UC-NRLF. 
 

 H Wi 
 
 CASE 
 
 
LEISURE HOURS AT SEA 
 
 OF THE 
 
! 
 
 -^v 
 
LEISURE HOURS AT SEA : 
 
 BEING A FB\V 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 BY A MIDSHIPMAN OF THE UNITED STATES NAVY. 
 
 U- 
 
 Ilaf TO oi%tos tpyov ayaira<i). 
 Tis pleasant, sure, to see one s work in print; 
 A book s a book, although there s nothing in t. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 (JEORGE C. MORGAN, AND E. BLISS & E. WHITE. 
 
 William Van Norden, Printer 
 
 1825. 
 
Southern District of Nctc-York. ss. 
 
 (L. s.) BE IT REMEMBEREI* that on the seventeenth day of November, 
 A. D. 1825, in the fiftieth yeiir of the Independence of the United 
 States of America, George C Morgan, of ti.e said District, hati, depo 
 sited in this Office the title tit a l.oik, the right whereof heclnims as 
 proprietor, in the words following, to wit : 
 
 " Leisure Hours at Sea ; being a few Miscellaneous Poems. 
 By a Midshipman of the United States Navy." 
 
 Has TO ot^ctos epyov ayairau). 
 
 " Tis pleasant sure, to see one s work in print; 
 
 " A book s a hook, although there s nothing in t." 
 In conformity to the act of Congress of the United States, entitled; 
 " An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of 
 maps, charts, and hooks, to the author^ ana proprietors of such copies, 
 during the time therein mentioned." And also to an act, entitled, " An 
 act supplementary to an act, entitled, An act for the encouragement of 
 learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and hooks, to the 
 authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein men 
 tioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, en 
 graving. and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 . \Cle 
 
 of Kent-York 
 
TO 
 MIDSHIPMAN J. W. SWIFT, 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNITED STATES NAVY, 
 AS A TESTIMONY OF ESTEEM AND FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 :": /? .>.*! *< 
 
 M &/ s * 
 
IN presenting this little volume to the public, the 
 Author does not expect to derive either much emolu 
 ment, or much fame from it. Of the pieces which 
 comprise it, many were written while he was yet a 
 mere boy, and the greater part have been produced 
 during leisure moments at sea. If praise should not 
 be accorded to them, at least they cannot be cen 
 sured as prejudicial to morality ; and when it is re 
 membered that they are the effusions of a midship 
 man, and have been composed amid the bustle and 
 confusion of a steerage of a man-of-war, perhaps 
 they may be considered as not altogether undeserving 
 of approbation. 
 
 The Author does not pretend to be indifferent to 
 the fate of this liule literary bantling; on the con 
 trary, its success would afford him a high degree of 
 satisfaction, and might induce him to send forth ano 
 ther adventurer into the world of letters. But whe 
 ther it be applauded, or censured, or, which is far 
 worse, suffered to go down to oblivion unnoticed 
 
VUl PREFACE. 
 
 and unread, it can affect him only inasmuch as his 
 pride of authorship is concerned. In either event, it 
 is not probable that he ever will be known, except to 
 a few particular friends, as the writer of a published 
 book. 
 
 Should the eye of Criticism ever rest upon this 
 humble garland of poesy, let her remember that the 
 flowers which compose it, though, for the most part 
 they have sprung into existence on the ocean and in 
 foreign climes, are not exotics ; that they have been 
 reared and nurtured bv a ^oitth engaged in the ser 
 vice of his country, as a pleading, and, perhaps, not 
 unprofitable amusenit nt, during short intervals of 
 relaxation from the duties of an arduous profession ; 
 and that, if they are totally unworthy to bloom be 
 fore the public, the^ will necessarily, in the shade of 
 neglect, soon fade away and be forgotten. Remem 
 bering this, may she forbear to crush, by the weight 
 of her malediction, a trifle which is certainly innox 
 ious, and which the decree of Time will inevitably 
 destroy. 
 
 U. S. SHIP -, 
 
 Gibraltar, 1825. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To A YOUNG LADY ... 13 
 
 THE vViTHEREu FLOWER 15 
 
 BEAUTY IN TKARS .........16 
 
 VERSES Written under the Name of a Young Lady, in an 
 
 Album, soon nfter her death 18 
 
 " THE BRIGHTEST STAR" 20 
 
 DEATH OK ALLEN. From an occasional Poem, written 
 
 in December, 1822 - 21 
 
 STANZAS. Written on leaving a place where the Author 
 
 had resided several years ...... 21 
 
 STANZAS. Written in a Lady s Alhum 27 
 A MOTTO, Written on a blank leaf of a Lady s Album, 
 containing a collection of Moral and Religious 
 
 Poetry 29 
 
 LINES, On the Death of a Friend killed in a Duel - - 30 
 
 ADIEU 32 
 
 To MY SISTER 34 
 
 PROLOGUE, Recited by a Young Lady, at an Examina 
 tion of the Pupils of a Literary Institution ... 35 
 
 SOVG 40 
 
 MKMORY 43 
 
 THK WARRIOR S RETURN 43 
 
 To \ ROSE 47 
 
 THE GRECIAN WARRIOR 49 
 
 PARTING - 52 
 
 H-PE 55 
 
 THE MOMENT OF Wo 57 
 
 A SONG AT SEA 60 
 
 To WOMAN 62 
 
 THE MEMORY OF THEE 63 
 
XII CONTENTS. 
 
 THE SONG OP ROSE WESTON ------ 
 
 To MY SISTER, Written during a calm, on the Coast 
 of Italy 
 
 To MARY, SLEEPING - 
 
 A DUTCH NATIONAL SONG ------ 
 
 WHY I LOVE THEE 
 
 THK MEETING .... ... 
 
 To MYRA - 
 
 WHERE is HE 
 
 THE OLD MAN S SONG 
 
 FARE THKE WELL 
 
 LINES IN AN ALBUM 
 
 To MARY. Written during: a protracted illness, of which 
 it was not thought that the Author would recover 
 
 THE OFFERING OK LOVE 
 
 EXTRACTS From an Address, written for s. little boy, the 
 Carrier of a Village Newspaper, Jan. 1, 1822 
 
 MARY S GRAVE --------- 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 "LET S DRAIN THE GOBLET DRY" - 
 
 THE MOON 
 
 THK FAMISHED BIKD .-._-.- 
 
 THE COMSOI APION 
 
 LINES, On tin Dr M h of a Young Lody who was drowned 
 in the Ohio River 
 
 LINES. Written on the Island of Elhn - - - - 
 
 LINES, Written heneath a Dilapidated Tower, yet stand 
 ing among the Ruins of Carthage - 
 
 STANZAS - - - 
 
 To LOUISA 
 
 THERK is A VOICE" - - 
 
 LAMENT OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER CHILD 
 
 ON A LOCK OK HAIR - - - - - 
 
 ADDRESS OK A DESERTED MAIDEN TO HER LOVER 
 
 To MY MOTHER 
 
 NOTES .*..*.* 
 
WILLIAM LEGGETT. This distinguished political and miscella 
 neous writer died at New-Rochelle, on the evening of the twenty- 
 ninth of May, in the thirty-ninth year of his age. He was born in 
 the city of New-York, and educated at Georgetown College, in the 
 District of Columbia. In 1822 he entered the United States navy, 
 as a midshipman ; but in consequence of the arbitrary conduct of 
 his commander, Captain John Orde Creighton, he retired from the 
 service in 1826, after which time he devoted himself mainly to 
 literary pursuits. His first publication was entitled " Leisure 
 Hours at Sea," and was composed of various short poems, written 
 while he was in the service. He soon afterwards became a regu 
 lar contributor to the New- York Mirror, for which periodical he 
 occasionally wrote until the day of his death. The reader will 
 remember his admirable articles written for this paper, not among 
 the least meritorious of which was the nautical sketch, entitled the 
 " Main-truck, or a Leap for Life." His writings for the New-York 
 Mirror alone, would form a number of volumes, and are, unquestion 
 ably, the best of his compositions. In 1828, he married Miss Almina 
 Waring, daughter of the late John Waring, Esq. of New-Rochelle, 
 and in the autumn of the same year established " The Critic," a 
 weekly literary periodical, in this city, which was conducted with 
 signal ability for about six months, at the end of which time it was 
 united with the Mirror. The papers of " The Critic," with the 
 exception of some half-dozen brief articles, were all written by 
 himself. In 1829, Mr. Leggett became associated with Mr. Bryant 
 in the conduct of the "Evening Post," and on the departure of his 
 distinguished fellow-labourer for Europe, in 1834, the entire direc- 
 
tion of that journal devolved upon him. A severe illness, which 
 commenced near the close of the succeeding year, induced him to 
 retire from that paper; and on his recovery, in 1836, he commenced 
 the " Plain-Dealer," a weekly periodical devoted to politics and 
 literature, which soon obtained great reputation by the extraordi 
 nary vigour and independence of its articles, and imparted a dis 
 tinctive character to a large portion of the democratic party in 
 the state. It was discontinued, in consequence of the failure of his 
 publishers, before the close of the year. His health subsequent to 
 that period prevented his connexion with any other journal, and he 
 retired with his family to New-Rochelle, about twenty miles from 
 this city, where he remained until the time of his dissolution ; oc 
 casionally visiting his friends, who were numerous, and devotedly 
 attached to him, in this city. In April, last year, he received the 
 appointment of Diplomatic Agent to the republic of Guatemala, 
 and he was actually preparing for a departure for that country 
 whose interesting antiquities had aforetime engaged much of his 
 attention, when he suddenly expired. Beside the work mentioned 
 above, Mr. Leggett wrote several volumes of tales and sketches 
 which attained a great and deserved popularity, and Mr. Sedgwick 
 has, within a few weeks, collected and published two volumes of 
 his political essays. The greatest portion of his literary produc 
 tions were written for and originally published in the Mirror ; and 
 we believe that nearly all his poems and sketches have appeared 
 in its pages. His posthumous writings are said to be voluminous, 
 including a romance of great interest, a tragedy written for Mr- 
 Forrest, etc., but they are yet unprinted. 
 
LEISURE, HOURS AT SEA 
 
TO A YOUNG L AD Y 
 
 tk Mind, mind, alone, bear witness earth and heav n . 
 The living fountain in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime !" - 
 
 Let others praise the hue 
 
 That mantles on thy face, 
 Thine eyes of heav nly blue, 
 
 And mien of faultless grace j 
 These charms I freely own, 
 
 But still a higher find 5 
 Twill last when beauty s flown 
 
 Thy matchless charm of mind ! 
 
j 14 
 
 The damp of years may quench 
 
 The light that s in thine eye; 
 Time s icy touch may blanch 
 
 Thy cheek s vermilion die; 
 Thy form may lose its grace ; 
 
 Thy voice its sweet control ; 
 But naught can e er efface 
 
 The beauties of thy soul. 
 
 Oh ! beauty s but a flower 
 
 That blooms in summer s ray ; 
 When pours the wintry shower 
 
 Its charms will fade away : 
 The mind s a sweet perfume 
 
 That winter cannot chill ; 
 The flow r may lose its bloom, 
 
 But fragrance haunts it still. 
 
THIS WITHERED FLOWER 
 
 The flower you gave me is faded, 
 
 And the vows that you breathed were untrue ; 
 The bosom whose peace you ve invaded, 
 
 Still sighs but it sighs not for you ! 
 } Twas the semblance of honour that won me, 
 
 Not the wretch in that semblance array d; 
 Now your spells have no power upon me, 
 
 For I ve found that I worshipp d a shade. 
 
 Could the tears I have shed on this flower 
 
 Its fragrance and beauty renew, 
 I might hope that repentance hath power 
 
 To alter to purify you : 
 But alas ! it is withered forever, 
 
 No art can its sweetness restore ; 
 And the name of its giver will never 
 
 Be unsullied and dear as before. 
 
BEAUTY IN TEARS. 
 
 " For beauty s tears are lovelier than her smile," CAMPBELL. 
 
 The smile that illumines the features of Beauty, 
 When kindled by virtue, alluring appears; 
 
 But smiles, tho j alluring, no magic can borrow 
 To vie with the softness of Beauty in Tears. 
 
 The smiles that are sweetest are often deceiving ; 
 
 Too often a mask that the cold hearted wears: 
 But a tear is the holiest offspring of Feeling; 
 
 And monarchs are weak before Beauty in Tears, 
 
 There is something in sorrow exalts and refines us, 
 Its victims to sympathy s bosom endears ; 
 
 And oh, there is nothing on earth that inclines us 
 To deeds of high glory like Beauty in Tears ! 
 
17 
 
 The sunshine of smiles may with brightness enliven 
 Our few and brief moments unclouded by cares; 
 
 The hand of affliction will point us to heaven 
 An angel of peace, then, is Beauty in Tears ! 
 
 Yet weep not, sweet maid ! tho j to sorrow tis given 
 To remind the lone bosom of happier spheres ; 
 
 For breathes there a soul that would e er taste of 
 
 heaven, 
 Could it only be purchased by Beauty in Tears ! 
 
VERSES, 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER THE NAME OF A YOUNG LADY, IN A> 
 ALBUM, SOON AFTER HER DEATH. 
 
 This name recalls the far-fled hours, 
 Ere yet my heart had throbb d with care ; 
 When round my feet were thornless flow rs, 
 And life was new, and all was fair. 
 
 And sadden d memory tells me thou 
 Wert then beloved, in youthful bloom, 
 And innocent and happy now 
 Where art thou ? In yon silent tomb ! 
 
 We bloom to fade ! we re born to die ! 
 Tis His decree who being gave ; 
 But Faith exulting points on high, 
 And bids us triumph o er the grave ! 
 
19 
 
 Thou faded flow r! why weep for theer* 
 } Tis wrong, tis selfish to lament 
 God s mandate set thy spirit tree ; 
 Death was the messenger He sent. 
 
 He bore thee to those realms of rest, 
 
 By angel footsteps only trod ; 
 
 A seraph-form forever blest 
 
 Thou stand st before the throne of God. 
 
 And yet we mourn from yon high spheres 
 Oh ! canst thou not a balm impart, 
 To dry thine anguish d mother s tears? 
 To bind thy father s broken heart ? 
 
 Yes, at the noiseless noon of night, 
 When slumber lulls th unceasing pain, 
 Sweet spirit ! come in visions bright, 
 And whisper " We will meet again !" 
 
 " Your child hath flown to realms above, 
 " Where soon we ll meet no more to sever ; 
 " But happy in a Saviour s love, 
 " Dwell there forever and forever !" 
 
" THE BRIGHTEST STAR." 
 
 The brightest star that gems the night 
 
 The soonest fades away ; 
 And hopes that beam with sweetest light, 
 The first decay. 
 
 But as the stars when lost in gloom 
 
 Are follow d soon by day ; 
 So withered joys beyond the tomb 
 Will bloom for aye ! 
 
DEATH OF ALLEN. 
 
 FROM AN OCCASIONAL POEM, WRITTEN IN DECEMBER, 182C 
 
 Multis ille bonis flebilis occidit, 
 
 Nulli ftebilior quam mihi. HORACE , 
 
 And on the wave, Columbia s hardy band, 
 Who ve shed such ^lory round our native land ; 
 Who ve borne her banner through the storms of war, 
 Undimm d, unsullied, to each foreign shore; 
 Before the lustre of whose starry light 
 Brittania s lion fled approach of fight; 
 That band now mourns o er many a spirit brave, 
 By fell disease hurl d to an early grave. 
 Their duty call d them from the charms of home, 
 Against the ruffians on the wave to roam : 
 At length returning to ards their native sky, 
 Hope in each heart, and pleasure in each eye, 
 The yellow daemon seal d their timeless doom - 
 They reach d their country but to find a tomb ! 
 
22 
 
 But Allen thou ! Oh ! at thy honourM name. 
 The Muse indignant mounts on wings of flame ! 
 So young, so brave so vainly brave ! to fall 
 By the foul fiends who war alike on all ! 
 Who youth, nor age, nor sex, nor beauty save, 
 Mock at their plaints, and plunge them in the wave ! 
 The helpless babe and shrieking mother feel 
 Alike the keenness of the murderous steel ! 
 Or, when they spare, Vis with intent so base 
 That death were better than the deep disgrace. 
 
 Spirit of Vengeance ! wherefore dost thou sleep ? 
 Arise ! and scourge these hell-honnds from the deep ! 
 From the far grave where rnurder d Allen lies, 
 Revenge ! revenge ! his shade incessant cries ! 
 
 The breeze was fair that bore him on his way ; 
 " And hope was o er him with her angel-lay :" 
 The moon was up and o er the heaving main 
 Beam d sweetly down from heav n s unclouded plain ; 
 And while his bark swift cleav d the sparkling tide, 
 His thoughts were wandering by the Hudson s side ; 
 
His distant home in memory s softest hue, 
 
 His mother sisters rise to fancy s view ; 
 
 His heart beats high "Thou lt meet them soon 
 
 again !" 
 Twas thus Hope sung but ah ! how false the strain ! 
 
 He hears of outrage done by ruffian hordes, 
 Whose savage hearts are harder than their swords. 
 At suffering s cry he ne er was known to wave ; 
 His hand was ready, and his soul was brave ! 
 He meets the foe he conquers ! oh, the rest ! 
 The fatal bullet lodges in his breast ! 
 He falls ! as crimson life gush d out, he cried 
 "Tell them 1 bravely fought and bravely died!" 
 
 Mother of Allen ! weep not for your son ! 
 His race was glorious but too soon twas run ! 
 Yet weep not ! Vengeance sleeps, she is not dead ; 
 She yet will thunder on his murderer s head ! 
 Sisters of Allen ! dry your tearful eyes ! 
 The hero s soul hath flown to yonder skies ; 
 And long his name, in memory s holiest shrine, 
 Will wear the wreath which matchless virtues twine ! 
 
STANZAS* 
 
 WRITTEN OS LEAVING A PLACE WHERE THE AUTHOR HAl> 
 RESIDED SEVERAL TEARS* 
 
 1 did not think to leave this land 
 
 Would cost one pang, a single sigh ; 
 But while I wave my parting hand, 
 
 Tears, burning tears, suffuse mine eye : 
 I go where ocean s dark blue waves, 
 
 By tempests lash d, are swelling high ; 
 But memory lingers o er the graves 
 
 Where kindred relics mouldering lie. 
 
 *Twas here I followed to the tomb, 
 
 With breaking heart, two sisters dear ; 
 
 Eliza, too, in virgin bloom, 
 
 Was snatch d away, and buried here. 
 
25 
 
 When I m afar upon the ocean, 
 
 Where mountain waves their crests uprear, 
 Oft must I sigh with deep emotion, 
 
 As memory bids their forms appear. 
 
 Why did thy cold hand, ruthless Death ! 
 
 Alone the brow of beauty shade ? 
 Why steal the infant s balmy breath, 
 
 Ere sin one single stain had made ? 
 Thine icy touch hath chill d to rest 
 
 Two tender flowers that bloom d to fade ; 
 On my lov d sister s stirless breast, 
 
 In one cold grave, those flow rs are laid ! 
 
 I have not number d twenty years ; 
 
 Yet oft at sorrow s shrine I ve bow d, 
 To shed the offering of my tears, 
 
 And kiss affliction s chastening rod. 
 Lov d, blighted lost ones low ye lie 
 
 Where prairie wild-flow rs dress the sod ; 
 Your sinless souls have flown on high, 
 
 To dwell forever with their God. 
 3 
 
I go to brave the ocean s storms 
 
 But memory oft at starry even, 
 Will call to view those blighted forms, 
 
 While on our trackless course we re driven ; 
 And still the tear of deep regret 
 
 To worth like theirs must e er be given : 
 Affection mourns their absence yet, 
 
 Though angels now, their home is heaven. 
 
 
STANZAS 
 
 WRITTEN IN A LADY S ALBUM. 
 
 The simplest boon from Friendship s hand, 
 (Even unpolished lines like these,) 
 
 May oft a prized memento stand, 
 
 When prouder gifts no longer please. 
 
 And may not in some coming year 
 This lay arrest mine Anna s eye ? 
 
 While- pensive memory waking here, 
 Breathes o er the faded past a sigh ? 
 
 Ah, sigh she must ! for is there one 
 
 That doth not mourn lost hours o" youth, 
 
 When every voice breath d friendship s tone, 
 And every bosom beat with truth ? 
 
When all the future, gayly dress d 
 In hope s delusive, witching hue, 
 
 Seem d to invite us to be blest, 
 
 And promis d fair but falsely too ! 
 
 The fragrant flowers, the sunny smile, 
 With which our pathway hope adorns, 
 
 In prospect glow a little while- 
 Then fading, leave us night and thorns, 
 
 Yet be not such her fate, to whom 
 
 These votive, tuneless lines are given ; 
 
 For her perennial verdure bloom, 
 And this life prove a path to heaven. 
 
A MOTTO, 
 
 WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF A LADY S ALBUM, CONTAINING A 
 COLLECTION OF MORAL AND RELIGIOUS POETRY. 
 
 The Muse s gifts are sweet but doubly sweet 
 When to adorn the brow of Truth they re given ; 
 To scatter flow rs round lovely woman s feet, 
 And deck the path that leads her up to heaven. 
 
ZrlNES, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND, KILLED IN A DUEL> 
 
 Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori ! HOR. 
 
 Oh had he died in the field of the brave, 
 With the halo of glory encircling his brow ! 
 Tho then we would weep o er his premature grave. 
 Yet not tears of such anguish as (all for him now. 
 For the sigh that is breathed o er the warrior s bier, 
 Is a tribute of sorrow commingled with pride ; 
 And the eye of affection, while wet with a tear, 
 Beams bright at the thought, " for his country he 
 died !" 
 
 To the spot where the forms of the valiant recline^ 
 In the thrill of emotion what numbers repair ! 
 And recounting their deeds, as they sadly repine, 
 Catch the spirit that burn d in the dust that lies there ! 
 
31 
 
 But alas ! to thy grave we in secret must go, 
 When the mantle of night has o ershadow d the scene ; 
 And while to thy memory the burning tears flow, 
 We are doom d to lament that thou ever hast been! 
 
 Poor victim of Honour ! (how false is the name !) 
 Thy nature was noble, thy heart was sincere ; 
 But the breath of foul slander had sullied thy fame 
 And friendship now bitterly mourns o er thee here ! 
 Oh ! hadst thou died in the field of the brave, 
 With the rich wreath of glory encircling thy brow, 
 Tho then we would weep o er thy premature grave, 
 Yet not tears of such anguish as fall for thee now ! 
 
ADIEU. 
 
 The bark is gliding down the bay, 
 That bears me far from you ; 
 
 I would not go yet must not stay ; 
 Adieu, dear girl, adieu ! 
 
 My country calls her clarion blew ; 
 
 She must not call in vain ; 
 Adieu, dear girl, a fond adieu ! 
 
 We part to meet again. 
 
 When tost upon the raging sea, 
 Far, far from love and you, 
 
 I know you ll sometimes think of me, 
 And softly sigh adieu ! 
 
33 
 
 Oh ! wipe away that falling tear 
 Come, corne, thy smiles renew ; 
 
 A sailor s love should never fear : 
 Adieu, dear girl, adieu ! 
 
 And should we meet the foe in fight 
 You shall not blush for me : 
 
 Your image here will give me might, 
 And Til no recreant be. 
 
 But we must part ! the signal blew 
 That calls me on the main : 
 
 Adieu, dear girl, a fond adieu! 
 We part to meet again. 
 
 I 
 
TO 3ME7 SISTER. 
 
 I m going on the stormy wave, 
 I soon will tread a distant shore ; 
 
 A foreign land may he my grave- 
 And, sister, we may meet no more ! 
 
 But should I nt an early age, 
 
 Far, far away, be doomed to die, 
 
 I know thou lt often seek ths page, 
 And read these lines with tearful eye. 
 
 Yet truce to sadd ning thoughts like these ! 
 
 I did not mean to give thee pain ; 
 Nay, more, I feel that heav n decrees 
 
 Dear sister, we shall meet again ! 
 
PROLOGUE, 
 
 RECITED BY A YOUNG LADY AT AN EXAMINATION OF THE PUPIL? 
 OF A LITERARY INSTITUTION. 
 
 Why all this anxious tumult in my breast? 
 Be hush d ye fears ! vain throbbings sink to rest ! 
 No envious crowd with bitter taunt and sneer, 
 But smiling friends I see around me here ; 
 Who, unrestrain d by critics nicer laws, 
 Will pay our efforts with their warm applause. 
 
 Kindred and friends, I m hither sent to ask 
 Your kind indulgence on our evening task : 
 No veterans we, who with unblushing face 
 Can meet the terrors of a public place ; 
 But youthful maidens, who have come to tell 
 What fruits we ve pluck d in Learning s mazy dell 
 And should the faltering voice, the timid mien, 
 Betray the war our feelings wage within, 
 
36 
 
 Oh then remember home is woman s sphere, 
 And deem our faults the offspring of our fear; 
 Strive to be lenient, not too strictly just, 
 Praise where you can, blame only where you must t 
 
 But hark ! methinks 1 hear some whisperer say, 
 " What have these girls to do with learning, pray? 
 " And if we grant them some small share of sense, 
 11 Must they at once lay claim to eloquence ?" 
 
 In eastern climes, where Moslem tyrants rule, 
 Woman a pageant s thought, a soulless fool, 
 A breathing toy, created but to shower 
 Guilty delights upon the passing hour. 
 No guide for her points out the narrow way 
 That leads the " pure in heart" to realms of day ; 
 No kindly spirit turns her gaze on high, 
 And bids her seek for glory in the sky; 
 No warning accents reach her from the tomb, 
 To tell the guilty soul its final doom: 
 Careless she glides along life s ebbing wave, 
 Without one hope, one thought beyond the grave ; 
 Or darkly deems, when Death shall close the eye, 
 She ll sink in silence, and forgotten lie ! 
 
37 
 
 But we, who breathe where milder fates control, 
 Have amply shown that woman hath a soul ; 
 A soul as rich in intellectual stores, 
 As large, as god-like, haughty man, as yours! 
 And many a deed to Fame s loud trump consign d, 
 Bears noble witness for her strength of mind ; 
 While many a virtue in sequestered life, 
 Proclaims her fitness for the friend and wife. 
 Twere vain for me in my rude verse to show 
 What names, what deeds, on Glory s records glow : 
 Go read them there, where high they stand sublime, 
 Undimm d by envy, and unhurt by time. 
 There Edgeworth s shines, whose pen s assuasive 
 
 power, 
 
 Shall lend a charm to many a tedious hour, 
 Shall many a heart with nature s lore beguile, 
 And light the cheek of wo with rapture s smile ! 
 When pale disease hath clogg d the tardy day, 
 Who hath not felt and own d her magic sway ? 
 From frolic fiction, dress d by Edgeworth s art, 
 Enlarged his knowledge, and improved his heart. 
 Go, learn from her, without weak woman s hand 
 
 To scatter flowers along life s barren strand ; 
 4 
 
38 
 
 To smooth your path as on through years you go, 
 This world would be a sterile scene of wo ; 
 No charm to soothe, no hope to animate, 
 But one wide waste, lonely and desolate. 
 
 Remember too, to woman is consign d 
 The arduous task to guide the youthful mind ; 
 To rear those tender germs, which, as they grow, 
 May prove a nation s weal, or nation s wo. 
 Who nurs d the patriot-spark that burst so bright, 
 In vengeful fires, on man s astonish d sight, 
 When first arose Columbia s darling son, 
 The good, the great, the matchless Washington f 
 
 Twas woman s task, weak woman s, to control 
 The latent powers of his mighty soul ; 
 Twas hers to guide the giant-arm that hurl d 
 The tyrant s myriads from the western \\orld ; 
 To prompt the voice that from the Spartan s grave, 
 Call d weeping Freedom o er Atlantic s uave : 
 Twas hers to guide him to that height of fame, 
 Where in unfading lustre shines his name ; 
 With glory s brightest, rosiest wreath intwin d, 
 j\ theme of ceaseless plaudits to mankind. 
 
39 
 
 And can you then deny to her who cheers 
 Life s barren path, and wipes away your tears, 
 (Like you the wanderer of a stormy day,) 
 The lamp of knowledge to illume the way? 
 IVJusi she, to whom is giv n the weighty charge 
 To nurse man s virtues, and his mind enlarge, 
 T unfold those powers which in their growth may 
 
 yield 
 
 Wisdom in council, valor on the field ; 
 Or, in the cause of justice may dispense 
 To listening crowds the sweets of eloquence ; 
 Or raise his ken thro ether s fields afar 
 To glean new stores from every beaming star; 
 And by his deeds inscribe on history s page, 
 A deathless name, to charm from age to age : 
 Must she be barr d from intellectual light, 
 And doom d to wander in impervious night 
 She, the conductress of the world beside, 
 Alone condernn d to rove without a guide? 
 You smile! ah, then I see we ve gain d our cause, 
 And she who merits will obtain applause. 
 
SONG, 
 
 Improbe amor, quid non mortalia pectora cogis 1 
 
 i. lib. 4. 
 
 The tear which thon upbraidest 
 
 Thy falsehood taught to flow ; 
 The misery which thou rnadest 
 
 My cheek hath blighted so : 
 The charms, alas that won me, 
 
 I never can forget, 
 AUhciugh thou. bast undone me, 
 
 I own I love thee yet. 
 
 Go, seek the happier maiden 
 Who lured thy love from me j 
 
 My heart with sorrow laden 
 Is no more priz d by thee : 
 
41 
 
 Repeat the vows you made me, 
 Say, swear thy love is true ; 
 
 Thy faithless vows betray d me, 
 They may betray her too. 
 
 But no ! may she ne er languish 
 
 Like me in shame and wo ; 
 Ne er feel the throbbing anguish 
 
 That I am doom d to know ! 
 The eye that once was beaming 
 
 A tale of love for thee, 
 Is now with sorrow streaming, 
 
 For thou art false to me. 
 
MEMORY. 
 
 When Memory paints with pencil true 
 The scenes where youth deligthed roved, 
 
 She throws o er none so sweet a hue 
 As robes the home of her 1 lov d. 
 
 Each tree, each flower, that flourished there. 
 
 In former beauty seems to wave ; 
 I seem to breath my native air, 
 
 Mid friends who re sleeping in the grave. 
 
 But soon these shades of Joy depart 
 And present sorrows start to view 
 
 Memory, like Hope, still mocks the heart 
 With visions sweet but fleeting too ! 
 
43 
 
 But Faith points out your radiant heaven, 
 And bids the mourner not despair ; 
 
 Whispering, " afflictions are but given, 
 " Like angel-wings, to wait you there !" 
 
THE WARRIOR S RETURN. 
 
 Still, still is that heart, lovely maid ! erst so warm, 
 And pale thy fair cheek, and thy once lovely form 
 Is cold as the marble that bends o er thy tomb 
 Thou art gone in the pride of thy youth and tlr 
 bloom ! 
 
 There were friends weeping o er thee, as death dimm < 
 
 thine eye ; 
 There was one standing by thee who breathed not \ 
 
 sigh : 
 
 By him not a murmur of sorrow was spoken 
 But he thought of thy fate with a heart that was 
 
 broken ! 
 
 His mind as he stood there had travell d far back 
 Thro the vista of years, o er life s desolate track, 
 To those warm sunny hours when his bosom was 
 
 young, 
 And when on thy accents delighted he hung. 
 

 45 
 
 Then he left thee to mourn o er his absence, and 
 
 pass d 
 To where flouted war s banner and sounded hei 
 
 blast 
 
 And he thought of the battle-field gory and red, 
 The dispair of the dying, the blood that was shed : 
 
 Then a dim dungeon vault next arose on his sight, 
 Where no voice ever enter d, no trlirnmering of light, 
 But in darkness and horror months, years pass d 
 
 away, 
 Till he wish d for that night which endureth for aye ! 
 
 He died not but after long time was set free ; 
 Then how bounded his heart at remembrance of 
 
 thee! 
 
 To the maiden he loves with what ardor he s flying! 
 He rushes to meet thee behold ! thou art dying! 
 
 He stood by thy couch as life faded away; 
 With a firm step he walked in thy funeral array ; 
 No sigh rent his bosom, no tear-drop did start 
 But what language can picture his anguish of heart ! 
 
46 
 
 To the battle he hasted, and reckless of life, 
 His war-cry was heard mid the wildest of strife : 
 When the conflict was past he was sought for in vah 
 And he never return d to his country again. 
 

 TO A ROSS. 
 
 A sunbeam warm d thee into bloom ; 
 
 A zephyr s kiss thy blushes gave ; 
 The tears of evening shed perfume 
 
 And morning beam d upon thy grave ! 
 
 I 
 
 How like to thine, thou transient flower ! 
 
 The doom of all we love on earth 
 Beauty, like thee, but decks an hour, 
 
 Decay feeds on it from its birth. 
 
 Like thee the warrior in his pride ; 
 
 Morn sees him clad in bright array j 
 He meets the foe at eventide 
 
 Where is that warrior ? pass d away ! 
 
48 
 
 Like thee, like thee, thou fragile flower ! 
 
 The doom of all we prize on earth ; 
 Brief as thy date on summer s bower 
 
 is wisdom, valour, genius, worth ! 
 
 Before Time s baleful glances fall 
 
 Alike the timid and the brave ; 
 One common doom destroyeth all 
 
 Time thou rt a Vampire ! Earth s a grave ! 
 
THE GRECIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 That eye, which now beams with the brightness of mind , 
 By the dark clouds of sorrow erelong will be shaded ; 
 And that cheek, where the lily and rose are intwined, 
 Soon, soon, to the pale hue of death must be faded. 
 
 On the red couch of battle, mid thousands of slain, 
 Lay thy warrior-love deeply wounded and gory ; 
 As the last spark of life faintly glimmer d, in pain 
 He conjur d me to seek thee, and tell his sad story. 
 
 Where the foemen were thickest his falchion blaz d 
 
 high ; 
 Where the death-din was loudest his light plumes 
 
 were dancing: 
 
 His war-cry was " freedom !" Hope shone in his eye, 
 And deep flow d the gore neath his courser s proud 
 
 prancing. 
 
50 
 
 " My country !" he cried, " thy redemption s at 
 
 hand ! 
 "The chains of the Moslem that bind thee we ll 
 
 sever ! 
 
 " We have sworn to restore thee, thou loveliest land; 
 " We return to the free or return again never!" 
 
 " On ! on to the battle, Greeks ! charge them once 
 
 more! 
 
 " Their turbans shall fl\ like the white foam of ocean, 
 " Aud their shrieks shall resemble the waves angry 
 
 roar, 
 " When the wild winds have lash d them to furious 
 
 commotion !" 
 
 " On ! on to the battle once more !" was his cry, 
 As far flash d his blade, and high towei d his crest ; 
 Ah why sinks that weapon? what dims that bright 
 
 e^e? 
 The ball of the foeman is deep in his breast ? 
 
 i 
 From his bosom fast gushes the warm stream o 
 
 life$* 
 He falls from his courser his warfare is ended ; 
 

 51 
 
 Unheeded now pass d the wild tumult of strife, 
 And the name of his love with his last groan was 
 blended! 
 
 He died on the field, unlamented, unknown ; 
 
 B it he died for his country, for freedom, for glory ! 
 
 There is rear d o er his relics no proud sculptured 
 
 stone, 
 Yet long will his memory be hallow d in story. 
 
 O!i weep not, fair maiden ! thy warrior-love 
 Hath ascended in triumph to regions of bliss; 
 Mid his patriot sires, in a bright world above, 
 His spirit will watch o er thy safety in this ! 
 
PARTING. 
 
 This Isle has grown more dear to me 
 
 Than many a scene, profusely drest 
 In nature s richest charms could be; 
 
 Because, upon its granite breast, 
 There blooms one flower, so fair, so sweet, 
 
 That wheresoeV my steps may rove, 
 Its like again 1 cannot meet 
 
 That peerless flower is thee, my love ! 
 
 My home is on the dark profound, 
 
 Where storms howl o er the midnight wave 
 
 And soon, perchance, their voice may sound 
 A dirge above the sailor s grave : 
 
53 
 
 Yet not the fear of peril now, 
 
 Could move one sigh, one tear impel ; 
 
 It is not danger pales my brow, 
 Belov d, tis bidding thee farewell ! 
 
 When morning beams, away we hie 
 To other climes and scenes afar, 
 But still thy form, to memory s eye, 
 
 Will ever be my guiding star : 
 I My heart is fondly bound to thine 
 
 By ties of love, no time can sever; 
 Absence the bands may closer twine, 
 , But cannot part them never ! never ! 
 
 I ll think of thee at vesper hour, 
 
 When balmy zephyrs fill the sail ; 
 I ll think of thee when tempests lower, 
 
 And Death careers upon the gale : 
 And still my prayer where er I wend, 
 
 Whatever doom may frown on me, 
 Shall from my inmost soul ascend 
 
 For thee, my love, still, still for thee ! 
 
 5* 
 
54 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! words cannot speak 
 
 My grief, to part from one so dear ; 
 Tis written on this pallid cheek, 
 
 Tis glowing in this burning tear : 
 Farewell ! may heaven profusely shower, 
 
 On thee whate er can life improve ; 
 Around thee bloom full many a flower 
 
 Thornless and sweet ! farewell, my love ! 
 
HOPE. 
 
 hen youthful hearts are light and true, 
 
 And all is fair around us, 
 The future breaks upon our view 
 In every bright and pleasing hue 
 
 For Hope s sweet spell hath bound us. 
 
 And all seems fair around us. 
 
 But ah! too soon vre re doom d to find 
 The scenes that look d so charming, 
 Beset with thorns, with snares intwined, 
 That Hope is false, and Fortune blind, 
 And dangers most alarming, 
 Where all had seem d so charming. 
 
56 
 
 Yet Hope hath still her pleasing power, 
 
 Although she s a deceiver! 
 And e en while storms above us lower, 
 She paints so bright the future hour, 
 We cannot but believe her 
 Although she s a deceiver ! 
 
 Thus we stray on in quest of joy, 
 
 The dupes of Hope forever! 
 Earth hath no good without alloy, 
 And sweetest pleasures soonest cloy, 
 We soonest from the:), sever 
 The dupes of Hope forever ! 
 
THE MOMENT OF WO. 
 
 There is a moment of the darkest wo 
 When the heart throbs, but cannot find relief ; 
 Our bosoms swell but not a tear will flow 
 To yield a channel to this voiceless grief : 
 A living monument with glazed eye, 
 Upon the earth is fix d our vacant stare ; 
 And, if we breathe a wish, it is to die 
 In the cold grave to bury all our care, 
 A.nd slumber undisturb d by dreams forever there ! 
 
 Yes ! we can yield us to despair like this, 
 And ask our God to take the life He gave ; 
 In such a moment deem there s nought of bliss, 
 Save in the bosom of the silent grave ! 
 
We ve lost our all" the life of life" is fled 5 
 The form we lov d to gaze on is no more : 
 Our hopes are gone affection s buds are dead 
 We care not now nay, wish that life were past, 
 That we might dreamless *leep till the last trumpet s 
 blast ! 
 
 The sun that gilds all nature with his beams, 
 That gives the summer s warmth and beauty s 
 
 glow, 
 
 To us the herald but of misery seems, 
 From fancied bliss wakes us to real wo: 
 Each tiling we look on tells us of the past ; 
 A thousand thoughts come rushing o er the mind 
 Of life s young morn how quickly overcast! 
 Of joys, that fading left no trace behind 
 Of her, the perish d lov d-oiie, to the grave consigu d 
 
 How many hearts, responsive to mv strain, 
 Bv sad experience feel th-s picture true ; 
 And live that anguish d moment o er again, 
 When the grave snatch d forever from their view 
 A dearer self : No tear-drop dimm d the eye 
 
59 
 
 They did not call in frenzy on her name 
 
 Ah no! they could not weep they could not 
 
 sigh ! 
 
 And the chok d voice could not an accent frame; 
 But grief raged in them with consuming flame ! 
 
 Yet tis not long such gloomy thoughts control 
 Enlighten d minds Hope, with her angel-sway, 
 Shedding rich lustre o er the darksome soul, 
 Points to tint realm of everlasting day, 
 Where, when the throbbing heart shall cease to 
 
 beat, 
 
 And the rude warrings of this world are o er, 
 Congenial spirits slrall in glory meet, 
 Mid seraph-forms shall meet to part no more, 
 But in the presence of their God dwell and adore. 
 
A SONG AT SEA. 
 
 Our sails are spread before the wind, 
 And onward, onward swift we fly ; 
 
 We ve left our country far behind, 
 No prospect now invites the eye, 
 Save the blue sea, and cloudless sky. 
 
 Oh ! when I wav d my last good-bye, 
 To parents, friends, and Mary dear, 
 
 It was not fear that dimm d mine eye, 
 This heart ne er felt a thrill of fear 
 It was affection caus d the tear. 
 
 And while upon the heaving main 
 Our vessel dashes proudly on, 
 
 To meet those well-lov d friends again, 
 With wealth and honours bravely won, 
 That is the hope 1 live upon. 
 
61 
 
 But should some cannon pointed true, 
 Destroy these soothing dreams of glory, 
 
 Affection s tears my grave will dew, 
 And Mary, when she hears my story, 
 Will shed love s holiest tribute o er me. 
 
TO WOMAN 
 
 Oh woman ! thou rt the plague of life ; 
 
 The source of ev ry good and evil ; 
 Alike the cause of peace and strife, 
 
 A saint, a sinner angel, devil ! 
 
 Thou art an honour and a stigma ; 
 
 I sometimes curse, and often bless thee : 
 By heaven ! thou rt nature s grand enigma, 
 
 And few are those who rightly guess thee. 
 
THE MEMORY OF THEE. 
 
 Ob, think not, belov d one ! that absence can ever 
 
 Efface from my bosom the memory of thee ; 
 Or that true hearts like ours, when fate bids them 
 sever, 
 
 With less ardour will love for the cruel decree ! 
 Tho the dark frown of fortune hath made me a 
 ranger, 
 
 And the sport of the billows I m destined to be, 
 Yet, dear girl, believe me, nor distance nor danger, 
 
 Can blot from my heart the sweet memory of thee. 
 
 When the daemon of storms howls aloud o er the 
 
 ocean, 
 And the dash of the waves seems the knell of my 
 
 doom, 
 
 The memory of thee lulls my bosom s emotion, 
 And the thought of thy safety s a star through the 
 
 i gloom : 
 
64 
 
 When the tempest is past, and the moon in full sple 
 
 dour, 
 
 As now, gilds with beauty the Isles of the sea ; 
 In the scene of enchantment there s naught that c; 
 
 render 
 A balm to my soul, like the memory of thee ! 
 
THE SONG OF ROSE WESTON 
 
 te propter eundem, 
 
 Extinctus pudor, et qua sola sidera adibam, 
 Fama prior." 
 
 These lines were suggested by that part of " PEN OWEN," 
 where it describes the affliction the mute and uncomplaining 
 grief of the beautiful, faded, and credulous ROSE WESTOJV, when 
 she was informed of the baseness and desertion of her seducer, 
 FRANK WHETTEWHALL. 
 
 They tell me thou hast gone from me 
 O ei the wide and stormy sea ; 
 I ll not believe the tale they tell 
 Thou wouldst at least have said, farewell ! 
 
 They tell me that thy alter d brow 
 Retains no trace of beauty now ; 
 That sin and shame have blanch d thee pale- 
 Til not believe the sland rous tale ! 
 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 Thy bloom is gone perhaps it fled 
 Quench d by the tears that thou hast shed 
 Thinking of her I ll not upbraid thee 
 I am, alas ! what thou hast made me. 
 
 I would not weep this last adieu 
 
 Could I believe thee else than true ; 
 
 If tis a dream, and I should wake 
 
 To know thee false, my heart would break ! 
 
 My days on earth have fleeted fast, 
 And I have lov d thee to the last ; 
 Thy fatal love hath ruin d me, 
 But my last thought s a prayer for thee ! 
 
TO IKY SISTER. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING A CALM, ON THE COAST OF ITALY, 
 
 "Tis moonlight o er the beauteous sea, 
 The sky is calm and still the ocean ; 
 
 Our bark glides on so quietly 
 
 That not a ripple tells her motion. 
 
 On fair Italians silent shore 
 
 The orb of night shines sweetly down ; 
 But ah ! it gilds not as of yore 
 
 The land of valor and renown ! 
 
 Her name is dimm d the light is fled 
 Which glory threw around her brave ; 
 
 And crouching where his fathers bled, 
 The hero s son s a soulless slave ! 
 
68 
 
 But thou art fair, Italia, still, 
 
 As in thy day of proudest power ; 
 
 Each grove, and vale, and verdanj hill, 
 Blooms as in nature s natal hour. 
 
 Thou rt like the form of one belov d 
 Ere aught proclaims the spirit fled ; 
 
 No feature chang d, no charm remov d, 
 Thou seem st to sleep but thou art dead ! 
 
 The lovely scene, the tranquil hour, 
 Spread twilight softness o er the mind ; 
 
 And Memory, with her rnae^ic power, 
 Recalls the home I ve left behind. 
 
 O er ocean s breast I m doom d to rove, 
 And many a clime tis mine to see; 
 
 But absence cannot conquer love, 
 And least of all my love for thee ! 
 
 Oft, in the midnight watch, thy form 
 Companion of my thoughts hath come 
 
 And like a sunbeam on the storm, 
 
 Shed light and gladness through the gloom 
 
69 
 
 And oft, when sleep hath seaPd mine eyes, 
 On Fancy s wings I ve flown to thee ; 
 
 But soon such dear delusion flies, 
 And I have waked far, far at sea ! 
 
 The dark blue waves have been my home, 
 And tempests oft have frowu d above me 
 
 But still my heart, where er I roam, 
 Ts o er the deep, with those who love me. 
 
TO JVTARY, SLEEPING, 
 
 Awake not, belov d ! be thy slumber as light 
 As virtue e er shed o er a bosom at rest ; 
 
 While the world and its tumults are shut from th} 
 
 sight, 
 May the visions that rise to thy fancy be blest ! 
 
 The leaves of the bower above thee are still, 
 
 Lest their rustling should wake thee from balm] 
 repose ; 
 
 And even the voice of yon murmuring rill 
 
 Seems softer, and sweeter, as near thee it flows. 
 
 There s a smile on thy lip, on thy cheek there s a flush 
 Disclosing how happy thy slumber must be; 
 
 And I too were blest, could 1 deem that that blush 
 And that smile were awaken d by memory of me ! 
 
A DUTCH NATIONAL SONG. 
 
 A son of Netherland art thou, 
 
 Unsoil d by foreign chains ? 
 Doth love of country light thy brow, 
 
 And circle through thy veins ? 
 Then raise with us the anthem proud, 
 
 A glorious theme we sing; 
 Who would not swell the strain aloud 
 
 For native land and King ! 
 
 And sweetly doth each thrilling tone 
 
 Of patriot paeans rise, 
 Like incense, wafted to the throne 
 
 Of Him who rules the skies : 
 
Though first to those He lends His ear 
 
 Who strike a holier string ; 
 The strain, well pleased, He next will hear 
 
 For native land and King. < 
 
 Oh ! with one voice, one heart extol 
 
 The lofty theme we sing! 
 Heaven rejects the worthless soul, 
 
 That loves not land nor King : 
 In his cold breast no hallowed fire, 
 
 No sweet emotions spring, 
 Who hears unmoved the prayer aspire 
 
 For native land and King. 
 
 Our bosoms burn with loyal heat 
 
 As loud our voices swell ; 
 No other song, however sweet, 
 
 Could please us half so well : 
 What holy feelings on this day 
 Myriads together bring, 
 Commingling in the choral lay 
 
 For native land and King ! 
 
WHY X LOVE THEE 
 
 The breeze of evening softly sighs, 
 
 To-night, upon the ocean s breast, 
 And, as the playful billows rise, 
 
 Then gently sinks again to rest, 
 While moonbeams tip each foamy crest, 
 
 And all is bright and calm above me, 
 I ll sing of thee, whom I love best, 
 
 And tell thee, Mary, why I love thee. 
 
 Thy form is fair, thy mien is light, 
 
 Thy cheek wears health and beauty s hue ; 
 Thy teeth are pearls, thine eye is bright, 
 
 And as the waves around me blue ; 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 But blush not, for the tale is true, 
 
 Far brighter eyes than thine I ve seen, 
 
 A form as light and fair to view, 
 A cheek as soft, as graceful mien. 
 
 I ve wandered o er the boisterous main, 
 
 And trod on many a foreign strand ; 
 I ve seen the haughty dames of Spain, 
 
 And fam d Italia s fairy band ; 
 I ve been in Gallia s frolic land ; 
 
 I ve been in short, I ve been a Rover 
 But all their charms I coldly scann d, 
 
 Twas thou alone that madest me lover. 
 
 Twas not because thy form was fair ; 
 
 Twas not because thine eyes were blue : 
 It was thy soul bright beaming there, 
 
 It was thy heart so warm, so true ; 
 Twas pity s drop of pearly dew, 
 
 That told how other s wo could move thee, 
 As for relief thy light steps flew 
 
 It was for these I lov d, and love thee. 
 
75 
 
 And I will love thee, Mary, still, 
 
 Tho far from all I love away, 
 Thro storm and sunshine, good and ill, 
 
 Where er my wandering steps may stray : 
 And when, at length, thy charms decay, 
 
 The flight of Time shall constant prove me ; 
 Till in the grave this heart shall lay, 
 
 It still will warmly, fondly love thee. 
 
THE 
 
 1 
 
 We met, and only met, 
 Ere doom d by fate to sever j 
 
 But ah ! I can forget 
 That meeting with thee never ! 
 
 Thy locks of auburn hue, 
 On wanton zephyrs straying ; 
 
 Thine eyes of liquid blue, 
 Where light of soul was playing ; 
 
 Thy voice, whose dulcet thrill, 
 Awak d such sweet emotion, 
 
 I seem to hear it still, 
 Though far upon the ocean ; 
 
 Twas these that charm d me then. 
 When first and last I met thee ; 
 
 We may not meet atrain, 
 But ne er can 1 forget thee. 
 
81 
 
 What plans we form d ! what vows we swore 
 
 Of firm regard and constancy ! 
 Few years are past, and as before 
 
 My bosom throbs, but Where is He ? 
 
 Our school-boy days flew swiftly by, 
 
 And manhood broke youth s flowery spell ; 
 We bade farewell with tearful eye, 
 
 Then paused once more to bid farewell ! 
 Twas his to plead the orphan s wrong ; 
 
 My course was on the heaving sea : 
 Return d at last, from wandering long, 
 
 1 seek my friend Oh ! Where is He ? 
 
 Admiring crowds no longer wait, 
 
 With rapture, on his powerful tongue ; 
 The eye is quench d whose orb of late 
 
 The lightning gUnce of genius flung ; 
 And when I cry, Oh ! where art thou, 
 
 Belov d in youth so fervently ? 
 A starting tear, a sadden d brow, 
 
 Repeat in silence, Where is He ? 
 
82 
 
 His home s deserted on its hearth 
 
 The cheerful flames no more ascend ; 
 Sorrow hath hush d the voice of mirth ; 
 
 In vain I call, my friend ! my friend ! 
 Hope s cherish d visions all are fled, 
 
 And he I sought hath ceased to be ; 
 An Echo wakes, as from the dead, 
 
 And murmurs still, Oh ! Where is He : 
 
THE OLD MAN S SONG. 
 
 The rose of youth is faded, 
 
 Thy beauty s bloom is gone, 
 Thy voice that ne er upbraided 
 
 Hath lost its magic tone. 
 But he who lov d thee dearly 
 
 In youth s unclouded day, 
 His heart still beats sincerely, 
 
 His love will ne er decay. 
 
 Old age may steal upon thee, 
 Each lingering grace to chill. 
 
 But ah ! the worth that won me, 
 Will hold me captive still. 
 
84 
 
 And still will rise to heaven, 
 For thee, my ardent prayer, 
 
 That calm may be thy even, 
 As life s morning hours were. 
 
 In joy, we ve smiled together ; 
 
 In sorrow, mingled tears ; 
 Through bright and stormy weather, 
 
 Companions been for years : 
 IVIy arm shall still protect thee, 
 
 Though feebler than in youth ; 
 And my counsel shall direct thee, 
 
 With all its wonted truth. 
 
 Oh ! think not though the whiteness 
 
 Of age were on thy head, 
 And from thine eye the brightness 
 
 That beams there now were fled 
 Oh ! think not I d caress thee 
 
 With a cold or altered brow ! 
 No, my latest voice shall bless thee, 
 
 As I bless thee, dearest, now ! 
 
85 
 
 Thy step in youth was lighter, 
 
 But thy heart was not more kind 5 
 And though thine eye was brighter, 
 
 It spoke no purer mind : 
 Thou art dearer now, believe me, 
 
 Than e er thou wert before 
 Of beauty years bereave thee, 
 
 To prove thy virtues more. 
 
 The leaves, when Autumn blusters, 
 
 Forsake the tree and die, 
 But falling, show rich clusters 
 
 Of fruitage to the eye : 
 Thus Time, in flying, snatches 
 
 Thy beauty, but displays 
 One charm that all o ermatches 
 
 A SOUL that ne er decays. 
 
FARE THEE WELL. 
 
 Twere vain to speak to breathe to sigh 
 
 Oh, more than tears of blood can tell, 
 When wrung from Guilt s expiring eye, 
 
 Are in that fatal word farewell ! 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 Fare thee well ! forever ! ever ! 
 
 Twere vain my anguish now to tell ; 
 A truer heart will love thee never, 
 But fare thee well ! 
 
 In distant climes, and scenes of danger, 
 
 Twill soon be mine unknown to dwell ; 
 I go, a homeless, hopeless ranger, 
 Oh ! fare thee well ! 
 
 Another form may bow before thee, 
 
 Another voice thy praises tell : 
 None, none, like me, can e er adore thee 
 But fare thee well ! 
 
87 
 
 I lov d thee but my love avail d not 
 Against the poison d tale of hell ; 
 Twas heard, believed, and yet bewail d not ! 
 Oh ! fare thee well ! 
 
 I go to hurl Bellona s fire, 
 
 Where roaring waves like mountains swell ; 
 And should I in the fight expire 
 Farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 When to the grave my corse they carry, 
 
 Will thy heart echo to my knell ? 
 Or wilt thou not a moment tarry, 
 And sigh, farewell ! 
 
LIKES IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 Upon this leaf s unsullied white, 
 My worthless name I ve dared to write : 
 When I, perhaps, am distant far, 
 Mid stormy waves tumultuous jar, 
 Borne o er the wide and pathless sea, 
 Thou lt read that name anr think of me, 
 And should it cause thee but to cast 
 One pleasing plance upon the past, 
 Or waken memory s pensive sigh 
 For joys that fled too fleetly by, 
 And o er the world of waters send 
 One wish for me, my lovely friend ; 
 Or, when the wintry storms appear 9 
 Arouse for me one thrill of fear ; 
 Should I one thought of thine engage, 
 Then not in vain I ve soil d this page. 
 
THE OFFERING- OF LOVE. 
 
 These lines were written to accompany a present of a bouquet 
 f Artificial Flowers, of the most beautiful structure, made by a 
 young and interesting Nun, of a Convent, in the vicinity of Genoa, 
 
 The flowers that bloom on the bosom of Earth, 
 Though sweet in their odour, and rich in their hue. 
 
 Are emblems to<> fleeting of beauty and worth, 
 For a gift of affection, dear Mary, to you. 
 
 For you I have chosen a bouquet of flowers, 
 
 That ne er drank a dew-drop nor glow d in the sun ; 
 
 They were form d as the solace of wearisome hours, 
 In a Convent s deep shade, by an innocent Nun. 
 
 Still in beauty will bloom this fair effort of Art, 
 When the offspring of Flora are blighted and dead; 
 
 As a proof of my love, twill be dear to thy heart, 
 And sweet will it seem, though no fragrance it shed. 
 
94 
 
 The rose that by zephyrs is breath d into bloom, 
 Like the blush of the morning, will soon fade away ; 
 
 Not so transient the rose of my gift in its doom, 
 Meet emblem of love that will never decay. 
 
 Bleak winter may come, and the tempest may lower, 
 Its breath spreading gloom through the garden and 
 grove ; 
 
 But the blast that disrobes ev ry preen summer bow r, 
 Cannot wither a leaf of this Offering of Love. 
 
EXTRACTS, 
 
 KROM AN ADDRESS, WRITTEN FOR A LITTLE BOY, THE CARRIER Ol 
 A VILLAGE NEWS-PAPER, JAN. 1, 1822. 
 
 " Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes !" 
 
 HORACF. 
 
 Spirit of Poesy ! oh, deign to hear 
 A humble votary s first and ardent prayer ! 
 Warm, with thy holy fire, thy suppliant youth, 
 And lend thy beauty to the cause of truth ; 
 Thy heavenly ardor in my breast diffuse, 
 Nor scorn to be a little Carrier s Muse ! 
 
 Since the fled year first glided into birth, 
 What silent changes have transform d the earth ! 
 How many eyes that beam d with rapture then, 
 Are closed forever on the haunts of men ; 
 And hearts that throbb d in sorrow s aching breast, 
 Down to the tomb have sunk in stirless rest ! 
 
98 
 
 From the wild tumult of the patriot band, 
 Now let us turn to view our native land ; 
 Land of the noble, parent of the brave, 
 The home of Freedom, and the tyrant s grave ! 
 
 Columbia ! worthy of the proudest lays, 
 A theme well meet for highest minstrel s praise, 
 While mightier bards inscribe thy laurell d name 
 On the wide arch of everlasting Fame, 
 Shall I, a carrier-boy, presume to sing 
 The clustering glories of thy early spring f 
 Yes ! while this tongue can speak, or hand can write, 
 To the world s plaudits 1 will add my mite. 
 
 Land of my Sires ! thy very name renews 
 The fainting ardour of rny new-fledged Muse: 
 Rous d by the sound, she turns my raptur d eyes 
 To where aloft thy native Eagle flies, 
 The winged bearer of thy standard sheet 
 O er Valor s home, and Freedom s lov d retreat! 
 And thus unshackled may he ever soar, 
 Fearless and fear d, above our native shore 
 
99 
 
 fill the Archangel calls each far spread clime, 
 And the last trumpet sounds the doom of Time ! 
 
 Thus joyous youth, with ardent feelings rife, 
 In hope s rich dies adorn the waste of life ; 
 But ah ! they dream not that the picture s hue, 
 So sweetly pleasing, is delusive too; 
 Till sadly taught by sorrow s iron sway, 
 They dare not let their frolic Fancy play ; 
 But only trust the present for the joy, 
 One hour may sully, and one sigh destroy. 
 
 Where are the pleasing scenes that Fancy drew, 
 When first the year that now hath fled was new ? 
 And did Time ripen into real joy, 
 The sanguine wishes of the printer s boy ? 
 Or did he, in his flight, neglect to throw 
 One gleam of sunshine o er this waste of wo ? 
 What ! is your answer then but sighs and tears ? 
 Mourn you the past, and dread the coming years ? 
 Oh, turn not back where shades and darkness low r ; 
 Still list the syren s song, and trust the future hour. 
 Hark to her lay 
 
100 
 
 " The dark tempest hath past, 
 
 " And a ray of bright sunshine beams on thee at last ! 
 " Thy bosom shall throb now with sorrow no more, 
 "And thine age shall be calm, as thy youth was of 
 
 yore ; 
 
 " Unruffled and bright, like a still summer sea, 
 " And innocent pleasure thy guiding-star be ; 
 " Ob, weep then no more, when thou think st of the 
 
 past, 
 !< For the storm hath gone by, and the sun shines at 
 
 last," 
 
 Patrons, farewell ! and as Time glides along, 
 May he find realized Hope s syren sonpr; 
 May the sweet forms her magic power pourtrays, 
 Grown into substance, gladden all your days ! 
 
MARY S CKRAVE. 
 
 Twas summer eve, and I had wander d 
 
 Where lofty trees o erhang the wave, 
 That, rippling on its course, meander d 
 
 By my Mary s early grave. 
 The pale moon o er the scene presided, 
 
 And not a zephyr stirr d the grove ; 
 The hour, the stream that near me glided. 
 
 All brought to mind my buried love. 
 
 The last time I had wander d hither, 
 Mary was warbling by my side 
 Thou fairest flower ! doom d to wither 
 
 In youth and beauty s stainless pride ; 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 i wept not o er thy narrow dwelling, 
 With not one tear my cheek was wet 
 
 But sorrow in my breast was swelling, 
 Voiceless and leep was my regret. 
 
 I traveled back, on Memory s pinion, 
 
 To far-fled hours of rich delight, 
 Ere the wand of Grief s dominion 
 
 Had smote my heart with chilling blight ; 
 When Mary s eyes with love were beaming, 
 
 Life s sweetest odours round us spread 
 Now yonder stone, in moonlight gleaming, 
 
 Points out my Mary s bridal bed ! 
 
 Death came to ravish all her sweetness, 
 
 While I was on the ocean wave ; 
 Our bark returning home with fleetness, 
 
 I sought my love^ and found her grave ! 
 And though her soul hath flown to heaven, 
 
 In grief my heart is shrouded yet ; 
 The flower is gone that love had given - 
 
 The brightest star of life is set J 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Nee me meminisse pigebit Elisae, 
 
 Dutn memor ipse mei, dum spiritus hos reget artus, 
 
 VIIIG. jEtfEi. lib. 4 
 
 I lov d thee ere I knew thy worth 
 There was a sweetness in thy smile, 
 
 That breath d of heaven more than earth, 
 And told thy bosom void of guile. 
 
 There was a brightness in thine eye, 
 A ray that beam d from mind alone ; 
 
 Upon thy cheek the rose s die, 
 And in thy voice affection s tone. 
 
 I lov d thee could I else but love ? 
 
 For thou wert beauteous, as the forms 
 Which thwart our youthful visions move, 
 
 Ere we have felt life s blighting storms. 
 
104 
 
 1 lov d thee did I ever give 
 
 One moment s pang to thy pure breast f 
 For thee alone I wish d to live, 
 
 And with thee was oh ! more than blest ! 
 
 1 saw thee die I did not weep 
 
 Above thy cold, thy timeless bier ; 
 
 But then awoke, what will not sleep, 
 The anguish that is raging here ! 
 
 Few are the tears that I have shed, 
 And few the words of sorrow spoken ; 
 
 But I have suflfer d, in their stead, 
 
 The throbbings of a heart that s broken. 
 
 Years have gone by, and still I bear 
 The blighted life that will not cease; 
 
 My heart still beats, but on it ne er 
 Will beam again the light of peace. 
 
 Life is to me a weary waste ; 
 
 Its sun hath sunk, its verdure fled : 
 The loveliest vision but, lis past ! 
 
 The spell s dissolved Eliza s dead ! 
 
105 
 
 The grave the grave, where thou art laid, 
 Is now my sole, my earnest prayer : 
 
 Oh that this feverish frame would fade 
 This aching head were resting there. 
 
" LET S DRAIN THE GOBLET DRY." 
 
 " Can sorrow from the goblet flow ? r 
 
 We three have met together, 
 
 Though the tempest rages high ; 
 
 We heed not wind nor weather 
 Let s drain the goblet dry ! 
 
 While others yield to sorrow, 
 And heave the ready sigh, 
 
 We joy from wine will borrow 
 Let s drain the goblet dry ! 
 
 Why should we give to sadness 
 The moments as they fly ? 
 
 I deem it worse than madness- 
 Let s drain the goblet dry ! 
 
 MOORE. 
 
107 
 
 Hold ! can you then no anguish 
 
 In ruby wine descry ? 
 In pain how many languish, 
 
 Who drain the goblet dry ! 
 
 Think of life s closing hour, 
 Think how you ll bear to die ; 
 
 Then, if you have the power, 
 Let s drain the goblet dry ! 
 
THE MOON. 
 
 * Hie canit errantem Luuam." 
 
 ^NEI. I. 
 
 The moon sail d on through the cloudless night, 
 
 A silver bark in seas of air; 
 As she moved along on her errand bright, 
 To Fancy she seemed a sweet spirit of light, 
 
 By the Father sent to wander there, 
 That her lamp might cheer the seaman s sight, 
 
 As he ploughs along o er the foaming ocean ; 
 And teach him there s One, whose arm of might 
 
 Can rouse, or can lull the dark billows commotion. 
 
 The black tempest that late so frowingly threw 
 
 Its robe of clouds around her form, 
 But veil d her splendour awhile from our view 
 And still did that spirit her bright course pursue, 
 
 Beaming sweetly on worlds beyond the storm : 
 
109 
 
 Now again she pours down her silvery hue, 
 
 On the ocean that round us is flashing brightly. 
 
 Till, pellucid and glassy, we almost see through 
 The little blue waves, that dance so lightly. 
 
 And thus, on hearts, in youth s sorrowless years, 
 
 The star of Hope pours down its ray 
 But soon the young bosom is clouded with fears, 
 And pleasure abandons the bright eye to tears, 
 
 As the radiance of Hope fades in darkness away : 
 But her star is still beaming on happier spheres, 
 
 Where no sorrow can enter, nor aught molest ; 
 And he that his bark o er the waves of life steers 
 
 By the pole-star of Faith } in that haven shall rest. 
 
 Ui 
 
THE FAMISHED BIRD. 
 
 Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco. 
 
 JRsm. lib. 1. 
 
 The following lines were occasioned by the death of a little bird, 
 that was blown off to sea, from the Island of Elba, in a storm ; and 
 died, in consequence of fatigue and famine, a few minutes after 
 alighting on the deck of our Ship. 
 
 Thou little lost one ! victim of the storm ! 
 Thy tired wings bend hither rest thee here ! 
 Famine hath prey d upon thy beauteous form, 
 And thou art wet with ocean s briny tear. 
 
 Why didst ihou leave yon verdant Isle afar, 
 Amid whose bowers thy warbling days were past : 
 Why didst thou tempt the elemental jar, 
 And strain thy pinions gainst the northern blast ? 
 
Ill 
 
 No needle told thee where to guide thy flight : 
 No sheltering tree was on the heaving main : 
 Bin onward driven through the murky night, 
 To rest thee, or return, thou strov st in vain ! 
 
 But rest thee here, thou weary wander, rest ! 
 Onr bark shall bear thee to a clime as fair ; 
 Again thy song shall speak the blythsome breast, 
 As high thou cleavest through the morning air. 
 
 Ah no! too long the tempest s chilly breath 
 Hath borne thee on mid v>cean s angry roar; 
 Famine, hath closed thy little eyes in death 
 Thy form is cold thy minstrelsy is o er ! 
 
THE CONSOLATION, 
 
 1 love to hear the gurgling stream 
 
 That winds through yonder grove, 
 Because its murmurs always seem 
 
 To whisper of my love : 
 And oft, at dewey eve, along 
 
 Its flowery banks I ve strayed, 
 To listen to the night-bird s song, 
 
 That mourn d the absent maid. 
 
 Sweet was it once, at moonlight hour, 
 
 With Mary there to rove ; 
 Or, pausing in some verdant bower, 
 
 Repeat our vows of love 5 
 
113 
 
 While Cynthia lent her silver beam 
 
 To gild the rippling wave, 
 Which, ah ! how little did I deem 
 
 Would glide by Mary s grave ! 
 
 Our vows of love in vain we speak 
 
 Her soul hath wing d its flight 
 Where tears are wiped from every cheek, 
 
 And every eye is bright : 
 But though this heart, this aching heart, 
 
 With anguish now is riven, 
 We yet shall meet, no more to part, 
 
 Where Mary dwells in heaven. 
 
 Above the grave where Mary sleeps 
 
 One lonely flowret grows ; 
 And oft to Fancy s eye it weeps 
 
 I love that lonely rose ! 
 Its leaves recall the hue to mind 
 
 That mantled on her face ; 
 Its stem, that waves to every wind, 
 
 Her meekness and her grace. 
 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 That fragile flower must soon decay, 
 
 And on the cold earth lie ; 
 Frail child of morning s sunny ray. 
 
 Like Mary, born to die ! 
 But not like her shall it revive 
 
 In renovated bloom, 
 Through all eternity to live, 
 
 Triumphant o er the tomb. 
 
 God ! thou hast given a promise blest 
 
 To soothe the mourner here ; 
 To yield the heavy-laden rest, 
 
 And dry the trickling tear : 
 Guided by that we well may stem 
 
 Awhile life s stormy wave ; 
 Thy Word the Star of Bethlehem. 
 
 Sheds light beyond the grave ! 
 
LINES, 
 
 OX THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY WHO WAS DROWNED IN TWI 
 OHIO RIVER. 
 
 While the rose on thy cheek was in ruddiest bloom, 
 And pleasure beam d bright in thine eye 
 
 While the whispers of Hope promised rapture to 
 
 come, 
 Thou wert summoned, Eliza, to die ! 
 
 Didst thoudie on thy couch, wet with love s holy tear? 
 
 By the hand of disease didst thou fall ? 
 Did kindred and weeping friends throng round thy 
 bier, 
 
 And shroud thee in death s sable pall f 
 
 Alas ! there was no one to mourn o er thine end, 
 Or consign thy pale form to the grave ; 
 
 Afar from thine home and each dearly lov d friend^ 
 Thou didst perish, poor girl, on the wave ! 
 
110 
 
 The Ohio s dark billows roll over thy corse ; 
 
 Thou art gone in thy youth s fairest bloom 5 
 And the murmur of waters, wild, mournful and hoarse, 
 
 Sound, to Fancy, a dirge o er thy doom, 
 
LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE ISLAND OF ELBA. 
 1 
 
 The heart that feels as I have felt, 
 
 When forced from kindred hearts to sever, 
 
 The idol-home where youth has dwelt, 
 To leave and leave, perchance, forever ; 
 
 Although no sigh may tell its wo, 
 
 Will throb with sorrow s deepest throe. 
 
 A father s burning hand I wrung ; 
 
 I kiss d a mother s pallid cheek ; 
 But not a word escaped my tongue 
 
 I felt too much too much to speak ! 
 That parting hour, that sad adieu, 
 Worlds would not tempt me to renew. 
 
118 
 
 My foot is on a foreign strand 
 But let me wander where I will, 
 
 I can t forget my native land ; 
 My heart is with my kindred still : 
 
 My dreams by night, my thoughts by day. 
 
 Are of the lov d ones far away. 
 
 When Vesper lights her evening star. 
 And sighing zephyrs curl the waves, 
 
 Memory recalls the scene afar, 
 
 Where erst I follow d to their graves, 
 
 With bursting heart, and burning eye, 
 
 Two sisters, early doom d to die ! 
 
 I think of years too idly wasted, 
 
 When Learning call d me to her bowers ; 
 But ah, the circean-cup I lasted 
 
 Madden d my brain, enerv d my powers ; 
 And Learning s call was disobey d 
 I sought for pleasure, found a shade. 
 
119 
 
 6 
 I think of her whose heart of truth 
 
 Is crumbling now to kindred clay ; 
 Eliza, torn in sinless youth 
 
 From me, and from the world away : 
 Upon those lips, rny lips have prest, 
 The festering worm is coil d to rest. 
 
 The eye that beam d whene er we met, 
 
 The cheek that blush d when love was spoken, 
 
 The voice that bade me not forget 
 
 Forget thee ! no ! my heart is broken; 
 
 But mid the ruins of that heart, 
 
 While yet it throbs there, tnere thou art ! 
 
 Thine eye is quench d, thy cheek is cold, 
 And in a far, far grave thou rt sleeping ; 
 
 Yet oft, in fancy, 1 behold, 
 
 And o er that timeless grave lie weeping 
 
 In vain I strive this grief to hush 
 
 The burning tears but faster gush. 
 
120 
 
 9 
 
 I ve left my land Fve left thy grave j 
 
 All that I love in life or death : 
 Why am 1 o er the heaving wave ? 
 
 What seek I here f Fame s fleeting breath r 
 Oh ! what is glory but a name ! 
 This Isle might teach how poor is Fame- 
 
 10 
 
 The prison-isle of him whose glance 
 
 Sent awe throughout the world around ; 
 
 W r ho o er the brow of fallen France 
 A sun-bright wreath of glory bound, 
 
 A coronal of crowns each gem 
 
 Some conquer d nation s diadem ! 
 
 11 
 
 Come hither, peasant ! tell me, where 
 
 Is he who dwelt in yonder vale? 
 il Signor, I neither know nor care ; 
 
 " He came he s gone : though short the tale. 
 
 " Tis all I have to tell" He came 
 
 He s gone ! oh yes ! this, this is Fame ! 
 
LINES. 
 
 W1UTTEN BENEATH A DILAPIDATED TOWER, YET STANDING AJIUXG 
 THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE. 
 
 Thou mouldering Pile, that hast withstood 
 
 The silent lapse of many ages, 
 The earthquake s shock, the storm, the flood 
 
 Around whose base the ocean rages, 
 Who rear d thy walls, that proudly brave 
 The tempest, battle, and the wave ? 
 
 Was it beneath thy ample dome 
 That Marius rested, and from thee, 
 
 When he had lost imperial Rome, 
 Learn d high resolve and constancy r 
 
 Thou seem st to mock the power of fate, 
 
 And well might st teach the lesson to be great, 
 11 
 
122 
 
 Perhaps this vaulted arch hath rung 
 Of yore with laughter s Iqudf st shout, 
 
 While Beauty round her glances flung 
 To cheer some monarch s wassail rout 
 
 But mirth and beauty long have fled 
 
 From this lone "city of the dead !" 
 
 Where busy thousands oft have trod 
 Beneath thy mouldering marble brow, 
 
 Wild moss-grown fragments press the sod 
 Around thee all is silence now ! 
 
 And thus the breath of foul Decay, 
 
 Shall melt at last thy form away ! 
 
 Thou desolate, deserted Pile ! 
 
 Lone vestige of departed glory, 
 Sadly in ruin thou seem st to smile, 
 
 While baffled Time flies frowning o er thee 
 As if resolved the tale to tell 
 Where Carthage stood, and how it fell ! 
 
123 
 
 Mid ruin d walls them stand s! alone ; 
 
 Around thee strewn, may yet he seen 
 The broken column, sculptur d stone, 
 
 And relics sad of what hath been 
 But thou alone surviv st the fall, 
 Defying Time, the leveller of ail ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Oh Lady ! thou hast touch d a chord 
 
 I vainly hoped would ne er more thrill; 
 Alas ! I find a whisper d word 
 
 May call me back to anguish still ! 
 The lay that trembled from thy tongue 
 
 Hath waken d shadows of the past, 
 When pleasure o er my pathway flung 
 
 Hues far too sweet too bright to last. 
 When first I heard that tuneful lay 
 
 Twas breathed from one I lov d too well- 
 And though in dust that form decay, 
 
 Her love, her woes, in memory dwell. 
 I madly thought I d school d my heart 
 
 To bear, without betraying pain ; 
 But, ah ! so like to her thou art, 
 
 Thou prov st my efforts all in vain > 
 
125 
 
 The smile she wore when first we met, 
 
 The tear she shed when last we parted, 
 These thou forbidd st me to forget 
 
 And all that made me broken hearted ! 
 Eliza ! thqu art laid to rest, 
 
 In virgin prime, in youthful bloom, 
 Within the cold earth s silent breast 
 
 While I am in a living tomb ! 
 Yes, yes, I live, if life this be, 
 
 But what to me is sickly breath ? 
 Each voiceless object speaks of the?, 
 
 And tells me thou art cold in death ! 
 Lost maiden ! in the silent hour 
 
 When slumber twines her opiate chain, 
 Then, then, remembrance hath the power 
 
 To call thy form to view again 
 And when I wake, I wake to sigh, 
 
 That one so fondly lovM should fade ; 
 Oh, why did st thou so early die ! 
 Or why was I not with thee laid ! 
 
 11* 
 
TO LOUISA. 
 
 b 
 
 Louisa ! dost thou hear in heaven 
 
 Thy brother s prayer addressed to thee r 
 Oh, are thy suppliant efforts given 
 
 Before th Eternal throne for me ? 
 Could I be sure we yet will meet, 
 
 When in the grave this frame shall rest, 
 My heart would not with anguish beat, 
 
 As now, within this aching breast. 
 
 When thou wert on a bed of pain, 
 
 And death was darkening o er thy brow, 
 Then rose that fever of the brain-- 
 
 I felt it then I feel it now 
 The deep, the voiceless grief that wastes 
 
 The heart by slow but sure decay ; 
 Which nothing stays, nor nothing hastes, 
 
 No time can quench, no scene allay. 
 
127 
 
 Oh ! o er my soul what horror came 
 
 Can I forget that moment ? never ! 
 When thou didst strive to call my name, 
 
 And found thy voice was hush d forever ! 
 A crowd of friends were gather d round thee, 
 
 And tears burst forth from every eye, 
 Despite their efforts not to wound thee 
 
 But thou wert not afraid to die ! 
 
 Life was to thee a wilderness, 
 
 By not one ray of comfort lighted : 
 The past presented but distress ; 
 
 The future seemM as drear and blighted : 
 Long years of wo had worn thy form ; 
 
 Thy path had been a cheerless one, 
 Devoid of flowers, clad in storm 
 
 Thou well might st wish thy journey done. 
 
 Those infant germs, that in thy bosom 
 Awoke the mother s anxious sigh, 
 
 Were doomed to fall in early blossom 
 Thy aching eyes beheld them die ! 
 
128 
 
 Upon thy name there was no stain, 
 Nor aught in death to cause a fear ; 
 
 Dark portal from a world of pain, 
 To heaven s eternal, happy sphere. 
 
 I gazed upon thy mute, pale lip, 
 
 As vainly thou didst strive to speak ; 
 
 I wept not then I could not weep- 
 But oh ! 1 thought my heart would break ! 
 
 The hue of death stole slowly o er thee, 
 Its glassy light was in thine eye 
 
 From the sad scene at length I tore me, 
 1 could not bear to see thee die ! 
 
 Though thou art now in yon blue heaven, 
 
 A bright one in a world of bliss, 
 Yet still with grief my heart is riven 
 
 Thou st left an aching void in this. 
 I cannot wish thee back to earth 
 
 To heave its sigh, and shed its tear- 
 But I who knew, and lov d thy worth, 
 
 Must mourn the waste that s left me here. 
 
129 
 
 High on the Alps where now I stand, 
 
 I turn my eyes across the wave, 
 In fancy view my native land, 
 
 In fancy visit thy lone grave : 
 Thy form decays beneath the sod, 
 
 By prairie wild-flowers sweetly drest- 
 Thy soul is with its Maker, GOD, 
 
 In yon pure realm forever blest ! 
 
" THERE IS A VOICE." 
 
 There is a voice in the silent night 
 That whispers in my dreaming ear 
 
 Such thrilling accents of delight, 
 
 That, oh ! when morning s beams appear, 
 
 I hate the dawn, for it breaks the spell, 
 
 And hushes the voice I lov d so well. 
 
 There is an eye in the darkest hour 
 That ever twined the bands of sleep, 
 
 Still watching me with guardian power, 
 And when I wake, I wake to weep 
 
 For no longer then it beams on me a 
 
 A wanderer o er the dark blue sea. 
 
131 
 
 The form that hovers around my pillow, 
 When slumber lulls this aching head, 
 
 In my native land, far over the billow, 
 Hath long been mouldering with the dead 
 
 And the wand of sleep can alone restore 
 
 The perish d one, so lov d of yore. 
 
 Louisa ! though on ocean s breast, 
 
 Far from my land, and from the grave. 
 
 Where, early called, thy relics rest, 
 Tis mine to wander o er the wave, 
 
 Yet oft in dreams 1 seek that spot 
 
 Lost one ! thou ne er canst be forgot ! 
 
 Oh ! who shall bind the chainless mind ? 
 
 Oh ! who shall curb the spirit s soar ? 
 He who can still the raving wind 
 
 And hush the ocean s angry roar, 
 His hand alone from my breast can tear 
 Thy image, fondly cherish d there. 
 
LAMENT 
 
 OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER CHILL . 
 
 A dew-drop on a withered leaf, 
 
 As bright, as lovely, and as brief, 
 
 Thy being was thou earnest from heaven. 
 
 Like dew-drops on the car of even ; 
 
 Where blush d the morning s early ray, 
 
 Thou, beauteous one, wert pass d away ! 
 
 If thou hadst liv d, thou fragile flower. 
 
 To soothe me in mine hour of wo, 
 Oh ! not as now would gr ef have power 
 
 To rend this aching bosom so ! 
 I fondly hoped that thou would st be 
 All that thy sire was erst to me ; 
 But thou art dead, beloved, and I 
 Care not how soon with thee I lie ; 
 The grave indeed were a welcome bed, 
 For this throbbing heart, and this aching head, 
 
133 
 
 The beam that lights the crystal tear 
 
 Which glistens on the woodland rose, 
 Ere yet dissolved to viewless air, 
 
 Upward again to heaven it goes- 
 Pure as that beam, that tear, my child, 
 
 Wen thou, when last thou look dst on me, 
 And thy pale lips so sweetly smiled, 
 
 As if Death wore no frown for thee : 
 And then (Oh God! why hast thou dealt 
 
 Such anguish to the widow s breast?) 
 While mutely by thy couch I knelt, 
 
 And thy cold cheek to mine was prest. 
 Without a sigh, without a groan, 
 Thy spirit fled my son ! my son ! 
 
 Thou art in yonder heaven now, 
 
 A cherub near th Eternal s throne 
 Oh ! teach my heart to bear the blow 
 
 That leaves me here on earth alone ! 
 I should not weep but tears will flow, 
 
 Whene er my thoughts are backward cast ; 
 That thou art bless d I know I know 
 
 But ah ! I can t forget the pastj 
 
 12 
 
134 
 
 I can t forget that I m bereft 
 
 Of all that form d my solace here ; 
 
 Naught, naught, in life, to me is left 
 But frenzy s dream, and memory s tear ! 
 
 Come, on the wings of slumber, come, 
 
 Thou bright one ! from thy place of rest ! 
 Descend from thine eternal home, 
 
 Again to soothe thy mother s breast ! 
 Dispel these clouds of doubt and gloom 
 
 That gather round the mourner s brow ; 
 Tell her of hope beyond the tomb 
 
 Oh, be her guardian angel now ! 
 
 I ll not provoke thy wrath, my God ! 
 
 By murmuring at thy righteous will ; 
 I strive to kiss the chastening rod, 
 
 But nature speaks in anguish still : 
 These rending sobs I cannot hush 
 
 These burning tears I cannot smother j 
 There is a voice in every gush 
 
 Proclaims I am no ! was a mother ! 
 
135 
 
 Death ! thou hast qnench d the only beam 
 
 That glimmer d on life s stormy wave ; 
 Thou st left me childless on the stream 
 
 That rushes darkly to the c^rave ; 
 Yet, yet, I triumph o er thee, Death, 
 
 And rise above thy poor control ! 
 Thy touch may chill the ebbing breath 
 
 Thou canst not quell th immortal soul ! 
 And while the tempest round me rages, 
 
 I know there s rest, -it last, in heaven ; 
 My faith is on the Rocs OF AGES, 
 
 The glorious Promise GOD hath given. 
 
ON A LOCK OF HAIR. 
 
 And is this all remains of thee 
 
 I lov d in youth so well ? 
 Of all the charms that threw o er me 
 
 Affection s sweetest spell 
 The eye that beam d with light of mind. 
 The heart so warm and so refined, 
 
 This only left to tell ? 
 Yet well does it recall again 
 The form belov d, alas ! in vain. 
 
 Sad relick ! but few months are fled 
 Since thou didst grace the brow 
 
 Of her, who in Death s marble bed 
 Is coldly sleeping now : 
 
137 
 
 And when I left my native home 
 O er ocean s pathless waste to roam, 
 
 With many a whisper d vow, 
 Did she this raven tress confer, 
 And call d thee " Love s Remembrancer." 
 
 I placed thee next my throbbing heart, 
 
 Where soon I hoped, to fold 
 The maid, of whom alone thou art 
 
 All I can e er behold ! 
 And often, on the moonlight sea, 
 I ve stol n a glance of love at thee, 
 
 While pleasure s tear-drop roll d, 
 As thinking, " o er the dashing tide, 
 Soon, soon, I ll wend to claim my bride. 5 
 
 At last our bark return d once more 
 
 O er ocean s heaving breast ; 
 And on my own, my native shore, 
 
 My thrilling footsteps press d : 
 With breathless haste I sought the form 
 That, day and night, through calm and storm, 
 
 Had been my bosom s guest 
 I sought but ah ! the grave had closed 
 Above that form in death reposed* 
 
138 
 
 Dear gift ! when now thou meet st my gaze 
 
 What burning thoughts arise! 
 Oh how the soul of other days, 
 
 Comes gushing from mine eyes ! 
 I do not weep o er pleasures fled ; 
 I do not mourn the lov d one dead ; 
 
 But when remembrance flies 
 Back o er the scenes of early years, 
 In vain would I suppress my tears ! 
 
 I weep yet scarce know why I weep, 
 
 For 1 would not recall 
 That being from her dreamless sleep 
 
 1 would not lift the pall 
 That shrouds her cold and pulseless breast- 
 No ! if a word could break her rest, 
 
 And give back life, love, all 
 That erst made life so bright, so dear, 
 I could not could not wish her here ! 
 
 * 
 
 Now let the tempest pour its wrath 
 
 On my devoted head ! 
 The clouds that lower upon my path, 
 
 Cannot disturb the dead : 
 
139 
 
 And oh ! tis something still to know, 
 Howe er mine eyes with anguish flow, 
 
 No tears can e er be shed 
 By her, who snatch d in loveliest bloom, 
 Lies mouldering in an early tomb. 
 
 Life s burthen I have learn d to bear, 
 
 But I would bear alone, 
 Nor have one other heart io share 
 
 The pangs that rend my own : 
 Yes, yes, lov d pledge ! when now my view 
 Is fix d upon thy raven hue, 
 
 It softens sorrow s moan 
 To know whatever tis mine to brave, 
 Affliction cannot pierce the grave ! 
 
ADDRESS 
 
 F THE DESERTED MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. 
 
 Go ! go ! thou hast forgotten all 
 Thine early vows, so false, so vain ! 
 
 Thy faithless love I d not recall, 
 
 Could one word make thee mine again ! 
 
 I lov d thee with the fondest teal 
 That ever warm d a youthful heart ; 
 
 And still my prayer is for thy weal, 
 Although so cbung d, so cold thou art. 
 
 While in the gilded halls of wealth 
 
 Twas mine to move, thou lov dst me well- 
 
 Or seem d to love but, ah ! the breath 
 Of sorrow hath dissolv d the spell. 
 
141 
 
 Thou told st me that my cheek was fair, 
 And praised my tresses auburn hue; 
 
 But twas the gems that glitter d there 
 Alone had magic for thy view. 
 
 And now the eye that always burn d 
 So warmly when it glanc d on me, 
 
 At my approach away is turn d 
 1 would not thus have treated thee ! 
 
 Go ! go! thou hast forgotten all 
 Thine early vows, so false, so vain ! 
 
 Thy faithless love I d not recall, 
 
 Could one word make thee mine again ! 
 
 I lov d with such devotedness 
 That I had been as fondly thine 
 
 Through shame, and sorrow, and distress, 
 As thou, while fortune smil d, seem d mine 
 
 I would have been the perfumed air 
 Thai breathes upon the rose s bed, 
 
 And still will fondly linger there 
 
 When bloom and beauty all are fled. 
 
142 
 
 I would have been the ivy wreath 
 That twines around some rifted tree ; 
 
 And, like the ivy, even in death 
 Have clung to thee, to only thee. 
 
 But thou hast rudely bid depart 
 
 The form that knelt before thy shrine; 
 
 Thy hand hath torn away the heart 
 Whose every nerve was knit with thine. 
 
 Go ! go ! thon hast forgotten all 
 Thine early vows, so false, so vain I 
 
 Thy faithless love I d not recall, 
 
 Could one word make thee mine again ! 
 
TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Could the pinions of Fancy, oh, really bear, 
 
 So swiftly and surely, our forms through the air, 
 
 As nightly they seem in my slumber to do r 
 
 How soon, my dear mother, they d waft me to you ! 
 
 But fancy, alas ! hath no power like this, 
 Though her wand often calls up the shadows of bliss; 
 And oft, by the aid of her magic, I seem 
 In the land that I only can visit in dream. 
 
 Between us, dear parent, a blue ocean rolls 
 But though pathless and stormy, it severs not souls ; 
 And whene er I recline in my hammock to rest, 
 I see thee in visions those visions are blest ! 
 
144 
 
 The day fast approaches when o er the wild sea 
 Will the Rover return to his country, and thee, 
 And each tear-drop be dried in a sun-burst of joy, 
 As thou fold st to thy bosom the wanderer-boy. 
 
 When my foot shall again tread the land of my birth. 
 The loveliest, the bravest, the best on the earth, 
 When my hand in the grasp of affection is wrung, 
 And the voice of sweet welcome is heard on each 
 tongue 
 
 Oh ! think ye not then that my heart will throb high 
 With that voiceless delight, which illumines the eye. 
 Which is breathed in the sigh, and is shed in the tear, 
 But which words have no power to pour on the eai f 
 
 Yes, yes ! when the scenes of my childhood again, 
 Like a shadow afar, fringe the verge of the main, 
 Forgotten the past in the bliss of return 
 With the richest of rapture my bosom will burn ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 BEAUTY IN TEARS. 
 
 The little poem under the above title, wap suggested by the following, 
 which I saw in a fragment of an old " DUBLIN EXAMINER," several 
 years ago. 
 
 BEAUTY IN SMILES. 
 
 Oh, weep not. sweet maid ! tho the bright tear of Beauty 
 
 To kindred emotion each feeling beguiles ; 
 For the softness of sorrow no magic can borrow 
 
 To vie with the splendor of Beauty in Smiles J 
 
 Man roves through creation a wandering stranger, 
 
 A dupe to its follies, a slave to its toils : 
 But bright o er the billows of doubt and of danger, 
 
 The rainbow of promise is Beauty in Smiles ! 
 
 As the rays of the sun o er the bosom of nature 
 Renew every flower which the tempest despoils 
 
 So joy s faded blossoms, in man s aching bosom. 
 Revive in the sunshine of Heaut> in Smiles ! 
 
 The crown of the hero, the star of the rover, 
 
 The hope that inspires, and the spell that beguiles 
 The song of the poet, the dream of the lover, 
 The infidel s heaven is Beauty in Smiles ! 
 
148 NOTES. 
 
 Page 82. 
 
 An echo wakes, as from the dead, 
 
 And murmurs still, Oh ! Where is He ? 
 
 T hia idea is much more forcibly expressed in the following passage 
 from an Arabic MS. which suggested it : " 1 came to the place of my 
 birth, and I said The friends of my youth, where are they ? An. 
 echo answered Where are they?" Lord Byron acknowledges him 
 self to have been indebted to the same source for those beautiful lines in 
 the " Bride of Abydos," 
 
 " Hark ! to the hurried question of despair : 
 
 " Where is my child?- An echo answers" Where ?" 
 
 Page 120. 
 
 11 Signor, I neither know nor care ; 
 
 " He came he s gone : though short the tale f 
 " Tis all Ihave to tell," 
 
 In August, 1824, the U. S. Ship , to which T was then attach 
 ed, was lying in Port Ferrajo, Island of Elba, and in sight of the house 
 which had been occupied by Bonaparte during his exile to this island. 
 The last stanza of the effusion to which this note refers, was occasioned 
 by the actual reply of a peasant, on being asked what had become of 
 the illustrious prisoner. " Dicano ch e morto ; tutto che so io e che 
 veniva quaed e audato via." This peasant lived, and always had lived 
 at a distance of certainly not more than two miles from the above-men 
 tioned house. Well does Gray sing 
 
 " The paths of glory lead but to the grave !" 
 
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