 
 
 The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; 
 Men start not at the battle-cry. 
 
 Oh, be it never heard again! 
 
310 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Soon rested those who fought ; but thou 
 Who minglest in the harder strife 
 
 For truths which men receive not now, 
 Thy warfare only ends with life. 
 
 A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
 Through weary day and weary year. 
 
 A wild and many-weaponed throng 
 Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. 
 
 Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
 And blench not at thy chosen lot. 
 
 The timid good may stand aloof. 
 
 The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. 
 
 Nor heed the shaft too surely cast. 
 The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ; 
 
 For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
 The victory of endurance born. 
 
 Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 
 
 The eternal years of God are hers ; 
 But Error, wounded, writhes with pain. 
 
 And dies among his worshippers. 
 
 Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. 
 
 When they w^ho helped thee flee in fear, 
 
THE BATTLE-FIELD. 311 
 
 Die full of hope and manly trust, 
 Like those who fell in battle here. 
 
 Another hand thy sword shall wield. 
 
 Another hand the standard wave, 
 Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
 
 The blast of triumph o'er thy grave. 
 
312 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE FUTURE LIFE. 
 
 How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 
 
 The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
 When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
 
 And perishes among the dust we tread ? 
 
 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
 If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; 
 
 Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
 In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 
 
 Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ? 
 
 That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given.' 
 My name on earth was ever in thy prayer. 
 
 Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? 
 
 In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
 In the resplendence of thai glorious sphere, 
 
 And larger movements of the unfettered mind. 
 Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? 
 
THE FUTURE LIFE 313 
 
 The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
 And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 
 
 And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
 Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 
 
 A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 
 
 Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 
 
 In cheerful homage to the rule of right. 
 And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 
 
 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, 
 
 Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; 
 
 And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
 Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 
 
 Vet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
 Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 
 
 The same fair thoughtfid brow, and gentle eye. 
 Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 
 
 Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
 The wisdom that I learned so ill in this- 
 
 The wisdom which is love — till I become 
 Thy fit companion in that land of bliss .'' 
 
 SD 
 
THE DEATH OF SCHILLER. 
 
 'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh, 
 The wish possessed his mighty mind, 
 
 To wander forth wherever lie 
 
 The homes and haunts of human-kind. 
 
 Then strayed the poet, in his dreams, 
 By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves ; 
 
 Went up the New World's forest streams, 
 Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves; 
 
 Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark. 
 The sallow Tartar, midst his herds, 
 
 The peering Chinese, and the dark 
 False Malay uttering gentle words. 
 
 How could he rest ? even then he trod 
 The threshold of the world unknown ; 
 
 Already, from the seat of God, 
 A ray upon his garments shone ; — 
 
THE DEATH OF SCHILLER. 315 
 
 Shone and awoke the strong desire 
 
 For love and knowledge reached not here, 
 
 Till, freed by death, his soul of fire 
 Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere. 
 
 Then — who shall tell how deep, how bright 
 
 The abyss of glory opened round ? 
 How thought and feeling flowed like light, 
 
 Througii ranks of being without bound ? 
 
316 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Fountain, that springest on this grassy slope, 
 Thy quick cool murmur mingles pleasantly, 
 With the cool sound of breezes in the beach, 
 Above me in the noontide. Thou dost wear 
 No stain of thy dark birthplace ; gushing up 
 From the red mould and slimy roots of earth, 
 Thou flashest in the sun. The mountain air. 
 In winter, is not clearer, nor the dew 
 That shines on mountain blossom. Thus doth God 
 Bring, from the dark and foul, the pure and bright. 
 
 This tangled thicket on the bank above 
 Thy basin, how thy waters keep it green ! 
 For thou dost feed the roots of the wild vine 
 That trails all over it, and to the twigs 
 Ties fast her clusters. There the spice-bush lifts 
 Her leafy lances ; the viburnum there, 
 Paler of foliage, to the sun holds up 
 Her circlet of green berries. In and out 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. :^,17 
 
 The chipping sparrow, in her coat of brown, 
 Steals silently, lest I should mark her nest. 
 
 Not such thou wert of yore, ere yet the axe 
 Had smitten the old woods. Then hoary trunks 
 Of oak, and plane, and hickory, o'er thee held 
 A mighty cano])y. When April winds 
 Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush 
 Of scarlet flowers. The tulip-tree, high up, 
 Opened, in airs of June, her multitude 
 Of golden chalices to humming-birds 
 And silken-winged insects of the sky. 
 
 Frail wood-plants clustered round thy edge in Spring. 
 The liverleaf put forth her sister blooms 
 Of faintest blue. Here the quick-footed wolf, 
 Passing to lap Ihy waters, crushed the flower 
 Of sanguinaria, from whose brittle stem 
 The red drops fell like blood. The deer, too, left 
 Her delicate foot-print in the soft moist mould, 
 And on the fallen leaves. The slow-paced bear, 
 In such a sultry summer noon as this. 
 Stopped at thy stream, and drank, and leaped across. 
 
 But thou hast histories that stir the heart 
 With deeper feeling; while I look on thee 
 They rise before me. I behold the scene 
 
;^18 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Hoary again with forests ; I behold 
 
 The Indian warrior, whom a hand unseen 
 
 Has smitten with his death-wound in the woods, 
 
 Creep slowly to thy well-known rivulet. 
 
 And slake his death-thirst. Hark, that quick fierce cry 
 
 That rends the utter silence ; 'tis the whoop 
 
 Of battle, and a throng of savage men 
 
 With naked arms and faces stained like blood. 
 
 Fill the green wilderness ; the long bare arms 
 
 Are heaved aloft, bows twang and arrows stream ; 
 
 Each makes a tree his shield, and every tree 
 
 Sends forth its arrow. Fierce the fight and short, 
 
 As is the whirlwind. Soon the conquerors 
 
 And conquered vanish, and the dead remain 
 
 Mangled by tomahawks. The mighty woods 
 
 Are still again, the frighted bird comes back 
 
 And plumes her wings ; but thy sweet waters run 
 
 Crimson with blood. Then, as the sun goes down. 
 
 Amid the deepening twilight I descry 
 
 Figures of men that crouch and creep unheard. 
 
 And bear away the dead. The next day's shower 
 
 Shall wash the tokens of the fight away. 
 
 I look again — a hunter's lodge is built, 
 With poles and boughs, beside thy crystal well, 
 While the meek autumn stains the woods with gold. 
 And sheds his golden sunshine. To the door 
 
■iriHiE If 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 319 
 
 The red man slowly drags the enormous bear 
 Slain in the chestnut thicket, or flings down 
 The deer from his strong shoulders. Shaggy fells 
 Of wolf and cougar hang uj)on the walls, 
 And loud the black-eyed Indian maidens laugh, 
 That gather, from the rustling heaps of leaves, 
 The hickory's white nuts, and the dark fruit 
 That falls from the gray butternut's long boughs. 
 
 So centuries passed by, and still the woods 
 Blossomed in spring, and reddened when the year 
 Grew chill, and glistened in the frozen rains 
 Of winter, till the white man swung the axe 
 Beside thee — signal of a mighty change. 
 Then all around was heard the crash of trees, 
 Trembling awhile and rushing to the ground, 
 The low of ox, and shouts of men who fired 
 The brushwood, or who tore the earth with jdoughs. 
 The grain sprang thick and tall, and hid in green 
 The blackened hill-side ; ranks of spiky maize 
 Rose like a host embattled ; the buckwheat 
 Whitened broad acres, sweetening with ils flowers 
 The August wind. White cottages were seen 
 With rose-trees at ihe windows ; barns from which 
 Came loud and shrill tlie crowing of the cdck; 
 Pastures where rolled and neiglied the lordlv horse. 
 And white flocks browsed and bit'aled. A rich turf 
 
Of grasses brought from far o'ercrept thy bank, 
 Spotted with the white clover. Blue-eyed girls 
 Brought pails, and dipped them in thy crystal pool; 
 And children, ruddy-cheeked and flaxen-haired, 
 Gathered the glistening cowslip from thy edge. 
 
 Since then, what steps have trod thy border! Here 
 On thy green bank, the woodman of the swamp 
 Has laid his axe, the reaper of the hill 
 His sickle, as they stooped to taste thy stream. 
 The sportsman, tired with wandering in the still 
 September noon, has bathed his heated brow 
 In thy cool current. Shouting boys, let loose 
 For a wild holiday, have quaintly shaped 
 Into a cup the folded linden leaf. 
 And dipped thy sliding crystal. From the wars 
 Returning, the plumed soldier by thy side 
 Has sat, and mused how pleasant 'twere to dwell 
 In such a spot, and be as free as thou. 
 And move for no man's bidding more. At eve, 
 When thou wert crimson with the crimson sky, 
 Lovers have gazed upon thee, and have thought 
 Their mingled lives should flow as peacefully 
 And brightly as thy waters. Here the sage, 
 Gazing into thy self-replenished depth. 
 Has seen eternal order circumscribe 
 And bind the motions of eternal change, 
 
THE FOUNTAIN. 821 
 
 And from the gushing of thy simple fount 
 Has reasoned to the mighty universe. 
 
 Is there no other change for thee, that lurks 
 Among the future ages ? Will not man 
 Seek out strange arts to wither and deform 
 The pleasant landscape which thou makest green ' 
 Or shall the veins that feed thy constant stream 
 Be choked in middle earth, and flow no more 
 For ever, that the water-plants along 
 Thy channel perish, and the bird in vain 
 Alight to drink ? Haply shall these green hills 
 Sink, with the lapse of years, into the gulf 
 Of ocean waters, and thy source be lost 
 Amidst the bitter brine ? Or shall they rise, 
 Upheaved in broken cliffs and airy peaks. 
 Haunts of the eagle and the snake, and thou 
 Gush midway from the bare and barren steep ? 
 
THE WINDS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air, 
 
 Softly ye played a few brief hours ago ; 
 Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair 
 
 O'er maiden cheeks, that took a fresher glow ; 
 Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue ; 
 Ye shook from shaded flowers the linfferinff dew : 
 
 DO ■ 
 
 Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew, 
 
 Light blossoms, dropping on the grass lilce snow. 
 
 II. 
 
 How are ye changed! Ye take the cataract's sound ; 
 
 Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might ; 
 The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground ; 
 
 The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight. 
 The clouds before you shoot like eagles past; 
 The homes of men are rocking in your blast ; 
 Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast. 
 
 Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight. 
 
III. 
 
 The wear}^ fowls of heaven make wing in vain, 
 
 To escape your wrath ; ye seize and clash them dead. 
 Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ; 
 The harvest-field becomes a river's bed ; 
 And torrents tumble from the hills around, 
 Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned. 
 And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound. 
 Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye dart upon the deep, and straight is heard 
 A wilder roar, and men grow pale, and pray ; 
 
 Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird 
 
 Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray 
 
 See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ; 
 
 Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs. 
 
 And take the mountain billow on your wings. 
 And pile the wreck of navies round the bay. 
 
 V. 
 
 Why rage ye thus ? — no strife for liberty 
 
 Has made you mad; no tyrant, strong through fear. 
 
 Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free, 
 And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere ; 
 
 For ye were born in freedom where ye blow; 
 
 F'ree o'er the mighty deep to come and go ; 
 
324 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow, 
 Her isles where summer blossoms all the year. 
 
 VI. 
 
 YE wild winds ! a mightier Power than yours 
 
 In chains upon the shore of Europe lies ; 
 The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures, 
 
 Watch his mute throes with terror in their eyes : 
 And armed warriors all around him stand, 
 And, as he struggles, tighten every band, 
 And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand, 
 To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet oh, when that wronged Spirit of our race 
 
 Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains, 
 A.nd leap in freedom from his prison-place. 
 
 Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains, 
 Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air, 
 To waste the loveliness that time could spare, 
 To fill the earth with wo, and blot her fair 
 
 Unconscious breast whh blood from human veins. 
 
 But may he like the spring-time come abroad. 
 Who crumbles winter's gp'es with gentle might, 
 
T HE WIND S. 335 
 
 WTien in tlie (genial breeze, the breatli of God, 
 
 Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light ; 
 Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet. 
 The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnmgs sweet. 
 And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet. 
 Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night. 
 
326 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S COUNSEL. 
 
 Among our hills and valleys, I have known 
 Wise and grave men, who, while their diligent hands 
 Tended or gathered in the fruits of earth, 
 Were reverent learners in the solemn school 
 Of nature. Not in vain to them were sent 
 Seed-time and harvest, or the vernal shower 
 That darkened the brown tilth, or snow that beat 
 On the white winter hills. Each brought, in turn, 
 Some truth, some lesson on the life of man, 
 Or recognition of the Eternal mind 
 Who veils his glory with the elements. 
 
 One such T knew long since, a white-haired man, 
 Pithy of speech, and merry when he would ; 
 A genial optimist, who daily drew 
 From what he saw his quaint moralities. 
 Kindly he held communion, though so old. 
 With me a dreaming boy, and taught me much 
 That books tell not, and I shall ne'er forget. 
 
The sun of May was bright in middle heaven, 
 And steeped the sprouting forests, the green hills 
 And emerald wheat-fields, in his yellow light. 
 Upon the apple-tree, where rosy buds 
 Stood clustered, ready to burst forth in bloom, 
 The robin warbled forth his full clear note 
 For hours, and wearied not. Within the woods. 
 Whose young and half transparent leaves scarce cast 
 A shade, gay circles of anemones 
 
 Danced on their stalks; the shadbush, white whh flowers, 
 Brightened the glens ; the new-leaved butternut 
 And quivering poplar to the roving breeze 
 Gave a balsamic fragrance. In the fields 
 I saw the pulses of the gentle wind 
 On the young grass. My heart was touched with joy 
 At so much beauty, flushing every hour 
 Into a fuller beauty; but my friend, 
 The thoughtful ancient, standing at my side, 
 Gazed on it mildly sad. I asked him why. 
 
 " Well mayst thou join in gladness," he replied, 
 '•With the glad earth, her springing plants and flowers, 
 And this soft wind, the herald of the green 
 Luxuriant summer. Thou art young like them. 
 And well mayst thou rejoice, ]^\d while the flight 
 Of seasons fills and knils thy spreading frsime, 
 It withers mine, and ihins my hair, and dims 
 
328 LATER POEMS. 
 
 These eyes, whose fading light shall soon be quenched 
 In utter darkness. Hearest thou that bird ?" 
 
 T listened, and from midst the depth of woods 
 Heard the love-signal of the grouse, that wears 
 A sable ruff around his mottled neck; 
 Partridge they call him by our northern streams, 
 And pheasant by the Delaware. He beat 
 'Gainst his barred sides his speckled wings, and made 
 A sound like distant thunder ; slow the strokes 
 At first, then fast and faster, till at length 
 They passed into a murmur and were still. 
 
 " There hast thou," said my friend, " a fitting type 
 Of human life. 'Tis an old truth, I know, 
 But images like these revive the power 
 Of long familiar truths. Slow pass our days 
 In childhood, and the hours of lisht are long: 
 Betwixt the morn and eve ; with swifter lapse 
 They glide in manhood, and in age they fly ; 
 Till days and seasons flit before the mind 
 As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm. 
 Seen rather than distinguished. Ah! I seem 
 As if I sat within a helpless bark 
 By swiftly running waters hurried on 
 To shoot some mighty cliff'. Along the banks 
 Grove after grove, rock after frowning rock, 
 
THE OLD MAWS COUNSEL. :>.'29 
 
 Bare sands and pleasant homes, and flowery nooks, 
 
 And isles and whirlpools in the stream, appear 
 
 Each after each, but the devoted skiff 
 
 Darts by so swiftly that their images 
 
 Dwell not upon the mind, or only dwell 
 
 In dim confusion ; faster yet I sweep 
 
 By other banks, and the great gulf is near. 
 
 ''Wisely, my son, while yet thy days are long, 
 And this fair change of seasons passes slow. 
 Gather and treasure up the good they yield — 
 All that they teach of virtue, of pure thoughts 
 And kind affections, reverence for thy God 
 And for thy brethren ; so when thou shalt come 
 Into these barren years, thou mayst not bring 
 A mind unfurnished and a withered heart." 
 
 Long since that white-haired ancient slept — but still. 
 When the red flower-buds crowd the orchard bough, 
 And the ruffed grouse is drumming far within 
 The woods, his venerable form again 
 Is at my side, his voice is in my ear. 
 
LINES IN MEMORY OF WILLIAM LEGGETT. 
 
 The earth may ring, from shore to shore, 
 
 With echoes of a glorious name, 
 But he, whose loss our tears deplore, 
 
 Has left behind him more than fame. 
 
 For when the death-frost came to lie 
 On Leggett's warm and mighty heart, 
 
 And quenched his bold and friendly eye, 
 His spirit did not all depart. 
 
 The words of fire that from his pen 
 Were flung upon the fervent page, 
 
 Still move, still shake the hearts of men. 
 Amid a cold and coward age. 
 
 His love of truth, too warm, too strong 
 For Hope or Fear to chain or chill, 
 
 His hate of tyranny and wrong, 
 
 Burn in the breasts he kindled still. 
 
AN EVENING R E V E R Y. ^'M 
 
 AN EVENING EEVERY. 
 
 FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 
 
 The summer day is closed — the sun is set : 
 Well they have done their office, those bright hours, 
 The latest of whose train goes softly out 
 In the red West. The green blade of the ground 
 Has risen, and herds have cropped it ; the young twig 
 Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun ; 
 Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown 
 And withered ; seeds have fallen upon the soil, 
 From bursting cells, and in their graves await 
 Their resurrection. Insects from the pools 
 Have filled the air awhile with humming wings. 
 That now are still for ever ; painted moths 
 Have wandered the blue sky, and died again ; 
 The mother-bird hath broken for her brood 
 Their prison shell, or shoved them from the nt'St, 
 Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves, 
 In woodland cottages with barky walls. 
 In noisome cells of the tuiiiiiltiious town, 
 Mothers have clasped witli joy tlu- lu'w-born baoc. 
 
332 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore 
 Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways 
 Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out 
 And filled, and closed. This day hath parted friends 
 That ne'er before were parted ; it hath knit 
 New friendships ; it hath seen the maiden plight 
 Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long 
 Had wooed ; and it hath heard, from lips which late 
 -Were eloquent of love, the first harsh word. 
 That told the wedded one her peace was flown. 
 Farewell to the sweet sunshine ! One glad day 
 Is added now to Childhood's merry days, 
 And one calm day to those of quiet Age. 
 Still the fleet hours run on ; and as I lean, 
 Amid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit, 
 By those who watch the dead, and those who twine 
 Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes 
 Of her sick infant shades the painful light, 
 And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath. 
 
 Oh thou great Movement of the Universe, 
 Or Change, or Flight of Time — for ye are one ! 
 That bearest, silently, this visible scene 
 Into night's shadow and the streaming rays 
 Of starlight, whither art thou bearing me ? 
 I feel the mighty current sweep me on. 
 Yet know not whither. Man foretells afar 
 
AN EVENING R E V E R Y. 833 
 
 The courses of the stars ; the very hour 
 
 He knows when they sh.ill (hirkcn or grow hriglit ; 
 
 Yet cloth the eclipse of Sorrow and of Death 
 
 Come unforewarned. Who next, of those I love, 
 
 Shall pass from life, or, sadder yet, shall fall 
 
 From virtue ? Strife with foes, or bitterer strife 
 
 With friends, or shame and general scorn of men — 
 
 Which who can bear? — or the fierce rack of pain, 
 
 Lie they within my path ? Or shall the years 
 
 Push me, with soft and inoffensive pace. 
 
 Into the stilly twilight of my age ? 
 
 Or do the portals of another life 
 
 Even now, while I am glorying in my strength. 
 
 Impend around me ? Oh ! beyond that bourne, 
 
 In the vast cycle of being which begins 
 
 At that broad threshold, with what fairer forms 
 
 Shall the great law of change and progress clothe 
 
 Its workings? Gently — so have good men taught — 
 
 Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide 
 
 Into the new ; "the eternal flow of things, 
 
 Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, 
 
 Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. 
 
334 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE PAINTED CUP. 
 
 The fresh savannas of the Sang-amon 
 Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass 
 Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts 
 Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire ; 
 The wanderers of the prairie know them well, 
 And call that brilliant flower the Painted Cuj>. 
 
 Now, if thou art a poet, tell me not 
 That these bright chalices were tinted thus 
 To hold the dew for fairies, when they meet 
 On moonlight evenings in the hazel bowers, 
 And dance till they are thirsty. Call not up, 
 Amid this fresh and virgin solitude, 
 The faded fancies of an elder world ; 
 But leave these scarlet cups to spotted moths 
 Of June, and glistening flies, and humming-birds. 
 To drink from, when on all these boundless lawns 
 The morning sun looks hot. Or let the wind 
 O'erturn in sport their ruddy brims, and pour 
 A sudden shower upon the strawberry plant. 
 
Tin-: P A I N T ED C U p. 335 
 
 To swell the reddening fruit that even now 
 Breathes a slight fragrance from the sunny slope. 
 
 But thou art of a gayer fancy. Well — 
 Let then the gentle Manitou of flowers, 
 Lingering amid the bloomy waste he loves, 
 Though all his swarthy worshippers are gone — 
 Slender and small, his rounded cheek all brown 
 And ruddy with the sunshine ; let him come 
 On summer mornings, when the blossoms wake. 
 And part with little hands the spiky grass ; 
 And touching, with his cherry lips, the edge 
 Of these bright beakers, drain the gathered dew 
 
336 LATER POEMS. 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I HAD a dream — a strange, wild dream — 
 
 Said a dear voice at early light ; 
 And even yet its shadows seem 
 
 To linger in my waking sight. 
 
 Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew. 
 And bright with morn, before me stood ; 
 
 And airs just wakened softly blew 
 On the young blossoms of the wood. 
 
 Birds sang within the sprouting shade, 
 Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, 
 
 And children prattled as they played 
 Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass. 
 
 Fast climbed the sun: the flowers were flown, 
 There played no children in the glen ; 
 
 For some were gone, and some were grown 
 To blooming dames and bearded men. 
 
ADR E A M. . 337 
 
 'Twas noon, 'twas summer: I beheld 
 
 Woods darkening in the flush of day, 
 And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, 
 
 A mighty stream, with creek and bay. 
 
 And here was love, and there was strife, 
 And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, 
 
 And strong men, struggling as for life. 
 With knotted limbs and angry eyes. 
 
 Now stooped the sun — the shades grew thin ; 
 
 The rustling paths were piled with leaves ; 
 And sunburnt groups were gathering in. 
 
 From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. 
 
 The river heaved with sullen sounds ; 
 
 The chilly wind was sad with moans ; 
 Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds 
 
 Grew thick with monumental stones. 
 
 Still waned the day; the wind that chased 
 
 The jagged clouds blew chillier yet; 
 The woods were stripped, the fields were waste , 
 
 The wintry sun was near its set. 
 
 And of the young, and strong, and fair, 
 A lonely remnant, gray and weak. 
 
338 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Lingered, and shivered to the air 
 Of that bleak shore and water bleak. 
 
 Ah ! age is drear, and death is cold ! 
 
 I turned to thee, for thou wert near, 
 And saw thee withered, bowed, and old, 
 
 And woke all faint with sudden fear. 
 
 'Twas thus I heard the dreamer say. 
 And bade her clear her clouded brow ; 
 "For thou and I, since childhood's day, 
 Have walked in such a dream till now. 
 
 "Watch we in calmness, as they rise, 
 The changes of that rapid dream, 
 And note its lessons, till our eyes 
 Shall open in the morning beam." 
 
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. ^30 
 
 THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 
 
 Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, 
 That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
 Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up 
 Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet 
 To linger here, among the flitting birds 
 And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
 That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, 
 A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set 
 With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — 
 Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
 My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
 Back to the earliest days of liberty. 
 
 Oh Freedom! thou art not, as poets dream, 
 A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
 And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
 With which the Roman master crowned his slave 
 When he took off" the g}'ves. A bearded man. 
 Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand 
 Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; lliy brow, 
 
340 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred 
 
 With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
 
 Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched 
 
 His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; 
 
 They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven. 
 
 Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
 
 And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires, 
 
 Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound, 
 
 The links are shivered, and the prison walls 
 
 Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
 
 As springs the flame above a burning pile, 
 
 And shoutest to the nations, who return 
 
 Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 
 
 Thy birthright was not given by human hands : 
 Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fieldj:. 
 While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him. 
 To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars. 
 And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
 Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood. 
 Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
 His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 
 The earliest furrows on the mountain side, 
 Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, 
 Thy enemy, although of reverend look. 
 Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, 
 Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
 
THE ANTIQl ITV OF FREEDOM. :J41 
 
 The grave defiauce of thine elder eye, 
 The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 
 
 Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
 But he shall fade into a feebler age; 
 Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, 
 And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 
 His withered hands, and from their ambush call 
 His hordes to fall upon thee. Pie shall send 
 Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms. 
 To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 
 To charm thy ear; while his sly imps, by stealth, 
 Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread 
 That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 
 With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh ! not yet 
 Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by 
 Thy sword ; nor yet, Freedom ! close thy lids 
 In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
 And thou must watch and combat till the day 
 Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest 
 Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, 
 These old and friendly solitudes invite 
 Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 
 Were young upon the unviolated earth, 
 And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new. 
 Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 
 
342 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE MAIDEN'S SOKROW. 
 
 Seven long years has the desert rain 
 
 Dropped on the clods that hide thy face ; 
 
 Seven long years of sorrow and pain 
 T have thought of thy burial-place. 
 
 Thought of thy fate in the distant west, 
 Dying with none that loved thee near ; 
 
 They who flung the earth on thy breast 
 Turned from the spot without a tear. 
 
 There, I think, on that lonely grave, 
 Violets spring in the soft May shower ; 
 
 There, in the summer breezes, wave 
 Crimson phlox and moccasin flower. 
 
 There the turtles alight, and there 
 Feeds with her fawn the timid doe; 
 
 There, when the wintei woods are bare, 
 Walks the wolf on the crackling snow. 
 
THE MAIDEN'S SORROW. 34"< 
 
 Soon wilt thou wipe my tears away; 
 
 All my task upon earth is done ; 
 My poor fatlier, old and gray, 
 
 Slumbers beneath the churchyard stone. 
 
 In the dreams of my lonely bed, 
 
 Ever thy form before me seems ; 
 4.11 night long I talk with the dead, 
 
 All day long I think of my dreams. 
 
 This deep wound that bleeds and aches, 
 
 This long pain, a sleepless pain — 
 When the Father my spirit takes, 
 
 I shall feel it no more again. 
 
THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 
 
 My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime. 
 
 For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight ; 
 Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time 
 
 Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light, — 
 Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong. 
 
 And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak, 
 And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong 
 
 Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek. 
 
 Thou lookest forward on the coming days. 
 
 Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep ; 
 A path, thick-set with changes and decays. 
 
 Slopes downward to the place of common sleep ; 
 And they who walked with thee in life's first stage, 
 
 Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting near. 
 Thou seest the sad companions of thy age — 
 
 Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear. 
 
 Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, 
 Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die. 
 
THE RETURN OF YOUTH. 345 
 
 Tliy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, 
 Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; 
 
 Waits, like tlie morn, that folds her wing and hid.s. 
 Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour ; 
 
 Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides 
 Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. 
 
 There shall he welcome tliee, when thou shalt stand 
 
 On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet 
 Than when at first he took thee by the hand, 
 
 Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. 
 He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still. 
 
 Life's early glory to thine eyes again. 
 Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill 
 
 Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then. 
 
 Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here, 
 
 Of mountains where immortal morn prevails ? 
 Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear 
 
 A gentle rustling of the morning gales ; 
 A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore, 
 
 Of streams that water banks for ever fair, 
 And voices of the loved ones gone before, 
 
 More musical in that celestial air ? 
 
346 LATER POEMS. 
 
 A HYMN OF THE SEA. 
 
 The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways 
 His restless billows. Thou, whose hands haA'e scooped 
 His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath, 
 That moved in the beginning o'er his face, 
 Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient weaves 
 To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall. 
 Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up, 
 As at the first, to water the great earth, 
 And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms 
 Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind, 
 And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear 
 Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth 
 Over the boundless blue, where joyously 
 The bright crests of innumerable waves 
 Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands 
 Of a great multitude are upward flung 
 In acclamation. I behold the ships 
 Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle. 
 Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home 
 From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze 
 
A HYMN OF TH E SEA. 347 
 
 That bears them, with the riches of the land, 
 And treasiire of dear lives, till, in the port, 
 The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail. 
 
 But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face 
 The blast that wakes the fury of the sea ? 
 Oh God ! thy justice makes the world turn pale, 
 \\Tien on the armed fleet, that royally 
 Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite 
 Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm, 
 Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks 
 Are whirled like chaff upon the waves ; the sails 
 Fly, rent like webs of gossamer ; the masts 
 Are snapped asunder; downward from the decks, 
 Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf, 
 Their cruel engines ; and their hosts, arrayed 
 In tnip{)ings of the battle-field, are whelmed 
 By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks. 
 Tiien stand the nations still with awe, and pause, 
 A moment, from the bloody work of war. 
 
 These restless surges eat away the shores 
 Of earth's old continents ; the fertile plain 
 Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down, 
 And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets 
 Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar 
 In the green chambers of the middle sea, 
 
348 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Where broadest spread the waters and the line 
 
 Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work, 
 
 Creator ! thou dost teach the coral worm 
 
 To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age, 
 
 He builds beneath the waters, till, at last, 
 
 His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check 
 
 The long wave rolling from the southern pole 
 
 To break upon Japan. Thou bid'st the fires, 
 
 That smoulder under ocean, heave on high 
 
 The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks, 
 
 A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird. 
 
 The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts 
 
 With herb and tree ; sweet fountains gush ; sweet airs 
 
 Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers, 
 
 Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look 
 
 On thy creation and pronounce it good. 
 
 Its valleys, glorious with their summer green, 
 
 Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods, 
 
 Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, joii 
 
 The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn. 
 
NOON. 349 
 
 NOON. 
 
 PROM AS O.VFINISllEr POKM. 
 
 'Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee 
 And worshipped, while the husbandmen witlidrew 
 From the scorched fiehl, and the wayfaring man 
 Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount, 
 Or rested in the shadow of the palm. 
 
 I, too, amid the overflow of day, 
 Behold the power which wields and cherishes 
 The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock 
 That overlooks the Hudson's western marge, 
 I gaze upon the long array of groves, 
 The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in 
 The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun ; 
 Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays 
 Climb as lie looks upon them. In the midst, 
 The swelling river, into his green gulf's, 
 Unshadowed save by passing sails above, 
 Takes the redundaul glory, and enjoys 
 Tiie summer in liis eliilly bed. Coy flowers, 
 
350 LATER POEMS. 
 
 That would not open in the early light, 
 
 Push back their plaited sheaths. The ri\'ulet's pool, 
 
 That darkly quivered all the morning long 
 
 la the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun ; 
 
 And o'er its surface shoots, and shoots again, 
 
 The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within 
 
 Run the brown water-beetles to and fro. 
 
 A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour, 
 Reigns o'er the fields ; the laborer sits within 
 His dwelling ; he has left his steers awhile, 
 Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog 
 Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade. 
 Now the grey marmot, with uplifted paws. 
 No more sits listening by his den, but steals 
 Abroad, in safety, to the clover field. 
 And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while 
 A ceaseless murmur from the populous town 
 Swells o'er these solitudes : a mingled sound 
 Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash 
 Upon the stony ways, and hammer-clang, 
 And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks. 
 And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet, 
 Innumerable, hurrying to and fro. 
 Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings 
 No pause to toil and care. With early day 
 Began the tumult, and shall only cease 
 
N N. 051 
 
 When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds 
 Of bustle, gatliers the tired brood to rest. 
 
 Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain 
 And luxury possess the hearts of men, 
 Thus is it with the noon of human life. 
 We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength 
 Of reason, we, with hurry, noise, and care, 
 Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresh 
 Our spirits with the calm and beautiful 
 Of God's harmonious universe, that won 
 Our youthful wonder ; pause not to inquire 
 Why we are here; and what the reverence 
 Man owes to man, and what the mystery 
 That links us to the greater world, beside 
 Whose borders we but hover for a space. 
 
352 LATER POEMS. 
 
 THE CROWDED STREET. 
 
 Let me move slowly through the street, 
 Filled with an ever-shifting train, 
 
 Amid the sound of steps that beat 
 
 The murmuring walks like autumn rain. 
 
 How fast the flitting figures come ! 
 
 The mild, the fierce, the stony face ; 
 Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some 
 
 Where secret tears have left their trace. 
 
 They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest ; 
 
 To halls in which the feast is spread ; 
 To chambers where the funeral guest 
 
 In silence sits beside the dead. 
 
 And some to happy homes repair. 
 
 Where children, pressing cheek to cheek. 
 
 With mute caresses shall declare 
 The tenderness they cannot speak. 
 
T II E C R W D K D S T R E E T. :?53 
 
 And some, who walk in calmness here, 
 Shall shudder as they reach the door 
 
 Where one who made their dwelling dear, 
 Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 
 
 Youth, whh pale cheek and slender frame, 
 And dreams of greatness in thine eye! 
 
 Goest thou to build an early name, 
 Or early in the task to die ? 
 
 Keen son of trade, with eager brow ! 
 
 WTio is now fluttering in thy snare ? 
 Thy golden fortunes, tower they now, 
 
 Or melt the glittering spires in air ? 
 
 \Mio of this crowd to-night shall tread 
 The dance till daylight gleam again ? 
 
 Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? 
 Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? 
 
 Some, famine-struck, shall think how long 
 The cold dark hours, how slow the light 
 
 And some, who flaunt amid the throng, 
 Shall hide in dens of shame to-night. 
 
 Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, 
 They pass, and heed each other not. 
 
354 LATER POEMS, 
 
 There is who heeds, who holds them all. 
 In his large love and boundless thought. 
 
 These struggling tides of life that seem 
 In w^ayward, aimless course to tend. 
 
 Are eddies of the mighty stream 
 That rolls to its appointed end. 
 
THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER. 
 
 It \vas a liundrt-d years ago, 
 When, by the wooclhmd ways, 
 
 The traveller saw the wild deer drink, 
 Or crop the birchen sprays. 
 
 Beneath a hill, whose rocky side 
 
 O'erbrowed a grassy mead. 
 And fenced a cottage from the wind, 
 
 A deer was wont to feed. 
 
 She only came when on the cliffs 
 
 The evening moonlight lay. 
 And no man knew the secret haunts 
 
 In which she walked by day. 
 
 Wliite were lu-r feet, her forehead showed 
 
 A spot of silvery white. 
 That seemed to glimmer like a star 
 
 in autumn's hazy night. 
 
353 L A T E R P E M S. 
 
 And here, when sang the whippoorwill, 
 She cropped the sprouting leaves, 
 
 And here her rustling steps were heard 
 On still October eves. 
 
 But when the broad midsummer moon 
 Rose o'er that grassy lawn, 
 
 Beside the silver-footed deer 
 There grazed a spotted fawn. 
 
 The cottage dame forbade her son 
 To aim the riiie here ; 
 "It were a sin," she said, "to harm 
 Or fright that friendly deer. 
 
 "This spot has been my pleasant home 
 Ten peaceful years and more ; 
 And ever, when the moonlight shines, 
 She feeds before our door. 
 
 "The red men say that here she walked 
 A thousand moons ago ; 
 They never raise the war-whoop here. 
 And never twang the bow. 
 
 "I love to watch her as she feeds, 
 And think that all is well 
 
THE WHITE-FOOTED DEER. 357 
 
 WTiile such a gentle creature haunts 
 The place in which we dwell." 
 
 The youth obeyed, and sought for game 
 
 In forests far away, 
 WTiere, deep in silence and in moss, 
 
 The ancient woodland lay. 
 
 But once, in autumn's golden time, 
 He ranged the wild in vain. 
 
 Nor roused the pheasant nor the deer, 
 And wandered home again. 
 
 The crescent moon and crimson eve 
 Shone with a mingling light ; 
 
 The deer, upon the grassy mead. 
 Was feeding full in sight. 
 
 He raised the rifle to his eye. 
 
 And from the clifis around 
 A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, 
 
 Gave back its deadly sound. 
 
 Away into the neighbouring wood 
 
 The startled creature flew, 
 And crimson dro])s at morning lay 
 
 Amid the glimmering dew. 
 
358 LATER POEMS. 
 
 Next evening shone the waxing moon 
 
 As sweetly as before ; 
 The deer upon the grassy mead 
 
 Was seen again no more. 
 
 But ere that crescent moon was old, 
 
 By night the red men came, 
 And Durnt the cottage to the ground. 
 
 And slew the youth and dame. 
 
 Now woods have overgrown the mead, 
 And hid the cliffs from si^ht : 
 
 There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, 
 And prowls the fox at night. 
 
THE WANING MOON. J50 
 
 THE WANING MOON. 
 
 I've watched too late ; the morn is near ; 
 
 One look at God's broad silent sky ! 
 Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear, 
 
 How in your very strength ye die ! 
 
 Even while your glow is on the cheek, 
 And scarce the high pursuit begun, 
 
 The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak, 
 The task of life is left undone. 
 
 See where upon the horizon's brim, 
 Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars; 
 
 The waning moon, all })ale and dim, 
 Goes up amid the eternal stars. 
 
 Late, in a flood of tender light, 
 
 She floated through the ethereal blue, 
 
 A softer sun, that shone all night 
 Upon the gathering beads of dew. 
 
 And still thou wanest, j)allid moon! 
 The encnnichiiig shadow grows apace ; 
 
ieu LATER POEMS. 
 
 Heaven's everlasting watchers soon 
 Shall see thee blotted from thy place. 
 
 Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen ! 
 
 Well may thy sad, expiring ray 
 Be shed on those whose eyes have seen 
 
 Hope's glorious visions fade away. 
 
 Shine thou for forms that once were bright, 
 For sages in the mind's eclipse. 
 
 For those whose words w^ere spells of might, 
 But falter now on stammering lips ! 
 
 In thy decaying beam there lies 
 
 Full many a grave on hill and plain, 
 
 Of those who closed their dying eyes 
 In grief that they had lived in vain. 
 
 Another night, and thou among 
 
 The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, 
 All rayless in the glittering throng 
 
 Whose lustre late was quenched in thine. 
 
 Yet soon a new and tender light 
 
 From out thy darkened orb shall beam, 
 
 And broaden till it shines all night 
 
 On glistening dew and glimmering stream. 
 
THE STREAM OF LIFE. 301 
 
 THE STREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 Oh silvery streamlet of the fields, 
 
 That flowest full and free ! 
 For thee the rains of spring return, 
 
 The summer dews for thee ; 
 And when thy latest blossoms die 
 
 In autumn's chilly showers, 
 The winter fountains gush for thee, 
 
 Till May brings back the flowers. 
 
 Oh Stream of Life ! the violet springs 
 
 But once beside thy bed ; 
 But one brief summer, on thy path, 
 
 The dews of heaven are shed. 
 Thy parent fountains shrink away. 
 
 And close their crystal veins. 
 And where thy glittering current flowed 
 
 The dust alone remains. 
 
 SH 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Page 17. 
 
 POKM OF THF, AGKS. 
 
 In this poem, written and first printed in the year 1821, the 
 author has endeavoured, from a survey of the past ages of the 
 world, and of the successive advances of mankind in knowledge, 
 virtue, and happiness, to justify and confirm the hopes of the 
 philanthropist for the future destinies of the human race. 
 
 Page 53. 
 
 THF. lUIklAL-l'LACE. 
 
 The first half of this fragment may seem to the reader borrowed 
 from the essay on Rural Funerals in the fourth number of the 
 Sketch-Book. The lines were, however, written more than a 
 year before that number appeared. The poem, unfinished as it 
 is, would not have been admitted into this rolh'Ctioii, hud not the 
 author been unwilling to lose what hud liir honour of resi'mliling 
 so beautiful a composition. 
 
366 NOTES. 
 
 Page 69. 
 
 THE MASSACRE AT SCIO. 
 
 This poem, writlen about the time of the horrible butchery of 
 the Sciotes by the Turks, in 1824, has been more fortunate than 
 most poetical predictions. The independence of the Greek nation, 
 which it foretold, has come to pass, and the massacre, by inspirini^ 
 a deeper detestation of their oppressors, did much to promote that 
 event. 
 
 Page 70. 
 Her maiden veil, her oivn black hair, &c. 
 
 " The unmarried females have a modest falling down of the 
 hair over the eyes." — Eliot. 
 
 Page 102. 
 
 MONUMENT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 The mountain, called by this name, is a remarkable precipice 
 in Great Barrington, overlooking the rich and picturesque valley 
 of the Housatonic, in the western part of Massachusetts. At the 
 southern extremity is, or was a few years since, a conical pile of 
 small stones, erected, according to the tradition of the surrounding 
 country, by the Indians, in memory of a woman of the Stockbridge 
 tribe, who killed herself by leaping from the edge of the precipice. 
 Until within a few years past, small parties of that tribe used to 
 arrive from their settlement in the western part of the state of 
 New York, on visits to Stockbridge, the place of their nativity and 
 former residence. A young woman belonging to one of these 
 parties related, to a friend of the author, the story on which the 
 poem of Monument Mountain is founded. An Indian girl had 
 
NOTES. 307 
 
 formed an attachment for her cousin, which, according to the 
 customs of the tribe, was unlawful. She was, in consequence, 
 seized with a deep melancholy, and resolved to destroy herself. 
 In company with a female friend, she repaired to the mountain, 
 decked out for the occa:>ion in all her ornamenls, and, after passincf 
 the day on the summit in singing with her companion the tradi- 
 tional songs of her nation, she threw herself headlong from the 
 rock, and was killed. 
 
 Page 120. 
 
 THE MURDERKD TRAVELLER. 
 
 Some years since, in the month of May, the remains of a human 
 body, partly devoured by wild animals, were found in a woody 
 ravine, near a solitary road passing between the mountains west 
 of the village of Stockbridge. It was supposed that the person 
 came to his death by violence, but no traces could be discovered 
 of his murderers. It was only recollected that one evening, in the 
 course of the previous winter, a traveller had stopped at an inn in 
 the village of West Stockbridge ; that he had inquired the way to 
 Stockbridge ; and that, in paying the innkeeper for something he 
 had ordered, it appeared that he had a considerable sum of money 
 in his possession. Two ill-looking men were present, and went 
 out about the same time that the traveller proceeded on his jour- 
 nev'. During the Avinler, also, two men of shabby appearance, 
 but plentifully supplied with money, had lingered for awhile about 
 the village of Stockbridge. Several years afterward, a criminal, 
 about to be executed for a capital ofTence in Canada, confessed that 
 he had been concerned in uiurdcriiig a traveller in Stockbridge for 
 the sake of his money. Nothing was ever discovered respecting 
 the name or residence of the person murdered. 
 
Page 168. 
 Chained in the market place he stood, &c. 
 The story of *he African Chief, related in this ballad, may be 
 found in the African Repository for April, 1825. The subject of 
 It was a warrior of majestic stature, the brother of Yarradee, king 
 of the Solima nation. He had been taken in battle, and was 
 brought in chains for sale to the Rio Pongas, where be was exhi- 
 bited in the market-place, his ankles still adorned with the massy 
 rings of gold which he wore when captured. The refusal of his 
 captor to listen to his offers of ransom drove him mad, and he died 
 a maniac. 
 
 Page 184. 
 
 THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS. 
 
 This conjunction was said in the common calendars to have 
 taken place on the 2d of August, 18213. This, I believe, was an 
 error, but the apparent approach of the planets was sufficiently 
 near for poetical purposes. 
 
 Page 193. 
 
 THE HURRICANE. 
 
 This poem is nearly a translation from one by Jose Maria de 
 Heredia, a native of the Island of Cuba, who published at New 
 York, six or seven years since, a volume of poems in the Spanish 
 lano-uatre. 
 
NOTES. 369 
 
 Page 190. 
 
 SONNET WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 Neither this, nor any of the other sonnets in the collection, with 
 the exception of the one from the Portuguese, is framed according 
 to the legitimate Italian model, which, in the author's opinion, 
 possesses no peculiar beauty for an ear accustomed only to the 
 metrical forms of our own language. The sonnets in this collec- 
 tion are rather poems in fourteen lines than sonnets. 
 
 '" Page 197. 
 The slim papaya ripens, &c. 
 
 Papaya — papaw, custard-apple. Flint, in his excellent work 
 on the Geography and History of the Western States, thus de- 
 scribes this tree and its fruit : — 
 
 " A papaw shrub, hanging full of fruits, of a size and weiirht 
 so disproportioned to the stem, and from under long and rich- 
 looking leaves, of the same yellow with the ripened fruit, and of 
 an African luxuriance of growth, is to us one of the richest spec- 
 tacles that we have ever contemplated in the array of the woods. 
 The fruit contains from two to six seeds, like those of the tamarind, 
 except that they are double the size. The pulp of the fruit re- 
 sembles egg-custard in consistence and appearance. It has the 
 same creamy feeling in the mouth, and unites the taste of eggs, 
 cream, sugar, and spice. It is a natural custard, too luscious for 
 the relish of most people." 
 
 Chateaubriand, in his Travels, speaks disparagingly of the fruit 
 of the papaw ; but on the authority of Mr. Flint, who must know 
 more of the matter, I have ventured to make my western lover 
 enumerate it amonf^ the deliciicirs of the wilderness. 
 
370 NOTES. 
 
 Page 218. 
 The surface rolls and Jiuduates to the eye. 
 The prairies of the West, with an undulating surface, rolling 
 prairies, as they are called, present to the unaccustomed eye a 
 sino-ular spectacle when the shadows of the clouds are passing 
 rapidly over them. The face of the ground seems to fluctuate and 
 toss like the billows of the sea. 
 
 Page 218. 
 The prairie-hawk that, poised on high. 
 Flaps his broad wings, yet moves not. 
 I have seen the prairie-hawk balancing himself in the air for 
 hours together, apparently over the same spot ; probably watching 
 his prey. 
 
 Page 220. 
 
 These ample fields 
 Nourished their harvests. 
 The size and extent of the mounds in the valley of the Missis- 
 sippi, indicate the existence, at a remote period, of a nation at 
 once populous and laborious, and therefore probably subsisting by 
 agriculture. 
 
 Page 221. 
 The rude conquerors 
 Seated the captive with their chiefs. 
 Instances are not wanting of generosity like this among the 
 North American Indians towards a captive or survivor of a hostile 
 tribe on which the greatest cruelties had been exercised. 
 
"1 
 
 NOTES. 87J 
 
 Page 223. 
 SONG OF Marion's men. 
 The exploits of General Francis Marion, the famous partisan 
 ■warrior of South Carolina, form an interesting chapter in the an- 
 nals of the American revolution. The British troops were so 
 harassed by the irregular and successful warfare which he kept 
 up at the head of a few daring followers, that they sent an officer 
 to remonstrate with him for not coming into the open field and 
 fighting " like a gentleman and a Christian." 
 
 Page 234. 
 
 MARY MAGDALKV. 
 
 Several learned divines, with much appearance of reason, in 
 particular Dr. Lardner, have maintained that the common notion 
 respecting the dissolute life of Mary Magdalen is erroneous, and 
 that she was always a person of excellent character. Charles 
 Taylor, the editor of Cahnel's Dictionary of the Bible, takes the 
 same view of the subject. 
 
 The verses of the Spanish poet here translated refer to the 
 "woman who had been a sinner," mentioned in the seventh 
 chapter of St. Luke's Gospel, and who is commonly confounded 
 with Mary Magdalen. 
 
 Page 238. 
 
 FATIMA AND RADUAN. 
 
 This and the following poems belong to that class of ancient 
 Spanish ballads, by unknown authors, called liomanccs Mori.sros 
 — Moriscan roinances or ballads. Tliey were composed in tlie 
 1 lib century, some of them, probably, by the Moo/s, who then 
 
372 NOTES. 
 
 lived intermingled with the Christians; and they relate the loves 
 and achievements of the knights of Grenada. 
 
 Page 240. 
 
 LOVE AND FOLLY. (fROM LA FONTAINE.) 
 
 This is rather an imitation than a translation of the poem of the 
 graceful French fabulist. 
 
 Page 245. 
 
 These eyes shall not recall thee, &c. 
 
 This is the very expression of the original — No te Uumaran 
 
 mis ojos, &c. The Spanish poets early adopted the practice of 
 
 calling a lady by the name of the most expressive feature of her 
 
 countenance, her eyes. The lover styled his mistress "ojos 
 
 bellos," benutiful eyes; "ojos serenos," serene eyes. Green 
 
 eyes seem to have been anciently thought a great beauty in 
 
 Spain, and there is a very pretty ballad by an absent lover, in 
 
 which he addressed his lady by the title of " green eyes ;" sup 
 
 plicaling that he may remain in her remembrance. 
 
 ; Ay ojuelos verdes ! 
 
 Ay los mis ojuelos ! 
 
 Ay, hagan los cielos 
 
 Q,ue de mi te acuerdes ' 
 
 Page 248. 
 Say, Love— for thou didst see her tears, &c. 
 The stanza beginning wuh this line stands thus in the 
 orifrinal : — 
 
NOTES. 3t» 
 
 Dilo tu, amor, si lo viste ; 
 
 [Mas ay ! que de lastimado 
 Diste otro nudo a ]a venda, 
 Para no ver lo que ha pasado. 
 r am sorry to find so poor a conceit deforming- so spirited a 
 composition as this old ballad, but I have preserved it in the 
 version. It is one of those extravagances which afterward be- 
 came so common in Spanish poetry, when Gongora introduced the 
 atih culto, as it was called. 
 
 Page 250. 
 
 LOVE IN THE AGE OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 This personification of the passion of Love, by Peyre Vidal, has 
 been referred to as a proof of how little the Provencal poets were 
 indebted to the authors of Greece and Rome for the imagery of 
 their poems. 
 
 Page 252. 
 
 THE LOVE OF GOD. (fROM THE PROVENt'AL OF BERNARD RASCAS.) 
 
 The original of these lines is thus given by John of Nostra- 
 damus, in his lives of the Troubadours, in a barbarous Frenchified 
 orthography : — 
 
 Touta kausa mortala una fes perira, 
 Fors que I'amour de Dieu, que tousiours durara. 
 Tous nostres cors vend ran essuchs, coma fa I'eska, 
 Lous Aubres leyssaran lour verdour tendra e frcsca, 
 Lous Auselets del bosc perdran lour kaiil sutilyeu, 
 E non s'auzira |)lus lou Rossignol gcnlyeu. 
 Lous Buols al Paslourgage, e las blankas fedettaa 
 Sent'ran lous agullions do las mortals Sagettas, 
 
374 NOTE S. 
 
 Lous crestas d'Arles fiers, Renards, e Loups espars, 
 
 Kabrols, Cervys, Chamous, Senglars de toutes pars, 
 
 Lous Ours hardys e forts, seran poudra, e Arena, 
 
 Lou Daulphin en la Mar, lou Ton, e la Balena, 
 
 Monstres impetuous, Ryaumes, e Comtas, 
 
 Lous Princes, e lous Rej's, seran per mort domtas. 
 
 E nota ben eysso kascun : la Terra granda, 
 
 (Ou I'Escritura menl) lou fermament que branda, 
 
 Prendra antra figura. Enfin tout perira, 
 
 Fors que I'Amour de Dieu, que touiours durara. 
 
 Page 253. 
 
 FROM THE SPAMSH OF PEDRO DE CASTRO Y ANAYA. 
 
 Jjtts Auroras de Diana, in which the original of these lines is 
 contained, is, notwithstanding it was praised by Lope de Vega, 
 one of the worst of the old Spanish Romances, being a tissue of 
 fiddles and afTectations, with now and then a little poem of con- 
 siderable beauty. 
 
 Page '^95. 
 Where Isar''s clay-^ ife rivulets run 
 Through the dark jods, like frighted deer. 
 Close to the city of Munich, .i Bavaria, lies the spacious and 
 beautiful pleasure ground, ca) .ed the English Garden, in which 
 these lines were written, originally projected and laid out by our 
 countryman, Count Rumford, under the auspices of one of the 
 sovereigns of the country. Winding walks of great extent, 
 pass through close thickets and groves interspersed with lawns ; 
 and streams, diverted from the river Isar, traverse the grounds 
 swiftly in various directions, the water of which, stained with 
 
NOTE S. 875 
 
 the clay of the soil it has cornult'd in its descent froin the upper 
 country, is frequently of a turbid white colour. 
 
 Page :U)2. 
 
 THE GREKN MOUNTAIN DOYS. 
 
 This song refers to the expedition of the Vermonters, com- 
 manded by Ethan Allen, by wlioui the British fort of Ticonderoga. 
 Lake Chaniplain, was surprised and taken, in May, ITTo. 
 
 on 
 
 Page 30G. 
 
 THE cniLI>'s FUNERAL. 
 
 The incident on which this poem is founded was related to 
 the author while in Europe, in a letter from an English lady. A 
 child died in the south of Italy, and when they went to bury ii 
 they found it revived and playing wilh the flowi-rs which, afie: 
 the manner of that country, had been brought to grace its funeral. 
 
 Page 814. 
 
 '77.S said, ivhcn Scldllrr^s ilealli drew nigh, 
 
 The wish possessed his mighty mind. 
 To U'under forth ivherever lie 
 The lionu's and hduiils (if hionan kind. 
 Shortly before the death of Schiller, he was seized with a 
 strong desire to travel in foreign countries, as if his spirit had a 
 presentiment of its approaching enlargement, and alread}' longed 
 to expatiate in a wider and more varied sphere of existence. 
 
Page 317. 
 
 Thejlower 
 Of Sanguinaria,from ivhjse brittle stem 
 The red drops fell like blood. 
 
 The Sanguinaria Canadensis, or blood-root, as it is comiriMily 
 called, bears a delicate white flower of a musky scent, the stem 
 of which breaks easily, and distils a juice of a bright red colour. 
 
 Page 326. 
 
 The shad-bush, white withjiowers. 
 Whitened the glens. 
 
 The small tree, named by the botanists ^ronia Boti/rapium, is 
 called, in some parts of our country, the shad-bush, from the cir- 
 cumstance that it flowers about the time that the shad ascend the 
 rivers in early spring. Its delicate sprays, covered with white 
 blossoms before the trees are yet in leaf, have a singularly beauti 
 ful appearance in the woods. 
 
 Page 328. 
 " There hast thou,^^ said my friend, " a fitting type 
 Of human Hfe.'^ 
 
 I remember hearing an aged man, in the country, compare the 
 slow movement of time in early life and its swift flight as it 
 approaches old age, to the drumming of a partridge or ruffl'd 
 grouse in the woods — the strokes falling slow and distinct at first, 
 and following each other more and more rapidly, till they end at 
 last in a whii-rins: sound. 
 
N O T !■: H. 377 
 
 Page:}:51. 
 
 AN EVENING RKVIORV. FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. 
 
 This poem and that ciititk'(l the Fountain, with one or two 
 others in blank verse, were inunded by the author as portions 
 of a larger poem, in which they may hereal'ler take their place. 
 
 Page 334. 
 The fresh savannas of the Sangamon 
 Here rise in gentle swells, and the long grass 
 Is mixed with rustling hazels. Scarlet tufts 
 Are glowing in the green, like flakes of fire. 
 
 The Painted Cup, Euchronia Coccinca, or Bartsia Coccinia, 
 grows in great abundance in tlie hazel prairies of the western 
 states, when its scarlet tufts make a brilliant appearance in the 
 midst of the verdure. The Sangamon is a beautiful river, tribu- 
 tary to the Illinois, bordered wilh rich prairies. 
 
 Page 349. 
 
 At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee 
 And u'or shipped 
 Evening and morning, and at noon, will I pray and cry aloud, 
 and he shall hear iny voice. — Psalm Iv, 17. 
 
 Page 355. 
 
 THE WniTK-FOOTKD DEER. 
 
 During the stay of Long's Expedition at Engineer Cantonmciii. 
 three specimens of a variety of the common deer were brought in, 
 having all the feet white near the hoofs, and extending to those on 
 
 2lS 
 
:j78 notes. 
 
 »ne hind feet from a little above the spurious hoofs. This white 
 extremity was div^ided, upon the sides of the foot, by the general 
 colour of the leg, which extends aoAvn near to the hoofs, leavinn- a 
 white triangle in front, of Avhich the point was elevated rather 
 higher than the spurious hoofs. — Godman's Natural History, 
 vol. ii. p. 314. 
 
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