FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY DiTteoa -S^B Sectlou /t I^cX -K^* •0*WfrL THE /\^ &P OF W% POEM OCT 11 1933 OF WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. PHILADELPHIA: HENRY PERKTXS-CHESTNUT STREET. NEW YORK LEAVITT, LORD & CO. BOSTON PERKINS & MARVIN. 1834. -*^V* / Ashmead & Co. Printers. COXTENTS. THE NATIVITY - Page 13 To the Stars 14 My Boy Sleeping ------- 15 There is an hour of peaceful rest ... - 17 Filial Love 18 One hundred years from now ----- 19 Ode for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Battle of Bunker's Hill 20 Prayer written during a Pestilence - 22 There is a Harp ------- 23 Sixteen 23 The Departed 25 The Maternal Prayer Meeting ... - 26 Christ Rejected - 28 Christ Risen 29 Why should we sigh 30 Warriors of the Revolution 31 Rev. John Sumrnerfield 33 When death shall lay -__..- 34 Conflagration of the Orphan Asylum at Philadelphia - 35 I knew the Boy 36 Gethsemane ---.... 37 The Slaveholder's Throne 38 You asked I rememher ------ 40 Love -----...- 41 American Slavery ---.--- 42 Weep not 44 Uzzah 45 To the North Star 46 Charles Carroll of Carrollton ----- 47 I said thus to my Glass ------ 49 Palestine --,-.--- 51 Star of Bethlehem 52 Close of the Week 54 The Wail of the Deep 55 The Field Star of Bethlehem 56 Home of my Youth ------ 57 1 he Magdalen's Hymn ----- 58 The Albion 59 Retrospection ------- 61 The Vigil 62 The Bunker Hill Monument .... - 63 What dost thou here ------ 64 The Wreck 65 iv INDEX. To a Young Friend with a pocket Testament - Page 65 Thy WiH be Done 66 There's Rest for the Weary 67 Charles H. Parker 68 Chilese Warrior's Song ...... go. Redemption ..-...- 71 My Departed Child ----.. 72 The Morning Star 73 Sonnet— the Tomb 74 Hymn to the Dead 75 My Country 76 Why do I love thee 78 Founded on a fact that occurred Sept. 1826 - 79 The Thorn of Life 81 The Boatman's Return 82 When the Rose in Sharon blooming - 84 Before me lies the troublous Deep, ... 85 I long had loved thee ..... 86 To the Crescent 88 When cold in the dust ..... 89 They shall lie down alike - - - - - - 91 Yes they have fled— the war-whoop's call - 93 Song of the Mariner ------ 94 Extract from the Italian 95 The Maniac _..--.. 96 Mary at the Sepulchre ------ 97 To a Youthful Friend 98 thou that plead'st with pitying love ... 99 Death of General Stark 100 The Red Breast 102 The Convict Boy 103 To the New Year - - - - - - 104 The House of Industry ... - - 106 The Missionary's Grave in the Desert . - - 107 The Sailor's Hymn 108 - O Come Smiling June ------ 109 The Barbadoes Girl to her Lover - - - - HO Birth of Duelling 112 My Boy's Grave 113 The Prophecy of Noah 114 Shall the Warrior flee his Home - - - - 118 1 cannot but sigh - - - - - - 119 The Captive Jewess - 120 INDEX. To the Sensitive Plant ------ The African Convert The Flower of Lebanon - I fain would know if she who lately fled Wake Isles of the South ... - Translation of do. - - I saw the Outcast - - Commodore M'Donough - - - - We Wander - - - - - - Is there a Heart - - Summer - - - - - - Prayer for the African Mission - - - - Forsaken is Nazareth Prayer for Greece - late of the Pilot Boat - - - - 'Tis to the East the Hebrew bends American Sunday School Union Buildings The Chinese Mission - Hymn for the Celebration of the Forty-Ninth Anniversar of American Independence Farewell to New England - - When o'er long night the bursting dawn When the last tear - - - - On viewing Trumbull's Painting - My Native Village - La Fayette - - - The Thunder Storm - ... Ruins of James Town, Va. - - The Last Voyage - - - . Last Veteran of the Revolution - What heart has not false hope misled I love at evening's silent tide - To an interesting Young Lady deaf and dumb Eternity - - - ... To the Dove - - - Look at 'tother side - ... The Brook Kedron - - The White Hills of New Hampshire Hymn sung in Castle Garden, New York Worship - - - Abisbal's Invocation - - Scio— 1822 - - - The Infant School - - jge 121 122 123 124 126 127 128 130 131 132 133 134 136 136 138 140 141 143 vi INDEX. 1 love the bosom that can feel - - - Page 171 Why weepest thou - 172 The soul that wings her airy flight 173 Years past— Years to come - ... - 174 When thou calmly sleepest - 176 come from a World - - - - - 177 1 dreamed of Loveliness - 179 Is it not a little one - 180 Wearied with play that night - - - - 181 Music of Light - - 183 The Prison - - 185 To my Daughter Zelia - 186 To a Deaf and Dumb Girl - 188 The West - - - 190 Written at Long Meadow, Mass. .... 192 Mission Ships - - - 194 Desolation of Tyre - - 195 Twilight Song of the Shepherds of the Andes - - 196 Prayer for the Dead - .... 197 Sweet orb of Night I saw thee rise ... 199 The House of Refuge - . ... 199 A thousand Warriors to the charge ... 201 Happiness— where is it - 203 I have never seen the righteous forsaken - - 204 On my Friend presenting his Infant at the Baptismal Fount 205 Ye Dead - - 205 Ararat - - ----- 207 Death Bed of the Pious 209 Come! - - 210 The Soldiers of the Cross 211 Apostrophe to the Brig Tontine - - - - 213 To George B. English, Esq. - - - - 214 O, let her linger yet a while - 215 Occasioned by an incident during a Storm - - 216 The Incarnation - - - 218 Epitaph in the Cathedral of Sienna ... 219 The American Banner - - - 220 To Winter - - - 221 Fourth of July - - - - - - 222 To Lafayette - - - - 224 Occasioned by the expected presence of Lafayette - 225 Lafayette at the Tomb of Washington 227 The Slave Ship - - 228 I INDEX. ^ 11 The Incendiary - Page 229 What is Eternity 230 The Bethel Flag 232 The Castaway ... 234 Mrs. A.R. 336 The Blind 237 The Children's Church 239 Chapel in Liberia ... 240 God our God his power revealing 241 To certain Duellists - 243 Occasioned by Gordon Hall's Appeal 244 Sunday School Jubilee 245 In prospect of the Cholera 247 For Deliverance from Pestilence 248 Peace - - - - 250 Rev. Adoniram Judson - - 352 Christ in the Tempest - - 255 'Tis well that ye reject the Cup 256 Death of the Patriots Adams and Jefferson 257 Verses— the Jefferson Fund 259 Requiem .... 260 To my Mother in New England 262 My Father's Grave 264 Maternal Love - 266 Paganism could not Reply - - 268 The Year - 269 Removal of the Remains of Commodore Perry 270 To one that meditated Suicide 272 Simeon's Prophecy - - - 273 Song of the Warriors - - . 275 Ye Spirits of the Just - - - 276 To the Holy Alliance - - . 277 Death of Fisk - 279 Occasioned by the Removal of the Cherokees 280 Mrs. Sarah J. - - - . . 282 To my two Children - - 283 Invocation - - - 285 Revolutions - - - 286 Departure of the Missionaries - 289 The Burman's Question - 292 Obey your Parents 293 Edward Payson - - 294 The Missionary - - 295 INDEX. \V. B. P. of England .... page 29a The Camp Meeting - 299 For the Orphan The Sailor as he was — as he is Thy Wandering Boy - The Cross Children's Worship Pilgrimage of the Dead Joseph Eastburn Who is my Neighbour Tributary Feast of the Dead G. W- of the U. S. Frigate Constitution Launch of the North Carolina The heavens were still Spain - - - To the surviving Defenders of the Castle of St Juan de Ulua Away, away through Trackless Space The Bearing of the Cross The Ransomed Spirit to her home Unholy Thoughts Idols Rejected What is Death 'Twas Deity that died Union— Nullification Beauty in the Grave Precious Dust is that - ■ B- Hast thou seen the Cloud of Morning Sunday School Hymns My Country— Liberty - - All are not Free - - An Evening Thought Music - - - The Children of America Yes it is sweet to Contemplate Cape May - - - The Father Mourned his Only Son For my Child Verses on an ancient Pear Tree imported from Holland Europe— 1826 We may hallow the spot The Weary Wheels 302 303 305 307 308 310 311 313 314 315 316 317 318 320 321 323 324 325 326 327 328 330 331 333 335 337 337 338—342 343 344 345 346 347 349 349 351 352 354 356 357 359 TO THE READER. This volume is published, because, among other reasons, I wish to call home such of my articles as have wandered in both hemispheres without a name; and which public favour would seem to indicate as not unworthy of being claimed. Several of these have been copied so frequently into various periodicals, as anony- mous, that their right to a place here, may pos- sibly require to be duly certified by tins acknow- ledgment of them as my own. The origin of these pieces is to be traced, for the most part, to a desire to please myself by the indulgence of a reigning inclination; yet, in offering them to the public I am unfeigned ly so- licitous that welcomings may greet these fruits of an impulse which has constantly led me into the fields of sons; : among; the cultivators of which I am willing to confess my desire to be found. 10 TO THE READER. The belief that some of these pieces have oc- casionally kindled the glow and warmed the piety of Christians in this and other lands, gives unalloyed pleasure. Several of them will be recognized as being enrolled with Zion's songs — not unknown in the sanctuary, nor strangers to the place of private devotion. There are yet flowers in life's wilderness That fling upon the air a sweet perfume, And with the charm of Eden-loveliness Sooth man's sojoumings to the quiet tomb. None live, so hopeless, abject and unknown As nor to covet, nor to gather these. They cluster every where, and round liim still Their presence throw, who seeks to be alone. And yet their sweets no witchery have to please The proud, that careless pluck with wanton will. Fairest of lingerers in earth's sunny bowers; The delicate, not found amid the throng — The pleasant solacer of hidden hours- Still, still be mine the Blossomings of Song. POEMS. THE NATIVITY* Jubea's plains in -silence sleep Beneath the cloudless midnight sky \ And o'er their flocks the shepherds keep Kind watch, to David's city nigh : That royal city ! — nobler Guest Is she awhile to entertain, Than proudest monarch, whose behest It is o'er earthly realms to reign i By Him salvation is to mortals given, On earth is shed the peerless noon of Heaven, For see, along the deep blue arch A glory breaks — and now a throng, From where the sparkling planets march, Come trooping down with shout and song ; And o'er those pastures, bath'd in light, The sacred legions stay their wing, "While on the wakeful ear of night, Steals the rich hymn that Seraphs sing ; And sweetly thus the mellow accents ran, " Glory to God, Good Will and Peace to Man \" 14 THE POEMS OF TO THE STARS. Fair stars ! upon the brow of night Ye look, from yonder fields of blue, Where ye, 5 mid melody of light, Bright wheeling worlds ! your way pursue. Ye never tire, — pure diadems, The marshalled sentinels on high, Ye shine, and ever shine, the gems That fringe the curtain of the sky. Minstrels are ye — your early song Followed the Voice Omnipotent, When light and music flowed along Over the spangled firmament. Ye stars ! if aught 'tis yours to know, Beyond your own returnless bourne, With pity have ye not below Glanced on these vales where mortals mourn ? O, as I scan your nightly march, Your anthems steal upon mine ears ; As sprinkled o'er yon glittering arch, Ye wake the music of the spheres. J Tis fancy ! — yet the empyrean strains Impart kind gilead to my breast ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 15 They tell of brighter, fairer plains, Where troubles cease, where pilgrims rest. MY BOY SLEEPING. O, sweetly thou art sleeping, And thine are dreams of joy, Thy mother too is keeping Her watch o'er thee, my boy ! Thy healthful cheek is shaded With hair of auburn dye ; The last dear smile, unfaded, Tells artless pleasure nigh. And long unknown to sorrow, Loved one ! mayst thou repose, Be thine the hope of morrow, And thine the thornless rose : Life's path— how drear and lonely, Uncheered by love's warm glow ; A parent's rapture, only A parent's heart can know. When of our joys, the nearest Too oft, alas ! depart, O, blest is he whose dearest, Spring only from the heart ; The tide of time is stealing, Each hour, some bliss away ; But these dear throbs of feeling Can never know decay. 16 THE POEMS OF Yet while I hover o'er thee, Upon thy cheek, the tear Hath fallen, as before me, Life's numerous ills appear ; Heaven! avert, or lighten, Those ills, and if astray Thou goest, may Hope's star brighten, And guide thee on the way. O, waken from thy slumber, My cherub boy, that I May every beauty number, That glances from thy eye ; Beneath those fringes darting, Are beams I long to see ; Those ruby lips, disparting, Should lisp of love to me. 1 gaze — and still new pleasures My bosom overflow ; O tell me, best of treasures ! What is it moves me so ? Yet hush ! I would not wake thee, So tranquil is thy rest ; To sleep again betake thee, Thv couch a mother's breast. WILLIAM B. TAPPA>\ 17 THERE IS AN HOUR OF PEACEFUL REST. There is an hour of peaceful rest, To mourning* wanderers given ; There is a joy for souls distressed, A balm for every wounded breast — 'Tis found above, in heaven. There is a soft, a downy bed, Far from these shades of even 5 A couch for weary mortals spread, Where they may rest the aching- head, And find repose in heaven. There is a home for weary souls, By sin and sorrow driven ; When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise and ocean rolls, And all is drear — 'tis heaven. There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye, The heart no longer riven ; And views the tempest passing" by, The evening shadows quickly fly, And all serene in heaven. There fragrant flowers, immortal, bloom, And joys supreme are given : There rays divine disperse the gloom — Beyond the confines of the tomb Appears the dawn of heaven. b 2 16 THE POEMS OF FILIAL LOVE. Filial Devotion ! dear the tie That binds the parent to the child ; 'Tis from affection's rich supply, The streams of bliss flow undefiled ; "What youthful mind loves not to dwell On deeds which care parental prove ? What child whose bosom doth not swell "With gratitude and Filial Love ? If such there be — from haunts of men Let the unhallowed wretch withdraw, Fitter to guard the scorpion's den, Or wait the cruel tiger's law. How tender are the hourly cares, That with the mother's love entwine ; How holy are the frequent prayers The father pours at midnight's shrine; Filial Devotion ! Gratitude ! Emotions to the bosom dear — I would not on the heart intrude, That never g"ave to you the tear ; And hast thou, O my spirit, scanned "With equal zeal, His gnardian power, "Whose breath supports, whose bounteous hand, Unaided, holds existence' hour ? "While, day by day, the full supplies Thou need'st, are given thee from above ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 19 Wilt thou not humbly recognise In these, a watchful Father's love ■ Recipient of a liberal store, The pensioner of Mercy's throne, Wilt thou not contritely adore The Source of life and love alone ? Great Parent ! while I intercede For daily bread to strengthen me, May I, with holy fervour, plead Thy quickening' grace to worship Thee, OXE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW. My heart is desolate and sad,— Others may dream, yet unto me The visions that my boyhood had, Are lost in dull reality ; I sometimes wish my soul were not By sorrow stern, compelled to bow ; Yet wherefore ? 'twill be all forgot One Hundred Years from Now. The friends I had, the hungry tomb Hath stolen away, or, bitterer still, Coldness hath nipped their love in bloom, And kindly thoughts are turned to ill, 'Tis sad to mourn the buried friend, Most sad to meet the altered brow ; Yet what of this ! — all care will end One Hundred Years from Now. 20 THE POEMS OF Sorrow with me hath done its worst ; She whom I love — her face is wan, — Yea, I have given to the dust The babe my bosom doated on : Yet, as upon its clay-cold bed We wept, sweet voices whispered, how Gladly we'll meet, long ere hath fled One Hundred Years from Now. 'Tis Nature's law — then why repine That man should tread a thorny way ? The hopes that now thus darkly shine, Shall yet break out to perfect Day ; And O, my spirit ! this thy shield Shall be, when bade by griefs to bow — The mystery will be revealed One Hundred Years from Now. ODE FOR THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL. Where rest the mighty Slain, 'Neath monument or mound, On teeming hill or plain, That spot is holy ground : Sons of the Warrior ! rear The obelisk on high ; Sons of the Brave ! revere The deeds that never die. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 21 Bid ye the column tell That on this place of graves, The men of valour fell, Who scorned to live as slaves : God — whose sublime decree, Speaks elements to rest, Gave victory to the free, And safety to the oppressed. Ghosts of the glorious dead ! Our venerated sires ! Your offspring bless, and shed On them your sacred fires : At this auspicious hour, On this devoted spot, Glory, we feel thy power — What bosom owns it not ! Rear ye the lettered Rock ! — What though it pass away, Though marble ne'er can mock Resistless Time's decay, The Patriot's deed is known To archives of the sky ; Emblazoned on the throne, The record cannot die. 22 THE POEMS OF PRAYER WRITTEN DURING A PESTILENCE. Oh Thou Unseen, Almighty God ! That rul'st in power alone ; Afflicted by thy righteous rod, We come before the throne. And thou wilt never bid " depart" — When our frail offerings rise 5 For Thou hast said, the broken heart Is thy own sacrifice. With earnest tears we intercede For thy paternal care ; And, self-abased, do humbly plead In penitential prayer. Our city weeps in lowly dust, Bowed by the hand Divine ; And still she owns thy dealings just, For judgment, Lord, is thine. Yet while Thou rid'st in frowning mien, And hold'st the balance true, Oh God ! while thy dread scourge is seen, Let pity triumph too. Though justice is thy diadem, And wrath is thine alone, Yet Mercy shines, the brightest gem Around thy glorious throne. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 23 THERE IS A HARP. There is a harp whose thrilling sound Is heard among* the choirs above ; 'Mid the blue arch its notes resound, And heaven repeats the strains of love. 'Tis when some spirit from these spheres, On viewless pinions wing's its way, And pure, before the throne appears, In robes of everlasting* day. Hark ! the glad shout of sacred j oy. In choral numbers loud and long : The angelic hosts their harps employ, The cherub wakes his noblest song. SIXTEEN. Lady ! while gaily ope's on you The world's alluring witching smile ; While flowers of every form and hue Spring forth, your pathway to beguile, — O Lady, in the bursting dawn Of hope, may real bliss be seen, And bland contentment gild your morn, And peace be yours at fond Sixteen. 24 THE POEMS OF Life's but a flower, how frail the bloom ! It charms without, within is there The worm that's nourished to consume, The foe of beauty, baneful Care : Far from your bosom be the cares That lurk with cold forbidding mien, And, O kind Heaven! avert the snares That folly spreads for gay Sixteen. Though cloudless suns for thee may rise, And bright the joys that for thee shine, O who may tell these beauteous skies, These cloudless suns shall long be thine ? Yet long may these your day illume, And may no storm, with rigour keen, Assail the flower that loves to bloom On the fair cheek of sweet Sixteen. The fairy form must lose its grace, The speaking eye must know decay, Time will each youthful charm efface, As evening's robe obscures the day ; Yet while meek candour loves to dwell Those lips upon, and truth is seen, Lady, these graces long shall tell The fadeless charms of bright Sixteen. Affection cheers our pathway wild, Yet oft it dies, alas ! how soon, — The star that on Love's morning smiled, Shines coldly on its dying noon ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 25 Yet Lady ! while the chaste caress Of friendship, soothes life's sorrows keen, Still may affection richly bless Your path, when fled is gay Sixteen. THE DEPARTED. I see thee not, my brother ! thou art far From me, removed to thy empyrion — Thou dwellest in the chambers of the star ; Inhabitant of yon returnless bourne, "Where mortality comes not — yet in sleep I saw thee. 'Twas a vision of the night, When fancy, roused, no more would vigils keep, When all within was holy, calm and bright. I saw thee as thou wast. Though many a flower Of summer birth has flourished on thy bed — Though many a cold and wintry blast has swept The spot where thou hast pillowed thy head — The spot where I in boyhood's laughing hour, Forgot my mirth and o'er thy memory wept j My brother ! I saw thee, and thou didst seem Like nought of earth — a shadowy, pleasing dream- A voiceless vision, beckoning me away To skiey fields, where love's pure fountain flows 'Mid landscapes, sunned by an unclouded day, Where pilgrims dwell — the weary find repose. Methought 'twas by a river's brink we walked : How touching was night's silence ! Echo talked Along the breezes, on the eddying air 26 THE P0E3IS OF Came dying murmurs ; — music, too, was there, Music unheard, yet felt, the harmony That soothes the spirit in the parting" hour, That hails the disembodied to their bower. 'Twas invitation all; — I strove to follow thee — My brother ! I sought again thy speaking eye, But thou wast gone; there was nought left with me; The stars shone coldly in the clear blue sky, The lonely night-wind, murmuring, passed by. THE MATERNAL PRAYER MEETING. They've met, thou seest, this is where They always love to meet ; The chosen room, well known to prayer, The Mother's mercy seat; They've met — in beauteous eyes, the tear Of stirring thought is dim ; For each, this hour, her sweet ones here, Leads up in prayer to Hix. Is't not a holy place ■ — look round — Unto these bosoms given, Are hopes, not by the wide world bound, They look away to heaven ; And think not Heaven, as side by side, Are child and mother bowed — Between itself and this deep tide Of prayer, hath flung a cloud. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 27 Oh no ! if ever broken speech May audience find above, 'Tis when the mother's heart would reach Down blessings for its love ; And though in tears each suppliant long May tarry near the throne, She knows that here the faith is strong That is so faint alone. And firm the faltering step, for then The altar-place is trod 5 And rises timid woman, when She gives her child to God ; Yet not for self is given the sigh, The earnest tear is shed ; But that rich mercies from on high May fall upon his head, Oh woman ! to whose forming touch Is given the plastic mind, Thou need' st the frequent prayer, for much ► Hath heaven to thee consigned ; Still in thy weakness there is power Before thy King to stand 5 AVith him there is a hearing hour, A sceptre in his hand. 'Tis wise, while fountains fail below, To lead those thou dost love, Unto the streams that brightly flow In fairer worlds above ; 28 THE POEMS OF To furnish, ere 'tis thine to fall, These dear ones for the strife ; And oh, to see them peril all For crowns of endless life ! CHRIST REJECTED. The dawn hath broke on Solyma, Yet in her streets sits wan despair ; The temple greets the early ray, The voice of gladness is not there ; Gone forth is the accursed decree, Blush Sun ! and hide each starry gem ! Your Maker is condemned, and He Wears now the thorny diadem. Did not from yonder battlement The gathered angels bend and weep, When crushed with toil, with sorrow spent, Immanuel trod the painful steep ? Was there not anguish known above — Say, ye ! that knelt before the throne, When He whose every throb was love, By man rejected, wept alone ? O, suffering Saviour ! let me be Patient, when crowding cares invade ; Resigned, when earthly blessings flee, And grateful while enjoyments fade : WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 29 Thou wast rejected ! — Son of God ! Near to the Highest is thy seat ; 'Tis mine to meet the stormy flood, Give me a place beneath thy feet. CHRIST RISEX. Darkly o'er thee, Palestine ! Hang's the mystic veil of night : Land of Shinar, grief is thine, Quenched the glory of thy light, — Where is now the promise given To thy sires of ancient day ? Where, O where, the lamp of heaven, To direct the wanderer's way ? Ye who, favoured, saw Hix, tell Of his mien, beyond compare ; Ye who marked Him when he fell, Say, was not the Godhead there ? Yet he writhed beneath the rod — Anguish sat upon his brow — Men have triumphed in his blood, And the marble holds him now. Wherefore then the golden beam, Springing up the eastern sky ; Bright, yet soft as morning's dream, When night's empire passes by } c 2 30 THE POEMS OF Wherefore then the choral hymn, Floating* on the wavy air — Why hath ope'd the marble tomb ? Jesus sleeps no longer there ! He hath risen ! — crushed his power — Lo, in dust the arch-fiend lies ; He hath risen ! — glorious hour ! We who sleep in him shall rise ; Welcome death ! each sorrow closing 1 , Now thy features smiles do wear ; Welcome grave ! to flesh reposing*, jEsrs is the victor there. WHY SHOULD WE SIGH. Why should we sigh when Fancy's dream, The ray that shone 'mid youthful tears, Departing, leaves no kindly gleam, To cheer the lonely waste of years ? Why should we sigh ? — The fairy charm That bound each sense in folly's chain Is broke, and Reason, clear and calm, Resumes her holy rights again. Why should we sigh that earth no more Claims the devotion once approved ? That joys endeared, with us are o'er, And gone are those these hearts have loved } WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 31 Why should we sigh ? — Unfading bliss Survives the narrow grasp of time ; And those that asked our tears in this, Shall render smiles in yonder clime. WARRIORS OF THE REVOLUTION. Mark ye the men of other days! The true, the tried of yore, Even now they come on Fancy's gaze, As in might they came before ; They come — aye, 'tis a gallant show, — These died not for a name \ Not to pluck garlands from the foe, Or trumpet-songs from fame. In proud array their ranks again Start from the heaving sod, They marshal on the embattled plain, Their warrior feet once trod ; The sainted, the immortal band, Forever Freedom's boast, — On Recollection's mount they stand, A glorious, god-like host. Clothed in the perils of that day, And wounds no longer dumb, With honours torn from deadly fray, The ghosts — they come ! they come ! 32 THE P0E3IS OF Each phantom-fing-er points afar To many a blood-dyed field ; Behold their wounds! in every scar Behold a nation's shield ! They come, exalted from the crowd Of all the ignoble dead 5 To tell of these whom grief hath bowed. Who bled as they have bled ; In the light of every lofty deed, Their shadows rise to view ; They come from trophied tombs to plead For these — the lingering few. The breeze that waves their withered hairs Is stirred not with their breath ; Voiceless — yet deep that speech, for theirs Is eloquence of death : Stretch out the strong, the succouring arm For these, the faithful Brave ; The weary-worn — their passage calm Down to the peaceful grave ! WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 33 REV. JOHN SU3I3IERFIELD. I saw the Evangelist of God ascend The holy place. He stood in the beauty Of meekness. — He spake, and on my heart Fell accents glowing with the prophet's fire. I heard thee, mighty one ! and was afraid, Yea, trembling, listened $ for methought no voice Of mortal mould could thrill my bosom thus. O, sweet as anger's music were the tones That breathed their gilead on the wounded heart; Strengthened the weary, — bade the broken come To Siloa's fountain and in faith be whole. I wept o'er blighted hopes — but thou didst draw, A willing captive, my admiring soul With thee, to brighter regions, where the dream Of glad fruition lives, nor is unreal. I feared Death — but thou didst deck the foe In lovely garb ; with softest beauty clad, I saw him beckoning to the narrow house Of rest, where spicy odours balm the air, And resurrection's halo crowns the dead. God called thee, favoured one ! Thy diadem Is wreathed of gentleness, and thick bestrown With pearls of nature/s forming — they are tears, Yea, tears of rapture, holy, and untold. 34 THE P0E3IS OF WHEN DEATH SHALL LAY. When death shall lay this bosom low, And every murmur hush to sleep, When those that give affection now, Shall o'er affection's memory weep — I would not, when life's spark has flown, That strangers should receive the sigh ; I would not that a hand unknown, Should, reckless, close the slumbering eye ; But, on some throbbing breast reclined, That beat alone to love and me ; Each parting pang subdued, how kind, How peaceful would my exit be! I would not that this lowly head Should pillow, cold, on foreign clay ; I would not that my grassy bed Should be from home and love away : But, in my native village ground, Near kindred dust, these relics laid : How calm my slumbers, how profound, Beneath the old tree's sombre shade! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 35 CONFLAGRATION OF THE ORPHAN ASYLUM AT PHILADELPHIA, JAX. 24, 1822. 'Twas midnight, and the northern blast rode high j Nature lay torpid 'neath the iron power Of chill midwinter. From the clear cold sky, The stars shed quickened lustre ; 'twas the hour Of brooding silence, heaviness and death ; Hushed was the Orphan's prayer, And hushed the holy hymn. Say, is it real — or but the unquiet breath Of fancy, whispering to the startled ear f God of Mercy ! is there none to save ? No powerful arm of blest protection here ; No kindly refuge from the burning grave ? 'Twas morning — and the smouldering, blackened pile, The throb of agony, the burst of woe^ The eye of eloquence, the Orphan's tale, Spoke the proud triumph of the midnight foe. 1 wept, and long I wept ; yet not for those Dear innocents — who fed the funeral pyre ; For them, escaped from earth and earth-born woes, Their spirits wafted on one car of fire, Why should I weep ? No, 'twas the shivering child The living wretch, that claimed the pitying tear. When lo, a form I saw, of aspect mild, 36 THE POEMS OF Fair Charity amid the throng appear ! Her magic voice bade every heart attend, Her influence, sweet, each feeling- bosom knew, And soon the helpless Orphan found a friend, And eyes unknown to weep were moist with Pity's dew : Again was heard the Orphan's prayer, Again the holy hymn. I knew the boy, and he was such an one As we can dearly love, nor question why ; Of fragile form, yet fair, methinks the sun Ne'er shone upon a lovelier, his eye Sparkled with hope and innocence, delight Dwelt in his motions, every thought was joy 5 Gentle in heart, attractive to the sight, Death ! how could'st thou such comeliness destroy? I saw him flushed with health, the opening rose Was not more sweet, his cheek had stolen its hue — On his fair brow sat childhood's galm repose ; His budding lip, surcharged with freshest dew, Spake promise of long days, we fondly said These charms will flourish — many a genial spring Invigorating, will kind influence shed, Ripening the plant, and full perfection bring. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 37 I saw him in the agonizing hour, When pain was struggling* with its victim, there Was loveliness remaining, though the power Of fell disease, had blighted what was fair 5 He knew me not, — already had he flown In thought, to his empyrean, and ere Some cherub called, * f away ! " he sought the throne ; What should the traveller know of sorrow here ? I saw him, — but the last long strife was o'er ! 'Twas hard, for Death had lingered with the blow, Reluctant, seeming : — pale he was, but more Of beauty have I never seen; the foe, Unwilling to deface so sweet a germ, Had left heaven's impress on the sleeping clay, — There reigned, sublime, eternity's deep calm, Death sat, a smiling victor, on his prey. GETHSEMANE. 'Tis midnight, and on Olive's brow The star is dimmed that lately shone j 'Tis midnight; in the garden now, The suffering Saviour prays alone. 'Tis midnight, and from all removed, Immanuel wrestles, lone, with fears; E'en the disciple that he loved, Heeds not his Master's grief and tears. D 38 THE POEMS OF 'Tis midnight, and for other's guilt The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood ? Yet he that hath in anguish knelt, Is not forsaken by his God: 'Tis midnight, from the heavenly plains, Is borne the song that angels know ; Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly sooth the Saviour's wo. THE SLAVEHOLDER S THRONE. The slaveholder's throne is the African's grave, Thou hast marked it on Caribbee's shore! He frowns, and the soil of the generous and brave, Is steeped with the innocents' gore. On those beauteous isles, pearly gems of the deep, All of nature is lovely and fair ; 'Tis man, godlike man, bids his fellow to weep, His brother casts out to despair. Could your griefs, wretched slaves! could your in- juries speak, O, God! what a tale to unfold; Blush, blush, guilty Europe! shroud, manhood, thy cheek, Weep, weep for the passion of gold. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 39 Yet that here where our symbol the wild eagle, flies, O shame ! writhes the African's soul — That on fields bought by freedom, an outcast he dies, Time ! veil it — 'twill darken thy scroll. Why smoke your proud summits, ye hills of the slain ? In days of the battle, why fell The thousands, whose bones whitened valley and plain, When the war-cry was slavery's knell ) Why laud we, exulting, the Festival Day ? And why to the glorious Dead Do our hearts the oblation of gratitude pay, As on their cold ashes we tread ? My country! that plightedst to freedom thy troth, Redeem it! — thou art not yet free ; On Eternity's page thou recordedst thine oath, 'Tis broken! there's Slavery with thee. 40 THE POEMS OF YOU ASKED, I REMEMBER. You asked, I remember, if those that have flown To the regions of sunshine, would visit again The scenes of past grief, to mortality known, The dream of anxiety, chequered with pain? From courts of the skies should the spotless e'er bend, And delights, once endeared, uinmpassioned descry; Is there aught that could bid the wrapt spirit descend, Or a wish rise unbidden, to waken the sigh ? If so, 'tis the thought of that innocent bliss, The sun-ray, expanding affection's young flower, Which, caught from yon region, beams brightly on this, And to Time lends the hue of Eternity's hour. If so, 'tis remembrance of love's plighted vow, The sweets of communion, once ardent and true ; And the wish that those veiled in mortality now, Should soar disembodied, and friendship renew. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 41 LOVE. Yes, life is but a waste, A cheerless pathway, where No healthy fruit allures the taste, No flowerets balm the air, If Love The wild rose, ne'er luxuriates there. Love is a guide, when lorn The wanderer is astray, 'Mid dangers, and no star of dawn To smile upon his way; 'Tis Love Burns on the cloud, the gem of day ! Along affliction's coast, Hard by de sp air's grim shoal, She shines on him, the tempest-tost, The light-house of the soul ; And guides Where storms repose, no oceans roll. O thou Inspirer ! who Sang to my infancy, And half life's rugged journey through Hast still attended me, I consecrate My all to thee, to onlv thee ! d2 42 THE POEMS OF When pleasure's mellow note Allured me to her bowers, Thou bad'st kind dreams of fancy float Along* the white -wing' d hours; Thy smile Did strew existence' path with flowers. The lightning crossed my way, Thou earnest and in its scathe, I but discerned the tempered ray Of Love, around my path, — A pillar given When all was tempest, night and wrath. Be nigh at the dread hour Of nature's utmost need, When unknown shadowy worlds appear, And unreal scenes recede. O then the spirit cheer, And bid it on its passage speed ! AMEEICAN SLAVERY. Lift ye my country's banner high, And fling abroad its gorgeous sheen ; Unroll its stripes upon the sky, And let its lovely stars be seen. Blood, blood, is on its spangled fold, Yet from the battle comes it not ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 43 God ! all the seas thy channels hold, Cannot wash out the guilty spot. These glorious stars and stripes that led Our lion-hearted fathers on, Vailed only to the honoured dead — Beaming where fields and fame were won: These symbols that to kings could tell Our young republic's rising name, And speak to falling realms the knell Of glory past, of future shame : Dishonoured shall they be by hands, On which a sacrament doth lie ? The light that heralded to lands Immortal glory — must it die ? No ! let the earthquake-utterance be From thousand swelling hearts — not so ! And let one voice from land and sea, Return indignant answer — xo ! Up, then ! determine, dare and do, What justice claims, what freemen may ; What frowning heaven demands of you, AVhile yet its muttering thunders stay ; That thou, forever from this soil Bid Slavery's withering blight depart ; And to the wretch restore the spoil, Though thou may'st not the broken heart ; 44 THE POEMS OF That thou thy brother from the dust Lift up, and speak his spirit free! That millions whom thy crime hath curst, May blessing's plead on thine and thee. Then to the universe wide spread Thy glorious stars, without a stain ; Bend from your skies, illustrious dead ! The world ye won is free again. WEEP NOT. Weep not, when sad distress is nigh, When bliss and transient pleasures fly $ When earthly blessings droop and fade, When all is wrapt in sorrow's shade. Weep not, when death with cruel dart, Pierces some idol of the heart $ When hallowed friendship decks the bier, When tender love would claim the tear. Weep not, for as the morning cloud, Doth nature's radiant smile enshroud ; But scatters soon ; — these gloomy woes, Shall flee, and all be cairn repose. Weep not, for as the floweret fair, Is crushed with winter's blighting air j WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 45 Pressed rudely down, it droops its head, And all its varied hues are fled: With opening' spring its bloom revives ; Again the beauteous floweret lives; Thus, when life's wintry storms are o'er, The friend revives, to die no more. UZZAH: FROM THE SECOXD BOOK OF SAMUEL. His war-tent in Rephaim the godless hath spread, That valley is strown with the bones of the dead ; Philistia ! the arm of the Strong was on thee, When His whisperings were heard in the mulberry- tree ; And the king hath arisen with men of the sword, And nobles to bring up the ark of the Lord, Even Him, God of triumphs, Jehovah by name, Whose pavilion looks out from the Cherubim's flame, Rejoice ! for the ark hath gone up with a shout, With glory and beauty 'tis compass'd about; To the song of the minstrel the timbrel hath rung, And the cloud of His love is with Israel among ; Sound cymbal ! sound cornet! proclaim Jubilee, Thy ark, thy salvation, abideth with thee ; Thou, Israel ! no longer art scattered abroad, With psaltery and anthem give praise unto GocL 46 THE POEMS OF Why lingers the Covenant at yon threshing floor — And whence is the trembling where Levites adore ? Hath God, in his anger, gone up from his own ? Hasten, men ! and in meekness bow down at his throne ; The ark of his worship by crime is profaned, With presumption the garment of Israel is stained ; That Symbol sought he to uphold in his pride 5 — God accepted him not — he hath touched it and died! TO THE NORTH STAR. Bbight star ! while thou thy lonely way Pursuest in yon expanse of blue, Thy gem-like form and steady ray Attract the heedless peasant's view, And his, whose thoughts to unknown regions stray. Full oft the wanderer, fortune's child, Benighted, sad, and doomed to roam, Beholds with joy thy aspect mild, That tells of happiness and home, And guides him onward 'mid the trackless wild. Oft, too, the sea-boy marks thy beam, When ocean sleeps in peaceful calm ; While o'er its breast thy gentle gleam Plays wanton, and with sacred charm Lulls the wrapt soul in fancy's pleasing dream. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 47 And oft, sweet star ! at even tide$ When all around is hushed to rest, My thoughts ascend, and pensive glide To distant climes and regions blest, Where wo-worn care and grief would gladly hide. And fancy whispers in mine ear, That those who once were here beloved, To friendship and affection dear, Now from this fleeting scene removed, Repose, bright star, in thy ethereal sphere, CHARLES CARROLL, OF CARROLLTON ; THE ONLY SURVIVOR OF THE SIGNERS TO THE DECLA- RATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. The few — the tried — O, where are they, Once eager at their country's call — That mightiest grew in danger's day, That suffered, strove and perilled all ? Ah, see ! from their mysterious clime, The sainted shades — they come ! they come ! They're silent as the womb of time, Yet at that silence men are dumb They speak in every lofty deed Conceived, achieved, for freedom's sake ; When rousing at a people's need, The servile chain they dared to break. 48 THE F0E3IS OF Behold them now — behold them here ! They live in every generous breast, In Plenty's smile and in the tear That gems the memory of the Blessed. But who is Tie — alone — the last 3 Go ye and mark the Veteran well \ Aye, gaze upon the mighty past, And to the heart its tidings tell. 'Tis great to view! — a link he seems Connecting yon dim world with ours ; And soothing as the ray that gleams On Autumn's latest, loveliest flowers. Relic sublime, he lingers yet, But soon to join that brother-band : Aye, soon — too soon, the sun is set Of thy last saviour, native land! ' The last — already o'er his head The light of unborn days hath shone j Between the living and the dead, Wrapt in his years he stands alone. 1826. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 49 I SAID THUS TO MY GLASS- I said thus to my glass— 'Twas at a lonely hour, When Memory bade pass Before the mental eye Affliction and her power — I said thus to my glass — 'Twas in a desert spot, Screened from the world's cold gaze, By it remembered not; I said, M Thou art my good, Though Evil be thy name, I'll quaff thee and forget In thy delights, my shame ; Pour out libations then ! The thirsty goblet fill ; I'll drink to faithless men, To Love, more faithless stilL Have I not scanned the round Of all they call sincere ? My spirit ! hast thou found A kindred spirit here ! Have I not craved the boon, More precious than their gold A heart, within whose truth I could my own infold } 50 THE POEMS OF They laughed my words to scorn, They jested at my tears ; 5 Tis good that I were born, For wine hath vanquished fears: Pour out libations, then! Who cannot ills endure That flesh is heir to, when He hath a friend thus sure ? Fill ye the goblet high ! Let misery chain it up ; Affliction shall her pearl Dissolve within that cup. 5 ' I said, and on my sense Unearthly visions stole ; Ages of old — to come — Passed by my troubled soul ; And One appeared, whose brow AVas wounded with the thorn ; And He replied not, when Reviled by men of scorn ; I heard him agonize In prayer — God's holy Son — Father! thy blessed will Alone, not mine be done! AY hat said I to my glass At such an hour as this ? I saw the tempter pass Away — transporting bliss Poured its full tide along My bosom, and I said, Or softly murmured, Thou ! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 51 Who heard' st me here repine, In dust who seest me he ; Forgive, and take me now To thy embrace, for I, Father! henceforth am thine. PALESTINE. Long hath the crescent's glittering sign, On Salem's temple shone ; Long hath Jehovah's awful shrine, Stood desolate and lone. The tents of Midian tribes unblest On Shinah's plains are spread ; And wandering feet have rudely prest The soil where Jesus bled. But Shiloh comes to bless the land, And Israel's tribes restore 5 Lo, Edom with Assyria's band, On Calvary shall adore. Fair Lebanon shall hear his voice, And lands where Jordan flows, With Sharon's desert shall rejoice, And blossom as the rose. 52 THE POEMS OF No more shall Zion's daughter mourn, Or captive Judah sigh ; Jehovah shall her walls adorn, And bring his ransomed nigh. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. Star of the East ! the Shepherd's Star ! Benignant was thy lustre, when It told of mercy from afar, And beamed Salvation down to men : The mystery, surpassing ken Of angel-powers, revealedst thou ; Celestial were thy glories then That burst and streamed on Midnight's brow i As bright thou burn'st in yon blue field, How dim to thee the toys of kings ! Vain the delight their pageants yield, Compared with that which from thee springs ; O, Earth and all her little things, Of real bliss can give no ray ; Her fairest flowers have secret stings, Her splendours shine and pass away, Star of the East ? no gems that burn Amid these lesser orbs we see ; Or where upon their axles turn The worlds of vast infinity, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 53 Thou peerless one ! can vie with thee : Tliey never heralded the plan, Conceived — performed by Deity — That speaks of pardon, peace to man : They hold along* the empyrean coast Their viewless march, unheard, unknown j The least among* the radiant host, That silent shine, and shine alone ; Bat thou, brig-lit Star ! Redemption's own ! Didst wander mid the lig*ht of song* ; Thou cam'st with music from the throne, Attended by a seraph throng-. Star of the East ! the tempest-tost, On life's uncertain billows borne, Is by rude g-ales of trouble crossed, By hidden rocks of sorrow torn — When breaks the cheering* Star of Morn, "When nig-ht and thrall for ever flee, O, where the doubts and fears forlorn Of him, the wanderer of the sea ! Break out, blest Star ! with peaceful ray, Our pilgrim footsteps to incline ; To g*uide and g*uard our weeping* way, Along* these doubtful shores to shine ; The heavenly beacon light of thine That trembled once on Bethlehem's plain, Shall guide us to the Source Divine, Shall lead us to the Child again. e2 54 THE POEMS OF CLOSE OF THE WEEK. While the solemn note of Time Warns me of his hasty tread ; "While the silent march of days Tells — " another week hath fled 5" "While the hum of busy toil, "Works of care, and labour cease ; "While the six days' weary strife Yields to holy, welcome peace, Let me all the past review, Much hath heaven bestowed on me, Much have I to folly given ; God ! what have I done for thee } Nearer to my final hour, Am I sealed with Jesus' blood' Nearer to eternity, Am I nearer to my God ? Hasten, pilgTim ! on thy way, Gird thee at the martyr's shrine \ Hasten, pilgTim ! why delay ? Immortality is thine. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 55 THE WAIL OF THE DEEP. I iiaye watched the calm billow when twilight had flown, And the pale evening* star sweetly played on its breast, When zephyr had slumbered, I've marked the low moan, Steal on the rapt soul like the songs of the blest. 'Twas the Wail of the Deep ! when from ocean's dark cave, The god of the waters, of bodiless form, Arose in his anger to trouble the wave, Rejoicing in spoil as he rode on the storm. O drear is the strife when the portent is nigh ! O sad is the plaining that calls to the dead ! The wide waste of waters responds to the cry — The shriek of the wretch as he sinks to its bed. When high in yon vault walks the empress of night, And on the lone billow the star-ray doth sleep, — From slumber the sea-boy is roused with affright, And lists with pale dread to the Wail of the Deep ! 56 THE POEMS OF THE FIELD-STAR OF BETHLEHEM. u The field-star of Bethlehem is the most ghost-like of flowers. It resembles a large hyacinth, the blossoms almost green, the stalks almost white, with a strange shadowy mixture of tints, a ghastly uncertainty, a sepulchral paleness, a solid, clayey, visible coldness. Dr. Clark found the field-star of Eethlehem on a tu- mulus, in the Troas, which is called the grave of Ajax. Never was any locality more appropriate. It is the flower of the grave." There's a plant of the desert, all lonely 'tis seen, It blossoms unknown on the couch of the Brave: With the hue of the sepulchre, coldly in mien, Blooms the Field-Star of Bethlehem, the flower of the grave. It seeks not the garden, it shuns the parterre, Though lovely, the lowliest of Flora's gay train: In the grove, though the choices and sweetest dwell there, Lives not this shy stranger, the queen of the plain. The moon in its brightness looks out on this flower, But chilly and pale each moist petal appears ; The night-star, while glowing alone in its bower, Still wonders to see the sweet tendril in tears. The soil of the vanquished hath given it birth, The clime of the abject its beauty hath nourished 5 Its home, the degenerate, polluted of earth, Yet the spot where the sage and the warrior have flourished. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 57 Yea, and shall flourish proudly ! for they that have slept Awake from long* night, spurning fear and the chain; And where, o'er her nuns, young Liberty wept, The smile of the free brightens gladly again. Bloom, bloom, lovely flower ! but no longer alone, Unfold all thy fragrance ! yet not on the grave ; A clime unpolluted henceforth is thy own ; Bloom thou for the soldier, a wreath for the Brave ! HOME OF MY YOUTH. Home of my youth! with fond delight, On thee doth recollection dwell ; Home of my youth ! how gaily bright, The scenes that childhood loved so well. Cot of my fathers! well I know, The spot that saw my infant dawn ; Near the green lane, the old elm row — The village spire — the grassy lawn. O ! sweet to me the laughing hours, When earth seemed gay, and heaven was fair ; When fancy culled her thornless flowers, And pleasure reigned, unknown to care. 58 THE POEMS OF Home of my youth! this heart away, Recals those moments dear to me ; Often in dreams will memory stray, Home of my youth — to weep o'er thee. THE 31 AG DALE X S HYMN. I oow the world derides my claim To healing pity and protection \ I know that to the child of shame, It turns no look of kind affection : Full well I know the bitter scoff That greets the hapless female ever ; The cold and selfish cast her off, To soothe her and reclaim her, never ; And some that give the ready smile, Approving, to the gay deceiver, Abhor her, who a prey to guile, Was a too faithful fond believer. Yet there is gilead for my need, And balm, too, for this bosom's anguish; For He that marks the bruised reed, AY ill never let the wounded languish. Be still, my heart ! — away ye fears! Tempests that have my spirit driven, — Even He who looked on Mary's tears, Hath whispered — "Thou, too, art forgiven." 1 I WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 59 THE ALBIOX. The New York Packet ship Albion, captain Williams, on her passage to Liverpool, was lost in a storm on the Irish coast, off Garretstown, near the Old Point of Kinsale, on the 22d of April, 1822, and all on board, with the exception of nine, were lost. She sailed from New York on the first of April, with a crew of 24 men and 28 passengers. The storm is weathered, and the fiend Despair, Who the long* weary day stood sullen by, Hath fled. And now is heard the frequent prayer From grateful altars wafted ; in each eye Hope lights her beacon, — busy fancy now Sketches fond scenes of bliss, for port is near ; The proud ship cleaves the foam with steady prow, The sea-boy sing's of home, by peril made more dear. 'Tis deathly slumber, sure, not calm repose, — The sleep of agony hath seized them ; why Else this deep lethargy ? O, can ye close Your lids, when desolation marches by ? Of quiet dream, when horror waits ye soon ? — Waken, ye tempest-tost! Wherefore? — the wave Whose altitude mocks heaven, rolling on, W T ill soon receive ye, — ready is your coral grave. The morning smiles, the breeze is fraught with balm, Hibernia seems freshly from the main To spring, beauteous and young. Nature is calm — Far, far, unruffled, spreads the billowy plain, p 60 THE POEMS OF God's handy-work, the world of waters, where The elements disport, and He is seen In strength pavilioned, on His cloudy car, Riding the wild night-storm, and humbling this ter- rene. The morning smiles, the ocean billow sleeps, — But where's the tall ship that late ploughed its breast, The gallant Albion ? — Pity, shuddering weeps ; No more, — only that on the dark wave's crest That night, at times, were dimly seen, 'tis said, Some forms of misery, whose hands in vain Were lift imploring, — they sank with the dead, — And piteous cries and shrieks were heard, — 'twas still again. ****** Yet Thou,* the child of feeling, shalt receive The tribute of warm tears. Around thy name Mercy will twine her never-fading wreath, Fairer than trophies won by heirs of fame. Thou gavest what ocean had denied, a shroud, With rites of sepulture. I am yet proud Of mankind, for thy sake; God's benison On thee! — the deed shall live when thy sand, too, hath run. * Jacob Mark, Esq. U. S. consul at Kinsale. I WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 61 RETROSPECTION. 'Tis sweet in seclusion to look on the past, In life's sober twilight recal the day-dream ; To mark the smooth sunshine and skies overcast, That chequered our course as we moved down the stream. For there yet is a charm in retracing the morn When the star of our pleasure beamed brightly awhile, And the tear that in infancy watered the thorn, By the magic of memory is changed to a smile. How faint is the touch, no perspective bestowing, Nor scenery in nature's true colours arrayed 5 How chaste is the landscape, how vividly glowing, Where the warm tint of fancy is mellowed by shade ! With cheerfulness then, Retrospection! I'll greet thee, Though the night-shade be twined in thy bouquet of sweets, In the eve of reflection this bosom will meet thee, While to the dear vision of childhood it beats. And the heart that in confidence seeks its review, And finds the calm impress of innocence there, With rapture anticipates happiness new, In hope yet to come, it possesses a share, F I 62 THE POEMS OF If in climes of the blessed affections unite, And those once dissevered are blended in love ; If thoughts of the past quicken present delight, Retrospection adds bliss to the spotless above. THE VIGIL. 'Tis night ; from beauteous Palestine The song and minstrelsy have flown, 'Tis night ; the priest forsakes the shrine, The holy temple sits alone. Gone is the boasting Pharisee, The prayer and daily alms are o'er, The unbelieving S adduce e Offends the sacred court no more. Hushed are the strains that bade rejoice, Silent the weary and opprest ; Lost is the maid and matron's voice For Solyma hath sunk to rest. But where is Jesus ? where is He The man afflicted and forlorn, — Co-equal with the Deity, The object of rebuke and scorn ? No follower of the Lord is here ; For Him no eyes their vigils keep ; 1 WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 63 They that have mingled tear with tear, Forget their woes in reckless sleep. Closed is each ear to human moan, Save His, who wakes to bitter care ; Hushed is each grief, but His alone Who weeps for man in midnight prayer. THE BUNKER-HILL MONUMKNT. What story to posterity's dull ear Tells Egypt's pyramid ? Only that men Some while appeared on God's fair heritage, As crouching slaves — the million spawned for one — And he, the poor ambitious fool, that fain "Would live forever, yet unknowing how, With blood and sweat hewed out this sepulchre — Oblivion's den ; and shrouded is his name So deep in the cursed tomb, that toiling Age Has lost its faintest shadow. Not such thou, Proud Rock! by sons of Independence reared, Sculptured by Immortality. Rear high Thy consecrated head! for thou art based Upon no common earth ; the blood and dust Of martyrs are beneath thee ; on their bones Stand thou ! — forever stand, and tell of Glory. Forever ? — aye, for thus should virtue live ; Live, Monument! though silent centuries heap On thee their dust — though at fell Ruin's touch, 64 THE POEMS OF Thou crumbiest — fallest, — not the cenotaph Of mightiest kings, shall be so eloquent, Or seem so precious as one stone of thee. WHAT DOST THOU HERE f O why should care disturb thy breast, And anxious hopes invade ? These cares can never yield thee rest, These brilliant hopes shall fade: Say, is this world to thee so dear ? Say, traveller, " What dost thou here ?" Why shouldst thou prize these fleeting' joys, And build thy heaven on earth ? Ah, soon each false enjoyment cloys, And vain is empty mirth ; Say, can they bring true pleasure near ? Immortal! say, " What dost thou here ?" Why shouldst thou deem thy lot unkind, When sorrow's boisterous flood Has closed around thy 'nighted mind, But brought thee near to God ? Is He not all } Is heaven not dear ? Say, weeping soul, "What dost thou here }" WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 65 TO A YOUNG FRIEND WITH A POCKET TESTA- MENT. The charter of a nation's weal Is dear to every patriot's heart, And he that scorns its sacred seal In Freedom's flame can share no part \ To young" Desire, how choice the deed That crowns the wishes of the heir 5 How earnest, anxious, is his heed That nought shall the bequest impair; But dearer than the sacred scroll That shows a rising nation free ; Dearer than riches to the soul, Is the bequest of Deity. This guides the weary wanderer's way, This tells of a Redeemer's name 5 And he that on its truths doth stay, Shall smile when worlds are wrapt in flame. THE WRECK. The ocean frowned darkly, the tempest blew, And the thunders heavily rolled ; The billow, late trembling with cerulean hue, Now blackening in anger was scrolled. f2 66 THE POEMS OF 'Twas sad, for borne on the echo of night, Came the voice of the furious blast ; 'Twas drear, for no ray lent its beacon light, Save the lightning that fearfully past. 'Twas lonely, for nought could the wind-god descry, Save the barque that breasted the foam ; In the moanings of midnight, the mariner's cry Was heard, bewailing his home. The fires of home burn bright, but ne'er Shall they shine on the mariner's grave j The smiles of affection, the prattlers are there, But the father lies cold in the wave. THY WILL BE DOXE. When sorrow casts its shade around, And pleasure seems our course to shun ; When nought but grief and care is found, 'Tis sweet to say "Thy will be done." When sickness lends its pallid hue And every dream of bliss has flown, When quickly from the fading view Recede the joys that once were known, The soul resigned will still rejoice, Though life's last sand has nearly run ; With humble faith and trembling voice, It still responds, "Thy will be done." WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 67 When called to mourn the early doom Of one Affection held most dear, While drops upon the closing' tomb The silent, the expressive tear ; Though love its tribute sad will pay, And earthly streams of solace shun, Still, still the gracious soul will say In lowly dust, " Thy will be done." Whatever, Lord, thou hast designed To bring" my soul to thee, its Trust ,• If mercies or afflictions kind, For all thy dealing's, Lord, are just — Take all ! but grant in goodness free, That love which ne'er thy stroke would shun, Support this heart and strengthen me To say in faith " Thy will be done." THERE S REST FOR THE WEARY. O THor that hast strayed in a pathway of sorrow, Where joy is a stranger and peril is near ; With regret for the past and no hope for the morrow, The sigh thy companion, thy solace a tear — Though dark thy horizon, no star of day cheering, Though thy way, long and lonely, no pleasures il- lume ; 68 THE POEMS OF Yet in faith turn thy vision to solace appearing, For a ray of tranquillity shines from the tomb. There's bliss yet in store, let reflection still cheer thee, There's rest for the wean*, unfading- and true 5 On the ocean of life, though the billows are near thee, Look afar where the haven of peace is in view ! 'Tis free from the tempest that here hath long shrouded Thy day, and the false light that shone to decoy ; Its waters of life reflect skies still unclouded, And Jesus the Lamb is its light and its joy. CHARLES H. PARKER. Parker ! there are flowers for thee — Friendship's hand shall wreathe them : Parker ! there are songs for thee — Memory shall breathe them ! Hasten, maidens ! to his tomb, All that's lovely there reposes — Strew the turf with Flora's bloom, Strew the bed with early roses ! Thine was pleasure's halcyon morn, Thine were skies unclouded ; Weep ! for soon the smiling dawn "Was in darkness shrouded ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 69 Thine was talent, worth was thine, u Thy bosom, feeling's portal — Who shall weep ; — at yonder shrine Thou flourishest immortal. There are tears when manhood sleeps With corruption blended \ There is balm when friendship weeps Genius, worth, ascended ! Yes, we wept, when thou didst not — Shade ! forgive the error \ Yea, we trembled, thou couldst not, At the king" of terror. Farewell, farewell — Spirit ! yet Say, 'tis not forever ; Farewell, farewell! — 'tis to meet, Meet, where none can sever ; Skies shall vanish, earth decay — Honour, Virtue, fly not 5 Worlds on worlds shall roll away, Genius, Feeling, die not ! CHILESE WARRIOR'S SONG. Hark ! comrades, hark ! the trumpet's swell Proclaims the note of war ; The death-drum roll and bugle tell The din of battle far: 70 THE POEMS OF To free a bleeding- natal land From Leon's galling* chain, The warrior gTasps the glittering* brand, And steeps in blood the plain ; While Plata rolls and Andes rise, Each Chilese heart shall Freedom prize. Awake! too long has bondage hurled Its curse on Freedom's soil ; Awake ! too long* a suffering' world Has gToaned with slavery's spoil ; The deepened shades of slumbering night Enscrolled, are rolling far; The dawn leads on meridian light, And dims the risen star ; While Plata rolls and Andes rise, Each Chilese heart shall Freedom prize. Awake ! awake ! to glorious fight, For home and country call, The watch-word sounds, " Ocr God axd right," The vanquished Foemen fall! 'Tis Heaven that is the soldier's guard, In gory battle -fray j 'Tis Virtue wreathes a bright reward To crown the victor-day ; While Plata rolls and Andes rise, Each Chilese heart shall Freedom prize. 1818. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 71 REDEMPTION. Arise, shixe, for thy light is come. Isa. lx. 1. Hark! 'tis the prophet of the skies Proclaims redemption near ; The night of death and bondage flies, The dawning tints appear. Zion from deepest shades of gloom Awakes to glorious day ; Her desert wastes with verdure bloom, Her shadows flee away. To heal her wounds, her night dispel, The heralds* cross the main ; On Calvary's awful brow they tell That Jesus lives again. From Salem's towers the Islam sign, With holy zeal is hurled, And there Ixxa>tel's symbols shine, His banner is unfurled. The gladdening news conveyed afar, Remotest nations hear ,- To welcome Judah's rising star, The ransomed tribes appear. * Missionaries to Palestine. 72 THE POEMS OF Again in Bethlehem swells the song", The choral breaks again, While Jordan's shores the strains prolong', M Good-will and peace to men !" MY DEPARTED CHILD. O sainted babe! and hast thou sought Thus soon, thy home in yonder sphere } And is thy every wish and thought Purged from the dross that veiled it here ? With faculties enlarged, refined — Read'st thou those mysteries unknown? Dost thou — a pure immortal mind, Stand where the rainbow girds the throne ! Thou dearest one! — and art thou far Removed from perils that we see ? Beyond the chambers of the star, Ranging the bright empyrion free ? And dost thou from those worlds of bliss, Whose depths no mortal sense may know- Bend, in an hour of love, to this Receptacle of tears and wo? O, let it be, bless'd one ! to teach Thy parents how to follow thee ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 73 Bid them forsake this span and reach In thought, thy own eternity : Bid them rejoice : for though in earth The beauteous clay they cherished, lies, Yet, formed in Christ, a nobler birth, A saint is given to the skies. THE MORXIXG STAR. I AX THE ROOT AXD THE OFFSPRING OF DAVID, AND THE BRIGHT AND MORNING STAR. REV. XXII. 16, Benighted on the troublous main, While stormy terrors clothe the sky, The trembling voyager strives in vain, And nought but stern despair is nigh ; When lo, a gem of peerless light, With radiant splendour shines afar ; And through the clouds of darkest night, Appears the bright and morning star ! With joy he greets the cheering ray, That beams on ocean's weary breast ; Precursor of a smiling day, It lulls his fears to peaceful rest: No more in peril shall he roam, For night and danger now are far; With steady helm he enters home, His guide the bright and morning star! 74 THE POEMS OF Thus when affliction's billows roll, And waves of sorrow and of sin, Beset the fearful, weeping* soul, And all is dark and drear within: *Tis Jesus, whispering* strains of peace, Drives every doubt and fear afar ; He bids the raging tempest cease, And shines the Brigiit and Morning 1 Star ! SONNET. THE T03IB. MAK LIETH DOWN AXD RISETH NOT AGAIN TILL THE HEAVENS BE NO MORE. Job. Soft are the slumbers of the sunless tomb ; Quiet dwells there — its inmate brooding peace ; The still inhabitant heeds not the gloom Of night, nor starts when morn awakes in bloom, The wanderer rests, and cares and sorrows cease. Yet shall these forms forever pillow there ? Shall dust to dust its lasting kin compare ? O, Thou Unseen! shall thy creation sleep, Mingled with earth, and dark corruption share, "Where silence drear, and death, their vigils keep ? We bless thee for the cheering hope revealed, Where Inspiration sheds its living ray, Which, quickening vision, shows the grave unsealed, Its slumberers waking to eternal day. WILLIAM K. TAPPAN. 75 HYMN TO THE DEAD. Peaceful rest, ye silent dead ! Rest, ye weary wanderers, rest; Gentle is your earthy bed ; Quiet is the aching breast. Peaceful rest, for o'er the tomb Weeping- willows love to wave ; Rest, for Spring's perennial bloom Clusters fairest on the grave. Rest, for life is but a dream 5 Bliss is nought but gilded wo 5 They that live enjoy the gleam, They that slumber truly know. Rest! no sorrow can befall ye, Mingle with the valley's clod ; Rest, till nature's cry shall call ye, Call ye to approach your God. 76 THE TOEMS OF MY COUNTRY. My country, nations proudly say, And long be heard the story — That thou hast risen, the gem of Day, The favourite star of glory: And inspiration lends its voice, And Time, his page unfolding, Bids thee, his cherished one, rejoice, Futurity beholding. The flood of years shall pass, yet lives Untouched, thy deeds recorded; Yea, Age's chronicle revives The meed to thee awarded. Since pilgrim-sires pursued their way Across the trackless ocean, Escaped from persecution's sway And bigotry's commotion ; Since spirit-Freedom hither fled From regions where none sought her — Her native mountains strewed with dead Her vales the bed of slaughter — Thou in the plenitude of fame, Majestic hast ascended, And clustering round thy deathless name Are strength and beauty blended. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 77 In contest, the victorious, thou, On tented field or ocean ; In peace, the fair, whose queenly brow Claims and receives devotion. When Freedom fires the bosom, can Its resolution falter? Never ! for here regenerate man Rears to his God an altar. My country ! lives there, can there be, O'er worth like thine yet glowing' — A soul not thrilled to ecstacy, A heart not overflowing ? If such, from him the recreant slave, Let hope her heaven sever, For him oblivion ope its grave With resurrection never. Hail to thee, home of Liberty ! Thy sons, thy glory sharing, From toils reposing, find in thee The fruits of noble daring ; And when, like autumn fruit, our sires Have with the valley blended, Be ours the never dying fires That on their shrines descended. g2 THE POEMS OF WHY DO I LOVE THEE? Why do I love thee ? Maiden, wilt thou tell — Why hast thou round me Fastened thy spell ? Is it thy fairy form, Graceful and gay } Is it thy j et locks, Where light sylphs play ? Is it thy dark eye, Bright as gazelle, Is r it the bosom-sigh, Where fond thoughts dwell ? No ! the sigh believing-, Too late finds the youth, That love is deceiving-, That vows are untruth. The fairy form it is not, Graceful and gay ; The jet locks it is not, Where light sylphs play ; The glance it may not be From eyes deemed divine, Though orbs I may not see Brighter than thine. But maiden, thy bosom His Where truth is throned queen, WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 79 Where attendant, the graces, Are with modesty seen ; 'Tis thy heart, dear enchantress \ So yielding", yet true — Its witchery of tenderness Binds me to vou. FOUNDED OX A FACT THAT OCCrRRED IX SEPTEMBER, 1826. I long have thought man's heart, though formed to gentleness, And moulded by sweet Mercy, changes soon To unrelenting hardness, when exposed Unto the bright rays of prosperity. For I have seen the meek one chafe and rage, Yea, in his anger, tread on him that wore A form like to his own. I have beheld When he did spurn his fellow, and did curse The fatherless and widow in their want ! I followed late unto the narrow house, One that I knew in his more prosperous day ; Whose heart was ever open to distress, Whose hand was liberal to befriend. Yet he, Left to Adversity's rude grasp — found those That shared his cup and converse, distant now — 80 THE POEMS OF Mean parasites, that shunned Affliction's door. And at that funeral many tears were shed — More, as it seemed, than death, our common lot, Alone should cla m. 1 asked of her that leaned For needed help upon me, and who shook And wept as if her very soul d d sob — The cause of this, so strange distress, and heard A tale of grief — my heart wept as I heard. A man of avar ce — a pitiless Base worsh pper of gold, had seized this son Of hard Misfortune — from a sick bed too, Aye, from a wife and babes, on whom disease And wasting sorrow long had fastened; Had torn him, and for lack of sord.d coin, Doomed h m to perish in the prison-house. His wife, faithful as woman ever is, Though stricken, left h m not. Even at the hour Of his extiemity, she closer clung, And neither want nor wretchedness could frown That tender, virtuous helpmate from his side. And, as she saw death hastily approach, And marked damps gathering, and no one near To ad the sufferer, the screams she sent From Misery's abyss one would have thought Might st'r the dead. Yet no help came, and there In that damp prison, in her wild despair, She sat, and held his throbb'ng head, until Death's marble impress, fixed upon his brow, Told that his heart was broke. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 81 THE THORN OF LIFE. We see in life's wide wilderness, Some plants of fair and varied mien ; Love's rose springs here, while there, distress, The night-shade, rank, is seen. With choicest care we cull the flowers That breathe of beauty and of morn ; But while the bouquet charms the eye, We feel the secret thorn. And who is free from sorrow's thorn ■ Joy's sparkling- beverage dost thou sip ? Thou mayst — but soon the poisonous dreg Shall meet thy quivering lip. Thy morning, gay, perhaps, hath shone, And Hope exulting plumed its flight ; At noon, the- stern destroyer came, With disappointment's blight. Hast friends ? thou hast, yet the last sun That saw thy bliss, hath seen the dart, Whose cruel fang shall pierce thy friend, And wring thy lonely heart. Thy wife, thy offspring — whence that sigh ? Too well I trace the secret tear, \ 82 THE POEMS OF For thou, who wife and offspring knew, Hast wept upon their bier. Love hath its chill, and Mirth the sigh, And who may boast a cloudless morn ? Mortal ! that cull'st the flowers of life, Think not to escape the thorn. THE BOATMAN'S RETURN. The twilight had fled, and the night-lamp alone Illumined the forest and mellowed the shade; The song of the cushat and whip-o-will's moan Was over, and solitude reigned in the glade ; Nought was seen save the meteor that speckled the gloam, And the pale starry brilliants that studded the sky; Nought was heard save the yell where the forest- kings roam, The moan-breeze and hoarse murmuring break of the foam, As the barque o'er its snow-mantled breast seemed to fly. 'Twas the hour of the heart, to memory dear, When fancy, lone wanderer, to the past doth return; 'Twas sacred to sadness which hallowed the tear, As it lingered o'er joys that affection would mourn; The Boatman absorbed, on the motionless oar, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 83 Recollection indulging-, had gently reclined, Its strokes the bine billow resounded no more, Forgotten the barque and the tall rocky shore, For home and its treasures arose on his mind. From home long* a wanderer, he'd traversed the main, And far had the Boatman from happiness strayed ; But now to the woodland returning* ag*ain, The fond smile of hope o'er his rapt vision played; And he thought of the cottage that rose in the dell, And he thought of the hours that childhood knew there, And with rapture he thought — but the full bosom's swell, "With emotion forbade what affection might tell Of the maiden whose glance could beguile every care. And in fancy the valley that borders the stream, To his view seemed as gay, and as sweet shone the star As the evening when chaste with a tremulous gleam, It played o'er the billow and mantled afar; When he clasped the true maid to the heart that re- vealed Its affection sincere by the soft-heaving sigh, While she whispered, "we part! but may He be thy shield, Who alike on the wave and the red battle-field, To the wanderer forlorn with protection is nigh," 84 THE P0E3IS OF O, sweet are the joys that from innocence flow, And pure is the bliss that affection endears, If sorrow is nigh 'tis the gilead of wo, And the wild-flower of love beams brightest through tears ; O Boatman awake ! for thy perils are o'er, The morn hath illumined the sea's wavy breast — Thy barque gently grates on the yellow sand shore, The valley appears — see! the low cottage door, In the arms of thy true love, thou wanderer art blest. WHEN THE ROSE IN SHARON BLOOMING. When the rose in Sharon blooming,* Sheds sweet fragrance on the air, Each loved tint new r grace assuming, Doth its varied charms declare. When the lily 'neath the mountain, Weeps in Hermon's glittering dew; Pure as Kedron's crystal fountain, Shines its robe of spangled hue. Fair are Sharon's blooming roses, Rich the lily of the vale ; 'Mid each blush, delight reposes, Nectared sweets embalm the gale; * Solomon's Song, iii. 1. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 85 But when Jesus, Lord of heaven, He whom Saints with love adore, Kindly says to man, forgiven, " Go, thou contrite — sin no more" — ■ Radiant beauty he discloses, While he saves from sorrow's doom ; Sweeter than the blush of roses, Fairer than the lily's bloom. BEFORE ME LIES THE TROUBLOUS DEEP. Before me lies the troublous deep, Life's ocean, tost by many a storm ; Behind me, hushed, the billows sleep, "Whose calm, wild winds no more deform, I tempted childhood's sparkling wave, And careless toyed with danger nigh; I trod upon the gaping grave And smiled at fear, yet knew not why. In youth I sought a brighter path, Yet paused to gaze at childhood's beam; Fled was the angry lightning's scathe, For peaceful is Love's early dream, What dangers press on manhood's prow ! His barque is tost by every gale, H 86 THE POEMS OF The shoals of folly thicken now, And perils rise and cares assail : Yet manhood past, how slight appear The terrors strown on manhood's way! Night's cowering* phantoms disappear, And bright to memory shines the day. Before me lies the troublous deep, The sea that angry waves deform; Yet Faith shall bid the billow sleep, And Hope shall soar above the storm. I long had loved thee, thou wast dearer far Than all mortality beside could boast j My pride, my glory, thou, my chosen star. I loved thee well, but I do love thee most Since the sad time that sickness writhed this frame; For well do I remember all the care That, gathering round thee, clouded thy young brow The while thou lean'dst o'er me, with looks the same Of tenderness, that first taught me to bow At Goodness' shrine, a willing votary there. A wife ! what tie, love, can with this compare ? Best of God's gifts, where all of loveliness Is given, to soothe the sojourner below — O, hard his passage through life's wilderness Who has not Woman to assuage his wo! WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 87 1 long" had loved thee, and in early hours Thy image came along* with beauty blended ; Then Pleasure beckoned me unto her bowers, While all of sunshine on my steps attended. Dearest! I sought thee in youth's halcyon day, Yet more I prize thee, now the mellow ray Of calm enjoyment gently steals along", Gilding- with sober tint our humble way. Remote from all the bustle of the throng-, Our home is in each other, and the din Of pomp and splendour, love ! we shall not heed ; The world is not for us, and those within Who seek their aliment, are rich indeed ; To us is given the soul-soothing* song* And love to bless, we ask no other meed. Though fond of retrospect — and I confess That on the past I've gaz'd with dear delight, And, much reviewing*, marked new cause to bless Heaven and thee, love — yet with fonder ken Thought glances onward to the coming night, The softly stealing night of being, when We two shall downward tread the narrow vale That shadows forth into eternity — The pathway fraught with Eden's primal balm, Leading to heights of peace, where travellers see The lightning fork below, but feel no harm, And hear the tempest rave, no storms can them as- sail. While hand in hand we journey on, how sweet The converse of departed hours! the tale Of other days will 'guile our pilgrim feet. 88 THE POEMS OF TO THE CRESCENT. Moslem Banner! burnest thou Where the Grecian hails the fig-ht > Triumph, balefire! triumph now! Soon thy beams shall shroud in night. Symbol of a recreant power, Thou that gem'st the Soldan's throne, Thou that from proud dome and tower Twice six hundred years hast shone — Crescent! now thy glories wane, Ruin o'er thee fling's her pall, Never to revive again, Vaunting Crescent, thou must fall. "Who upon God's chartered soil, Who that's Man, would be a slave ! Who would swell the despot's spoil, While that earth affords a grave } Who to Turkish tyranny, Coward — bends his abject soul, Let him not in combat die, Let oblivion o'er him roll: Liberty ! thy deathless song, Ever noble — still inspires; At its echoes shall, ere long, Quiver Stamboul's thousand spires: Hellespont's oft blood-stained border Hears e'en now the quick'ning cry; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 89 St. Sophia's quailing* warder Sees the gathering* tempest nigh. Moslem empire ! lone not now Stainest thou fair Europe's hem ; Fouler, deeper spot than thou, Blotteth her proud diadem ; Fallen Iberia! thy past story From neglect awhile may save Thy lost name — thy future glory Sleeps in a redeemless grave: Crescent ! though thou gleam'st awhile, From tall dome and minaret, Yet in peace the Cross shall smile O'er the land of Mahomet; Yes! and where thou burnest, we Freedom's sign may greet again — Who, O Heaven ! once more shall see Disenthralled regenerate Spain ? 1822. WHEN COLD IN THE DUST. When cold in the dust sleeps this bosom of clay, And the captive enlarged wanders lightly and free; While it treads the expanse of eternity, say, Will it then be a stranger to love and to thee ? Oh shall the pure flame which was kindled below From the spark that still burns on the altar above, h2 90 THE POEMS OF Be quenched in the clime where each breast feels its glow, Where each harp wakes the theme and the choral is love ? Oh no ! in those regions of light and of j oy, Recollection returning", will friendship prolong"; We shall know as we're known, and its converse enjoy, As we join in the cordon and mingle the song. Unclothed with the frailties that fettered us here, Each scene of past anguish forgot by us then — The cloud that has hovered will there disappear, And the sunshine it veiled will illumine again. Freed alike from each sorrow that reigned in the breast, And the bliss that shone dimly or sparkled on care; The revealings of joy will but quicken its zest, Immortality seal what it ne'er can impair! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 9X THEY SHALL LIE DOWN ALIKE IN THE DUST. Ye hapless! who repining', grieve At poverty and ill, Who doubtful, question heaven's decree, And murmur at its will : Think ye that affluence is the source Whence unmixed blessings flow ? Think ye that gold can satisfy, Or splendour, peace bestow . ? Mistaken race ! — alas, how few This panacea boast ; Ye labour, but for bliss untrue, The care and toil are lost. Go, learn content! for riches yet Have never fed the mind ; Go, learn content! the coffered wretch May ne'er enjoyment find. The costly robe of Tyrian dye, Oft hides some bosom care \ And beauty's smile and beauty's wit Conceal the latent tear. Art thou obscure? — the bitter cares Of genius are not thine ; 92 THE POEMS OF Unknown? — rejoice, for thou art free, No slave at folly's shrine. Thine are affection's purest sweets, And thine is love's caress ; Approving peace within thy heart, A Providence to bless. Thine are the beauties of the globe, The charms that sense allure ; For thee yon azure glories burn, Say, mortal! ail thou poor? The hopes that shine along life's path, To cheer thee, too, are given ; The Star that points the wanderer's way, Shall lead thee to thy heaven. And while lamented by the great, The rich repose in clay, Thou, too, wilt seek thy final bed, And slumber sweet as they, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 93 " In the town of Xunda, (Alleghany county,) upon the fann of Benjamin Earl, Esq. has been found a large number of human bones, in the last stage of decay. They were but very slightly covered with earth, and appeared to have been promiscuously de- posited, without any regard to order, in a field containing proba- bly thirty acres. The great size of some of the thigh bones denotes men above the ordinary stature, and the equality and uniformity of their decay prove that they were all buried at the same time. At what period, and by what cause, they were left there, is impossible to determine. We may conjecture that they are the remains of brave warriors who fell on the field of glory — but whose exploits have died away in the lapse of past ages, ne- ver to be heard of more." Yes ! they have fled — the war-whoop's call Shall animate no more to glory ; The trophies of the grave are all Remain, Oblivion shrouds their story. O, Glory! what art thou I — a dream, That cheats the slumberer, yet believing i Why dost thou, faithless phantom! seem To us so beauteous, yet deceiving? Short-sighted man! the toil is thine To win the dizzy heights of danger; The goal achieved, thou wilt repine, Thy heart to calm repose a stranger. And thou! the child of feeling, who Perhaps hast wandered to Hope's bower, And of the roses plucked a few, To cheer thee in the lonelv hour— 94 THE POEMS OF Depart! — for tears will nurture not The fragile flower of morn to bless thee \ It dies, alas! and on the spot The night-shade rises to caress thee. SONG OF THE MARINER. We go down on the face of the waters, the Sea, The glorious boundless Sea is ours! But though on the wings of the morning we flee, Can we hide from the eye of Hix, whose decree Is heard on the main when the night-storm lowers ? We go down on the face of the waters, there Unimagined, fearful secrets are known ; 'Tis ours to dwell in the lightning's glare, 'Tis ours to be rocked by the wave of despair : God holds the deep, His ways are unknown. We go down on the face of the waters, tell, Tell, is the God of the billows the same Ye worship, who thunders, and who can dispel With a smile the evil, whose doings are well ? If thus, we his servants will call on his name. We go down on the face of the waters, say Is there place for the mariner, an altar for him, To render oblations of sacrifice ? — mav WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 95 The dweller in ships to Jehovah pray, When the heart is melted and the eye is dim? "We adore the God whose will hath spread Sprinkled with gems, yon canopy ; In whose hands are the ashes of the dead, "Whose majesty lightens ocean's bed ; Where the contrite is He surely will be. Then ye who in temples made by hands "Worship, forget not the mariner far, "When borne by the billow to distant lands, In perils benighted on folly's sands, Deliver him, Master! — shine Bethlehem's Star! VERSIFICATION OF AX EXTRACT FROM THE ITALIAN. I asked of Time whose was the name That here in ruins lay ; "What were his deeds of lofty fame ? Time hastened on his way. To Fame I spake — " O thou! to whom All that survive belong" — Fame fled in sorrow from that tomb, Hushed was her trumpet song. 96 THE POEMS OF Grieved, then, I turned and saw the form Of One that walked alone j The Spirit of Destruction's storm, He strode from stone to stone. " Tell me! for thou alone hast power, For whom arose this shrine ? " In voice as of the crumbling' tower Oblivion said — 'tis mine! THE MANIAC. Those eyes that beam so beauteous bright, And all the heaven within declare, May set ere long in starless night Or kindle with demoniac glare. The thrilling voice, oft heard to bless, Whose accents memory would prolong, May tell the story of distress, Or warble sorrow's broken song. That heart where feeling holds its throne, Which fondly beats to love and me, Cold as the unsunned marble stone, May he in frigid apathy. Lord of all good! thy fiat spake To birth, the blessings that I have ; — WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 07 Lord of all worlds ! 'tis thou canst take Again, the boon that mercy gave : Take all, but hear my earnest prayer, 'Tis breathed in tears, reject it not, — Take all — but let me never share The hopeless, soulless Maniac's lot. MARY AT THE SEPULCHRE. u Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rahboni; which is to say, Muster. Jesus said unto her, Touch me not ; for I am not yet ascended to my Father ; but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father ; and to my God and your God." John, xx. 16, 17. Jerusalem is silent now, Her priests and warriors sleep ; And dimly on yon vaulted brow, The stars their vigils keep : Unheeded is that voiceless gloom — That stillness has no dread To her that weeping seeks the tomb Of the beloved Dead. The morn on Zion's lonely hill, Has cast no beams abroad ; Yet Mary's footstep lingers still — She goes to seek her Lord: 98 THE POEMS OF Why stands she wondering' ? — Hands unknown Have burst the shroud and pall; And rolled away the sealed stone, And rent the prison wall. Jesus, the Dead, she sees no more, And weeps in fond alarm, — O, shall she not upon him pour Her spices, myrrh and balm ? Blessed One ! thy love and faith are great, Is not thy triumph near ? Yea, He thou seek'st doth on thee wait, Mary! behold Him here. TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. In life's early vision when bliss mantles high, And the morning' of pleasure beams cloudless and pure ; When fond expectation illumines the eye, And hope to the bosom seems brilliant as sure ; How numerous the perils that ambush the way! What dangers to threaten, what syrens to snare ! And he that in sunshine hath welcomed the day, At evening 1 is wrapt in the cloud of despair. For they that in sympathy now would adore thee, While the cup of prosperity, sparkling, is thine ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 90 Ungrateful, will ere long-, in mockery smile o'er thee, When the sun of thy pleasure in mists shall decline. And if unexperienced thy heart is deceived, And thou in oblivion thy anguish would' st steep ; If the faithless hath pierced thee, and those once believed Unheeding* their plig-htings have left thee to weep ; O then, thou benighted and lone, look afar To Him that can soften the wounds he has made 5 The Guide of thy youth who alone is the Star, Directing* to day -beams unsullied by shade. O THOU THAT PLEAD ST WITH PITYING LOVE. O THor that plead' st with pitying 1 love, How large that love and free, When sad and wounded here, we prove There's rest alone in Thee! Poor wanderers tired, bereft of all, To sin and bondage sold, We strive, till freed from Satan's thrall, We 're brought to Jesus' fold. With fervour at the sinner's heart Thou plead' st to enter in, 100 THE POEMS OF And there the kindly balm impart, That heals the wounds of sin. " Open the door to me, my spouse, My love is ever true 5 My head with drops of midnight flows, My locks are filled with dew." Who shall not, Lord, with love adore, When thus Jehovah pleads ? What bosom will deny the door When Jesus intercedes ? Enter this heart my Saviour, God! To thee subdue this breast ; Shed thy renewing grace abroad, And be my constant guest. DEATH OF GENERAL STARK. He died, — he fell in the winter of years, On the couch of the tomb he has pillowed his head ; And fled has sorrow and fled have fears, For sorrow and fears dwell not with the dead. On the green hill-side they made his grave, There the oak, the tree of his country grows ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 101 His bed is holy, 'tis the bed of the brave, His slumber is calm — 'tis the warrior's repose. And sweet be thy visions, thy slumbers profound! For bright is the halo that circles thy brow 5 In the thickest of battle thy place was found, The wreath is deathless that decks thee now. To thy country, the prime of thy manhood was given, 'Mid the foremost thy shining sword was drawn \ Thou stood' st a pillar — approving Heaven Beheld and put the foe to scorn. "When the palsy of years had scathed thy form, And thy head was crowned with the snow of age, When poverty came, thou met'st the storm, And in greatness of soul defied its rage. The traveller sought thy desolate cot, And he wept o'er the wreck of valour there ; The fire of youth had left thee not, Thy country, thy idol, was still thy prayer. Adieu to the dead! — the spirits of those "Who soared on the battle, see! they vanish away ; The warriors have gone to the land of repose, Our fathers, our fathers! — O where are they ? i2 102 TTIE ROE3IS OF THE REDBREAST. In the Gothic church, at a sea-port in the East Riding of York- shire, (England) immediately after the sermon, and as the minis- ter was repeating the usual subsequent prayer, " May the peace of God which passeth all understanding/* £ce. a redbreast, that had taken shelter in the sanctuary from the inclemency of the season, poured forth, as if by inspiration, such a sweetly plaintive song, that the church resounded with its vibrations. Beautiful bird ! corn's! thou to pour, — Wanderer from thy native plain, Thy simple yet melodious strain In walls where mortals God adore ■ Why warble here the plaintive lay That swells and dies along* the air, And mingling* with the voice of prayer, Bears thought in ecstasy away ; Oh, could we, guileless one ! like thee, Our bosoms thus attuned to love — Waft artless orisons above, How pure would our devotions be ! Nor vocal hymn, nor organ's swell That richly rolls upon the ear, Is, as thy untaught thrillings, dear, If it heart-worship do not tell. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 103 THE CONVICT BOY. He was a father's hope ; on him A mother oft had cast the eye Of secret pride, and though now dim With blinding' tears of anguish, 1 Saw that her gaze was on him still ; Still in her throbbing heart's warm core, She that has borne his weakness, will Shelter her lost one. Oh not more Clings ivy to the fostering tree, Woman! than pity clings to thee : Her boy may mock her hopes, yet ever As he treads Guilt's deceptive wild, By all else shunned, the mother never Can shun — for is he not her child ? He stood before me in yon hall Of inquisition, held on crime ; He stood, a fair and lovely boy In aspect ; one whose early prime Blossomed with hopes of peace and joy. I saw the big tear frequent fall Down his wan cheek — it might be so — My soul was moved — in truth I know It was the tear of penitence! Remorse, regret and bitter shame Stood on his youthful brow j the sense Of his misdeeds, had vanquished quite His bosom's once proud stubbornness : I said, that boy's now sullied name 104 THE POEMS OF Himself will yet redeem; away Shall flee this morning' cloud, and bright And pure will be his future day : The aged father yet will bless A son restored, — the glad caress, A mother's fond caress, shall well Declare what lips can never tell. That lovely boy — that only son — That penitent, whose tender years Pleading for the misguided one, Called not for rigour, but for tears — That child was hurled to the cursed den Of midnight thieves, of convicts foul ; Of those that wear the murderer's scowl ; Fell miscreants, that with forms of men, Are demons in iniquity : Inquired stern Justice — "and why not?" Perhaps 'twas well, and yet to me, On Mercy's hem it seemed a blot. TO THE NEW- YEAR. Thou new-born year! thou span yet undefined, Portion of time unknown, I fain would greet Thy opening dawn with salutation kind, And would, reluctant, fleeting guest! entreat With us soj ourning, yet a longer stay ; Or wilt thou like thy parent haste away ? WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 105 Thou new-born year! why should the joyous smile Of reckless riot, usher in thy name ? And why should dissipation e'er beguile The sons of men, when Reason would proclaim Life is a vapour, hastening* Time recedes, Eternity is near with all its deeds! What art thou, gliding* portent! but the note That speak* st, though dumb, existence 5 passing knell } Thy warning strains though they unheeded float Along our passage, to the traveller tell "Depart, poor pilgrim, leave this vale, unbless'd, Arise, ye giddy, this is not your rest.' 5 Vision of future days, fair blooming year ! Thou evanescent! soon, alas, thy flight Shall be the theme, for thou wilt disappear, Thou too wilt slumber in the iron night Of by-past ages, on the hoary scroll Be chronicled, whose page none may unroll. Child of the past, — herald of years to come, I greet thy entrance, for thou tellest me In accent kind, that soon my reckoned sum Of months will be fulfilled, and I shall be No more a wanderer in a sunless way, Where disappointment droops beneath the world's cold rav. 106 THE POEMS OF THE HOUSE OF INDUSTRY. Go ! rear the dome whose portals high. Gladly receive the child of sorrow, Go! wipe the tear from Misery's eye, And cheer the sad with hope of morrow. Go thou, whose yet untroubled bed Ne'er knew the midnight burst of anguish ; Go where the dream of joy has fled, And penury is left to languish. Affliction's wave thy barque may whelm, And tempests shroud thy sun of pleasure ; Then let Compassion sit at helm, And be sweet Charity thy treasure. Hear'st thou that mother ask employ ? She strives to check the tear that's stealing 1 ; Her miseries are forgot — the boy She fondles, stirs that fount of feeling". Yon tim'rous girl implores relief — Obtained — 0, this shall sooth your sadness, Dear helpless parents! banish grief. Your child will turn that grief to gladness/ I covet not the frozen heart, There never throb of love is beating — That bids the honest poor, depart! That gives not Wretchedness kind greeting-. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 107 When active Pity forms the plan To meliorate rough Fortune's frowning", Oh surely then we see the Max, God's noblest work, His labour crowning*. THE MISSIONARY S GRAVE IX THE DESERT. br a foreign soil he sleeps, And lowly is his bed : No early wild-flower weeps Where he pillows his weary head. By stranger-hands he was laid Where the Siroc sweeps the mound ; Where the fierce night-kings invade The solitude profound. The grief of a tender brother That hillock ne'er has known ; The tears of a yearning mother Ne'er dropped on that cold stone. No cenotaph tells his worth, No sculptured wreaths proclaim That the slumbering herald of truth Has gained the martyr's name. 108 THE POEMS OF But the heart of affection true Has sighed o'er the sandy wave ; And the tears of the wanderer bedew The Missionary's lonely grave. THE SAILORS HYMN. O everlasting viewless God! Thou rid'st the stormy seas, And thou controllest with a nod The billow and the breeze. Thy powerful arm alone can save Thy cliildren on the deep ; Can bear them up the curling wave, And down its threatening steep. Though staunch our barque, and proud her way, Though breezes fill the sails, Yet, Lord, if thou art not our stay The Sailor's courage fails. Be thou, O God, our kind support, Our earnest hopes fulfil ; On the wide ocean or in port, Be thou our anchor still. May we escape the dangerous ground, And while thy strength we feel, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 109 Help us to keep each timber sound, With grace our chosen keel. And O, when near temptation's shoal, No beacon shining far, Cheer thou the Sailor's 'nighted soul With Bethlehem's holy Star. Jesus! our helmsman, unto thee, We look, and not in vain ; From quicksands thou wilt keep us free And guide us o'er the main. And soon, — life's chequered voyage past, W T hen we have crossed the sea, — May we, all hands, be found at last, Great Captain! safe with thee. OH COME SMILING JUNE ! Oh come smiling June! In beauty arrayed ; Oh come and bring 1 with thee, Young Pleasure, fair maid ; Oh come from thy mountain, Oh come from thy bower, Thou queen of the fountain, The breeze and the flower! 110 THE POEttS OF Oh come smiling' June 1 Bid the meadows rej oice ; With Health thy companion, And Labour thy choice ; Where lately in triumph Stern winter was seen, Pomona shall mantle Her livery of green. No more let the minstrel Sing enraptured of May, Thy beauties, fair season, Shall waken his lay ; Thy morn is serener, And brighter thy noon ; Thy evening* more lovely, Oh come smiling Juxe ! THE BARBADOES GIRL TO HER LOVER. Thou'rt gone, and all of life has fled j Yet I grieve not, for I Know thou saw'st not the tears I shed, But now their source is dry ; Thou/rt gone, and think'st not in yon climes Of her with whom thou'st strayed At evening, in the walk of limes, And 'neath the mangrove's shade. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. Ill Forgettest thou the star-lit night Thy hand in mine I pressed? The fire-fly* shed its em'rald light "Where waved the corn-bird's nest :f The flower I gave, forgettest thou ? Thou wor'st it on thy heart, — And mine believed the fond false vow That we should never part, What is to thee this faded form, And cheek now sicklied o'er ? The bounding spirit — Ah, the worm Has pierc'd it to the core : I can't one flattered beauty trace, — They whisper — and they sigh — That death's hue lingers on my face, And wildness in mine eye. 'Tis well, though thou unto despair My bosom's hope hast given, And hast with shades of bitter care Darkened my all of heaven ; I do forgive thee, often yet For thee I strive to pray: I do forgive — but to forget ! — My broken heart soon may. * This insect of the West Indies, when disturbed, shoots from its eyes two streams of green intense light. •f To secure her eggs from intruders, the corn-bird suspends her nest by a twisted cord of creepers from the outermost limb of the great trees — Six Month's Residence in the West Indies, 112 THE POEMS OF BIRTH OF DUELLING. Moloch had fallen and Satan wept To see his shrines alone ; His rites in dark oblivion slept And worshipless his throne; Around him thronged the peers of hell Intent on curst debate, Yet nought could Satan's ire dispel Or sooth the monarch's hate. 'Till Belial, a tall fiend, arose, And urged his fell design, — And triumph, Chief ! he said, thy foes Shall own a mightier shrine ; "What though the vale of Hinnom boasts No more its thousands dead, And Tophet sees no more its hosts Through fire and slaughter led : On Moloch's ruin, lo! appears A new-descended god, AVhose robe is gemmed with orphan's tears, AVhose sceptre reeks with blood ; Altars shall rise in every clime To this divinity, And as he hastens, hoary Time Shall untold votaries see. He spake, with shouts the conclave rang, Hell trembled with acclaim ; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 113 A god, a god descends, they sang, Let Honour be his name! Columbia, willing, owns his sway, And for her Proud and Brave He digs, impatient for his prey, The Duellist's cold grave. MY BOYS GRAVE. We visited thy grave, my child! Last night, thy mother and I : We saw it clad with spring-flowers wild,— The bed where thou dost lie. We thought of all that's bright and fair, As false and fleeting too ; We looked on that grassy turf, and there We saw that Death is true. And Memory told of every smile, Each look was dear as ever : Time may a mother's grief beguile, Blot out that look ? — O, never! 'Tis her's within the heart's recess, To all but Heaven unknown — To cherish its image, and to bless The spotless cherub flown. We had marked thy beauties stealing on, As we nourished the tender flower ; k2 114 THE POEMS OF We, trembling, loved our little one, For frail is childhood's hour : And as we kissed thy infant brow, And clasped thee oft, the fear Of parting- wrung our bosoms, but now 'Tis over. Thou art not here. Our dreams of thee were gay, my boy! We have wept those visions fled ; But now the healing tears of joy Are given to the dead : From dying friends, from griefs and all Of being's rude alarms, Thus free — who can lament the call Sweet one, to thy Father's arms ? THE PROPHECY OF NOAH. And he said, Cursed be Canaan, a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren. And he said, blessed be the Lord God of Shem, and Canaan shall be his servant. God shall enlarge Ja- pheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem, and Canaan shall be his servant.— Genesis ix. 25, 26, 27. The billows no more on the mountain-tops slept, No longer a world in its agony wept ; With his waves had abated the wrath of the Lord, And the rainbow looked out where of late gleamed the sword. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 115 Of the thousands that scoffed was there none to tell now How mighty His vengeance when kindled His brow. The gay and the reckless, and those vexed with cares, The young in their wine-cups, the man of gray hairs, The noble in greatness, the maiden in pride, Alike met the besom — they slept 'neath the tide! The Patriarch lingered on Ararat still, The light of Jehovah yet waved on that hill ; And dear to his heart in that wilderness-world, Was the cloud of rich mercy that over him curled : And in vision he spake, while its hallowed power Woke the soul of the seer in prophecy's hour: A deed of the night, Ham! was known unto thee, And Canaan subdued to his brethren shall be. For Ham is poured out the red vial of wrath, O'er the portion of Canaan hath passed the fell scath ; On the shores of the Ethiop is gathered the flood, Come not on my sight, O ye visions of blood! Why floats on mine ear that harrowing cry 5 With the crime-tainted breeze why mingles the sigh' 'Tis the groan of the captive, the shriek of the slave, Ah! he lays down his fetters and stripes in the grave ! To the land of the South speeds the merciless barque, 'Tis not, O my God! thy delivering ark! — It comes from the white Christian-trafficker's clime, And the Cross of the Innocent wavers o'er crime ; That banner floats high on the death-scented gale, From that sepulchre-barque comes the prisoner's wail, The cowardly taunt is that African's food, His tears are for thirst and his aliment blood ; 116 THE POEMS OF Recollections of home with its treasures pass o'er him, The long- lingering- watching-s of grief are before him, Madly he rushes to where the dark billow Yields to the wretched its cold dreamless pillow ; He sinks — an immortal forever hath flown, To wander away from the lig^ht of the throne ; God! on me and on mine thou hast scattered thy dew, Let thy rainbow of love beam on Africa too! Look afar, my First born! to the reg-ions that he Luxuriant and fair 'neath the young- eastern sky ; Whose rivers roll onward their silvery flood Through vales that are lovely as g-ardens of God ; The birth-place of blessing's, uncounted and free, The land of rich promise I give unto thee ; For possession to thee and thy children, to them An inheritance worthy the offspring' of Shem. Yet not for the plains where fertility teems In abundance, surpassing" the husbandman's dreams; Nor yet for the valley, or cedar-clad mountain, Or streams that g-ush out from many a fountain, Or rivers that water the wide plain of palms; Not for these. O my son — of decay are these charms, Do I bless yon possessions, for now to mine eye The dim flood of ages rolls fearfully by — I see a Deliverer, beneath Syrian skies I behold offered up the One Sacrifice! Lo, blessing's poured out from obscure Galilee In floods, shall all nations enrich, yea, 1 see King's, warriors, and people of lang'uag-es far, Bow down to His sceptre who rides by name Jah! Hasten thou, day of wonder! break out holy morn, When the Uncreate Godhead, a babe shall be born! WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 117 God shall bless and enlarge thee, O Japheth! and thou Awhile shalt repose beneath Shem's fruitful bough ; To thee and to thine the portion shall be Of lands stretching- far to the uttermost sea ; Beyond the tall mountain, whose proudest cliff sees His base idly washed by blue Euphrates ; Even there where the sun on the wave's yielding breast, Descends in the eve of his glory to rest. Regions well favoured, my son! shall be thine ; Hail shores of the blest! where beneath his own vine Each one shall repose. Hail land of the Free! And tell me, my spirit! what more wouldst thou see ? Why opens to vision the vista of years ? Ah, why to one robed in clay-vestment appears Fruition of blessings to men yet unknown ? Sure the light that waves round thee is caught from the throne ; The cloud big with mercies already is o'er thee; A world disenthralled and redeemed is before thee, Arise, O my spirit! thou seest the birth Of glories, surviving this heaven and earth ! 118 THE POEMS OF " Brother:'— Here were we bom. These forests are made dear to us by the recollections of childhood. Where can we find again the pleasant place of our youth ? Here are our burial grounds. Can we say to the bones of our fathers, Rise and go with us into a foreign land "? Speech of an Indian Chief. Shall the warrior flee his home ? Shall the Chief a stranger roam? Will the white man in his wrath Chase the Indian from his path ? Wanderer from his lakes removed, Exile from the shades he loved? W T ho shall hurl the ready spear } Who transfix the flying" deer? Who the buffalo will meet, Hunted from his dark retreat? Who shall guide the swift canoe ? Barb the arrow, bend the yew? Will the Spirit of the mountain, Guardian of the vale and fountain, Give him victory when afar, Spoil and glory in the war ? Shall he leave his father's clay ? To the hallowed ashes say: Rise! forsake your native bed — Rise — the Desolate have fled! WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 119 I CANNOT BUT SIGH. 1 cannot but sigh, when the friends of my youth, Who repaid with fond ardour the love that I gave, Who tendered their pledge on the altar of truth, Forgetful return to their rest in the grave. I cannot but sigh when the visions of joy That rose on gay childhood and sought to allure, Like the dreams of the wretched but smiled to de- stroy, Or adorn the bright sketchings they failed to ensure. I cannot but sigh while reviewing the years, When hope in this bosom beat ardent and high: Memory! what art thou ? a record of tears, Of meteor-enjoyments that sparkle and die. 1 cannot but sigh when futurity's scroll Unfolding, gives sign of no pleasure in store ; When regret for the past still remains on the soul, While the present is lost in aspiring to more. I cannot but sigh when heart-stricken I scan The victims of misery that float down the stream; And even recounting the bliss of frail man, I cannot but sigh, for that bliss is a dream. 120 THE POEMS OF THE CAPTIVE JEWESS. A Jewish lady of exquisite beauty had with her husband been taken captive by the Saracen commander of a fleet cruising on the coast of Palestine. The brutal captain being about to com- mit violence on her person, she called to her husband, who was within hearing, but in chains, and asked him in Hebrew, whether they who were drowned in the sea should revive at the resurrec- tion of the dead. He replied in the words of Psalm Ixviii. 22: " The Lord said, I will bring again from Bashan, I will bring my people again from the depths of the sea." Upon which she immediately threw herself into the sea, and was drowned. Though ne'er for thee on Shinar's plain, Is reared the sculptured urn ; Though Judah's harp ne'er swells the strain, Nor Salem's daughters mourn: Though ne'er the minstrel's lyre of wo Shall of thy virtues tell ; Though ne'er the dirge in numbers slow Shall hymn thy parting knell: Yet softly rests thy weary head, Where ocean's flowerets bloom ; Beneath the deep thy coral bed Is Virtue's hallowed tomb. And oft when eve's pale star alone In sadness dims the wave, The lonely surge will gently moan Its requiem o'er thy grave. ■WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 121 Then rest in peace ! and when no more The troubled billows sleep, The Lord Jehovah shall restore And bring* thee from the deep. TO THE SENSITIVE PLANT. Thou lovely blushing* flower! In sweets arrayed — Queen of a short-lived hour, Why thus afraid ? Emblem of modesty, Thou shrink'st with dread; If we but g-aze on thee, Thou hid'st thy head. Type of the cultured mind, With feeling blest, Thou fliest the touch unkind, Rudely imprest. Longing* for added life, Dost thou not know >Tis but a scene of strife — A dream of wo } Content thee, floweret ! few Are boasted years; 122 THE POEMS OF And frequent as thy dew, Are youthful tears. Like thee, with morn we smile, And pleasure breathe ; But languid, droop ere while, And weep at eve. Yet with new impulse strong", May I from thee Learn to aspire, and long" For immortality. THE AFRICAN CONVERT. Here was a human being who had been made to drain the cup of misery to its very dregs by the wickedness of his fellow men ; and yet that very wickedness, by tearing him from his native land, had placed him within the Gospel sound, and thus worked out for him a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory than all the principalities and powers of this world could bestow.— Tales of an American Landlord. They have torn thee from thy native soil, And girt thee with the chain ; Of bones and sinews made their spoil — Can blood wash out that stain? They have scoffed at all thy bitter grief, And mocked thee in thy need; Yea, from despair withheld relief, — God frowns upon the deed. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 123 Yet, foul though be that damning blot, That crime, accursed of Heaven, To thee, sad one — they knew it not — Mercy and peace are given; For thou that wast in thraldom bound, That grace do thou adore — Thy heart subdued, hast ransom found; In Christ a slave no more. Unto that Power bend thou the knee AVho saw thee in thy blood; And through wild griefs conducted thee To find repose in God. The cup of anguish thou hast shared, Though full, was mixed by Love; O, what are stripes or death, compared With crowns of life above! THE FLOWER OF LEBANON* Ix Lebanon the floweret bloomed, With native charms arrayed, The skies of Eden lent it hue, And Ascalon the shade; The breeze of Sharon o'er it sighed, It wept in evening's shower; The sunbeam woke, while Hermon's dew Impearled the beauteous flower. 124 THE POEMS OF How proudly rose its graceful stem, Like Shinar's clustering* vine, Queen of Eng-edi's pleasant vale, Fair flower of Palestine! Whither has now its beauty flown, Oh, where the rich perfume ? Why should the lovely floweret fade, Why dies its early bloom ? The prophet, Lord! beholds no more Thy flower its sweets disclose — The maids of Syria pass away, They shun the drooping* rose; Return ! ye g*enial suns, return, Ye dews of heaven revive; Breathe, O ye zephyrs! on this stem, And bid the floweret live. I faix would know if she who lately fled Far from this dream of sad reality, Whose mortal shroud, inurned with the dead, Recks not of that which drinks eternity, — I fain would know if she, the happy one, Forg-etting* self, in retrospection's glance Returns not fondly to the scenes well known, And quits her heaven awhile, to enjoy the pleasing- trance ? WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 125 For when the spirit, borne on wings of bliss, Seeks the glad confines of empyrion sky, Some tender fibre binds her yet to this Dear spot: — somewhat of earth she bears on high; The object, here beloved, is loved in heaven: The graces that have charmed once, fade not there ; To her, to sooth the sojourner 'tis given, And they who stay to weep, are the departed's care. For something- whispered, when I saw her die, " Thy friend departs not — she will hover near," — Yes, and the smile that lingered in that eye, Assured this heart she would its anguish cheer. And I believe, for while at night I wept Affection's tribute to affection gone, And fancy sadly hovered where she slept, And widowed tears dropt on the cold moist stone^ Meth ought some presence — sure it was my love- Unseen, breathed gilead on my festering smart; L'nheard, spake consolation to my soul, — Upon my grief poured solace from above, And bidding him, once broken, to be whole, Left resignation in my wounded heart. 126 THE POEMS OF WAKE ISLES OF THE SOUTH! Written November 1819, on occasion of the departure from the United States of the first Missionary band for the Sandwich Islands. The piece having been translated into the language of Hawaii, and now used by the natives as a national hymn, the translation is here given as sung to the tune of Scotland, by the Rev. Charles Stewart, late missionary at those islands, and now chaplain in the United States' Xavy. Wake, Isles of the South! your redemption is near, No longer repose in the borders of gloom; The Strength of His chosen in love will appear, And light shall arise on the verge of the tomb. The billows that girt ye, the wild waves that roar, The zephyrs that play where the ocean-storms cease, Shall bear the rich freight to your desolate shore, Shall waft the glad tidings of pardon and peace. On the islands that sit in the regions of night, The lands of despair, to oblivion a prey, The morning will open with healing and light; The bright star of Bethlehem will usher the day. The altar and idol in dust overthrown, The incense forbade that was offered in blood, The Priest of Melchisedec there shall atone, And the shrines of Hawaii be sacred to God! The heathen will hasten to welcome the time, The day-spring, the prophet in vision once saw— WILLIAM p,. TAPPAN. 127 When the beams of Messiah shall gladden each clime, And the isles of the ocean shall wait for his law. And thou Obookiah! now sainted above, Wilt rejoice, as the heralds their mission disclose; And the prayer will be heard, that the land thou didst love, May blossom as Sharon, and bud as the rose ! (TRANSLATION.) EARA BTA MOKU O KAI RIRO E. Ear a na moku o kai riro e, Mai moe mau no i ka kae o ka po, E nana oukou ra, ua ana ao nei. 'Ke maramarama e ora'i oukou. " Haleluia ia Iesu, i ko kakou Alana, Hiilani hou ia Ia i ka wai loridana."* Ko nam a puni e haruru ae, Na rakou e amo k'ukana maitai E rave ka ko a me ka maranai, Ka moku i uka ka me e ora'i. I na moku i paa i ka pouri mau. Uhia 'ka naau po wale rakou, * This chorus in English is from " The Voice of Free Grace," riz. * Alleluia to the Lamb who has purchased our pardon,' 8cc 128 THE POEMS OF Ano nei e puka no maila ke ao Hoku Bet'lehema, ka Hoku ao mail. E ake rakou i nana wave ae Ka wehea mai 'ka araura maitai, A o ka kukuna o ka Mesia mau, " A 'kali na moku kona kanawai." Huiia ka rere a pau, me ka kii; E hooreia ka taumaha a pau; I k'Alana ma itai rakou e ora'i, E tabu ka Heiau na ke Akua mau. E Obukahaia i noho runa'e 'Hauoli no mai 'ka olelo maitai; 'Rohea ka pule no ko aina nei, I pono rakou nei, i nani no nae. I SAW THE OUTCAST. I saw the outcast — an abandoned boy, Whom wretchedness, debased, might call its own. His look was wan, and his sad sunken eye, Mute pleader, told a bosom-harrowing" tale. For he was one, unknown to fostering care, That should have shielded and protected him In childhood's dangerous hour. No father's prayer, In midnight's orison, had risen ever Before the viewless throne, to fall again f ' i WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 129 In blessing-s on the lad. No mother's tear Had dropt in secret for the wanderer. He, Dejected, stood before me, and methougTit Resembled much a flower, a ruined flower, But lovely once, and might have bourgeoned gaily, Had not Adversity's dread simoon passed, And blighted all its sweets. The buds of hope Bloomed on, but not for him. The morning sun Shone gladly out — but all to him was dark. His soul was in eclipse — the energies Of mind lay dormant, withering in their prime. I looked, but he had passed me; he stole on Despondingly; irresolute his pace, As on forbidden ground. The world seemed not For him — haply its frigid boon were much, To yield the sufferer Misery's sheltering grave. I saw the outcast — but to Fancy's view Me thought a vision, fair and bright, appeared. — So changed, I doubted — but intelligence Darting in lustre from his mild full eye, Assured my throbbing heart 'twas he indeed. Gone was the sallow hue, the sombre cast Of sorrow, gone, and in its stead, the glow Of cheerfidness shone out. His parting lip Disclosed the smile content delights to wear, When peace within sits revelling. His step erect, Told of a heart at peace. — He walked in the beauty Of happy boyhood. Wondering, then, I asked The cause. He pointed meekly to a dome Whose hallowed portals tell the passenger That the Eternal deigns to call it His — Known of all nations as the house of prayer: 130 THE POE3IS OF Here, said the youth, while glistening drops bedewed His beauteous cheek, here Pity led my way; And he that knew no father soon found Oxe Able and sure to save. And he, whose tears No mother's hand had kindly wiped away, Found Oxe that said, " Come, thou forsaken, come Unto my bosom — rest, poor wanderer, here." He ceased. My full heart, as I went my way, Called down God's benison on the Sunday School. C03I3IODORE 31 DOXOUGH. Thou shouldst not to the grave descend Unknown to foe, unwept by friend; Nor need the panegyric verse In glowing* strains thy deeds rehearse. We ask not for thy early tomb Ambition's proudest leaf to bloom; Or that a nation should decree Marble or obsequies to thee. Yet when the recollected charms Of modest worth, one heart embalms; When that heart prompts the holy tear To joys once known — no longer here — Chide not! — the clime to which thou'st fled, Where sighs are not, nor tear is shed, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 131 Is genial to that love, whose birth, Like angel's love, was not of earth. Farewell — and while we say, Farewell — "We weep not that yon narrow cell Encloses thee, for there thy head Is pillowed on the Hero's bed. The Hero's bed! how sweet to die When victory's won — How sweet to He Where laurels deck the warrior's brew, Where tears and smiles attend him now! W£ WANDER. We wander in a thorny maze, A vale of doubts and fears; A night illumed with sickly rays, A wilderness of tears: We wander, bound to empty show, The slaves of boasted will; We wander, dupes to hope untrue, And love to wander still. We wander — while unfading' joy The heart will not approve, The bliss that sparkles to destroy, Secures its warmest love: 132 THE POEMS OF Some syren leads our steps astray, But speaks no peace within; We wander in a flowery way, We wander, heirs of sin. We wander — but though oft we roam, Led by allurement strong-, Yet from our heavenly Father's home, We would not wander long: Cleanse us, O Saviour! from this stain In mercy's living flood; Restore the lost, and bring again The wanderer back to God. IS THERE A HEART. Is there a heart on which thy own May bosom in affliction's hour* Whose pulse, to selfishness unknown, Beats quick with feeling's holy power } Is there a soul so nobly free, 'Twould proudly love, though all beside Had passed thee in adversity, Wrapt in the mantle of their pride } O, seize that heart! for richer 'tis Than all that glittering dust can boast; Cherish it thou! 'twill yield a bliss To cheer, when worlds on worlds are tost, WILLIA3I B. TAPPAX. 133 Though hard thy lot, Misfortune's son! A prey to ills — dare not repine; On thee Hope's beacon-light has shone, If such a heart in truth be thine. SUMMER. Sujuuu looks out! how green and gay Is earth, how bright her flowers! 'Tis nature's merry holiday, And these her white-winged hours; The winter winds are hushed to rest, And storms, no more revealing Their terrors, sleep, — on ocean's breast The wanton breeze is stealing. Where's now the frost that chained the brook, And storm that heaved the sea? The wild wind that the forest shook, The snow that clad the lea 1 Winter! thou'st fled! and men rejoice, And every bird in tune Puts forth its little warbling voice, To welcome laughing June. Thus when on the benighted one, A weary wanderer driven, M 134 THE POE31S OF A castaway, unsought, undone, First shines the peace of heaven: When the fair Sun of Righteousness In splendour, brightly glowing, Breaks through the sundering storm to bless That heart, to overflowing — O where's the tempest that had spent Its fury on the broken? For see ! the cloud of anguish rent, Reveals the rainbow token: Lovely, when wintry storms depart, Summer's glad smile to see; Lovelier, when feels my drooping heart, One look, O God, from thee. PRAYER FOR THE AFRICAN MISSION THAT SAILED IN THE SPRING OF 1820. Thou Uncreate ! whose dread decrees The elements obey; Who rul'st the tempest and the seas, With undivided sway — To Thee, Supreme, we raise the prayer, In Jesus' name we bow — That thou would'st make the Church thy care, And bid Salvation flow. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. L«M5 Be Thou, O God! with those that tread The ocean's dangerous way; Who g-o where love has never shed Redemption's living* ray. God of the billow! O enfold Their barque, when dang-ers rise, And light their course as when of old Thy cloud illumed the skies! And Thou who walk'st the mountain foam, And still'st the waves to sleep — Deign Thou to pillow those that roam, And giride them o'er the deep; From sultry heat and burning- waste, Protect the little band, Shine on each heart and bid it taste Thy strength in Afric's land. And O thou Father of mankind! Smile ever on thine own; The Ethiopian's yoke unbind, Hear thou the captive's moan; The cause O God, alone is thine, We trust the eternal Word, And hail thy Missions as the sig-n That all shall know the Lord. 136 THE POEMS OF Forsaken is Nazareth of fair Galilee, The beauty of Israel is scattered abroad; No more wakes the timbrel on Gadarene's sea, Desolation is seen in the city of God. Was it thus, O thou Lonely! in days of thy boast, When the lamp of the Highly illumined afar? When the song of the minstrel was heard on thy coast, When the dawning appeared long foretold by the star? Was it thus, O Forsaken! when tidings of love, The Cherub that worshipped proclaimed from the skies, — Immanuel with mortals! a God from above! A Shiloh to Israel — the last Sacrifice? Return ye bright ages, to Nazareth given, Ye days of the prophet! revisit again, When caught from yon altar the sun-ray of heaven Shall bear peace to nations and good will to men. PRAYER FOR GREECE, WRITTEN ON HEARING OF THE FALL OF XISSOLONGHI. Thou, Worshipped! Thou! forever nigh, Who wear'st the title, " King of kings," WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 1 % tf Hear the petition, O Most Hig-h! That feeling* to thy footstool brings. Thou see'st where of thy rites and name, The scornful Moslem makes a boast; O, from thy chariot wheels of flame Look, and confound the g'odless host. O'er the once lovely Grecian plains Rolls desolation like a flood; The solitude of ruin reigns Along" those valleys, steeped in blood. The robber and assassin stand Where tributaries bent the knee; And from that stricken, weeping- land, Rise spire and shrine, but not to Thee ! And yet her strife — she knew Thee not — Thou saw' st, when the shamed Persian fled; When Sparta, on one g-lorious spot, Numbered her choicest with the dead. And Lord! when persecution's star In later time, hung* o'er our night, Didst thou not, Mighty One in war! Go with our armies to the fig-lit 5 Leader in that unequal fray! Didst thou not smite the spoiler dumb, When on that teeming", awful day, Fled foemen at thy thunder-drum } u 2 138 THE POEMS OF Deliverer! thus to hapless Greece Be thou a present help and shield; Thine be her battles, Lord! till Peace Waves dove-like pinions o'er that field. Speak! and where mocking* crescents wane, Behold the Banner-Cross unfurled! And Greece, restored, become again The beauteous Eden of the world. FATE OF THE PILOT BOAT. The night was lone and the star-ray slept All bright on wave and lea ; And the tempest-king his vigils kept O'er the wide Atlantic sea. The night was lone, and the murmuring train Of slumber stole along; And softly whispering o'er the main, Was borne the sea-boy's song. He sang of home, and the simple charms The cot of his fathers knew; He sang of the j oy of a mother's arms, And he sang of the maiden true. The note was wild, but the artless lay, His dirge — should soon be o'er: WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 139 His bosom was light, but ere the day That bosom should beat no more! The ship was proud and gallant her trim, Her banner swept the wave; But ere the lamps of heaven grew dim, That flag should deck her grave ! The Lady watched the beauteous star, As o'er the blue waste it shone; And busy memory strayed afar, And fancy sighed alone. She thought of bliss and fairy home, And affection's smiling store; But ah! fond love and a husband's dome, That bosom should know no more. For the pirate crew in revelry Had drunk to the dreadful deed, And the murderers swore right j ovially, The innocent heart should bleed! At the midnight hour was heard the cry, The shriek of fell despair; At dawn was hushed the billowy sigh, And the pale moon glimmered fair. But the wind-god saw the deed of hell. When the fiends forsook the deck; He saw the barque as it slowly fell, 'Till it sank — a viewless wreck! 140 THE POEMS OF TIS TO THE EAST THE HEBREW BENDS. 'Tis to the East the Hebrew bends, When morn unveils its brow; And while the evening rite ascends, The East receives his vow : Dear to the exile is the soil That reared Jehovah's Vine — Dear to the wretched heir of toil, Thy memory, Palestine ! 'Tis to the East the Hebrew tarns, The clime to prescience dear; When kindling recollection burns, When memory claims the tear: Land of the Patriarch! he recalls, The days of promise, when The timbrel rang along thy halls, And God communed with men. Where Babel wept Judea's wrongs, The banished Hebrew sighs; Where Zion swelled her holy songs, His tribute seems to rise ; And hope still wings his thought afar, It tells to those that roam, That He who rode the cloudy car, Will guide his people home. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 141 AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION BUILDINGS. I ask'd the passenger for whom arose These building's, bold, yet in the beauty Of due proportion; speaking to the eye Of taste and symmetry? — He replied: Time was, when knowledge of the Holy One, His wisdom and perfections, was confined Unto the hoary. Limited to age Were things of godliness. Days only spake, And Years held converse with the mysteries Redemption had disclosed. The aged fed, And richly fed, on manna; but the child — O, he knew not of Bethlehem, nor heard The simple story of the manger, nor Of Him, the Blessed! whose early wisdom shamed The Rabbi; who unto his love took up Young children, and gave honor unto them Of Bethphage, when they met the Sufferer With palm and song. Thus was the mind a blank, Whereon the devil wrote strange language. Here His tares the subtle adversary sowed, And ignorance and wild disorder flourished — A baneful harvest! Childhood waxed to youth, Yet knew not God: youth unto manhood grew, Yet mocked the father's prayer, and scorned the mo- ther's tear. One* came at length, who, imitating Him, Israel's kind Shepherd, gently led the young * Robert Raikes. 142 THE POEMS OF Out of sin's path into the narrow way Of life. And he of the proud .look was taught Humility; the tongue of blasphemy Lisped Canaan's accents ; stubborn knees were bowed And God's high Sabbath witnessed Wisdom's call Unto the young. It was a goodly work: It prospered; — 'twas His own! Behold the assem- bly, now That throng the Sunday School! See, on each brow Dove-like, sit blessedness and joy. Thou hear'st Their sweet and holy hymn: 'tis Jesus' name Inspires the melody. To list that song, Warbled from lips so lovely, well might stir The flinty heart, and bid the infidel, Rebuked, with tears exclaim, "Lord, I believe!" They kneel — the infant worshippers, and they Prevail in prayer; for has He not declared Those that seek early, early me shall find? Stranger! this noble pile is consecrate, Devoted to the Lord. Hence flow the streams That irrigate the land: yea, that refresh The thirsty world. Hence goes the Missionary To plant God's nurseries, and to the work To stimulate His servants. Hence the page Of sound Instruction, in the winning guise Of artless story, and the narrative Of holy children, early loved of God, And early gathered to the white -robed choir, Wing their glad way alike unto the hall Of opulence, and to the low abode Of poverty. Their mighty influence felt, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 14^ The tierce has wept, and many a softened heart Has owned their power; and many a child, Taught by these little messengers, has looked From couch of sickness to the Merciful, Pleading in faith, "My Father, art not Thou The Guide and kind Preserver of my youth! 55 And thus has fled to glory. Who may tell In that glad day when God makes up his own, How many gems in the Messiah's crown "Were gathered by these heralds! — Stranger, thou Weepest, and much I joy to see thee bend The knee, and mingle heart and prayer with mine, That heavenly dew may ever gently nourish This vine of God's own planting. May the prayers Of thousands, wafted to the eternal throne, Drop in rich blessings on the Sunday School. THE CHINESE MISSION. Go, minister of God, To lands where soars the pagoda in pride, The soil that pagan footstep long has trod, And tell the story of a Saviour crucified. Go to the clime of night, Where sullen, broods the darkness to be felt; And point those millions to the star of Light, That burned and trembled once, above where Magi knelt. 144 THE POEMS OF Go, and amid the din Of idol bells and heaving* multitudes, Teach erring- men the anthem to begin, That whispered below, swells out in blest abodes. Go ! in this mortal strife, A Prince, your standard-bearer, leads before; Look ever to Him, — they are crowns of life He gives: win thou for Christ the Asiatic shore. Go, and in life's glad morn, — If wills the Master here, no more we meet, With China's millions by his grace new born, He'll gather thee and us unto his feet. HYMN, WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE FORTY-NINTH ANNIVERSARY OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE AT PHI- LADELPHIA. The patriot sires in glory sleep : Their sepulchre is holy earth; And we upon their ashes, keep The sabbath of a nation's birth. God of our battles! didst not thou The right arm of those warriors guide, "Who laid in blood the foemen low And freely gave their own heart's tide ? WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 145 And didst thou not along our shore, Bid angel Peace extend her wing* 5 And folding banners wave no more, And social arts in verdure spring ? These are thy works, O God! and we, The sons who never could be slaves, Who proudly view fair Freedom's tree Expanding o'er our father's graves — We crush the mind, we forge the chain, Yea, from the soil by- charter given, This hallowed hour the sigh of pain Ascends, accusing us to Heaven. Will mockery ask, this Day, what spoil Shall hearts in glad oblation yield, — The first-fruits of a teeming soil, Or choicest cattle from the field? Will solemn vows — where pseans swell, Lauding our fabric's goodly plan — Atone, while stripes and fetters tell That man is pitiless to man ? Vain all, the Highest has no need Of our first-fruits or altar's smoke; Dearer to God is mercy's deed, Nobler to break oppression's yoke. 146 the toems or Farewell to New England. Fahewell to the scenes that my childhood has known, The spot recollection reviews at its own; The land of the yeoman, by industry blessed, The home of the free, to the exile a rest; Thou clime of my birth! though I wander away, Thought lingers with thee, it never can stray: For dear to this bosom, New England! the soil Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil. Farewell to your waters that peacefully glide, To the intervales rich and the mountains your pride; To the marts that the triumphs of enterprise tell, To the hamlets, where peace and tranquillity dwell; Farewell, native scenery! to me ever dear, I give to your charms the heart's tribute, a tear; For sweet to this bosom, New England! the soil Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil. Farewell to the homestead, half hid in the glade, The orchard and elms where in boyhood I strayed; The meeting-house spire that rose from the vale, The mill, and the streamlet that watered the dale ; In vision, the wanderer afar to the west, Will stray o'er the objects that childhood loved best, For dear to his bosom, New England! the soil Where Love cheers the cot and Content sweetens toil. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 147 WHEN O ER LONG NIGHT. Whex o'er long night the bursting* dawn In youthful bloom appeared; "When angels hymned the rising morn, And songs in heaven were heard: Amid the burning orbs that gem'd Jehovah's viewless throne, In native glory diadem'd, One Star illumed alone. O'er Palestine, fair Solyma, Benignantly serene, Precursor of a brighter day, The harbinger was seen; The captive saw the symbol shine — His broken fetters fell; The Shepherd marked the peerless sign That told Imzmaxuel! In latter time we view it burn With undiminished ray \ It leads the Pagan's glad return, It cheers the wanderer's wav; With influence sweet illuming far, Its beam to peace inclines; From East to West the holy star, The star of Jesus shines! 148 THE POEMS OF WHEN THE LAST TEAR. When the last tear of love is shed, And the freed spirit hastes away; When joy, desire, and hope have fled, And beauty seeks its couch in clay, O, then, what art or pageantry Of worth departed, tells? — what bust To ages breathes the memory Of those that slumber dust with dust ? For curious art will disappear, And time obliterates the urn, And those that now bes'ow the tear, Will claim the tribute in return. Vain is the pageant, vain is art, To glean from years a living name; One simple deed of virtue's heart Alone can consecrate its fame. WILLIAM B, TAPPAN. 149 OX VIEWING TRUMBULL 8 PAINTING OF THE DECLARATIOX OF IXDEPEXDEXCE. To free from chains a groaning* land, Inspired by Right and Valour's flame, On Freedom's scroll the patriot band Inscribed Columbia's deathless fame. Now ceased the clarion of war, A nation blooms on slavery's grave ; Her starry banner floats afar, Her conquering" navy ploughs the wave. "While robed in peace, true valour's meed, Columbia walks in generous pride; She ne'er forgets the glorious deed, That stemmed oppression's haughty tide. Though envious Time's unsparing hand Has bowed in dust the warrior's plume — Though slumber now the gallant band, Where fadeless laurel decks their tomb : The Pencil speaks — again they breathe ! We see their veteran forms again; We see each patriot bosom heave, As heaved it on the battle-plain. And wrapt in awe, we catch the flame That kindled by Oppression's spoil, n2 150 THE POEMS OF And swear no tyrant foot shall claim A rest on Freedom's natal soil. MY NATIVE VILLAGE. Hail to the valley and mist-mantled mountain! The scenes of my childhood, to memory dear; Hail to the cot by the favourite fountain, Where simplicity dwells with affection sincere. O long have I wandered a stranger to pleasure, In search of its shadow, self-exiled to roam; But ne'er in yon climes have I found the rich trea- sure, It dwells unconcealed in my own native home. How often, soft slumber my eye-lids enclosing", With joy to the streamlet and dell would I fly; While fancy on scenes of affection reposing, Dwelt there with pure transport, but woke with a sigh. O dear to the soul is the secret emotion, When fond recollections its impulses move; And sweet is the tear which the heart's true devotion Bestows to the memory of infancy's love. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 151 Here fain would I wander, a stranger to sorrow, Where the woodbine entwines and the wild roses bloom ; Confiding- with heaven the cares of the morrow 'Till the blush of life's twilight shall rest on my tomb. Hail to the valley and mist-mantled mountain! The scenes of my childhood, to memory dear; Hail to the cot by the favourite fountain, Where simplicity dwells with affection sincere. LA FAYETTE. Sox of valour! Heir of glory! Noble by the patriot's line; Gallant warrior! Chieftain hoary! Immortality is thine. Wreath the laurel, Muses! wreath it, 'Tis for no ignoble name; Breathe the song, Inspirers! breathe it, Worthy of the Veteran's fame ! When a people, true to bravery, Saw the storm-cloud gathering nigh, Heard the manacles of slavery Rattle in the turbid sky, Let a nation ne'er forget — Then arose proud Victory's son, Crushed is slavery! La Fayette Wears the meed that valour won! 152 THE POEMS OP Haste, ye nobles! vainly borrow Lustre from the scroll of peers, While it dies, the name of Warrior Brightens with the touch of years: And though mingled with his fathers In the slumbers of the tomb, Time, that saps the palace, gathers For the Hero, fresher bloom. Go, and mark him! — shades of even Soon shall lurk around his bed, — Go, and mark him! — winds of heaven Soon shall sweep that wintry head: Garlands there shall flourish yet Fairer than the poet's dream; Perish Silence ! La Fayette Is a nation's grateful theme. THE THUNDER STORM, The storm is up! — along the sky Swiftly the ebon rack is driven; And look! yon curling cloud floats nigh, Charged with the panoply of heaven : It rends, and gathering to a heap, Of angry billows takes the form; How troubled is that upper deep! God! thou art awful in thy storm. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 15:1 'Tis passed — and see! o'er fields again Sunbeams their laughing' light unfold; On tower and tree the sparkling rain Drops like a shower of molten gold; On yonder hill-top rests the bow, The air is redolent of balm; How bright is all above, below! God! thou art glorious in thy calm. So, when the tempest shrouds my skies, And grief holds empire in my soul; I see the desolation rise, The waves already o'er me roll; Thou speak'st, and like a tender sire Thou dost thy child's frail fears reprove; Lofty art thou when storms retire; God! thou art dearer in thy love. RUINS OF JAMES TOWN, VIRGINIA. WRITTEN WHILE PASSING DOWN JAXES RIVER. The town sleeps in ruins and solitude reigns, Where nature once smiled with the aspect of day : Drear night broods alone o'er the valley and plains, And thy shores, Powhatan! nought but sadness dis- play. 154 THE POEMS OF The tribute, fair Princess,* that rose to thy fame, The memorial so dear to affection and thee, Is scattered afar, and there's nought but the name To tell that thy soul was as generous as free. Lorn now is the structure once hallowed by prayer, No longer the organ is heard in the aisle, The ivy is festooned, the cypress blooms there, And the lonely night-bird nestles sad in the spoil. In the clefts of the tombstone the tall grass is green, The shrub and the lilac commingle their shade; 'Mid the moss-covered fragments the yew tree is seen, It hallows the spot where the fathers are laid. The relics of sorrow are scattered around, The wild flowerets shade them, the thistles appear, But the heart of affection oft visits the mound, The traveller returns and indulges the tear. Oh dust of my fathers! still soft be your bed, Revered be the trophies which memory endears: Ye ruins that hallow the place of the dead, Your remembrance shall live while virtue hath tears. 1 Pocahontas. WjLsjlAm b. tappa.x. 155 THE LAST VOYAGE. He launches on the waveless deep, Sad thoughts crowd on his joy, That hour he has beheld her weep — The mother o'er her boy. Loftily now before the breeze. The vessel rides, and fast She dashes through deceitful seas, That voyage is her last ! The gallant ship has spread her sail, "With her did hope depart? Day follows day, and wherefore fail Tidings to cheer the heart 1 Not unto that bereaved home. Will he come, where tears are shed; He comes not, and he will not come 'Till the sea gives up its dead. They reck not of the ocean-caves, AVhere men and treasures lie. Buried within their dreamless graves, Beyond e'en fancy's eye; They reck not dust is given to dust, And the coral wreaths his brow; And she that was a widow first, Childless is written now: That noble ship — that cheerful crew — Those, what dire scath befel, Is it not hidden from our view } The last great day shall telU 156 THE POEMS OF Yet we may deem no quiet pillow, No death-bed was for them; Nought but the wrecked ship, and the billow That rushed to overwhelm. That hour, of friends to sooth, was none, Of shipmates, none to pray; The gulf before them — each alone Must tread the trackless way: O, that wild passage ! who can know Of the spirit's fearful wreck; When loosing hold of all below She fled from the sinking deck! Aye, and how many wander now On that dark-heaving sea, Whose strength shall soon be taught to bow, As Death, lost one, bowed thee! Arm of the Lord! haste thou and save, Of these may it be said: They lie in that unfathomed grave, With the Redeemer's dead. THE LAST VETERAN OF THE REVOLUTION. I saw the hoary warrior chief, Whose sternly proud, but blighted form Proclaimed him worn with bitter grief, An oak amid the pelting storm. WILLIAM V,. TAPFAN. 151 Of those whose crimson tide embrued The fields where Albion's glory fell; Of those who oft undaunted stood, "When cannons pealed the hero's knell — He was the last — the only head "Was Ills, that waved with wintry bloom; Surviving* all, for all had sped: They slept in honour's laurelled tomb. He gazed — alas! he grazed in vain, To meet the comrades of his toil; Compatriots on the battle plain, Companions in the glorious spoil. All, all around was sad and drear, And nought coidd grief of years beguile; For him condolence had no tear; For him affection wore no smile. I saw — and lo, the old man slept; The war-worn veteran joined the brave, And none upon his allies wept: Forgotten was the soldier's grave. 15S THE POEMS OF WHAT HEART HAS NOT FALSE HOPE MISLED. AY hat he ail has not false Hope misled In fancy's early dream? Who has not revelled in the sweets Of childhood's careless day } 'Tis painful, 'mid the wreck of time Eternally gone by, To scan the bliss of other years, Bliss that shall ne'er return. To some, existence is a sea Of calm unruffled joy; To others, 'tis a troubled deep Of wretchedness and tears. For me awaits no airy dream Of pure unclouded j oy : Anticipation dims my way, And retrospection grieves. And what is Earth 5 — a wildering maze, Alluring", yet untrue: The heir of hope may smile — the child Of misery may die. To him by secret wo oppressed, The world bestows no sigh; Ne'er smooths his pillow, or bedews His unobtrusive gTave. WILLIAM B. TAFPAN. 159 Vet there are those that keenly feel The wounds a friend endures; The griefs their own sad hearts have known Excite kind sympathy. I ask not for the false lament Wealth's minion would bestow. Give me in life's expiring' pang, The tear of Poverty. I LOVE AT EVENING S SILENT TIDE. I love at evening*' s silent tide, When busy care has flown, In some sequestered dell to hide, And pensive, muse alone. 'Tis then in solitude refined, Reflection feels its zest ; 'Tis then the contemplative mind With reason's charm is blest. 'Tis then the expanding* soul ascends And roves in fields above, And the mysterious Essence blends With Uncreated Love. O Solitude! thy soothing charm Can conquer fell despair; J 60 THE POE3IS OF Can sad affliction's sling- disarm, And banish every care. While folly's votary hates thy shrine, And grandeur fears thy power — Still be thy rich enjoyments mine, To bless life's fleeting hour. TO AN INTERESTING YOUNG LADY, DEAF AND DUMB. Weep not maiden, that thou never Canst thy ardent love express; Weep not fate from thee doth sever All that would affection bless. Woukist thou strive to lighten sorrow I 'Tis the sigh thy breast will free — Wouldst thou soothing* accents borrow ? All our tears we give to thee. Though like some sweet opening flower Which the blush of morn displayed, Pressed by evening's rudest shower, Each loved beauty seems to fade, Yet the orb of glory risen Bids the floweret droop no more: Thus the cheering dawn of heaven All thy graces shall restore. WILLIAM R. TAPPAN. 161 ETERNITY. The shadowy reign of Time had passed away, Systems had fled, and suns illumed no more. The starry gems were lost in radiant day, The last shrill trump had waked the distant shore ; Its clang 1 had ceased, and silence was in heaven. I saw the marshalled cordon of the sky, In glittering ranks be stud the trackless plains The tomb's pale monarch bound in chains stood by, The prince of darkness with his powers was nigh; While ransomed myriads swelled the countless train. ****** I saw the scroll * * * * Endless duration never can unfold! I saw the scroll — The Life of Deity was there. Its awful signet shall remain untold; No strains of heaven, no curse in hell, may dare Eternity! thy dreadful years declare. TO THE DOVE. Sweet warbler of the painted vest, Thou art in fair luxuriance drest; The fondest of the plumaged throng, The lonely bird of plaintive song. o 2 162 THE POEMS OF The condor vast, the wren minute, The pheasant gay, the falcon brute, Though bold or pleasing" to the eve, Can ne'er with thee, my favourite, vie. claim'st my sympathy and love; For still in some sequestered grove, Thou dost indulge thy artless moan, And lov'st to sing' and sigh alone. Thy tender strain of hapless wo Oft bids the tear of sorrow flow; Thy note exceeds the touch of art, Thy melody attracts the heart. Yet blithe and cheerful is thy mien, And halcyon mirth with thee is seen: Thou roam'st at large, disporting free, Fidelity a trait of thee. M LOOK AT T OTHER SIDE. Wuex Jim one day with brother Joe, A simple, thoughtless clown, With father's leave set out to go And see the shows in town: It chanced, while idly gaping round, Each wonder to descry, An orange, fair, and seeming* sound, Caught Joe's attentive eye. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 163 Joe gazed not long", and straight had bought "With haste and chuckling pride; But Jim, a youth of keener thought, Said, " Look at t'other side !" Joe viewed again without ado, And questioned well his sight; For underneath, half hid from view, The fruit was rotten quite. And since that well-remembered day, Whatever doth betide, Joe ne'er by wrong is led astray, But " looks at t'other side!" When fools arrayed in fortune's smile, Are puffed with haughty pride; Joe envies first, then thinks awhile, And "looks at t'other side!" When scandal takes its busy round, With huge and sweeping stride, Joe heeds it not: with thought profound, He " looks at t'other side!' When urged in Dissipation's maze, Corroding griefs to hide, Joe views the bowl with loathing gaze, And "looks at t'other side!" When sad distress and care are nigh, And faithless friends deride; With humble hope and tearful eye, Joe "looks at t'other side!" 164 THE POEMS OF And when — life's raging tempest past — No more he stems the tide; With joy on yonder shores, at last, He'll view "the other side!" THE BROOK KEDRON. The day hath fled, on Salem's tower The lovely moon-beam calmly shines; Hushed is the song in court and bower, And worshipless the holy shrines. 'Tis night. Jerusalem is still, And lost in sleep are bond and free ; Her streets, her vale, the holy hill Repose in sweet tranquillity. Repose they all? — have none from sleep Aroused, to sigh o'er Zion's blight? — Retire not some, alone, to weep — Wake not a faithful few this night ? Yes! and along the be ethng brow Of his beloved Olivet, The Man, afflicted, wanders now, And there have his disciples met. How sad the greeting! who may tell The tenderness which in that look Burst forth, when Jesus wept farewell To those he loved by Kedron's brook ! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 165 THE WHITE -HILLS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. I see ye towering" — Genii of the North! I see ye stand, the monuments of time, Clad in the dread sublimity of years. Well do I know ye by the frosty robe, God's drapery, that wraps your giant forms. Parents of freedom! on your hoary heights The fearless eagle makes her eyry, there Plants her domain, approachless to the foe. The hardy yeoman vent'rously is seen With patient labour toiling- your ascent, Invading" solitudes, where fitful winds Talk 'mid the pines, — he treads the dizzy cliff; Thence, wondering", surveys the little world Of forest, village, lake, that clothes your feet. The sailor knows ye — nearing" the rough coast, — From the tall mast, his lonely weary watch, Descries and greets ye as a long lost friend, When your hoar summits glittering to the sun, Seem to his gaze but fleecy summer clouds. And what are works of man, the edifice, The toil of ages? — what the aspiring dome? Yea, what the vaunted mockers of old Time, Egyptia's columns — what are they to these? Works of God's finger! ye shall lift your heads Majestically, when the pride of man Shall waste and crumble, yea, when Memphian plains Are cumbered with the ruined pyramid. 166 THE POEMS OF HYMN SUNG IX CASTLE GARDEN, NEW-YORK, BY THE SUNDAY SCHOLARS. First Voices.* Oh, ye bless'd! on yonder plains, Worshipping" in noble strains, Ranks of veiled Seraphim! Uttering" your melodious hymn, Glorious Spirits! as ye bow, Bearing victory's palm-branch now, Why to Jesus give renown ? And before him cast the crown? Second Voices. 'Tis His love that stirs our choirs, Silent were these breathing" wires, Mute the crystal courts above, If the anthem were not Love. First Voices. Tell us, bright ones! as ye kneel, Whose the richer notes that steal, Sweet and soothing, from your throng — Silver voices mingling song? * The first voices by the male children who were in the area of the garden. The female children in the gallery responded in the second voice. WILLI A3I B. TAPPAX. 167 Second Voices. Children, ever near the throne. Bow in beauteous bands alone; Cherub harps to these are given, And the fairest wreaths of heaven: Praises float along* the string's, As they wave rejoicing" wings, And in lofty chorus cry Holy is the Lord, Most High! First Voices. Warblers! we would waken here, Music of your upper sphere; We would hymn and worship thus, Were those harp-notes lent to us. First and Second Voices. Jesus! while below we sing, Hallowed incense may we bring; Jesus, hear us! — take us where Children, chosen minstrels are. WORSHIP. Holy be this, as was the place To him, of Padan-aram known, W^hen Abram's God revealed his face And caught the pilgrim to the throne : 168 THE POEMS OF O, how transporting- was the glow That thrilled his bosom, mixed with fear,, "Lo! the Eternal walks below — The Highest tabernacles here!" Be ours, when faith and hope grow dim, The glories that the Patriarch saw; And when we faint, may we like him Fresh vigour from the vision draw. Heaven's lightning hovered o'er his head, And flashed new splendours on his view, — Break forth, thou Sex! and freely shed Glad rays upon our Bethel too. 'Tis ours to soj ourn in a waste Barren and cold as Shinar's ground; No fruits of Eshcol charm the taste, No streams of Meribah are found,. — But Thou canst bid the desert bud With more than Sharon's rich display; And Thou canst bid the cooling flood Gush from the rock and cheer the way. We tread the path thy people trode, Alternate sunshine, bitter tears; Go Thou before, and with thy rod Divide the Jordan of our fears. Be ours the song of triumph given, Angelic themes to lips of clay, — And ours the holy harp of heaven, Whose strain dissolves the soul away, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 169 ABISBAL S INVOCATION. Haste, foes of my country! to battle advance, To their prey loose the war-dog's of rapine again; Let the fleur-de-lis symbol of slavery and France, The flag" of the tyrant, wave proudly o'er Spain! Nay, cease not your curses on him that once led Your forces, Castilians! to vanquish or fall; Who fought for his birthright, his kindred, yet fled From the shrine of his worship at treachery's call. For what is his country or kindred to him Who laughs at the birthright by villainy sold? Hence, Honour! the light that plays o'er thee is dim, Eclipsed by the lustre of royalty's gold. O, it glads me when vengeance falls ripe on the fools Who to anarchy yield the just rights of the crown; Base plebeians ! they reck not themselves are but tools Which the foot of the strong shall to dust trample down. Advance, Angouleme ! and deep, deep to its hilt, In the heart of the generous bury thy steel; Nay, start not, e'en murder is 'reft of its guilt, When the hell-brooded act is for monarchv's weal. * The Spanish General, infamous for his treason, during the invasion of Spain by the armies of Louis XVIII. in 1323, i70 THE POEMS OF Thou Genius of Slavery! with pestilent breath — Thou night-angel ! compass their armies about; That the swords which have pierced Gallia's eagle to death, At the lily of Bourbon may fear to flash out. Shout, shout, Imperator! Magnanimous Czar! Protector of nations! thy triumph's complete, Or shall be, when quenched is the patriot's star, When the last pulse of liberty ceases to beat. scio.— 1822. Beautiful Scio! thou wast fair, Gem of the Archipelago! Thou shone st like morning's lovely star Rivalling its sisters; — thine the glow Of skies, deliciously serene, Along 4 thy vales the evergreen The vine and olive flourished, — Thy maidens dwelt with innocence, Thy young men, Liberty had nourished, Her proud invincible defence; Beautiful Scio! thou wast fair, Gem of the Archipelago! At morn, a voice was heard in thee, It was the voice of gladness, — The star of peace arose on thee, 'Tis shrouded now in sadness! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 171 Star of the Grecian! thou hast set In darkness, o'er yon Eden-isle; Thine altars fall'n, the minaretf Rises o'er tears, and blood, and spoil! And thou art now a hideous wild Where reckless Ruin drives its share O'er hapless mother and the child; Beautiful Scio! once so fair, Gem of the Archipelago! I LOVE THE BOSOM THAT CAN FEEL. I love the bosom that can feel The griefs which mortals know; I love the lip whose accents heal The wounds of tearful wo. The eve that beams with pity's gem, Is bright to every view ; Its lustre shades the diadem, Or ruby's sparkling hue. In forms that fly to misery's aid, To dry the orphan's tear — Are winning grace and ease displayed, Unrivalled by compeer. Sweet is Apollo's silver strain, And Sappho's melting air, 17'J THE POEMS OF Sweeter the words that soften f And banish sad desr "Woman ! while these unite in thee, We own thy magic skill: And every heart though proudly free, 1- vanquished at thy will. WHY WEEFEST THOF ! Doth gloomy fate with sullen frown Consume thy soul with care ' Hast thou the draught of misery known "Whose drecrs are dark despair' Art thou oppressed with sorrow's doom, Thy heart with anguish torn : O, soon that sad and cheerless gloom Shall wake a brighter morn : Then why should sorrow wring thy brow* mourner say, " why weepest thou"'" Doth tender love bedeck the bier, Is dust with dust inurned 5 Has one, affection prized most dear, To heaven and God returned' The beauteous flower that charms the eye. And decks the smiling- plain. WILLIAM B. TA.PPAN. 173 With winter's blast doth fade and die, But dies to bloom again; Then why should sorrow wring thy brow ? Say mourner, say, "why weepest thou?" AND I SAID, O THAT I HAD WIXGS LIKE A DOVE, FOR THEN WOULD I FLY AWAT AND BE AT REST. -DAVID. The soul that wings her airy flight To yonder fields of starry blue, "With rapture greets empyrion light, And basks in pleasures ever new; And if — enthroned in bliss above, She bends a lingering look below, Doth not some throb of pity move, For those that tread this vale of wo ? O ! could I stretch my pathless way To climes afar, how small would seem The griefs that cloud this feeble day, The joys that gild life's passing dream: Then would I smile — the secret tear, If tear might wet those courts of joy, Would flee, and love, serene, endear The angel bliss that ne'er can cloy. Yet, courage ! though the angry storm Hath spent its force around thy head; Though sorrow lurks in every form, And all but trembling hope hath fled: p2 174 THE POEMS OF Yet burns there still a steady ray, For those that weep in sunless gloom, The Star that points the wanderer's way, Religion — shines bevond the tomb! YEARS PAST YEARS TO COME. Years! ended years! tell us, were not Your moments given, that man might soon, Valued and used, without a blot, Or blush, restore the gracious boon? Yet is the glorious gift defiled With deep-writ characters of shame; Lust of the world, and passion wild, And mad ambition's guilty flame. Where harps and hymns of beauty sound Ye're gone, earth's discord to declare ; And in eternity is found Each wasted horn*, a witness there. Yea, and a ransom is not known, Nor bribe, to rescue moments fled; All else redeem! but these, once flown. We may not — they are with the dead. Departed hours! and must ye die? None rescued, of ye all, for God ,- WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 175 Pearls without price ! and do ye lie Buried with years beyond the flood } Not wholly so — across the night That else had wrapt us in its shade; The finger, dipt in lovely light Of holy hope and heaven, is laid: And in its shining beams is seen The christian army's onward march; Whose spears are of immortal sheen, Whose banner is the rainbow's arch Of promise, to a fallen world, That sin's advancing, whelming" wave, While Mercy's symbol is unfurled, — Shall not be a redeemless grave. Onward, they go; of various hue, And tribes of east and western sun; But kindred is the hope in view, The warriors of the Cross are one. And mid their closing ranks, behold The Ark, the Church of God! the song', Beneath where wings of glory fold, Goes up in grandeur from the throng. Onward! the battle is the Lord's, To wage triumphant war with sin; To die, and reach sublime rewards, To fall, and yet the conquest win. 176 THE POEMS OF Years may pass on, and all that earth Imperishable deemed, may fade; And Time, that marked her empires' birth, See them in his sepulchre laid; Yet onward, o'er the mighty wreck, Shall press the immortal victor band; And rebel nations bow the neck To Him whose is the heathen land. Till o'er a world by love subdued, Hig'h Heaven takes up the conqueror's strain; And voices of earth's multitude, Repeat the joyful song- again. O God! while moments mark their round, Still guard us in that mortal fray; And o'er us, in thy battles found, Reveal the star of victory's day. WHEN THOU CALMLY SLEEPEST. "When thou calmly sleepest in the dust, love ! And on thy grave the tall grass grows, Will it be thine to think of him, love! Whose widowed tear, in secret flows? When thou gladly seekest thy native bowers, And revellest in thy Eden bliss, WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 177 Wilt thou not, as thou weavest yon world's flowers, Lend a thought to the few Love gave in this* "When mortality's tie is loosed, and never Shall delights that have charmed thee, charm thee more, When the cloud of grief has gone, and forever, And the sigh and tear alike, are o'er; Say, wilt thou not, sometimes, love! Awhile, leave the shrines that ceaseless burn; And warmed with the glow of remembrance, love! To the scenes of affection, fondly return? O, surely, thy spirit will meet in heaven, Some dear reminiscence of days that have flown; And the thought that to the past is given, Will be pure as the holiest before the throne! O COME FROM A WORLD. O coxe from a world were sorrow and gloom Chastise the allurements of joy; A pathway bedimmed, with no rays to illume, Save the meteor that shines to destroy; Where the thoughtless have revelled when mirth had no charm, Where the wounded have wept, but still needed the balm. 178 THE POEMS OF O come from a world where the landscape is chill. Or deceitfully blossoming' fair, The garden gives promise of bright flowers, still The night-shade luxuriates there: That sky now serene blushing lovely and clear, O heed not its beauty, the storm cloud is near. O come from a world where the cup of delight Now sparkles and foams at the brim; For the laurels that wreath it reflection shall blight, Its lustre, repentance shall dim: The lips that convivial have pledg-ed thee the bowl, Shall blanch with confusion when fear rives the soul. O come from a world where they that beguile Will lead thee to peril and fears; For the heart that confiding has welcomed its smile, Has found it the prelude to tears: Come then, there's a path by the reckless untrod, O come, weary wanderer! it leads to thy God, WILLIAM B. TAPPAtf. 179 I dreamed of loveliness. The gay romance Of vagrant fancy, in fair vision came. — Hope waved her wings, and Expectation, big With promise, hovered. On a river's brink Methought I stood, whose tranquil waters slept Beneath the sunbeam. Mighty vessels rode Upon the curling billow. The tall barque, Her streamers floating on the breeze, urged on, With Laughter at the helm, and one Built by the hand of Pleasure for her own, Sped foremost of the train. A lovely skiff, By fairy toil apportioned. Her light prow, Glided in beauty o'er the sparkling deep, With speed that mocked the dolphin. Her white sail, As now it caught the sun's reflected ray, Coursing along the waters, to the eye, Seemed like a fleecy cloud, with burnished skirts, Descending from its height to kiss the wave. Her freight was Childhood. Suddenly the sun Withdrew his fires, and night usurped the day. The tempest gathered, and rude startling peals Rolled o'er the firmament. With fitful scream, The affrighted sea-bird fled its troubled nest, — The deep rose up to heaven, the lurid glare Of lightning flashed on death — I saw no more. Again I looked, the barque had disappeared, But ever and anon the rifted tide Disclosed the shattered rib, or broken spar, Sole relics of its beauty. Men beheld, And some with apathy — some mourned. I dreamed Yet once again, and to my view was one 180 THE POEMS OF Who walked in youthful beauty, the desired Of many hearts, object of tender love. — O he was fair, his cheek had stolen the dye Of May's first bud, — his eye spake the delight Of artless boyhood. On his open brow Sat the calm look of cheerfulness, and there Truth seemed to dwell. None knew him but to love : Yea, he rejoiced in pure affection's ray, That on his warm heart shone, reflecting" thence Its holy peace, its true tranquillity. He looked abroad to heaven in conscious j oy, And saw his sun yet in its morning- course. The stern death-angel came and he was not! A heart- wrung* father pressed his snowy lip, A mother agonized upon her child, — The grave received him, — I awoke and wept. IS IT NOT A LITTLE ONE. GENESIS, XIX. 20. Of all the varied cheats in life, To which misguided mortals run, There's none with sorer evils rife, Than "Isit not a little one?" When strong allurement leads astray, How fair the web by flattery spun — The ready opiate smooths the way, Sure " Is it not a little one?" WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 181 Curst avarice, to itself unkind, "Would even life's best blessing's shun, And hoarding" pelf, deceive the mind, With " Is it not a little one ?" The youth, debauched in folly's maze, Health, fame, and fortune, all undone, Too late the whispering' cheat betrays, Of "Is it not a little one?" Intemperance, murdering life, and soul, "Would fain reflection's moment shun? And says: replenishing 1 the bowl, Sure " Is it not a little one?" Beguiled by love's seducive strain, The hapless maiden is undone 5 "While listening to the falsehood vain, Of "Is it not a little one?" Beware fond youth, its fell control, This fatal source of ruin shun; Reflect in time, nor cheat the soul, With " Is it not a little one ?" "Wearied with play, that night, my Mortimer Betimes had sunk to slumber, and he now Quietly nestled on his pillow, that To innocence and childhood lent sweet visions. 182 l HE POEMS 01 He slept, unheeding* the wild storm which held, That winter nig-ht, rude empire. All within Was quiet, — midnight's stern serenity Dwelt in each chamber, and that house was still And calm, in the repose of loneliness. He is my eldest, and a parent may Indulg-e his love. Wrapt in his dreams he lay, Tranquil and happy, seeming-. He is fair, Yet fairer seemed he than his wont in sleep. His rounded arms were folded, as if toil Were ended now, and he in balmy rest Should find new vig-our for the coming- day. His flaxen hair lay carelessly upon His polished brow, and there many a curl Rioted in luxuriance. The red lips, That pouted at my lightest kiss, half closed, Spake to beholders that within was peace. Near him slept Henry, young-er, frailer too; A tender plant that seemed not formed to bear The ruder winds of life. He slumbered where He coveted to slumber — in her arms Who g-ave him life. A mother's love was there To shield her darling- boy; and dearer now To her sad bosom was that little one, And closer to her heart she pressed him, as if fear Had taug-ht her, he too, should that couch forsake. For one was not — William, that lovely one — William, that constantly had slumbered there With his twin-brother, shared not now that bed: He too had g-one to rest — a rest how sweet — How holy! — In a farther room he lay, Wrapt in the robe of whiteness that adorns WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 183 Departed innocence. O, how composed, Sublime, was that deep sleep ! Still he slept on In all the beauty, all the loveliness That late adorned him. Sickness had not stolen One grace that death had not threefold restored; He lay before me in his coffin, there So tranquil, that unto my stricken heart I said: he is not dead, — my boy but sleeps. — Aye, long* might I believe so, were it not For the fixed impress, still — something" severe — Even in smiles, that death doth always wear. MUSIC OF LIGHT. Ere Eden blossomed wild, Or earth received a form, Ere the Eternal voice Called sunshine from the storm; Ere on chaotic deep The empire of old night — God looked, and tumult fled, God spake, and all was Light; Music, first born of heaven, Left not her natal bower, 'Till Ag'es' chronicler Proclaimed Creation's hour; The strain of harmony The depths had never heard, 184 THE POEMS OF There Silence reared her throne, Till Light and Song* appeared. Then in their choral spheres Rej oicing- planets ran, Then, sovereign of the world, Arose immortal Man! Then heard the Star of Morn, Along* the wavy air, Soft strains of Music float That Seraphim might share; Unearthly was the sound, It spake to raptured sight; And subtle sense received The Melody of Light. Sweet was the dulcet strain, Loud the ascending song, That o'er the eternal plain Mellifluous rolled along; And, say! when Deity Alone sublimely stood, And blest a virgin world And called his labour " good"- Broke not forth brighter rays Of glory, o'er the whole ? Say, woke not He a chord Of Music, to the soul! Ages passed by, and He, The Paschal Lamb was slain; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 185 Death held not Deity, Immanuel rose again; Now o'er the darksome tomb, The couch on which He lay, Lo, Resurrection pours Floods of undying* Day; Say! is not Music there Where Light and Life are shed? Yes! and mankind shall share Those strains, when worlds have fled. THE PRISON. They have built ye firmly, frowning walls ! With the iron and the stone ; And cheerless is your prison house, Where the wretch may sigh alone, Unto the lost one, here, may years Of grief unnoted roll; Thou art, unsated sullen tomb! The Bastile of the soul. Within your cold damp-dripping cell, Unseen by human eye, Methinks 'tis horrible to dwell, Less dreadful 'twere to die. a2 186 THE POEMS OF To know that the bright blessed sun, It was not mine to see; That spring" should bloom and summer smile, Yet bloom nor smile for me — To listen for the voice, or tread Of man, yet list in vain; Thoughts of the dying and the dead, Than these, were lesser pain. Yet to the lost, abandoned one, Cast out, yea spurned of all, O'er whose fond hopes and early dreams Despair has flung its pall — To him, the dead, is life revealed, — His dungeon-walls are heaven, When Mercy, breaking through the gloom, Whispers, "Thou art forgiven !" TO MY DAUGHTER ZELIA. My child! my child! I love to see Thy careless step, as thou Rejoicest in thy infancy, And infant beauty now. My child! my child! thy pleasant way Is garnished o'er with flowers; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 1$7 And thine, as thou pursue st thy play, Are young" life's truest hours. They fly! — they fly! — how soon the doom Is thine, to welcome wo; — And childhood's flowers and childhood's bloom, How soon the worm will know ! Perhaps 'twill be thy lot severe, To stem dark sorrow's wave; And pass — no earthly solace near — To an untimely grave; To tread, in tears, the weary way, Thou sawest beloved ones tread; Thy aching brow with theirs to lay, Where tears no more are shed. Or to thy God, in early years, Perhaps thou'lt yield again, — Baptized in prayer and holy tears — Thy soul, without a stain. To slumber where thy brothers lie, — One turf above the four — To bathe in glory where they fly, And j oy fully adore. Yet, freed from sorrows scarcely felt, And spared life's dreary doom, Oh, who, in bitterness, e'er knelt Beside an infant's tomb } 188 THE POEMS OF To think, for recollected sin, It ne'er shall give the sigh; To know that pure and precious gem Is treasured in the sky. Tliese may betide — beyond the veil That He hath round thee thrown, Shall dart no bright and searching beam Of prescience but his own. Then be it thine, an early flower, To blossom for the grave; Or thine to yield, in later hour, Fair bloom to Him who gave : Enough — lives not the promise now ■ Oh God! when storms grow wild, And earth's proud expectations bow, Thou'lt keep it to my child, TO A DEAF AND DUMB GIRL. I grieve not Heaven to thee denies The attribute of speech^ When reading in those kindling eyes, All that the mind can teach; I grieve not no assuring tone Of love, bids thee rejoice; Thou favoured one! to thee is given The Spirit's soothing voice. WILLIAM B. TAPPA\, 1 ^^ I grieve not that to thee life's scroll — Such is the Eternal's will — Is unrevealed, thy gentle soul Reads not that page of ill; O, gentle maiden! trace not thou Those characters of fire; They tell of wrongs, of bitter strife, And blight of fond desire. The nickering light that gilds our day, On thee may never shine, I grieve not, — yonder steady ray Of peace, is ever thine; And pure and tranquil is that rest, Where thought, untroubled, flows, As waveless ocean, on whose breast The moon-beam seeks repose. Shut out from scenes of feverish joy. Removed from grovelling sense, O, how sublime is thy employ, With high Omnipotence ! Far from the din of this low sphere, Its smiles, or frequent wo, Thou nearest a voice we cannot hear, Of themes we cannot know. Thou drinkest of the crystal well, Whence living knowledge flows; Yet on that fount is laid the spell, That shuts up human woes; 190 THE TOEMS OF O, never, never may the sigh Of agony severe, Thy bosom rend, nor that mild eye Be dimmed with Misery's tear. THE WEST. O te to whom God's word reveals its privileges blest, "Who hold the pearl without a price — think, think upon the West! And think, as every precious boon of heaven comes up in view, Of those that joyed where now ye joy, that wor- shipped once with you, For we have left our sunbright homes, the scenes of early day, Our pleasant hearths, and all we loved, to wander far away, In wilds where voice of Sabbath bell breaks not upon the air, "Where lifted not are hands in praise, nor bent the knee in prayer; And where come o'er the lab'ring heart its white - winged happy hours, "While warm tears gush, a tribute given to light that once was ours: O ye who bless its diamond spark, lit up within the breast, Think what it is to mourn it quenched, — O think upon the West! WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 191 The past! — we fain would dwell upon the pages of the past, Though sad it is to read of joys too beautiful to last; Yet we will yield in thought again, unto his fond caress Who listened to our lisping prayer, and said that God would bless; Aye, and we feel the mother's kiss, which only she could give, When teaching us to bow the heart to Hix who bade us live. We think, too, on the white-haired man who chid our careless youth, And well remember where his lips dropped sacred words of truth. And sadly comes to aching thought, with memory's quickened power, The Bible class, the Sunday-school, and Prayer^s rejoicing hour. O ye who revel in this light, who hear the gospel blest, Give praise to God, and succour here,- — O think upon the West! Here where tall forests wave their tops, the wild beast hath his den, The eagle hath her eyry built, unknown to steps of men; And small birds hang their mossy nests, on many a branching limb, And yield at evening's peaceful hour, their pure and joyous hymn; 192 THE POEMS OF But for us rise no temple-walls, nor points the spire to heaven, O, many faint for Bread of Life, — to break it, none are given ! Oft, too, by men who lust for gain, these solitudes are trod, Who cast off fear, refrain from prayer, foes to themselves and God; The stillness of these lovely vales is broken by their curse 5 By reckless sires the children led, soon wax from bad to worse. O ye that hail the Sabbath morn, ye with the Bible blest, Speed, speed the Rose of Sharon here to blossom in the West! Valley of the Mississippi, 1830. WRITTEN AT LONG MEADOW, MASSACHUSETTS. O, who would not shun the hurried din That riots, proud city, thy walls within '■ Who would not turn his pilgrim feet From the crowded hall to the calm retreat, And climb with the sun his native mountain, And seek at noon the favourite fountain? Let such with his joys be far from me, I give, simple scenes ! my love to ye. Away, away from the fevered mart, Where avarice rules in the slavish heart, WILLIAM 13. TAFPA_\, 193 Where all is soulless and all is cold, Save love of self and love of gold. I hasten from the enchanter's spell, To scenes where nature delights to dwell ; To the clime of my earliest, brightest dreams; Where on ruder hills, by purer streams, Through sunnier vales, 'twas mine to roam, Than thought ever imaged — it was my home. Yes, land of my childhood! dear art thou, New England! dearer to fancy now, Than when, as thy mountain breezes free, In the laughing hours of infancy, From fields and floods, 'twas mine to borrow Bliss for the day and hope for the morrow. And here, where along romantic shores Her waters Connecticut proudly pours; Where the yellow and purple harvest is seen Gorgeously waving o'er meadows of green; Where the village spire is seen to shine Like a snowy wreath 'mid groves of pine: Where the village bell is heard in a tone Of sadness, as it seems to moan In music, along the valley and hill: Here in the bosom of all that's still And pure and holy, the wanderer knew The smile of love and the greeting true. Who would not shun the hurried din, That revels, proud city, thy walls within I Who to the domes of the proud would stray, When the heart and its joys are far away? 194 THE POEMS OF MISSION SHIPS. What on thy boundless path of foam, Eternal, heaving" sea! Of all that hail thee as their home, Hast thou most dear to me ? The merchant ship whose precious gums And ambergris and gold, Are heaped, the price of princely sums, Deep in her teeming' hold — The barque that gaily seeks the breeze On embassy of state; Round which, the willing- winds and seas Obsequious, seem to wait — Or the proud bulwark of the deeps, Where warring- thunders play : That, bristling* for the combat, keeps Stern watch on thy highway ? Not these! not these! for still they bear Those of the worldly brow; And men disturbed with fruitless care, Press o'er thy billows now. Not these, not these, O Deep ! for they Man's purposes perform; His lusts and passions to obey, They court thy frequent storm. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 195 But who are they that as a cloud And doves are hovering" near; Bearing- unto the lost and proud Their freight of glorious cheer? None, bird-like, sit upon thy crest So beautiful as these; None, statelier, have ever prest Through thy tall surging" seas. The Mission Ships! — ride on thy waves No treasures like to them: Ocean, within thy secret caves, Is hidden no such g-em. For holy footsteps tread that deck Of men that bear away Riches, that shall survive the wreck Of the last dooming- day. And journeys o'er thy mighty tide Embassage, vast and high, From the world's Monarch, who has died, To man who may not die. DESOLATION OF TYRE. IT SHALL BE A PLACE FOR THE SPREADING OF NETS, IX THE MIDST OF THE SEA. ISAIAH. High on the rock-embattled steep That braved the storm and flood, 196 THE P0E31S OF Proud mistress of the foaming- deep, The queen of traffic stood. Damascus, Syria, and the Isles Enriched her gathering* store; The ships of Tarshish bore their spoils, And Ophir gave the ore. In broidered robes her virgins shone, And king's confessed her sway; The costliest odours were her own, The nations were her prey. Beautiful were her graces all, Yea, of that city's praise The minstrel sang* in bower and hall, And strangers came to gaze. Dim is her glory, gone her fame, Her boasted wealth has fled; On her proud rock, alas! her shame, The fisher's net is spread: The Tyrian harp has slumbered long - , And Tyria's mirth is low, The timbrel, dulcimer and song* Are hushed, or wake to wo! TWILIGHT SONG OF SHEPHERDS OF THE AXDES. Bexeath the brow of yonder steep The tints of twilight fade: On Chimberoz' the shadows sleep, That in the valley played. WILLI AM B. TAPPAN. 197 Lorn in the saffron-belted west, The star of evening- shines; The dew is on the plantain's breast, And gems the curling* vines. My flocks are sleeping- peacefully Secure from nig-htly ill; And, watchful guardian over me, My dog- is faithful still. How sweet the hour of peaceful thoug-ht, How rich retirement's calm! How free its pleasures, for unboug-ht Is bland contentment's balm. In this sequestered woodland scene, Fond love and peace reside; While rural health of cheerful mien, With labour doth abide. Then give me still my mountain air, My flock and shepherd's nest; The loved companion these to share, And I am truly blest. PRAYER FOR THE DEAD! Prayer for the dead ! yet pray not thou For him that in repose is blest; The calm and coffined sleeper now, Where weary travellers are at rest: r2 193 THE POEMS OF Unconscious of the smile or tear, Life's blessed sympathies unknown, Thy voice falls listless on his ear Who with decay is left alone. Prayer for the dead! yet pray not thou For him that girdeth up to fly, "Where waits prepared for his brow The glorious chaplet of the sky: For ever free from human ills, The billows of this Jordan trod, He'll drink the satisfying- rills That flow fast by the throne of God. Prayer for the dead! yet pray not thou For dwellers 'neath the stormy cloud, O'er which mild Mercy flings no bow, The fainting", faithless, and the proud: For them that in their spirit-powers, And in immortal madness strong-, Still buffet the unwasting hours, And shout in agony, M How long/" Prayer for the dead! whom from their sleep Time's solemn footfall fails to wake, Whose midnight dreamings, still and deep, The judgment-trumpet may not break: Yet in whose soul, if there be shed Light from the Cross, new life begins ; They cluster round your hearths — the dead! The dead in trespasses and sins. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 199 SWEET ORB OF 3 TIGHT ! I SAW THEE RISE. Sweet orb of night ! I saw thee rise In cloudless lustre o'er the plain; I saw thee climb the azure skies, With radiant splendours in thy train : I marked thy mildly pensive beam At midnight's still and hallowed hour; I watched the fitful, lonely gleam That played on yonder ivied tower. Sweet orb of night! I often love AVhen day with all its cares is o'er, To wander in the silent grove, And there the Source of Light adore: O then, how false all else appears, AVhile wrapt in awe thy course I view, And see thee mount the starry spheres, And tread the fields of heavenly blue ! THE HOUSE OF REFUGE. Thou'st seen the boy in his bright glow Of spring-like promising ; Thou'st seen him in Guilt's vortex low, An unnamed loveless thing: And thou hast, Levite-like, passed on, Or given the fruitless sigh To hopes that budded and were gone, To promises that die. 200 THE POEMS OF Shouldst thou not, parent, weep o'er him ? Thou hast a darling- boy! O, what if that pure ray were dim, That lights up now thy joy? Mother! that closer to thy breast, Pressest thy guileless son — O, what if thou shouldst deem her blest, The childless stricken one ? And he at that tribunal now, Was he not one to love ? Aye, on that early -troubled brow, Sat meekness like a dove : And those bent eyes, in happiness, Gave once the laugh to care; And that wan face wore cheerfulness, That boyhood loves to wear. ls't fit that one so fair and young*, Should be cast out from men? Be heedlessly to ruin flung, As though he ne'er had been? Bethink thee, Admonition's lip Might win him from that way; And now, well warned, he would not sip The sweets where danger lay. O, save him! — yea, I know thou wilt, Thou canst not bid him dwell Where the cursed air breathes only guilt, Within the felon's cell: The Refuge! angels bless the plan, That, while it holds the rod, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 201 Restores a fallen man to man, A wanderer to God. When the British army was advancing upon Plattsburg in so- lid column, a small detachment of the American artillery with a single field-piece, kept up an incessant retreating fire upon their enemy. These discharges made dreadful havoc ; but the voice of the British commander was di-tinctly heard, saying, Fill up .'Jill up .' Jill up :" and the column closed, as if regardless of the effect, and were not retarded by the loss of a number killed and wound- ed. The case is applicable to the Christian cause. When some fall in one station and some in another, methinks I hear the great Captain of our salvation saying to his faithful soldiers, " Fill up! fill up ! fill up l n And I rejoice to know that their places are filling up with heroic ardour ; and that the progress of the gospel will by no means l>e retarded because death makes his inroads ; but rather that the whole Christian army will be excited to dou- ble their efForts, till the last victory is achieved.— Chr. Watch* A thousand warriors to the charge, Bold-hearted men — have sprung* ; In thunders of the cannon's voice Their passing- dirge is sung*: And thousands more at call of drum Are rushing- on the foe,; Fill up! Fill up! — like those they come — Like those to slumber low. They fall, and 'tis a fading- leaf Earth gives unto her slain ; * They die, 'tis in Fame's trumpet song Her heroes live again. 202 THE POE3IS OF And such her glory! — who has not, In bitterness of soul, Mused on the mighty, now forgot, Once blazoned on her scroll ? Not such is your triumphant gain, Ye followers of the cross! Compared with that which ye obtain, The universe were loss: Your leader is the Crucified, Whose death was Death's defeat; And with him battling* at your side, Your victory's complete. Not such your banner-folds that wave To endless life alone, That float above the soldier's grave, And flash upon his throne. Yea, from the consecrated field Where Christ's brave legions He, Is rising other monument Of names that cannot die. Then see, where press the vigorous siege, Yon gallant, glorious few; They give their heart's-blood for their liege, And straight are wrapt from view : In Afric, China and Bengal Their bones in waiting lie; " Fill up our ranks.'" to us they call, "Fill up! Jill up/" we cry." WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 203 Yea, from the nurseries of the church, The youthful conscripts come ; And as their martyr comrades fall, Rejoicing-, take their room: And deeper joy that mother knows Than in her first-born's kiss, When, strong* in faith, that first-born goes On warfare, such as this. HAPPINESS WHERE IS IT I Is it in wealth? Go, probe the breast Of fortune's favourite heir: And why doth woe that heart infest, And ang-uish canker there ? Is it in fame ? Its empty breath, Inconstant as the breeze, Will blast, ere long-, the laurel wreath That late it formed to please. Is it in friendship, or in love ? Alas! they soon decay: The tears of disappointment prove How feeble is their stay. 'Tis not in all that here excels, 'Tis not in Folly's round; Look upward, mortal, there it dwells, And onlv there is found. 204 THE POEMS OF I HAVE NEVER SEEN THE RIGHTEOUS FORSAKEN. I've seen the heir of guilt and wo, And watched his wandering" eye; I've seen the tear of anguish flow, And heard the troubled sigh. I've seen the victim of despair, A prey to want and sin; I've looked upon his brow when there Was writ the curse within. I've seen the lordling roll in state, And swell with bloated pride; I've seen when at the poor man's gate, The wretched outcast died. I've seen the youth, whom pleasure's round Had early taught to stray ; And those that by intemperance found The flowery, fatal way. These I have seen, but never yet Have seen the child of prayer Abandoned by his God, to eat The bitter bread of care. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 205 ON 3IY FRIEND PPvESEXTIXG HIS IXFANT AT THE BAPTISMAL FOXT. That cherub bloom which vies the rose, Was wet with fond paternal tears; The love that but a parent knows, Has dewed the child of hopes and fears. With rapture has the father prest Those parting- lips of coral hue, While, pillowed on the mother's breast, Her wistful smile has blest it too. But other dews have wet that brow, And other, brig-liter g-ems are there, The drops that from the altar flow — The tears of mingled faith and prayer. Sweet the emotions that reveal Affection's ever living- flood, But lovelier, holier is the seal That consecrates the child to God. YE DEAD Ye Dead! ye Dead! your rest is sweet, From dreamy trouble free; The labouring- heart forg-ets to beat Beneath the alder tree: 206 THE POEMS OF O, gladly, 'neath the grassy turf The care-worn would recline 5 Or 'neath the wave where fairy hands Bedeck the lowly shrine. Ye Dead! ye Dead! he comes! he comes! And he that woke to weep. Shall bosom every secret ill Where ye long" vigils keep. Ye solitary relics, pent In earth, to earth a prey; Ye voiceless lips how eloquent To me is your decay! O, sweet the consecrated soil, Where pilgrims cease to roam, Where fainting' mortals end their toil, And misery finds a home : And sweet the couch where coral wreaths, Deep in the surging- brine, In ocean's dark unfathomed caves, The sleeping dust entwine. Unwept, they sank to lasting sleep, When tempests rode the cloud; Or when the night star paled the deep, The deep became their shroud. Think not for those who press that bed No seemly knell is rung; Think not no rites embalm the dead, Nor holy hymn is sung; Heard ye not on the midnight wave, When whispered anthems stole } WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 207 ? Twas o'er the sea-boy's early gTave, A requiem for his soul. Dear to the shipwrecked is the port "Where, on a stormless sea, His barque rides safe from every gale, From shoals and quicksands free. Dear to the wanderer is the star That points his doubtful way, That cheers and guides him when afar His faltering- footsteps stray. And dear the hour when I this head, May pillow on its rest, When I, amid the thronging" dead, Shall be a welcome guest; O, dear to me that last repose, "Where I this wasting form May shelter 'neath the opening rose, That knows no wintry storm. ARARAT. OCCASIONED BY READING THE ACCOUNT OF THE PRO- JECTED JEWISH SETTLEMENT ON GRAND ISLAND, NEW YORK. And the Ark vested upon the mountains of Ararat. — Bible, Ararat ! on thy brow of blighted green, That morn, the pilgrim-ark was seen, 208 THE POEMS OF When the waste of waters, rebuked, had fled, And a world restored, looked out from the dead. That weeping- world — Could Jehovah forget The work he had made and blessed! O yet That hour was seen, a God revealing' Himself in love to the patriarch kneeling*. The light of his mercy shone abroad On the mighty wine-press, "Wrath had trod; And above, in glorious pomp reclining, The beautiful bow of promise shining, As it flung along the rejoicing sky Its noble arch of Eternity's dye — Seemed in its strength to link, like some Bright chain, this world with the world to come. The bow of God abides in its splendour, And His love who spanned it, is yet tender And bright and warm in its living glow, As the mellow tints of that radiant bow: Ararat in verdure lifts its head, As it did ere that morn of life, from the dead; And greener its olive flourishes now, Than when the spent dove reposed on its bough. That messenger-bird found her wonted nest, But Israel! where is the place of thy rest? In love, God withdrew his curtain of billows From the world he had whelmed, where men made their pillows In death, when the Just, the Avenger was there, Yet not for support in that dream of despair. The light of his anger forever passed by, "When his rainbow of peace blushed out on the sky; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 209 In its scabbard is hidden the flame of the sword, Where then is his temple — the ark of the Lord? Rejoice! for the ark of the Lord is here — His glory looks out in the penitent's tear; With the humble in heart Jehovah is found, "Where the contrite prays is holy ground. Then ye that build! — O build to His Name, "Who died, who rose, and lives to reclaim From sin and its pains his ransomed own; "Whose was the suffering- — whose is the throne. To Jesus the City of Refuge raise, Call its walls Salvation, its bulwarks Praise. DEATH-BED OF THE PIOUS. There is a smile of purer ray, Than fancy's features wear; A flame whose wavy pinions play, With glow divinely fair. There is a holy vestal calm, That breathes of bliss and heaven; A solitude of lovelier charm, Than dews the wing* of even. There is a bright and pleasing hour, When all is love serene; When angels whisper from their bower, And joys untold are seen. s2 210 THE POEMS OF That smile on Faith's pale brow has shone, That calm is yielding breath ; That hour is to the righteous known Upon the bed of death. come : When God his wrathful stores called out To whelm a world beneath the curse, 'Mid wild uproar and thundering- shout Of waters, Mercy whispered thus: " Come thou, until the overflow Of this, mine anger, passeth by:" Secure, Noah tarried, till the bow, Beautiful signet, spanned the sky. And when again the cry went up From earth, accusing to the throne ; And guilty man had filled his cup, And Sodom must be overthrown: " Come ye, my people!" in that hour The voice of kind alarum rung; And Fleaven delayed the burning shower, And round its own its mantle flung. In latter time Redemption's plan, Conceived ere worlds in space were hung- Unfolded, and the Son of Man Sojourned a ruined race among: WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 211 And still the Incarnate Teacher cried, " Come, thirsty, come! and thirst ye never:" And till in pangs he bowed and died, He bade men come and live for ever. Now speaketh out Jehovah's love, In tones to chide, entreat, alarm, He bids the wounded Come, and prove How kind is Gilead's healing* balm. Of all the injured law reveals, Or gospel woes, is this the sum: Jesus for sin a pardon seals, The Spirit and the Bride say, Come! THE SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS. The soldiers of the cross Led by the anointed Son, Know not of shame or loss, Their watchword still is " On" — Onward! till o'er a rebel world Victorious banners are unfurled. Whose nag" looks o'er the field Idolatry hath trod ? On waving* folds revealed, Behold the Word of God: Barbaric kingdoms g*ather round, Jehovah! where thy name is found. 212 THE POEMS OF Who next? — a lamb-like throng, The j oyous infant train Approach and hail with song 1 Their Shepherd's peaceful reign: And he shall lead with gentle rule His chosen of the Sunday School. And see! a noble band, Whose lifted sheet of heaven Displays from land to land The leaves for healing given; Where'er its spangled glories burn The nations from the dead return. One army of the Prince, One note their trumpets tell, And theirs the battle, since Their leader vanquished hell. To perish is to win renown, To fall, to reach a sparkling crown. To arms! 't were glorious boon With these stout hearts to die ; To arms! for victory soon Shall be the stirring cry: Yet every crown and palm shall meet, Where victory dwells, at Jesus' feet. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 213 APOSTROPHE TO THE ERIG TONTINE, BOUND FOR GREECE, FROM PHILADELPHIA, WITH PRO- VISIONS FOR THE SUFFERING GREEKS: March 23, 1327. Sail on! and cheer men that have waited In sadness, trodden down, yet free; Sail on! for barque more nobly freighted Ploughed never the dark-heaving" sea. Smooth be the storm-swept deep before thee; And may that God whom winds obey, While rainbow skies are laughing- o'er thee, Speedily bring thee on thy way. O, as thy track thou'rt proudly cleaving On Mercy's errand o'er the main, Millions, upon the shores thou'rt leaving, Prefer the prayer — 'tis not in vain — For Greece, her truly Spartan daughters, Blessings on these, her sons and sires; For Stamboul, guilty seat of slaughters, Just Retribution's chastening fires. Sail on! sail on! thou bearest burden Richer than priceless diadem ; And thy avails — aye, they're the guerdon Of meek Compassion's holiest gem. 214 THE POEMS OF TO GEORGE B. ENGLISH, ESQ. ON HIS RENOUNCING THE CHRISTIAN, FOR THE MOHAM- MEDAN FAITH. Why, in error's wilds astray, Youth, aspiring*, art thou found? Why forsake the former way, Tempting- thus forbidden ground? Wears Mohammed's glittering" crown, Pageant, stained with g'uiltless blood — Truer glories than have shone, On the blessed Son of God? Shines the robe of Moorish mail Brighter than the Christian's gem? Lovelier glows the crescent, pale, Than the star of Bethlehem? Youth, return! the Prophet's shrine Burns not with descended flame; Youth! the incense is not thine, Incense of a Saviour's name. In the contrite heart is seen Treasures, known not to thy heaven; Yea the tears of Magdalene Dim the charms to Houries given. Songs of mirth are thine, to me Dearer is the music, holy, Such as from Gethsemane Comes in tones of melancholy. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 215 Blossoms Sharon's shady bower, -Fairer than thy sensual seat; Loftier rises Salem's tower, Than Stamboul's proud minaret. Haste thee to yon bannered steep Where the Iman beckons thee; Haste thee! — I will go and weep At the foot of Calvary. 1822. The loss of the breath from a beloved object, long suffering in pain and certainly to die, is not so great a privation as the last loss of her beautiful remains, if they continue so. The victory of the grave is sharper than the sting of death.— Mo ore'' s Life of Sheridan. O, let her linger yet awhile With me — that lovely clay, — Those features where death seems to smile — O, let her longer stay. Let me again adorn her hair With flowers she loved so well; Again that bosom seek, and there My every grief dispel. She'll not reprove, though love detains Her here awhile, for she Was dear, yet dearer those remains; O, let her stay with me. 216 THE P0E3IS OF I'll sit beside her and I'll deem I do but watch her sleep; She looks so heavenly in that dream, I cannot choose bat weep. It may not be — that altered brow Tells of corruption's hour; It may not, must not be, and now O Death, I feel thy power. To thee my wedded love I gave, In silent sorrowing-; Yet is the victory of the grave, Severer than thv sting*. OCCASIONED BY AX IXCIDEXT DURIXG A STORM. The parent-bird had built its nest 'Mid poplar boughs secure, On hig'h where ills might ne'er infest, Nor treacherous foes allure. 'Twas hers with never wearied toil, The toil that mothers love — To gather for her young, the spoil Of field and flowery grove. Ah, happy brood! we heard their notes With every rising sun; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 217 Joy bade them swell their little throats, When day its course had run. O, might such bliss of home remain, A lesson for the proud, Who daily seek, but seek in vain, For peace amid the crowd ! But sorrow came, to let us know The bliss that mortals prize, Can never thrive unmixed below, Its home is in the skies. Is even innocence like yours, Sweet birds! a prey to ill? Then, what to guilt repose ensures, Or whispers, " peace, be still!" The midnight thunder burst afar, The whirlwind rode on high; The tremblers shrunk, for them no star Looked out upon the sky. Fierce came the blast, and spire and tree Quivered beneath its power; Mankind were safe, alas, for ye Poor birds! 'twas misery's hour. The morning came and nature shone, Yet heard we not the song, — O, heart-subduing was the moan That mother poured along: The tempest passed not harmless by, The lightning scathed the bough; Abroad the scattered fragments lie, Where are her offspring now! 218 THE POE3I3 OF THE IXCARXATION. Jerusalem awakes, Her giant shadows flee ; Night's sentinel forsakes The hills of Galilee: And scattering* tints of morn have met Above the brow of Olivet. In ruins slept a world Once innocent and fair ; His banner sin unfurled, > And Death trod proudly there. Darkness held empire till afar, Symbol of hope, rose Bethlehem's Star. The ang-el choir that nig-ht Brought tidings down to man ; On floods of wavy light, Celestial music ran: " Glory to God! Good will to earth, Salvation by ImmanuePs birth!" Light broke on Syrian plains To cheer a world in wo; And there were heard the strains That none but ang-els know: That lig-ht shall shine from sun to sun, That song" throug-h every clime shall run. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 219 The chambers of the tomb Yield renovating- breath j He snatched from these their gloom, And victory from death: Now spices flow along- that bed, Now Resurrection crowns the dead. EPITAPH, TAKEN FROM A TOXB IX THE CATHEDRAL OF SIEXXA. " Wine gives life I it was death to me. I- never beheld the morning sun with sober eyes ; even my bones art; thirsty.— Stran- ger .' sprinkle my grave ■with wine; empty the cup and depart." thus versified: Even here where I long- vig-ils keep, Do thou the goblet fill; In generous wine these relics steep, My bones are thirsty still. Pour out oblations on my grave ! Dost start' — nay, do not fear, For of that cup, the maniac slave Now powerless lies here. Is it not life ? Yet unto me The blight of hope it was ; My years were given to misery ; I curse thee, wine ! the cause: Brighter than morning was my lot, But serpents wreathed the bowl ; 220 THE POEMS OF Give me of wine ! death quenches not Thirst that consumes the soul. Cheerily laughs thy sun^ — its beams Thou welcomest, yet I Never beheld these, save when dreams Of madness floated by. Aye, where in peace dust should recline, The worm g-naws on my heart ; Sprinkle the feverish turf with wine, Pour out the cup — depart! THE AMERICAN BAXNER. O'er the thousand hills of fame, O'er unnumbered hearts of flame, O'er a nation's deathless name, Peerless banner! wave st thou. O'er the subject sea that laves Shores that never nourished slaves, Soil that yielded martyr-graves, Beam the stars of glory now. Years have fled since bold hearts hig*h Reared thee, and by earth and sky Swore that free they'd live, or die 'Neath the symbol of the free: That proud oath, where storm-clouds curled WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 221 They redeemed, and thou unfurled, Venerated by a world, Wavest, flag- of liberty! Eyes beheld thee on that field, Where thou gleamd'st a meteor shield, That are dim this day, or sealed In the warrior's stir less sleep. Banner of the sainted dead! Wave in triumph o'er his bed, Whom thy folds to victory led, Immortality to reap. Standard! float forever thou From our proudest mountain's brow ; Shine, a heaven-lit beacon now, Cheering- nations — cheering" Greece! Spirit, that hast thither flown, Crush the Moslem on his throne; Where the crescent long has shone, Hover, angel-dove of peace. 1825. TO WIXTER. W t ixter ! there are among the race of men, Strangers to thought who slander thee; Thy frowns appal, thy smiles escape their ken, Far lovelier the garb thou wear'st to me. t2 222 THE POEMS OF I love thy rocking storms to hear; Thy blasts, that bid the aged mountains nod, Thy winds are music to mine ear, To me their murmuring is the voice of God. Thou of the kindly charities! 'Tis thine to thaw man's heart — the frigid soul, Sterner than frost, is melted, nor denies Its aid to bid the tempest-tost be whole. Yea mother! thou art not austere; Though frozen be thy aspect, bliss is thine Unknown to fairer May. Upon thy shrine Ever is seen the grateful orphan's tear. Parent of treasures, thou! Should I not love thee 5 O, can aught compare With thy dear fireside joys 5 — the tranquil brow, The wife's warm smile and children's kiss are there. FOURTH OF JULY. Win thy own Israel, God of love, Forth from Egyptian bondage came, Thou didst before her armies move, In thy pavilion car of flame. And brightly shone thy power about, To guide and guard the chosen band, 'Till thou hadst safely brought them out From peril, to the promised land. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 223 So wast thou, Lord! our fathers' shield, When they were feeble and alone; Thou, from thy war-cloud, on that field Look'dst, and the vaunting- foe was gone. So didst thou guide them, when no more Flashed banners out and glittering swords; And thou hast blest the sea and shore, "Whose toil and battle were the Lord's. . We worship where those warriors stood, When drum and trumpet sounded long; And on the soil that drank their blood In peace we pour the festive song. That soil! — it nourished Freedom's tree, The plant that freshly bourgeons now; O God, may unborn nations see Our sons rejoice beneath its bough. We worship — but where are the Brave That warred and watched in manhood's bloom ■ Their locks are hoar, and some do wave Amid the breezes of the tomb. Yet thou, with more than angel's wing Wilt overshadow Freedom's coasts; As did their sires, the children bring Homage to thee, Lord God of Hosts! 224 THE POEMS OF TO LAFAYETTE. ON HIS EXPECTED VISIT TO THE UNITED STATES- WRITTEN IB 31 AT, 1824. Thou wilt seek, aged warrior! once more The soil of the grateful and free; With thy presence wilt gladden the shore Whose millions will recognize thee, The ally that came from afar, When arose the Revengeful and Proud: When the storm-burst was heard, and the star Of freedom looked out from a cloud. Thou wilt come and exulting survey, Where that beautiful gem of the night, With splendour that mocks at the day, Beams out on the field of the fight. Thou wilt come in the autumn of years, To reap what thy spring-time had sown; To the grave, hoary man! thy compeers Have descended, and thou art alone. Thou wilt meet those whose glory and pride, Whose feeling bid scorn to forget The Man whom adversity tried, The friend of his species, Fayette/ In their sons live the fathers again, And each bosom will throb to its core, When thou treadest the hills of the slain, . And the vales fertilized with their gore. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 225 We remember — what freeman will not! — _ The Man of the People, whose name Time's 'scutcheon reveals without blot, Ye ages! eternize his fame. Be it joined vet with Iris who shrunk never From the toil of humanity's friend; Their bosoms were one — and forever With Washixgtox, Fayette should blend. The land of the sceptre and slave, Thy birth-place — is alien to thee; Yes, Europe, accursed, is the grave Of all that is generous and free. Haste then gallant one ! and repose 'Neath the peace-branch thou helpedst to rear; Not a heart but whose warmest pulse glows, Lafavette! to welcome thee here. OCCASIONED BY THE EXPECTED PltESEXCE OP LAFAY- ETTE IX THE UNITED STATES, AT THE F0E.TY-XIXTH CELEBItATIOX OP THEIR IXDEPEXDEXCE. He has stood in his years, on the bed of the slain, The fields where his comrades perished; And memory, the tie has renewed again With those his heart had cherished. 226 THE POEMS OF On the heights where the champions of freedom fell; At the hour of a nation's glory, He has bidden the column rise, and tell To ages, its deathless story. In the tent he has rested, that sheltered the chief, In the day of doubt and danger; His tomb he has wet with the tears of grief, They were not the tears of a stranger. He departs! — we could wish here his autumn of bliss Might ripen — kind winter before him — In vain, for the waters that gave him to this Loved clime, to his own will restore him. Yet, ere millions who fondly love that Name, Ingratitude ever spurning — "With mingled emotions shall faulter acclaim To their Guest, o'er the billows returning': Ere the Great and the Good from his dear native land Receives the Patriot's greeting ; Ere he clasps to his own, on that idolized strand, The bosom, where love is beating: "With the sons of the tried who in peril were true, He will hallow the Day of Oblation ; Ye manes! hover near us, and gratefully view The smiles and the tears of a nation. He will witness the rapturous homage of love, That man is sublimely bestowing WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 227 On him, whose achievements are written above, "Whose worth in the heart is glowing*. At that board he will honour the time-stricken head Once known 'mid the cannon's rattle; At that feast he will pledge the Valiant — the Dead — Who rest in the shroud of battle. Then go, Friend of Man! at the shrine of whose name Our holiest love is burning- ; The nation that welcomed, will render acclaim To its Guest, o'er the billows returning. LAFAYETTE AT THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. My Father! my Father! when hosts were embattled, The cordons beheld me, thy son, at thy side; Where freedom's flag hovered, her thunder-drums rattled, I fought to defend her — to avenge would have died. A stranger I came, yet thou didst not reject me, In thy councils, thy thoughts, didst invite me to share, Thou didst honour and love me, my Father! and bless me, That love thrilled my heart's core — it still lingers there. 228 THE POEMS OF I return to the fields of the patriot's glory, Those fields wave their harvests like Eden in bloom; But the deeds of the warrior live only in story, And thou, too, my Father! hast gone to the tomb. My Father! my Father! one war-tent did shield us, Companion in perils thy joys too were mine; In death not divided, one grave shall receive us, I hasten to mingle my ashes with thine. THE SLAVE SHIP. The tall ship bounds across the wave, Her canvass gaily spread; She hastens past the billowy grave, And over ocean's dead. Now tempests revel round her mast, And now the gale is gone; Unheeding tempests, proud and fast, The tall ship hurries on. Now lessening to the weary eye, The flying vessel seems A pigmy thing of vanity, That mocks men in their dreams. Dimly she climbs along the steep, A bubble of the breeze; Then flashes o'er the yielding deep, The meteor of the seas. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 229 And whence that speed? Her flag on high Waves it for glory now ? Where undiscovered worlds may he Points she her daring prow? Nobly to cheer the patriot's toil, Bears she high hearts afar? Or to the 'nighted pagan's soil, The light of Bethlehem's Star? Onward she flies. Thou saw'st that deck — The warrior treads not there; In gallant trim she sails, the wreck Of bosoms in despair! And who may tell what bolt of God Against her forth is gone ? Aye, while his anger is abroad The Slave Ship hurries on. THE INCENDIARY. His brow is stern and his cheek is cold, In his scowl is fierce despair; His visage is sunk his eye is bold, The deed of darkness is there. For him affection nurtures no charm, No tear has the ruffian shed; Kind mercy to him can whisper no balm, His bosom is seared and dead. 230 THE POEMS OF For him no dream of innocence rose, No rapture can memory impart; The genial tide of compassion is froze, Revenge has withered his heart. The bliss of a home he ne'er can feel, Its sweets his curses would blight; He grasps the brand and the thirsty steel, Desolation and death his delight. In the cavern of crime his haunt is known, There the furies of blasphemy dwell: At midnight the torch of destruction is blown, And he writhes with the laugh of hell. WHAT IS ETERNITY I Go thou and mark the holy preacher's tones, And fix thy gaze intently, as he lifts The separating veil, and to thy sight Unfolds the secrets of Eternity: — The bliss that knows no pausing — pains that roll In whelming billows, ever, ever on. Thouhear'st, thouseest, appalled; yet knowest not To answer me, what is Eternity. Go, bend thee o'er the impenitent sick one; Mark well — 'tis mortal sickness — the deep pangs Expressed by nature's eloquence. The groans WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 231 The tossings, writhings, the unutterable Commotions of a body racked; a soul Already steeped in hell ; and as thou hear'st The super-human cry break fearful forth, " Oh what is this Eternity?" despair, Despair, Oh man, to answer — thou know'st not. Go to the grave -yard — seek out yonder tomb — Descend, fear not — thou seest that mouldering* lid; Now handle the dark corse — the clammy bones Tell of corruption, tell of the foul worm That long- hath here held banqueting*. Hark ! from this coffin, broken into dust, These bones, these damps, this melancholy gloom, A voice disturbs the chambers of the tomb: Canst thou reply? Oh no — thou know'st not yet, Nor learnest here, what is Eternity. Go to! and let God teach thee — let the grasp Of sickness, bring" thee down unto the gates Of death, and as thou shuddering* seest in light Unknown before, the past, the present, and The solemn future — though thy hopes on Him, The Everlasting Rock, be built: though thou Art safe through riches of His blood, and thou Canst say, exulting, " Death! where is thy sting?" Yet, Man, a veil is lifted up to thee; Revealing things, undreamed, unfelt, nor told In the wide range of providence to men. And now thou canst reply, " Eternity — Oh more than tongue can tell, or thought devise ; More than imagining can fathom — God ! Eternal God! 'tis thy duration all." 232 THE POEMS OF THE BETHEL FLAG. O bring the peaceful banner nigh Whose blazon tells of holy love; And spread the standard to the sky Whose wavy folds reveal the dove. 'Tis done, and on the soft winds now I see its streaming" curls recline, And deem it as a second bow Of promise, and the blessing" mine. Flag 1 of the pure and azure heaven! How lovely is thy bearing" here — Free as the breezes round thee driven, Is thy sweet errand on the ear. Thou markest not the hurrying keel, Whose foamy path leads on to gold ; Thy nobler freighted barques conceal Gems, Tyre and Tarshish never told. Thou leadest not the armed host: Thou art not in the battle's hum; No trump sings of thee, round thee roll No thunders of the stirring drum. But unto thee are gathered men, Whose only panoply is prayer; And where thou wavest, lofty hymns Discourse along the listening air. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 233 Thou giv'st to patriot g-aze no star Nor stripes, a glorious augury; Yet token of victorious war Thy beaming- symbols seem to be. For they type One, whose tempered shield Shook off the hurtling* darts of sin; When he trod once no doubtful field, Imperishable crowns to win. They tell unto the ocean tost, That He who spans its floods can save: And that for him, the well nig-h lost, The Ark yet ling-ers on the wave. They herald joy to the opprest, And ransom to the sons of thrall : And shadow forth to labour rest In music of Salvation's call. With voice of psalms then to the skies Unfurl the flag", a type of love; The answering* anthem's shout shall rise When they reveal the Holy Dove. 234 THE POEMS OF THE CASTAWAY. " The impression has vary generally obtained that the reforma- tion of drunkards is a hopeless undertaking. Facts teach us to renew our efforts to pluck them from the fire, though half con suraed. They may yet be recovered and become useful members of society." THou'st snatched the youth from ruin's grave, And dashed to earth his chain ; And bade him sit, no more a slave, A man, with men again. Thou'st rescued from the sorcerer, when Hope failed to chase the spell; Thou'st broken caste, that sundered men Wide as the doors of hell. To crush the cup, concealed in flowers, Its garlands to untwine, Is godlike toil — the fruit is ours, The triumph, Temperance, thine. Nor mean that victory — with its song Is stirred the warriors' graves: And cries ring thence, in trumpet-tongue, " Our sons no more are slaves!" Magician of unequalled power! Who but thyself could dare To seek the Hon in his hour, And beard him in his lair 5 WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 235 'Tis well — 'tis more — 'tis nobly done ; Thy recompense, by far I'd choose, than j e welled sceptre won By emperor or czar. Yet, angel, or whate'er thou art, Thy gaze turn thou on him, For whom this world hath little part, Whose hope beyond, is dim. For fell remorse is his, and fast The serpent hath him bound; With gripe of death, its folds are cast His inmost soul around. He bathed his boyhood in the cup, In poison quenched his prime; Its fires have drunk existence up, And now he "bides his time." There are fond ones to share his wo, He will not sink alone; His spirit's lease is linked unto Jehovah's moveless throne. And him — eternity's proud heir — Shouldst thou, for aye, pass by, And leave in all his still despair A castaway, to die ? O strive till longer that dark way He will not, cannot tread ; But walks forth into cheerful day, The living from the dead. 236 THE POEMS OF MRS. A- We saw thee in thy gladness, When peace sat on thy brow 5 The solacer of sadness, The faithful friend wast thou. To thee, in bounteous measure, The thing-s below, to love, Were given, and yet thy treasure Was fondly laid above. We saw T thee test the power Of confidence divine; To charm life's chequered hour With gentleness, was thine. And still, 'twas thy endeavour To take the lowly seat, And sit with Mary, ever At thy Redeemer's feet. We stood where thou wert lying In suffering, and so deep That holy calm, that dying Was seemingly to sleep, To sleep? Oh no! the portal Thus gently rent away — Thou unto life immortal Woke st then in perfect day. We knew that while were glooming O'er thee, the shades of night, WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 237 Thou saw'st in vision blooming-; The fields of living 1 light. We deemed — so sweetly given Was thine to cheer the heart, 1 Farewell/ ice meet in heaven 9 — 'Twas little pain to part. The gTave hath closed around thee, And hidden what was fair; But yesterday, upon thee We wept, and left thee there. Left! No ! the grave holds never What we have loved in thee, The spirit that forever Searcheth eternity. Farewell! farewell! in glory, — With thee for aye begun — If thought of earth's brief story Yet lingers, blessed one — Is't not the sometime glancing", The watch at gates of gold, That these in bliss entrancing, Thy loved, thou may'st behold? THE BLIND. Pity the Blind!— what is his lot Whose all of life's a wasting dream — To whom the pleasant earth's a blot, To whom the skies a mockery seem. 238 THE POEMS OF Whose eye in gladness never met In infancy, a mother's eye ; Nor mother's smile that none forget — Nor mother's tear, when ills were nigh. Pity the Blind! — who, not without Some vision of a world of bliss, Is in his secret grief shut out From all the kindly j oys of this. Who ne'er above, may trace the hand That curtained out that starry hall, Nor mark below, on sea and land, The skill that formed and fosters all. Joy for the Blind! for unto him Has knowledge her pure ray revealed; And intellect, that long lay dim, To life and light is now unsealed. And cheerfully his gladdened eye Looks o'er the broad expanse afar; The uncertain hope that vexed his sky Has trembled out a lovely star. Joy for the Blind! — the favoured Blind! Who revels in discovered store, And gazes with the eyes of mind On beauty dimly known before. O Thou, that once did'st chase the night From the blind men that cried to thee, Here art thou loftier in thy might, For mind and soul are bid to see. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 239 THE CHILDREN S CHURCH. I've worshipped where the mighty kneel Before the Mightiest in prayer; And with the noble organ's peal My mingling hymn has risen there. I've met where "two or three" have met Before the throne in tears to he; Nor would my soul that hour forget, AVhen in communion God passed by. Yet higher privilege for me, I covet not to be revealed, Than a glad worshipper to be AVhere children have in beauty kneeled. To mingle mine with their pure prayers "When they like infant cherubs bend: To join my voice and heart with theirs In anthems to our heavenly friend. That melody ! it knows not art, That simple prayer ! I feel 'tis true ; In Jesus, children have a part, 'Tis theirs to love and worship too. And there, before the eternal throne, Censers to such dear ones are given; Their lisping harps of silver tone Ring sweetest 'mid the choirs of heaven. ^40 THE POEMS OF O, brighter shone the Godhead out, When taking" children to his arms, Than when confessed by Jewish shout, By regal pomp and waving palms. Yea, loftier than a conqueror, came The Saviour to his suffering, When they of Bethphage sang acclaim, And gave hosannas to their King. CHAPEL IN LIBERIA. While a collection was making for the purpose of erecting a Chapel in Liberia, which was also to serve for a school house, little S an orphan girl, who had listened to the account of that colony, with the deepest interest, came forward, and eagerly tendered her little box of savings, saying " take it a//." Nat, take my gift, and spurn it not, My heart obeys that call; Others may bring their gold, yet more I offer — 'tis my all. My all — for sorrow gave to me Early, its bitter cup; My God ! I am an orphan child, But thou wilt take me up. O, I do deem them brothers now, Who have of misery known; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 241 And love as sisters, those that weep And feel like me, alone. Alone, alone, the motherless, Whom each one seems to shun: Cast out upon the cold wide world, A solitary one. Yet more I pity those that have Mothers they ne'er may see; My mother went, but then I know She is where angels be. And while I call upon her name, And weep where she doth lie, Her lofty spirit-hymns are heard Above the star-lit sky. Then take my gift and haste to build To God a house of prayer, For those whom cruel hands have made The orphans of despair. GOD, OUR GOD, HIS POWER REVEALING. God, our God, his power revealing In this latter harvest time, Bids his sun, with wings of healing, Rise on each benighted clime: 242 THE POEMS OF See! o'er vale and humbled mountain, Rolls his conquering" car to day; See! his brightness, like a fountain, Flooding all the glad highway. By the mission ships that wander, Messengers to every sea, — By his servants toiling yonder, Where stern idols claim the knee, — Bibles, news of peace declaring To the wretch by sin undone, Tracts, obedient missives, bearing Liberty to thraldom's son: By the tender mercies, glowing Where reigned hatred and misrule : And the thousand blessings, flowing From his chosen Sunday School — He is error's night dispelling, Bidding grace in rivers flow, From Antarctic, to the dwelling Of the lowly Esquimaux. Wake the harp, ye angels! ever Warble, ye melodious choirs! Sweet your minstrelsy, yet never With Redemption, thrill those wires. 'Tis our song, and all your glory Starry crowns and hymns above Fade, while children lisp the story Of a Saviour's dying love. WILLIAM B. TAFPAN* % 243 TO CERTAIN DUELLISTS. Go ye that fain would sit on high In Legislation's halls; That proudly boast, yet quail to die, Save when false Honour calls — Go — and with witless mockery Scoff at your fellow, then Let blood wash out the insult, ye Are honourable men. Go, smite the stripling in his bloom, 'Tis Honour prompts the deed: Send down gray hairs unto the tomb, Bid woman's bosom bleed, Go, speed your brother to the goal, Where shines not Mercy's Star; And with hot blood upon the soul, Rush ye unto that bar. Go, bravely rend the holiest ties; Shrink not! — shall Honour fear? Go, laugh to scorn the orphan's cries, Jest at the widow's tear: What boots it that her secret curse Is "written on your brow? The world sees not, nor deems ye worse, Though blood be on ye now. O, no — Derision's withering blot Will never dim your fame ; 244 THE POEMS OF He is the recreant who dares not With murder gild his name ; Yet smile, vain world! — when whets God's sword, With him it shall be well; That smile — the Duellist's reward — Is but the laugh of hell. OCCASIONED BY READING GORDON HALL S LAST APPEAL FOR THE HEATHEN. A voice — a voice — from the land of death, Uncheeredby the day-beam, revived by no breath; A voice — a voice — it breaks from that gloom, Appealing to men ere 'tis hushed in the tomb. A voice! — it comes on the pestilent gale From Juggernaut's slain, — with the Suttee's wail, With the mother's shriek, with the innocent sigh Of babes, in their martyrdom, mingles that cry. A voice to the Church! — from your slumbers wake The maddening spell of cruelty break; The mighty have risen with buckler and sword, Speedily send to the help of the Lord. A voice to the Young Men! — hear ye that call? Do ye gird for the battle and fear ye to fall? By that path to their crowns your brothers trod, March ye where beckon the banners of God. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 245 A voice to the Old Men! — speed ye the prayer, That these on the deep may benisons share; O, bravely the mission ship walks the wave, When the Stiller of Waters is nigh to save. A voice to the living! it comes from the dead; By the prayers they have uttered, the tears they have shed, By their nights of sighs and days of toil, To win of the heathen for Jesus a spoil, — By the stillness that lingers round their graves Where the beautiful palm in verdure waves; By the tear to their ashes the Convert hath given, By the soul of that saved one — a gem of heaven — It calls ye, invites — demands ye, and know 'Tis peril to linger — O, fear not to go Where dangers wait, where deliverance is nigh, To death — to your songs and your harps in the sky. SUNDAY SCHOOL JUBILEE. We praise thee, Lord, for light that shone On England first, revealed from thee, And now hath noon-tide splendours thrown Around our festive jubilee. x2 246 THE POEMS OF In gladness and in peace it came To win the troubled wanderer nigh ; Its symbol was a Saviour's name, Its token toil, its watchword " Try!" Its eagle track is high in air; Its standard sheet is wide unfurled, Whose waving folds of victory bear Release and ransom to a world. Joy for its blessings to the child That ages saw flung back on sin; Now gathered from destruction's wild, And brought the Shepherd's fold within. Joy for its Christian-soldier bands Whose high emprize hath millions blest; Whose march is o'er the Eastern lands, Whose conquests reach the distant West. O, as this hour, the world's deep gaze, Withdrawn from its own dark misrule, Is fixed in wonder on the rays That cluster round the Sunday School; In that pure brightness bid it see The day-dawn blushing o'er the skies, In whose meridian every knee Shall bend, while earth's hosannas rise. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 247 SUPPLICATION IN PROSPECT OF THE CHOLERA * WRITTEN ON HEARING IT HAD ENTERED CANADA. O God ! thine oriental scourge Its errand bade to run, Has measured realms and seas to hail Climes of the setting sun. Above his chariot is seen The victor's flag unfurled; And Ruin ready at his wheel To sweep the western world. And on our troubled border, now The mighty Terror stands; And scares us with his dreadful spoils Won from a thousand lands. A moment stands — his steady march Is onward, rousing fears; Before him is a paradise, Behind him only tears. Our land, is it not valour's land, The beautiful and free? Yet, if the chosen of the earth, We owe it, Lord, to thee. And vainly fling we round its hem The sanitary line; 248 THE POEMS OF And crowd its walls with watch and guard, To keep is only thine. O rashly have we deemed our spear Our stay, nor sought the throne ; "We've plucked the honour from thy brow, To bind it on our own. Now wisely taught our helplessness, Thy justice and thy power, Bid thou this time of waiting be Mercy's propitious hour. Then come, not by thy messenger — Thyself thy children meet 5 And see a people humbled low, A nation at thy feet. i PRAISE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM PESTILENCE. To God, who gave thee joys for tears, And when it brooded o'er thee so, Rebuked the cloud that burst in fears, And on it bent his beauteous bow — Go, Man! that didst to judgment feel Strange nearness, then, and trembled there ; Go, and before thy Maker kneel In deepest penitence and prayer. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 249 And Woman/ o'er whose heart has swept The angel's wing — whose trusted stay Of hope is fallen, and who'st wept O'er joys forever past away — O spared that thou should'st perish not, In lowliness approach the Power, So oft invoked, so soon forgot — That shielded thee in peril's hour. Child/ to thy mother's joy restored, In fairest beauty blossoming; Yield, now, in offering to the Lord, The budding freshness of thy spring. For he preserved thee yet below, And shed upon thee dews of love, That tall, and strongly, thou mayst grow, A lovely plant for bowers above. And ye! whose dwellings, hedged about, The stern destroyer passed by, Who, when sad voices wailed without, Within, heard not the midnight cry — Go, with your songs, to him that threw Salvation round your borders then, And in that night of horror drew His curtain o'er ye — troubled men! Hark, from those beds of pain, a voice — Hark to the whisper from those graves : " Rejoice with fear, and yet rejoice, In Him that slays, in him that saves!" 250 THE POEMS OF To God, that gave us joy for tears, To whom our ransomed lives belong, To God, that chased away our fears, We come with prayer and sound of song*. PEACE. I ask no voice of trumpet tone, To tell of nations overthrown, Of armies crushed, or ships in pride, Buried by navies in the tide. I would not laud the valiant dead, Who vainly for ambition bled; Nor pledge the loftiest demi-god, That ever bathed in seas of blood. The clarion cry to me doth tell Of all that's blessedness, the knell; Yon standards, sprinkled o'er the plain, Wave brightly, 'tis to fold the slain ! I love thee, O, my natal land, I love thy sons, a brother band; Thy rocks and hills and vales, to me, Are temples of the truly free. Long be they such, and death to him That seeks thy altar's light to dim; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 251 Chastisement to the footstep prest Rudely upon thy virgin breast. Yet never would I speed thee on To bootless fight, nor, warfare won, Invoke for thee undying* fame, Or deck with coronals thy name. Hateful, who leads his hosts to die Where war-drums roll and banners fly; As hateful, who would honour heal, Base coward — with the duePs steel. Cursed be the song* whose sparkling cheer Is stolen from the orphan's tear; Perish your laurels, O ye brave ! They bourgeon only on the grave. O thou, whose name, when heaven stood still To listen, woke on Judah's hill — * Come, and with gladness in thy train Visit a weeping world again. 1 On earth, Peace, Good will to men.— Song of the Angels. 252 THE POEMS OF REV. ADONIRAM JUDSON, MISSIONARY TO BURMAH. The Baptist Board of Missions had passed a resolution, in- viting Mr. Judson to visit the United States for the purpose of stirring up the churches to the great w ork of evangelizing and saving the world. Welcome to thee! long* lapse of time Hath come and glanced and gone between; Since thou for yonder idol clime, A wanderer from our coasts wast seen. Of toil and watchings nigh to death, And bonds, we've heard, 'mid wrathful foei And war's wild stir, where once the breath Of worship, from thy Zayat rose. We wept, when persecution's rod Gave type to thee of Satan's hour; And joys gushed freely forth, when God For succour, bared his arm of power. Well hath he owned the men of toil, — Foes to their ease, the friends of man — Who gather souls, a precious spoil, From Burmah and from Indostan. The breezes thence have flung along Sweets, richer than their spices are; Hark to a voice ! — 'tis India's song — Her pagan sons are bowed in prayer. WILLIAM 13. TAPPAN. 253 Welcome to thee — thou wilt not leave The god-like embassy undone; There yet are fadeless wreaths to weave. And lofty conquests to be won. More mothers, taught aright to pray, Will point their lisping ones to Boodh No more, — but from the Pagoda Will lead them to the Great and Good. And, stilled some little orphan's moans, Will it not lift its heart on high, While warbling hymns go forth in tones Rich as the beautiful Pah?* Yet while Idolatry its bands Links closer round the heir of thrall, Upon our ears in Christian lands His far-off cries but faintly fall. On these thy native shores to men Who bask in beams of living light; Thou'lt tell of those beyond its ken — Of Burmah's millions wrapt in night. And other pleaders thou wilt bring — The wan cheek and the sunken eye; * A dialect of the Sanscrit, rich and harmonious, now a dead language. Make Brun affirms that the Pali is the language of Religion. 254 THE POEMS OF Tokens, that round her memory cling", Who fled before thee to the sky. Whose smile illumed thy prison's gloom, Whose noble spirit soothed thy care, — Who kneels in yonder bowers of bloom, With raiment bathed in glory there. Welcome! — and Newell shall we greet ? And Hall? — forbear — they will not reck His lone return, whose eager feet Once trod with theirs the mission deck. Ah no— on them is shed the calm, — The heavenly sabbath of the just; Away, beneath the leafy palm They sleep, and God beholds their dust. Then on! — his joys cannot be dim, Who, trusting, goes to seek the lost: O there are coronals for him, Who toils for Christ, nor shuns the cost. WILLIAM B, TAPPAN. 255 CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST. "AXD HE AROSE AXD REBUKED THE WIIfD, AND SAID UNTO THE SEA, PEACE, BE STILL." Night mantles Judea but the star has not shone On thy bosom, Galilee, — The tempest is loud, yet the barque alone Is labouring* o'er the sea: The Master, entranced, rides the turbulent wave, O say, shall its depths yield the Godhead a grave } Heeds not the Redeemer the thunder's increase ? Shall he not the proud whirlwind disarm ? For see, he has gone to the slumbers of peace, With Jesus all is calm. By his waves and his tempest the Maker is tost; In his iimocent dreams the Sleeper is lost. The disciples in terror have sprung from their rest, Yet vain is the shipmen's skill, Till aroused He of Nazareth proclaims the behest: 66 Ye billows, peace, be still!" The billows obedient have sunk on the shore, The sea sleeps in murmurs, the tempest is o'er. O thus, when my soul on life's ocean is tost, That sea without a calm — When faith shines but dimly each hope is lost, And all is rude alarm : 256 THE POEMS OF When the waves of remembrance in mountain wreaths roll, When the billows of sin have gone over my soul: At the Cross of the Sufferer while humbled to weep, I mourn my stubborn will; Do thou, in compassion, rebuke the deep And whisper " Peace! be still!" The billows obedient will die on the shore, The sea sleep in murmurs, the tempest be o'er. TIS WELL THAT YE REJECT THE CUP. 'Tis well that ye reject the cup Whose dregs are poison all ; Nor round your hearth the beverage sup, Nor at the banquet hall. The foaming draught ye dash away From temperate lips — 'twere well Could ye the thousands check, who stray Madly, unto that hell. O God! the generous youth to see, Their country's truest pride; Who to that 'whelming vortex flee And perish in the tide. O God! the maniac-tribe to know, That swell the guilty scroll ; And writhe 'neath self-inflicted wo, The vulture of the soul. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 257 Sword, flesh thy yet unsated blade; Of thousands drink the gore; Yet hath the cup inglorious laid In death, its thousands more. Arrow of night, seek out the host, And bid its thickest bow; Yet shall that chalice trophies boast, Pestilence, more than thou. Beware! nor yonder goblet grasp, Now sparkling to the brim: Though pearls of price 'twere thine to clasp, Though gems shone round the rim. The purple juice mantling aright, That far its fragrance flings — Avoid it — 'tis to reason's sight A serpent armed with stings. DEATH OF THE PATRIOTS, JOHN ADAMS AND THOMAS JEFFERSON, JULY 4, 1826. The trump of war rings loudly, yet Burns brighter Glory's flame; Where the Sons of Liberty have met To seal the scroll of fame. They pause! that band — it is not fear That bids the life-pulse start; O, no! the high and resolved are here, And those of the valorous heart. y2 258 THE POEMS OF They shrink not from the unequal fray, These noble, godlike men; And yet, O heaven ! to thrust away Cords that bind not again — Now cheer ye! cheer ye to the strife! For God the lot is cast; To arms! to arms! the combat's rife, The Rubicon is passed. Years that have flown, ye gave to birth Deeds of the lofty Brave; A nation free among the earth, Sits queen on Slavery's grave. And those renowned, her Men of might, That battled, toiled, and bled, Have gone in the ray of Victory's light To join the martyr-dead. Blest is their lot, no common mould Inwraps the veteran's form; He slumbers, gathered to that fold Where beats not Sorrow's storm. But ye, hoar Sires/ 'twas fit that ye Thus hallowed your Proud Day, When in thunders of that Jubilee Your spirits passed away. Yea, while our anthems rolled afar, And our banners floated high, Glory sublimely wreathed the car That bore ye to the sky. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 259 Released, ye wait in flesh not now The spirit-stirring' call; O, God, 'tis lofty thus to bow, 'Tis glorious thus to fall. VEPvSES. Touch not that gift! it is hallowed to feeling 1 , To the virtues of him that in glory has fled; An offering, a nation's emotion revealing, 'Tis sacred to fame, it belongs to the dead. Lay it, ye worthy, with hearts proudly beating, On altars lit brightly with gratitude's fires; Bless to his memory the home of kind greeting, Preserve to his offspring the hall of his sires. He has fled in his griefs, even now to that spirit, Haply it lingers around us in love — Give reverence ye, who this moment inherit Blessings bequeathed by the sainted above. Ye unrevealed ages! eternize the glory, That already a star on your vestibule glows; Men ! letter the rock with the deeds of his story, Honour the spot where his ashes repose. * Occasioned by the proposition that the Jefferson Fund should, in consequence of the death of the patriot, be appropriated to other than the original design of liquidating hU deht>. 260 THE POEMS OF His pageant is dimmed with the tears of a nation, Blest are the tears that such relics bedew; Yet richer and purer the grate fid oblation* That soothed e'en when time was receding from view. REQUIEM, Written for the 24th of July, 1826— Observed in Philadelphia as a day of mourning for Adams and Jefferson. Ix glory wrapt, the Sages sleep — How venerable are the dead, When freemen gather round to weep, Upon the hoary patriarch's bed! Garnered in ripeness, to the tomb They sank by nature's kind decay; Earth! take their dust, 'till thou in bloom Yield it, when skies have fled away. We mourn the chiefs of that proud band That rose in Freedom's trying hour; To sound her trump and save the land, Their native land from Slavery's power. Their mighty souls no terror knew, They blenched not at the rebel's name * Alluding to a remittance of seven thousand five hundred dollars from New York, which satisfied some craving creditors, and enabled the benefactor of his country to die in peace. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 261 When, calling- heaven the deed to view, They gave themselves to deathless fame. As Israel's covenant went before Her hosts, a sign and guide to them, So these the sacred charter bore, A leading* and a cheering- gem. And through the frequent scath and fight, That beacon led our fathers on, Till o'er Columbia's weary night In splendours broke the noonday sun. Glorious in life, to them 'twas given In hallowed hour to pass away 5 Blest hour! marked by approving heaven, A Natal and Triumphant day. The thunders that will ever tell To future time our Jubilee, Patriots! shall ring a mournful knell Of grief — of gladness too, for ye. While one by one the ancient sires Have joined the dead at glory's call, To us be given their holy fires, On us may their bright mantles fall. Ye bending spirits! hover nigh, Inspire us, while anew we swear The boon ye left we'll guard, and die Ere we that birthright do impair. 262 THE POEMS OF TO MY MOTHER IN NEW ENGLAND. Mother! six summer suns have flown Since thou and I have met; And though this heart has wept alone, It never could forget The happy hours of infancy, Those hours unknown to care — When sheltered in a mother's love It fondly nestled there. Mother! I well remember thou Wouldst smile upon thy boy; And warmly on his childish brow, Imprint the kiss of joy. I wondered why my gladness then Was changed to sudden fear, When on my glowing cheek I felt The traces of a tear. And memory lingers at the hour When, leaving all my play, I sought her presence, from whose smiles I was not wont to stray. I was a mother-boy I knew, Yet was I much to blame ? For pleasure of the heart like this, The world has not a name. I slept — but thou couldst not, for oft My sleep, unquiet, told WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 263 Of sickness stealing* o'er my frame, And midnight saw thee hold Thy child within thy wearied arms, Whilst thou, to nature true, Wouldst sooth my frequent pain with all A mother's love could do. Long* years have wandered by since then, And I have sped my way Far from New England's hills, where I First hailed the laughing day: Yet, Mother! truant thought returns And lingers oft with thee; Hast thou not, O my parent, yet A blessing" left for me 5 Thou art not what thou wast, for age Has silvered o'er thy hair; Thy eye is dim, thy cheek is pale — Time sets his signet there; Yet dearer, dearer to this heart, Thy reverend hoary head, My Mother! than the auburn locks That youth upon thee shed. How could it fail to touch my heart ^Yith filial thought, when I Knew it was care for me that paled Thy cheek, and dimmed thy eye' Yes, eloquent the tender glance That thou dost turn on me ; Dimly, yet kindly — in that look, Hew much of love I see! 264 THE POEMS OF Be it my lot to smooth the way, Before thy pilgrim feet; And cause the heart that yearned for me, Long 1 , long" with hope to beat. Be it my lot to pillow where Thou seek'st thy last repose; One little flower shall mark the spot — The simple church-yard rose. MY FATHERS GRAVE. Since thou betook'st thee to thy rest, Long time, my father, has passed by: And gathered now upon thy breast, The dust of twenty years doth he. Corruption, too, its work has done, With many that wept then for thee; And those thou lovedst, one by one, Have slumbered in tranquillity: 1 was but young", and yet the day Has never from remembrance gone, When I beheld thee borne away, When I was left, and felt alone. O, there's a throb of dreariness That mere affliction never gave ; Earth seems to him a wilderness, Who bends upon a parent's grave. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 265 How many visions, opening- bright, Have dazzled, cheated, and have fled; How many hopes have sunk in night, Since thou hast tenanted that bed — And multitudes whose looks were high, Like waves, have sparkled, heaved and gone, The voice of war hath thundered by, And thou, reg'ardless, hast slept on. That dreamless couch! that peaceful tomb ! O, they do greatly err that tell Its chambers are abodes of gloom, Where death and terrors only dwell; For me, I love to think upon That only refuge of repose, Along whose depths — cheered by no sun — The light of resurrection flows. Thou art one of the chosen band That ring high harps where splendours glow; I do rejoice — and yet thy hand I've needed to guide me below. In boyhood's path I missed the care That thorns detected 'mid the flowers; O, I had few or none to share As thou would' st share, and cheer my hours. For I have wandered in a wild Where disappointment still appears; Where wast thou Father, when thy child Trod ways uncertain — oft in tears ? Yet brighter hopes have sometimes shed Their rays, and I have triumphed too 266 THE POEMS OF In thoughts of that untroubled bed Whose slumbers are forever true. Though many years have wandered by Since I have looked upon thy face; Though thou, hid from my gaze dost lie, And far from me thy resting place — My Father! hallowed is the thought That dwells, and fondly dwells with thee; Dearer in this dim world there's nought, Than is thy memory to me — 'Tis joined with love of her, whose love, A mother's — cheers my lonely way; And while I mourn thee now above, My heart to her would tribute pay. Rest thou! — I strew not on thy bed The early flower, yet green and fair The spot where thou reclin'st thy head, The memory of the Just is there. April 29th, 1826. MATERNAL LOVE. Fair is the opening grace That blooms and blushes on the artless maid; Beauty, unfolding, we delight to trace, To innocence and youth our earliest vow is paid. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 267 Yet youth is like the flower That rears its petals on the lap of May; Who that admires, laments not its brief hour, And cherishing* its sweets, asks not a longer stay? Far lovelier than these, And dearer to the heart of sober joy Is she whom the delights of home can please, Who to her bosom clasps her much-loved smiling* boy. O, surely none can tell, W^hat nought but love, parental, e'er can feel — How strong, how tender is the witching spell These dear ones round us fling, from life what cares they steal. Graces, though prized, must die; Yea, even that form of symmetry, shall age Relentless, humble, and the love-lit eye That speaks and sparkles now — Time shall its fires assuage. Maternal love still new Still precious, brightens with the touch of years; O, cheerless is the heart that never knew All of its j oys and pangs — its secret smiles and tears. 268 THE POEMS OF PAGANISM COULD NOT REPLY. A Hindoo of a reflecting; tarn of mind, but devoted to idolatry, lay on his death bed. As he saw himself about to plunge into that boundless unknown, he cried out, * what will become of me?' 6 O' said a Brahmin who stood by, * you will inhabit another bo- dy!' * And where,' said he, * shall I go then?' ' Into another!' 6 And where then?' * into another, and so on, through thousands of millions!' Darting across this whole period, as though it were but an instant, he cried, i Where shall I go then?' awl Paganism could not reply. Thou canst not whisper to that soul Now pluming* for her flight — Of other worlds that dimly roll Beyond those orbs of light; Thou canst not guide her trembling barque O'er yon uncertain sea; That ocean-path is wild and dark, Benighted one to thee. Thou canst not, boaster as thou art, Discern another clime; Nor calm the pulses of the heart That beats no more for time: For thou hast never known nor dreamed Of wisdom's only way: Upon thee yet hath never beamed Salvation's guiding ray. What shall assure thee of a shore Where dwell the shadowy band, That ages by-past, went before To seek that unknown land ? V LLLIAM B. TAPPAN. 26V Thy immolations 5 — can the sigh Of agony, reveal Mercy to him, self-doomed to die Beneath the bloody wheel? Thine idols? — though the costly gem Sparkles around their shrine; Though thou in blindness, unto them Yield homage, deemed divine — Know, Pagan! one such secret tear As penitence lets fall, Is unction to the heart, more dear. More holv than them all. THE YEAR. Thou unknown fragment of that scroll Whose signet was, ere Time began; Ocean, whose waves were wont to roll Ere God from nothing fashioned man — Whence art thou, evanescent Year? Atom! declare, what dost thou here ? Is it, perchance, to mock awhile With added moments, life's poor day? With cheating vision to beguile Man that appears and hastes away ? Deceitful tide ! thy meteor wave Buovs him, vet bears him to his grave, z 2 270 THE POEMS OF Wilt thou not like the other years That were before thee, disappear? Why com'st thou with thy dreams and tears, Thy burdens, melancholy year? *Tis fit thou too should'st come and go, For nought unchanging is below. 'Tis fit that all should fade and die, Yea, Ruin's voice shall shake the spheres; The yellow leaf that sails on high The weary date of days and years Alike pass on and are forgot, Once here, but now remembered not. And let them pass, for what but dust Are wheeling worlds, and what are we ? Creatures, from frailty formed at first, Yet, linked to an eternity, When ruined worlds on worlds shall roll Then lives the disembodied soul. REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS OF COMMODORE PERRY TO HIS NATIVE LAND. Wext he not out in proud array, Wreaths on his youthful brow ? He went from fields of well-won fray Forth to bid others bow. WILLIA31 B. TAPPAN. 271 He went as the devoted should, Even at a nation's call ; Why weep that for the brave and good Is wove the funeral pall ? Ended the watchful warrior's toil, His mightiest conflict o'er, Returns he now with glorious spoil, Unto, his native shore : He comes, but not with song and shout, He comes, and eyes are dim; The muffled drum and fife ring out Their melancholy hymn. How loftily ran his career, Let vanquished veterans tell; Briefly, we know by sorrow's tear 'Tis whispered in that knell. Yet for him, leader in the fight, Freshly survives a name; Upon his 'scutcheon falls the light Of high and spotless fame. Hence ! ye that weep o'er blighted bloom, Wailing that youth should die ; Hence ! his is not the timeless tomb Where hopes unbudded lie. O, for the glorious death of them That live beyond our tears — O, for the name, the unwasting gem, That mocks the touch of years ! 1826. 272 THE POEMS OF TO ONE THAT MEDITATED SUICIDE. Thou, whom stern angriish wastes away, Whose sallow cheek is token That angel-peace makes not her stay With thee, the lost and broken — Thou shudderest at the many pangs That weary ones inherit 5 Misery, with relentless fangs, Hath fastened on thy spirit. Too weak to bear the petty strife And vanquish by enduring, Wilt thou a recreant, rush from life, Remorse, unknown, ensuring? The secret strings that have their birth In kindness, wilt thou sever ? And snap the cords that link to earth, Aye, rudely, and forever! And, rash one ! darest thou deface His tabernacle given, Whereon is left the matchless grace, The dignity of heaven? Exist not ties to bind thee still To those of thy own nature ? Imperious duties to fulfil Unto thy great Creator? Bethink thee! — is there not a heart Whose pulse to thine is beating ? WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 278 And dost thou not possess a part In childhood's guileless greeting? Stay thee! a soothing* hand is near To dry the tear that's stealing: And Hope, the bright enchantress, here Her rainbow is revealing. 'Tis sad, in sorrow's bitter doom This gay cold world to cumber; Yet who within the sullen tomb, Uncalled, should seek a slumber? O, Thou, the framer of my lot, Who gav'st and who has taken, Do what thou wilt, but leave me not Thus hopelessly forsaken. SIMEON 8 PROPHECY. The Temple of the Lord is still, Forsaken are the golden shrines; Upon Moriah's holy hill The day-beam of Salvation shines. And hark! a voice along her halls Is heard, in strains of prophecy: ss Awake, Jerusalem — thy walls Rebuild, thy glory draweth nigh. "Now, Israel, shall thy tumults cease, Up, Judah and with songs adore; 274 THE POEMS OF My waiting- spirit! go in peace, Thou hast beheld — what neecTst thou more ?" 'Tis Inspiration's awful voice, The utterance of fleeing* breath; The soul recalled to bid rejoice, When quivering* at the gate of death. Yes, favoured one, 'tis thine to trace His lineaments who dwelt of old; Those withered arms, in strong* embrace, The Hope of Israel enfold. I see thee, man of wintry hairs! I see the hghtning* of that eye; I tremble, while its g-lance declares The mystic Godhead passes by. Thou holy Seer! what visions rise, In long perspective, on thy soul; Ages of glory meet thine eyes, And unborn years before thee roll. Who would not die as thou would' st die, When Light and Life attend the bed? Who would not wish, like thee, to He Where blessings crown the faithful dead? WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 275 SONG OF THE WARRIORS THE NIGHT PRECEDING THE BATTLE OF BUNKER-HILL. This night, ye hardy yeomen! wield The spade, on glory's fallow field; And ne'er shall garnered harvest yield A richer meed of victory. Toil on ! toil on ! ye true and brave, Dig for yon foe his gory grave, — Aye, share that pillow! — 'tis to save Your sires and sons from slavery. Who sleeps when lustful tyrants wake ? Who in her peril will forsake His country ? let the dastard quake At Lexington's artillery. Toil on! toil on! 'tis glorious cheer — Our swords well tried, the Briton near, Fame's monument shall yeomen rear 'Neath heaven's starry canopy! On Charles's tossing wave below His vessel rides and he, the foe, Unconscious of the whelming blow, Shouts in his scornful revelry; Toil on! toil on! the yeoman sings, — Unheeded yonder red-cross flings Its fires — we fear no wrath of kings, God builds the Patriot's sepulchre. 276 THE T0E3IS OF YE SPIRITS OF THE JUST. Ye spirits of the just, that soar Beyond those starry fields sublime, Dwellers in light with whom are o'er The pageants and the tears of time, — Say, are the thoughts we entertain Of yonder unknown worlds, untrue } Are those high mysteries but vain, Dissolved, or unrevealed to you? Prophets — a long and awful train, Pilgrims, that bowed beneath the rod, And martyrs who from racks of pain Soared to the presence of your God — Earth gave ye not her poor renown; Humility your only gem — 'Twas yours to seek a nobler crown, Say, wear ye now that diadem? Thou disembodied one whom here 'Twas ours, in fellowship, to know; Who, buoyed by Faith, without a fear, Fled from endearments prized below; On the dear hopes that soothed thy bed, Hath disappointment flung its pall ? Or dost thou bosom now thy head On Him, thou chosest as thy All? Forbear — yon ministering one Thine eyes, in flesh, shall never see j WILLIAM! B. TAFFAN. The dull cold sepulchre, its own, Mortal! shall never yield to thee. See, on futurity's long- night A cheering* beam of heaven is shed; Receive thou Revelation's light, And not the visions of the dead. TO THE HOLY ALLIANCE. Slaves of royalty advance! Russia, leader of the host; Perjured Austria, crouching- France, Welcome, welcome to our coast! Ave, the welcome freemen show To the base, we give to ye; Death to him whose coward blow Strikes at heaven-born Liberty. Touch our soil, and that true spirit, Spark, ethereal, given to Meet — Which from patriots we inherit, Shall, resistless, rise again. Touch our soil — dare not! 'tis holy, Every clod would rush to life; Heroes from their cerements gory, Starting-, would renew the strife. Shame that men — God's imag-e wearing- Scorn his work and crush the Free; 278 THE POEMS OF Men they are not, whose curst daring Rivets chains of slavery. Shrink ye traitors, for the sword, Righteously unsheathed, shall never Rest, till wrath's red vials poured On your crimes, blot ye forever. Holy despots! not in regions Warmed with Liberty's fair beam, Should the tyrant halt his legions, Should the sword of bandits gleam: Haste to yon inglorious clime, Where of earth abide the stain; Nations sunk in sloth and crime; Haste to Naples, haste to Spain. Rise ye Patriots, to recover Vantage-ground, by treachery lost; Gallant veterans, fight over Battles with the craven host; Mix a, yet, the lion-hearted, To redeem his race shall fly; Chiefs shall rally, though long parted, Roused by Riego's dying cry. 1826. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 279 DEATH OF FISK, AMERICAN MISSIONARY AT PALESTINE. Went he unto that holy land, In panoply arrayed, With banner and with gleaming brand, In that high and bold crusade? Fought he where Christendom its hosts Poured forth of warlike men, When Cceur-de-Lion smote the coasts Of the scornful Saracen? Or unto Helena's* proud shrine Did the votary ascend? Did he at altars deemed divine, With kings and warriors bend? He wept where martyrs wept, and prayed O'er the ruins of that land, Where sleep, beneath the palm-tree's shade, The seer and the patriarch band. He trod not Olivet's ascent With thought of high emprize; He went as sandalled pilgrims went, In meek and lowly guise. * The original building, erected A. D. 326, was destroyed at the beginning of the eleventh century, and rebuilt by a Greek enrpe ror in 1048. Nicephorus enumerates twenty-six churches and chapels, built by the empress Helena in the Holy Land.— Clarke's Travels. 280 THE POEMS OF And dearer to his love, thy name, Thy peace, Jerusalem — Than the trumpet's loudest note of fame Or the coronal's brightest g-em. Sped not to Palestine, men, who Should fearless heralds prove 5 Aye, they went forth and they were two* In form, but one in love; The field is ripe, and where are they? Their path is now untrod; Send labourers! — these have winged their way To the citv of our God. EXPOSTULATION, OCCASIONED BT THE REMOVAL OF THE CHEHOKEES. Stay, yet, white man, heaven no longer Can thy lust of gain endure; Stay thy hand, yet, bold oppressor, Crush not the defenceless poor. " Lo, the Indian!" — child of sorrow, Remnant of a mighty race; Grief is his, no ray of gladness Beams upon his dwelling place. * Messrs. Fisk and Parsons. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 281 Free as were his mountain breezes, Once he roamed, the son of kings, Boundless was his rude dominion, Where he drank his native spring's. Wouldst thou chase him from his covert, Bid him to the desert fly ? — Wouldst thou tear him from the hill-side, Where his father's ashes he? Thou hast seen upon his reason Science her mild influence pour; Thou hast seen the ray of Bethlehem Shine, where all was night before. Man! of these wouldst thou despoil him ? Filch his heaven — drive hope afar? Yes, for sordid gold, the white man Would blot out Redemption's Star. God of justice, though pavilioned 'Mid the thunder, misery's sigh Claims thy notice. Thou'rt a Helper, When no other help is nigh. a2 ^82 THE POEMS OF MRS. SARAH J- She wakes not — she whose look was love, Whose voice was music's breath — That angel-smile is caught above, That voice is lost in death. She that was beauteous and sincere, To man's last foe hath bowed; Each grace is now companion here Unto the worm and shroud. She wakes not — aye, from that long sleep When shall earth's tenant wake ? Dreams of the sepulchre are deep, What shall those visions break ? Unto that cell of gloom and damp, Earth's tumults come not nigh; She wakes not at the hurried tramp, Nor at the battle-cry. She wakes not till the trumpet's tongue Stirs shuddering sea and earth ; When worlds on worlds, in ruin flung, Shall heave as at their birth. The heart that knew affliction's power, The oft-dimmed eye, now sealed, Shall beat not, beam not, till that hour In thunders is revealed. She wakes not early ills to brave, That bade her spirit bow; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 233 The tears she unto sorrow gave, Are gems of beauty now. She wakes not — yea, she hath awoke ! Escaped from night below; "What floods of morn have on her broke, That bright one, who may know ? TO MY TWO CHILDREN. Ye are alive to bliss, my boys, Your pulses beat to healthful play; Visions of peaceful heartfelt joys — Do they not hover o'er your way ? Your bounding bosoms, light and free — Nor past nor future is their care; Sufficeth it alone, that ye The bright alluring present share. 'Tis transient all — yet who shall break The fair frail mirror of your mirth ? Ye are but dreamers ; who shall wake Ye to realities of earth ? Dream on, dream on, it cannot last, With boyhood will depart that dream; And soon, to retrospect, the past But shadows of the dead shall seem. Who would forget, that when a child, Life put on lovely robes for him ? 284 THE FOEttS OF That then imagination wild, Flashed to the eyes that now are dim; AVho can forget when hope danced high, And Syren-Love of witchery sung } Some may forget, but ne'er shall I, The white -winged hours when joy was young. Yea, though upon my tempered brow Eomance hath ceased to bind her flowers, 'Tis pleasant as I wander now, To linger o'er my childish hours. Green spot of life! how sweet to gaze On bliss so simple, yet sincere; To turn from the wild waste of days And feast my aching vision here ! Aye, smile my boys, 't were better so, Than darkly read the coming ill; That chequered page the gray -haired know, But heedlessness is childhood's still. Blest ignorance ! Compassion's balm, To drug the life-cup of our tears; Existence, thou wouldst wear a charm Did prescience come not with thy years. Laugh on, my children, while ye may, Yours now is not the actor's part; That laugh, perchance, in future day, May vainly hide a broken heart; Yet lingers in your perfect bliss, Ingenuous feeling, brightly new; And childhood's love, and childhood's kiss, Are ever holy, ever true. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 265 INVOCATION. We ask thee not, O God! to bow Thy heavens, these sighs to hear; Unto those seats of life and song They fly, and reach thine ear; For thou art condescending* still, When suppliants come to thee; Though thy pavilion is the cloud, And low and poor are we. Thou know'st we tabernacle where Envy and wrong abound; In bosoms of our dearest trust Deceit is ofVnest found. Thou know'st that man to fellow man Is oft the direst foe; The streams of kindness in his soul Are tainted as they flow. For who hath pillowed all his heart On seeming honour's breast, Nor found, in sorrow's bitter doom, That refuge but a jest ? Who hath not sought some lofty hope, And said, here is my stay, Yet saw how like the summer sun, It passed in clouds away? Yea, he, the heritor of ill, In silence must it bide; 286 the poems of The world that wrings out bitter tears, WiU yet those tears deride — But thou, O God! art not of clay: To shield the wretch is thine; 5 Tis good to tell our cares to Thee, Who will to help incline. Man may administer to him, The hapless child of need; Yea, and bind up the broken heart When interest prompts the deed; But Thou lov'st those that know Thee not, And thus dost man reprove; Thou art — and there is none beside — Disinterested Love. REVOLUTIONS. THE SANDWICH ISLANDS FRANCE. u Tidings, my lord the king!''— Gtuhi to David. Tidings from the Sea! its isles, Centuries begirt in nig-ht — Burnished by the day-springes smiles, Shine, the lovely pearls of light. Tiding-s! riding's! ocean's King", Who the islands in his hand WILLIAM B. TAPPA.X. 287 Taketh, as a little tiling, Speaks to sea and speaks to land. Startled from his ancient prey, Flies the vampyre, bird of blood; Pe-le, vanquished, hastes to pay Holocausts alone to God. Tidings ! tidings ! fast and far, Winds and waters urge it on, From the occidental star, To the chambers of the sun. Weepers o'er the slain, rejoice, And new vigour strongly draw Ye of heaven-beseeching voice, Now the pagan waits his law. Where is gladness, God! to view Mau-i sitting at thy feet* Temple domes of O-a-hu, Swelling over Satan's seat 5 Broke, the tabu's guilty power — Stilled, the sacrificial drum 5 — Christendom, Jehovah's hour Seest thou, and art thou dumb ? Tidings! Gaul hath woke at length; In her thousands burns the flame, — And an injured realm, in strength, Rising, treads it foes to shame. 288 THE POEMS OF Tidings! tidings! Freedom's cry Breaks for ever Bourbon's trance; And her broad tri-colour, high, Streams above thy lilies, France. Hymns to Orlean's dawning glory, Where the fleur-de-lis hath set j Marble for the martyr's story, Civic crowns for Lafayette. Tidings thunder o'er the wave; Despotism goads no more; And the story of the brave, Rocks the transatlantic shore. Flies not gladness through our coasts, And the voice of mirthful men? Yea, a shout, the shout of hosts, Rang in cheer and triumph then. Yet, O God, when sceptres fall, Empires down to dust are hurled — Thine shall flourish, all in all, Throned above a ruined world. 1830. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 289 DEPARTURE OF THE MISSIONARIES, MESSRS. ALEXANDER AND THOMPSON, FROM THE WEST; FOR PALESTINE AND THE SANDWICH ISLANDS, NO- VEMBER, 1831. Away unto Jerusalem! An alien to us be; And henceforth for thy fellows choose The men of Galilee. Thy father's house — thy native land — Another lot is thine ; Thy kindred are the mission band, Thy country Palestine. Thy embassy is glorious, Thy feet with peace are shod; Go forth and herald Christ to them That tread where He hath trod. And speak where Fisk and Parsons spake The words of holy balm, And, haply, thee to rest betake With them, below the palm. Thou, too, away, and tempt the wave, And should its sullen womb Yield thee the christian-martyr's grave, It were a noble doom. Bb 290 THE l J OEMS OF Yet live ! for thou must errand bring That shall the pagan draw Unto the new-discovered King Who gives the islands law. Up! seek thee Obookiah's land, There's toil, and men are few; Dispersed is superstition's band, And broke the fell tabu. Away — wrung out is Pe-le's cup, Her altar's light is dim; And where her song and shout went up, Thou'lt hear the children's hymn. Up both! and from this infant soil This land, but late possest, Go forth to oriental climes, The first fruits of the West. Exil'd from us for Jesus' sake, Ere yet, for time, ye part, To climb the mission-vessel, take The farewell of the heart. Yet how may she that farewell give ? This hour live all the past — Or he 9 whose sands are well nigh run Take that sad look, the last? Ye may not watch her final pang Who watched your boyhood's bloom, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 291 That aged sire — ye may not lay His gray hairs in the tomb. Enough, enough, a hand unseen, Waves onward to the prize; They know that their Kedeemer lives, And this may well suffice. 'Tis done — in yon horizon now, Where she sails on, a speck; A cloud of heaven-directed prayer Is wafted o'er that deck. Propitious breezes fill the sails! O God of mercy, keep Yon richly freighted ship that rides In stateliness the deep; Bearing from hearth and sepulchre, Those holy names and high — The men that hear but to obey The Macedonian cry; That calls to perils, calls afar To suffering, shame and loss; Yet points to that immortal star, Which shines above the cross. 292 THE P0E3IS OF THE BUBMAN^ QUESTION. 'Do the Disciples in America drink Spirits?'— Wade's Speech, Men, crossing the blue wave, have told To Bnrmah of the God that first Spake out this starry world of old, To whom the stars and worlds are dust. His voice is to us — we obey, Nor fear contempt or shame, or loss; Once proudly vile, we joy to lay Glory and pride beneath the cross. We'll bear reproaches for His sake, Who for poor Burmans died; and we Will freely persecution take, For Him, whose blood hath stained the tree. Yet the reproach how may we meet, That spots religion's lovely robe, And lifts an idol to the seat Of Him that grasps and guides the globe? For far beyond the Indian sea, Where heaven lets down unwonted light, His purchased followers give the knee Unto the spirit-fiend of night. Our hearts for God! — yet while we doubt And fear, like those, to yield him up, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 293 Around us ring-s the scornful shout, "Do yon disciples kiss the cup?" * 'Yea, do yon Christians fondly reach The goblet to a sealed lip; What powerful Boodh durst never teach, What Paganism may not sip ?" Men of the clime where truth has trod, Earth's glittering falsehood to condemn; Tell us! — seek they another God, Is not Jehovah help to them? OBEY YOUR PARENTS. The tale here versified, is from Mrs. Virginia Cary's letters. Two brothers, once, of merry mood, Were sporting' in their simple play; When chafed and furious from the wood, A Lion roared against his prey. Between them and the help they claimed, Was interposed a lofty wall; And hark! beyond it, each is named — It is the anxious father's call : " O, children, haste! ye shall not fail Of safety, with your sire and friend," Bb 2 ^94 THE POEMS OF " Folly" said one, " for us to scale Yon stones, which men can scarce ascend. " See you not that so rough the path, So high the wall, its topmost stone Ere we could gain, the beast, in wrath Might rend and break us bone by bone?" " I," said the other, "come what may, Will not despise our father's call; 'Tis safest always to obey, I'll strive to climb yon lofty wall." He ran, and saw, when drawing 1 nigh, A ladder reaching from its height; Safe now, he turned a wistful eye, His mangled brother met his sight. EDWARD PAYSON. Spihit! arise — 'tis blest to go, When skiey visions call away; Dust! seek the grave — there spices flow, There gushes out Redemption's ray. Thou of the flaming steeds and car! We tremble at our father's call; And, weeping, watch his flight afar, And see the ungathered mantle fall. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 295 Weep ye! Oh weep your leader gone; Yet mark the way that prophet trod; Through peril's path he wandered on, Till, lost to men, he's found with God. What glories canopied his bed! What music lingered on his ear ! He saw whose hand sustained his head, He knew the voice that calmed his fear. Would'st die like him? — Live thou the life Of holy hope, of love divine; And faint not in the weary strife, Thou wilt not, if his faith be thine. Deny me not! — I ask with awe; Give me, O Lord, thou hast the power; The bright apocalypse he saw, In nature's weakest, mightiest hour. MISSIONARIES. Onward, ye men of prayer, Scatter, in rich exuberance, the seed Whose fruit is living bread, and all your need Will God supply — his harvest ye shall share. 296 THE POEMS OF To him child of the bow, The wanderer by his native Oregon, Tell of that Jesus, who, in dying*, won The peace-branch of the skies — salvation for his foe. Unfurl the banneret On other shores. Messiah's cross bid shine O'er every lovely hill of Palestine; Fair stars of glory that shall never set. Seek ye the far-off isle; The sullied jewel of the deep, O'er whose remembered beauty angels weep, Restore its lustre and to God give spoil. Go, break the chain of caste; Go, quench the funeral pyre, and bid no more The Indian river roll its waves of gore. Look up, thou East, thy night is overpast. To heal the bruised, speed; Go, pour on Africa the balm Of Gilead, and her agony to calm Whisper of fetters broken, and the spirit freed. And thou, oh Church, betake Thyself to watching, labour — help these men. God shall thee visit of a surety, when Thou'rt faithful — Church that Jesus bought, awake! awake! WILLI AM B. TAPPAN. 297 THE INFANT SCHOOL. The Infant School! 'twas Mercy's thought To calm religion's direst fear; And Hope her brightest visions brought, And Woman gave her truest tear: The Infant School! away, away Ambition's dreams of prouder name; Humanity shall tribute pay To toil that wins, yet asks not fame. Tie Infant School! O, true, it lends No voice of high and daring deed; Yet whispers it of home and friends, And welcome to the child of need; Of it the trump that calls to death And glory, when sad eyes are dim, Sings not, yet lives it in the breath Of pure thanksgiving's holy hymn. The Infant School! who here shall say "What buried worth the seer hath seen? What arm, high destinies to sway, What herald of the Nazarene? O, for these snatch'd from misery's doom And nurtured for their native sky, Believ'st thou not, for thee shall bloom Some brighter heritage on high? The Infant School! — then crime no more Shall with cursed fruit my country chide; 298 THE POEMS OF Nor ignorance, nor sorrow pour O'er moral wastes the angry tide. Thou! once an Infant in distress, Now Occupant of David's throne, Look, and approve and ever bless The godlike labour, 'tis thine own. W. B. P. OF ENGLAND. What though across Atlantic's wave Thou wand'redst to the setting sun; And left, to seek a stranger-grave, The snow-white cliffs of Albion : Where our Ohio's silver tide Tracks the broad valley, thou as sweet Shalt rest, as by the velvet side Of Rother's streams where Mersey's meet. The flower that springs above thy tomb, And dies to type thee, is as fair As loveliest plants that rise and bloom In yonder isle, and perish there. What though stood not where thou didst die, Companions of thy boyhood's band; The hallowed touch that closed thine eye, Was kind — it was a mother's hand. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 299 What though thou fledd'st from paths below, Where thorns abound, in trouble trod; Thou gatherest leaves of healing- now, And drinkest at the throne of God. Farewell ! we give no pitying- tear, Though grateful tears have flowed for llieo Oh no, thou need'st it not, who, here Dyings in heaven begins to be THE CAMP MEETING. Above is flung the arch of heaven, Beneath is spread the sod, And from these thousand hearts is given The stirring hymn to God. Around his wreathed pillar stayed, Clouds piled on clouds, lend light; A girding wall by day displayed, A beacon-fire by night. This woodland for his temple claimed, These trees of lively green, Its columns, which his fingers framed, And cast his light between, Are holy : hark, the sound of song Swells up from tent and tree; 300 THE POEMS OF 'Tis audience-hour unto that throng, Alone with Deity. How glorious is this canopy ! And gorgeous daybreak brings Its curtains, bathed in golden dye, Wrought for the King of kings. 'Tis seemly with its regal rays, Thus to pour out to him Our songs, before whose throne the blaze Of burning noon is dim. 'Tis beautiful in such a spot, To note from lip of men His praise, where Art's proud dome is not, By stream and wooded glen. And list, from yon white tents, at eve, Where worshippers are bowed, The sighs of those for sin that grieve, Among that waiting crowd. They rise on evening's wing", which seems To fan a holier air ; As flows from humble hearts, in streams, The melody of prayer. And One draws near this peopled bower, Whose are these chosen now; And walks their camp at offering-hour, Recording every vow. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN*. 301 And at that banquet sitteth he, Where banners twine above; Men know their guest, and long" to see More of his heaven of love. If, bright ones! from your world of gold, Ye look for aught, in this Resembling that, this hour behold Its counterpart of bliss. More glorious than when morning reigns In splendour o'er your skies; More touching- than when twilight stains The clouds with sunset dies : It is the face to look upon Of such, new born again; To mark the glow of victory won, The peace of passions slain. Expression of a deep-felt rest, Wearing the hues of heaven; It beams the quiet of the blessed, The j oy of sin forgiven. 302 THE POEMS OF FOR THE ORPHAN. Hast thou marked the scourge of God? Didst thou tremble at his rod, When thou lately saw'st him stand At the portals of our land; When he looked and waved it here? Haste to dry the widow's tear! Mother ! didst thou in that hour, Give to earth its fairest flower? 'Twas in anguish — He hath given For thy bruise, the balm of heaven; Thou art comforted — go, bless In its woes, the motherless. Did the Angel hush his wrath, As he crossed thy midnight path? Then, when thousands rose to shed Bitter tears upon their dead, While without, was heard the cry, None thou lovest sealed to die? Has thy lip been spared the cup? These have drank the mixture up; These were basking yesterday In a kinder sun — as they Sit beneath dark shadows now, Sister! brother! so mayst thou. Haste with offerings, large and free, Wings of mercy sheltered thee; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 303 Mercy's sacrifices bring, Cause the weeper's heart to sing; Heard above is blessing-prayer, Grief and Want have power there. What are pearls of brightest hue, Diamonds, like the drops of dew, In the loveliest tresses glowing, Nature's fainter beauties showing, To the gem of splendour here, Gratitude's impressive tear ? THE SAILOR AS HE WAS AS HE IS. The sport of yon deceitful wave, He toiled where dangers oft appear; And careless trod the billowy grave, Stranger to thought or fear. Unknown the power that stayed his youth, The God that holds the sea unknown — On his dark soul no ray of truth With kindly impulse shone. Fierce, the careering midnight storm In anger mingled wave and sky; W T hile the red lightning scathed his form, His curse was heard on high. 304 THE POEMS OF The thunders shook the reeling mast, The vessel rent by every sea — No tear was given to the past, Nor to futurity. Then burst the cry of agony, Then quailed the stoutest on that deck; The toiling barque hath climbed on high, To plunge, a buried wreck. No prayer was wafted to the throne — Could the profane, the scoffer pray? No! wretched, trembling and alone, His spirit fled away. Weep, Sailor! for thy comrade weep, For he was noble, generous, free; Yet passed he in transgression deep, To his eternity. Oh, had he scanned the living chart, By which the unerring course is laid, His vision purged, made clean in heart, The wanderer ne'er had strayed. Weep for the dead! yet with thy tears Blend earnest love for grace divine; Sailor! a happier dawn appears — Hope's beaming star is thine. The Man of Nazareth calls to thee, He bids thy toils and sorrows cease; The voice that calmed proud Galilee, Speaks to the weary, Peace. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 305 And He — or be thy peaceful way The dark blue wave, or when afar, By gathering" perils led astray, Will be thy Morning 1 Star. Safe in the tempest as the calm, Art thou that seekest the mercy seat; Sailor! rejoice, death boasts a charm, Leading to Jesus' feet. THY WANDERING BOY. Has he thy tireless love forg*ot? Thy early anxious care — Are thy gray hairs remembered not* To prayer, then, sire! — to prayer! For if thy boy has turned aside And chosen folly's way, And for thy tears with scoffs replied, What can'st thou do but pray > Is he a wanderer from thy dome On the world's tossing" sea; Where dreaming- not of heaven or home Thy son is lost to thee ? Still, as sad rumor to thy ear Tells heavily, how frail thy stay, To Him who bottles every tear, Go, stricken man, and pray, c c 2 306 THE POEMS OF Perhaps upon the bed of pain, Away he lies a victim now; And seeks a father's hand in vain, Whose touch might cool his burning* brow; "While thinking of the holy joy Thou knew'st, e'er sin knew to betray, For him, that lovely, ruined boy, Do thou in earnest, pray. By the bright spring of childhood's love, That in his countenance once shone; The eyes where meekness like a dove Sat once — the brow, contentment's throne : The beauty that unto thy heart Appeals with power of boyhood's day, Go, aged father! weep apart And trembling, hoping, pray. And if, for thee, there linger yet The dregs of this world's bitterest cup, The God thou servest, will not forget To give thee grace to drink it up; Yet no! not thus will prayer be lost, Thou yet shalt bless that castaway, And see for him the folly-tost, The penitent, 'twas good to pray. WILLIAM B. TAFPAN. 307 THE CROSS. Symbol of shame — mysterious sign Of groans, and agonies and blood, Hail, pledge of love and peace divine From God. Symbol of hope to those that stray, — The pilgrim's step is led to thee ; Star of the soul thou guid'st the way To Calvary. Symbol of tears — I look, and mourn His woes, whose soul for mine was riven; Where, wanderer, is thy due return To heaven } Symbol of empire — thou shalt rise And shine, where lands in darkness sit, On Indian domes that greet the skies And minaret. Symbol of glory — when no more The monarch seeks a fleeting throne, Thy victim once, shall worlds adore The God alone. 308 THE POEMS OF CHILDREN S WORSHIP. FIRST VOICE. O, tell me, while the blessed ones Their wings in worship fold; Discoursing words of melody To instruments of gold; While thousand thousands pass the praise, Where kneeling ranks are seen; And voices, as the talk of seas, Are heard the songs between; Why should the Saviour turn aside From notes that ravish so, And hearken, while inferior chords Sound up from earth below 5 SECOND VOICE. Once, unto Him in Palestine, Was sung an infant hymn; When children of Jerusalem Abashed the Sanhedrim; And own'd the lowly Teacher, who Incarnate, was from high; Whom Jewish men nailed up in scorn, With murderers to die. Now, Lord of all, unto his ear Well pleasing is the song, That rises with the Sabbath sun, From childhood's happy throng; WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 309 For he that spans the rolling" worlds, And marks the seraph's way, Never disdains when infant years His perfect will obey. But kindly through disparting* skies His shining* way he rends, To hear the early hymn that with His upper music blends; Descending* to the lowly praise That breathes from lips of love, Unmindful of the song* that breaks Around his throne above. FIRST AND SECOND VOICES. Then while in blessedness we walk Where angels never trod, We'll give, with holy cheerfulness, The humble heart to God; On this the Saviour looketh down From place of cherubim, And for this worship leaves awhile The everlasting hymn. 310 THE POEMS OF PILGEI3IAGE OF THE DEAD. A rich Jewess, who lately died in London, directed by her will that her body should be taken to Jerusalem by twelve of her friends, (Jews,) to whom she left 400/. each, for their trouble. Up, and away for Palestine, Away, and with the dead embark; That soil I covet to be mine, Where slumber Seer and Patriarch. Away, away, my pilgrim feet Have long" in weary sojourn trod; In thee I seek a last retreat, Clime where my fathers worshipped God! O land of beauty, desolate, Who now to trump and song shall tell Thy triumphs, for the scornful hate And smite thee, hapless Israel! And God hath hid his face from thee; Thy God, whose pillar led thee on, Heeds not where base ones bow the knee In mockery of the Holy One. And who unto thy hill shall roam ? Alas! no glory beckons there; Where thy first temple heaved its dome, The haughty Islam calls to prayer. O royal Salem! David's seat, The queen of cities sattest thou, When humbled nations at thy feet Laid gorgeous spoil — what art thou now! WILLIA3I B. TAPPAN. 311 Yet dearer is Jerusalem Though trodden as the olive wild, Of cities, than their proudest gem, Unto her stricken weeping child; Away ! too long the wanderer Hath tented with the gentile band; Ye palms of Judah! shelter her, Receive her ashes, native land. JOSEPH EASTBURX, LATE PASTOR OP THE XARIXERS' CHURCH. Quietly lay him in his narrow bed, "Where flesh may slumber. Grave ! yield thy repose Unto the patriarch, whose aged bones Thou wilt not long possess; for well he knew That his Redeemer liveth. Dust to dust Is given now. The spirit hath sought out A fairer region, and joins minstrelsy In lofty worship with the Elders' hymn. Yes, thou may'st weep, for silent is the voice That warned thee, Sailor! in much faithfulness, Of fatal shipwreck, and the mocking billow That rolls in beauty o'er dark sepulchres. Yes, thou may'st weep; ever are hush'd the tones That in paternal fondness unto thee 312 THE POEMS OF Spake of Salvation; teaching" thee, sad child Of peril, from thy waves and storms to look Where trembleth out upon faith's horizon Beautifully and bright, the Star of Bethlehem. Thou wilt remember him, when on the deep Thou'rt rocked; and by thy hammock will his form Flit in fair dreams. Thou 'It see him in the storm, When memory whispers of the covenant Made between heaven and thee, and solemn hours Will pass before thee, even those thou knewest In yonder Bethel, where before the throne Thou gavest thyself in tears to God alone. Yes, thou may'st weep; I saw thy manly tear Drop on his clay, and as thy trembling hand Parted with reverend awe, the few white hairs That lingered on his forehead, well I knew The agony was big that heaved thy breast. Thou lovedst the good old man — wilt thou not strive To follow him? O, by thy soul's worth shun The rocks that cluster on Temptation's coast. He whom thou mournest, wanderer! beckons thee From these dark waters to the starry shores Of immortality, whereon Ms feet Now stand in holiness. Seek thou to meet him there ! O, could'st thou, mariner, the curtain rend, That shuts out now thy father; for brief space Grasp heaven, Earth's gayest laugh would ring but dim, As on thy charmed ear brake his rejoicing hymn. WILLI AJVI JB. TAFPAN. 313 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? Not he that basks in fortune's ray, Of proud unfeeling soul; Not he whom sycophants obey, Who rules with wide control : Not he that seeks my open door, "With fair profession free; Not he that takes my daily store, And shares his mite with me: Not he that with the name of friend Is prompt at every need; Not he that kindness doth intend, Yet falters in the deed: Not he, though prized, for whom the sweets Of fellowship, are known; Not he for whom this bosom beats, Who calls its love his own. But he, whose miseries proclaim That nought but tears are his; He, he alone can boast the name, And he my Neighbour is. Dd 314 THE P0E3IS OF TRIBUTARY. 'Tis past! the voyage of life is o'er, The wanderer hails another clime; On perils borne to yonder shore, He views afar the waves of time; The storm that muttered o'er his head The flame that quivered round his path Are sweetly hushed, the cloud hath fled, And gone the angry lightning's scathe. 'Tis past! and grief is changed to songs That angel cordons love to hear; The harp that to delight belongs, In softest murmur soothes his ear; The secret sigh that rent his breast, Now breathes of balmy peace alone; The tear that told the heart opprest, Is gemmed around the eternal throne. Blest voyager! how happy thou, Safe moored within the port of peace; Once heir of death — immortal now, Of pain — thy toils forever cease; O may I too, thus sweetly rise, Thus tread yon bright empyrion free; "With joy regain those native skies, Secure at last, in love like thee. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX, 315 FEAST OF THE DEAD. Ontario ! thy billow hath sunk to its rest, The mantle of twilight envelopes thy wave; On the forest of pines sleeps the gleam of the west, And the breeze of the mountain hath fled to its cave. Near yon beetling rock, see the tall Indian glide! His barque cleaves the flood with the speed of the foe ; The warrior is there — but no spear decks his side; The hatchet is buried, unbent is the bow. Hark! hark — 'tis the death-song that swells on the gale, All wild is the cadence, and mournful the strain; 'Tis the war-whoop that bids the dark foeman assail, 'Tis the cry whose dread signal hath crimsoned the plain. O say what red ruin illumines the gloam, What foes skulk in ambush, or rush to the deed? What youth scalped in slaughter, what captive shall roam, What chief, cruel fate, in the wigwam shall bleed ■ No red ruin tells that the foeman is nigh, No whiteman shall languish a captive afar, The chieftain at midnight hath uttered the cry, The death-song is echoed, but hushed is the war. 'Tis the Feast of the Dead — see! in yon lonely isle, The Iroquois weep o'er the bones of the slain; 316 THE POEMS OF The remnants of valour, the war-trophied spoil Are gathered afar, from the valley and plain. They weep, as the relics of time and the gTave, All hideous, and mournful, the night-fires disclose; They hymn the exploits of the W'erowance brave; They howl the sad requiem of lasting* repose! The dawn is advancing, all hushed is the cry; The souls, long departed, flee lonely and far; Nought is heard but the billow responding its sigh, Nought is seen but the twinkling of night's fading star. G W , OF THE UNITED STATES FKI- GATE CONSTITUTION. Farewell! and if the frequent tear Of those, once loved, be for thee shed, Although it wets no costly bier, Nor gems the gorgeous marbled bed — Spirit! it consecrates the tomb, Where youth's fair buds of promise lie ; Nourished by this, in beauteous bloom The floweret lives, no more to die. Farewell! and if the sigh be given For hopes, that early sank to rest, Though borne not by the winds of heaven To him, whose couch is ocean's breast, WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 317 Spirit! that bosom-sigh hath flown In meekness, on the wing's of prayer: Wafted to yonder sapphire throne, It finds for thee acceptance there. We saw thee not, though thine was pain; We knew not ill, though thou hadst fled; We smiled to meet thee here again, And fondly dreamed — when thou wast dead. Thou livest! — we will not, cannot grieve, Hope shows thee to our longing" sight, For, taught by thee, we gladly leave These stormy seas for shores of light. LAUNCH OF THE NORTH CAROLINA 74, AT PHI- LADELPHIA, IS'20. North Carolina! peerless queen, Our infant navy's pride, Thou proudly rid'st in lofty mien Along the swelling tide. I saw thee, gaily, quit thy bed, And plough the yielding foam; Full gallantly, the Ship of Dread Descended to her home. Columbia's sons begirt the strand, Her youth and manhood's flower: Dd2 318 THE POEMS OF Her daughters, too, a beauteous band, Lent lustre to the hour. And kindling was the bosom's glow- That hailed thy brilliant name ; A terror to the daring foe, A pledge of glorious fame. Long may thy flag protect the Free; Long may'st thou walk the wave; Thy deck the home of victory, Or valour's gory grave. Though Albion's cross a thousand years Has floated on the breeze, Thy Union Star to-day appears, The beacon of the seas! And broad shall wave that deathless sign O'er Liberty's proud steep; And bright that starry gem shall shine Along thy native deep. THE HEAVENS WERE STILL. The heavens were still. High on his ebon car Night rode sublimely. — Earth its vigils kept, And nought looked out on Midnight's holy hour, Save her pale tenant, the sweet vestal star, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 319 That, twinkling in its solitary bower, Seemed, lovely portress, watching* while men slept. In safety sleep they? mark yon curling flame, Whose tow'ring columns, wreathing with the sky, Tell of destruction's triumph. Hear that cry ! Witness that burst of anguish! these proclaim Thy horrors, Desolation! See, the foe Exultingly comes on; the work of art, The costly pile, the curious and the rare, Now sate his horrid gorge. The shriek of wo, The furious shout, the sigh deep from the heart Are heard. — The throb of agony is there. Yea,* he hath fled — saw'st thou the mounting spire Of billowy flame ? Even on that sea of fire His barque was wafted to the port of peace. Spirit! we weep, yet weep not thy release From toil and suffering. Thine it was to know The interchange, whose high communion, sweet, Partakes of heaven. — Can worlds such peace be- stow ? The garment of thy heaviness is now Changed to the robe immortal hands have wrought. Joy, like a cherub, sits upon thy brow, — The pearl is thine, of price unknown, unbought, And he that wept below now sits at Jesus' feet. * Founded on fact. 320 THE POEMS OF SPAIN. WRITTEN IN ANTICIPATION OF THE INVASION OF SPAIN, BY THE ARMIES OF LOUIS XVIII. IN 1823. Yes ! march ye forces, in array, Yon peaceful state invade; Pounce, eager falcons, on your prey, Draw forth the unrighteous blade ! Go, Autocrat! thou foe to man, Go bind the free-born soul! And ye base kings, that dare not scan His vengeance, bid it roll. Yet know, the desolating tide Ye impious, loose again, Back shall recoil, to whelm your pride, From free, unconquered Spain. Go forth, ye slaves ! although the light Of victory gilds your plume, That ray shall shroud in fearful night, Those laurels deck the tomb. Enters within God's canopy, In mockery to the throne, One hireling prayer of slavery ? It enters not alone. Ten thousand, thousand, as one heart, Spain! lift the prayer for thee; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 321 Ten thousand thousand swords will start For Spain and Liberty! Hear ye not voices? 'tis the shout That, kindling-, swells on high; See ye not light? those brands are out, They flash upon the sky. Sooner those tongues shall writhe in gore, Those swords be drunk with blood, Than Spain prove false to days of yore, False to herself and God. Then onward, onward, vaunting band! Rear Slavery's symbol high; Yet halt, proud legions! Freedom's land Is holy — touch and die. TO THE SURVIVING DEFENDERS OF THE CASTLE OF ST. JUAN DE ULUA. Men of the hostile ground! From yonder field shall spring A greener leaf than the victor wears, Plucked for a tyrant king. Though your blood ran rivers there, Each drop is a costlier gem, Than the priceless pearl that proudly shines In Ferdinand's diadem. 322 THE P0E3IS OF The trumpet calls to war! And the true and tried obey; And the sons of Freedom hasten forth, In their bright and bold array — 'Tis glorious when they draw The sword with unfaltering- hand; 'Tis godlike when they rush to death, A heaven-devoted band. They go, for a nation's gratitude Awaits the victor brave; They go, for the tears of woman wet The faithful soldier's grave. But ye have given your lives For nought, ye valiant dead! And ye that rushed to the bootless strife, By a phantom were ye led. For the tyrant's heart is cold, 'Tis shut to fame forever; It may rouse to hate and festering pride, But to gratitude, honour — never.' All is not lost, ye brave ! Your swords reflect no stain; Though yon leaguered walls, of all your host Frown only on your slain. — The craven king shall hear — Why waxes his cheek pale' Tidings, that Spanish men are found, Whose hearts can never fail. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 323 All is not lost, ye brave ! Ye have bled — what could ye more ? Yet Liberty's banner wantons now Where Slavery's drooped before! Away, away through trackless space, The disembodied soul shall fly; Of all once known and loved, no trace Shall greet her passage in the sky; The dust remains, the beauteous form Changed to a tenement of clay, And all the graces that could warm The answering bosom, passed away. Thus shall this spirit hover soon, Impatient, quit its narrow sphere, Earth, yielded for a brighter boon, Shall not detain the wanderer here ; O, then I'll ask a swifter wing To waft me from this thorny wild To fields, whose living flow'rets bring Their gilead to misfortune's child. Yet, would I not at once forsake, Methinks, the heart I vowed to love — O, no ! I would not wholly break The ties below, confirmed above: But when around the sapphire throne, Glows the wrapt thrill of holy birth, Heaven will forgive the impulse, flown To meet its kindred throb of earth. 324 THE POEMS OF THE BEARING OF THE CROSS. And after they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him; — and he bearing his cross, went forth.— Evangelist. Curses rang" loud as they his thrall Beheld, and proud lips curled, When bowed within that marble hall, The Saviour of the world; When the fell glance of hell he met With unreproving eye; And for reproach, implored yet, Forgiveness from on high. More to be worshipped in his grief And meekness, there alone, On that stern floor, than loftiest chief That reared or razed a throne; More to be loved, the Sinless then In his agony and cries, Bruised by the Father's hand, than when He curtained out the skies. Not in the scoff and maddening shout, The cup — it was not there ; But in the wrath that hung about, And the silence for his prayer; Oh! when he sank 'twas not the tree That crush' d the God within; But the withering frown of Deity, The malison for sin. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 325 THE RANSOMED SPIRIT TO HER HOME. The ransomed spirit to her home, The clime of cloudless beauty, flies; No more on stormy seas to roam, She hails her haven in the skies: But cheerless are those heavenly fields, The cloudless clime no pleasure yields, There is no bliss in bowers above, If thou art absent, Holy Love ! The cherub near the viewless throne Hath smote the harp with trembling' hand; A.nd One with incense-fire hath flown To touch with flame the angel-band; But tuneless is the quiv'ring string, No melody can Gabriel bring, Mute are its arches, when above The harps of heaven wake not to Love ! Earth, sea, and sky one language speak, In harmony that soothes the soul; 'Tis heard when scarce the zephyrs wake, And when on thunders thunders roll : That voice is heard and tumults cease, It whispers to the bosom peace, Speak, thou Inspirer, from above And cheer our hearts, Celestial Love! 326 THE POEMS OF UNHOLY THOUGHTS. If, o'er the heart, in Prayer's still hour, — The holiest hour that earth can know, — But one unbidden thought hath power Its blighting* influence to throw: How quickly, all enjoyment gone, The Spirit spreads his pinions then; The bosom left of God alone — When will the vision smile again ? While Inspiration, sacred joy Pours through the eye upon the heart; Should thoughts that quicken to destroy, Enter, and bid the bliss depart, — Sealed then, is the life -giving Word, Its thunders and its mercy-tone ; Stern Justice waves a dreadless sword, And harder is the heart of stone. When to the Paschal-feast I go With Him, who bore the cross and curse; And wish, as heaven seems bent below, It might be ever with me thus: How soon, by guilty thoughts, the tear Of blessedness, is turned to pain; For humble hope my soul hath fear, The sin revives that once was slain. How high and holy the delight, — By God bestowed, by heaven possessed,— WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 327 That glows and burns from thrones of light, From rank to rank, throughout the blessed; Yet should an angel-bosom own One thought of guilt, no voice may tell What furies there might fix a throne, That bosom, how 'twould teem with hell. Whether to thee, my God, I kneel, Or in thy Bible seek thee out; Or, trembling, touch the cov'nant seal, O, Wing of Love! shield me about: And aid my spirit — break the thrall Of guilty thoughts, and set her free ; That, purely, I may offer all To him, who rendered all for me. IDOLS REJECTED. She listen'd to the appeal For heathen far away; I saw the tear of pity fall, And heard the beauty say: O God! these glittering toys, Unreal as they be — Have to my erring eyes outshone The light that beams from thee. This chain of virgin gold — Gift of mv mother's love — 328 THE POEMS OF Has linked unto the world below Thoughts due to worlds above. This coronal of pearls That wantons on my brow, I hate it, for the pagan's tear Blots out its lustre now. The sparkling* diamond, more This bosom shall not wear; Its rays would beacon to the world The folly hidden there. Nor shall my heart refuse Earth's baubles to resign; Is not salvation's priceless pearl, The gem of heaven, mine ? Thus on the altar laid, This sacrifice shall burn In purifying flame, from which No idol shall return. WHAT IS DEATH ? I ask'd the laughing bright-haired boy, As he bounded on in his innocent joy;— His eye with accustomed lustre shone, To him it was a word unknown. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 329 I asked the fair as she flew along The mazy dance, to the sound of song; She paused not on her giddy way, She answered not, but turned away. I asked the man of silvery hairs, As he tottered on with years and cares; He shook his head and was eager yet To bear that load and Death forget. The toning fool, as he passed by "With hurried step and anxious eye, I asked next, and heard a groan From his hoarded heaps, but of answer, none. I bent me o'er the bed of death, And asked as I watched the passing breath; — But by the foe that heart was crushed, The voice of reply was forever hushed. I searched amid the place of tombs, And fearfully asked of its silent glooms : Surely, surely, ye can tell, None are so drear, none know so well. O, tell me sepulchres! I said, And Echo answered from the dead; I only heard among the trees By the hollow graves, the moaning breeze. In tears I sought the Bible then, And saw, writ by Jehovah's pen; To the wicked 'tis undying pain, To the righteous 'tis eternal gain. ze2 330 THE POEMS OF TWAS DEITY THAT DIED. If He that in the manger slept, When visions broke on Beth'lem's plain ; Whose voice spake balm to those that wept, And silence to the surging* main — If that meek one, who, to fulfil All prophecy, the winepress trod, And bore up Calvary's weary hill The cross, and died, was not the God — Why should I, while these life-storms beat, Aid of his finite arm implore, Or when joy revels round my feet, For this the Nazarene adore ? And why, in shuddering* nature's hour Invoke him to receive my breath; Or ask his shielding* wing* of power To guard the slumberer in death? O thou! — when thou didst lay the beams Of thy broad chambers, and from far Didst call thy worlds and break the dreams That long had held the morning star — Dwelt not with Thee thy equal Son Who made his couch among the dead; And rising thence — the victory won, Poured aroma upon that bed? O did no portent speak from high, To Jew and Roman when he fell; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 331 The darkness, earthquake and the cry, Messiah's true descent to tell — Yet would my heart rej oice to own Unto that seat his rightful claim; I know it, bending- at the throne, I weep and find it in his name. UNION NULLIFICATION. They spake of Union — and the words Recording angels wrote on high: They asked a pledge — and leaping swords Flashed out upon the troubled sky. God of our patriot fathers ! when Invading footsteps vexed their coasts, And banners of those unmoved men Waved glory o'er the smitten hosts. — Why heap'd they monumental stones, Which trembling kings in vain forbid; And freely laid their martyr bones Beneath the rising pyramid? And why doth thy wide wing of power Fold their immortal labours still; And homage wait, to this good hour, From land and sea, a nation's will? 332 THE POEMS OF Why thus — if yon misguided men May scorn and cast away the tie, And whisper Dissolution, when It means such toil, such fruit must die } Yea, meaneth that the star of light, Which streamed and burned to every shore, The world's last hope — in low'ring- nig-ht Must sadly set, to rise no more ? What boots it all, if coward king's May hush their terror with the dead; And they may scoff — yon titled things — The dream that warned, not woke them, fled } And if, forever, be forgot The hills, once wrapt in battle's flame; And perished every holy spot Whose gTeener covering tells of fame 5 Dissolve the Union? aye, 'tis well; Break kindred with the glorious Slain; And freedom for a pottage sell, And clasp, without a blush, your chain! Oh no ! oh no ! ye will not dare To name it where ye laid the brave; Ye could not murmur treason there, Ye could not mock the soldier's grave. No! breathe it far, far off, where beat Wild storms, in some accursed clime; WILLIAM 13. TAPPAN. 333 Or where their wail, the seas repeat In cadence, to the tread of time. Yet madmen, stay! 'twill not be long-; Oh stay! till of that hoary band, The last has join'd the upward throng*, Nor mourned a mighty, fallen land. December, 1832. BEAUTY IN THE GRAVE. On seeing an ancient picture of a beautiful Lady. How loudly rang* her ready praise In her ancestral hall, How beauteous at the levee, once, How graceful at the ball: It matters not — that fair one now, The idol of the brave, The pageant of a former hour, Is Beauty in the Grave. How much admired for sparkling" wit And prized for virtues true; How by the multitude esteemed, Beloved by the few, It matters not — alike the same To him, as is the slave, The sordid worm holds banqueting On Beauty in the Grave, 334 THE POEMS OF The well-proportioned shape, the grace Of woman's queenly tread, The speaking* eye, the budding" lip, Of nature's dewy red; The thousand witcheries that still Our warmest homage crave, What are they in Death's arms, and what Is Beauty in the Grave ? Go ye to whom are faultless forms And lovely features given, To manifest that still below Is something left of heaven; Go ! in humility forget The charms ye cannot save ; Look hence a little hour and see Your Beauty in the Grave. And look upon the laughing earth, Where spring in careless play Puts forth its fairest blossoms, but To deck them with decay. And look upon the face of all That's beautiful and brave, On every blessing lent to man Are traces of the Grave. Yet gaze on one from whom that trace May never pass away, Though he corruption never saw Nor in its realm could stay: WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 335 And see in the immortal scars That may the sinner save, The victory of him who came In beauty from the Grave. June, 1834. PRECIOUS DUST IS THAT! u Do you see the end of that coffin there?" asked the sexton. ; Precious dust is that." — Pastoral Skttclies. As looking* down this silent vault, You seek the wasting dead, Dost see, just by the narrow door Reclined, that coffin's head ) And that is William's humble couch, His quiet dwelling-, where He resteth from his pilgrimage; And precious dust is there. And blessed is his memory, Though thundered not by fame; *Tis treasured in our Sabbath school; The children lisp his name. He had no garnered gold, yet he In faith was rich indeed; Only to plant sufficed him not, Praver watered too the seed. 336 THE POEMS OF He had no learning. What could one Thus poor and lowly do } Much in that whitened field, whose gains Are neither small nor few. And there he toiled, and watched, and wept, Believing' from the root Thus nurtured, would the Spirit bring Immediate, living fruit. And now he resteth. Pure in life, How calm in death was he ! Like him, a bright and blessed one, O, Jesus, may I be. As I look down this sepulchre, His coffin meets me first: I moved it there, for pleasant 'tis To me, to see his dust. His friends oft cluster here. Of peace What thoughts come over them, While whispering of the casket, where Is hid so rich a gem ! Not so. The gem across whose ray- Death's shadow was not thrown — So beautiful, God's hand hath set With jewels of his own. And in that day of beams, to which All other days are dim, Who would not, 'mid the shuddering flight Of worlds, be found with him > \\ ILL1AM B. TAPPAN. 337 Was she not lent ye? and ye weep When God would rightly claim his own; O fondly deem not ye may keep What he has beckoned to the throne. He speaks in mercy, as he spoke When to your prayer a soul was given; When he this deathless germ awoke, Whose principle should live in heaven. " And take this child/' was the behest, "And wisely nurture it for me;" This done, O surely ye are blest To yield it back at his decree. Yea, blest, whose bosom tide below Thus follows what ye purely love ; And only turns from earth, to flow Untroubled, in a world above. Hast thou seen the cloud of morning Veil with gloom the azure sky ? Hast thou marked the rosy dawning Wrapt in boding darkness fly? Thus each hope is fleeting ever, Pleasure meets us, soon to sever! Ff 338 THE POEMS OF Hast thou seen — the tempest over — Radiant suns again illume; Threatening 1 storms no longer hover, Nature bud with fresher bloom ? Thus, through darkest clouds of even, Smiles the opening dawn of heaven. SUNDAY SCHOOL HYMNS. The angel-ranks that g'ird the throne Of Majesty, stand not alone; To mortals, disenthralled, 'tis given To j oin the choral hymn of heaven : Hark! even now a richer strain Comes floating o'er the eternal plain; To infant choirs those harps belong, And children's voices swell that song. Gabriel ne'er touched a sweeter string, His legions listen as they sing; O, whence those cherub minstrels, — say, — Clad in Immanuel's bright array? In scenes where thoughtless worldlings dwell Their lot was cast, whose lyres now swell The thrilling melody above; Thine be the praise, O God of love! The Sunday School! Earth has no name Worthier to fill the breath of Fame; WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. The untold blessing's it hath shed, Shall be revealed when worlds have fled: O thou of Bethlehem! once a child, Jesus! compassionate and mild, Approve thy work, be this the sum Of all our toil— " Thy Kingdom Come!" IL If this low vale of strife and tears Were never sunned by Mercy's beam, Where gladness now, O God, appears, How dark would thy creation seem! Revealed in splendours was thy name, When morn her banners first unfurled: Yet lovelier is the light that came, Shedding 1 Redemption o'er a world. To this high impulse man has bowed, And frigid hearts have learned to love; The fierce are humbled — on the proud Sits meekness, like a peaceful dove: Now are the mighty of the earth Workers with God — now hoary age Pants to partake the second birth; Now children are his heritage. Earth has a theme allied to heaven, And joys like those that linger there, When to these lisping ones is given The artless eloquence of prayer; 340 THE POEMS OF They waken, too, a trembling- string-, While holy rapture warms and thrills, With hymns as sweet as seraphs sing- Upon those everlasting* hills. Our hearts rejoice — our bosoms g-low; This hour what cheering- visions rise! These children, nurtured thus below, Shall swell the assemblies of the skies. Glorious will be his diadem, And song's and ecstacies unknown, Who forms for God one beauteous gem To sparkle on the eternal throne. III. Our fathers rose in peril's day, To die, or life and land to free: O, thou! who nerv'dst them for that fray, The arms and victory were from thee ; And thou that didst for them decree A passage throug-h the countless host, Saviour from chariot and from sea, - Thou art the God in whom we boast! Upon our fair and favoured land Descends abundance in a shower; And many a brig-lit and joyous band Their banners rear to peace this hour; Convened beneath our leafy bower, The turf our shrine — the sky our dome WILLIAM li. TAPPvN. 341 "We praise thee, thou Protecting* Power 1 For blessings past — for hopes to come. And Lord' from thy pavilion shine Upon the offering-, as thou'st shone; And be each heart's inscription thine, To God unseen, yet not unknown ' And O, propitious from thy throne Of starry light, behold us now: And let the thought of thee alone Possess our bosoms as we bow. Long look, and kindly on the soil Once watered with the pilgrims' tear; And grant that all their prayers and toil May yield to thee a harvest here; And as thy hand metes out the year, Bless thou the ruled and those that rule: And O, our God! be ever near In love, to bless the Sunday School, IV. O Saviour ! w ere thine arms of love Around Judea's children thrown, When thou didst say that such above, Thou would' st before thy Father own ? Then we, to seek thy face to-day, In simple confidence will come; And where thy chosen offspring stay, The gentile, too, shall find a home. f f 2 342 THE POEMS OF Are not the world's rebuking*s stilled As infant lips their warb lings raise, And heaven its promise sees fulfilled, That thou from babes wilt perfect praise? Then we will join the noble strain, Heard first, when stars their courses trod; And later, on the Shepherd's plain, Of Peace to Man and Praise to God. O let this hour, the thundering* drum Proclaim the triumphs of the free; We'll sing-, away from tumult's hum, The peace that purely flows from thee; From thee, that led'st our fathers' bands, And taught their arms the fig-lit to win; Give victory to the children's hands, Now break for them the chains of sin ! And as thou with the upper spring" Hast freely blest the eastern soil, O bid the nether waters fling* Refreshing's o'er this valley's toil: And send thy light and send thy power And love, the waking* world abroad, Till earth resemble Eden's bower, A second garden of the Lord. Cincinnati, July 4, 1832, WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 343 MY COUNTRY LIBERTY. Yet on thy lovely robe of light Where starry gems in glory lie, One spot is seen, that's dipped in night One cloud yet stains thy brilliant sky. 'Tis slavery — yea, the negro's tear Has steep'd the soil where martyrs bled; His withering curse has met the ear, Breathed o'er the bones of Freedom's dead. Farewell to Liberty for thee, 'Till these, thy basely thralled, are free. Shall slavery triumph? let the dust Of slaughtered patriots answer thee; Shall slavery triumph? — freeman! first Extinct thy land and name shall be. Look up ! look up ! the charter lives, 'Tis lettered with thy father's blood; Yet false the promise that it gives, A lure to man, a lie to God. " All men are free" — and free are they, The noble words though thou heed not; And sooner earth will pass away, Than of their truth shall pass one jot. The haughty — let them still defame, And stir their vassals to the strife ; 344 THE POEMS OF In such a conflict what's a name? To glorious freedom, what is life ? And, let them rage and overturn, And gnash upon us if they will — Our temples, dwellings, raze and burn; Earth's Ruler mocks their madness still. We care not, if the slave repeat, Released, our humble deeds in prayer; We care not, so our names but meet With Wilberfohce, in blessing's there. ALL ARE NOT FREE ! All are not free! — My country, is it thus ? And is thy consecrated soil deep stained With Ethiopian tears of bondage? Free? And art thou free, whose thousands till and curse Thy soil, unfriendly ? Never canst thou claim That god-like title till the slave is free. True, some are found among thy sons, that scorn Their fellow beings to retain on terms So abject, damning, to the name of Man. Who envies not, and envying, would not seek The pearl, of price unknown, Philanthropy ? To see the enfranchised African look out From misery's abyss, to the glad light Of beaming cheerfulness, and on the face WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 345 Where anguish lately sat, to see the tear Of gratitude and joy — who would not part With hoards of avarice to win that smile 5 With slavery's gains to buy that holy tear! Soul of Benevolence! thou that below Dwellest, a bright and pure Intelligence, Lending to our gross earth somewhat of heaven — Thou art not seen in the recorded deed Of purse-proud grandeur, nor dost thou delight In Ostentation's alms, whose left hand knows And trumpets forth its fellow's charity: 'Tis the disinterested act that claims, And truly claims, applause of man and God. A.H EVENIWG THOUGHT. Hast thou, my soul, improved each power, With zeal, this dat, for God and man' Has diligence marked every hour, As though this day might close the span ' O! if another opening morn On earth, should never smile on thee — Wert thou to meet another dawn In yon unknown eternity — Should' st thou with grief review this day, And tremble at Jehovah's rod 5 Or, would'st thou calmly soar away, To welcome an approving God ? 346 THE POEMS OF I LOVE THE BLUSH OF EARLY MORN. I love the blush of early morn, That beams with rosy hue; When sparkling o'er the verdant lawn, It gems the crystal dew. 'Tis then I muse on Mary's smile, That dimpling bright and fair, My sorrow always can beguile, And charm each latent care. I love the mildly pensive ray, That lonely twilight cheers: When gleaming at the close of day, It shines through evening's tears. 'Tis then fond memory softly says, While throbs my bosom move — That such is Mary's tender gaze, And such her glance of love. MUSIC. Thou dear enchantress of the soul! Whose magic skill life's ills can calm, Whose nod can bid the whirlwind roll, Whose whisper can its rage disarm: WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. -347 Sweet Music! I invoke thy power : Thou bid'st the aspiring spirit rise; Thou charnVst existence 5 tearful hour, And pointest hope to yonder skies. In life's drear maze I've wandered long", And sought for peace, but none could find, Till listening- to the thrilling- song*, My bosom owned its influence kind. O, if to finite state be given Some emanation from above, Some foretaste of a brighter heaven, 'Tis Music from the lips we love THE CHILDREN OF AMERICA. Where warrior feet once press'd the soil, And Freedom led her thousands on, Hath Knowledge gather'd goodly spoil, And meek Religion trophies won. O'er valleys where repose the brave, Her lovely stars hath Peace unfurled; And harvests on the hill-tops wave, Where once the cloud of battle curled. There bowed the hostile ranks in death — There bent our sires the willing knee, 348 THE POEMS OF And from that ground, Lord God! the breath Of glad thanksgiving rose to thee. Thou who didst nerve their dauntless hosts, And give them victory on that field, From deadlier foemen guard these coasts, From sin, O God ! the children shield. Thou went'st before them, King of kings ! And on their camp thy power shone out; O, that the shadow of thy wings Might ever compass these about. Make thou this land a heritage Refreshed by kindly sun and shower — Whose youth shall bloom, from age to age, Thy right-hand plants of fairest flower. Thy smiles they need, their care to crown, Who watch the gate or build the dome; Lord ! on our toil send unction down, And gather these immortals home. And be the pearls of lustre ours, The gems that heaven might seek to wear — Children arrayed in yonder bowers, Led by our tears and watchings there. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 349 YES IT IS SWEET TO CONTEMPLATE. Yes it is sweet to contemplate The awful, pleasing* hour, When yielding' to relentless fate, We own death's iron power. 'Tis sweet to rest the aching head In yonder peaceful tomb, Where the tall grass around the bed, Luxuriantly doth bloom. And O, when by the world forgot, I sleep unconscious there — Will not some wild-flower deck the spot. Nourished by friendship's tear? Sweeter will this cold bosom rest, If prized in memory; Lighter the clod upon my breast, Rede wed, mv friend, by thee. CAPE MAY. New Jersey ! thy blue hills are fair to the vision, Serene are the beauties thy valleys display; Thy streams are romantic, thy gardens elysian, . And dear to this bosom thy sea-beat Cape Mat. 350 THE POEMS OF How pleasant to wander where nought but old ocean Is heard interrupting calm nature's repose; Or gaily to mingle where pleasure in motion Waits on the first day-beam and hallows its close. Sweet innocence, beauty and fashion uniting, See the votaries of health and good-feeling appear; Gay wit wreaths the bowl with rich humour inviting, And Pleasure is queen of the festival here. How tranquil the scene, when Atlantic's proud billow Sleeps calm 'neath the moon-ray ! When tempests deform; *Tis truly majestic, as roused from his pillow, The god of the waters careers on the storm: When deep calls to deep and the surge mocks the mountain, And the voice of the tempest is heard on the main, When the storm-cloud, in anger, has opened its fountain, And the torrent has deluged the valley and plain ! Soon the gale dies in whispers, the billows are bounding, The moans of the tempest in sympathy cease; While I gaze at new beauties the prospect sur- rounding, My heart is expanded to pleasure and peace. Though thy blue hills, New Jersey ! are fair to the vision, Unnumbered the beauties thy valleys display; WILLIAM B. TPPAAN. 351 Though thy streams are romantic, thy gardens ely- sian, Yet lovelier, I reckon, thy sea-beat Cape Mat. In the British Museum I viewed a tombstone, that parentai affection had reared in a city of Greece, two thousand years ago. I reflected that the parents had followed their son to a dark and cheerless grave— Two thousand years ago, in Greece, a future life and immortality were unknown*— Letters of an American. The father mourned his only son, And who might check those tears } The grave was now to close upon The hope of waning years; But she unto her bosom pressed Her child, in agony; For never more upon that breast, Might he, her loved one, he. And who the wild despair may tell, That o'er her spirit past, That mother — when she sighed farewell, And drank that look — the last! O, she knew not the babe she wept " Now trod yon sparkling plain; That he who in corruption slept, Should wake to smiles again. They gave that infant to the earth, But grayed not on the stone 352 THE POEMS OF Of resurrection's living birth, When wasted worlds were flown: Yet what of mercy now appears To heal death's dart of wo, We, who lament with chastened tears Our buried ones, may know. FOR MY CHILD. O Lord my God! I would not seek Those glances that the guilty shun; Only that thou hast said, the weak And tried, are fellows with thy Son. And though earth's proud ones may not meet Acceptance, where thy chosen pray; In helplessness, before thy feet, Where angels kneel, a father may. He comes to thee in confidence, A pleader for his offspring now; Thou'lt hear! for in Judea once The robe of childhood worest thou. And only thou didst give these ties, Pure kindlings — this dark world to cheer; To whom then, should a father's cries Be gathered, save unto thine ear? Thine ear, that drinks the lightest sigh Breathed from this vale of sighs, as soon WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 333 As trumpet tones that ring* on high The joys of thy eternal noon. I know what hope's revealing^ are, Though frail — what faith's supportings be; "When with the giant arm of prayer I lift my child aloft to thee. Thou'lt hear! — and yet what form of speech Shall all a father's heart reveal, When every pulse the throne would reach, When strong* dealings bid me kneel, And ask that he who stills the wave, Who touches, and in wrath 'tis curled, Will save him who goes forth to brave The deeps of an unquiet world! Thou who didst mould his perfect form, And round it bid the current roll: And lighting up the life -blush warm, Informed it with a conscious soul: God — whose own breath in infant hour, His budding 1 graces cheered and fanned, Till ripening- out in boyhood's flower, Their charms confess the Maker's hand; Who else but thee can cause to run In holy ways, his faltering" feet; And fling" around that trusting" one, The arm that back the storm shall beat* Gg2 3 54 THE POEMS OF But thee, to whom 1 gave him when Baptismal waters bathed his brow } Thy promise calmed my spirit then, Renew it, for I yield him now. VERSES, ON SEEING AX ANCIENT PEAR TREE, WHICH WAS IMPORTED FROM HOLLAND IN 1647- Thou ancient tree, Surviver of the storm, "Wondrous to me Thy venerable form. The blast of years Has strewed the neighbouring soil, While thou survivest The angry whirlwind's spoil. Long hast thou nourished Liberal of richest fruit; And various soils have nourished Thy healthy root. From Holland's moistened clime Our fathers bore the prize, In early time To thrive 'neath western skies. WILLIAM B. TAPPAX. 355 Perhaps thy shade Has often screened our sires From summer's ray, And autumn's milder fires: Beneath thy boughs reclined Visions of ages rose; They saw a nation free, Triumphant o'er its foes. Perhaps, in each fond heart Was liberal feeling found; They, too, wept sorrow's smart, And smiled in pleasure's round: The voice of friendship Could lull each bosom care; The song of love Could waken rapture there . Where are they? Thou sawest them disappear— They sleep in clay Forgotten is the tear. And we shall follow: Yes, hoary tree ! Thy arms will brave the blast, When we to our eternity Have past. 356 THE POEMS OF EUROPE 1826. Euiiope! vicissitudes are thine, The tyrant's scourge by thee is felt; Thou bendest at the idol shrine To which our fathers darkly knelt. Unhappy Spain! thou once wast free As are the waves that lash thy shore; Yet hath the bigot vanquished thee; Yon heaven, that saw the ruffian pour Thy blood, as water on the ground, Yon heaven, that heard the vow accursed That binds the holy miscreant band, Shall smile on thee, ill-fated land; And, starting from thy depth profound, Thou shalt arise, and from the dust Of these, thy martyr' d, swords shall leap To tell that justice cannot sleep. Rejoice, fell spirit of despair! Inquisitorial demons, hail! I see your vengeance darkly glare, Already death-shrieks load the gale ; Yet, mock not, France ! thy victory's vain, Thy ruthless hand hath forged the chain, The iron, true, is deeply driven, Cursed be the bolt that slaves have riven— At freedom's soul-inspiring call, Which Spain shall hear, and hearing live, The bolt and chain will, scattered, fall; The dead in bondage shall revive — WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 357 Aye, and of them that crush thee now, Those fiends of an unthought-of hell — If one survive, his gloomy brow Stamped with that Cain-like guilt, shall tell To wondering men the quenchless shame Of him that scorns the patriot's name. WE MAY HALLOW THE SPOT, We may hallow the spot where the warriors rest, Where their record we've blazoned on stone; We may call to our shores Europe's thousands op- pressed, That have fled from the cottage and throne. We may weave it in song that Columbia's fame Is of earth's coward despots the ban; And wherever seas roll that her glorious name Is the watchword of freedom to man. Vain all ! if in chaplets that circle her now, Shall no leaf of Religion be seen; If Science bloom not in the light of her brow, With the amaranth-garland of green. We may love the stern purpose that trustingly laid The rock of her greatness in prayer; And the virtue and valour that constantly stayed The storm, may our gratitude share. 35S THE POE?-IS OF Vain all, if not cherished — for God, whose decree Has exalted her destinies high, Proclaims that the nation made mighty and free By the Truth only, never can die. Near this beautiful stream, on the soil of our Pexx, The shrine* to that truth which we rear We will base on Religion, and Liberty then Shall rejoice in her worshippers here. While time lays the altars of nations gone by With the shafts of their temples in dust, From this, shall pure incense ascend to the sky, When the foot-fall of ages is hushed. The fire that came down on their offerings, untrue, Is quenched — 'twas unhallowed and dim; But the flame that burns here, will Jehovah renew, For its brightness is borrowed from him. O! our beautiful land in its breadth and its length, By the pilgrim and patriot trod — With the wreck of the past shall not lie, if its strength And its glory be given to God. July 23d, 1834. * Bristol College on the Delaware. Prnn>ylvania. WILLIAM B. TAPPAN. 359 THE WEARY WHEELS. The weary wheels — the weary wheels — O, when will they at length stand still? Yet hush, this toiling* fabric feels It must perform its Maker's will. The days of pain — the days of pain — O, when will these at last be o'er 5 - Yet are complaining's only vain, I kiss the rod and still adore. The nights of tears — the nights of tears — O, when will come the welcome morn ? Yet hope, the solacer of fears, Shall to my darkness bring the dawn. The buried friend — the buried friend — Joys! ye are coffined with his dust; Y'et this bereaved heart shall blend With his, that fled from sorrow first. The quiet earth — the quiet earth — When shall I on its bosom he } Yet he that called me into birth Alone may bid me when to die. The joyful heaven — the joyful heaven — Remaineth there for me a rest? Yet sins and follies all forgiven, I mav be numbered with the blessed. 360 THE POEMS OF, &C. The wondrous cross — the wondrous cross — Its shame the proud refuse to share; Yet unto me the world is dross To gems that shine and cluster there. Then weary wheels — then weary wheels Roll onward at my Father's will; For as a child my spirit feels Submissive at his feet, and still. THE END.